Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (228 page)

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. SORBY
[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. SORBY
[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. SORBY.]
Surely, it isn’t possible that you have suspended our cherished right to smoke?

MRS. SORBY.
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. Sorby?

MRS. SORBY.
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. SORBY.
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
[in an arm-chair.]
Haven’t you brought any of your own with you?

HIALMAR.
No, I haven’t.

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
You ought to have; it’s very good for the digestion to sit and look at pictures.

THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
And it contributes to the entertainment, you know.

THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
And all contributions are thankfully received.

MRS. SORBY.
The Chamberlains think that when one is invited out to dinner, one ought to exert oneself a little in return, Mr. Ekdal.

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Where one dines so well, that duty becomes a pleasure.

THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
And when it’s a case of the struggle for existence, you know —

MRS. SORBY.
I quite agree with you!
[They continue the conversation, with laughter and joking.]

GREGERS
[softly.]
You must join in, Hialmar.

HIALMAR
[writhing.]
What am I to talk about?

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Don’t you think, Mr. Werle, that Tokay may be considered one of the more wholesome sorts of wine?

WERLE
[by the fire.]
I can answer for the Tokay you had to-day, at any rate; it’s one of the very finest seasons. Of course you would notice that.

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Yes, it had a remarkably delicate flavour.

HIALMAR
[shyly.]
Is there any difference between the seasons?

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN
[laughs.]
Come! That’s good!

WERLE
[smiles.]
It really doesn’t pay to set fine wine before you.

THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
Tokay is like photographs, Mr. Ekdal: they both need sunshine. Am I not right?

HIALMAR.
Yes, light is important no doubt.

MRS. SORBY.
And it’s exactly the same with Chamberlains — they, too, depend very much on sunshine, as the saying is.

THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
Oh fie! That’s a very threadbare sarcasm!

THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
Mrs. Sorby is coming out —

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
 
— and at our expense, too.
[Holds up his finger reprovingly.]
Oh, Madame Bertha, Madame Bertha!

MRS. SORBY.
Yes, and there’s not the least doubt that the seasons differ greatly. The old vintages are the finest.

THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
Do you reckon me among the old vintages?

MRS. SORBY.
Oh, far from it.

THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
There now! But me, dear Mrs. Sorby — ?

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Yes, and me? What vintage should you say that we belong to?

MRS. SORBY.
Why, to the sweet vintages, gentlemen.
[She sips a glass of punch. The gentlemen laugh and flirt with her.]

WERLE.
Mrs. Sorby can always find a loop-hole — when she wants to. Fill your glasses, gentlemen! Pettersen, will you see to it — ! Gregers, suppose we have a glass together.
[Gregers does not move.]
Won’t you join us, Ekdal? I found no opportunity of drinking with you at table.
[GRABERG, the Bookkeeper, looks in at the baize door.]

GRABERG.
Excuse me, sir, but I can’t get out.

WERLE.
Have you been locked in again?

GRABERG.
Yes, and Flakstad has carried off the keys.

WERLE.
Well, you can pass out this way.

GRABERG.
But there’s some one else —

WERLE.
All right; come through, both of you. Don’t be afraid.
[GRABERG and OLD EKDAL come out of the office.]

WERLE
[involuntarily.]
Ugh!
[The laughter and talk among the Guests cease. HIALMAR starts at the sight of his father, puts down his glass, and turns towards the fireplace.]

EKDAL
[does not look up, but makes little bows to both sides as he passes, murmuring.]
Beg pardon, come the wrong way. Door locked — door locked. Beg pardon.
[He and GRABERG go out by the back, to the right.]

WERLE
[between his teeth.]
That idiot Graberg.

GREGERS
[open-mouthed and staring, to HIALMAR.]
Why surely that wasn’t — !

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
What’s the matter? Who was it?

GREGERS.
Oh, nobody, only the bookkeeper and some one with him.

THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN
[to HIALMAR.]
Did you know that man?

HIALMAR.
I don’t know — I didn’t notice —

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
What the deuce has come over every one?
[He joins another group who are talking softly.]

MRS. SORBY
[whispers to the Servant.]
Give him something to take with him; — something good, mind.

PETTERSEN
[nods.]
I’ll see to it.
[Goes out.]

GREGERS
[softly and with emotion, to HIALMAR.]
So that was really he!

HIALMAR.
Yes.

GREGERS.
And you could stand there and deny that you knew him!

HIALMAR
[whispers vehemently.]
But how could I — !

GREGERS.
 
— acknowledge your own father?

HIALMAR
[with pain.]
Oh, if you were in my place —
[The conversation amongst the Guests, which has been carried on in a low tone, now swells into constrained joviality.]

THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN
[approaching HIALMAR and GREGERS in a friendly manner.]
Aha! Reviving old college memories, eh? Don’t you smoke, Mr. Ekdal? May I give you a light? Oh, by-the-bye, we mustn’t —

HIALMAR.
No, thank you, I won’t —

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Haven’t you a nice little poem you could recite to us, Mr. Ekdal? You used to recite so charmingly.

HIALMAR.
I am sorry I can’t remember anything.

THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Oh, that’s a pity. Well, what shall we do, Balle?
[Both Gentlemen move away and pass into the other room.]

HIALMAR
[gloomily.]
Gregers — I am going! When a man has felt the crushing hand of Fate, you see — Say good-bye to your father for me.

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

HIALMAR.
Yes. Why?

GREGERS.
Oh, because I may perhaps look in on you later.

HIALMAR.
No, you mustn’t do that. You must not come to my home. Mine is a melancholy abode, Gregers; especially after a splendid banquet like this. We can always arrange to meet somewhere in the town.

MRS. SORBY
[who has quietly approached.]
Are you going, Ekdal?

HIALMAR.
Yes.

MRS. SORBY.
Remember me to Gina.

HIALMAR.
Thanks.

MRS. SORBY.
And say I am coming up to see her one of these days.

HIALMAR.
Yes, thank you.
[To GREGERS.]
Stay here; I will slip out unobserved.
[He saunters away, then into the other room, and so out to the right.]