ACT SECOND.

Werle.

Well, you can pass out this way.

Gråberg.

But there’s some one else——

Werle.

All right; come through, both of you. Don’t be afraid.

[GråbergandOld Ekdalcome out of the office.

Werle.

[Involuntarily.] Ugh!

[The laughter and talk among the Guests cease.Hialmarstarts 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 andGråberggo out by the back, to the right.

Werle.

[Between his teeth.] That idiot Gråberg!

Gregers.

[Open-mouthed and staring, toHialmar.] 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.

[ToHialmar.] Didyouknow 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. Sörby.

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

Pettersen.

[Nods.] I'll see to it.[Goes out.

Gregers.

[Softly and with emotion, toHialmar.] So that was really he!

Hialmar.

Yes.

Gregers.

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

Hialmar.

[Whispers vehemently.] But howcouldI——!

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.

[ApproachingHialmarandGregersin 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. Sörby.

[Who has quietly approached.] Are you going, Ekdal?

Hialmar.

Yes.

Mrs. Sörby.

Remember me to Gina.

Hialmar.

Thanks.

Mrs. Sörby.

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

Hialmar.

Yes, thank you. [ToGregers.] Stay here; I will slip out unobserved.

[He saunters away, then into the other room, and so out to the right.

Mrs. Sörby.

[Softly to the Servant, who has come back.] Well, did you give the old man something?

Pettersen.

Yes; I sent him off with a bottle of cognac.

Mrs. Sörby.

Oh, you might have thought of something better than that.

Pettersen.

Oh no, Mrs. Sörby; cognac is what he likes best in the world.

The Flabby Gentleman.

[In the doorway with a sheet of music in his hand.] Shall we play a duet, Mrs. Sörby?

Mrs. Sörby.

Yes, suppose we do.

The Guests.

Bravo, bravo!

[She goes with all the Guests through the back room, out to the right.Gregersremains standing by the fire.Werleis looking for something on the writing-table, and, appears to wish thatGregerswould go; asGregersdoes not move,Werlegoes towards the door.

Gregers.

Father, won’t you stay a moment?

Werle.

[Stops.] What is it?

Gregers.

I must have a word with you.

Werle.

Can it not wait till we are alone?

Gregers.

No, it cannot; for perhaps we shall never be alone together.

Werle.

[Drawing nearer.] What do you mean by that?

[During what follows, the pianoforte is faintly heard from the distant music-room.

Gregers.

How has that family been allowed to go so miserably to the wall?

Werle.

You mean the Ekdals, I suppose.

Gregers.

Yes, I mean the Ekdals. Lieutenant Ekdal was once so closely associated with you.

Werle.

Much too closely; I have felt that to my cost for many a year. It is thanks to him that I—yesI—have had a kind of slur cast upon my reputation.

Gregers.

[Softly.] Are you sure that he alone was to blame?

Werle.

Who else do you suppose——?

Gregers.

You and he acted together in that affair of the forests——

Werle.

But was it not Ekdal that drew the map of the tracts we had bought—that fraudulent map! It was he who felled all that timber illegally on Government ground. In fact, the whole management was in his hands. I was quite in the dark as to what Lieutenant Ekdal was doing.

Gregers.

Lieutenant Ekdal himself seems to have been very much in the dark as to what he was doing.

Werle.

That may be. But the fact remains that he was found guilty and I acquitted.

Gregers.

Yes, I know that nothing was proved against you.

Werle.

Acquittal is acquittal. Why do you rake up theseold miseries that turned my hair grey before its time? Is that the sort of thing you have been brooding over up there, all these years? I can assure you, Gregers, here in the town the whole story has been forgotten long ago—so far asIam concerned.

Gregers.

But that unhappy Ekdalfamily.family.

Werle.

What would you have had me do for the people? When Ekdal came out of prison he was a broken-down being, past all help. There are people in the world who dive to the bottom the moment they get a couple of slugs in their body, and never come to the surface again. You may take my word for it, Gregers, I have done all I could without positively laying myself open to all sorts of suspicion and gossip——

Gregers.

Suspicion——? Oh, I see.

Werle.

I have given Ekdal copying to do for the office, and I pay him far, far more for it than his work is worth——

Gregers.

[Without looking at him.] H'm;thatI don’t doubt.

Werle.

You laugh? Do you think I am not telling you thetruth?truth?Well, I certainly can’t refer you to my books, for I never enter payments of that sort.

Gregers.

[Smiles coldly.] No, there are certain payments it is best to keep no account of.

Werle.

[Taken aback.] What do you mean bythat?

Gregers.

[Mustering up courage.] Have you entered what it cost you to have Hialmar Ekdal taughtphotographyphotography?

Werle.

I? How “entered” it?

Gregers.

I have learnt that it was you who paid for his training. And I have learnt, too, that it was you who enabled him to set up house so comfortably.

Werle.

Well, and yet you talk as though I had done nothing for the Ekdals! I can assure you these people have cost me enough in all conscience.

Gregers.

Have you entered any of these expenses in your books?

Werle.

Why do you ask?

Gregers.

Oh, I have my reasons. Now tell me: when you interested yourself so warmly in your old friend’s son—it was just before his marriage, was it not?

Werle.

Why, deuce take it—after all these years, how can I——?

Gregers.

You wrote me a letter about that time—a business letter, of course; and in a postscript you mentioned—quite briefly—that Hialmar Ekdal had married a Miss Hansen.

Werle.

Yes, that was quite right. That was her name.

Gregers.

But you did not mention that this Miss Hansen was Gina Hansen—our former housekeeper.

Werle.

[With a forced laugh of derision.] No; to tell the truth, it didn’t occur to me that you were so particularly interested in our former housekeeper.

Gregers.

No more I was. But [lowers his voice] there were others in this house whowereparticularly interested in her.

Werle.

What do you mean by that? [Flaring up.] You are not alluding to me, I hope?

Gregers.

[Softly but firmly.] Yes, I am alluding to you.

Werle.

And you dare——! You presume to——! How can that ungrateful hound—that photographer fellow—how dare he go making such insinuations!

Gregers.

Hialmar has never breathed a word about this. I don’t believe he has the faintest suspicion of such a thing.

Werle.

Then where have you got it from? Who can have put such notions in your head?

Gregers.

My poor unhappy mother told me; and that the very last time I saw her.

Werle.

Your mother! I might have known as much! You and she—you always held together. It was she who turned you against me, from the first.

Gregers.

No, it was all that she had to suffer and submit to, until she broke down and came to such a pitiful end.

Werle.

Oh, she had nothing to suffer or submit to; not more than most people, at all events. But there’s no getting on with morbid, overstrained creatures—that I have learnt to my cost.—And you could go on nursing such a suspicion—burrowing into all sorts of old rumours and slanders against your own father! I must say, Gregers, I really think that at your age you might find something more useful to do.

Gregers.

Yes, it is high time.

Werle.

Then perhaps your mind would be easier than itseems to be now. What can be your object in remaining up at the works, year out and year in, drudging away like a common clerk, and not drawing a farthing more than the ordinary monthly wage? It is downright folly.

Gregers.

Ah, if I were only sure ofthat.

Werle.

I understand you well enough. You want to be independent; you won’t be beholden to me for anything. Well, now there happens to be an opportunity for you to become independent, your own master in everything.

Gregers.

Indeed? In what way——?

Werle.

When I wrote you insisting on your coming to town at once—h’m——

Gregers.

Yes, what is it you really want of me? I have been waiting all day to know.

Werle.

I want to propose that you should enter the firm, as partner.

Gregers.

I! Join your firm? As partner?

Werle.

Yes. It would not involve our being constantlytogether. You could take over the business here in town, and I should move up to the works.

Gregers.

Youwould?

Werle.

The fact is, I am not so fit for work as I once was. I am obliged to spare my eyes, Gregers; they have begun to trouble me.

Gregers.

They have always been weak.

Werle.

Not as they are now. And besides, circumstances might possibly make it desirable for me to live up there—for a time, at any rate.

Gregers.

That is certainly quite a new idea to me.

Werle.

Listen, Gregers: there are many things that stand between us; but we are father and son after all. We ought surely to be able to come to some sort of understanding with each other.

Gregers.

Outwardly, you mean, of course?

Werle.

Well, even that would be something. Think it over, Gregers. Don’t you think it ought to be possible? Eh?

Gregers.

[Looking at him coldly.] There is something behind all this.

Werle.

How so?

Gregers.

You want to make use of me in some way.

Werle.

In such a close relationship as ours, the one can always be useful to the other.

Gregers.

Yes, so people say.

Werle.

I want very much to have you at home with me for a time. I am a lonely man Gregers; I have always felt lonely, all my life through; but most of all now that I am getting up in years. I feel the need of some one about me——

Gregers.

You have Mrs. Sörby.

Werle.

Yes, I have her; and she has become, I may say, almost indispensable to me. She is lively and even-tempered; she brightens up the house; and that is a very great thing for me.

Gregers.

Well then, you have everything just as you wish it.

Werle.

Yes, but I am afraid it can’t last. A woman so situated may easily find herself in a false position, in the eyes of the world. For that matter it does a man no good, either.

Gregers.

Oh, when a man gives such dinners as you give, he can risk a great deal.

Werle.

Yes, but how about the woman, Gregers? I fear she won’t accept the situation much longer; and even if she did—even if, out of attachment to me, she were to take her chance of gossip and scandal and all that——? Do you think, Gregers—you with your strong sense of justice——

Gregers.

[Interrupts him.] Tell me in one word: are you thinking of marrying her?

Werle.

Suppose I were thinking of it? What then?

Gregers.

That’s what I say: what then?

Werle.

Should you be inflexibly opposed toit?it?

Gregers.

Not at all. Not by any means.

Werle.

I was not sure whether your devotion to your mother’s memory——

Gregers.

I am not overstrained.

Werle.

Well, whatever you may or may not be, at all events you have lifted a great weight from my mind. I am extremely pleased that I can reckon on your concurrence in this matter.

Gregers.

[Looking intently at him.] Now I see the use you want to put me to.

Werle.

Use to put you to? What an expression!

Gregers.

Oh, don’t let us be nice in our choice of words—not when we are alone together, at any rate. [With a short laugh.] Well well! So this is what made it absolutely essential that I should come to town in person. For the sake of Mrs. Sörby, we are to get up a pretence at family life in the house—a tableau of filial affection! That will be something new indeed.

Werle.

How dare you speak in that tone!

Gregers.

Was there ever any family life here? Never since I can remember. But now, forsooth, your plans demand something of the sort. No doubt it will have an excellent effect when it is reported that the son has hastened home, on the wings of filial piety, to the grey-haired father’s wedding-feast. What will then remain of all the rumoursas to the wrongs the poor dead mother had to submit to? Not a vestige. Her son annihilates them at one stroke.

Werle.

Gregers—I believe there is no one in the world you detest as you do me.

Gregers.

[Softly.] I have seen you at too close quarters.

Werle.

You have seen me with your mother’s eyes. [Lowers his voice a little.] But you should remember that her eyes were—clouded now and then.

Gregers.

[Quivering.] I see what you are hinting at. But who was to blame for mother’s unfortunate weakness? Why you, and all those——! The last of them was this woman that you palmed off upon Hialmar Ekdal, when you were——Ugh!

Werle.

[Shrugs his shoulders.] Word for word as if it were your mother speaking!

Gregers.

[Without heeding.] And there he is now, with his great, confiding, childlike mind, compassed about with all this treachery—living under the same roof with such a creature, and never dreaming that what he calls his home is built upon a lie! [Comes a step nearer.] When I look back upon your past, I seem to see a battle-field with shattered lives on every hand.

Werle.

I begin to think the chasm that divides us is too wide.

Gregers.

[Bowing, with self-command.] So I have observed; and therefore I take my hat and go.

Werle.

You are going! Out of the house?

Gregers.

Yes. For at last I see my mission in life.

Werle.

What mission?

Gregers.

You would only laugh if I told you.

Werle.

A lonely man doesn’t laugh so easily, Gregers.

Gregers.

[Pointing towards the background.] Look, father,—the Chamberlains are playing blind-man’s-buff with Mrs. Sörby.—Good-night and good-bye.

[He goes out by the back to the right. Sounds of laughter and merriment from the Company, who are now visible in the outer room.

Werle.

[Muttering contemptuously afterGregers.] Ha——! Poor wretch—and he says he is not over-strained!

ACT SECOND.

Hialmar Ekdal’sstudio, a good-sized room, evidently in the top storey of the building. On the right, a sloping roof of large panes of glass, half-covered by a blue curtain. In the right-hand corner, at the back, the entrance door; farther forward, on the same side, a door leading to the sitting-room. Two doors on the opposite side, and between them an iron stove. At the back, a wide double sliding-door. The studio is plainly but comfortably fitted up and furnished. Between the doors on the right, standing out a little from the wall, a sofa with a table and some chairs; on the table a lighted lamp with a shade; beside the stove an old arm-chair. Photographic instruments and apparatus of different kinds lying about the room. Against the back wall, to the left of the double door, stands a bookcase containing a few books, boxes, and bottles of chemicals, instruments, tools, and other objects. Photographs and small articles, such as camel’s-hair pencils, paper, and so forth, lie on the table.

Gina Ekdalsits on a chair by the table, sewing.Hedvigis sitting on the sofa, with her hands shading her eyes and her thumbs in her ears, reading a book.

Gina.

[Glances once or twice atHedvig,as if with secret anxiety; then says:] Hedvig!

Hedvig.

[Does not hear.]

Gina.

[Repeats more loudly.] Hedvig!

Hedvig.

[Takes away her hands and looks up.] Yes, mother?

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