Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (239 page)

GINA.
I suppose he thought as he could come and go in our house.

HIALMAR.
Only that? Was not he afraid of a possible contingency?

GINA.
I don’t know what you mean.

HIALMAR.
I want to know whether — your child has the right to live under my roof.

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 daemonic 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 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 phoenix 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 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 “daemonic.” That’s the blister I have to put on his neck.

GREGERS.
Is he not really daemonic then?

RELLING.
What the devil do you mean by daemonic! 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 Hoidal 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 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.