ACT THREE

SCENE.--_The same room, but_--_it being evening_--_darker than ever. The crape curtains are drawn. A servant, with black ribbons in her cap, and red eyes, comes in and lights the gas quietly and carefully. Chords are heard on the piano in the back drawing-room. Presently_ HEDDA _comes in and looks out into the darkness. A short pause. Enter_ GEORGE TESMAN.

GEORGE.

I am _so_ uneasy about poor Loevborg. Fancy! he is not at home. Mrs. Elvsted told me he has been here early this morning, so I suppose you gave him back his manuscript, eh?

HEDDA.

[_Cold and immovable, supported by arm-chair._] No, I put it on the fire instead.

GEORGE.

On the fire! Loevborg's wonderful new book that he read to me at Brack's party, when we had that wild revelry last night! Fancy _that_! But, I say, Hedda--isn't that _rather_--eh? _Too_ bad, you know--really. A great work like that. How on earth did you come to think of it?

HEDDA.

[_Suppressing an almost imperceptible smile._] Well, dear George, you gave me a tolerably strong hint.

GEORGE.

Me? Well, to be sure--that _is_ a joke! Why, I only said that I envied him for writing such a book, and it would put me entirely in the shade if it came out, and if anything was to happen to it, I should never forgive myself, as poor Loevborg couldn't write it all over again, and so we must take the greatest care of it! And then I left it on a chair and went away--that was all! And you went and burnt the book all up! Bless me, who _would_ have expected it?

HEDDA.

Nobody, you dear simple old soul! But I did it for your sake--it was _love_, George!

GEORGE.

[_In an outburst between doubt and joy._] Hedda, you don't mean that! Your love takes such queer forms sometimes. Yes, but yes--[_laughing in excess of joy_]--why, you _must_ be fond of me! Just think of that now! Well, you _are_ fun, Hedda! Look here, I must just run and tell the housemaid that--she will enjoy the joke so, eh?

HEDDA.

[_Coldly, in self-command._] It is surely not necessary even for a clever Norwegian man of letters in a realistic social drama, to make quite such a fool of himself as all that.

GEORGE.

No, that's true too. Perhaps we'd better keep it quiet--though I _must_ tell Aunt Julie--it will make her so happy to hear that you burnt a manuscript on my account! And, besides, I should like to ask her whether that's a usual thing with young wives. [_Looks uneasy and pensive again._] But poor old Ejlert's manuscript! Oh Lor', you know! Well, well!

[MRS. ELVSTED _comes in._

MRS. ELVSTED.

Oh, please, I'm so uneasy about dear Mr. Loevborg. Something has happened to him, I'm sure!

[JUDGE BRACK _comes in from the hall, with a new hat in his hand._

BRACK.

You have guessed it, first time. Something _has_!

MRS. ELVSTED.

Oh, dear, good gracious! What is it? Something distressing, I'm certain of it!

[_Shrieks aloud._

BRACK.

[_Pleasantly._] That depends on how one takes it. He has shot himself, and is in a hospital now, that's all!

GEORGE.

[_Sympathetically._] That's sad, eh? poor old Loevborg! Well, I _am_ cut up to hear that. Fancy, though, eh?

HEDDA.

Was it through the temple, or through the breast? The breast? Well, one can do it beautifully through the breast, too. Do you know, as an advanced woman, I like an act of that sort--it's so positive to have the courage to settle the account with himself--it's beautiful, really!

MRS. ELVSTED.

Oh, Hedda, what an odd way to look at it! But never mind poor dear Mr. Loevborg now. What _we've_ got to do is to see if we can't put his wonderful manuscript, that he said he had torn to pieces, together again. [_Takes a bundle of small pages out of the pocket of her mantle._] There are the loose scraps he dictated it to me from. I hid them on the chance of some such emergency. And if dear Mr. Tesman and I were to put our heads together, I _do_ think something might come of it.

GEORGE.

Fancy! I will dedicate my life--or all I can spare of it--to the task. I seem to feel I owe him some slight amends, perhaps. No use crying over spilt milk, eh, Mrs. Elvsted? We'll sit down--just you and I--in the back drawing-room, and see if you can't inspire me as you did him, eh?

MRS. ELVSTED.

Oh, goodness, yes! I should like it--if it only might be possible!

[GEORGE _and_ MRS. ELVSTED _go into the back drawing-room and become absorbed in eager conversation_; HEDDA _sits in a chair in the front room, and a little later_ BRACK _crosses over to her_

HEDDA.

[_In a low tone._] Oh, Judge, _what_ a relief to know that everything--including Loevborg's pistol--went off so well! In the breast! Isn't there a veil of unintentional beauty in that? Such an act of voluntary courage, too!

BRACK.

[_Smiles._] H'm!--perhaps, dear Mrs. Hedda----

HEDDA.

[_Enthusiastically._] But _wasn't_ it sweet of him! To have the courage to live his own life after his own fashion--to break away from the banquet of life--_so_ early and _so_ drunk! A beautiful act like that _does_ appeal to a superior woman's imagination!

BRACK.

Sorry to shatter your poetical illusions, little Mrs. Hedda, but, as a matter of fact, our lamented friend met his end under other circumstances. The shot did _not_ strike him in the _breast_--but----

[_Pauses._

HEDDA.

[_Excitedly._] General Gabler's pistols! I might have known it! Did they _ever_ shoot straight? Where _was_ he hit, then?

BRACK.

[_In a discreet undertone._] A little lower down!

HEDDA.

Oh, _how_ disgusting!--how vulgar!--how ridiculous!--like everything else about me!

BRACK.

Yes, we're realistic types of human nature, and all that--but a trifle squalid, perhaps. And why did you give Loevborg your pistol, when it was certain to be traced by the police? For a charming cold-blooded woman with a clear head and no scruples, wasn't it just a leetle foolish!

HEDDA.

Perhaps; but I wanted him to do it beautifully, and he didn't! Oh, I've just admitted that I _did_ give him the pistol--how annoyingly unwise of me! Now I'm in _your_ power, I suppose?

BRACK.

Precisely--for some reason it's not easy to understand. But it's inevitable, and you know how you dread anything approaching scandal. All your past proceedings show that. [_To_ GEORGE _and_ MRS. ELVSTED _who come in together from the back-room._] Well, how are you getting on with the reconstruction of poor Loevborg's great work, eh?

GEORGE.

Capitally; we've made out the first two parts already. And really, Hedda, I do believe Mrs. Elvsted _is_ inspiring me; I begin to feel it coming on. Fancy that!

MRS. ELVSTED.

Yes, goodness! Hedda, _won't_ it be lovely if I can. I mean to try _so_ hard!

HEDDA.

Do, you dear little silly rabbit; and while you are trying I will go into the back drawing-room and lie down.

[_She goes into the back room and draws the curtains. Short pause. Suddenly she is heard playing_ "The Bogie Man" _within on the piano._

GEORGE.

But, dearest Hedda, don't play "_The Bogie Man_" this evening. As one of my aunts is dead, and poor old Loevborg has shot himself, it seems just a little pointed, eh?

HEDDA.

[_Puts her head out between the curtains._] All right.

I'll be quiet after this. I'm going to practise with the late General Gabler's pistol!

[_Closes the curtains again;_ GEORGE _gets behind the stove_, JUDGE BRACK _under the table, and_ MRS. ELVSTED _under the sofa. A shot is heard within._

GEORGE.

[_Behind the stove._] Eh, look here, I tell you what--she's hit me! Think of that!

[_His legs are visibly agitated for a short time. Another shot is heard._

MRS. ELVSTED.

[_Under the sofa._] Oh, please, not me! Oh, goodness, now I can't inspire anybody any more. Oh!

[_Her feet, which can be seen under the valance, quiver a little and then are suddenly still._

BRACK.

[_Vivaciously, from under the table._] I say, Mrs. Hedda, I'm coming in every evening--we will have great fun here togeth----[_Another shot is heard._] Bless me! to bring down the poor old cock-of-the-walk--it's unsportsmanlike!--people don't _do_ such things as that!

[_The table-cloth is violently agitated for a minute, and presently the curtains open, and_ HEDDA _appears._

HEDDA.

[_Clearly and firmly._] I've been trying in there to shoot myself beautifully--but with General Gabler's pistol--[_She lifts the table-cloth, then looks behind the stove and under the sofa._] What! the accounts of all those everlasting bores settled? Then my suicide becomes unnecessary. Yes, I feel the courage of life once more!

[_She goes into the back-room and plays_ "The Funeral March of a Marionette" _as the Curtain falls._]

* * * * *

THE WILD DUCK

ACT FIRST

_At_ WERLE'S _house. In front a richly-upholstered study._ (R.) _A green baize door leading to_ WERLE'S _office. At back, open folding doors, revealing an elegant dining-room, in which a brilliant Norwegian dinner-party is going on. Hired Waiters in profusion. A glass is tapped with a knife. Shouts of "Bravo!" Old Mr._ WERLE _is heard making a long speech, proposing--according to the custom of Norwegian society on such occasions--the health of his House-keeper, Mrs._ SOeRBY. _Presently several short-sighted, flabby, and thin-haired_ CHAMBERLAINS _enter from the dining-room with_ HIALMAR EKDAL, _who writhes shyly under their remarks._

A CHAMBERLAIN.

As we are the sole surviving specimens of Norwegian nobility, suppose we sustain our reputation as aristocratic sparklers by enlarging upon the enormous amount we have eaten, and chaffing Hialmar Ekdal, the friend of our host's son, for being a professional photographer?

THE OTHER CHAMBERLAINS.

Bravo! We will.

[_They do; delight of_ HIALMAR. OLD WERLE _comes in, leaning on his Housekeeper's arm, followed by his son,_ GREGERS WERLE.

OLD WERLE.

[_Dejectedly._] Thirteen at table! [_To_ GREGERS, _with a meaning glance at_ HIALMAR.] This is the result of inviting an old college friend who has turned photographer! Wasting vintage wines on _him_, indeed. [_He passes on gloomily._

HIALMAR.

[_To_ GREGERS.] I am almost sorry I came. Your old man is _not_ friendly. Yet he set me up as a photographer fifteen years ago. _Now_ he takes me down! But for him, I should never have married Gina, who, you may remember, was a servant in your family once.

GREGERS.

What? my old college friend married fifteen years ago--and to our Gina, of all people! If I had not been up at the works all these years, I suppose I should have heard something of such an event. But my father never mentioned it. Odd!

[_He ponders_; OLD EKDAL _comes out through the green baize-door, bowing, and begging pardon, carrying copying work_. OLD WERLE _says "Ugh" and "Pah" involuntarily._ HIALMAR _shrinks back, and looks another way. A_ CHAMBERLAIN _asks him pleasantly if he knows that old man._

HIALMAR.

I--oh no. Not in the least. No relation!

GREGERS.

[_Shocked._] What, Hialmar, you, with your great soul, deny your own father!

HIALMAR.

[_Vehemently._] Of course--what else _can_ a photographer do with a disreputable old parent, who has been in a penitentiary for making a fraudulent map? I shall leave this splendid banquet. The Chamberlains are not kind to me, and I feel the crushing hand of fate on my head!

[_Goes out hastily, feeling it._

MRS. SOeRBY.

[_Archly._] Any nobleman here say "Cold Punch"?

[_Every nobleman says "Cold Punch" and follows her out in search of it with enthusiasm._ GREGERS _approaches his father, who wishes he would go_.

GREGERS.

Father, a word with you in private. I loathe you. I am nothing if not candid. Old Ekdal was your partner once, and it's my firm belief you deserved a prison quite as much as he did. However, you surely need not have married our Gina to my old friend Hialmar. You know very well she was no better than she should have been!

OLD WERLE.

True--but then no more is Mrs. Soerby. And _I_ am going to marry _her_--if you have no objection, that is.

GREGERS.

None in the world! How can I object to a step-mother who is playing Blind Man's Buff at the present moment with the Norwegian nobility? I am not so overstrained as all that. But really I can_not_ allow my old friend Hialmar, with his great, confiding, childlike mind, to remain in contented ignorance of Gina's past. No, I see my mission in life at last! I shall take my hat, and inform him that his home is built upon a lie. He will be _so_ much obliged to me!

[_Takes his hat, and goes out._

OLD WERLE.

Ha!--I am a wealthy merchant, of dubious morals, and I am about to marry my house-keeper, who is on intimate terms with the Norwegian aristocracy. I have a son who loathes me, and who is either an Ibsenian satire on the Master's own ideals, or else an utterly impossible prig--I don't know or care which. Altogether, I flatter myself my household affords an accurate and realistic picture of Scandinavian Society!

[_Curtain._

* * * * *

ACT SECOND

HIALMAR EKDAL'S _Photographic Studio. Cameras, neck-rests, and other instruments of torture lying about._ GINA EKDAL _and_ HEDVIG, _her daughter, aged 14, and wearing spectacles, discovered sitting up for_ HIALMAR.

HEDVIG.

Grandpapa is in his room with a bottle of brandy and a jug of hot water, doing some fresh copying work. Father is in society, dining out. He promised he would bring me home something nice!

HIALMAR.

[_Coming in, in evening dress._] And he has not forgotten his promise, my child. Behold! [_He presents her with the menu card_; HEDVIG _gulps down her tears_; HIALMAR _notices her disappointment, with annoyance_.] And this all the gratitude I get! After dining out and coming home in a dress-coat and boots, which are disgracefully tight! Well well, just to show you how hurt I am, I won't have any _beer_ now! What a selfish brute I am! [_Relenting._] You may bring me just a little drop. [_He bursts into tears._] I will play you a plaintive Bohemian dance on my flute. [_He does._] No beer at such a sacred moment as this! [_He drinks._] Ha, this is real domestic bliss!

[GREGERS WERLE _comes in, in a countrified suit_.

GREGERS.

I have left my father's home--dinner-party and all--for ever. I am coming to lodge with you.

HIALMAR.

[_Still melancholy._] Have some bread and butter. You won't?--then I _will_. I want it, after your father's lavish hospitality. [HEDVIG _goes to fetch bread and butter_.] My daughter--a poor short-sighted little thing--but mine own.

GREGERS.

My father has had to take to strong glasses, too--he can hardly see after dinner. [_To_ OLD EKDAL, _who stumbles in very drunk_.] How can you, Lieutenant Ekdal, who were such a keen sportsman once, live in this poky little hole?

OLD EKDAL.

I am a sportsman still. The only difference is that once I shot bears in a forest, and now I pot tame rabbits in a garret. Quite as amusing--and safer. [_He goes to sleep on a sofa._

HIALMAR.

[_With pride._] It is quite true. You shall see.

[_He pushes back sliding doors, and reveals a garret full of rabbits and poultry--moonlight effect._ HEDVIG _returns with bread and butter_.

HEDVIG.

[_To_ GREGERS.] If you stand just there, you get the best view of our Wild Duck. We are very proud of her, because she gives the play its title, you know, and has to be brought into the dialogue a good deal. Your father peppered her out shooting, and we saved her life.

HIALMAR.

Yes, Gregers, our estate is not large--but still we preserve, you see. And my poor old father and I sometimes get a day's gunning in the garret. He shoots with a pistol, which my illiterate wife here _will_ call a "pigstol." He once, when he got into trouble, pointed it at himself. But the descendant of two lieutenant-colonels who had never quailed before living rabbit yet, faltered then. He _didn't_ shoot. Then I put it to my own head. But at the decisive moment, I won the victory over myself. I remained in life. Now we only shoot rabbits and fowls with it. After all I am very happy and contented as I am.

[_He eats some bread and butter._

GREGERS.

But you ought _not_ to be. You have a good deal of the Wild Duck about you. So have your wife and daughter. You are living in marsh vapours. Tomorrow I will take you out for a walk and explain what I mean. It is my mission in life. Good night!

[_He goes out._

GINA AND HEDVIG.

What _was_ the gentleman talking about, father?

HIALMAR.

[_Eating bread and butter._] He has been dining, you know. No matter--what _we_ have to do now, is to put my disreputable old whitehaired pariah of a parent to bed.

[_He and_ GINA _lift_ OLD ECCLES--_we mean_ OLD EKDAL--_up by the legs and arms, and take him off to bed as the Curtain falls_.

* * * * *