_Same Scene. GREGERS enters, and finds GINA retouching
photographs_.
_Gregers_ (_pleasantly_). HIALMAR not come in yet, after last night, I
suppose?
_Gina_. Not he! He's been out on the loose all night with RELLING and
MÖLVIK. Now he's snoring on their sofa.
_Gregers_ (_disappointed._) Dear!--dear!--when he ought to be yearning
to wrestle in solitude and self-examination!
_Gina_ (_rudely_). Self-examine your grandmother!
[_She goes out; HEDVIG comes in._
_Gregers_ (_to Hedvig_). Ah, I see you haven't found courage to settle
the Wild Duck yet!
_Hedvig_. No--it seemed such a delightful idea at first. Now it
strikes me as a trifle--well, _Ibsenish_.
_Gregers_ (_reprovingly_). I _thought_ you hadn't grown up quite
unharmed in this house! But if you really had the true, joyous spirit
of self-sacrifice, you'd have a shot at that Wild Duck, if you died
for it!
_Hedvig_ (_slowly_). I see; you mean that my constitution's changing,
and I ought to behave as such?
_Gregers_. Exactly, I'm what Americans would term a "crank"--but _I_
believe in you, HEDVIG.
[_HEDVIG takes down the pistol from the mantelpiece, and goes
into the garret with flashing eyes; GINA comes in._
_Hialmar_ (_looking in at door with hesitation; he is unwashed and
dishevelled_). Has anybody happened to see my hat?
_Gina_. Gracious, what a sight you are! Sit down and have some
breakfast, do. [_She brings it._
_Hialmar_ (_indignantly_). What! touch food under _this_ roof? Never!
(_Helps himself to bread-and-butter and coffee._) Go and pack up my
scientific uncut books, my manuscripts, and all the best rabbits, in
my portmanteau. I am going away for ever. On second thoughts, I shall
stay in the spare room for another day or two--it won't be the same as
living with you!
[_He takes some salt meat._
_Gregers_. _Must_ you go? Just when you've got nice firm ground to
build upon--thanks to me! Then there's your great invention, too.
_Hialmar_. Everything's invented already. And I only cared about my
invention because, although it doesn't exist yet, I thought HEDVIG
believed in it, with all the strength of her sweet little shortsighted
eyes! But now I don't believe in HEDVIG!
[Illustration]
[_He pours himself out another cup of coffee._
_Gregers_ (_earnestly_). But, HIALMAR, if I can prove to you that she
is ready to sacrifice her cherished Wild Duck? See!
[_He pushes back sliding-door, and discovers HEDVIG aiming
at the Wild Duck with the butt-end of the pistol. Tableau._
_Gina_ (_excitedly_). But don't you _see_? It's the pigstol--that
fatal Norwegian weapon which, in Ibsenian dramas, _never_ shoots
straight! And she has got it by the wrong end too. She will shoot
herself!
_Gregers_ (_quietly_). She will! Let the child make amends. It will be
a most realistic and impressive finale!
_Gina_. No, no--put down the pigstol, HEDVIG. Do you hear, child?
_Hedvig_ (_still aiming_). I hear--but I shan't unless father tells me
to.
_Gregers_. HIALMAR, show the great soul I always _said_ you had.
This sorrow will set free what is noble in you. Don't spoil a fine
situation. Be a man! Let the child shoot herself!
_Hialmar_ (_irresolutely_). Well, really I don't know. There's a good
deal in what GREGERS says. Hm!
_Gina_. A good deal of tomfool rubbish! I'm illiterate, I know. I've
been a Wild Duck in my time, and I waddle. But for all that, I'm
the only person in the play with a grain of common-sense. And I'm
sure--whatever Mr. IBSEN or GREGERS choose to say--that a screaming
burlesque like this ought _not_ to end like a tragedy--even in this
queer Norway of ours! And it shan't, either! Tell the child to put
that nasty pigstol down and come away, do!
_Hialmar_ (_yielding_). Ah, well, I am a farcical character myself,
after all. Don't touch a hair of that duck's head, HEDVIG. Come to my
arms and all shall be forgiven!
[_HEDVIG throws down the pistol,--which goes off and kills a
rabbit--and rushes into her father's arms. Old EKDAL comes
out of a corner with a fowl on each shoulder, and bursts into
tears. Affecting family picture._
_Gregers_ (_annoyed_). It's all very pretty, I dare say--but it's not
IBSEN! My real mission is to be the thirteenth at table. I don't know
what I mean--but I fly to fulfil it! [_He goes._
_Hialmar_. And now we've got rid of _him_, HEDVIG, fetch me the deed
of gift I tore up, and a slip of paper, and a penny bottle of gum, and
we'll soon make a valid instrument of it again!
[_He pastes the torn deed together as the Curtain slowly
descends._