Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (235 page)

HIALMAR.
Really? Have you not? Oh, no, out there in the wilds —

GREGERS.
So you have invented something, have you?

HIALMAR.
It is not quite completed yet; but I am working at it. You can easily imagine that when I resolved to devote myself to photography, it wasn’t simply with the idea of taking likenesses of all sorts of commonplace people.

GREGERS.
No; your wife was saying the same thing just now.

HIALMAR.
I swore that if I consecrated my powers to this handicraft, I would so exalt it that it should become both an art and a science. And to that end I determined to make this great invention.

GREGERS.
And what is the nature of the invention? What purpose does it serve?

HIALMAR.
Oh, my dear fellow, you mustn’t ask for details yet. It takes time, you see. And you must not think that my motive is vanity. It is not for my own sake that I am working. Oh, no; it is my life’s mission that stands before me night and day.

GREGERS.
What is your life’s mission?

HIALMAR.
Do you forget the old man with the silver hair?

GREGERS.
Your poor father? Well, but what can you do for him?

HIALMAR.
I can raise up his self-respect from the dead, by restoring the name of Ekdal to honour and dignity.

GREGERS.
Then that is your life’s mission?

HIALMAR.
Yes. I will rescue the shipwrecked man. For shipwrecked he was, by the very first blast of the storm. Even while those terrible investigations were going on, he was no longer himself. That pistol there — the one we use to shoot rabbits with — has played its part in the tragedy of the house of Ekdal.

GREGERS.
The pistol? Indeed?

HIALMAR.
When the sentence of imprisonment was passed — he had the pistol in his hand —

GREGERS.
Had he — ?

HIALMAR.
Yes; but he dared not use it. His courage failed him. So broken, so demoralised was he even then! Oh, can you understand it? He, a soldier; he, who had shot nine bears, and who was descended from two lieutenant-colonels — one after the other, of course. Can you understand it, Gregers?

GREGERS.
Yes, I understand it well enough.

HIALMAR.
I cannot. And once more the pistol played a part in the history of our house. When he had put on the grey clothes and was under lock and key — oh, that was a terrible time for me, I can tell you. I kept the blinds drawn down over both my windows. When I peeped out, I saw the sun shining as if nothing had happened. I could not understand it. I saw people going along the street, laughing and talking about indifferent things. I could not understand it. It seemed to me that the whole of existence must be at a standstill — as if under an eclipse.

GREGERS.
I felt that, too, when my mother died.

HIALMAR.
It was in such an hour that Hialmar Ekdal pointed the pistol at his own breast.

GREGERS.
You, too, thought of — !

HIALMAR.
Yes.

GREGERS.
But you did not fire?

HIALMAR.
No. At the decisive moment I won the victory over myself. I remained in life. But I can assure you it takes some courage to choose life under circumstances like those.

GREGERS.
Well, that depends on how you look at it.

HIALMAR.
Yes, indeed, it takes courage. But I am glad I was firm: for now I shall soon perfect my invention; and Dr. Relling thinks, as I do myself, that father may be allowed to wear his uniform again. I will demand that as my sole reward.

GREGERS.
So that is what he meant about his uniform — ?

HIALMAR.
Yes, that is what he most yearns for. You can’t think how my heart bleeds for him. Every time we celebrate any little family festival — Gina’s and my wedding-day, or whatever it may be — in comes the old man in the lieutenant’s uniform of happier days. But if he only hears a knock at the door — for he daren’t show himself to strangers, you know — he hurries back to his room again as fast as his old legs can carry him. Oh, it’s heart-rending for a son to see such things!

GREGERS.
How long do you think it will take you to finish your invention?

HIALMAR.
Come now, you mustn’t expect me to enter into particulars like that. An invention is not a thing completely under one’s own control. It depends largely on inspiration — on intuition — and it is almost impossible to predict when the inspiration may come.

GREGERS.
But it’s advancing?

HIALMAR.
Yes, certainly, it is advancing. I turn it over in my mind every day; I am full of it. Every afternoon, when I have had my dinner, I shut myself up in the parlour, where I can ponder undisturbed. But I can’t be goaded to it; it’s not a bit of good; Relling says so, too.

GREGERS.
And you don’t think that all that business in the garret draws you off and distracts you too much?

HIALMAR.
No, no, no; quite the contrary. You mustn’t say that. I cannot be everlastingly absorbed in the same laborious train of thought. I must have something alongside of it to fill up the time of waiting. The inspiration, the intuition, you see — when it comes, it comes, and there’s an end of it.

GREGERS.
My dear Hialmar, I almost think you have something of the wild duck in you.

HIALMAR.
Something of the wild duck? How do you mean?

GREGERS.
You have dived down and bitten yourself fast in the undergrowth.

HIALMAR.
Are you alluding to the well-nigh fatal shot that has broken my father’s wing — and mine, too?

GREGERS.
Not exactly to that. I don’t say that your wing has been broken; but you have strayed into a poisonous marsh, Hialmar; an insidious disease has taken hold of you, and you have sunk down to die in the dark.

HIALMAR.
I? To die in the dark? Look here, Gregers, you must really leave off talking such nonsense.

GREGERS.
Don’t be afraid; I shall find a way to help you up again. I, too, have a mission in life now; I found it yesterday.

HIALMAR.
That’s all very well; but you will please leave me out of it. I can assure you that — apart from my very natural melancholy, of course — I am as contented as any one can wish to be.

GREGERS.
Your contentment is an effect of the marsh poison.

HIALMAR.
Now, my dear Gregers, pray do not go on about disease and poison; I am not used to that sort of talk. In my house nobody ever speaks to me about unpleasant things.

GREGERS.
Ah, that I can easily believe.

HIALMAR.
It’s not good for me, you see. And there are no marsh poisons here, as you express it. The poor photographer’s roof is lowly, I know — and my circumstances are narrow. But I am an inventor, and I am the bread-winner of a family. That exalts me above my mean surroundings. — Ah, here comes lunch!
[GINA and HEDVIG bring bottles of ale, a decanter of brandy, glasses, etc. At the same time, RELLING and MOLVIK enter from the passage; they are both without hat or overcoat. MOLVIK is dressed in black.]

GINA
[placing the things upon the table.]
Ah, you two have come in the nick of time.

RELLING.
Molvik got it into his head that he could smell herring-salad, and then there was no holding him. — Good morning again, Ekdal.

HIALMAR.
Gregers, let me introduce you to Mr. Molvik. Doctor — Oh, you know Relling, don’t you?

GREGERS.
Yes, slightly.

RELLING.
Oh, Mr. Werle, junior! Yes, we two have had one or two little skirmishes up at the Hoidal works. You’ve just moved in?

GREGERS.
I moved in this morning.

RELLING.
Molvik and I live right under you; so you haven’t far to go for the doctor and the clergyman, if you should need anything in that line.

GREGERS.
Thanks, it’s not quite unlikely; for yesterday we were thirteen at table.

HIALMAR.
Oh, come now, don’t let us get upon unpleasant subjects again!

RELLING.
You may make your mind easy, Ekdal; I’ll be hanged if the finger of fate points to you.

HIALMAR.
I should hope not, for the sake of my family. But let us sit down now, and eat and drink and be merry.

GREGERS.
Shall we not wait for your father?

HIALMAR.
No, his lunch will be taken in to him later. Come along!
[The men seat themselves at table, and eat and drink. GINA and HEDVIG go in and out and wait upon them.]

RELLING.
Molvik was frightfully screwed yesterday, Mrs. Ekdal.

GINA.
Really? Yesterday again?

RELLING.
Didn’t you hear him when I brought him home last night?

GINA.
No, I can’t say I did.

RELLING.
That was a good thing, for Molvik was disgusting last night.

GINA.
Is that true, Molvik?

MOLVIK.
Let us draw a veil over last night’s proceedings. That sort of thing is totally foreign to my better self.

RELLING
[to GREGERS.]
It comes over him like a sort of possession, and then I have to go out on the loose with him. Mr. Molvik is daemonic, you see.

GREGERS.
Daemonic?

RELLING.
Molvik is daemonic, yes.

GREGERS.
H’m.

RELLING.
And daemonic natures are not made to walk straight through the world; they must meander a little now and then. — Well, so you still stick up there at those horrible grimy works?

GREGERS.
I have stuck there until now.

RELLING.
And did you ever manage to collect that claim you went about presenting?

GREGERS.
Claim?
[Understands him.]
Ah, I see.

HIALMAR.
Have you been presenting claims, Gregers?

GREGERS.
Oh, nonsense.

RELLING.
Faith, but he has, though! He went round to all the cotters’ cabins presenting something he called “the claim of the ideal.”

GREGERS.
I was young then.

RELLING.
You’re right; you were very young. And as for the claim of the ideal — you never got it honoured while I was up there.

GREGERS.
Nor since either.

RELLING.
Ah, then you’ve learnt to knock a little discount off, I expect.

GREGERS.
Never, when I have a true man to deal with.

HIALMAR.
No, I should think not, indeed. A little butter, Gina.

RELLING.
And a slice of bacon for Molvik.

MOLVIK.
Ugh; not bacon!
[A knock at the garret door.]

HIALMAR.
Open the door, Hedvig; father wants to come out.
[HEDVIG goes over and opens the door a little way; EKDAL enters with a fresh rabbit-skin; she closes the door after him.]

EKDAL.
Good morning, gentlemen! Good sport to-day. Shot a big one.

HIALMAR.
And you’ve gone and skinned it without waiting for me — !

EKDAL.
Salted it, too. It’s good tender meat, is rabbit; it’s sweet; it tastes like sugar. Good appetite to you, gentlemen!
[Goes into his room.]

MOLVIK
[rising.]
Excuse me — ; I can’t — ; I must get downstairs immediately —

RELLING.
Drink some soda water, man!

MOLVIK
[hurrying away.]
Ugh — ugh!
[Goes out by the passage door.]

RELLING
[to HIALMAR.]
Let us drain a glass to the old hunter.

HIALMAR
[clinks glasses with him.]
To the undaunted sportsman who has looked death in the face!

RELLING.
To the grey-haired —
[Drinks.]
By-the-bye, is his hair grey or white?

HIALMAR.
Something between the two, I fancy; for that matter, he has very few hairs left of any colour.