GINA.
[_Draws herself up; her eyes flash._] _You_ ask that!
HIALMAR.
You shall answer me this one question: Does Hedvig belong to me—or——?
Well!
GINA.
[_Looking at him with cold defiance._] I don’t know.
HIALMAR.
[_Quivering a little._] You don’t know!
GINA.
How should _I_ know? A creature like _me_——
HIALMAR.
[_Quietly turning away from her._] Then I have nothing more to do in
this house.
GREGERS.
Take care, Hialmar! Think what you are doing!
HIALMAR.
[_Puts on his overcoat._] In this case, there is nothing for a man like
me to think twice about.
GREGERS.
Yes indeed, there are endless things to be considered. You three must be
together if you are to attain the true frame of mind for self-sacrifice
and forgiveness.
HIALMAR.
I don’t want to attain it. Never, never! My hat! [_Takes his hat._] My
home has fallen in ruins about me. [_Bursts into tears._] Gregers, I
have no child!
HEDVIG.
[_Who has opened the kitchen door._] What is that you’re saying?
[_Coming to him._] Father, father!
GINA.
There, you see!
HIALMAR.
Don’t come near me, Hedvig! Keep far away. I cannot bear to see you. Oh!
those eyes——! Good-bye. _Makes for the door._
HEDVIG.
[_Clinging close to him and screaming loudly._] No! no! Don’t leave me!
GINA.
[_Cries out._] Look at the child, Ekdal! Look at the child!
HIALMAR.
I will not! I cannot! I must get out—away from all this!
[_He tears himself away from_ HEDVIG, _and goes out by the
passage door._
HEDVIG.
[_With despairing eyes._] He is going away from us, mother! He is going
away from us! He will never come back again!
GINA.
Don’t cry, Hedvig. Father’s sure to come back again.
HEDVIG.
[_Throws herself sobbing on the sofa._] No, no, he’ll never come home to
us any more.
GREGERS.
Do you believe I meant all for the best, Mrs. Ekdal?
GINA.
Yes, I daresay you did; but God forgive you, all the same.
HEDVIG.
[_Lying on the sofa._] Oh, this will kill me! What have I done to him?
Mother, you must fetch him home again!
GINA.
Yes yes yes; only be quiet, and I'll go out and look for him. [_Puts on
her outdoor things._] Perhaps he’s gone in to Relling’s. But you mustn’t
lie there and cry. Promise me!
HEDVIG.
[_Weeping convulsively._] Yes, I'll stop, I'll stop; if only father
comes back!
GREGERS.
[_To GINA, who is going._] After all, had you not better leave him to
fight out his bitter fight to the end?
GINA.
Oh, he can do that afterwards. First of all, we must get the child
quieted.
[_Goes out by the passage door._
HEDVIG.
[_Sits up and dries her tears._] Now you must tell me what all this
means. Why doesn’t father want me any more?
GREGERS.
You mustn’t ask that till you are a big girl—quite grown-up.
HEDVIG.
[_Sobs._] But I can’t go on being as miserable as this till I'm
grown-up.—I think I know what it is.—Perhaps I'm not really father’s
child.
GREGERS.
[_Uneasily._] How could _that_ be?
HEDVIG.
Mother might have found me. And perhaps father has just got to know it;
I've read of such things.
GREGERS.
Well, but if it were so——
HEDVIG.
I think he might be just as fond of me for all that. Yes, fonder almost.
We got the wild duck in a present, you know, and I love it so dearly all
the same.
GREGERS.
[_Turning the conversation._] Ah, the wild duck, by-the-bye! Let us talk
about the wild duck a little, HEDVIG.
HEDVIG.
The poor wild duck! He doesn’t want to see it any more either. Only
think, he wanted to wring its neck!
GREGERS.
Oh, he won’t do that.
HEDVIG.
No; but he said he would like to. And I think it was horrid of father to
say it; for I pray for the wild duck every night, and ask that it may be
preserved from death and all that is evil.
GREGERS.
[_Looking at her._] Do you say your prayers every night?
HEDVIG.
Yes.
GREGERS.
Who taught you to do that?
HEDVIG.
I myself; one time when father was very ill, and had leeches on his
neck, and said that death was staring him in the face.
GREGERS.
Well?
HEDVIG.
Then I prayed for him as I lay in bed; and since then I have always kept
it up.
GREGERS.
And now you pray for the wild duck too?
HEDVIG.
I thought it was best to bring in the wild duck; for she was so weakly
at first.
GREGERS.
Do you pray in the morning, too?
HEDVIG.
No, of course not.
GREGERS.
Why not in the morning as well?
HEDVIG.
In the morning it’s light, you know, and there’s nothing in particular
to be afraid of.
GREGERS.
And your father was going to wring the neck of the wild duck that you
love so dearly?
HEDVIG.
No; he said he ought to wring its neck, but he would spare it for my
sake; and that was kind of father.
GREGERS.
[_Coming a little nearer._] But suppose you were to sacrifice the wild
duck of your own free will for _his_ sake.
HEDVIG.
[_Rising._] The wild duck!
GREGERS.
Suppose you were to make a free-will offering, for his sake, of the
dearest treasure you have in the world!
HEDVIG.
Do you think _that_ would do any good?
GREGERS.
Try it, Hedvig.
HEDVIG.
[_Softly, with flashing eyes._] Yes, I will try it.
GREGERS.
Have you really the courage for it, do you think?
HEDVIG.
I'll ask grandfather to shoot the wild duck for me.
GREGERS.
Yes, do. But not a word to your mother about it.
HEDVIG.
Why not?
GREGERS.
She doesn’t understand us.
HEDVIG.
The wild duck! I'll try it to-morrow morning!
[GINA _comes in by the passage door._
HEDVIG.
[_Going towards her._] Did you find him, mother?
GINA.
No, but I heard as he had called and taken Relling with him.
GREGERS.
Are you sure of that?
GINA.
Yes, the porter’s wife said so. Molvik went with them too, she said.
GREGERS.
This evening, when his mind so sorely needs to wrestle in solitude——!
GINA.
[_Takes off her things._] Yes, men are strange creatures, so they are.
The Lord only knows where Relling has dragged him to! I ran over to
Madam Eriksen’s, but they weren’t _there_.
HEDVIG.
[_Struggling to keep back her tears._] Oh, if he should never come home
any more!
GREGERS.
He _will_ come home again. I shall have news to give him to-morrow; and
then you shall see _how_ he comes home. You may rely upon that, Hedvig,
and sleep in peace. Good-night.
[_He goes out by the passage door._
HEDVIG.
[_Throws herself sobbing on_ GINA’S _neck._] Mother, mother!
GINA.
[_Pats her shoulder and sighs._] Ah yes; Relling was right, he was.
That’s what comes of it when crazy creatures go about presenting the
claims of the—what-you-may-call-it.
ACT FIFTH.
HIALMAR EKDAL’S _studio. Cold, grey, morning light. Wet snow lies upon
the large panes of the sloping roof-window._
GINA _comes from the kitchen with an apron and bib on, and carrying a
dusting-brush and a duster; she goes towards the sitting-room
door. At the same moment_ HEDVIG _comes hurriedly in from the
passage._
GINA.
[_Stops._] Well?
HEDVIG.
Oh, mother, I almost think he’s down at Relling’s——
GINA.
There, you see!
HEDVIG.
——because the porter’s wife says she could hear that Relling had two
people with him when he came home last night.
GINA.
That’s just what I thought.
HEDVIG.
But it’s no use his being there, if he won’t come up to us.
GINA.
I'll go down and speak to him at all events.
OLD EKDAL, _in dressing-gown and slippers, and with a lighted
pipe, appears at the door of his room._
EKDAL.
Hialmar—— Isn’t Hialmar at home?
GINA.
No, he’s gone out.
EKDAL.
So early? And in such a tearing snowstorm? Well well; just as he
pleases; I can take my morning walk alone.
[_He slides the garret door aside;_ HEDVIG _helps him; he goes
in; she closes it after him._
HEDVIG.
[_In an undertone._] Only think, mother, when poor grandfather hears
that father is going to leave us.
GINA.
Oh, nonsense; grandfather mustn’t hear anything about it. It was a
heaven’s mercy he wasn’t at home yesterday in all that hurly-burly.
HEDVIG.
Yes, but——
[GREGERS _comes in by the passage door._
GREGERS.
Well, have you any news of him?
GINA.
They say he’s down at Relling’s.
GREGERS.
At Relling’s! Has he really been out with those creatures?
GINA.
Yes, like enough.
GREGERS.
When he ought to have been yearning for solitude, to collect and clear
his thoughts——
GINA.
Yes, you may well say so.
RELLING _enters from the passage._
HEDVIG.
[_Going to him._] Is father in your room?
GINA.
[_At the same time._] Is he there?
RELLING.
Yes, to be sure he is.
HEDVIG.
And you never let us know!
RELLING.
Yes; I'm a brute. But in the first place I had to look after the other
brute; I mean our dæmonic friend, of course; and then I fell so dead
asleep that——
GINA.
What does Ekdal say to-day?
RELLING.
He says nothing whatever.
HEDVIG.
Doesn’t he speak?
RELLING.
Not a blessed word.
GREGERS.
No no; I can understand that very well.
GINA.
But what’s he doing then?
RELLING.
He’s lying on the sofa, snoring.
GINA.
Oh is he? Yes, Ekdal’s a rare one to snore.
HEDVIG.
Asleep? Can he sleep?
RELLING.
Well, it certainly looks like it.
GREGERS.
No wonder, after the spiritual conflict that has rent him——
GINA.
And then he’s never been used to gadding about out of doors at night.
HEDVIG.
Perhaps it’s a good thing that he’s getting some sleep, mother.
GINA.
Of course it is; and we must take care we don’t wake him up too early.
Thank you, RELLING. I must get the house cleaned up a bit now, and
then—— Come and help me, Hedvig.
[GINA _and_ HEDVIG _go into the sitting-room._
GREGERS.
[_Turning to RELLING._] What is your explanation of the spiritual tumult
that is now going on in Hialmar Ekdal?
RELLING.
Devil a bit of a spiritual tumult have _I_ noticed in him.
GREGERS.
What! Not at such a crisis, when his whole life has been placed on a new
foundation——? How can you think that such an individuality as
Hialmar’s——?
RELLING.
Oh, individuality—he! If he ever had any tendency to the abnormal
developments you call individuality, I can assure you it was rooted out
of him while he was still in his teens.
GREGERS.
That would be strange indeed,—considering the loving care with which he
was brought up.
RELLING.
By those two high-flown, hysterical maiden aunts, you mean?
GREGERS.
Let me tell you that they were women who never forgot the claim of the
ideal—but of course you will only jeer at me again.
RELLING.
No, I'm in no humour for that. I know all about those ladies; for he has
ladled out no end of rhetoric on the subject of his “two soul-mothers.”
But I don’t think he has much to thank them for. Ekdal’s misfortune is
that in his own circle he has always been looked upon as a shining
light——
GREGERS.
Not without reason, surely. Look at the depth of his mind!
RELLING.
_I_ have never discovered it. That his father believed in it I don’t so
much wonder; the old lieutenant has been an ass all his days.
GREGERS.
He has had a child-like mind all his days; that is what you cannot
understand.
RELLING.
Well, so be it. But then, when our dear, sweet Hialmar went to college,
he at once passed for the great light of the future amongst his comrades
too! He was handsome, the rascal—red and white—a shop-girl’s dream of
manly beauty; and with his superficially emotional temperament, and his
sympathetic voice, and his talent for declaiming other people’s verses
and other people’s thoughts——
GREGERS.
[_Indignantly._] Is it Hialmar Ekdal you are talking about in this
strain?
RELLING.
Yes, with your permission; I am simply giving you an inside view of the
idol you are grovelling before.
GREGERS.
I should hardly have thought I was quite stone blind.
RELLING.
Yes you are—or not far from it. You are a sick man, too, you see.
GREGERS.
You are right there.
RELLING.
Yes. Yours is a complicated case. First of all there is that plaguy
integrity-fever; and then—what’s worse—you are always in a delirium of
hero-worship; you must always have something to adore, outside yourself.
GREGERS.
Yes, I must certainly seek it outside myself.
RELLING.
But you make such shocking mistakes about every new phœnix you think you
have discovered. Here again you have come to a cotter’s cabin with your
claim of the ideal; and the people of the house are insolvent.
GREGERS.
If you don’t think better than that of Hialmar Ekdal, what pleasure can
you find in being everlastingly with him?
RELLING.
Well, you see, I'm supposed to be a sort of a doctor—save the mark! I
can’t but give a hand to the poor sick folk who live under the same roof
with me.
GREGERS.
Oh, indeed! Hialmar Ekdal is sick too, is he!
RELLING.
Most people are, worse luck.
GREGERS.
And what remedy are you applying in Hialmar’s case?
RELLING.
My usual one. I am cultivating the life-illusion[19] in him.
GREGERS.
Life—illusion? I didn’t catch what you said.
RELLING.
Yes, I said illusion. For illusion, you know, is the stimulating
principle.
GREGERS.
May I ask with what illusion Hialmar is inoculated?
RELLING.
No, thank you; I don’t betray professional secrets to quacksalvers. You
would probably go and muddle his case still more than you have already.
But my method is infallible. I have applied it to Molvik as well. I have
made him “dæmonic.” That’s the blister I have to put on his neck.
GREGERS.
Is he not really dæmonic then?
RELLING.
What the devil do you mean by dæmonic! It’s only a piece of gibberish
I've invented to keep up a spark of life in him. But for that, the poor
harmless creature would have succumbed to self-contempt and despair many
a long year ago. And then the old lieutenant! But he has hit upon his
own cure, you see.
GREGERS.
Lieutenant Ekdal? What of him?
RELLING.
Just think of the old bear-hunter shutting himself up in that dark
garret to shoot rabbits! I tell you there is not a happier sportsman in
the world than that old man pottering about in there among all that
rubbish. The four or five withered Christmas-trees he has saved up are
the same to him as the whole great fresh Höidal forest; the cock and the
hens are big game-birds in the fir-tops; and the rabbits that flop about
the garret floor are the bears he has to battle with—the mighty hunter
of the mountains!
GREGERS.
Poor unfortunate old man! Yes; he has indeed had to narrow the ideals of
his youth.
RELLING.
While I think of it, Mr. Werle, junior—don’t use that foreign word:
ideals. We have the excellent native word: lies.
GREGERS.
Do you think the two things are related?
RELLING.
Yes, just about as closely as typhus and putrid fever.
GREGERS.
Dr. Relling, I shall not give up the struggle until I have rescued
Hialmar from your clutches!
RELLING.
So much the worse for him. Rob the average man of his life-illusion, and
you rob him of his happiness at the same stroke. [_To HEDVIG, who comes
in from the sitting-room._] Well, little wild-duck-mother, I'm just
going down to see whether papa is still lying meditating upon that
wonderful invention of his.
[_Goes out by the passage door._
GREGERS.
[_Approaches HEDVIG._] I can see by your face that you have not yet done
it.
HEDVIG.
What? Oh, that about the wild duck! No.
GREGERS.
I suppose your courage failed when the time came.
HEDVIG.
No, that wasn’t it. But when I awoke this morning and remembered what we
had been talking about, it seemed so strange.
GREGERS.
Strange?
HEDVIG.
Yes, I don’t know——. Yesterday evening, at the moment, I thought there
was something so delightful about it; but since I have slept and thought
of it again, it somehow doesn’t seem worth while.
GREGERS.
Ah, I thought you could not have grown up quite unharmed in this house.
HEDVIG.
I don’t care about that, if only father would come up——
GREGERS.
Oh, if only your eyes had been opened to that which gives life its
value—if you possessed the true, joyous, fearless spirit of sacrifice,
you would soon see _how_ he would come up to you.—But I believe in you
still, Hedvig.
[_He goes out by the passage door._
[HEDVIG _wanders about the room for a time; she is on the
point of going into the kitchen when a knock is heard at the
garret door._ HEDVIG _goes over and opens it a little; old_
EKDAL _comes out; she pushes the door to again._
EKDAL.
H'm, it’s not much fun to take one’s morning walk alone.
HEDVIG.
Wouldn’t you like to go shooting, grandfather?
EKDAL.
It’s not the weather for it to-day. It’s so dark there, you can scarcely
see where you’re going.
HEDVIG.
Do you never want to shoot anything besides the rabbits?
EKDAL.
Do you think the rabbits aren’t good enough?
HEDVIG.
Yes, but what about the wild duck?
EKDAL.
Ho-ho! are you afraid I shall shoot your wild duck? Never in the world.
Never.
HEDVIG.
No, I suppose you couldn’t; they say it’s very difficult to shoot wild
ducks.
EKDAL.
Couldn’t! Should rather think I could.
HEDVIG.
How would you set about it, grandfather?—I don’t mean with my wild duck,
but with others?
EKDAL.
I should take care to shoot them in the breast, you know; that’s the
surest place. And then you must shoot against the feathers, you see—not
the way of the feathers.
HEDVIG.
Do they die then, grandfather?
EKDAL.
Yes, they die right enough—when you shoot properly. Well, I must go and
brush up a bit. H'm—understand—h’m. _Goes into his room._
[HEDVIG _waits a little, glances towards the sitting-room door,
goes over to the book-case, stands on tip-toe, takes the
double-barrelled pistol down from the shelf, and looks at
it._ GINA, _with brush and duster, comes from the
sitting-room._ HEDVIG _hastily lays down the pistol,
unobserved._
GINA.
Don’t stand raking amongst father’s things, Hedvig.
HEDVIG.
[_Goes away from the bookcase._] I was only going to tidy up a little.
GINA.
You’d better go into the kitchen, and see if the coffee’s keeping hot;
I'll take his breakfast on a tray, when I go down to him.
[HEDVIG _goes out._ GINA _begins to sweep and clean up the
studio. Presently the passage door is opened with
hesitation, and_ HIALMAR EKDAL _looks in. He has on his
overcoat, but not his hat; he is unwashed, and his hair is
dishevelled and unkempt. His eyes are dull and heavy._
GINA.
[_Standing with the brush in her hand, and looking at him._] Oh, there
now, Ekdal—so you’ve come after all?
HIALMAR.
[_Comes in and answers in a toneless voice._] I come—only to depart
again immediately.
GINA.
Yes, yes, I suppose so. But, Lord help us! what a sight you are!
HIALMAR.
A sight?
GINA.
And your nice winter coat too! Well, that’s done for.
HEDVIG.
[_At the kitchen door._] Mother, hadn’t I better——? [_Sees HIALMAR,
gives a loud scream of joy, and runs to him._] Oh, father, father!
HIALMAR.
[_Turns away and makes a gesture of repulsion._] Away, away, away! [_To
GINA._] Keep her away from me, I say!
GINA.
[_In a low tone._] Go into the sitting-room, Hedvig.
[HEDVIG _does so without a word._
HIALMAR.
[_Fussily pulls out the table-drawer._] I must have my books with me.
Where are my books?
GINA.
Which books?
HIALMAR.
My scientific books, of course; the technical magazines I require for my
invention.
GINA.
[_Searches in the bookcase._] Is it these here paper-covered ones?
HIALMAR.
Yes, of course.
GINA.
[_Lays a heap of magazines on the table._] Shan’t I get Hedvig to cut
them for you?
HIALMAR.
I don’t require to have them cut for me.
[_Short silence._
GINA.
Then you’re still set on leaving us, Ekdal?
HIALMAR.
[_Rummaging amongst the books._] Yes, that is a matter of course, I
should think.
GINA.
Well, well.
HIALMAR.
[_Vehemently._] How can I live here, to be stabbed to the heart every
hour of the day?
GINA.
God forgive you for thinking such vile things of me.
HIALMAR.
Prove——!
GINA.
I think it’s _you_ as has got to prove.
HIALMAR.
After a past like yours? There are certain claims—I may almost call them
claims of the ideal——
GINA.
But what about grandfather? What’s to become of _him_, poor dear?
HIALMAR.
I know my duty; my helpless father will come with me. I am going out
into the town to make arrangements——. H'm—[_hesitatingly_] has any one
found my hat on the stairs?
GINA.
No. Have you lost your hat?
HIALMAR.
Of course I had it on when I came in last night; there’s no doubt about
that; but I couldn’t find it this morning.
GINA.
Lord help us! where _have_ you been to with those two ne’er-do-weels?
HIALMAR.
Oh, don’t bother me about trifles. Do you suppose I am in the mood to
remember details?
GINA.
If only you haven’t caught cold, Ekdal.
[_Goes out into the kitchen._
HIALMAR.
[_Talks to himself in a low tone of irritation, whilst he empties the
table-drawer._] You’re a scoundrel, Relling!—You’re a low fellow!—Ah,
you shameless tempter!—I wish I could get some one to stick a knife into
you!
[_He lays some old letters on one side, finds the torn document
of yesterday, takes it up and looks at the pieces; puts it
down hurriedly as_ GINA _enters._
GINA.
[_Sets a tray with coffee, etc., on the table._] Here’s a drop of
something hot, if you’d fancy it. And there’s some bread and butter and
a snack of salt meat.
HIALMAR.
[_Glancing at the tray._] Salt meat? Never under this roof! It’s true I
have not had a mouthful of solid food for nearly twenty-four hours; but
no matter.—My memoranda! The commencement of my autobiography! What has
become of my diary, and all my important papers? [_Opens the
sitting-room door but draws back._] She is there too!
GINA.
Good Lord! the child must be _somewhere_!
HIALMAR.
Come out.
[_He makes room,_ HEDVIG _comes, scared, into the studio._
HIALMAR.
[_With his hand upon the door-handle, says to_ GINA:] In these, the last
moments I spend in my former home, I wish to be spared from
interlopers——
[_Goes into the room._
HEDVIG.
[_With a bound towards her mother, asks softly, trembling._] Does that
mean me?
GINA.
Stay out in the kitchen, Hedvig; or, no—you’d best go into your own
room. [_Speaks to_ HIALMAR _as she goes in to him._] Wait a bit, Ekdal;
don’t rummage so in the drawers; _I_ know where everything is.
HEDVIG.
[_Stands a moment immovable, in terror and perplexity, biting her lips
to keep back the tears; then she clenches her hands convulsively, and
says softly_:] The wild duck.
[_She steals over and takes the pistol from the shelf, opens the
garret door a little way, creeps in, and draws the door to
after her._
[HIALMAR _and_ GINA _can be heard disputing in the
sitting-room._
HIALMAR.
[_Comes in with some manuscript books and old loose papers, which he
lays upon the table._] That portmanteau is of no use! There are a
thousand and one things I must drag with me.
GINA.
[_Following with the portmanteau._] Why not leave all the rest for the
present, and only take a shirt and a pair of woollen drawers with you?
HIALMAR.
Whew!—all these exhausting preparations——!
[_Pulls off his overcoat and throws it upon the sofa._
GINA.
And there’s the coffee getting cold.
HIALMAR.
H'm.
[_Drinks a mouthful without thinking of it, and then another._
GINA.
[_Dusting the backs of the chairs._] A nice job you’ll have to find such
another big garret for the rabbits.
HIALMAR.
What! Am I to drag all those rabbits with me too?
GINA.
You don’t suppose grandfather can get on without his rabbits.
HIALMAR.
He must just get used to doing without them. Have not _I_ to sacrifice
very much greater things than rabbits!
GINA.
[_Dusting the bookcase._] Shall I put the flute in the portmanteau for
you?
HIALMAR.
No. No flute for me. But give me the pistol!
GINA.
Do you want to take the pigstol with you?
HIALMAR.
Yes. My loaded pistol.
GINA.
[_Searching for it._] It’s gone. He must have taken it in with him.
HIALMAR.
Is he in the garret?
GINA.
Yes, of course he’s in the garret.
HIALMAR.
H'm—poor lonely old man.
[_He takes a piece of bread and butter, eats it, and finishes
his cup of coffee._
GINA.
If we hadn’t have let that room, you could have moved in there.
HIALMAR.
And continued to live under the same roof with——! Never,—never!
GINA.
But couldn’t you put up with the sitting-room for a day or two? You
could have it all to yourself.
HIALMAR.
Never within these walls!
GINA.
Well then, down with Relling and Molvik.
HIALMAR.
Don’t mention those wretches' names to me! The very thought of them
almost takes away my appetite.—Oh no, I must go out into the storm and
the snow-drift,—go from house to house and seek shelter for my father
and myself.
GINA.
But you’ve got no hat, Ekdal! You’ve been and lost your hat, you know.
HIALMAR.
Oh those two brutes, those slaves of all the vices! A hat must be
procured. [_Takes another piece of bread and butter._] Some arrangement
must be made. For I have no mind to throw away my life, either.
[_Looks for something on the tray._
GINA.
What are you looking for?
HIALMAR.
Butter.
GINA.
I'll get some at once. _Goes out into the kitchen._
HIALMAR.
[_Calls after her._] Oh it doesn’t matter; dry bread is good enough for
me.
GINA.