ACT V._The wild duck

[HJALMAR EKDAL’S _studio. Cold gray morning light. Wet snow on the

great panes of the sky-light._ GINA, _in an apron and bib, with

a broom and duster in her hand comes from the kitchen and goes

towards the door of the sitting-room. At the same time_ HEDVIG

_comes in hurriedly at the entrance-door_.]

GINA (_stopping_). Well?

HEDVIG. Oh, mother, I almost believe he’s down at Relling’s----

GINA. There, you see!

HEDVIG. For the porter’s wife said she could hear that Relling had two

people with him when he came home in the night.

GINA. That’s just what I thought.

HEDVIG. But that’s no good if he won’t come up to us.

GINA. At any rate I’ll go down and speak to him.

OLD EKDAL _in dressing-gown and slippers, and with a lighted pipe

comes in by the door of his room_.

EKDAL. I say, Hjalmar---- Isn’t Hjalmar at home?

GINA. No, he’s gone out.

EKDAL. So early? And in such a heavy snow-storm? Well, well, give me a

hand, please, I can go the morning rounds alone.

_He pushes aside the door of the loft_, HEDVIG _helps him; he goes

in, she closes the door after him_.

HEDVIG (_in a low voice_). Oh, think, mother, when poor grandfather

hears that father is going away from us.

GINA. Oh, nonsense! Grandfather mustn’t hear anything about it. It’s a

mercy he wasn’t at home yesterday during all that hullaballoo.

HEDVIG. Yes, but----

GREGERS _comes in at the entrance door_.

GREGERS. Well? Have you found any trace of him?

GINA. They say he’s down at Relling’s.

GREGERS. At Relling’s! Has he really been out with those creatures?

GINA. He has like enough.

GREGERS. Yes, but he--so in need of solitude and of thorough

self-examination.

GINA. Yes, you may well say that.

RELLING _comes in from the passage_.

HEDVIG (_going up to him_). Is father with you?

GINA (_at the same time_). Is he there?

RELLING. Yes, of course he is.

HEDVIG. And you never told us!

RELLING. Yes, I’m a brute--but I had to get the other brute quiet

first--the dæmonic one, of course--and then I fell so sound asleep

that----

GINA. What does Ekdal say to-day?

RELLING. He doesn’t say anything whatever.

HEDVIG. Doesn’t he say anything?

RELLING. Not a blessed word.

GREGERS. No, no; I can well understand that.

GINA. But what’s he doing then?

RELLING. He’s lying on the sofa, snoring.

GINA. Really? Yes, Ekdal’s a great one to snore.

HEDVIG. Is he asleep? Can he sleep?

RELLING. Well, it looks like it.

GREGERS. Very natural after the spiritual strife that has torn him----

GINA. And especially as he’s not accustomed to knocking about at night.

HEDVIG. Perhaps it’s as well, mother, that father is able to sleep.

GINA. I think so, too. But now it’s not worth while for us to go and

wake him too soon. Thank you, anyhow, Relling. I must first tidy up the

rooms and then---- Come and help me, Hedvig.

GINA _and_ HEDVIG _go into the sitting-room_.

GREGERS (_turning to_ RELLING). Can you explain to me the spiritual

turmoil now going on in Hjalmar Ekdal?

RELLING. Upon my soul I’ve not noticed any spiritual turmoil going on

in him.

GREGERS. What! At such a juncture, when a new foundation is being

laid for his whole life. Now, can you imagine that a man of Hjalmar’s

individuality----

RELLING. Oh! Individuality--he! If he ever had any tendencies to

the abnormal developments that you call individuality, they were

extirpated, root and branch, while he was yet a boy; I can assure you

of that.

GREGERS. That would be strange after the loving care with which he was

brought up.

RELLING. You mean by those two affected, hysterical maiden aunts?

GREGERS. I may tell you they were women who never lost sight of the

claims of the ideal--ah! you’ll gibe at me again, I suppose?

RELLING. No, I’m in no humor for that. Moreover, I know it all,

for he has poured forth any amount of rhetoric about his “two

spiritual-mothers.” But I don’t think he has much to thank them for. It

is Ekdal’s misfortune that in his circle he has always been taken for a

shining light----

GREGERS. And isn’t he one? In depth of soul I mean.

RELLING. I’ve never noticed anything of the sort. That his father

should have believed this--well and good; for the old lieutenant has

been a blockhead all his life.

GREGERS. All his life he has been a man with a child-like mind--_that_

is what you can not understand.

RELLING. Tut, tut! But as soon as the dear, sweet Hjalmar went to

college, his fellow students instantly took him for the coming man. He

was good looking, the rascal--red and white--just the sort of thing to

delight a school girl--and as he had that mobile temperament and that

sympathetic voice, and was so clever at declaiming the verses and ideas

of others----

GREGERS (_indignantly_). Is it of Hjalmar Ekdal you are speaking like

this?

RELLING. Yes, with your permission; that’s how the idol before which

you lie prostrate, looks from within.

GREGERS. Yet I don’t think I am altogether blind either.

RELLING. Oh! you’re not so very far from it. For you are a sick man

too, you see.

GREGERS. There you are right.

RELLING. Exactly. You are suffering from a complicated complaint.

First, there’s that troublesome virtue-fever; and what’s worse, you’re

always working yourself up into a delirium of hero-worship. You must

always have something to admire outside yourself.

GREGERS. Yes, indeed, I must seek it outside myself.

RELLING. But you make such woeful blunders about the mighty paragons

you think you see and hear about you. Here you’ve been visiting a

farmer’s cottage again with your claims of the ideal; but the people in

this house aren’t solvent.

GREGERS. If you haven’t a better opinion of Hjalmar Ekdal than that,

what pleasure can you find in being so constantly in his company?

RELLING. Good heavens, I’m ashamed to say I’m supposed to be a sort

of a kind of doctor, and so I must look after the poor diseased folk

living in the same house.

GREGERS. Indeed! Is Hjalmar Ekdal diseased, too?

RELLING. Most people are, unfortunately.

GREGERS. And what remedy are you applying to Hjalmar?

RELLING. My usual one. I take care to keep up his life-lie.

GREGERS. The life--lie? Did I hear correctly?

RELLING. Yes, I said life-lie. For the life-lie is the stimulating

principle, you see.

GREGERS. May I ask with what sort of a life-lie Hjalmar is infected?

RELLING. No, thanks, I don’t betray such secrets to quacks. You’d be

quite capable of muddling him up even more for me. But the method is

infallible. I’ve applied it to Molvik, too. I’ve made him “dæmonic.”

That’s the phantasy I’ve had to put into _his_ head.

GREGERS. Then he’s not dæmonic?

RELLING. What the devil does it mean to be dæmonic? That’s only the

gammon I invented to keep him going. If I’d not done that the poor,

inoffensive fellow would have succumbed to self-contempt and despair

many a long year ago. And then the old lieutenant! But he really hit

upon his own cure.

GREGERS. Lieutenant Ekdal? What of him?

RELLING. Yes, think of it, he, the bear-hunter, goes into that gloomy

loft and hunts rabbits! There’s not a sportsman on earth happier than

that old man, when he’s bustling about in there with all that rubbish.

The four or five withered Christmas trees that he stored up there are

to him the same as the whole of the great, fresh Hojdal forest; the

cock and the hens are to him game perched on the top of fir trees, and

the rabbits hopping about the floor of the loft, they are the bears he

grapples with, he, the hardy old hunter.

GREGERS. Unfortunate old Lieutenant Ekdal, yes. He certainly has had to

modify the ideals of his youth.

RELLING. But, by the way, Mr. Werle, junior--don’t use that foreign

word “ideals.” We’ve as good a word, “lies.”

GREGERS. Do you think the two things are akin, then?

RELLING. Yes, much as typhus and putrescent fever are.

GREGERS. Doctor Relling, I shall not rest content until I have rescued

Hjalmar from your clutches!

RELLING. That would be worst for _him_. If you take away the average

man’s life-lie you take away his happiness at the same time. (_To_

HEDVIG, _who comes in from the sitting-room_.) Well, little mother of

the wild duck. I’m going down now to see if our father’s still lying

there pondering on that wonderful invention.

_He goes out at the entrance door._

GREGERS (_approaching_ HEDVIG). I can see from your face that it’s not

yet done.

HEDVIG. What? Oh! that about the wild duck. No.

GREGERS. I suppose your strength of mind failed you when it came to the

point.

HEDVIG. No, it’s not that exactly. But when I woke up early this

morning and thought over what we’d talked about, it seemed to me that

it was so strange.

GREGERS. Strange?

HEDVIG. Yes, I don’t know---- Yesterday evening, directly after, I

thought there was something so beautiful about it; but after I’d been

to sleep and thought it over again, there seemed to be nothing in it.

GREGERS. Ah no! I suppose you couldn’t have grown up here without some

falling off.

HEDVIG. That doesn’t matter, if only father would come up, I----

GREGERS. Ah! If only your eyes had been really opened to that which

makes life of value--if you had the real, joyous, brave spirit of

sacrifice you would soon see that he would come up to you---- But I

still have faith in you, Hedvig.

_He goes out at the entrance door._ HEDVIG _walks about the room; she

is going into the kitchen when there is a knock at the door of

the loft_. HEDVIG _goes and opens it a little_, OLD EKDAL _comes

out, she pushes the door to again_.

EKDAL. H’m. There’s not much fun in going the morning rounds alone.

HEDVIG. Didn’t you want to go hunting, grandfather?

EKDAL. Not the weather to-day for hunting. So dark there; you can

hardly see your hand before your face.

HEDVIG. Haven’t you ever felt inclined to shoot at something besides

the rabbits.

EKDAL. Aren’t the rabbits good enough, eh?

HEDVIG. Yes, but the wild duck?

EKDAL. Ha, ha! Are you afraid I shall shoot your wild duck? Not for the

world, never.

HEDVIG. No, I suppose you couldn’t; for they say it’s very difficult to

shoot wild ducks.

EKDAL. Couldn’t? Should think I could.

HEDVIG. How would you set about it, grandfather--I don’t mean with _my_

wild duck, but with another one?

EKDAL. Would take care to shoot it under the breast, you know, for

that’s the safest. And then you must shoot _against_ the feathers, you

see, not _with_ the feathers.

HEDVIG. And then they die, grandfather?

EKDAL. Yes, of course, if you shoot properly. Well, now I must go in

and get myself up. H’m--you understand--h’m. (_He goes into his room._)

HEDVIG _waits for a moment, glances at the door of the sitting-room;

goes back to the book-case, stands on tip-toe, takes down the

double-barreled pistol from the shelf and looks at it_. GINA

_with broom and duster comes in from the sitting-room_. HEDVIG

_hurriedly and unnoticed puts away the pistol_.

GINA. Don’t stand there rummaging among your father’s things, Hedvig.

HEDVIG (_going away from the book-case_). I was only tidying it up.

GINA. You’d better go into the kitchen and see if the coffee’s keeping

hot; I’ll take the breakfast tray with me when I go down to him.

HEDVIG _goes out_; GINA _begins sweeping and dusting the studio.

After a while the entrance-door is open hesitatingly, and_

HJALMAR EKDAL _looks in. He has on his overcoat, but no hat, he

is unwashed, and his hair is tumbled and disheveled; his eyes are

dull and lusterless._

GINA (_stands still with the broom in her hand and looks at him_). Ah!

Ekdal, so you’ve come after all?

HJALMAR (_comes in and answers in a hollow voice_). I have come--only

to depart at once.

GINA. Yes, yes, so I suppose. But, good Lord! what a sight you do look!

HJALMAR. A sight?

GINA. And your good winter-coat, too! Well, that’s done for.

HEDVIG (_at the kitchen door_). Mother, hadn’t I better---- (_She sees_

HJALMAR, _cries out with delight, and runs towards him_.) Oh! Father,

father!

HJALMAR (_turns from her, and waives her off_.) Away, away, away! (_To_

GINA.) Take her away from me, I say!

GINA (_in a low voice_). Go into the sitting-room, Hedvig.

HEDVIG _goes in silently_.

HJALMAR (_busy pulling out the table-drawer_). I must have my

books--where are my books?

GINA. What books?

HJALMAR. My scientific works, of course--the technical periodicals,

that I need for my invention.

GINA (_searching in the book-case_). Are these the ones without any

covers?

HJALMAR. Of course they are.

GINA (_putting a heap of magazines on the table_). Hadn’t I better tell

Hedvig to cut them for you?

HJALMAR. They need not be cut for me.

_A short pause._

GINA. Then you’re still determined to leave us, Ekdal?

HJALMAR (_running over the books_). Surely that’s self understood.

GINA. Very well.

HJALMAR (_fiercely_). For I can’t stop here to have my heart pierced

every hour of the day!

GINA. God forgive you, for thinking so poorly of me.

HJALMAR. Prove----

GINA. I think it’s for _you_ to prove.

HJALMAR. After a past such as yours? There are certain demands--I am

tempted to call them ideal demands----

GINA. But about grandfather? What’s to become of him, poor old fellow?

HJALMAR. I know my duty; the helpless old man goes with me. I will

go into the town and make arrangements---- H’m (_hesitatingly_). Has

anyone found my hat on the stairs?

GINA. No. Have you lost it?

HJALMAR. Of course I had it when I came home last night; there’s no

doubt about that; but I can’t find it this morning.

GINA. Good Lord! Where _did_ you go with those two ragamuffins?

HJALMAR. Ah! don’t question me on trivial matters. Do you think I am in

the mood to remember details?

GINA. So long as you’ve not taken cold, Ekdal----

_She goes into the kitchen._

HJALMAR (_speaking to himself in a low bitter voice whilst he empties

the drawer_). You’re a scamp, Relling! A rogue! Ah! shameless tempter!

If only I could get some one to kill you!

_He lays on one side a number of old letters, comes upon the torn

paper of the day before, takes it up and looks at the pieces. He

puts them down hurriedly when_ GINA _comes in_.

GINA (_putting a breakfast tray on the table_). Here’s some hot coffee,

if you should want it. And there’s some bread and butter too, and some

salt meat.

HJALMAR (_glancing at the tray_). Salt meat! Never beneath this roof!

It is true I’ve partaken of no solid food for four and twenty hours,

but no matter. My memoranda! The notes of my autobiography. Where’s my

diary and my important papers? (_He opens the door of the sitting-room,

but draws back._) She is there too!

GINA. Well, good Lord, the child must be somewhere.

HJALMAR. Go out.

_He stands aside._ HEDVIG _frightened comes into the studio_.

HJALMAR (_with his hand on the door handle to_ GINA). During the last

moments I am spending in what was once my home I wished to be spared

from interlopers.

_He goes into the room._

HEDVIG (_springing to her mother says in a low trembling voice_). Does

he mean me?

GINA. Stop in the kitchen, Hedvig; or no, you’d better go to your own

room. (_Speaking to_ HJALMAR _as she goes in to him_.) Wait a moment,

Ekdal, don’t upset those drawers, I know where all the things are.

HEDVIG (_stands still for a moment, frightened and irresolute,

biting her lips to keep back her tears, then she clenches her hands

convulsively and says in a low voice_). The wild duck!

_She steals to the book-case, and takes the pistol from the shelf,

just opens the door of the loft, slips in and closes the door

behind her._ HJALMAR _and_ GINA _begin discussing within the

sitting-room_.

HJALMAR (_comes in with several note books and loose papers, which he

puts down on the table_). Ah! what’s the good of the portmanteau! There

are a thousand things I’ve must drag about with me.

GINA (_following him with a portmanteau_). Why don’t you leave the rest

for a while, and take a shirt and a pair of drawers with you.

HJALMAR. Phew!--these wearisome preparations!

_He takes off his overcoat and throws it on the sofa._

GINA. And the coffee’s getting cold, too.

HJALMAR. H’m. (_Takes a mouthful--abstractedly, and then another._)

GINA (_dusting the backs of the chairs_). The most difficult thing will

be to find such a large loft for the rabbits.

HJALMAR. What! Must I drag all the rabbits about with me, too?

GINA. Yes, grandfather can’t do without the rabbits, I’m sure.

HJALMAR. He will have to get used to that. I have to renounce higher

things in life than rabbits.

GINA (_dusting the book-case_). Shall I put the flute into the

portmanteau for you?

HJALMAR. No. No flute for me. But give me the pistol.

GINA. Do you want to take the pigstol?

HJALMAR. Yes. My loaded pistol.

GINA (_looking for it_). It’s gone. He must have taken it in there with

him.

HJALMAR. Is he in the loft.

GINA. Of course he’s in the loft.

HJALMAR. H’m--the lonely old man.

_He takes a piece of bread and butter, eats it, and drinks the cup of

coffee._

GINA. If only we’d not let that room, you might have moved in there.

HJALMAR. I should remain under the same roof as----! Never, never!

GINA. But couldn’t you stop for a day or two in the sitting-room? You’d

have it all to yourself.

HJALMAR. Never within these walls!

GINA. Well, then, down stairs at Relling and Molvik’s?

HJALMAR. Don’t mention those creatures’ names. The mere thought of them

takes away my appetite. Ah, no! I must go from house to house seeking

shelter for father and myself.

GINA. But you’ve no hat, Ekdal, you’ve lost it.

HJALMAR. Oh! those two miscreants, so rich in all vices! I must get a

hat somehow. (_Takes another piece of bread and butter._) Something

must be done, for I can’t afford to risk my life. (_He looks for

something on the tray._)

GINA. What are you looking for.

HJALMAR. Butter.

GINA. I’ll get you some directly.

_She goes into the kitchen._

HJALMAR (_calls after her_). Oh! it doesn’t matter; dry bread will do

just as well.

GINA (_bringing in a butter-dish_). Here you are; it’s quite fresh.

_She pours him out another cup of coffee, he sits down on the sofa,

spreads more butter on his bread, and eats and drinks for a while

in silence._

HJALMAR. Could I--without being worried by anyone--no matter

whom--could I stop for a day or two in the sitting-room?

GINA. Yes, you could very well, if you would.

HJALMAR. For I can’t see any possibility of getting all father’s things

away at once.

GINA. And besides you must tell him first that you won’t go on living

with us.

HJALMAR (_pushing the cup of coffee from him_). That too! I shall have

to go into all this complicated business--I must reflect; I must have

breathing space; I can not bear all these burdens in one day.

GINA. Especially in such awful weather as it is outside.

HJALMAR (_putting away the letter from_ WERLE). I see the paper’s still

lying here.

GINA. Yes, I’ve not touched it.

HJALMAR. The rag doesn’t concern me----

GINA. I’m sure _I_ don’t intend making any use of it.

HJALMAR. ----but all the same there’s no need to throw it away----in

all the confusion of my moving it might so easily be----

GINA. I’ll take good care of it, Ekdal.

HJALMAR. The deed of gift belongs first and foremost to father; and it

is for him to say if he intends to make use of it.

GINA (_sighing_). Yes, poor old father----

HJALMAR. For safety’s sake---- Where’s the gum?

GINA (_going to the book-case_). Here’s the gum-pot.

HJALMAR. And the brush?

GINA. Here’s the brush. (_She brings him them._)

HJALMAR (_taking up a pair of scissors_). Just a bit of paper for

the back. (_Cuts and gums._) Far be it from me to lay hands upon the

property of others--and least of all upon that of a penniless old man.

No, nor upon that of anyone else. That’s it. Let it lie there for a

while. And when it’s dry put it away. I never want to set eyes on that

document again. Never!

GREGERS WERLE _comes in from the passage_.

GREGERS (_somewhat astonished_). What--are you sitting here, Hjalmar?

HJALMAR (_rising hurriedly_). I had sunk down from exhaustion.

GREGERS. You’ve had breakfast too, I see.

HJALMAR. Corporal needs make themselves felt at times.

GREGERS. What have you decided to do?

HJALMAR. For a man like me, there is but one way. I am busy just

getting my most important papers together. But, of course, you know

that takes time.

GINA (_somewhat impatiently_). Am I to get the room ready for you, or

am I to pack the portmanteau?

HJALMAR (_with a vexed side-glance at_ GREGERS). Pack--and get the room

ready!----

GINA (_taking up the portmanteau_). All right, then I’ll put in the

shirt and the other things.

_She goes into the sitting-room and shuts the door after her._

GREGERS (_after a short pause_). I never thought it would end like

this. Is it really necessary for you to leave house and home?

HJALMAR (_walking about uneasily_). What would you have me do? I

was not made to bear unhappiness, Gregers. I must have comfort, and

security, and peace about me.

GREGERS. But can’t you have that? Only try it. Now, it seems to me,

there is firm ground here to build upon--and begin from the beginning.

And remember you’ve the invention to live for.

HJALMAR. Don’t speak of the invention. Perhaps there’s nothing much in

it.

GREGERS. How so?

HJALMAR. Why, good heavens! What do you really want me to invent? Other

men have invented pretty well everything already. It is becoming more

difficult every day----

GREGERS. And you, who have worked so hard at it----

HJALMAR. It was that debauchee Relling, who made me take it up.

GREGERS. Relling?

HJALMAR. Yes, it was he who first called my attention to my aptitude

for making some remarkable discovery in photography.

GREGERS. Aha! it was Relling!

HJALMAR. Ah! I have been so intensely happy over this. Not so much for

the invention or for myself, but because Hedvig believed in it--with

all the strength and might of a child’s mind. That is to say I was fool

enough to persuade myself she believed in it.

GREGERS. Can you really believe that Hedvig would be false to you?

HJALMAR. Now I know what it all means. It is Hedvig who stands in my

way. She will blot out the sun from my whole life.

GREGERS. Hedvig! Do you mean Hedvig? How could she blot it out for you?

HJALMAR (_without answering_). I have loved that child beyond all

words. I was happy beyond all words whenever I returned to my poor

home, and she with her sweet little short-sighted eyes flew to meet

me. Confiding fool that I was! I cared for her beyond all words, and,

poet-like, I lulled myself in the delusion that she also cared for me

beyond all words.

GREGERS. And you say _that_ was only a delusion?

HJALMAR. How can I tell? I can’t get anything out of Gina. And besides,

she lacks all sense of the ideal side of these complications. But I

feel impelled to open my heart to you, Gregers. There is that terrible

doubt--perhaps Hedvig has never really and truly loved me.

GREGERS. You may yet have proof of that. (_Listening._) What is that?

The wild duck screaming?

HJALMAR. The wild duck’s quacking. Father’s in the loft.

GREGERS. It is he! (_His eyes brighten with pleasure._) I say again you

may yet have proof that poor, misunderstood Hedvig loves you!

HJALMAR. Ah! what proof can she give me! I dare not believe in any

protestations from that quarter.

GREGERS. Hedvig certainly does not know what deceit is.

HJALMAR. Ah! Gregers, that’s just what is not so certain. Who knows

what Gina and that Mrs. Sorby may have sat many a time here whispering

and tattling about? And Hedvig keeps her ears open, I can tell you.

Perhaps, the deed of gift wasn’t so unexpected after all. I fancy I

noticed something of the sort.

GREGERS. What has taken possession of you?

HJALMAR. My eyes have been opened. Watch, and you’ll see that the deed

of gift is but a beginning. Mrs. Sorby has always done a great deal for

Hedvig; and now it’s in her power to do what she likes for the child.

They can take her from me at any time and hour they choose.

GREGERS. Not for all the world would Hedvig go away from you.

HJALMAR. Don’t be so sure of that. Suppose they stood there with their

hands full, beckoning her---- Ah! I, who have loved her beyond all

words! I, who would have found my greatest joy in taking her tenderly

by the hand and guiding her as one guides a child frightened at the

darkness, through some wild desolate space! Now I feel the gnawing

certainty--the poor photographer in his attic-home has never been

anything wholly and completely to her. She has only been cunning enough

to keep on good terms with him until the right time should come.

GREGERS. You don’t believe this yourself, Hjalmar.

HJALMAR. That’s the terrible part of it, that I don’t know what to

believe--that I never shall know. But can you really doubt that it must

be as I say? Ha, ha!--You rely too much upon the claims of the ideal,

my good Gregers! If only the others came, with hands overflowing and

cried to the child “leave him, here with us life awaits you.”

GREGERS (_quickly_). Well, what then?

HJALMAR. If then I asked her: “Hedvig, are you willing to forego that

life for me?” (_Laughs mockingly._) No, thank you--you’d soon hear the

answer.

_A pistol shot is heard in the loft._

GREGERS (_loudly and gladly_). Hjalmar!

HJALMAR. There! Now he must needs go hunting.

GINA (_coming in_). Oh! Ekdal, I think grandfather’s a-firing away in

the loft by himself.

HJALMAR. I’ll look in.

GREGERS (_eagerly and moved_). One moment! Do you know what that was?

HJALMAR. Of course I do.

GREGERS. No, you do not. But I know it. It was the proof!

HJALMAR. What proof?

GREGERS. It was a child’s sacrifice. She has got your father to shoot

the wild duck.

HJALMAR. Shoot the wild duck!

GINA. Well, I never!

HJALMAR. But what for?

GREGERS. She wanted to sacrifice for you the best thing she had on

earth; for then she thought you might learn to love her again.

HJALMAR (_softly and with emotion_). Ah! the child!

GINA. What things she does get hold of.

GREGERS. She only wanted to win back your love, Hjalmar; she felt she

could not live with out it.

GINA (_struggling with her tears_). Now you see yourself, Ekdal.

HJALMAR. Gina, where is she?

GINA (_sniffling_). Poor child, I suppose she’s sitting out in the

kitchen.

HJALMAR (_goes to the kitchen door and opens it_). Hedvig--come! Come

in to me! (_Looking in._) No, she’s not here.

GINA. Then she’s sitting in her little room.

HJALMAR (_outside_). No, she’s not here either. (_Coming in._) She must

have gone out.

GINA. Yes, you know you wouldn’t have her about the house.

HJALMAR. Ah! if only she will return home soon--that I may really tell

her---- Now all shall be well, Gregers, for I believe now we can start

life afresh.

GREGERS (_quietly_). I knew it; I knew the regeneration would come

through the child.

OLD EKDAL _comes in from the door of his room; he is in full uniform,

and is busy buckling on his sword_.

HJALMAR (_astonished_). Father! Are you there?

GINA. Have you been shooting in your room?

EKDAL (_reproachfully, approaching_). So you go hunting by yourself,

Hjalmar?

HJALMAR (_anxiously and confused_). So it wasn’t you shooting in the

loft?

EKDAL. I shooting? H’m!

GREGERS (_cries out to_ HJALMAR). She has shot the wild duck herself!

HJALMAR. What is that! (_He rushes to the door of the loft, pushes it

aside, looks in and cries out._) Hedvig!

GINA (_running to the door_). Good God! What is it!

HJALMAR (_going in_). She is lying on the floor!

GREGERS. Hedvig lying on the floor! (_Going in to_ HJALMAR.)

GINA (_at the same time_). Hedvig! (_Goes in to the loft._) No, no, no!

EKDAL. Ha, ha! So she’s going in for shooting too?

HJALMAR, GINA _and_ GREGERS _carry_ HEDVIG _into the studio, her

right hand hangs down, holding the pistol, tightly clasped

between her fingers_.

HJALMAR (_distracted_). The pistol has gone off. She has wounded

herself. Call for help! Help!

GINA (_running into the passage and calling_). Relling! Relling! Doctor

Relling! Hurry up here as fast as you can!

HJALMAR _and_ GREGERS _lay_ HEDVIG _on the sofa_.

EKDAL (_quietly_). The woods avenge themselves.

HJALMAR (_on his knees by her_). She’ll come round directly. She’ll

come round directly; yes, yes, yes.

GINA (_who has come in again_). Where has she wounded herself? I can’t

see anything----

RELLING _enters hurriedly, and immediately after him_ MOLVIK, _who is

without waistcoat and collar, and has his coat open_.

RELLING. What’s the matter?

GINA. They say Hedvig has shot herself.

HJALMAR. Come here and help.

RELLING. Shot herself!

_He moves aside the table and begins to examine her._

HJALMAR (_lying on the floor looks anxiously at him_). Surely it’s not

dangerous? Eh, Relling! She’s hardly bleeding at all. Surely it’s not

dangerous?

RELLING. How did this happen?

HJALMAR. Ah! how should I know.

GINA. She wanted to shoot the wild duck.

RELLING. The wild duck.

HJALMAR. The pistol must have gone off.

RELLING. H’m. I see.

EKDAL. The woods avenge themselves. But I’m not afraid for all that.

_He goes into the loft, and closes it behind him._

HJALMAR. Well, Relling--why don’t you speak?

RELLING. She’s shot in the breast.

HJALMAR. Yes, but she’ll come round.

RELLING. Surely you see that Hedvig is dead.

GINA (_bursting into tears_). Oh! the child, the child!

GREGERS (_hoarsely_). In the depths of the ocean----

HJALMAR (_springing up_). No, no, she _must_ live! Ah! For God’s sake,

Relling--only one moment--only till I shall have told her how I loved

her beyond all words all the time.

RELLING. She’s shot through the breast. Bleeding inwardly. She must

have died on the spot.

HJALMAR. And I, who drove her from me like a wild animal! And scared,

she crept into the loft and died for love of me. (_Sobbing._)

Never to be able to make that good again! Never to be able to tell

her!---- (_Clenching his hands and crying out._) Oh! Thou who art

above!--If Thou _art_ there! Why hast Thou done this to me!

GINA. Hush, hush! you must not say such wicked things. We had no right

to keep her, I suppose.

MOLVIK. The child is not dead; she sleepeth.

RELLING. Bosh!

HJALMAR (_quieting down, he goes to the sofa and looks at_ HEDVIG _with

folded arms_). There she lies so stiff and still.

RELLING (_trying to take the pistol from her hand_). She’s holding it

so tight, so tight.

GINA. No, no, Relling; don’t break her fingers, let the pigstol be.

HJALMAR. She shall take it with her.

GINA. Yes, leave it here. But the child shall not lie here to be made a

show of. She shall go by herself into her own little room. Help me with

her, Ekdal.

HJALMAR _and_ GINA _take up_ HEDVIG _between them_.

HJALMAR (_as they are carrying her_). Oh! Gina, Gina. Can you bear it!

GINA. One of us must help the other. For she belongs to both of us

_now_, I know.

MOLVIK (_stretching out his arms and murmuring_). Praised be the Lord;

to earth shalt thou return, to earth shalt thou return----

RELLING (_whispers_). Hold your row, man, you’re drunk.

HJALMAR _and_ GINA _carry out the dead body at the kitchen door_;

RELLING _closes it after them_; MOLVIK _slinks out through the

passage_.

RELLING (_goes up to_ GREGERS). Nothing’ll ever make me believe that

shot was an accident.

GREGERS (_who has been standing horror stricken shuddering

convulsively_). No one can say how this terrible thing happened.

RELLING. The powder has singed her dress. She must have put the pistol

straight to her breast and fired.

GREGERS. Hedvig has not died in vain. Did you see how grief set free

all that is noble in him?

RELLING. Most people are ennobled when they stand sorrowing by the

dead. But how long do you suppose this fine feeling will last with him?

GREGERS. It will last and grow all his life through!

RELLING. In three-quarters of a year little Hedvig will be nothing more

to him than an excellent theme for declamation.

GREGERS. And you dare to say this of Hjalmar Ekdal?

RELLING. We’ll talk about it again when the first grass has withered

upon her grave. Then you’ll hear him perorating about “the father’s

heart bereft too soon of it’s child,” then you’ll see him steeping

himself in emotion and in self-admiration, and self-pity. Wait and see!

GREGERS. If you are right, and I am wrong, then life is not worth

living.

RELLING. Ah! life might be pleasant enough all the same, if only we

could be left in peace by those blessed duns who come worrying us poor

folk about the claims of the ideal.

GREGERS (_looking in front of him_). At any rate I am glad that my

destiny is what it is.

RELLING. I beg your pardon--what is your destiny?

GREGERS (_going_). To be the thirteenth at table.

RELLING. Devil a doubt of that!

Transcriber’s Note

• Italic text denoted by _underscores_.

• Small capitals converted to ALL CAPS.

• Punctuation and other obvious typographic inaccuracies were

silently corrected.

• Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

• Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

• Table of Contents not in the original and added for reader

convenience.

• Footnotes have been numbered consecutively and moved near the