[_Flaring up._] But I—I am an enemy of the people! [_Striding about the
room._] Where’s my stick? Where the devil is my stick?
HOVSTAD.
What do you mean?
ASLAKSEN.
Surely you wouldn’t——
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Standing still._] And suppose I don’t give you a single farthing out
of all my shares? You must remember we rich folk don’t like parting with
our money.
HOVSTAD.
And you must remember that this business of the shares can be
represented in two ways.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Yes, you are the man for that; if I don’t come to the rescue of the
_Messenger_, you’ll manage to put a vile complexion on the affair;
you’ll hunt me down, I suppose—bait me—try to throttle me as a dog
throttles a hare!
HOVSTAD.
That’s a law of nature—every animal fights for its own subsistence.
ASLAKSEN.
And must take its food where it can find it, you know.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Then see if you can’t find some out in the gutter; [_Striding about the
room_] for now, by heaven! we shall see which is the strongest animal of
us three. [_Finds his umbrella and brandishes it._] Now, look here——!
HOVSTAD.
You surely don’t mean to assault us!
ASLAKSEN.
I say, be careful with that umbrella!
DR. STOCKMANN.
Out at the window with you, Mr. Hovstad!
HOVSTAD.
[_By the hall door._] Are you utterly crazy?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Out at the window, Mr. Aslaksen! Jump I tell you! Be quick about it!
ASLAKSEN.
[_Running round the writing-table._] Moderation, Doctor; I'm not at all
strong; I can’t stand much——[_Screams._] Help! help!
MRS. STOCKMANN, PETRA, _and_ HORSTER _enter from sitting-room._
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Good heavens, Thomas! what _can_ be the matter?
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Brandishing the umbrella._] Jump, I tell you! Out into the gutter!
HOVSTAD.
An unprovoked assault! I call you to witness, Captain Horster.
[_Rushes off through the hall._
ASLAKSEN.
[_Bewildered._] If one only knew the local situation——![14]
[_He slinks out by the sitting-room door._
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_Holding back the DOCTOR._] Now, do restrain yourself, Thomas!
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Throwing down the umbrella._] I'll be hanged if they haven’t got off
after all.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Why, what can they have wanted with you?
DR. STOCKMANN.
I'll tell you afterwards; I have other things to think of now. [_Goes to
the table and writes on a visiting-card._] Look here, Katrina: what’s
written here?
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Three big _Noes_; what does that mean?
DR. STOCKMANN.
That I'll tell you afterwards, too. [_Handing the card._] There, Petra;
let smudgy-face run to the Badger’s with this as fast as she can. Be
quick!
[PETRA _goes out through the hall with the card._
DR. STOCKMANN.
Well, if I haven’t had visits to-day from all the emissaries of the
devil! But now I'll sharpen my pen against them till it becomes a goad;
I'll dip it in gall and venom; I'll hurl my inkstand straight at their
skulls.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
You forget we are going away, Thomas.
PETRA _returns._
DR. STOCKMANN.
Well?
PETRA.
She has gone.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Good. Going away, do you say? No, I'll be damned if we do; we stay where
we are, Katrina!
PETRA.
Stay!
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Here in the town?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Yes, here; the field of battle is here; here the fight must be fought;
here I will conquer! As soon as my trousers are mended, I shall go out
into the town and look for a house; we must have a roof over our heads
for the winter.
HORSTER.
That you can have in my house.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Can I?
HORSTER.
Yes, there’s no difficulty about that. I have room enough, and I'm
hardly ever at home myself.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Oh, how kind of you, Captain Horster.
PETRA.
Thank you!
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Shaking his hand._] Thanks, thanks! So that is off my mind. And this
very day I shall set to work in earnest. Oh, there’s no end of work to
be done here, Katrina! It’s a good thing I shall have all my time at my
disposal now; for you must know I've had notice from the Baths——
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_Sighing._] Oh yes, I was expecting that.
DR. STOCKMANN.
——And now they want to take away my practice as well. But let them! The
poor I shall keep anyhow—those that can’t pay; and, good Lord! it’s they
that need me most. But by heaven! I'll make them listen to me; I'll
preach to them in season and out of season, as the saying goes.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
My dear Thomas, I should have thought you had learnt what good preaching
does.
DR. STOCKMANN.
You really are absurd, Katrina. Am I to let myself be beaten off the
field by public opinion, and the compact majority, and all that sort of
devilry? No, thank you! Besides, my point is so simple, so clear and
straightforward. I only want to drive it into the heads of these curs
that the Liberals are the craftiest foes free men have to face; that
party-programmes wring the necks of all young and living truths; that
considerations of expediency turn justice and morality upside down,
until life here becomes simply unlivable. Come, Captain Horster, don’t
you think I shall be able to make the people understand that?
HORSTER.
Maybe; I don’t know much about these things myself.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Well, you see—this is the way of it! It’s the party-leaders that must be
exterminated. For a party-leader is just like a wolf, you see—like a
ravening wolf; he must devour a certain number of smaller animals a
year, if he’s to exist at all. Just look at Hovstad and Aslaksen! How
many small animals they polish off—or at least mangle and maim, so that
they’re fit for nothing else but to be house-owners and subscribers to
the _People’s Messenger_! [_Sits on the edge of the table._] Just come
here, Katrina—see how bravely the sun shines to-day! And how the blessed
fresh spring air blows in upon me!
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Yes, if only we could live on sunshine and spring air, Thomas.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Well, you’ll have to pinch and save to eke them out—and then we shall
get on all right. That’s what troubles me least. No, what does trouble
me is that I don’t see any man free enough and high-minded enough to
dare to take up my work after me.
PETRA.
Oh, don’t think about that, father; you have time enough before
you.—Why, see, there are the boys already.
EILIF _and_ MORTEN _enter from the sitting-room._
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Have you a holiday to-day?
MORTEN.
No; but we had a fight with the other fellows in play-time—-
EILIF.
That’s not true; it was the other fellows that fought us.
MORTEN.
Yes, and then Mr. Rörlund said we had better stop at home for a few
days.
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Snapping his fingers and springing down from the table._] Now I have
it! Now I have it, on my soul! You shall never set foot in school again!
THE BOYS.
Never go to school!
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Why, Thomas——
DR. STOCKMANN.
Never, I say! I shall teach you myself—that’s to say, I won’t teach you
any mortal thing——
MORTEN.
Hurrah!
DR. STOCKMANN.
——but I shall help you to grow into free, high-minded men.—Look here,
you’ll have to help me, Petra.
PETRA.
Yes, father, you may be sure I will.
DR. STOCKMANN.
And we’ll have our school in the room where they reviled me as an enemy
of the people. But we must have more pupils. I must have at least a
dozen boys to begin with.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
You’ll never get them in this town.
DR. STOCKMANN.
We shall see. [_To the boys._] Don’t you know any street urchins—any
regular ragamuffins——?
MORTEN.
Yes, father, I know lots!
DR. STOCKMANN.
That’s all right; bring me a few of them. I shall experiment with the
street-curs for once in a way; there are sometimes excellent heads
amongst them.
MORTEN.
But what are we to do when we’ve grown into free and high-minded men?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Drive all the wolves out to the far west, boys!
[EILIF _looks rather doubtful;_ MORTEN _jumps about shouting
“Hurrah!”_
MRS. STOCKMANN.
If only the wolves don’t drive you out, Thomas.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Are you quite mad, Katrina! _Drive me out!_ Now that I am the strongest
man in the town?
MRS. STOCKMANN.
The strongest—now?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Yes, I venture to say this: that now I am one of the strongest men in
the whole world.
MORTEN.
I say, what fun!
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_In a subdued voice._] Hush; you mustn’t speak about it yet; but I have
made a great discovery.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
What, another?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Yes, of course! [_Gathers them about him, and speaks confidentially._]
This is what I have discovered, you see: the strongest man in the world
is he who stands most alone.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_Shakes her head, smiling._] Ah, Thomas dear——!
PETRA.
[_Grasping his hands cheerily._] Father!
-----
Footnote 13:
“Has no right” represents the Norwegian “tör ikke”—the phrase which,
elsewhere in this scene, is translated “dare not.” The latter
rendering should perhaps have been adhered to throughout; but in this
passage the Norwegian words convey a shade of meaning which is best
represented by “has no right.”
Footnote 14:
“De lokale forholde”—the local conditions, or the circumstances of the
locality, a phrase constantly in Aslaksen’s mouth in _The League of
Youth_. In the present context it is about equivalent to “the lie of
the land.”
THE END.
THE WILD DUCK
(1884)
CHARACTERS.
WERLE, _a merchant, manufacturer, etc._
GREGERS WERLE, _his son_.
OLD EKDAL.
HIALMAR EKDAL, _his son, a photographer_.
GINA EKDAL, _Hialmar’s wife_.
HEDVIG, _their daughter, a girl of fourteen_.
MRS. SÖRBY, _Werle’s housekeeper_.
RELLING, _a doctor_.
MOLVIK, _ex-student of theology_.
GRABERG, _Werle’s bookkeeper_.
PETTERSEN, _Werle’s servant_.
JENSEN, _a hired waiter_.
A FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
A THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
A SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
_Six other gentlemen, guests at Werle’s dinner-party._
_Several hired waiters._
_The first act passes in Werle’s house, the remaining acts at Hialmar
Ekdal’s._
_Pronunciation of Names_: Gregers Werle = Grayghers Verlë; Hialmar Ekdal
= Yalmar Aykdal; Gina = Gheena; Graberg = Graberg; Jensen =
Yensen.
THE WILD DUCK.
PLAY IN FIVE ACTS.
ACT FIRST.
_At_ WERLE’S _house. A richly and comfortably furnished study; bookcases
and upholstered furniture; a writing-table, with papers and
documents, in the centre of the room; lighted lamps with green
shades, giving a subdued light. At the back, open folding-doors
with curtains drawn back. Within is seen a large and handsome
room, brilliantly lighted with lamps and branching candlesticks.
In front, on the right (in the study), a small baize door leads
into_ WERLE’S _office. On the left, in front, a fireplace with a
glowing coal fire, and farther back a double door leading into the
dining-room._
WERLE’S _servant,_ PETTERSEN, _in livery, and JENSEN, the hired waiter,
in black, are putting the study in order. In the large room, two
or three other hired waiters are moving about, arranging things
and lighting more candles. From the dining-room, the hum of
conversation and laughter of many voices are heard; a glass is
tapped with a knife; silence follows, and a toast is proposed;
shouts of “Bravo!” and then again a buzz of conversation._
PETTERSEN.
[_Lights a lamp on the chimney-place and places a shade over it._] Hark
to them, Jensen! now the old man’s on his legs holding a long palaver
about Mrs. Sörby.
JENSEN.
[_Pushing forward an arm-chair._] Is it true, what folks say, that
they’re—very good friends, eh?
PETTERSEN.
Lord knows.
JENSEN.
I've heard tell as he’s been a lively customer in his day.
PETTERSEN.
May be.
JENSEN.
And he’s giving this spread in honour of his son, they say.
PETTERSEN.
Yes. His son came home yesterday.
JENSEN.
This is the first time I ever heard as Mr. Werle _had_ a son.
PETTERSEN.
Oh yes, he has a son, right enough. But he’s a fixture, as you might
say, up at the Höidal works. He’s never once come to town all the years
I've been in service here.
A WAITER.
[_In the doorway of the other room._] Pettersen, here’s an old fellow
wanting——
PETTERSEN.
[_Mutters._] The devil—who’s this now?
OLD EKDAL _appears from the right, in the inner room. He is
dressed in a threadbare overcoat with a high collar; he
wears woollen mittens, and carries in his hand a stick and a
fur cap. Under his arm, a brown paper parcel. Dirty
red-brown wig and small grey moustache._
PETTERSEN.
[_Goes towards him._] Good Lord—what do you want here?
EKDAL.
[_In the doorway._] Must get into the office, Pettersen.
PETTERSEN.
The office was closed an hour ago, and——
EKDAL.
So they told me at the front door. But Gråberg’s in there still. Let me
slip in this way, Pettersen; there’s a good fellow. [_Points towards the
baize door._] It’s not the first time I've come this way.
PETTERSEN.
Well, you may pass. [_Opens the door._] But mind you go out again the
proper way, for we’ve got company.
EKDAL.
I know, I know—h’m! Thanks, Pettersen, good old friend! Thanks!
[_Mutters softly._] Ass!
[_He goes into the office;_ PETTERSEN _shuts the door after
him._
JENSEN.
Is _he_ one of the office people?
PETTERSEN.
No, he’s only an outside hand that does odd jobs of copying. But he’s
been a tip-topper in his day, has old Ekdal.
JENSEN.
You can see he’s been through a lot.
PETTERSEN.
Yes; he was an army officer, you know.
JENSEN.
You don’t say so?
PETTERSEN.
No mistake about it. But then he went into the timber trade or something
of the sort. They say he once played Mr. Werle a very nasty trick. They
were partners in the Höidal works at the time. Oh, I know old Ekdal
well, I do. Many a nip of bitters and bottle of ale we two have drunk at
Madam Eriksen’s.
JENSEN.
He don’t look as if he’d much to stand treat with.
PETTERSEN.
Why, bless you, Jensen, it’s me that stands treat. I always think
there’s no harm in being a bit civil to folks that have seen better
days.
JENSEN.
Did he go bankrupt then?
PETTERSEN.
Worse than that. He went to prison.
JENSEN.
To prison!
PETTERSEN.
Or perhaps it was the Penitentiary. [_Listens._] Sh! They’re leaving the
table.
_The dining-room door is thrown open from within, by a couple of
waiters._ MRS. SÖRBY _comes out conversing with two
gentlemen. Gradually the whole company follows, amongst
them_ WERLE. _Last come_ HIALMAR EKDAL _and_ GREGERS WERLE.
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_In passing, to the servant._] Tell them to serve the coffee in the
music-room, Pettersen.
PETTERSEN.
Very well, Madam.
[_She goes with the two Gentlemen into the inner room, and
thence out to the right._ PETTERSEN _and_ JENSEN _go out the
same way._
A FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
[_To a THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN._] Whew! What a dinner!—It was no joke to
do it justice!
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
Oh, with a little good-will one can get through a lot in three hours.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Yes, but afterwards, afterwards, my dear Chamberlain!
A THIRD GENTLEMAN.
I hear the coffee and maraschino are to be served in the music-room.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Bravo! Then perhaps Mrs. Sörby will play us something.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
[_In a low voice._] I hope Mrs. Sörby mayn’t play us a tune we don’t
like, one of these days!
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Oh no, not she! Bertha will never turn against her old friends.
[_They laugh and pass into the inner room._
WERLE.
[_In a low voice, dejectedly._] I don’t think anybody noticed it,
Gregers.
GREGERS.
[_Looks at him._] Noticed what?
WERLE.
Did you not notice it either?
GREGERS.
What do you mean?
WERLE.
We were thirteen at table.
GREGERS.
Indeed? Were there thirteen of us?
WERLE.
[_Glances towards HIALMAR EKDAL._] Our usual party is twelve. [_To the
others._] This way, gentlemen!
[WERLE _and the others, all except_ HIALMAR _and_ GREGERS, _go
out by the back, to the right._
HIALMAR.
[_Who has overheard the conversation._] You ought not to have invited
me, Gregers.
GREGERS.
What! Not ask my best and only friend to a party supposed to be in my
honour——?
HIALMAR.
But I don’t think your father likes it. You see I am quite outside his
circle.
GREGERS.
So I hear. But I wanted to see you and have a talk with you, and I
certainly shan’t be staying long.—Ah, we two old schoolfellows have
drifted far apart from each other. It must be sixteen or seventeen years
since we met.
HIALMAR.
Is it so long?
GREGERS.
It is indeed. Well, how goes it with you? You look well. You have put on
flesh, and grown almost stout.
HIALMAR.
Well, “stout” is scarcely the word; but I daresay I look a little more
of a man than I used to.
GREGERS.
Yes, you do; your outer man is in first-rate condition.
HIALMAR.
[_In a tone of gloom._] Ah, but the inner man! That is a very different
matter, I can tell you! Of course you know of the terrible catastrophe
that has befallen me and mine since last we met.
GREGERS.
[_More softly._] How are things going with your father now?
HIALMAR.
Don’t let us talk of it, old fellow. Of course my poor unhappy father
lives with me. He hasn’t another soul in the world to care for him. But
you can understand that this is a miserable subject for me. —Tell me,
rather, how you have been getting on up at the works.
GREGERS.
I have had a delightfully lonely time of it—plenty of leisure to think
and think about things. Come over here; we may as well make ourselves
comfortable.
[_He seats himself in an arm-chair by the fire and draws_
HIALMAR _down into another alongside of it._
HIALMAR.
[_Sentimentally._] After all, Gregers, I thank you for inviting me to
your father’s table; for I take it as a sign that you have got over your
feeling against me.
GREGERS.
[_Surprised._] How could you imagine I had any feeling against you?
HIALMAR.
You had at first, you know.
GREGERS.
How at first?
HIALMAR.
After the great misfortune. It was natural enough that you should. Your
father was within an ace of being drawn into that—well, that terrible
business.
GREGERS.
Why should that give me any feeling against you? Who can have put that
into your head?
HIALMAR.
I know it did, Gregers; your father told me so himself.
GREGERS.
[_Starts._] My father! Oh indeed. H'm.—Was that why you never let me
hear from you?—not a single word.
HIALMAR.
Yes.
GREGERS.
Not even when you made up your mind to become a photographer?
HIALMAR.
Your father said I had better not write to you at all, about anything.
GREGERS.
[_Looking straight before him._] Well well, perhaps he was right.—But
tell me now, Hialmar: are you pretty well satisfied with your present
position?
HIALMAR.
[_With a little sigh._] Oh yes, I am; I have really no cause to
complain. At first, as you may guess, I felt it a little strange. It was
such a totally new state of things for me. But of course my whole
circumstances were totally changed. Father’s utter, irretrievable
ruin,—the shame and disgrace of it, Gregers——
GREGERS.
[_Affected._] Yes, yes; I understand.
HIALMAR.
I couldn’t think of remaining at college; there wasn’t a shilling to
spare; on the contrary, there were debts—mainly to your father I
believe——
GREGERS.
H'm———
HIALMAR.
In short, I thought it best to break, once for all, with my old
surroundings and associations. It was your father that specially urged
me to it; and since he interested himself so much in me———
GREGERS.
My father did?
HIALMAR.
Yes, you surely knew that, didn’t you? Where do you suppose I found the
money to learn photography, and to furnish a studio and make a start?
All that costs a pretty penny, I can tell you.
GREGERS.
And my _father_ provided the money?
HIALMAR.
Yes, my dear fellow, didn’t you know? I understood him to say he had
written to you about it.
GREGERS.
Not a word about _his_ part in the business. He must have forgotten it.
Our correspondence has always been purely a business one. So it was my
father that——!
HIALMAR.
Yes, certainly. He didn’t wish it to be generally known; but he it was.
And of course it was he, too, that put me in a position to marry. Don’t
you—don’t you know about that either?
GREGERS.
No, I haven’t heard a word of it. [_Shakes him by the arm._] But, my
dear Hialmar, I can’t tell you what pleasure all this gives me—pleasure,
and self-reproach. I have perhaps done my father injustice after all—in
some things. This proves that he has a heart. It shows a sort of
compunction——
HIALMAR.
Compunction——?
GREGERS.
Yes, yes—whatever you like to call it. Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I
am to hear this of father.—So you are a married man, Hialmar! That is
further than I shall ever get. Well, I hope you are happy in your
married life?
HIALMAR.
Yes, thoroughly happy. She is as good and capable a wife as any man
could wish for. And she is by no means without culture.
GREGERS.
[_Rather surprised._] No, of course not.
HIALMAR.
You see, life is itself an education. Her daily intercourse with me——
And then we know one or two rather remarkable men, who come a good deal
about us. I assure you, you would hardly know Gina again.
GREGERS.
Gina?
HIALMAR.
Yes; had you forgotten that her name was Gina?
GREGERS.
Whose name? I haven’t the slightest idea——
HIALMAR.
Don’t you remember that she used to be in service here?
GREGERS.
[_Looks at him._] Is it Gina Hansen——?
HIALMAR.
Yes, of course it is Gina Hansen.
GREGERS.
——who kept house for us during the last year of my mother’s illness?
HIALMAR.
Yes, exactly. But, my dear friend, I'm quite sure your father told you
that I was married.
GREGERS.
[_Who has risen._] Oh yes, he mentioned it; but not that—— [_Walking
about the room._] Stay—perhaps he did—now that I think of it. My father
always writes such short letters. [_Half seats himself on the arm of the
chair._] Now, tell me, Hialmar—this is interesting—how did you come to
know Gina—your wife?
HIALMAR.
The simplest thing in the world. You know Gina did not stay here long;
everything was so much upset at that time, owing to your mother’s
illness and so forth, that Gina was not equal to it all; so she gave
notice and left. That was the year before your mother died—or it may
have been the same year.
GREGERS.
It was the same year. I was up at the works then. But afterwards——?
HIALMAR.
Well, Gina lived at home with her mother, Madam Hansen, an excellent
hard-working woman, who kept a little eating-house. She had a room to
let too; a very nice comfortable room.
GREGERS.
And I suppose you were lucky enough to secure it?
HIALMAR.
Yes; in fact, it was your father that recommended it to me. So it was
there, you see, that I really came to know Gina.
GREGERS.
And then you got engaged?
HIALMAR.
Yes. It doesn’t take young people long to fall in love——; h’m——
GREGERS.
[_Rises and moves about a little._] Tell me: was it after your
engagement—was it then that my father—I mean was it then that you began
to take up photography?
HIALMAR.
Yes, precisely. I wanted to make a start, and to set up house as soon as
possible; and your father and I agreed that this photography business
was the readiest way. Gina thought so too. Oh, and there was another
thing in its favour, by-the-bye: it happened, luckily, that Gina had
learnt to retouch.
GREGERS.
That chimed in marvellously.
HIALMAR.
[_Pleased, rises._] Yes, didn’t it? Don’t you think it was a marvellous
piece of luck?
GREGERS.
Oh, unquestionably. My father seems to have been almost a kind of
providence for you.
HIALMAR.
[_With emotion._] He did not forsake his old friend’s son in the hour of
his need. For he _has_ a heart, you see.
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_Enters, arm-in-arm with WERLE._] Nonsense, my dear Mr. Werle; you
mustn’t stop there any longer staring at all the lights. It’s very bad
for you.
WERLE.
[_Lets go her arm and passes his hand over his eyes._] I daresay you are
right.
[PETTERSEN _and_ JENSEN _carry round refreshment trays._]
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_To the Guests in the other room._] This way, if you please, gentlemen.
Whoever wants a glass of punch must be so good as to come in here.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
[_Comes up to MRS. SÖRBY._] Surely, it isn’t possible that you have
suspended our cherished right to smoke?
MRS. SÖRBY.
Yes. No smoking here, in Mr. Werle’s sanctum, Chamberlain.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
When did you enact these stringent amendments on the cigar law, Mrs.
Sörby?
MRS. SÖRBY.
After the last dinner, Chamberlain, when certain persons permitted
themselves to overstep the mark.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
And may one never overstep the mark a little bit, Madame Bertha? Not the
least little bit?
MRS. SÖRBY.
Not in any respect whatsoever, Mr. Balle.
[_Most of the Guests have assembled in the study; servants hand
round glasses of punch._
WERLE.
[_To HIALMAR, who is standing beside a table._] What are you studying so
intently, Ekdal?
HIALMAR.
Only an album, Mr. Werle.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
[_Who is wandering about._] Ah, photographs! They are quite in your line
of course.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.