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THE COLLECTED WORKS OF 
 
 HENRIK IBSEN 
 
 VOLUME XII 
 
 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
THE COLLECTED WORKS OF 
 
 HENRI K IBSEN 
 
 Copyright Edition 
 
 VOLUME XII 
 
 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 NOTES, SCENARIOS, 
 AND DRAFTS OF THE MODERN PLAYS 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 A. G. CHATER 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 WILLIAM ARCHER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1923 
 

 Copyright, 1911, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Vagb 
 INTRODUCTION 3 
 
 PILLARS OF SOCIETY 21 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 DOLLjlS-iiOUSE 89 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 \/GHOSTS 183 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 . THE WILD DUCK 191 
 
 V Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 ROSMERSHOLM 263 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 THE LADY FROM THE SEA 327 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 HEDDA GABLER 379 
 
 \/ Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 THE MASTER BUILDER 459 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 LITTLE EYOLF 469 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 / 
 
 J/HN GABRIEL BORKMAN 511 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
 WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN , 517 
 
 
 Translated by A. G. Chatee 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2011 with* funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/collectedworksofibse 
 
FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 This volume contains all the notes, sketches, drafts, 
 and other "foreworks" (as he used to call them) for 
 Ibsen's plays from Pillars of Society onwards. They 
 were published in Scandinavia and Germany in 1909, 
 under the editorship of those learned and devoted Ibsen 
 scholars, Halvdan Koht and Julius Elias. They occu- 
 pied somewhat less than one-half of the three volumes 
 of the poet's Efterladte Skrifter, or (to use the consecrated 
 but somewhat unfortunate English phrase) his Literary 
 Remains. The other contents of these three volumes are 
 of great interest for special students of Ibsen's biography; 
 but not until the period of his modern plays is reached do 
 his drafts and jottings assume what may be called world- 
 wide importance. The papers here translated throw in- 
 valuable light upon the genesis of his ideas and the de- 
 velopment of his technique. They are an indispensable 
 aid to the study of his intellectual processes during that 
 part of his career which made him world-famous. 
 
 The first volume of the Norwegian edition is very 
 varied in its contents. About half of it is occupied by 
 early poems, including the boyish verses to Hungary and 
 to King Oscar, written about 1848, which were proba- 
 bly the "first heirs of his invention." Most of the con- 
 tents of this section are occasional pieces — prologues, 
 
 3 
 
4 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 student songs, etc. — but in some of the lyrics we find the 
 germs of ideas to which he afterwards gave more finished 
 form. Then come some miscellaneous prose pieces, rang- 
 ing from one or two of his school themes, which have 
 somehow been preserved, to the singularly laconic and 
 unrhetorical speeches of his later years. 1 The remaining 
 pages are given up to hitherto unpublished plays and 
 dramatic fragments, dating from the 'fifties and early 
 'sixties. The most important of these is the romantic 
 comedy St. John's Night, produced in Bergen, January 
 2, 1853. This very youthful but not uninteresting play 
 was known to exist in manuscript, and had been described 
 by Ibsen's biographers; but, during his lifetime, he had 
 not suffered it to be printed. It is a vivacious and really 
 imaginative piece of work, containing foretastes both of 
 Love's Comedy and of Peer Gynt. Its culminating scene 
 is a midnight revel of fairy folk, which is witnessed by 
 two pairs of mortal lovers. The pair who are really in 
 touch with nature and with things elemental, see it as 
 it is, while the conventional and affected romanticists 
 take it for a dance of peasants around a bonfire. We 
 have here the germ of several passages in the poet's ma- 
 turer work. Another item of interest in the first volume 
 is a fragment entitled Svanhild, being the first sketch, in 
 prose, of what afterwards became Love's Comedy. 2 Ib- 
 sen said that he abandoned this form because he had not 
 yet the art of writing modern prose dialogue. I should 
 rather be disposed to say that he had not a theme adapted 
 
 1 Even his entries in the complaint-book of the Scandinavian Club 
 in Rome are piously included. 
 
 8 See Professor Herford's introduction to that play. 
 
INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 for treatment in prose. There is practically no action 
 in the play — none of that complex interweaving of the 
 past with the present, and of event with character, which 
 afterwards formed the substance of his art. We have 
 only a group of people expressing certain ideas on life and 
 love — ideas which naturally tend to shape themselves in 
 lyric or satiric verse. The form, in short, was indicated 
 by the lack of substance. The theme was a very thin 
 one, which needed the starch of metre. 
 
 The second volume of the Norwegian edition opens 
 with the so-called "epic Brand" — the fragment of a 
 narrative version of Brand, which is described by Profes- 
 sor Herford in his Introduction to that play. 1 Then come 
 sundry chips from the workshop in which Brand and 
 Peer Gynt were wrought to perfection. In the Peer Gynt 
 fragments there are one or two points of interest, to which 
 I have alluded in my Introduction. 2 The preliminary 
 sketches for The League of Youth are of small importance, 
 except in so far as they show that the play grew and de- 
 veloped very little in the course of incubation. Far more 
 interesting are the long scenarios and drafts which pre- 
 ceded the final form of Emperor and Galilean. A pretty 
 full account of them may be found in my Introduction to 
 the "world-historic drama." 3 This brings us down to 
 Pillars of Society and to the sketches and drafts included 
 in the present volume. 
 
 Whatever he may have been in youth, Henrik Ibsen, 
 in maturity and age, was the most reticent of artists. It 
 is said, I believe with truth, that even his wife and son 
 knew nothing of what he was meditating and hatching 
 
 » Vol. II., p. 4. J Vol. IV., p. 14. « Vol. V., p. 13. 
 
6 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 out, until each new play was polished to the last syllable. 
 In the Introduction to An Enemy of the People may be 
 found an anecdote of his apparently disproportionate 
 anger when he learned that some loose scrap of paper 
 had revealed the fact that the hero of the play on which 
 he was then engaged was to be a doctor. In his corre- 
 spondence he never indicates or discusses the themes 
 which are occupying him, except when he is asking for 
 historical material to be used in Emperor and Galilean. 
 So far as my own experience went, he never said more of 
 his work than that he was "preparing some devilment 
 for next year." I remember, too, that, when he was en- 
 gaged on When We Dead Awaken, he told me that he 
 thought of describing it as "An Epilogue." 
 
 It seems like an irony of fate that this ultra-secretive 
 craftsman, so jealous of the privacy of his workroom, 
 should, after death, have all his pigeon-holes ransacked, 
 and even the contents of his waste-paper basket, one 
 might say, given to the world. At first sight this may 
 seem like a profanation; but on looking into the matter 
 we find no just cause for sentimental regret. If Ibsen 
 had been violently averse from any posthumous study 
 of his methods, he had safety in his own hands — he 
 could always have destroyed his papers. He seems, on 
 the contrary, to have treasured them with considerable 
 care. The drafts and experiments for his romantic plays 
 (Lady Inger, The Vikings, and The Pretenders) were 
 scattered in a sale of his effects after he left Norway, in 
 1864, and have not yet been recovered. He was very 
 angry when he heard of their dispersal ; but he was prob- 
 ably not thinking of the loss to posterity. What he re- 
 
INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 sented at the time, no doubt, was the thought that un- 
 known and irreverent persons might be prying into his 
 secrets while he lived. Was he, perhaps, recalling this 
 experience when he made Lovborg, in Hedda G abler, 
 speak so bitterly of the possible profanation of his lost 
 manuscript? Be this as it may, we find that not even 
 the wandering life which he led for so many years inter- 
 fered with his habit of treasuring up the chips from his 
 workshop. It will be seen that this volume contains 
 " foreworks " of more or less importance for all his plays 
 from Pillars of Society onwards, with the single exception 
 of An Enemy of the People. We do not know what has 
 become of the sketches and studies for this play. He 
 produced it in half the time that he usually gave to the 
 ripening of a dramatic creation, and seems, indeed, to 
 have thrown it off with unusual facility and gusto. Still, 
 it is difficult to suppose that he dispensed altogether with 
 preliminary notes and jottings. We must rather conclude 
 that they have been accidentally lost or destroyed. 
 
 As he carefully preserved his papers, and as he left his 
 executors a free hand to deal with them as they thought 
 fit, they would have done the world a great wrong had 
 they decided to suppress documents of such unique in- 
 terest. Nowhere else, so far as I am aware, do we obtain 
 so clear a view of the processes of a great dramatist's 
 mind. There is something of the same interest, no 
 doubt, in a comparison of the early quartos of Romeo 
 and Juliet and Hamlet with the completed plays; but 
 in these cases we cannot decide with any certainty how 
 far the incompleteness of the earlier versions represents 
 an actual phase in the growth of the plays, and how far 
 
8 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 it is due to the bad stenography of the playhouse pirates. 
 In Ibsen's manuscripts we can actually follow the growth 
 of an idea in his mind; distinguish what is original and 
 fundamental in his conception from accretions and after- 
 thoughts; see him straying into blind alleys and trying 
 back again; and estimate the faultless certainty of taste 
 with which he strengthened weak points in his fabric, 
 and rejected the commonplace in favour of the rare and 
 unforgettable. Not once, I think, is a scene or a trait 
 suppressed which ought to have been preserved; not 
 once is a speech altered for the worse. Sometimes, in- 
 deed, we find him using absolutely commonplace ideas 
 and phrases which he must have known to be tempo- 
 rary makeshifts, awaiting transfiguration at a later stage. 
 How much he relied upon the final revision of his work 
 is apparent from a curious expression of which he makes 
 use in a letter to Theodor Caspari, dated Rome, 2?th 
 June, 1884. "I have just completed a play in five 
 acts," he says ; and then adds: " that is to say, the rough 
 draft of it; now comes the elaboration, the more ener- 
 getic individualisation of the persons and their modes 
 of expression." The play in question was The Wild 
 Duck. Any one who compares the draft in the follow- 
 ing pages with the finished play will see that what Ibsen 
 called "elaboration" amounted, at some points, almost 
 to reinvention. 
 
 In the Introductions to the various plays, in the Sub- 
 scription edition, I have pretty fully compared the earlier 
 with the final forms. As the reader has now before him 
 the complete text of the sketches and drafts, and can make 
 the comparison for himself, it will be sufficient if I briefly 
 
INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 direct his attention to some of the most significant fea- 
 tures of these "foreworks." 
 
 PILLARS OP SOCIETY 
 
 Of this play we have three brief and fragmentary sce- 
 narios, two almost complete drafts of the first act, an al- 
 most entirely rejected draft of the beginning of the second 
 act, and large fragments of a draft of the fourth act. 
 
 Here we at once discover that Ibsen was not one of the 
 playwrights who have their plays clearly mapped out be- 
 fore they put pen to paper. Even in the second draft of 
 the first act, he is still fumbling around after his char- 
 acters and their relations. That the actual plot was still 
 obscure to him while he was writing the first draft ap- 
 pears from several indications. It is only in the second 
 draft that the reappearance of Johan and Lona causes 
 Bernick to display any uneasiness. Moreover we find 
 in the first draft that " Madam Dorf ," Dina's mother, is 
 still alive, and that Dina is in the habit of paying her 
 surreptitious visits; whence we may assume that the 
 light to be thrown on Bernick's past was in some way 
 intended to proceed from her. While she was alive, at 
 any rate, Bernick would scarcely try to suppress the 
 scandal by sending Johan and his documents to sea in a 
 coffin-ship. This could not occur to him while the best 
 witness to the true state of affairs was living at his very 
 doors. Thus we see that the actual intrigue of the play 
 was a rather late after-thought. 
 
 A prominent character in both drafts of the first act is 
 Bernick's blind mother, who has disappeared from the 
 
10 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 finished play. Mads Tonnesen, nicknamed "the Bad- 
 ger," the father of Mrs. Bernick, Johan and Hilmar, 
 was destined to drop out of this play, and to reappear, 
 under the name of Morten Kiil, in An Enemy of the 
 People. The business of the railway is taken up at a 
 much later stage in the completed play than in the drafts 
 — a good instance of the condensation to which Ibsen 
 invariably subjected his work. Another instance may be 
 found in the treatment of Johan Tonnesen and Lona 
 Hessel. In the first draft they are not half brother and 
 sister, but only, it would seem, distant cousins; they 
 have not been together in America; and it is by pure 
 chance that they arrive on the same day. The farcical 
 scene at the end of the first act in this draft may perhaps 
 be taken as showing that Ibsen-at first thought of giving 
 the whole play a lighter tone of colouring than that which 
 he ultimately adopted. Perhaps he conceived it rather 
 as a companion-piece to The League of Youth than as a 
 new departure on the path that was to lead him so far. 
 
 A DOLL'S HOUSE 
 
 Of A DolVs House we possess a first brief memoran- 
 dum, a fairly detailed scenario, a complete draft, in quite 
 actable /orm, and a few detached fragments of dialogue. 
 The complete draft is perhaps the most valuable of all 
 the documents contained in this volume, since it shows 
 us how, at a point at which many dramatists would have 
 been more than content to write " Finis," the most char- 
 acteristic part of Ibsen's work was only about to begin. 
 
 It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that all the traits 
 
INTRODUCTION 11 
 
 which have most deeply impressed themselves on the 
 public mind, and which constitute the true individual- 
 ity of the play, prove to have been introduced during 
 the process of revision. This assertion the reader must 
 verify for himself, by a comparison of the texts : I will 
 merely enumerate a few of the traits of which the draft 
 contains no indication. In the first act, the business of 
 the macaroons is not even suggested; there is none of 
 the charming talk about the Christmas tree and the chil- 
 dren's presents; no request on Nora's part that her 
 present may take the form of money, no indication on 
 Helmer's part that he regards her supposed extrava- 
 gance as an inheritance from her father. It is notable 
 throughout that neither Helmer's sestheticism nor the 
 sensual element in his relation to Nora is nearly so much 
 emphasised as in the completed play; while Nora's 
 tendency to small fibbing — that vice of the unfree — 
 scarcely appears at all. In the first scene with Dr. Rank, 
 there is no indication either of the doctor's ill health or 
 of his pessimism: it seems as though he had at first been 
 designed as a mere confidant. In the draft, Nora, Hel- 
 mer, and Rank discuss the case of Krogstad in a dis- 
 passionate way before Nora has learnt how vital it is 
 to her. An enormous improvement was effected by the 
 suppression of this untimely passage, which discounted 
 the effect of the scene at the end of the act. That scene 
 is not materially altered in the final version; but the 
 first version contains no hint of the business of decorat- 
 ing the Christmas tree, or of Nora's wheedling Helmer 
 by pretending to need his aid in devising her costume 
 tor the fancy-dress ball, indeed this ball has not yet 
 
12 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 entered Ibsen's mind. He thinks of it first as a chil- 
 dren's party. 
 
 In the second act there is no scene with Mrs. Linden 
 in which she remonstrates with Nora for having (as she 
 thinks) borrowed money from Dr. Rank, and so sug- 
 gests to her the idea of applying to him for aid. In the 
 scene with Helmer, we miss, among other characteristic 
 traits, his confession that the ultimate reason why he 
 cannot keep Krogstad in the bank is that Krogstad, as 
 an old schoolfellow, is so tactless as to tutoyer him. 
 When Rank enters, he speaks to Helmer and Nora to- 
 gether of his failing health: it is an immeasurable im- 
 provement which transfers this passage, in a carefully 
 polished form, to his scene with Nora alone. Of the fa- 
 mous silk-stocking scene — that durious side light on Nora's 
 relations with Helmer — there is not a trace. There is 
 no hint of Nora's appeal to Rank for help, nipped in the 
 bud by his declaration of love for her. All these ele- 
 ments we find in the second draft of the scene. In this 
 draft, Rank says, " Helmer himself might quite well know 
 every thought I have ever had of you ; he shall know them 
 when I am gone." If Ibsen had retained this speech it 
 might have saved much critical misunderstanding of a 
 perfectly harmless episode. Even when the end of the 
 second act is reached, Ibsen has not yet conceived the 
 idea of the fancy-ball and the rehearsal of the tarantella. 
 It is not a very admirable invention, but it is at any rate 
 better than the strained and arbitrary incident which, in 
 the draft, brings the act to a close. 
 
 Very noteworthy is the compression and simplification 
 to which Ibsen has subjected the earlier scenes of the 
 
INTRODUCTION 13 
 
 third act. In the draft, they are clumsy and straggling. 
 The scene between Helmer, Nora and Rank has abso- 
 lutely none of the subtlety and tragic intensity which 
 it has acquired in the finished form. To compare the 
 two versions is to see a perfect instance of the transmuta- 
 tion of dramatic prose into dramatic poetry. There is in 
 the draft no indication either of Helmer's being warmed 
 with wine, or of the excitement of the senses which gives 
 the fina} touch of tragedy to Nora's despair. The pro- 
 cess of the action in the final scene is practically the 
 same in both versions; but everywhere the revision has 
 given a sharper edge to things. In the draft, for instance, 
 when Krogstad's letter has lifted the weight of appre- 
 hension from Helmer's mind, he cries, "You are saved, 
 TWa, you are saved!" In the revised form, Ibsen has 
 cruelly altered this into "I am saved, Nora, I am saved!" 
 Finally, we have to note that Nora's immortal repartee, 
 " Millions of women have done so," was an after-thought. 
 Was there ever a more brilliant one ? 
 
 GHOSTS 
 
 Of the studies for Ghosts only a few brief fragments 
 have been preserved. The most important of these are 
 mere casual memoranda, some of them written on the 
 back of an envelope addressed to " Madame Ibsen, 75 
 via Capo le Case, Citta (that is to say, Rome). These 
 memoranda fall into six sections, of which the fourth and 
 fifth seem to have as much bearing on other plays — for 
 instance, on An Enemy of the People and The Lady from 
 the Sea — as on Ghosts. I should take them rather for 
 
14 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 detached jottings than for notes specially referring to thai 
 play. 
 
 THE WILD DUCK 
 
 The drafts of The Wild Duck, though rather fragmen- 
 tary, are very interesting and important. They show that 
 the general outline of the play was pretty well established 
 from an early stage; but they also show it to have been 
 enormously enriched in detail in the final revision. This 
 is particularly notable in the character of Hedvig. In 
 the drafts, she is a quite commonplace girl ; all the deli- 
 cacy and beauty of the character, which make her fate so 
 heart-rending, was added during that process of "energetic 
 individualisation" to which the poet refers in his letter to 
 Caspari. It is worth noting, too, that in all these drafts 
 there is no allusion either to old Werle's weak eyes or to 
 Hedvig's threatened blindness: that idea, which at once 
 helped out the plot of the play, added to the pathos of 
 Hedvig's figure, and illustrated Hialmar's selfishness in 
 allowing her to strain her eyes over the retouching which 
 he himself ought to have done, was entirely an after- 
 thought. An idea which presents itself in a rudimentary 
 form in the first draft is that of Hialmar Ekdal's " inven- 
 tion" — here called his "problem." The later develop- 
 ment of this wonderful "invention" forms a very good 
 specimen of Ibsen's method. Everywhere, on a close 
 comparison of the texts, we see an intensive imagination 
 lighting up, as it were, what was at first somewhat cold 
 and colourless. In this case, as in many others, the draft 
 suggests a transparency before the electricity has been 
 switched on. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ROSMERSHOLM 
 
 We can trace this play to its completion from a very 
 embryonic form. It is clear that, when the poet jotted 
 down the earliest memorandum, he had as yet no idea of 
 the tragedy of Rebecca's relation to Beata; for he could 
 scarcely have described as "somewhat unscrupulous" a 
 woman who, under the mask of friendship, goaded an- 
 other to suicide. Rosmer, we see, was to have had two 
 daughters; but they soon disappeared from this play, to 
 reappear as Boletta and Hilda Wangel in The Lady from 
 the Sea. 
 
 The drafts of Rosmersholm afford a good example of 
 the way in which Ibsen almost always fumbled around 
 for the names of his characters. It is fortunate that 
 Rebecca did not eventually retain the name of " Miss 
 Badeck," which would have lent itself, in English, to 
 somewhat too facile pleasantries of the type in vogue 
 among " Anti-Ibsenite" critics of the 'nineties. At one 
 stage in the incubation of the play, we find Rebecca 
 figuring as "Mrs. Rosmer"; but she very soon, so to 
 speak, comes unmarried again. The student of tech- 
 nique may learn a valuable lesson in noting the improve- 
 ment effected in the finished play by the transference of 
 Rosmer's confession of his change of faith from the second 
 act to the first. Another point worth noting is the fact 
 that in the first draft of the first Brendel scene we find 
 Brendel coming forward as a champion of land-nation- 
 alisation, and greatly disappointed on learning that he 
 has been anticipated in a well-known book — an allu- 
 
16 FROM IESEX'S WORKSHOP 
 
 sion, no doubt, to Henry George's Progress and Poverty. 
 Ibsen showed bis usual fine instinct in abandoning 
 this idea. 
 
 THE LADY FROM THE SEA 
 
 The sketches and drafts of The Lady from tlie Sea 
 show that the theme was a good deal modified in the 
 course of incubation. Wangel, as at first conceived, 
 was entirely different, both in character and in profes- 
 sion, from the Wangel of the finished play. Several char- 
 acters appear in the original jottings who have disap- 
 peared from the play as we know it: among them one 
 who was treasured up for seventeen years, to come to 
 life ultimately as the delightful Foldal of John Gabriel 
 Borkman. The story of Ellida was much more com- 
 monplace in its original conception than it eventually 
 became — it "suffered a sea change Into something rich 
 and strange." But the most remarkable fact which the 
 "foreworks" bring to light is that Arnholm and the 
 Stranger were formed by the scission, so to speak, of 
 one character, denominated the "Strange Passenger" — 
 possibly not without a certain reference to the person- 
 age of that name in Peer Gynt. 
 
 HEDDA GABLER 
 
 Almost the first germs of Hedda Gaoler seem to have 
 come to the poet in the form of scraps of dialogue, roughly 
 jotted down. In his original conception, Tesman was 
 to have been much more of an active intermediary be- 
 tween Hedda and Lovborg than he became in the end. 
 It was Tesman who, at her instigation, was to lure 
 
INTRODUCTION 17 
 
 Lovborg to Brack's orgy; and it was apparently Tes- 
 man who was actually to make away with, or misappro- 
 priate, Lovborg's manuscript. Both Tesman and Mrs. 
 Elvsted were to have known much more of the former 
 "comradeship" between Lovborg and Hedda than they 
 do in the play. There is no hint of any " Mademoiselle 
 Diana" in the draft: when Hedda, asks Mrs. Elvsted 
 who the woman is whom Lovborg cannot forget, she re- 
 plies point-blank, "It is yourself, Hedda." Mrs. Elv- 
 sted 's luxuriant hair and Hedda's jealousy of it are after- 
 thoughts; so is the famous conception of Lovborg "with 
 vine-leaves in his hair." In the stage-direction for the 
 burning of Lovborg's manuscript, the allusion to the 
 "white leaves" and "blue leaves" evidently belongs to 
 some phase in the working-out of the play of which no 
 other trace remains. It is interesting to speculate on 
 what may have been in the poet's mind; but I am not 
 aware that any satisfactory solution of the problem has 
 as yet been offered. 
 
 THE MASTER BUILDER 
 
 The preliminary studies for this play are scanty and of 
 slight interest. They nowhere indicate any considerable 
 change of plan. Perhaps the most noteworthy trait in 
 them occurs where Solness is giving Hilda an account of 
 his progress in his profession. His work is in demand, 
 he says, far and wide; "and now, of late years, they are 
 beginning to take an interest in me abroad." Probably 
 this touch was struck out because it showed too clearly 
 the identity of Solness and his creator. 
 
18 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 LITTLE EYOLF 
 
 In spite of several gaps, the draft of Little Eyolf may be 
 called fairly complete. Here again revision amounted 
 almost to reinvention; and it was the reinvention that 
 determined the poetic value of the play. The poet's 
 original idea (though he doubtless knew very well that 
 this would not be final) was simply to study a rather 
 commonplace wife's jealousy of a rather commonplace 
 child. The lameness of Eyolf proves to have been an 
 after-thought; and as Eyolf is not lame, it follows that 
 the terrible cry of "The crutch is floating" was also an 
 after-thought, as well as the almost intolerable scene of 
 recrimination between Allmefs and Rita as to the acci- 
 dent which caused his lameness. We find, in fact, that 
 nearly everything that gives the play its depth, its horror 
 and its elevation came as an after-thought. The sugges- 
 tion of the "evil eye" motive is of the very slightest. 
 Instead of the exquisite beauty of the final scene in its 
 ultimate form, we have a page of almost conventional 
 sentimentalising over Eyolf's continued existence in the 
 hearts of his parents. Instead of telling her the won- 
 derful tale of his meeting with Death in the mountains, 
 Alfred reads to Rita the poem of which Ibsen had writ- 
 ten as a first hint for The Master Builder. In no case, 
 perhaps, did revision work such a transfiguration as in 
 Little Eyolf. 
 
INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN 
 
 Only brief and unimportant fragments of the prelim- 
 inary studies for this play have been preserved. They 
 tell us nothing more noteworthy than that Borkman at 
 first bore the incurably prosaic name of Jens, and that 
 he was originally conceived as occupying his leisure by 
 playing Beethoven on the violin, to a pianoforte accom- 
 paniment provided by Frida Foldal. 
 
 WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN 
 
 In the preliminary studies for When We Dead Awaken 
 there are several curious features, but nothing of very 
 great significance. We look in vain for the note re- 
 ferred to in the following anecdote, related in the Chris- 
 tiania Aftenpost, for April 16, 1911, by the dramatist 
 Gunnar Heiberg. The Norwegian actress who played 
 Irene in the original production gave her a rather juvenile 
 appearance, — with Ibsen's approval, it was reported. 
 "Tell me, Dr. Ibsen," Heiberg said to him one day, 
 "how old is Irene?" He replied, "Irene is 28 years 
 old." 
 
 "That is impossible," said I. 
 
 He looked at me, measured me up and down, and said with 
 crushing quietness, "You naturally know better, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," I answered. And I set to work to prove that 
 Irene must be at least 40 years old. . . . 
 
 "Irene is supposed to be 28," Ibsen interrupted me. "And 
 why do you ask, since you know all about it ? " 
 
20 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 He went away annoyed. 
 
 Next day, I received a letter from him, which ran thus: 
 "Dear Gunnar Heiberg, You were right and I was wrong. 
 I have looked up my notes. Irene is about 40 years old. 
 
 "Yours, 
 
 Henrik Ibsen." 
 
 The note determining Irene's age does not seem to 
 have been preserved; but it ought to have been sufficien* 
 to refer to the text. 
 
 William Archer. 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 
 
ARGUMENT 
 
 First Act 
 
 An open garden-room in the house of "the great 
 leader of industry." The ladies of the place are mei 
 together, doing needlework for the benefit of the " Lapsed 
 and Lost." The schoolmaster has been reading an edi- 
 fying book to the ladies. In the background the manu- 
 facturer talking business to influential men belonging to 
 the town and neighbourhood. Violent scene with Val- 
 borg, who finds it unbearable here and wishes to go 
 home to her mother. The merchant enters in triumph, 
 because it appears that the projected new railway can 
 be carried through. The dialogue brings out informa- 
 tion about all kinds of antecedent circumstances. " The 
 Old Badger" comes in with news of the damaged ship. 
 Who is the captain ? Arrival of the steamer. The cap- 
 tain enters and is recognised. Olaf comes from school; 
 announces that Aunt Lona is on the steamer. General 
 surprise and mixed feelings. She shows herself at th 
 garden gate just as the curtain falls. 
 
 Second Act 
 
 The new arrivals upset things considerably in the 
 town. Rumours of the captain's great wealth and of 
 the former scandal with Valborg's mother. The school- 
 master begins to think of becoming engaged to Valborg. 
 Beginning of conflict between the manufacturer and the 
 captain. 
 
24 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Third Act 
 
 We hear of irregularities in the repairing of the ship. 
 The engagement is announced and celebrated. The cap- 
 tain decides to leave the country. Fresh reports from 
 the yard. The manufacturer undecided; it is to be kept 
 quiet for the time being. 
 
 Fourth Act 
 
 Secret understanding between the captain and Val- 
 borg. The railway scheme assured. Great ovations. 
 Flight of Olaf with the departing couple. Thrilling 
 final catastrophe. 
 
 PERSONS 
 
 Bennick, a merchant, owner of forests and factories. 
 
 Mrs. Bennick, his wife. 
 
 Mrs. Colonel Bennick, his mother. 
 
 Margrete, her daughter. 
 
 Mads Tonnesen, a ship-owner and builder. 
 
 Emil (Hilmar) Tonnesen, his son. 
 
 Rorstad, a schoolmaster. 
 
 Madam Dorf, a former actress. 
 
 Dina, her daughter. 
 
 Miss Hassel. 
 
 Captain John Tennyson. 
 
 Evensen, a private tutor. 
 
 First Act 
 
 Introductory scene. Hints of Bernick's numerous 
 plans. The former worldly life of the town. Lona 
 Hassel's departure. The ladies go out into the ver- 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 25 
 
 andah to take coffee. Exchange of words between the 
 schoolmaster and Dina, who on the previous evening has 
 secretly visited her mother. Hilmar Tonnesen enters. 
 Mr. Bernick and old Tonnesen come in from the left to- 
 gether with some of the best men of the town, all involun- 
 tarily struck by Bernick's plan of setting on foot a rail- 
 way project. Great scene of conflict between different 
 points of view. Bernick propounds his superior view 
 and the duties of the individual to society. Arrival of 
 the steamer. Olaf enters with Miss Hassel, who brings 
 the news that Captain John Tennyson is (was) on board. 
 
 Second Act 
 
 A part of the garden of Bernick's house, with the 
 street and a row of houses at the back. Dina in the 
 garden; Hilda and Netta come along the street; they 
 question her about the American; fantastic rumours in 
 circulation. Bernick and Knap enter in front from the 
 left; the master-carpenter is to be sent for; Knap goes 
 out through the garden gate. Sandstad passes; dia- 
 logue with B. Rumours of the purchase by an English 
 company of all the large properties in the surrounding 
 district. Sandstad off. Old Tonnesen enters with both 
 his sons. These three go up the garden steps to the 
 ladies. Bernick and Aune, the master-carpenter. Aune 
 off. The Tonnesens re-enter with all the ladies and the 
 schoolmaster, also Miss Hessel. The schoolmaster pro- 
 poses to Dina; 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Mrs. R. and Mrs. H. are at first thinking of the school- 
 master for their daughters; after his engagement they 
 turn their attention to the American. 
 
26 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 PILLARS OF SOCIETY 
 
 1st Act 
 
 Introductory scene: The Ladies' Union assembled in 
 the merchant's house; the schoolmaster present. 
 
 Hilmar Tonnesen enters; Dina sent for the coffee- 
 things; the ladies one by one go out on to the balcony. 
 
 Old Tonnesen enters; he and Hilmar go out. 
 
 Bernick and business men enter; the business men off. 
 
 1st Act 
 (Room in Bernick's House.) 
 
 The situation with regard to Aune is prepared. Meet- 
 ing of the ladies. Dina and the schoolmaster. Hilmar, 
 and later old Tonnesen. The merchant and the mag- 
 nates of the town; the railway affair; Bernick's explana- 
 tion of proposals. Return home of the American cap- 
 tain and Miss Hessel, etc. 
 
 2nd Act 
 (Bernick's garden.) 
 
 Bernick and his wife in the garden. Afterwards the 
 ladies. Aune has been degraded. Rumours of the great 
 purchases of property in the neighbourhood. The school- 
 master enters. Old Tonnesen and both his sons. Lona 
 Hessel. Johan and his million. Conflict. The school- 
 master proposes to Dina. 
 
 3rd Act 
 
 (The walk by the shore.) 
 
 Johan, Olaf and the girls, also Martha. Johan and 
 Marta; explanation between them. Johan and Ber- 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 27 
 
 nick; the old affairs are touched upon. The head of 
 the office confides to Bernick what he has noticed at the 
 ship-yard ; Bernick wishes to see for himself. The great 
 rustic festival is decided upon; difficulties in the way of 
 the railway. 
 
 4th Act 
 (In the park.) 
 
 The great rustic festival is held. Many people from 
 the town and neighbourhood. Bernick about to report 
 Aune to the police. Johan threatens to disclose the af- 
 fairs of his young days. 
 
 FIRST ACT 
 
 (An elegant and spacious garden-room in Bernick's house. 
 In front, to the left, a door leads into Bernick's office; 
 farther back, in the same wall, a similar door. In the 
 middle of the opposite wall is a large entrance door. 
 The back ivall is almost entirely composed of plate- 
 glass, with an open doorway leading to a broad flight 
 of steps, over which a sun-shade is let down. Beyond 
 the steps a part of the garden can be seen, enclosed by 
 a railing with a little gate. Beyond the railing, and 
 running parallel with it, is a street of small, brightly 
 painted wooden hoiises. It is summer, and the sun 
 shines warmly. Now and then people pass along 
 the street: they stop and speak to each other: custom- 
 ers come and go at the little shop nearly opposite, and 
 so forth.) 
 
28 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 (In the garden-room a number of ladies are gathered round 
 a long table. In an armchair at tlie end of the table 
 on the left, Mrs. Bernick, widow of the Amtmand, 1 
 a handsome old lady with white hanging curh and 
 green glasses, busy with knitting. Next to her sits 
 her daughter, Martha Bernick; then Mrs. Rum- 
 mel, the younger Mrs. Bernick, Mrs. Salvesen, 
 Mrs. Holt, besides Miss Netta Holt and Miss 
 Hilda Rummel. Dina Dorf, for whom tJiere is no 
 room at the table, sits on a low stool behind the elder 
 Mrs. Bernick. All the ladies are busy sewing. On 
 the table lie large heaps of half-finished and cut-out 
 linen, and otJier articles of clothing. Farther towards 
 the back, at a little table on which are two Jlower-pots 
 and a glass of eau sucree, sits Doctor Rorlund with 
 a handsomely bound book with gilt edges, from which 
 he has just been reading.) 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Well, ladies, with this chapter I think 
 we may conclude for to-day. 
 
 (He places a marker in the book and closes it with a 
 bang.) 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Oh, how delightful it is with books 
 like that, that one doesn't quite understand 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. I beg your pardon ? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Well, I mean — that one doesn't see 
 the meaning of at once 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. — and that one has to think over 
 
 Mrs. Holt. — and that one has to read several 
 times. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (with a fixed look). Yes 
 [H'm]; such a book gives us indeed much to think about. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund (moving his chair nearer to tJie ladies), 
 1 A superior magistrate. 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 29 
 
 It is, one may say, a book for all. It is neither wholly 
 poetry nor wholly philosophy; nor yet is it altogether a 
 book of devotion. It is in a way something of all these. 
 [It touches upon the most various spheres of existence.] 
 And the whole is inspired by a gentle religious spirit. I 
 consider that such books ought to be found in the palace 
 as in the cottage, and in the cottage as in the palace. 
 And they are found there, too. Heaven be praised — 
 our people are still steadfast enough for that. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. I'm sure it would have lain 
 a long while on our shelves, if you had not 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Your husband does not read much, I 
 believe ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, how should he find 
 time for it? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. You can't say that Karsten 
 doesn't read much, Betty 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. He doesn't read that kind of 
 book, I meant. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. My son reads enormously, 
 Dr. Rorlund. But mostly works on political economy 
 and other things that may be useful to him. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, and that doesn't do us 
 any good. So it's really more than kind of you to give 
 up your spare time to us. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. But could I better apply a leisure 
 hour? I consider that needlework should always be 
 seasoned with good reading, especially when the work 
 has such an object as here. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Ah, but it is a sacrifice on 
 your part all the same, Dr. Rorlund. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Pray don't speak of it, dear lady. 
 Do not all of you make sacrifices for a good cause ? 
 And do you not make them willingly and gladly ? That 
 
30 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 is as it should be. The Lapsed and Lost, for whom we 
 are working, are like wounded soldiers on a battlefield;, 
 you, ladies, are the Red Cross Guild, the Sisters of Mercy, 
 who pick lint for these unhappy sufferers, tie the ban- 
 dages gently round the wounds, dress, and heal them 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. It must be a great blessing 
 to see everything in so beautiful a light. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. The gift is largely inborn; but it can 
 in some measure be acquired. Tribulation and afflic- 
 tion are a good school. I am sure that you, Mrs. Ber- 
 nick, have become aware of a purer and more beautiful 
 light even as your bodily eyes grew dim. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Ah, do not speak of that, Dr. 
 Rorlund! I must confess I am often worldly enough to 
 want to exchange the inner light, if I could recover the 
 outer light instead. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. We have all such moments of temp- 
 tation. But we have to be on our guard. And, in 
 truth, Mrs. Bernick, what have you really lost? Have 
 you not much rather gained a barrier between yourself 
 and the world ? Are you not at your ease here in a circle 
 of kind and sympathetic friends ? Do you really find so 
 much to attract you in the life you hear surging outside ? 
 Look at the people in the sweltering sunshine, toiling 
 and moiling over their paltry affairs and paltry sorrows. 
 Ours, surely, is the better part, sitting here in the pleasant 
 shade, and turning our backs toward the quarter from 
 which disturbance might arise. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Yes, no doubt you are quite 
 right 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. And in a house like this, in a good 
 and pure home, where the Family is seen in its fairest 
 shape, where peace and unity reign — (To Mrs. Ber- 
 nick Junior.) What are you listening to, Mrs. Bernick ? 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 31 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (who has turned towards the 
 door of her husband's room) . How loudly they are talk- 
 ing in there! 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Is anything particular going on ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. I don't know. There is evi- 
 dently someone with my husband. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Who can it be? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. I don't know in the least 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Why, that's your father who 
 is talking so loudly, Betty! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, I believe it is 
 
 (Hilmar Tonnesen, with a cigar in his mouth, 
 comes in by the door on the right, but stops on seeing 
 so many ladies.) 
 
 Hilmar. Oh, I beg your pardon 
 
 (Turning to go.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Come in, Hilmar, come in. 
 You are not disturbing us. Do you want anything ? 
 
 Hilmar. No, I just happened to be passing. Good- 
 morning, ladies. (To his sister.) Is he here still? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Who? 
 
 Hilmar. The old man. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, I can hear father in 
 Bernick's room. I didn't know 
 
 Hilmar. I wish I could guess what they want with 
 him 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. But what is it at all ? 
 
 Hilmar. Don't you know ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. No, I know nothing. 
 
 Hilmar. Don't you know that Bernick has called a 
 railway meeting? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Has he? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Has Karsten? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. A railway meeting? 
 
32 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Is Mr. Bernick going to build a 
 railway ? 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Only think, if we were to have a rail- 
 way here! 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Oh, let us hope that is a very distant 
 prospect. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. But what did father say to 
 it? 
 
 Hilmar. Do you think lie said anything? I don't 
 suppose he had any idea of what they were going to talk 
 about. But I heard it from Knap. They've sent a list 
 round to Sandstad, to Rasmussen — Rasmussen on the 
 hill — and to Vigeland — and to the old man as well. 
 Goodness knows why he should be in it. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. But they are our capitalists, Mr. 
 Tonnesen! 
 
 Hilmar. Yes, if capital could do it, it might perhaps 
 succeed; but you want intelligence as well, and that's a 
 class of goods of which there is no great supply here — I 
 mean in trading circles, of course! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. No, I hardly think I can imagine it, 
 Mrs. Holt! 
 
 Mrs. Holt. That we should have a railway here! 
 
 Hilda Rummel. Then we should be able to go by 
 train on Sundays! 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. On Sundays? 
 
 Hilda Rummel. No, I meant on week-days. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Would you then really con- 
 sider it harmful if we had a railway here, Dr. Rorlund ? 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. No, I should by no means consider it 
 absolutely harmful. Its harmfulness would depend upon 
 so much else. Nor can one in our days cut one's self off, 
 even if one wished it. And even at the present time this 
 town is connected in such manifold ways with the outer 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 33 
 
 world and in contact with much that is not as it should 
 be. It is not indeed a question of a temptation more or 
 less, Mrs. Bernick! Of such we have enough already — 
 both here and elsewhere. No, we must seek a shield and 
 buckler in our own mind; but first and foremost, of 
 course, with — ; well, that is understood. 
 
 Hilmar. Well, I should be very glad if they could 
 build us [if they would begin to squabble about] a rail- 
 way. It would be a variety at least. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Oh, I think there is quite enough 
 variety here as it is. 
 
 Hilmar. Possibly. But here I am smoking. I really 
 beg your pardon, ladies. 
 
 (Going towards the back.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. By all means smoke; I think 
 it is a good cigar 
 
 Hilmar. No, it's a very bad cigar; there isn't such 
 a thing as a good cigar to be got in the whole town. 
 That's another of the pleasures of provincial life. (Turn- 
 ing over the leaves of Rorlund's book.) "Hours of 
 Repose in the Bosom of Nature." What rubbish is 
 this! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, Hilmar, you mustn't say 
 that! You have surely not read the book. 
 
 Hilmar. No, and don't intend to. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. You seem out of sorts to- 
 day. 
 
 Hilmar. Yes, I am. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Perhaps you didn't sleep 
 well last night? 
 
 Hilmar. No, I slept very badly. I went a walk yes- 
 terday evening, by my doctor's orders, and came across 
 Evensen. Then we went up to [looked in at] the club 
 and stayed there till half past twelve. Evensen was tell- 
 
84 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 ing me about a polar expedition. An extraordinary im- 
 agination that man has. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Well, it doesn't seem to have agreed 
 with you. 
 
 Hilmar. No, I lay tossing all night half asleep, and 
 dreamt I was being chased by a horrible walrus. Ugh, 
 there he is shouting again! 
 
 The Ladies. Who is shouting? 
 
 Hilmar. Old Tonnesen, of course. He never can 
 moderate his voice, and it always makes me so nervous. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. The others are not whispering either, 
 it seems to me. I fear Mr. Bernick is being sorely tried. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. When my son has resolved 
 upon anything, he is capable of carrying it out, Dr. 
 Rorlund ! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes, indeed, he has shown that many 
 a time. We have to thank Mr. Bernick for our water 
 supply and the new street lamps 
 
 Mrs. Holt. — and proper paving and trees in the 
 market-place! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Dear me, yes! what a great 
 change there has been in this town! When I think of 
 the time when I was young 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, you needn't go back 
 more than twelve or fourteen years. And it is not only 
 outwardly that things have changed, but inwardly almost 
 more so. Heavens, what a life it was people led here! 
 There was a dancing club and a music club 
 
 Martha. And the dramatic club — I remember it 
 quite well. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes; it was there your play was 
 acted, Mr. Tonnesen. 
 
 [Hilmar. Oh, nonsense !1 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 35 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Mr. Tonnesen's play? Wasn't it 
 in that play you told me you played the heroine, Mrs. 
 Rummel ? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel (glancing at Rorlund). I? I really 
 don't remember, Mrs. Salvesen. But I remember too 
 well all the noisy gaiety that went on among families. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Yes; I actually know houses where 
 there were two great dinner-parties in one week. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. And in the summer we had 
 picnic parties both on sea and land 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. And that on Sundays too, from what 
 I have been given to understand. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, at that time we knew 
 no better. We even thought it extremely amusing. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Well, to unaided human nature such 
 things are amusing. But we have to overcome that, 
 Mrs. Bernick! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. I must say, though, that 
 there were many circumstances which in a way excused 
 
 US. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Excused ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Or, if they didn't excuse us, 
 at any rate — well, the men at that time had little to do, 
 and we women still less. We had our housekeeping and 
 nothing else. None of our societies had then been 
 started. Until you came here no one thought of any- 
 thing of the kind. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. And yet there were serious 
 people among us even then. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Were there really? And who were 
 they? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, there were several. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Betty is no doubt thinking 
 of Lona Hessel in particular. 
 
36 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Hessel ? Is that the Miss Hessel 
 who lives abroad ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes; she has lived abroad a 
 long while; ever since ■ 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. How long, do you say? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. No, I can't remember exactly. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Oh, Mrs. Bernick, can't you remem- 
 ber, she went away just at the time you were married ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. No, I really don't remember 
 that. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. She is probably roving about all over 
 the place, in Germany, France, Italy. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. We have not heard from her 
 for several years. She was a very distant relative of 
 my late husband, Dr. Rorlund. But she never writes. 
 Heaven knows whether she has found peace anywhere. 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. I doubt it, Mrs. Bernick! That 
 peace which we lack within ourselves can scarcely be 
 found outside. And least of all abroad. We see every 
 day, both in newspapers and books, how matters stand 
 there. Doubt and fermenting unrest on every side; the 
 soul at war with itself, insecurity in every relation of life; 
 disintegration of family life and a spirit of subversion in 
 the great communities. No; we ought to thank God 
 that our lot is ordered as it is. A tare, alas! will now 
 and then spring up among the crop; but we live upon a 
 soil where things can grow, whether they turn to good or 
 evil. — Therefore, as I was saying, I should very much 
 doubt that Miss Hessel has found peace far from home, 
 if it was that she went to seek. 
 
 Martha. Perhaps we shall see sooner than anyone 
 thinks. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Yes, who was it said that she was com- 
 ing home this summer? 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 37 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, that has been said so 
 many times. I don't suppose anything will come of it. 
 
 Martha. But this time it may come true. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Surely you know something, 
 child ; one can tell that from the way you speak. 
 
 Martha. No, indeed I know nothing; but I think 
 
 Dr. Rorlund. Telegraph secrets! We must not en- 
 quire more closely. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Well, if she comes home this summer, 
 she will find great changes indeed! She left just when 
 things were at their worst, and the town was upside- 
 down. That was the winter Moller's comedy company 
 was here. Don't you remember, Mrs. Bernick, they 
 played in Holm the sailmaker's hall ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. Yes, very likely. 
 
 Mrs. Holt (loith a glance at Mrs. Rummel). H'm 
 — h'm. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel (without noticing it). No, there's no 
 doubt about it. I remember it as clearly as if it were 
 to-day. Yes, that winter there were fine doings in the 
 town. Wasn't it that year that ? 
 
 Mrs. Holt (as before). H'm ! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel (noticing her). No, of course — . I 
 don't know what I'm saying 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. But don't you think we'd 
 better ? 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. But what was the real truth of all 
 the wild stories of that time ? I am so new to the town 
 that I don't know what happened 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Oh, it was really nothing after all. 
 Mrs. Salvesen! 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Dina, dear, hand me that piece of linen, 
 please. 
 
38 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (at the same time). Dina, my 
 love, will you go and ask Katrina to bring the coffee into 
 the verandah. 
 
 Martha. I will help you, Dina. 
 
 (Dina and Martha go out by the second door on the 
 left.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. And now we may put aside 
 our work for to-day. Come, let me help you, mother 
 dear! Will you come, ladies? 
 
 (She and Rorlund lead Mrs. Bernick Senior out 
 to the verandah. The other ladies have risen and 
 are arranging their work on the table in the room.) 
 
 Mrs. Rummel (softly). Oh dear, Mrs. Salvesen, how 
 you frightened me! 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. I? 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Ah, but you began it yourself, Mrs. 
 Rummel. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. I? Oh, how can you say so, Mrs. 
 Holt? Not a single word passed my lips. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. But what is the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. How could you talk about — ? Only 
 think — didn't you see that Dina was in the room ? 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. But, mercy on us, what is the 
 matter ? 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Here, in this house, too.' Don't you 
 know that it was Mrs. Bernick's brother ? 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. What about him ? I know nothing 
 at all; remember I am quite new to the town 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Then you haven't heard that — ? 
 H'm; don't wait for us, Hilda. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. You go too, Netta. And be sure you 
 are very kind to Dina when she comes. 
 
 (Hilda and Netta go out into the verandah.) 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 39 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Well, what about Mrs. Bernick's 
 brother ? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Don't you know, he was the hero of 
 the scandal ? 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Mr. Hilmar the hero of a scandal! 
 
 Mrs. Holt. No, not he, Mrs. Salvesen! It was the 
 other brother 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. The prodigal brother 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Old Tonnesen's youngest son; one who 
 was a sailor. He ran away to America. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. And there was a scandal about him ? 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes, there was a sort of — what shall 
 I call it ? — a sort of a — with Dina's mother. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Oh, no! how unfortunate that I 
 
 knew nothing 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Hush, there she comes. (Loud.) 
 Yes, as you say, Dina is really quite a clever girl — What 
 are you there, Dina? We are just finishing our work 
 here. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Ah, how nice your coffee smells, my dear 
 Dina. It will be a treat to take a little cup of it. 
 
 (Martha and Dina have meanwhile helped the ser- 
 vant to bring in the coffee things. The ladies go 
 out and sit down; they vie with each other in talk- 
 ing kindly to Dina. After a time she comes into 
 the room and looks for Iter sewing.) 
 Mrs. Bernick: Junior (on tlie verandah). Dina, 
 
 don't you want ? 
 
 Dina. No, thanks; I haven't nearly finished. 
 
 (She takes her sewing and sits down on the right, 
 with her back turned towards the end of the table. 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior and Rorlund exchange 
 a few words; a moment after, he comes into the 
 room.) 
 
40 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rorlund {goes up to tlie table, as if looking for some' 
 thing, and says in a low voice). Dina! 
 
 Dina. Yes! 
 
 Rorlund. Why will you not come out? 
 
 Dina. You know very well. 
 
 Rorlund. Do you think that anyone is speaking ill 
 of — of one who is absent? 
 
 Dina. I am sure they are not spealcing of one who is 
 absent. 
 
 Rorlund. Well, what then ? 
 
 Dina (quivering). I know that they are thinking 
 about her — all of them. 
 
 Rorlund. Thinking evil ? 
 
 Dina. No! 
 
 Rorlund. There, you see! .. 
 
 Dina. They do what is worse. 
 
 Rorlund. What is worse, then ? 
 
 Dina. Oh,. I know well enough; they pity ker. 
 
 Rorlund. Do you call that worse ? 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. Yours is a rebellious nature, Dina. 
 
 Dina (softly). Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. What makes it so ? 
 
 Dina. It has never been otherwise. 
 
 Rorlund. But could you not try to change? 
 
 Dina. No. 
 
 Rorlund. Do you not think it would be of any use ? 
 
 Dina. No. 
 
 Rorlund. And why don't you think it would be of 
 any use? 
 
 Dina. You know quite well why. 
 
 Rorlund. No, I do not. Tell me. 
 
 Dina (holes up at him firmly). Because I belong to 
 the Lapsed and Lost 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 41 
 
 Rorlund. Fie! 
 
 Dina. Mother and I belong to the Lapsed and Lost. 
 
 Rorlund. I am sure no one in this house has ever 
 said that to you. 
 
 Dina. No, but they think it. 
 
 Rorlund. I have often seen signs of this distrust in 
 you. Has it anything to do with your sometimes con- 
 cealing your movements ? 
 
 Dina. What do you mean by that ? 
 
 Rorlund. Where were you late yesterday evening, 
 
 Dina ? 
 
 Dina (bending over her work) . Do you know that too ? 
 
 Rorlund. Where were you ? 
 
 Dina. At home. 
 
 Rorlund. At home ? I suppose you mean with your 
 mother ? 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. I thought your home was here ? 
 
 Dina. Yes, they have taken me into their house. 
 
 Rorlund. On condition that you do not visit your 
 mother. 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. And you promised that ? 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. And nevertheless you do visit her? 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. In spite of your promise ? 
 
 Dina. Such is my nature. 
 
 Rorlund. Why do you do it ? 
 
 Dina. It is more amusing with her. 
 
 Rorlund. Indeed? Then what do you think it !3 
 here ? 
 
 Dina. They are all good to me. 
 
42 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rorlund. And these serious occupations and en- 
 deavours of ours — do you like taking part in them ? 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. For what reason ? 
 
 Dina. Because you wish it. 
 
 Rorlund. Do you like doing something for my sake ? 
 
 Dina. Yes, I do. 
 
 Rorlund. Why ? 
 
 Dixa. Because you are so much more perfect than 
 the others. 
 
 Rorlund. What makes you think that, Dina? 
 
 Dina. Because you have taught me so much that is 
 beautiful. 
 
 Rorlund. Beautiful ? Do you call the truths of re- 
 ligion beautiful ? 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Rorlund. What do you understand, then, by a beau- 
 tiful thing? 
 
 Dina. I have never thought of that. 
 
 Rorlund. Then think of it now. What do you un- 
 derstand by a beautiful thing? 
 
 Dina. A beautiful thing is something great — and far 
 away. 
 
 Rorlund. H'm. Listen, Dina, I want to say to 
 you — . Oh, here they come. 
 
 (He goes up toivards the verandah. At the same 
 moment Old Tonnesen comes noisily out of Mr. 
 Bernick's room.) 
 
 Mads Tonnesen (in the doorway). No, no, no, I 
 say! It's no use, I say! I'm off now, as sure as my 
 name's Mads Tonnesen! (Slams the door.) 
 
 Hilmar Tonnesen (at the same time, to Mrs. Ber- 
 wick Junior). There he is. Good-bye! 
 
 (Is hurrying off to the rights 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 43 
 
 Mads Tonnesen. Hilmar! My son Hilmar, wait, 
 we'll go together. You ought to have been in there, 
 listening to your brother-in-lav; . I'm damned if I ever 
 heard anything so mad! 
 
 Hilmar. Hush; don't swear so horribly. Can't you 
 see Mrs. Bernick sitting out there? 
 
 Mads. What, is the old lady there ? (Approaching.) 
 Good morning, ma'am. 
 
 Hilmar. Come on; come on: 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Good morning, Tonnesen. 
 What is going to be done about the railway? 
 
 Mads. It won't come to anything, ma'am; he wan j 
 to build it with our money; I never hear A anything so 
 unreasonable! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. But I suppose he will build 
 it with his own as welL 
 
 Mads. Yes, he can do what he likes with his own 
 money; he has plenty of it; and he earned it easily 
 enough. But I, ma'am, who began with two empty 
 fists 
 
 Hilmar (still at the door). Hands 
 
 Mads. J say fists, my son Hilmar! Yes, ma'am, I 
 can tell you, they were empty then, and dirty too 
 
 Hilmar. Ugh ! 
 
 Mads. But that's the glory of labour, ma'am, and 
 with those fists I hold on to what I've sweated so hard 
 for 
 
 Hilmar. Ugh, ugh, ugh! 
 
 Mads. Yes, I know very well people here give me 
 nicknames and call me the Badger; but the Badger will 
 show them that he has claws! Isn't that so, my son 
 Hilmar ? 
 
 Hilmar. Yes, only do come; come on! 
 
 Mads. Railway! As if I didn't know all about rail- 
 
44 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 ways. When a young man over in America gets on 
 board a railway, he's never seen again. — But why the 
 devil can't you come, Hilmar! I'm sure the dinner's on 
 the table long ago, and you stand here wasting my time 
 talking! — Good-bye, ma'am; good-bye, Betty; good-bye, 
 all! 
 
 (Old Tonnesen and his son go out to the right. At 
 the same moment Sandstad, Rasmussen and 
 Vigeland enter from the room on the left, followed 
 by Bernick, who has a bundle of papers in his 
 hand.) 
 
 Bernick. Well, gentlemen, I shall not regard this as 
 a final refusal. At any rate take the papers home with 
 you and try to make yourselves better acquainted with 
 my calculations. 
 
 Sandstad. To tell the truth, I don't think that 
 would be of any use, Mr. Bernick. According to my 
 best convictions I cannot advise private individuals to 
 venture their money in this; and still less can I be a 
 party to voting any public funds. 
 
 Rasmussen. Nor I either. 
 
 Vigeland. To me it is evident that a railway project 
 of this kind would be opposed to the most important 
 interests of the town. Think of all our steamships in 
 the coasting trade. What should we do with them ? 
 
 Rasmussen. Yes, what should we do with the steam- 
 ships ? 
 
 Vigeland. And another thing. If we get a railway 
 round here, then the neighbouring towns will also have 
 a railway. No one can tell what changes this will bring 
 about in the shipping trade. 
 
 Rasmussen. No, no one can tell that. 
 
 Bernick. But, gentlemen, what are you talking 
 about? The country districts round here have produce 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 45 
 
 enough both for us and for the neighbouring towns, if 
 we only provide the means of communication. 
 
 Rasmussen. Yes, that's right. 
 
 Bernick. Just think of our great tracts of forest, 
 which are now inaccessible. Think of the minerals it 
 would allow us to work. Think of our water-power, 
 with one waterfall above another; — what rare advan- 
 tages for manufactures of all kinds! 
 
 Rasmttssen. Yes, there are. 
 
 Vigeland. But all this would not benefit the town, 
 Mr. Bernick! 
 
 Bernick. My dear Mr. Vigeland, it would benefit 
 society; and what benefits society, would also benefit us. 
 Therefore we ought, as enlightened citizens, to support 
 the affair with all the powers that are at our disposal. 
 But we must hold together; that is all-important! Take 
 the draft prospectus home with you ; go carefully through 
 all my calculations; help me, if you find any error in the 
 estimates; — here is one for you, Mr. Sandstad. 
 
 Sandstad. Well, there's no harm in taking them 
 
 Rasmussen. No, there's no harm in that. 
 
 Sandstad. But I don't think anything will come of it. 
 
 Rasmussen. No, I don't either. 
 
 Bernick. Well, well, gentlemen, sleep on it first. 
 Perhaps something will come of it after all. Men like 
 yourselves cannot possibly be blind to all the prosperity 
 and progress that lies behind this undertaking. It is only 
 the novelty of the thing that takes you by surprise. And 
 this disinclifljation to throw one's self at once into any- 
 thing new and untried is very estimable, very honour- 
 able; it is a good and a characteristic side of our nation; 
 I even venture to say, it is one of the best pillars of our 
 society. But when we have once convinced ourselves of 
 the desirability and opportuneness of a measure, then it 
 
46 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 is just as much our duty not to draw back, but to go 
 through with it. Am I not right, we are all agreed on 
 that? 
 
 Vigeland. Well, I won't say either one way or the 
 other, but 
 
 Rasmussen. No, I won't either; but 
 
 Sandstad. Then I'll take the estimates with me, Mr. 
 Bernick ? 
 
 Bernick. Yes, do so, my dear Mr. Sandstad. Dis- 
 cuss the matter among yourselves. And when we have 
 got so far as to be able to lay it before the public in due 
 form, you will see that the difficulties are not nearly so 
 great as you now think. — Well, good-bye, gentlemen. I 
 will not detain you any longer. I should greatly dislike 
 to appear a schemer in your eyes; therefore I wish you 
 as soon as possible to see the affair in its true light. 
 Good day, Mr. Sandstad. Your children are quite well, 
 I hope ? Good-bye, my dear Mr. Vigeland. Good-bye, 
 Mr. Rasmussen. Remember me to Mrs. Rasmussen. 
 Good-bye, gentlemen; remember me very kindly at 
 home! 
 
 ( The three men take their leave and go out to the right.) 
 
 Bernick (who has accompanied them to the door). 
 Phew! that's the first victory. 
 
 Rorlund. Do you call that a victory, Mr. Bernick ? 
 
 Bernick. Getting them to take the papers home? 
 Yes, Dr. Rorlund, that was a great victory. I don't ex- 
 pect anything more to begin with. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (approaching) . My dear Kar- 
 sten, what is the meaning of it? 
 
 Bernick. Oh, my dear Betty, it can't possibly in- 
 terest you. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior (on the verandah). Yes, Kar- 
 sten, you must come and tell us 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 47 
 
 Bernick. No, my dearest mother, it is something you 
 and Betty don't understand. 
 
 Rorlund. There is some talk of a railway, so far as 
 I could gather. 
 
 Bernick. Yes, you shall hear about it, Dr. Rorlund. 
 You are a man of intelligence, and a man who stands 
 outside local interests 
 
 Rorlund. I am certainly far removed from the ma- 
 terial interests. 
 
 Bernick. But still you keep pace with public affairs 
 — do you not? 
 
 Rorlund. Yes, I read the papers, so far as my time 
 permits; and of course one hears one thing and another. 
 
 Bernick. Good, then of course you know that there 
 is talk of making a line of railway through the hills ? 
 
 Rorlund. Yes, one that will not come down to our 
 town. 
 
 Bernick. It won't touch any of the coast towns 
 about here — if it is carried out. But that is what we are 
 not going to permit! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. But, Karsten, why are you 
 mixing yourself up in all this ? 
 
 Bernick. H'm, my dear mother, it would take too 
 long to explain 
 
 Rorlund. Well, I am not a business man, Oi course; 
 but still I too think that such things might be left to the 
 Government. 
 
 Bernick. You do? Well, that is a view that we 
 often hear expressed. But do you not really feel in your- 
 self a call, a need, an impulse to support society in its 
 striving for development and welfare? 
 
 Rorlund. Yes, I do; within the sphere that is al- 
 lotted to me. 
 
 Bernick. Yes, within that sphere you are [. You 
 
48 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 are] certainly a pillar of spiritual society among us. 
 But I am now thinking [more particularly] of practical 
 life. And that is just where the Government is found 
 wanting, Dr. Rorlund. The Government has the best 
 intentions, but it sees no further than the needs of the 
 moment; it is lacking in foresight; and it is for this 
 reason that we practical men have to step in. We have 
 been educated in the school of experience; we are — I 
 think I may say so with all modesty — we are the best 
 pillars of civil society; for by pillars of society I do not 
 mean those men who support existing institutions, but 
 those who promote reasonable and necessary progress. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel (in tlie doorway to the verandah) . Oh, 
 how amusing it is 
 
 Bernick. Do you call it aniusing, Mrs. Rummel? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes, I think it is so amusing to hear 
 men speaking. 
 
 Berwick. Then you can look forward to a good deal 
 of amusement, for we shall have plenty of speaking and 
 writing, and quarrelling and wrangling. But it shall go! 
 Ay, if I have to risk all I possess in the affair, I am de- 
 termined to see it through. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Do you think butter will be cheaper 
 if we have a railway, Mr. Bernick? 
 
 Bernick. It will bring prosperity to the whole com- 
 munity; that is all I can tell you for the moment. But, 
 ladies, you must not mix yourselves up with the questions 
 of the day; you must leave them to us men. Your place 
 is in the home ; there you must bring peace and comfort 
 to those nearest and dearest to you, as my dear Betty, 
 and my dear old mother bring peace and comfort to me 
 and to Olaf. Why, where is Olaf ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. He is not back from school 
 yet. (Knap enters from the right.) 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 49 
 
 Knap. A ship for repairs, Mr. Bernick. 
 
 Bernick. Bravo! Who is it? 
 
 Knap. A big American. Sprang a leak in the North 
 Sea. 
 
 Bernick. And can we take her in? 
 
 Knap. I really don't know what to say. Things are 
 going badly at the yard, Mr. Bernick. To-day the dril- 
 ling-machine is out of order again; and the steam-plane 
 won't work either. 
 
 Bernick. H'm, h'm; I don't believe Aune will ever 
 learn to work with machines. 
 
 Knap. I don't believe he wants to learn; he has set 
 himself against the machines ever since we put them in. 
 
 Bernick. Oh, we shall be able to get over that. 
 But under any circumstances — we mustn't lose the Amer- 
 ican. What kind of ship is she ? 
 
 Knap. The barque Indian Girl of New York, with 
 dye-wood from Brazil to St. Petersburg. 
 
 Bernick. And the captain ? 
 
 Knap. The captain went overboard in the North Sea, 
 and the mate has delirium tremens. But a sailor, who 
 was on board as a passenger, took command and brought 
 the ship into Rsegehavn. 
 
 Bernick. Then you haven't spoken to him? 
 
 Knap. Yes, I have; he was on the steamer. 
 
 Bernick. Oh, then the steamer's in ? 
 
 Knap. Yes, and he has come in here with the crew 
 to get more hands and to charter a tug. Here is his 
 card. 
 
 Bernick {reads). "John Rawlinson, New Orleans." 
 Then he's from the Southern States. Well, you must 
 see that you give him all the help you can, Mr. Knap. 
 
 Knap. I'll do so, Mr. Bernick. 
 
 (He goes out again to tlie right.) 
 
50 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (calls from outside). Good 
 news, Karsten? 
 
 Bernick. Business, my dear! You must be pre- 
 pared to receive an American captain to dinner. 
 
 (Olaf Bernick, with a knapsack of school-books on 
 his back, comes running up the street and through 
 the garden-gate.) 
 
 Olaf. Mamma, mamma, I've been down seeing the 
 steamboat ! Do you know who was on board ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, child; I expect it was 
 an American captain. 
 
 Olaf. How do you know that, mamma? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. I guessed it. 
 
 Olaf. Then can you guess that Aunt Lona was on 
 board too ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. What are you saying ? 
 
 Olaf. Yes, she was, mamma; I've seen her and spo- 
 ken to her. 
 
 Bernick. Now you're not telling the truth, Olaf! 
 
 Olaf. Yes, I am telling the truth. 
 
 Bernick. No, you're not; for you don't know her. 
 
 Olaf. No, but Evensen was down on the pier, and 
 he knew her. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (aside). So then ! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Only think — then she has come 
 home after all! 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Well, what did I tell you, Mrs. Rum- 
 mel ? (Many travellers come up the street.) 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Look, look! Well, I never — there 
 she is, as large as life! 
 
 (Miss Hessel, in an elegant travelling costume, with 
 a satchel and a plaid over her shoulder and a knap- 
 sack in her hand, comes up the street.) 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 51 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, there she is! (Runs 
 down to the garden-gate.) Lona, Lona! Welcome 
 home! 
 
 Lona. Why, yes — good morning, Betty! (Calls up 
 to the verandah.) Good morning, old auntie! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. But do come inside! 
 
 Lona. Thanks, presently, presently; I must go up 
 to the hotel first and wash myself clean from top to toe; 
 on the steamer you get as dirty as a pig. Au revoir! 
 
 (She goes on up the street.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. She hasn't changed, has she, 
 Betty ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (looking after her). No, — and 
 yet she has. 
 
 Rorlund. That lady appeared to me somewhat un- 
 womanly. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. How funnily her dress was cut, Mrs. 
 Rummel ! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes, but did you notice her hat, Mrs. 
 Holt? 
 
 Olaf. Hurrah, mamma, here come all the Americans! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. No, look at these wild people ; they've 
 got a great flag 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Ugh, I believe there are brown and 
 black ones among them. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. The captain is almost the ugliest; 
 he has a regular pirate's face. 
 
 Rorlund. Yes, that fellow is capable of anything. 
 
 Bernick. Foreigners, Dr. Rorlund; we mustn't be 
 so particular. 
 
 (Captain Rawlinson and his crew, with the Ameri- 
 can flag at their head, come up the street, followed 
 by a crowd of children and grown-up people.) 
 
52 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Bernick (waves his hand from the steps and calls 6ut:) 
 Good morning, Mr. Rawlinson! This way, if you please, 
 sir! I am Mr. Bernick! 
 
 Capt. Rawlinson (waves his Jiandkerchief and cries:) 
 Very well, Karsten; but first three cheers for the old 
 Badger! (Tfie Americans and the whole crowd go past.) 
 
 Bernick (starting back). Ah! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior (with a cry) . Who spoke then ? 
 
 Martha (involuntarily takes a step forward and cries:) 
 Johan! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Heavens — it was my brother! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Well, as I'm alive, I think so too ■ 
 
 Bernick (lias composed himself and says calmly) . It 
 was Johan Tonnesen. What of it? 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Oh, what a surprise! And how well he 
 looked. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. And how well that beard suited 
 him, Mrs. Bernick! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (aside). Johan and Lona — 
 on the same day 
 
 Bernick. Well, now we shall have turbulent spirits 
 among us. 
 
 Rorlund. I hope no one will succeed in introducing 
 a disturbing element here. With the place in its present 
 state — a home of peace and good order and domes- 
 ticity 
 
 Mrs. Rummel's Servant-Girl (enters through the 
 garden-gate). Master sent me to say, ma'am, that you 
 must please come home; Gurine has burnt the fish to a 
 cinder. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Oh, these servants, these servants; 
 one can never leave anything to them! Good-bye, good- 
 bye; we shall meet to-morrow! 
 
 (She and the servant hurry off down the street.) 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 53 v 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Yes, that's what you can expect if 
 you trust your house to the servants. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen's Two Little Girls (come out of the 
 chemist's shop, run to the garden-gate and call out:) 
 Mamma, mamma, you must come and see; Nicholas 
 has fallen into the wash-tub! 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. What do you say, children! And he 
 had his new blouse on! 
 
 The Little Girls. Oh, he is in a filthy mess! 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Oh, these children, these children! 
 Good day! I must run as fast as I can. 
 
 (She and the little girls hurry into tlie chemist's shop.) 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Yes, that's what happens if you leave 
 everything lying about. I make it my rule to lock 
 things up; and the keys (slaps her pocket) I carry about 
 with me. 
 
 The Postman (comes running down tlie street to the 
 garden-gate). Oh, heavens, ma'am, you must hurry 
 home; we shall miss the steamer. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Miss the steamer? 
 
 Postman. Yes, the second bell's gone already, and 
 the postmaster can't take the mails on board till you 
 come, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. What are you talking about ? Cai>'t the 
 mails go on board without me? 
 
 Postman. No, ma'am; you've locked up the post- 
 master's trousers in the wardrobe. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Mercy on us! Good-bye, good-bye till 
 to-morrow! Oh, these men, these men, they never can 
 do anything for themselves. 
 
 (She and the Postman run up the street.) 
 
 Rorlund. People here make too great demands on 
 woman's time and energies. 
 
54 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Martha (aside). Come home- 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (aside). Both of them ! 
 
 Olaf (in the garden). Mamma, now the Americans 
 are shouting hurrah outside grandpapa's! 
 
 (Noise and cries are heard far off; people appear at 
 the windows; many people run up the street.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior (who has risen and is groping 
 for the door) . Karsten — don't you think as I do — that it 
 is like ghosts from old times ? 
 
 Bernick (starts up from his thoughts). Oh, come — 
 ghosts ? Yes, to you, dear mother — you in the dark, with 
 your poor eyes — (kisses Iter) but I, you see, I am in the 
 full light of day! 
 
 SECOND^ ACT 
 
 (Part of tlie garden outside Mr. Bernick's house. The 
 house itself, which is not seen, is supposed to lie to 
 the left. At the back is the garden railing with the 
 street beyond; on the right an open arbour, in which 
 is the ladies' work-table.) 
 
 (Bernick, dressed to go out, with gloves, stick and cigar, 
 is walking in the garden. After a little while Mrs. 
 Bernick Junior comes from the house with a quan- 
 tity of sewing, which she places on tlie table.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Are you there, Karsten ? 
 
 Bernick. Yes, of course I'm here. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. I thought you had gone to the 
 office. 
 
 Bernick. I am waiting for somebody. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, perhaps it is Johan ? 
 
 Bernick. No. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Ugh, then it must be this 
 railway business again? 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 55 
 
 Bernick. No, it's a man I've sent for here. Why, 
 what can it matter to you ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, there's nothing strange 
 in my asking. 
 
 (Dina enters with the rest of the sewing.) 
 
 Bernick. Are you going to work out here to-day ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. Yes, Dr. Rorlund proposed that we 
 should sit here. 
 
 Bernick. I see, it's more public here. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. I'm sure he didn't intend 
 any ostentation by it. 
 
 Bernick. I didn't mean that either. There are loaf- 
 ers enough here who might take a lesson from seeing all 
 these industrious ladies. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Ah, you're not much in sym- 
 pathy with this cause, Karsten! 
 
 Bernick. Yes, indeed I am! Sew away — so long as 
 domestic concerns are not neglected — . Isn't Martha at 
 home to-day? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. No, Martha of course is on 
 duty. 
 
 Bernick. That was a great piece of folly of hers, 
 going into the telegraph service. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, I'm really afraid she 
 hasn't strength enough for it. 
 
 Bernick. Oh, as far as strength goes, she can do it 
 well enough. But it is unpleasant for me. It looks as 
 if I, her brother, were unwilling to support her. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Well, but it isn't always so 
 pleasant to be supported — even by one's nearest relations. 
 
 Bernick. A woman has to put up with that sort of 
 thing. Why has she never wanted to marry? No, she 
 is self-willed and stiff-necked, like most — Oh, now 
 
56 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 they're beginning to arrive [here come Mrs. Rummel and 
 her daughter]. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Here is Mrs. Holt and Netta 
 too. 
 
 Bernick. What a hurry they're in; I'm inclined to 
 think those two good ladies have designs 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. How do you mean ? 
 
 Bernick. Why do they always drag the daughters 
 with them? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, you know we agreed that 
 these two nice, well-brought-up girls were to be exam- 
 ples for Dina. 
 
 Bernick. H'm; a couple of mothers with marriage- 
 able daughters are sure to have little designs of their 
 own 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior- Really, Karsten, can you 
 imagine it is because he 
 
 Bernick. Yes, he, he, he; all the women in the 
 place speak of him as he, — and then they know at once 
 who is meant. 
 
 (Mrs. Rummel with Hilda, and Mrs. Holt with 
 Netta meet at the garden-gate and come in. At 
 the same moment Mrs. Bernick Senior comes 
 from the house, led by Dina, who lias Rorlund's 
 book in lier hand. TJiere are greetings, all talking 
 at once. During this Mrs. Salvesen joins tliem.) 
 
 Bernick. Your punctuality really compels my ad-> 
 miration, ladies! Never a minute behind time 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Oh, I can't tell you how I long foi 
 these cosy hours of work 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Did you bring the book, Dina J 
 
 Dina. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Oh, he's sure not to come to-day. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. No, he's sure not to 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 57 
 
 Bernick. Why not? It is holiday time, you 
 know 
 
 Mrs. R. Yes, that's true; but aren't you taking a 
 holiday too, Mr. Bernick? 
 
 Bernick. You mean because I was taking a walk here 
 with my wife ? Dear me, one isn't a mere man of business 
 and nothing else; one is also the head of a family 
 
 Mrs. H. Yes, you may truthfully say that of your- 
 self, Mr. Bernick 
 
 Bernick. And one wants to enjoy the society of one's 
 own circle; it is not a large one, but for that reason it is 
 all the more closely bound together, Mrs. Holt. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Ah, but now it is a little enlarged, 
 isn't it ? 
 
 Bernick. Yes, since my brother-in-law has come 
 home, you mean. 
 
 Mrs. R. They say he has become a perfect gentle- 
 man, as it is called 
 
 Bernick. He has improved a good deal — the life 
 over there on a large scale, you see — in the war he served 
 in the Navy as a lieutenant 
 
 Mrs. R. No, did he indeed ? and how does he like 
 being at home 
 
 Bernick. Oh, we said so little about that. 
 
 Mrs. B. Jr. He was only in here for a minute 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. And then Lona Hessel came 
 just after 
 
 Mrs. R. Oh, then she was here too 
 
 Mrs. B. Sr. Yes, and she has changed, to be sure 
 
 [Here is inserted some dialogue to the effect that 
 Johan will stay at home to take over the management of 
 Bernick's ship-yard, etc. Mrs. B. Jr. asks what is to 
 become of poor Aune. Bernick: That is a thing that 
 my little Betty must leave to us men.] 
 
58 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Oh, look, there he is — 
 
 Bernick. He? No, not at all, it's — Oh, he, yes — 
 of course (Dr. Rorlund enters.) 
 
 Ror. Good morning, good morning, ladies! Good 
 morning, Mr. B. 
 
 The Ladies. Good morning 
 
 Mrs. B. Jr. How late you are, Dr. Rorlund. 
 
 Ror. Yes, I sincerely ask your pardon, ladies; but I 
 have been in a place where my presence was more neces- 
 sary than here 
 
 Bernick. You have just come from the harbour, I 
 see 
 
 Ror. Yes, I come from there. 
 
 Mrs. B. Jr. And no doubt you had some unpleasant- 
 ness ? 
 
 Ror. Well, it was not exactly pleasant. — Will you 
 just imagine 
 
 Bernick. Excuse me — here is someone I want to 
 
 speak to 
 
 (During this Aune has come in through the garden- 
 gate. Bernick goes towards him.) 
 
 Bernick. You're late, Aune! I've been waiting here 
 for you. 
 
 Aune. You must excuse me, sir; but we had to get 
 the American warped in first. 
 
 Bernick. And do you think now you can get her re- 
 paired at once? [The ship has to be at St. Petersburg 
 in a fortnight ] 
 
 Aune. I'd get her repaired all right, if I was allowed 
 to work in my own way. 
 
 Bernick. At once — I asked you. In your own way ? 
 We can't hear of that. I haven't provided all these ex- 
 pensive machines to let them stand idle, and it won't do 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 59 
 
 for a foreign ship to He here for months and then perhaps 
 be badly repaired after all. 
 
 Aune. No, no, I dare say that's true. 
 
 Bernick. Listen to me, Aune; I suppose you can 
 guess why I sent for you ? 
 
 Aune. Well, it might be several things, I dare say. 
 
 Bernick. Yes, it is several things; but still in a way 
 they are all the same. In the first place — what was that 
 address you gave last Saturday evening at the Workmen's 
 Club? 
 
 Aune. It was about the harm that is done to the 
 workmen by all these new machines 
 
 Bernick. 
 
 II 
 FROM THE FIRST ACT 
 
 Aune. Mr. Bernick wouldn't have said it like that, 
 Mr. Krap! But I know well enough who it is I've got 
 to thank for this. I can thank you for it, Mr. Krap! 
 
 You've never been able to forget a certain occasion 
 
 Krap. Occasion — occasion? I don't know what 
 you're referring to with occasions. But I have told you 
 Mr. Bernick's wishes, and that is enough. Now you 
 had better go down to the yard again; you're sure to be 
 wanted; I shall be down myself presently. — I beg your 
 pardon, ladies! 
 
 (He bows, and goes out through the garden and down 
 
 the street Aune goes quietly out to the right. 
 
 Doctor Rorlund, who during the foregoing has 
 
 continued reading, presently closes the book with a 
 
 bang.) 
 
60 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rorlund. There, my dear ladies, that is the end. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel {drying Iter eyes). Oh, what a beauti- 
 ful tale! 
 
 Mrs. Holt. And so moral. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Such a book really gives one 
 a great deal to think over. 
 
 Rorlund. Yes, it shows us in what wonderful way? 
 providence sometimes furthers its designs. This little 
 Christian congregation [community] takes refuge in the 
 primeval forests of the far west in order to live in peace 
 and unity as brothers and sisters together. Then worldly- 
 minded speculators come and lay down a railway straight 
 through the quiet region. With intercourse, temptations 
 and corruption find an inlet. But then it is that this 
 convulsion of nature takes place at a far distant spot, 
 and renders it necessary to trtmsfer the railway to quite 
 another line of valley. And as the last locomotive puffs 
 away, the little congregation [community] feels that it is 
 freed from noisy and sinful toil and can now breathe 
 again in peace and sabbath stillness. 
 
 Dina. But what happens to the people in the other 
 valley ? 
 
 Rorlund. My dear child, we must suppose that the 
 other valley was uninhabited. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. H'm ; that about the railway 
 reminds me of the danger we were in last year. We only 
 escaped having the railway here by a hair's-breadth. But 
 Karsten managed to put a stop to that. 
 
 Rorlund. Providentially, Mrs. Bernick! You may 
 be sure your son was an instrument in a higher hand 
 when he refused to support that scheme. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, everything is wonder- 
 fully linked together in this world. It is difficult to see 
 the working of it. If we had not you, Dr. Rorlund — I 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 61 
 
 It is really more than kind of you 'o sacrifice your leisure 
 time to us. 
 
 Rorlund. Oh, not at all — in holiday-time, you 
 know 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, yes; but it's a sacrifice 
 on your part, nevertheless. 
 
 Rorlund (drawing his chair nearer to the ladies). 
 Pray don't speak of it, dear lady. Do not all of you 
 make sacrifices for a good cause ? And do you not make 
 them willingly and gladly? That is as it should be. 
 The Lapsed and Lost, for whom we are working, are 
 like wounded soldiers on a battlefield. You, ladies, are 
 the Red Cross Guild, the Sisters of Mercy, who pick lint 
 for these unhappy sufferers, tie the bandages gently 
 round the wounds, dress, and heal them 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. It must be a great blessing 
 to see everything in so beautiful a light. 
 
 Rorlund. The gift is largely inborn; but it can in 
 some measure be acquired. Tribulation and affiiction 
 are a good school. I am sure that you, Mrs. Bernick, 
 have become aware of a purer and more beautiful light 
 even as your bodily eyes grew dim. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Ah, do not speak of that, Dr. 
 Rorlund! I must confess I am often worldly enough to 
 want to exchange the inner light, if I could recover the 
 outer light instead. 
 
 Rorlund. Yes, yes; that is temptation, dear Mrs. 
 Bernick! It is like the railway trains that bring noisy 
 passengers to the little congregation in the far west. But 
 you must bar the door against such an unquiet guest. 
 And, in truth, what have you really lost ? Have you not 
 much rather gained a barrier between yourself and the 
 world ? Do you not feel secure here, where you form 
 •ne of the pillars of our little charitable society ? Do 
 
62 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 you really find so much to attract you in the life you hear 
 surging outside? Look at the people in the sweltering 
 sunshine, toiling and moiling over their paltry affairs and 
 paltry sorrows. Ours, surely, is the better part, sitting 
 here in the pleasant shade, and turning our backs toward 
 the quarter from which disturbance might arise. 
 
 Hilmar Tonnesen. Oh, it is this railway nonsense 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. No! is it? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Poor Karsten, is he to have 
 all that worry over again ? 
 
 Rorlund. I really thought that affair was dead and 
 buried. 
 
 Hilmar. Well, if it wasn't before, it's sure to be 
 to-day. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Did father say so? 
 
 Hilmar. He ? Do you think he had any idea of 
 what it was all about ? But I met Krap just now and he 
 told me that Bernick had sent to Sandstad, and Rasmus- 
 sen — " Rasmussen on the hill " — and to Michael Vige- 
 land — "Holy Michael," as they call him 
 
 Rorlund. H'm 
 
 Hilmar. I beg your pardon, Doctor! — And then he 
 sent for old Tonnesen. Goodness knows why he should 
 be in it. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. They are the town council, Mr. 
 Tonnesen. 
 
 Hilmar. Old Tonnesen is no longer on the town 
 council. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. No, but they are the men who stopped 
 the scheme last year. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. It was my son who put a 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 63 
 
 stop to it last year, Mrs. Holt! I should think that when 
 anything is to be done or left undone in this town, it de- 
 pends upon Karsten. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Yes, of course; there is no doubt about 
 that, but 
 
 Hilmar. For that matter, I shouldn't mind their be- 
 ginning their twaddle again; it would be a variety at 
 least. 
 
 Rorlund. I think we can dispense with that sort of 
 variety. 
 
 Hilmar. Well, it depends upon how one takes it. — 
 But here I am smoking. I really beg your pardon, 
 ladies {Going towards the verandah.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. By all means smoke; I think 
 it is a very good cigar 
 
 Hilmar. No, it's a very bad cigar; there isn't such 
 a thing as a good cigar to be got in the whole town. 
 That's another of the pleasures of provincial life. — (Turn- 
 ing over the leaves of Rorlund's book.) " The Forest 
 Community." What rubbish is this? 
 
 Rorlund. The others are not whispering either, it 
 seems to me. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. It must be very annoying for 
 Karsten to have this tiresome affair up again. 
 
 Rorlund. Let us hope he will send the schemers 
 about their business, so that they will keep quiet in 
 future. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes, indeed, Mr. Bernick has always 
 been the good spirit of the place 
 
 Mrs. Holt. You may well say that, Mrs. Rummel! 
 Ever since he came home from abroad as a young 
 man 
 
64 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Ah, yes, those were disor- 
 derly times. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Were things really so bad here ? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. They were as bad as bad could be, 
 Mrs. Salvesen! You may thank your stars that you 
 didn't live here then; and you too, Dr. Rorlund! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Yes, what changes I can re- 
 member! When I think of the time when I was young 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, you needn't go back 
 more than twelve or fourteen years. Heavens — what a 
 life it was — ! Everything ended in dissipation. There 
 was a dancing club and a music club 
 
 Martha. And the dramatic club — I remember it 
 quite well. 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes; it was there your play was acted, 
 Mr. Tonnesen! 
 
 Hilmar (at the back). Oh, nonsense ! 
 
 Rorlund. Mr. Tonnesen's play? 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Wasn't it in that play you told me 
 you played the heroine, Mrs. Rummel ? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel (glancing at Rorlund). I? I really 
 don't remember, Mrs. Salvesen. But I remember too 
 well all the noisy gaiety that went on among families. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Yes; I actually know houses where 
 there were two great dinner-parties in one week. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. And in the summer, when 
 the foreign officers were here with the training-ship 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Ugh, the horrid officers! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Then we had picnic-parties 
 both on sea and land 
 
 Mrs. Holt. You see, Madam Dorf was one of 
 
 Moller's company 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 65 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. And one evening Dorf came home 
 
 very late 
 
 Mrs. Holt. — and quite unexpectedly 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. And there he found — no, really, I 
 don't think I can tell you. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. But — only think; — young Tonnesen had 
 to jump out of the window! 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes, and it was an attic window too! 
 And that was why he ran away to America. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Oh, no! how unfortunate that I 
 knew nothing 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Well, now you can see how careful we 
 have to be. Poor Dina can't help her mother being a per- 
 son like that. She was then a child of six or seven ■ 
 
 Rorlund. Oh, you cannot possibly realise the thou- 
 sand considerations — . When a man is singled out as a 
 oillar of the society he lives in — . Sh! here they come. 
 (She looks at him for a moment, then goes out to the 
 verandah; Rorlund also goes towards the back. 
 At tlie same moment Old Tonnesen comes noisily 
 out of Mr. Bernick's room.) 
 Mads Tonnesen (in the doorway). No, no, no, I say! 
 Never while I'm alive, I say! I'm off now, as sure as 
 my name's Mads Tonnesen! (Slams the door.) 
 
 Hilmar (at tlie same time, to Mrs. Bernick Junior). 
 There he is. Good-bye! (Is hurrying off to the right.) 
 Mads Tonnesen. Hilmar! My son Hilmar, wait, 
 we'll go together. Now we shall see signs and wonders, 
 Hilmar! I'm damned if I ever heard anything so mad? 
 Hilmar. Hush; don't swear so horribly. Can't you 
 see who is sitting: out there? 
 
66 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mads. What, is the old lady there ? (Approaching.) 
 Good morning, ma'am! 
 
 Hilmar. Come on; come on! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Good morning, Tonnesen. 
 Well, is it all over? 
 
 Mads. Yes, it'll soon be all over with the whole of 
 us. I never heard anything so unreasonable. Now he 
 wants to build the railway after all! 
 
 Rorlund. What do you say ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Who? 
 
 Mads. Your son, of course! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. But, my dear father ? 
 
 The Three Ladies. No, can it be possible ! 
 
 Mads. No, it's quite impossible! It won't come off; 
 for he wants to build it with our money 
 
 Rorlund. But this is quite contrary to what Mr. 
 Bernick last year 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Your father must be mis- 
 taken, Betty. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, I can't suppose any- 
 thing else. 
 
 (Sandstad, Rasmussen [Rummel] and Vigeland 
 enter from the room on the left, followed by Bernick, 
 who has a bundle of papers in his hand.) 
 
 Bernick. Well, gentlemen, I shall not regard this as 
 a final refusal. At any rate take the papers home with 
 you and try to make yourselves better acquainted with 
 my calculations. 
 
 Sandstad. I'm a plain-spoken man, Mr. Bernick, 
 and I say the same this year as I said last 
 
 Bernick. But the case is not the same this year as 
 last. 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 67 
 
 Rasmussen. No, it is not 
 
 Sandstad. Well, be that as it may, I cannot advise 
 private individuals to venture their money in this; and 
 still less can I be a party to voting any public funds. 
 
 Rasmussen. Nor I either. 
 
 Vigeland. And then I am afraid it will lead us into 
 worldliness, Mr. Bernick! The minds of all serious 
 people are now intent upon the building of the new 
 meeting-house. And we must think of spiritual needs 
 before all else. 
 
 Bernick. Of course, of course, Mr. Vigeland ; but 
 
 Sandstad. Yes, you've chosen your time as unfor- 
 tunately as you could have, Mr. Bernick! Excuse my 
 plain-speaking; but just think of the severe storm we had 
 in the North Sea last week. Nobody can tell how heavy 
 the losses of the town may be; damaged ships are putting 
 in here every day 
 
 Rasmussen. Yes, it was a severe storm. 
 
 Bernick. All that is admitted; but you know that 
 the main line is under construction, and unless we are 
 quick in arriving at a decision now, it will be too late; 
 we shall not be able afterwards to get a branch line 
 brought here. You must bear that in mind, gentlemen. 
 
 Sandstad. Well, then we shall have to do without. 
 
 Bernick. And you are really prepared to take such 
 a moral responsibility upon yourselves? Are our great 
 tracts of forest to remain inaccessible ? Remember all 
 the rich mineral -seams it would allow us to work ! Think 
 of our water-power, with one waterfall above another! 
 What rare advantages for manufactures of all kinds! 
 
 Rasmussen. Yes, there are. 
 
 Vigeland. But all this would benefit the inland dis- 
 tricts more than the town, Mr. Bernick! 
 
68 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rasmussen. Yes, that is true. 
 
 Bernick. My dear Mr. Vigeland, it would benefit 
 society; and what benefits society, would also benefit us. 
 Therefore we ought, as enlightened citizens, to support 
 the affair with all the powers that are at our disposal. 
 Men like yourselves cannot possibly be blind to all the 
 prosperity and progress that lies behind this undertaking. 
 Take the draft prospectus home with you. Go carefully 
 through all the calculations. Tell me if you find any 
 error in the estimates. Here is one for you, Mr. Sandstad. 
 
 Sandstad. Well, there's no harm in taking them 
 
 Rasmussen. No, there's no harm in that. 
 
 Vigeland. I for my part won't say either one way or 
 the other 
 
 Rasmussen. I won't either. 
 
 Bernick. Well, well, gentlemen, at any rate, sleep on 
 it first. We may perhaps come to an agreement after 
 all. Discuss the matter as it affects your own interests 
 and those of society; and when we have got so far as to 
 be able to lay it before the public in due form, you will 
 see that the difficulties to be met are not nearly so great 
 as you now think. — Well, good-bye, gentlemen. I must 
 not detain you any longer. You know we have not much 
 time for arriving at a decision. Good day, Mr. Sand- 
 stad. Good-bye, my dear Mr. Vigeland. Good-bye, 
 Mr. Rasmussen. Good-bye, good-bye; remember me 
 very kindly at home! 
 
 ( The three men take their leave and go out to the right.) 
 
 Bernick {who has accompanied them to the door). 
 Phew! we've got so far at least. 
 
 Rorlund (at the back). Yes, you have certainly gone 
 farther than last year, Mr. Bernick. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior (also at the back). But, my 
 dear Karsten, what is the meaning of it all? 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 69 
 
 Bernick. Oh, my dear Betty, it can't possibly inter- 
 est you. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Yes, Karsten, you must come 
 and tell us ■ 
 
 Bernick. No, my dearest mother, it is something 
 you and Betty don't understand. 
 
 Rorlund. So you want to bring a branch line here 
 after all, Mr. Bernick? 
 
 Bernick. Yes, you shall hear about it. You are a 
 man of intelligence, Dr. Rorlund, and you know, of course, 
 what has already been done in the matter 
 
 Rorlund. Yes, I know that an inland line was cho- 
 sen in preference to a coast line. 
 
 Bernick. Quite right! 
 
 Rorlund. — and that you and the other leading men 
 of the town refused last year to contribute to a branch 
 line. 
 
 Bernick. Exactly! The proposal that was before us 
 last year was inadmissible. It would have cost an un- 
 reasonable amount of money; we should have had to 
 make tunnels and bridges and a great deal besides. 
 And now we can avoid all that and get our line at an 
 unusually low cost. 
 
 Rorlund. But how will you do that, Mr. Bernick ? 
 
 Bernick. Ah, that's what I'm going to tell you! — 
 Yes, you may listen too, ladies ! — Now, can you remember, 
 Doctor, that I was away for a week last spring on a 
 journey up-country? 
 
 Rorlund. Yes; it was at Whitsuntide. 
 
 Bernick. Precisely! The spring floods were, as you 
 know, extraordinarily heavy this year and did a great 
 deal of damage. Thus I heard amongst other things that 
 the Trangdal River had overflowed its banks and that it 
 ran out into the Trangdal Water along its old bed. It 
 
70 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 struck me like a flash of lightning! I went up there; and 
 what did I find? Just as they told me — the whole 
 Trangdal ravine lying dry as a high-road — the Trangdal 
 ravine, you understand, which had been the vital natural 
 obstruction to the branch line 
 
 Rorlund. That was indeed most remarkable. 
 
 Bernick. It was more than remarkable, Doctor! 1 
 arrived there one Sunday morning, and as in an instant 
 my eyes were thus opened to the immense bearing of this 
 occurrence, a feeling almost of devotion came upon me. 
 This convulsion of nature just at the eleventh hour — ; 
 was it not evident that providence itself had intervened ? 
 
 Rorlund. Ah, it is so difficult to pronounce upon 
 
 Bernick. I am, I regret to say, not a remarkably re- 
 ligious man; but still I have at times my deeper moments 
 and that moment was one of 'them. I saw before me the 
 thousand happy homes which might be created in this 
 wilderness; I saw our town, which hitherto has been al- 
 most isolated on the land side, suddenly brought into 
 communication with flourishing inland districts. Life, 
 prosperity, progress on all sides! You will see, you will 
 not be able to recognise the place after the first railway 
 train has rolled in. Am I not right? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Yes, Karsten, indeed you are! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. And you have kept all this 
 secret! 
 
 Bernick. Oh, my dear, you would not have been 
 able to see — ; one ought never to speak of business 
 matters before the decisive moment. But now I have 
 the engineers' report — all the estimates; — now we have 
 only to get the necessary contribution subscribed. And 
 that must and shall be done! Ay, if I have to risk all I 
 possess in the affair, I am determined to see it through! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. You are a man, Karsten I 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 71 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Yes, we were just saying that you 
 were like a good spirit to the town [were the good spirit 
 of the town, Mr. Bernick]. 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Only think, if we should have a railway 
 here! 
 
 Netta [Dina]. Then we should be able to go by 
 train on Sundays! 
 
 Rorlund. On Sundays? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Dina means on week-days, no doubt. 
 
 Mrs. Salvesen. Do you think butter will be cheaper 
 if we have a railway, Mr. Bernick? 
 
 Bernick. The railway will bring prosperity to the 
 whole community; that is all I can tell you for the mo- 
 ment. But that is just what we all have to work for. 
 Don't you agree with me, Dr. Rorlund ? 
 
 Rorlund. H'm; I am not a man of business, Mr. Ber- 
 nick; and the restricted community to which I belong ■ 
 
 Bernick. It will suffer no injury from the railway, I 
 can assure you of that! Our busy little town is built, 
 heaven be thanked, on a sound moral foundation. We 
 men will ward off the shock, and our wives and daugh- 
 ters will continue to occupy the place that nature has as- 
 signed them. Believe me, the purity of our homes is not 
 so easily disturbed, if only our women remain what they 
 ought to be. Proceed unwearied in your charitable la- 
 bours, ladies, and be a support and comfort to those 
 nearest and dearest to you, as my dear Betty and my 
 dear old mother are to me and Olaf — (Looks around.) 
 Why, where is Olaf to-day ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Oh, in the holidays it's im- 
 possible to keep him at home. 
 
 Bernick. Then he's certain to have gone down to the 
 water again. You'll see, this will end in a misfortune. 
 
 (Krap enters from the right) 
 
72 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Krap. A ship for repairs, Mr. Bernick. 
 
 Bernick. Oh? Is she owned here? 
 
 Krap. No, a big American; sprang a leak in the 
 North Sea 
 
 Bernick. Bravo! But, I say — {coming forward with 
 Krap). Can we take her in ? 
 
 Krap. Don't know what to say. Things are going 
 badly at the yard, Mr. Bernick. To-day, drilling-machine 
 out of order again. Steam-plane won't work either. 
 
 Bernick. H'm, h'm; I don't believe Aune will ever 
 learn to work with machines. 
 
 Krap. Doesn't want to learn; has set himself against 
 the machines ever since we put them in. 
 
 Bernick. Oh, we shall be able to get over that. But 
 under any circumstances — we-mustn't lose the American. 
 What kind of ship is she ? 
 
 Krap. The barque Indian Girl of New York. Bound 
 from Brazil to Glasgow with dye-wood; driven out of 
 her course towards Jutland; — boisterous weather, Mr. 
 Bernick! 
 
 Bernick. And the captain ? 
 
 Krap. Captain went overboard — drunk. The mate's- 
 in his bunk — with delirium tremens. A passenger took 
 command — a sailor. She was towed in just now by the 
 Hamburg steamer. 
 
 Bernick. Is the Hamburg steamer in already? 
 
 Krap. Just this moment. Here is the American's 
 card. 
 
 Bernick {reads). "Captain John Tennyson. New 
 Orleans." Then he's from the Southern States. Well, 
 you must see that you give him all the help you can, Mr. 
 Krap. 
 
 Krap. I'll do so, Mr. Bernick. 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 73 
 
 Bernick. And, look here — one other thing: do you 
 know whether Mr. Busk, the lawyer, has come back ? 
 Keap. Not yet. {He goes out to the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Yes, is it not like ghosts of 
 old days ? Listen, now they're singing. How it fills the 
 air. How it sounds over our quiet town 
 
 Rorlund. And just at dinner-time too! While grace 
 is being said in every quiet home. Look, look, serious 
 men are running to the windows with their napkins under 
 their chins 
 
 Olaf {in the garden). Mamma, now the Americans 
 are shouting hurrah outside grandpapa's! 
 
 Rorlund. Hurrah? Yes, it is true! So this is the 
 prodigal son's return. Not with contrition; not with the 
 tears of repentance, but with impudent bawling, with 
 ribald songs — ! My dear friends, we ought not to wit- 
 ness this. Let us go back to our work! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Yes, come, come! 
 
 {All the ladies go into the front room and take their 
 places at the table.) 
 
 Rorlund {shutting tlie garden door). There; a bar- 
 rier between us and frivolity 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Don't look out, Hilda! 
 
 Mrs. Holt. Nor you either, Netta! 
 
 Rorlund. — and a veil before indecorousness 
 
 {He draws the curtains so that the room becomes half 
 dark.) 
 Bernick. You are giving yourself too much trouble, 
 Doctor! We are so much accustomed to the disturb- 
 ances of foreign sailors 
 
 Rorlund. Foreigners — yes, that is another thing. 
 But he who has now suddenly reappeared among us, and 
 
74 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 who announces his return in so significant a way — ; well, 
 in an ordinary house I would not express myself so openly, 
 but I know that within these walls considerations are 
 entertained which outweigh a casual relationship 
 
 Bernick. Well, well, well, don't be alarmed; — oui 
 little society has its pillars, Dr. Rorlund! 
 
 Rorlund. Pillars that have stood the test, Mr. Ber- 
 nick! I know it, I know it. Once before you put a stop 
 
 to excesses here 
 
 {The door on the right is throtvn open and Lona 
 Hessel enters quickly.) 
 
 Lona. No, I couldn't wait any longer! Here I am, 
 dear friends! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Lona! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Lona — my dear girl! 
 
 Mrs. Holt and Mrs. Rummel. Miss Hessel! 
 
 Lona. Yes, but don't look at me; for the big wash 
 didn't come off. As soon as I heard who the American 
 was — ; but you don't know, it seems ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. Ah, we do, unfortunately! 
 
 Lona. Unfortunately ? Has anything gone wrong ? 
 You are sitting here in this twilight ? And sewing at 
 something white? There hasn't been a death in the 
 family ? 
 
 Rorlund. This is a meeting, Miss Hessel, of the 
 Society for the Moral Regeneration of the Lapsed and 
 Lost. 
 
 Lona. What ? These nice-looking, well-behaved la- 
 dies, can they be ? 
 
 Mrs. Rummel. Oh, this is too much ! 
 
 Lona. Ah, I see, I see! But look here, the Lapsed 
 and Lost will have to wait for one day; they'll be none 
 the worse for it; on a joyful occasion like this 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 15 
 
 Rorlund. A joyful occasion ? Don't you know that 
 old Tbnnesen's prodigal son has returned? 
 
 Lona. Is the prodigal son to be received with long 
 faces ? How do you read your Bible, Pastor ? 
 
 Rorlund. I am not a clergyman. 
 
 Lona. Oh; then you will be one, for certain. — But, 
 pah! — all this linen smells like a shroud. Come and help 
 me, Cousin Karsten; we must have the doors and win- 
 dows open. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Junior. But, Lona, what are you 
 doing ? 
 
 Rorlund. But, Mr. Bernick ? 
 
 Bernick. Yes, excuse me; it is really rather oppres- 
 sive in here. 
 
 Lona (drawing up the Venetian blinds). And then 
 broad daylight. So! Now we are out of the sepulchral 
 vault. Look, look; the whole town is on its feet! And 
 listen, how they play and sing in the sunshine, these for- 
 eigners! They are real human beings — full of sun like 
 southern fruits. Oh, my dear aunt, what a pity it is 
 that with your bad eyes you can't see all this beautiful 
 life 
 
 Mrs. Bernick Senior. Tell me about it, my dear 
 girl, then I shall see it. 
 
 Rorlund (picking up his book, hat and gloves). I 
 do not think, ladies, that we are quite in the mood for 
 doing more work to-day; but we shall meet again to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Lona (as tJie visitors rise to go) . Yes, by all means — 
 I shall be here. 
 
 Rorlund. You ? Allow me to ask, Miss Hessel, 
 what you will do in our Society? 
 
 Lona. Open all the doors and windows wide, Pastor! 
 
76 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOF 
 
 III 
 
 FROM THE FOURTH ACT 
 
 Dina, you will. 
 
 Dina. I am your wife from this hour. 
 
 Johan. Oh, say that once more. 
 
 Dina. Your wife. 
 
 Johan. And all that lies — that you think lies behind 
 
 us- 
 
 Dina. I know nothing about it; I only know that I 
 must love you 
 
 Johan. Then I'll burn my boats — this community of 
 hypocrites shall never see us again. 
 
 Lona. On board — on board* — Johan 
 
 Johan. Yes, on board — Ah, but — Lona — my dear — 
 come here — {he leads her up to the back and talks rapidly 
 to her). 
 
 Martha. Dina — happy girl ! Let me look at you and 
 kiss you once more — for the last time. 
 
 Dina. Not the last time; no, my dear, dear aunt — we 
 shall meet again. 
 
 Martha. Never! Promise me, Dina, never to come 
 back again. What are you doing here ? This is no 
 place for you; here they deprive one of the courage to 
 wish to be happy 
 
 Dina. Oh, now I have courage enough for anything; 
 now I defy them all. 
 
 Martha. Yes, out there in the great free world, when 
 you are alone with him, without all these terrifying con- 
 siderations, without the oppression of all this deadly 
 respectability 
 
 Dina. Yes, yes; that is it! 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 77 
 
 Martha. My dear child ! Now go to your happiness 
 — over the sea. Oh, how often have I sat in the school- 
 room and longed to be over there. It must be beautiful 
 there; the heaven is wider; the clouds sail higher than 
 
 here; a purer air sweeps over the heads of the people 
 
 Dina. Oh, Aunt Martha, — why do you not come 
 with us? 
 
 Martha. I? Never! Now my position is fixed. 
 Heaven be praised that I was able to see clearly ; now I 
 think I can give myself wholly to what I have to do. 
 Dina. I cannot imagine being parted from you. 
 Martha. Ah, one can part from so much, Dina. 
 (Kisses her.) But you will not have to learn that lesson, 
 my dear child! Promise me to make him happy. 
 
 Dina. Promise ? I know of nothing to promise, will 
 promise nothing — here I have learnt to hate the very 
 word promise. 
 
 Martha. You shan't promise anything either; you 
 have to remain as you are, true and faithful to yourself. 
 Dina. That I will, Aunt Martha; for I must remain so. 
 Martha. Yes, yes, yes; I know that well enough. 
 Lona (to Johan). Good, good, my dear boy; that's 
 the way. And now on board! 
 
 Johan. Yes, there's no time to be lost. Good-bye, 
 Lona! thanks, thanks for all you have been to me. 
 Good-bye, Martha; thanks to you too. Be happy; the 
 
 single state, you see 
 
 Martha. Oh, that that should be your last word! 
 No, no, no; but go; good-bye, Johan; good-bye, Dina 
 —and happiness be over all your days! 
 
 (She and Lona hurry them towards the door in the 
 background; hand-shakings and far eiv ells; Johan 
 and Dina go quickly out; Lona shuts the door 
 after them.) 
 
78 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Lona. Now we are alone, Martha. You have lost 
 her and I him. 
 
 Martha. You — him ? 
 
 Lona. What am I to him now ? An old step-sister— 
 what can he want with her? An encumbrance. Men 
 break many a tie when happiness beckons to them. 
 
 Martha. That is true, sometimes. 
 
 Lona. Now we two must hold together, Martha. 
 
 Martha. Can I be anything to you ? 
 
 Lona. Who more? We two foster-mothers. Have 
 we not both lost our children ? Now we are alone. 
 
 Martha. Yes, alone. So now I will tell you this; 
 I have loved him more than you. 
 
 Lona. Martha! — Is this the truth? 
 
 Martha. My whole life lies in the words. I have 
 loved him, and waited for him. 'And then he came; but 
 he did not see me. 
 
 Lona. Loved him! And it was you that with such 
 self-sacrifice gave his happiness into his hands. 
 
 Martha. How could I love him, if I were not willing 
 to give him his happiness? Yes, I have loved him; I 
 have lived my whole life for him, ever since he went away. 
 Oh, it was really a happy life, though a life of longing 
 and impatience 
 
 Lona. And you call yourself impatient who have 
 waited all these years ? 
 
 Martha. Yes, that was the misfortune, that I did 
 not notice how the years were going by. When he went 
 away we were of the same age; and when I saw him 
 again — Oh, that horrible moment — I realised that I was 
 ten years older than he. He had lived out there in the 
 bright, quivering sunshine, and drunk in health at every 
 breath: and here sat I the while, spinning and spin- 
 ning 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 79 
 
 Lona. — the thread of his happiness, Martha. 
 
 Martha. Yes, it was gold I spun. No bitterness; the 
 problem is not how to be happy, but how to deserve hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Lona. That is true, Martha — would that certain 
 others thought the same. 
 
 (Consul Bernick comes out of the room on the left.) 
 
 Bernick (speaking off). Yes, yes, settle it as you 
 please; when the time comes, I shall be ready — (Shuts 
 the door.) Oh, are you there? Now, Martha, you 
 might as well look to your dress a little; and tell Betty to 
 do the same. Nothing out of the way, of course; just a 
 certain note of festivity — but be quick 
 
 Lona. And you must look bright and happy, Martha; 
 your brother forgot that. 
 
 Martha. I will tell Betty. 
 
 (She goes out by the second door on the left.) 
 
 Lona. Well, so the great and solemn hour has come. 
 
 Bernick. Yes, it has come. 
 
 Lona. Now you must feel proud and happy, no doubt. 
 
 Bernick (looks at her). H'm! 
 
 Lona. The whole town is to be illuminated, I hear. 
 
 Bernick. Yes, I believe there is some such idea. 
 
 Lona. All the guilds will turn out with their banners; 
 Hilmar has written a song and Pastor Rorlund is going 
 to make a speech. To-night it will be telegraphed to 
 every corner of the country — " Surrounded by his happy 
 family, Consul Bernick received the homage of his fellow 
 citizens as one of the chief pillars of society " 
 
 Bernick. So it will ; and the crowd in the street will 
 shout and hurrah, and insist on my coming forward t» 
 the window — and I shall have to bow and thank them 
 
 Lona. Have to — ? that's hardly the right expression. 
 
80 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Bernick. Do you think I feel happy at this mo- 
 ment ? 
 
 Lona. No, I do not think that you can feel altogether 
 happy. 
 
 Bernick {after a pause). Lona, you despise me. 
 
 Lona. Not yet. 
 
 Bernick. And you have no right to. And yet — yes, 
 yes, after all, there are times when I despise myself. But 
 you cannot conceive how unspeakably alone I stand, here 
 in this narrow, hypocritical society — you cannot conceive 
 how, year by year, I have had to put a tighter curb on 
 my ambition for a full and satisfying life-work. What 
 have I accomplished, for all the show it makes ? — scrap- 
 work, odds and ends — there is no room here for other 
 and larger work. If I tried to go a step in advance of the 
 views and ideas of the day, all my influence was gone. 
 Do you know what we are, we, who are reckoned the 
 pillars of society? We are the slaves of society, neither 
 more nor less. 
 
 Lona. And why do you only see this now? 
 
 Bernick. Do you think there have not been mo- 
 ments, when this has been uppermost in me ? But then 
 the lukewarm currents of everyday life came over me 
 again. And so lonely as I was! Lona — why did I not 
 know you through and through then ? 
 
 Lona. What then? 
 
 Bernick. I should never have given you up; and, 
 with you by my side, I should not have stood where I 
 stand now. 
 
 Lona. And are you so certain of what she might have 
 been to you, she, whom you chose in my stead ? 
 
 Bernick. I know, at any rate, that she has not been 
 anything that I required. You will say that the fault is 
 mine — but how does that help ? And yet she might have 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 81 
 
 met me, might have shared my interests, might now and 
 then have thrown upon me a ray of that disconnected, 
 spasmodic way of looking at things, which a man cannot 
 exactly make use of in his work, but which nevertheless 
 has an inspiring and purifying effect on his whole course 
 of conduct. It is this power that the women among us 
 are not allowed to exercise; most of them do not even 
 possess it; Lona — not one in a thousand has the courage 
 to be like you 
 
 Lona. That is to say — to be herself. 
 
 Bernick. Yes, and to be what a man most profoundly 
 needs. That is why I never felt satisfaction when for- 
 tune was with me, never felt the stimulating increase of 
 strength which may result from adversity; my whole 
 life has been a series of petty annoyances or petty, stale 
 triumphs — like the one we are going to have now 
 
 Lona. This too? 
 
 Bernick. I have not sunk so low that empty glitter 
 can smother what I have to say to myself in secret. 
 
 Lona. Then why not break with all this hollowness ? 
 
 Bernick. You don't understand. You don't know 
 the inner force that drives a man to work and accom- 
 plish something in this world. It is different with you 
 women; you must have something to love, a cat or a 
 dog or a canary, if you have nothing else. You think I 
 am working for my own profit, but that is not so; what 
 I have done has brought me profit, it is true, but it is not 
 for that I have been working — I have wanted to be the 
 first — but I know that this is also to the advantage of 
 society. 
 
 Lona. And yourself? What satisfaction does this 
 give you ? 
 
 Bernick. None; the whole of this generation or 
 shams must go under. But a new generation will grow 
 
82 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 up after us; it is my son that I am working for; it is 
 for him I am preparing a foundation; there will come 
 a time when truth will make its way into our social or- 
 der, and upon it he shall found a happier life than his 
 
 father's 
 
 Lona. With a lie for its groundwork? Think what 
 it is you are giving him for an inheritance * 
 
 * Here a couple of lines have been omitted in copying 
 Ibsen's MS. In the published play they read: — 
 
 Bernick (with suppressed despair). I am giving him 
 an inheritance a thousand times worse than you know 
 of. But, sooner or later, 
 
 the curse must pass away. I have gone a hundred times 
 further than you suspect, but good can turn to evil, and 
 so too can evil — ; why did you come here ? I shall not 
 give way; cannot give way; you shall not succeed in 
 crushing me 
 
 Hilmar (enters quickly from tlie right). W T hy, this is — 
 Betty, Betty! 
 
 Bernick. What now? Are they coming already? 
 
 Hilmar. No, certainly not; but I must speak to 
 
 some one at once 
 
 (Goes out by the second door on the left.) 
 
 Lona. Bernick, you say we came to crush you. Then 
 let me tell you what he is, this prodigal son whom your 
 moral society shrinks from as if he were plague-stricken. 
 He can do without you all; he has gone away. 
 
 Bernick. But he will come back. 
 
 Lona. He will never come back; and you know noth- 
 ing. He has gone for ever, and Dina with him. 
 
 Bernick. Gone ? And Dina with him ? 
 
 Lona. Yes, as his wife, without clergy or wedding; 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 83 
 
 that is how he strikes your society in the face, as I once — 
 No matter! 
 
 Bernick. Gone; she too in the Indian Girl 
 
 Lona. No; he dared not entrust such a precious 
 freight to those scoundrels; he has sailed in the Olive 
 Leaf 
 
 Bernick. Ah; then it was — to no purpose — (calls 
 into his room) Krap — stop the Indian Girl — she mustn't 
 sail to-night 
 
 Krap (inside). The Indian Girl is already standing 
 out to sea, Consul. 
 
 Bernick. Too late — and all for nothing. 
 
 Lona. What do you mean ? 
 
 Bernick. Nothing, nothing — leave me alone, you 
 spirit of vengeance. 
 
 Lona. H'm! Listen, Bernick; Johan told me to tell 
 you that he makes you a present of the good name he 
 once lent you; see, I hold in my hand your letters 
 
 Bernick. You have them! And now — now you will 
 — this very night perhaps — when the procession 
 
 Lona. How far you are from knowing me through 
 and through, Karsten — see — I tear your letters to shreds; 
 now, there is nothing to bear witness against you — except 
 your own conscience; now you are safe — be happy too — 
 if you can 
 
 Bernick. Lona — why did you not do this before; it 
 is too late now — you have spoilt my whole life now — I 
 cannot live after to-day 
 
 Lona. What has happened ? 
 
 Bernick. Don't ask me! Not live! Yes, I will — 
 live, live — work — I have bought it dearly enough. 
 
 Lona. Karsten ! 
 
 Hilmar (enters hurriedly from the left). No one to be 
 found; all away! not even Betty! 
 
84 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Bernick. What is it? 
 Hilmar. I can't tell you 
 
 Bernick. Speak, I tell you 
 
 Hilmar. Well then — Olaf has run away in the Indian 
 Girl 
 
 Bernick. Run away — and in the Indian Girl — no, 
 no 
 
 Lona. All, yes — now I understand — he went through 
 here a little while ago and 
 
 Bernick (at the door on the left). Krap — stop the 
 Indian Girl at any cost! 
 
 Krap. Impossible, Consul — she's already at sea 
 
 Bernick. And my son is on board. 
 
 Krap. What ? 
 
 Rummel. Run away; impossible 
 
 Sandstad. They'll send him back. 
 
 Hilmar. No, no, he writes that he'll hide among the 
 cargo until they are fairly out to sea. 
 
 Bernick. I shall never see him again. 
 
 Rummel. Oh, nonsense; a good stout ship, newly 
 repaired 
 
 Vigeland. — and in your own yard, too, Consul 
 
 Bernick. I shall never see him again, I tell you. — 
 (Listens.) What is that? 
 
 Rummel. Music. The procession is coming. 
 
 Bernick. I cannot, I will not see any one. 
 
 Rummel. What are you thinking of? It's impos- 
 sible. 
 
 Sandstad. Impossible, Consul — the scheme is not 
 yet firmly established — think how much you have at 
 stake. 
 
 Bernick. What does it all matter to me now? 
 Whom have I now to work for? 
 
 Lona. Society, brother-in-law, society. 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 85 
 
 Rummel. Yes, very true. 
 
 Sandstad. And us others; you won't forget, Con- 
 sul, that 
 
 Martha {from tlie left). Here they come; but Betty 
 is not at home 
 
 Bernick. Not at home? There, you see, Lona; on 
 an evening like this; no support either in joy or sor- 
 row 
 
 Rummel. Up with the curtains; more candles; up 
 with all the curtains; help me, Mr. Sandstad! 
 
 Bernick. And now to come to the chief point in my 
 settlement with society and with my conscience. Betty, 
 collect yourself to bear what is coming. — It has been said 
 that elements of evil have left us this evening — ; I can 
 add what you do not know; the man thus alluded to did 
 not go alone — with him went, as his wife 
 
 Lona. Dina Dorf! 
 
 Rorlund. What ? {Great sensation among the crowd.) 
 
 Rorlund. Fled? — run away, impossible! 
 
 Bernick. As his wife, without either clergyman or 
 wedding ceremony, and yet I tell you that I regard this 
 marriage as higher than many another among us, in 
 which all forms have been observed — and I will add 
 more — honour to that man, for he has nobly taken upon 
 himself another's sin — my fellow citizens, I will get clear 
 of the lie — you shall know all — fifteen years ago, it was 
 I who sinned 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. Oh, Karsten, thanks, thanks. 
 
 Lona. At last you have found your true self! 
 
 {Astonished whispering among the crowd.) 
 
 Bernick. There; now we are on a fair footing with 
 each other; now we shall see whether fifteen years* 
 
86 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 activity can wipe out a youthful aberration — let him who 
 knows himself to be pure cast the first stone; but do not 
 decide this evening; I ask every one of you to go home 
 — to collect himself — away with all this show! — you will 
 feel that it is out of place here 
 
 Rorlund. Assuredly it is — well, I thank God — it 
 would have been a sacrifice in vain — Yes, gentlemen, I 
 
 think we had better 
 
 ( Tlte announcement is whispered from mouth to mouth; 
 tlie crowd retires noiselessly.) 
 
 Bernick. Betty, this was a heavy blow for you. 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. This is the happiest occasion for 
 fifteen years. 
 
 Bernick. How so ? Did you ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. I knew all. 
 
 Bernick. Knew ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. The evening before our wedding-day. 
 That was her revenge. 
 
 Bernick. Knew — and yet said nothing ? 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. Oh, why have you been silent, Kar- 
 sten ? Why have you never thought me worthy of for- 
 giving a moment of aberration ? 
 
 Bernick. Because I have never known you until this 
 evening. But now let him come! 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. Yes, yes; you shall have him. — Mr. 
 Krap — (whispers to him in the background; he goes out 
 by the garden door). 
 
 Bernick. Thanks, Lona; you have saved what is 
 best in me. 
 
 Lona. What else did I intend ? 
 
 Bernick. How then ? not hatred ; — not revenge ? 
 
 Lona. Old love does not rust. 
 
 Bernick. Lona! 
 
 Lona. Mona! 
 
PILLARS OF SOCIETY 87 
 
 Bernick. Oh, how little has a pitiful coward like me 
 deserved 
 
 Lona. Yes, if we women always asked for deserts, 
 Karsten (Aune and Olaf enter from the garden.) 
 
 Bernick. Olaf! 
 
 Olaf. Father, I'll never 
 
 Bernick. Never do it again? Yes, you shall — but 
 not secretly — listen, boy — In future you shall be allowed 
 to be yourself 
 
 Olaf. Not a pillar of society? 
 
 Bernick. No, no; yourself, do you hear? whatever 
 may happen. And you, Aune 
 
 Aune. I know it, Consul — I am dismissed 
 
 Bernick. We will not part company, Aune — ; for- 
 give me 
 
 Aune. What? the ship can't get away. 
 
 Bernick. Heaven be thanked for that; and — forgive 
 me — to-morrow she must be overhauled — perhaps fresh 
 repairs may be necessary 
 
 Aune. Perhaps. 
 
 Bernick. Yes, yes, there is much here that needs 
 overhauling. Good-night, Aune! 
 
 Aune. Good-night, Consul — and thank you heartily. 
 
 (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. Now they are all gone. 
 
 Bernick. And we are alone. All the lights are out 
 in the windows 
 
 Mrs. Bernick. Would you have them lighted again ? 
 
 Bernick. Not for all the world. Oh, come nearer, 
 closer around me — I have grown young again! Come, 
 Betty — come, Olaf — and you, Martha — it seems as 
 though I had never seen you during all these years — our 
 society is a society of bachelor-souls — we have no eyes for 
 
88 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 womanhood — and you, Lona — it is settled, is it not?— 
 you won't leave us 
 
 Lona. No; how could I think of going away and 
 leaving you young people, just beginning life? Am I 
 not your foster mother? You and I, Martha, we are 
 the two old aunts — what are you looking at ? 
 
 Martha. How the sky is clearing — ; how the clouds 
 are lifting — the Olive Leaf has fortune with it. 
 
 Lona. And happiness on board 
 
 Bernick. And we, we have a long, earnest day of 
 work before us — I most of all — but let it come — gather 
 close around me, you strong and true women — one thing 
 I have learnt to-day: it is you women who are the pillars 
 of society 
 
 Lona. Then you have learnt a poor wisdom, brother- 
 in-law. (Grasps his hand.) — fhe spirits of Truth and 
 Freedom — these are the Pillar* of Society. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 
 
NOTES FOR THE MODERN TRAGEDY 
 
 Rome, 19. 10, 78. 
 
 There are two kinds of spiritual law, two kinds of 
 conscience, one in man and another, altogether different, 
 in woman. They do not understand each other; but in 
 practical life the woman is judged by man's law, as 
 though she were not a woman but a man. 
 
 The wife in the play ends by having no idea of what is 
 right or wrong; natural feeling on the one hand and be- 
 lief in authority on the other have altogether bewildered 
 her. 
 
 A woman cannot be herself in the society of the pres- 
 ent day, which is an exclusively masculine society, with 
 laws framed by men and with a judicial system that 
 judges feminine conduct from a masculine point of view. 
 
 She has committed forgery, and she is proud of it; for 
 she did it out of love for her husband, to save his life. 
 But this husband with his commonplace principles of 
 honour is on the side of the law and regards the question 
 with masculine eyes. 
 
 Spiritual conflicts. Oppressed and bewildered by the 
 belief in authority, she loses faith in her moral right and 
 ability to bring up her children. Bitterness. A mother 
 in modern society, like certain insects who go away and 
 die when she has done her duty in the propagation of* the 
 race. 1 Love of life, of home, of husband and children 
 and family. Here and there a womanly shaking-off of 
 her thoughts. Sudden return of anxiety and terror. She 
 
 1 The sentence is elliptical in the original. 
 91 
 
92 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 must bear it all alone. The catastrophe approaches, in- 
 exorably, inevitably. Despair, conflict and destruction. 
 (Krogstad has acted dishonourably and thereby be- 
 come well-to-do; now his prosperity does not help him, 
 he cannot recover his honour.) 
 
 PERSONS 
 
 Stenborg, a Government clerk. 
 
 Nora, his wife. 
 
 Miss (Mrs.) Lind (, a widow). 
 
 Attorney Krogstad. 
 
 Karen, nurse at the Stenborgs'. 
 
 A Parlour-Maid at the Stenborgs'. 
 
 A Porter. 
 
 The Stenborgs>' three little children. 
 
 Doctor Hank. 
 
 SCENARIO 
 
 First Act 
 
 A room comfortably, but not showily, furnished. In 
 the back, on the right, a door leads to the hall; on the 
 left another door leads to the room or office of the master 
 of the house, which can be seen when the door is opened. 
 A fire in the stove. Winter day. 
 
 She enters from the back, humming gaily; she is in 
 outdoor dress and carries several parcels, has been shop- 
 ping. As she opens the door, a Porter is seen in the hall, 
 carrying a Christmas-tree. She: Put it down there for 
 the present. (Taking out her purse) How much ? 
 Porter: Fifty ore. She: Here is a crown. No, keep 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 93 
 
 the change. The Porter thanks her and goes. She con- 
 tinues humming and smiling with quiet glee as she 
 opens several of the parcels she has brought. Calls off, 
 is he at home ? Yes ! At first, conversation through the 
 closed door; then he opens it and goes on talking to her 
 while continuing to work most of the time, standing at 
 his desk. There is a ring at the hall-door; he does 
 not want to be disturbed; shuts himself in. The maid 
 opens the door to her mistress's friend, just arrived in 
 town. Happy surprise. Mutual explanation of the posi- 
 tion of affairs. He has received the post of manager 
 in the new joint-stock bank and is to enter on his duties 
 at the New Year; all financial worries are at an end. 
 The friend has come to town to look for some small 
 employment in an office or whatever may present itself. 
 Mrs. Stenborg gives her good hopes, is certain that all 
 will turn out well. The maid opens the front-door to the 
 debt-collector. Mrs. Stenborg terrified; they exchange 
 a few words; he is shown into the office. Mrs. Stenborg 
 and her friend; the circumstances of the debt-collector 
 are touched upon. Stenborg enters in his overcoat; has 
 sent the collector out the other way. Conversation about 
 the friend's affairs; hesitation on his part. He and the 
 friend go out; his wife follows them into the hall; the 
 Nurse enters with the children. Mother and children 
 play. The collector enters. Mrs. Stenborg sends the 
 children out to the left. Great scene between her and 
 him. He goes. Stenborg enters; has met him on the 
 stairs; displeased; wants to know what he came back 
 for ? Her support ? No intrigues. His wife cautiously 
 tries to pump him. Strict legal answers. Exit to his 
 room. She (repeating her words when the collector 
 went out) But that's impossible. Why, I did it from 
 love! 
 
94 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 SCENARIO 
 
 Second Act 
 
 The last day of the year. Midday. Nora and the 
 old Nurse. Nora, impelled by uneasiness, is putting on 
 her things to go out. Anxious random questions of one 
 kind and another give a hint that thoughts of death are 
 in her mind. Tries to banish these thoughts, to turn it 
 off, hopes that something or other may intervene. But 
 what ? The Nurse goes off to the left. — Stenborg enters 
 from his room. Short dialogue between him and Nora. 
 — The Nurse re-enters, looking for Nora; the youngest 
 child is crying. Annoyance and questioning on Sten- 
 borg's part; exit the Nurse; Stenborg is going in to 
 the children. — Doctor Hank enters. Scene between him 
 and Stenborg. — Nora soon re-enters; she has turned 
 back; anxiety has driven her home again. Scene be- 
 tween her, the Doctor and Stenborg. Stenborg goes into 
 his room. — Scene between Nora and the Doctor. The 
 Doctor goes out. — Nora alone. — Mrs. Linde enters. 
 Scene between her and Nora. — Krogstad enters. Short 
 scene between him, Mrs. Linde and Nora. Mrs. Linde 
 goes in to the children. — Scene between Krogstad and 
 Nora. — she entreats and implores him for the sake of her 
 little children; in vain. Krogstad goes out. The letter 
 is seen to fall from outside into the letter-box. — Mrs. 
 Linde re-enters after a short pause. Scene between her 
 and Nora. Half confession. Mrs. Linde goes out. — ■ 
 Nora alone. — Stenborg enters. Scene between him and 
 Nora. He wants to empty the letter-box. Entreaties, 
 jests, half playful persuasion. He promises to let busi- 
 ness wait till after New Year's Day; but at 12 o'clock 
 midnight — ! Exit. Nora alone. Nora (looking at th« 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 95 
 
 clock:) It is five o'clock. Five; — seven hours till mid- 
 night. Twenty-four hours till the next midnight. 
 Twenty-four and seven — thirty-one. Thirty-one hours 
 to live. 
 
 Third Act 
 
 (A muffled sound of dance music is heard from the 
 floor above. A lighted lamp on the table. Mrs. Linde 
 sits in an armchair and absently turns the pages of a 
 book, tries to read, but seems unable to fix her attention; 
 once or twice she looks at her watch. Nora comes down 
 from the dance; uneasiness has driven her; surprise at 
 finding Mrs. Linde, who pretends that she wanted to see 
 Nora in her costume. Helmer, displeased at her going 
 away, comes to fetch her back. The Doctor also enters, 
 but to say good-bye. Meanwhile Mrs. Linde has gone 
 into the side room on the right. Scene between the 
 Doctor, Helmer and Nora. He is going to bed, he says, 
 never to get up again; they are not to come and see 
 him; there is ugliness about a death-bed. He goes out. 
 Helmer goes upstairs again with Nora, after the latter 
 has exchanged a few words of farewell with Mrs. Linde. 
 Mrs. Linde alone. Then Krogstad. Scene and expla- 
 nation between them. Both go out. Nora and the 
 children. Then she alone. Then Helmer. He takes 
 the letters out of the letter-box. Short scene; good- 
 night; he goes into his room. Nora in despair pre- 
 pares for the final step; is already at the door when 
 Helmer enters with the open letter in his hand. Great 
 scene. A ring. Letter to Nora from Krogstad. Final 
 scene. Divorce. Nora leaves the house. 
 
96 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 FIRST ACT 
 
 (A room, comfortably and tastefully, but not expensively, 
 furnished. In the back, on the rigid, a door leads to 
 the hall; on the left another door leads to Stenborg's 
 study. In the middle of the left wall a door to the 
 nursery; in front on the same side, a sofa, table and- 
 armchairs. In the right wall, somewhat to the back, a 
 door, and, further forward, a white porcelain stove; in 
 front of it a couple of armchairs and a rocking-chair. 
 It is a winter day. Carpet. A fire in the stove. 
 
 {A bell rings in the hall outside. Presently the outer door 
 of the fiat is heard to open. Then Mrs. Stenborg 
 enters, humming gaily. "She is in outdoor dress, and 
 carries several parcels, which she lays on. a chair on 
 the right. As she opens the door, a Porter is seen 
 in the hall, carrying a Christmas-tree and a basket, 
 which he gives to the Maid-servant who has opened 
 the door.) 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (to the Maid). Hide the Christmas- 
 tree carefully, Christina; the children must on no ac- 
 count see it before to-morrow. (To the Porter, taking 
 out her purse.) How much ? 
 Porter. Fifty ore. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. There is a crown. No, keep the 
 change. 
 
 ( The Porter thanks her and goes. Mrs. Stenborg 
 shuts the door. She continues humming and smil- 
 ing in quiet glee as she takes off her outdoor things.) 
 Mrs. Stenborg (listening at her husband's door). Yes; 
 he is at home. (Begins humming again.) 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 97 
 
 Stenborg (within) . Is that my lark twittering there ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (busy opening some of her parcels). 
 Yes, it is. 
 
 Stenborg. Is it the squirrel frisking around ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes. 
 
 Stenborg. When did the squirrel get home? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Just this minute. Come here, 
 Thorvald, and see what I've been buying. 
 
 Stenborg. Don't interrupt me. (A little later he 
 opens the door and looks in, pen in hand.) Buying, did 
 you say? What! All that? Has my little spendthrift 
 been making the money fly again ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Why, Thorvald, surely we can 
 afford to launch out a little now. It's the first Christ- 
 mas we haven't had to pinch. 
 
 Stenborg. Come, come; we can't afford to squander 
 money. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Oh yes, Thorvald, do let us squan- 
 der a little now! You know you'll soon be earning heaps 
 of money. 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, from New Year's Day. But there's 
 a whole quarter before my first salary is due. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Never mind; we can borrow in the 
 meantime. 
 
 Stenborg. Nora! (He enters the room.) You know 
 my principles on these points. No debts! No borrow- 
 ing! That must be understood between us. (He puts 
 his arm round her.) It's a sweet little lark, but it gets 
 through a lot of money. No one would believe how 
 much it costs a man to keep such a little bird as you. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. For shame ! How can you say so ? 
 Why, I save as much as ever I can. 
 
 Stenborg (laughing). Very true — as much as you 
 can — but that's precisely nothing. 
 
98 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (hums and smiles with covert glee). 
 H'm! If you only knew, Thorvald, what expenses we 
 larks and squirrels have! 
 
 Stenborg. You're a strange little being, Nora! Sit- 
 ting here often and often till late at night, slaving away 
 at your copyist's work, to earn the few crowns you can 
 get for it; and then — at the same time — the money often 
 seems to slip through your fingers, without your knowing 
 what becomes of it. But that's going to come to an end, 
 Nora. The copying, I mean. That sort of thing is not 
 good for merry little larks; and now there is no need of 
 it either. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (clapping her hands). No, there 
 isn't, Thorvald, is there? Oh, how delightful it is to 
 think of! (Takes his arm.) And now I'll tell you how 
 I think we ought to manage, Thorvald. As soon as 
 Christmas is over — (The hall-door bell rings.) Ouf, 
 there's a ring! That's somebody come to call. How 
 tiresome ! 
 
 Stenborg. I'm "not at home" to callers; remember 
 that. (He goes into his study and shuts the door.) 
 
 (Mrs. Stenborg arranges the room. The Maid- 
 servant opens tlie door to the hall.) 
 
 Maid-Servant. A lady to see you, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Please come in. 
 
 (Miss [Mrs.] Lind, in travelling costume, comes into 
 
 the room. The Maid shuts the door.) 
 [(TJie bell rings again. Brief exchange of words with 
 the Doctor.)] 
 
 Miss [Mrs.] Lind (embarrassed and hesitating). How 
 do you do, Nora? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. How do you do ? 
 
 Miss [Mrs.] Lind. I see you don't recognise m«„ 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 99 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No — oh yes! — I believe — (Sud- 
 denly brightening.) What, Christina! Is it really you? 
 
 Miss Lind. Yes; really I! 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Christina! And to think I didn't 
 know you! But how could I — How changed you are, 
 Christina! 
 
 Miss Lind. Yes, no doubt. In eight long years 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Is it really so long since we met? 
 Yes, so it is. Oh, it has been a happy time, I can tell 
 you! And now you have come to town? 
 
 Miss Lind. I arrived this morning. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. To have a merry Christmas, of 
 course. Oh, how delightful! Yes, we will have a merry 
 Christmas. Do take your things off. Aren't you frozen ? 
 (Helping her.) There; now we'll sit cosily by the fire. 
 No, you take the armchair; I shall sit in this rocking- 
 chair. (Seizes her hands.) Yes, now I can see the dear 
 old face again. It was only at the first glance — But 
 you're a little paler, and perhaps a little thinner. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. And much, much older, Nora! 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, perhaps a little older — not 
 much — ever so little. (She suddenly checks herself; 
 seriously.) Oh, what a thoughtless wretch I am! Here 
 I sit chattering on, and — Dear, dear Christina, can 
 you forgive me! 
 
 Mrs. Lind. What do you mean, Nora? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (softly). Poor Christina! I forgot: 
 you are a widow. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Yes; my husband died three years ago. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I know, I know; I saw it in the 
 papers. Oh, believe me, Christina, I did mean to write 
 to you; but I kept putting it off, and something always 
 came in the way. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. I can quite understand that, Nora dear. 
 
100 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No, Christina; it was horrid of me. 
 Oh, you poor darling! how much you must have gone 
 through! — And he left you nothing? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. And no children? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. None. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Nothing, nothing at all ? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Not even a sorrow or a longing to dwell 
 upon. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (looking ;r her incredulously). My 
 dear Christina, how is thai possible? 
 
 Mrs. Lind (smiling sadly end stroking her hair). Oh, 
 it happens so sometimes ? Nora. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. $o utterly alone! How dreadful 
 that must be! I hav* three of the loveliest children. I 
 can't show them to you just now; they're out with their 
 nurse. But now ytt must tell me everything. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Kto, no; I want you to tell me 
 
 Mrs. StenSOHg. No, you must begin; I won't oe 
 egotistical to-d&y. To-day I'll think only of you. Oh! 
 but I must tell you one thing — perhaps you've heard of 
 our great stroke of fortune? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. No. What is it? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Only think! my husband has been 
 made manager of the Joint Stock Bank. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Your husband! Oh, how fortunate! 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes; isn't it? Now he'll leave that 
 tiresome Government office, where they pay him so 
 badly. For he is to enter on his new position at the New 
 Year, and then he'll have a large salary 7 , and percentages. 
 In future we shall be able to live quite differently — just 
 as we please, in fact. Oh, Christina, how happy I am! 
 It's delightful to have lots of money, and no need to 
 worry about things, isn't it? 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 101 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Yes; at any rate it must be delightful to 
 have what you need. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No, not only what you need, but 
 heaps of money — heaps! 
 
 Mrs. Lind (smiling). Nora, Nora, haven't you 
 learnt reason yet ? In our schooldays you were a shock- 
 ing little spendthrift. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (quietly smiling). Yes; that's what 
 Thorvald says I am still. (Holding up her forefinger.) 
 But " Nora, Nora " is not so silly as you all think. Oh ! 
 we haven't had the chance of being spendthrifts. We 
 have both had to work. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. You too? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, light work: copying, and em- 
 broidery, and things of that sort. But not so much as he 
 of course. In the first year after our marriage he over- 
 worked himself terribly. Then the doctors declared he 
 must go to the South. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. You spent a whole year in Italy, didn't 
 you ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. It was a wonderful, delicious jour- 
 ney, you may imagine! And it saved Thorvald's life. 
 But it cost a frightful lot of money, Christina. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. So I should think. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Twelve hundred dollars! Isn't that 
 a lot of money? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. How lucky you had the money to spend. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. We got it from father, you must 
 know. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Ah, I see. He died just about that time, 
 didn't he ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, Christina, just then. And 
 only think! I couldn't go and nurse him! I had to 
 stay here with Thorvald, of course; he was ill too. Dear, 
 
102 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 good father! I never saw him again, Christina. Oh! 
 that's the hardest thing I have had to bear since my 
 marriage. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. But then you went to Italy ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes; you see, we had the money, 
 and the doctors said we must lose no time. We started 
 three weeks later. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. And your husband came back com- 
 pletely cured ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Sound as a bell. [Mrs. Linde. 
 But wasn't that the doctor — ?] He has never had an 
 hour's illness since that time. Only he has to be care- 
 ful, the doctor says, and avoid any kind of excitement. 
 And I shall take good care of that. Oh, it will be so easy 
 now. He shall have no anxiety and no annoyance. I 
 and the children will make things so comfortable for 
 him. (Jumps up and claps her hands.) Oh, Christina, 
 Christina, what a wonderful thing it is to live and to be 
 happy! — Oh, but it's really too horrid of me! Here 
 am I talking about nothing but my own concerns. (Seats 
 herself upon a footstool close to Christina, and seizes her 
 hands.) Oh, don't be angry with me! — Now tell me, 
 is it really true that you didn't love your husband? 
 What made you marry him, then ? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. My old mother was still alive, you see, 
 bedridden and helpless, and then I had my two younger 
 brothers to think of. I didn't think it would be right for 
 me to refuse him. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Perhaps it wouldn't have been. I 
 suppose he was rich then ? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Very well off, I believe. But his busi- 
 ness was uncertain. It fell to pieces at his death, and 
 there was nothing left. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. And then ? 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 103 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Then I had to fight my way by keeping 
 a shop, a little school, anything I could turn my hand to. 
 My whole life since that time has been one long, weary 
 struggle. My old mother no longer needs anything, for 
 she is at rest, as perhaps you know. But my heaviest 
 years for the two boys are still to come; they are now 
 getting into the higher classes; their school fees and all 
 their requirements are increasing. (Stands up restlessly.) 
 It can't be done any longer in that out-of-the-way corner, 
 Nora! That is why I came here. They say that here 
 things are better than they used to be for us women. I 
 must try to get some office work — some settled employ- 
 ment 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. But, Christina, that's such drudg- 
 ery, and you look worn out already. It would be ever 
 so much better for you to go to some watering-place and 
 rest. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. I have no father to pay my travelling 
 expenses, Nora! 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (rising) . Oh, don't be vexed with me. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. My dear Nora, don't you be vexed with 
 me. The worst of a position like mine is that it makes 
 one so bitte •. You become selfish; you have to be 
 always on the strain. When I heard of the happy change 
 in your fortunes — can you believe it ? — I was glad not for 
 your s ke, but for my own. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. How do you mean? Ah, I see! 
 You think my husband can perhaps do something for 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Yes; I thought so. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. And so he shall, Christina. I'm 
 sure he will. I'll keep at him, you see. He shan't have 
 any peace until he has hit upon something or other. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. How good of you, Nora, to stand by me 
 
104 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 so warmly! Doubly good in you, who know so little of 
 the troubles and burdens of life. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I? I know so little of ? 
 
 Mrs. Lind (smiling). Oh, well — a little copying, 
 and so forth. — You're a child, Nora. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (tosses her head and paces the room). 
 Oh, come, you mustn't be so patronising! 
 
 Mrs. Lind. No? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. You're like the rest. You all think 
 there's nothing serious about me 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Well, well 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. You think I've had no troubles in 
 this world. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. My dear Nora, you've just told me all 
 your troubles. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Those trifles! (Softly.) I haven't 
 told you the great thing. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. The great thing? What do you mean? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. You look down upon me. You are 
 proud of having worked so hard and so long for your old 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. I'm sure I don't look down upon you; 
 but it's true I am proud and glad when I remember that 
 I was able to keep my mother's last days free from care. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. And you will be both proud and 
 glad too when once you have got your brothers into a 
 good position. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Have I not the right to be ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes indeed. But now let me tell 
 you, Christina — I, too, have something to be proud and 
 glad of. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. No doubt; — but what do you mean? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Hush! Not so loud. Thorvald is 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 105 
 
 in there. He mustn't for the world — No one must 
 know about it, Christina — no one but you. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Why, what can it be? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Come over here. {Takes her over 
 to the stove.) I, too, have something to be proud and 
 glad of. I saved my husband's life. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Saved his life? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I told you about our going to Italy. 
 Thorvald would have died but for that. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Well — and your father gave you the 
 money. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (smiling). Yes, so Thorvald and 
 everyone believes; but 
 
 Mrs. Lind. But ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Father didn't give us one penny. 
 It was I that found the money. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. You ? All that money ? 
 
 Mrs. Steneorg. Twelve hundred dollars. What do 
 you say to that? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. My dear Nora, how did you manage it ? 
 Did you win it in the lottery? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No, indeed I didn't. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Then where ever did you get it from ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (smiling and humming gaily). H'm; 
 tra-la-la-la! 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Of course you couldn't borrow it. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No? Why not? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Why, a wife can't borrow without her 
 husband's consent. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (tossing her head) . Oh, when one has 
 some idea of business — and knows how to set about 
 things 
 
 Mrs. Lind. But, Nora, I don't understand 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Well, you needn't. I never said I 
 
106 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 borrowed the money. There are many ways I may have 
 got it. That's beside the point, you see. But 
 
 Mrs. Lind. Listen to me, Nora dear: haven't you 
 been a little rash? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Is it rash to save one's husband's 
 life ? 
 
 Mrs. Lind. No, but without his knowledge 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. But it would have been fatal for 
 him to know! He wasn't even to suspect how ill he was. 
 The doctors came to me privately and told me his life 
 was in danger — that nothing could save him but a jour- 
 ney to the South. Do you think I didn't try diplomacy 
 first? I told him how I longed to have a trip abroad, 
 like other young wives; and then I hinted that he could 
 borrow the money. But then, Christina, he got almost 
 angry with me. He said I was frivolous and understood 
 nothing at all about serious matters and that it was his 
 duty as a husband not to yield to my whims and fancies 
 — so I think he called them. Well, I had to save him, 
 you see; and then I found the way to do it. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. And was there never any explanation be- 
 tween him and your father? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No, never. Father died at that very 
 time; I thought of telling him all about it and coaching 
 him in what to say; but as he lay ill — unhappily, it wasn't 
 necessary. 
 
 Mrs. Lind. And you have never confessed to your 
 husband ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Good heavens! What can you be 
 thinking of? Tell him, when he has such a loathing of 
 debt! No, this thing is my grand secret, Christina. Oh, 
 you may believe it has been no joke to meet my engage- 
 ments punctually. You must know that in business 
 there are things called instalments, and quarterly inter- 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 107 
 
 est, that are terribly hard to provide for. So I've had to 
 pinch a little, wherever I could. I couldn't save out of 
 the housekeeping, for of course Thorvald had to live 
 well. And I couldn't let the children go about badly 
 dressed; all I got for them, I spent on them, the blessed 
 darlings! 
 
 Mrs. Lind. So it had to come out of your own 
 pocket-money, Nora? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, of course. After all, the whole 
 thing was my doing; so it was my finery and my amuse- 
 ments that had to suffer. When Thorvald gave me 
 money for clothes, and so on, I never spent more than 
 half of it; I always bought the simplest things. Oh, it 
 was often very hard, Christina dear; for it's nice to be 
 beautifully dressed. (Smiling.) And with all that he 
 calls me a spendthrift, and sa} s the money seems to melt 
 away in my hands. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. How much have you been able to pay 
 off? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Well, I can't precisely say. It's 
 difficult, ^o keep that sort of business clear. But it doesn't 
 matter much now. There will be so many resources open 
 to me now; for we are going to live quite differently from 
 the way we have been doing. Oh, Christina, how glo- 
 rious it is to think of! Free from all anxiety! Free, 
 quite free. To be able to play and romp about with the 
 children; to have things tasteful and pretty in the house. 
 And then the spring will soon be here, with the great blue 
 sky. Perhaps then we shall be able to travel, on rail- 
 ways and great steamships, and see foreign countries 
 again. The first time I saw so little, for I was so anxious 
 about Thorvald then. Oh, what a wonderful thing it is 
 to live and to be happy! And you shall be happy too, 
 Christina; as happy as you can be, poor dear, without 
 
108 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 either husband or children — (A bell rings outside.) 
 Who can that be? 
 
 Mrs. Linde (rising). Perhaps I had better go. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No; do stay. It's sure to be some- 
 one who wants to see Thorvald; he won't come through 
 here. 
 
 Maid-Servant (in the doorivay). If you please, 
 ma'am, Mr. Krogstad insists on seeing Mr. Stenborg ■ 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (springing up). My husband ! 
 
 Mrs. Linde (starts). Who is it? 
 
 Maid. But I didn't know, as the Doctor is in there 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (in the doorioay). What do you want 
 to see my husband about? 
 
 Krogstad (in the hall). Only about things that are 
 of no interest to anyone else. (Seeing Mrs. Linde.) 
 But — surely that can't be d 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Mrs. Linde — from the west coun- 
 try. Well, go into my husband's room; I dare say he 
 can see you. (To the maid.) Open the door for Mr. 
 Krogstad. (Shuts the door into the liall and goes back to 
 Mrs. Linde.) Do you know that man, Christina? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I used to know him — before I was mar* 
 ried. He was in a lawyer's office in our town. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, so he was. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. How he has changed! 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I believe his marriage was unhappy. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And he is a widower now? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. With a lot of children. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And his business is not of the most 
 creditable, they say? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No, they say it isn't. But don't let 
 us think of business. It's so tiresome. 
 
 (Doctor Hank comes out of Stenborg's room.) 
 
 The Doctor (still in the doorway). No, no; I'd 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 109 
 
 rather go; I'll have a chat with your wife. (Shuts the 
 door and sees Mrs. Linde.) Ah, I beg your pardon 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (introduces them). Doctor Hank — 
 Mrs. Linde. 
 
 Hank. Oh, indeed? Your old friend — or rather, 
 your friend of old days. I think I saw you as I came in, 
 Mrs. Linde. And now you've come up for Christmas ? 
 Quite right, too. One ought to enjoy life as well as one 
 can. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, oughtn't one, Doctor ? 
 
 Hank. Then we're agreed upon that? But, I say, 
 you've got a new carpet! Congratulate you! Yes, and 
 a very handsome carpet, too. Now, is that a luxury ? I 
 say, no, it isn't. A carpet like that gives you a good re- 
 turn for your money, ladies; with a carpet like that under 
 one's feet one has higher and finer thoughts, nobler feel- 
 ings, than one would have in an uncomfortable room 
 with cold, creaking planks under one. And especially 
 where there are children. [The race is ennobled in beau- 
 tiful surroundings.] 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Oh, how often I have felt the same; 
 but I have never been able to give it expression. 
 
 Hank. No, I dare say not. You see, it belongs to 
 psychological statistics; and that is a science that is not 
 much developed at present. But it is possible to show 
 a connection between such things. For instance, if that 
 fellow who is with Stenborg 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Mr. Krogstad? 
 
 Hank. Yes, if Krogstad had been brought up in a 
 home which, so to speak, was on the sunny side of life, 
 with all its spiritual windows facing the light, instead of 
 the cursed cold, damp north — I know it — I'll undertake 
 to say that he would have turned out a decent person, 
 like the rest of us. 
 
110 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Then he is not one? 
 
 Hank. He can't be one. Impossible. His mairiage 
 was not such that he could be one. An unhappy mar- 
 riage is like the small-pox; it leaves marks on the soul! 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. And what does a happy marriage 
 do? 
 
 Hank. It acts like a course of baths ; it drives out all 
 the noxious humours and encourages the growth of all 
 that is good and useful in a man. What would have be- 
 come of Stenborg, I wonder, if he hadn't found his little 
 song-bird ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. What ? How can you think that 
 Thorvald should require ? 
 
 Hank. I know him. He would have become a bit 
 of a slave to duty, a bit of a drudge, a bit of a pedant — in 
 a good sense. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Fie, Doctor, now I'm angry with 
 you. 
 
 Hank. But don't you think it's true? (Sees Sten- 
 borg coming.) Then ask him yourself. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No, no, no, leave off. (To Sten- 
 borg.) Has he gone? 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, this moment. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Thorvald, let me introduce you — 
 this is Christin 
 
 Stenborg. Ah, Mrs. Linde! Welcome. I have just 
 heard from Krogstad that you were here. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. From Krogstad ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. What has it to do with him ? 
 
 Stenborg. Well, he connected it with what he had 
 to say to me. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. My being here? 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, he thinks he can see a design behind 
 everything. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 111 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. But what did lie want with you ? 
 
 Stenborg. It's really a tiresome story. (To Dr. 
 Hank.) I dare say you know that for the last year or so 
 Krogstad has had a little place in the Joint Stock Bank ? 
 
 Hank. Yes; what of it? 
 
 Stenborg. When I accepted the post of manager I 
 made it one of my conditions that there should be a 
 weeding-out of the staff. 
 
 Hank. And that was by no means unnecessary, from 
 what one hears. 
 
 Stenborg. More necessary than people suppose. 
 Jobbery and routine had got the upper hand in an alto- 
 gether unwarrantable way. I can't put up with that; I 
 mean to begin with a staff that I can depend upon in 
 everything. I have therefore seen to it that all the un- 
 desirables have received notice. 
 
 Hank. You were quite right there. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And Krogstad is among them ? 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, I'm sorry to say so, he above all. 
 He is altogether untrustworthy. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Oh but, Thorvald, you've known 
 him for years. 
 
 Stenborg. For that very reason I must be all the 
 more strict. I wish indeed I could spare him; but it is 
 impossible. You must not think me hard-hearted, Mrs. 
 Linde. I am certainly not that; but I have a duty and 
 a regard for the institution I am to manage. I obtained 
 my post by opposition to the existing system, by a pam- 
 phlet, by a series of newspaper articles and by decisive 
 action at the last general meeting. And am I to begin 
 by contradicting myself? 
 
 Hank. No, I hope you'll do nothing of the sort. 
 
 Stenborg. I simply can't do so. My task is before 
 
112 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 all things to restore public confidence in the bank; and 
 therefore there must be a weeding-out. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And yet I'm sorry for the people who 
 will be hit. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. So am I. 
 
 Stenborg. And I no less. 
 
 Hank. There we have it! This damned humanity! 
 Excuse me if I express myself rather strongly. But it 
 makes me wild when I hear — . Who are the people who 
 will suffer ? Incapable or disorderly individuals, drunk- 
 ards many of them, persons who take advantage of the 
 weakness of their superiors to obtain advances or loans 
 that they can never repay. 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, you're not far from the truth. 
 
 Hank. And then, who is it that will suffer next? 
 Why, the shareholders, myself* and a lot of other honest 
 men. We are the people who are robbed by incapacity 
 and irregularity and apathy, so that we never see a penny 
 of our deposits. But nobody pities us. No, of course 
 not; we are not failures, we are not drunkards, forgers, 
 discharged convicts; and these are the sort of fellows 
 who have a monopoly of pity in our humane age. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And I suppose they are the ones who 
 most need it. 
 
 Hank. But we don't need the degenerate specimens 
 of the race; we can do without them. Study the natural 
 sciences, ladies, and you will see how there is one law 
 pervading everything. The stronger tree deprives the 
 weaker of the conditions of life and turns them to its 
 own use. The same thing happens among animals; the 
 unfit individuals in a herd have to make way for the 
 better ones. And that is how nature progresses. It is 
 only we human beings who forcibly retard progress by 
 taking care of the unfit individuals. — But, bless my soul! 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 113 
 
 Fm standing here talking and forgetting all about a 
 patient I ought to look up. The brute is quite capable 
 of slipping through my hands. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Is that another specimen of the unfit, 
 Doctor ? 
 
 Hank. A drunken scoundrel of a miner; got his 
 right hand blown off while tipsy. If he survives it, he'll 
 be fit for nothing 
 
 Mrs. Linde. But then it would surely be best to get 
 rid of him. 
 
 Hank (putting on his coat). Yes, you're perfectly 
 right there; that is a thought that often forces itself upon 
 us doctors, especially when we're practising among the 
 poor. But who is going to take such a responsibility? 
 Not I. I won't say anything about its being punishable 
 by law; but even if it were not — . No, Mrs. Linde, our 
 development has not yet gone far enough for that. Well, 
 good-bye, good-bye, ladies. 
 
 Stenborg. Wait, I'll go with you. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, it's time I was going too, Nora. 
 Where is the post office? 
 
 Stenborg. I'll show you. We'll go together. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Thanks. (Aside, as she puts on her 
 things.) Not a word to your husband about me 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Oh, but Christina! 
 
 Mrs. Linde. You can see it would be of no use. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Poor Christina. But come back 
 this evening. 
 
 (They go towards the door, talking, and out into the 
 hall. Outside on the stairs are heard children's 
 voices.) 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. There they are! There they are! 
 (She runs to the outer door and opens it. The nurse 
 enters the hall with the three children.) 
 
114 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Come in; come in; oh, my sweet 
 darlings! Do you see them, Christina? 
 
 Hank. Don't let us stand here chattering in the 
 draught. 
 
 Stenborg. Come, Mrs. Linde, only mothers can 
 stand such a temperature. 
 
 (Dr. Hank, Mrs. Linde and Stenborg go out. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg, the nurse and the children enter 
 
 the room.) 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. How fresh and red you look! Have 
 
 you had great fun? — Oh, really! You've been giving 
 
 Emmy and Bob a ride on your sledge; why, you're quite 
 
 a man, Alf. Oh, give him to me a little, Anna. (Takes 
 
 the smallest one on her arm and dances with him.) Yes, 
 
 yes; I'll dance with you too — What! Did you have a 
 
 game of snowballs ? Oh, I should have liked to be there. 
 
 No, let me take their things oft*, Anna. Go to the nursery; 
 
 you look frozen. You'll find some hot coffee there. 
 
 (The Nurse goes out to the left. Mrs. Stenborg 
 takes off the children 's things and throws them down 
 anywhere •, while the children all talk together.) 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Really! A big dog ran after you? 
 But he didn't bite you ? No, he doesn't bite good chil- 
 dren. Don't peep into those parcels, Emmy. What is 
 it? Wouldn't you like to know? Take care — it'll bite! 
 What ? Shall we have a game ? What shall we play at ? 
 Hide-and-seek? Yes, let's play hide-and-seek. A!f shall 
 hide first. Am I to? Yes, let me hide first. 
 
 (She and the children play, ivith laughter and shout' 
 ing, in the room and the adjacent one to the left. 
 At last Mrs. Stenborg hides under the table; tlie 
 children come rushing in, look for her, hut cannot 
 find her, hear her half-choked laughter, rush to the 
 table, lift up the cover and see her — loud shoitis, 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 115 
 
 she creeps out as though to frighten them. Fresh 
 shouts. Meanwhile tliere has been a knock at the 
 door leading into the hall; no one has heard it. 
 Now the door is half opened and Krogstad puts 
 his head in.) 
 
 Krogstad. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Stenborg 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (ivith a slight cry, half jumps -up). 
 Ah, what do you want? 
 
 Krogstad. Excuse me. The hall door was ajar — 
 somebody must have forgotten to shut it 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg {standing up). My husband is not 
 at home, Mr. Krogstad. 
 
 Krogstad. I know it. I saw him go down the 
 street. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Then what do you want here ? 
 
 Krogstad. To speak to you. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. To me? {To the children, softly?) 
 Go in to Anna. And mind you are quiet and good. 
 What ? No, the strange man won't hurt mamma. 
 When he's gone we'll go on playing. {She leads the chil- 
 dren into the left-hand room, and shuts the door behind 
 tliem. Softly, in suspense.) It is to me you wish to 
 speak ? 
 
 Krogstad. Yes, to you. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. To-day? But it's not the first 
 yet 
 
 Krogstad. No, Mrs. Stenborg; it's two days to 
 Christmas. It will depend upon yourself what sort of 
 a Christmas you will have. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. What do you want? I'm not 
 ready to-day 
 
 Krogstad. Never mind that for the present. I have 
 come about another matter. You have a minute to 
 spare ? 
 
116 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Oh, yes, I suppose so; although — - 
 
 Krogstad. Good. I was sitting in Olsen's restaur- 
 ant opposite, and I saw your husband go down the 
 street 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Well ? 
 
 Krogstad. — with a lady 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. It was Mrs. Linde. 
 
 Krogstad. I used to know that lady. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. She told me so. 
 
 Krogstad. Did she tell you no more? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. No; nothing at all. 
 
 Krogstad (suspiciously). H'm; — as I was saying, she 
 has crossed my path once, and now it seems that she is 
 going to do so again. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. But I don't understand at all 
 
 Krogstad. Will you give me a straightforward an- 
 swer to a question ? Did Mrs. Linde come here to look 
 for employment? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, she did. 
 
 Krogstad. I suppose it wasn't a place in the Joint 
 Stock Bank that she 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. But I don't see 
 
 Krogstad. I suppose it wasn't the situation that I'm 
 to be turned out of? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Mr. Krogstad, I don't see that I 
 am bound to give you an account 
 
 Krogstad. We will speak of our account presently. — ■ 
 You are perhaps aware that I have had notice. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes. 
 
 Krogstad. By your husband's directions ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes. 
 
 Krogstad. Mrs. Stenborg, you must see that I retain 
 my position 3n the Bank. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 117 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I ? How can you imagine that I 
 should have any such influence over my husband ? 
 
 Krogstad. Oh, I don't suppose Mr. Stenborg is any 
 more inflexible than other husbands. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. If you talk disrespectfully of my 
 husband, I must request you to leave the house. 
 
 Krogstad. You are bold, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I am afraid of you no longer. 
 When New Year's Day is over, I shall soon be out of the 
 whole business. 
 
 Krogstad. Listen to me, Mrs. Stenborg. If I fight 
 as though for my life to keep my place in the Bank, it is 
 not for the sake of the salary. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Why then? 
 
 Krogstad. It is because this place is a kind of posi- 
 tion of confidence; it is the only situation that any one 
 has entrusted to me. Of course you know, like every 
 one else, that some years ago I — got into trouble ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I've heard something of the sort. 
 
 Krogstad. The matter never came into court; but 
 from that moment all paths were barred to me. Then I 
 took up the business you know about. I had to turn 
 my hand to something; and I don't think I've been one 
 of the worst. But now I must get clear of it all. My 
 sons are growing up; for their sake I must try to recover 
 my character as well as I can. This place in the Bank 
 was the first step; and now your husband comes and 
 kicks me off the ladder, and I am back in the mire. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. But I assure you, Mr. Krogstad, I 
 have no power to help you. 
 
 Krogstad. I can compel you. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. You won't tell him that I owe you 
 money ? 
 
 Krogstad. Suppose I were to? 
 
118 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. It would be shameful of you. 
 (Bursts into tears.) This secret is my joy and pride. I 
 had been looking forward so eagerly to getting it all paid 
 off by saving and working, and one day telling my hus- 
 band that it was I . And you can have the heart to — ! 
 
 (Hotly.) But just do it! And then you will lose your 
 place! It would involve me in all sorts of unpleasant- 
 ness ; but then my husband will see what a bad man you 
 are; and then you certainly won't keep your place. 
 
 Krogstad. Nothing but unpleasantness? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. My husband will of course pay 
 what I owe you. 
 
 Krogstad. Either your memory is defective, or you 
 don't know much about business. I must make the 
 position a little clearer to you. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. How so? 
 
 Krogstad. When your hnsband was ill, you came to 
 me to borrow twelve hundred dollars. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I knew of nobody else. 
 
 Krogstad. I promised to find you the money. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. And you did find it. 
 
 Krogstad. I promised to find you the money, on 
 certain conditions. You were so much taken up at the 
 time about your husband's illness, and so eager to have 
 the wherewithal for your journey, that you probably did 
 not give much thought to the details. Allow me to re- 
 mind you of them. I promised to find you the amount 
 in exchange for a note of hand, which I drew up. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, and I signed it. 
 
 Krogstad. Quite right. But then I added a few 
 lines, making your father security for the debt. Your 
 father was to sign this. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Was to — ? He did sign it! 
 
 Krogstad. I had left the date blank. That is to 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 119 
 
 s&y, your father was himself to date his signature. Do 
 you recollect that? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes, I believe 
 
 Krogstad. Then I gave you the paper to send to 
 your father, by post. Is not that so? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes. 
 
 Krogstad. And of course you did so at once; for 
 within eight or ten days you brought me back the docu- 
 ment with your father's signature; and I handed you the 
 money. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Well ? Have I not made my pay- 
 ments punctually? 
 
 Krogstad. Fairly — yes. But to return to the point: 
 you were in great trouble at the time, Mrs. Stenborg? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I was indeed. 
 
 Krogstad. Your father was very ill, I believe ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. He was on his death-bed. 
 
 Krogstad. And died soon after? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Yes. 
 
 Krogstad. Tell me, Mrs. Stenborg: do you happen 
 to recollect the day of his death? The day of the 
 month, I mean? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. He died on the 29th of September. 
 
 Krogstad. Quite correct. I have made inquiries. 
 And here comes in the remarkable point — (produces a 
 paper) which I cannot explain. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. What remarkable point? I don't 
 know 
 
 Krogstad. The remarkable point, madam, that your 
 father signed this paper five days after his death! 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. What! I don't understand 
 
 Krogstad. Your father died on the 29th of Septem- 
 ber. But look here: he has dated his signature October 
 4th! Is not that remarkable, Mrs. Stenborg? (Mrs. 
 
120 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Stenborg is silent.) Can you explain it, madam ? 
 (Mrs. Stenborg continues silent.) It is noteworthy, 
 too, that the words " October 4th " and the year are not 
 in your father's handwriting, but in one which I believe 
 I know. Look there. Well, this may be explained; 
 your father may have forgotten to date his signature, 
 and somebody may have added the date here. There is 
 nothing wrong in that. Of course it is genuine, Mrs. 
 Stenborg ? It was really your father himself who wrote 
 his name here ? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg (after a short silence, throws her head 
 back, looks him firmly in the face and says proudly and 
 defiantly). No, it was not. It was I who copied his 
 signature. 
 
 Krogstad. Ah! — Are you aware, madam, that that 
 is a dangerous admission? * 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. How so? You will soon get your 
 money. 
 
 Krogstad. May I ask you one more question ? Why 
 did you not send the paper to your father? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. It was impossible. My father was 
 very ill. Had I asked him for his signature, I should 
 have had to tell him w T hy I wanted the money; but he 
 w r as so ill I really could not tell him that my husband's 
 life was in danger. It was impossible. 
 
 Krogstad. Then would it not have been better to 
 have given up your tour? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I couldn't do that; my husband's 
 life depended on that journey. I couldn't give it up. 
 
 Krogstad. Did it never occur to you that you and 
 your husband might die on the journey, and that I should 
 then be defrauded of my money? 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. That was nothing to me. I didn't 
 care in the least about you. I couldn't endure you for 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 1£1 
 
 all the cruel difficulties you made, although you knew 
 how ill my husband was. 
 
 Krogstad. Mrs. Stenborg, you evidently do not 
 realise what you have been guilty of. Let me tell you it 
 was nothing more nor worse that made me an outcast 
 from society. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. You ? You want me to believe 
 that you did anything to save your wife's life ? 
 
 Krogstad. The law takes no account of motives. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. Then it must be a very bad law. 
 
 Krogstad. Bad or not, the judges must follow it. 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I don't believe that. Do you mean 
 to tell me that a daughter has no right to spare her in- 
 valid father? — that a wife has no right to save her hus- 
 band's life? I don't know much about the law, but 
 I'm sure you'll find, somewhere or another, that that is 
 allowed. And you don't know that — you, a lawyer! 
 You must be a bad one, Mr. Krogstad. 
 
 Krogstad. Allow me, madam 
 
 Mrs. Stenborg. I don't want to h$ar any more — . 
 You think you can frighten me, but you haven't suc- 
 ceeded. I'm not so foolish as you imagine. 
 
 Krogstad. Very well. I may tell you once more: 
 you are on the edge of the precipice; you have every- 
 thing to lose; your whole future; everything, I tell you. 
 If I am flung into the gutter a second time, you shall 
 keep me company. {Bows and goes out through hall.) 
 
 Nora {stands a icJiile thinking, then reassured). Oh, 
 nonsense! {Begins folding the children's clothes* but 
 pauses in the middle:) But — ? No, it's impossible! 
 Why, I did it for love! 
 
 Children {at the door, left). Mamma, has the strange 
 man gone? 
 
122 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Nora. Yes; but don't tell papa that any one has been 
 here. 
 
 Children. No, and now will you play with us again, 
 
 Nora. No, no; not now, children. 
 
 Children. Oh, do, mamma; you know you promised. 
 
 Nora. Yes, but I can't just now. Run to the nursery. 
 I have so much to do. Run along, run along, and be 
 good, my darlings! (She closes the door behind them; 
 then takes up her knitting, but lets it drop again, then knits 
 hurriedly and says in a spasmodic voice :) No, it's quite 
 impossible! 
 
 Enter Stenborg from the hall. 
 
 Nora. Oh, you're back already? 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, Has anybody been here? 
 
 Nora. Here ? No. 
 
 Stenborg. Are you sure ? That's odd. I saw 
 Krogstad come out of the house. 
 
 Nora. Did you? Oh, yes, by-the-bye, he was here 
 for a minute. 
 
 Stenborg. Nora, he has been begging you to put in 
 a good word for him ? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Stenborg. And you were to say nothing to me of his 
 having asked you ? You were to do it as if of your own 
 accord ? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Stenborg. Nora, Nora! And you could agree to 
 that! To condescend to intrigue with such a person! 
 And to tell me an untruth! 
 
 Nora. An untruth! 
 
 Stenborg. Didn't you say that nobody had been 
 here ? My little bird must never do that again ! A song- 
 bird must sing clear and true; no false notes — . Well, 
 well, well, it was the first time; let's say no more about it. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 123 
 
 (Sits down before the fire.) Oh, how warm and quiet it is 
 here! 
 
 Nora (busy with her parcels). Thorvald! 
 
 Stenborg. Yes. 
 
 Nora. Was it anything so very dreadful that poor 
 Krogstad got into trouble about? 
 
 Stenborg. Forgery. Don't you know what that 
 means ? 
 
 Nora. But mayn't he have been driven to it by need ? 
 
 Stenborg. Yes; or, like so many others, he may have 
 done it in pure heedlessness. I am not so hard-hearted 
 as to condemn a man absolutely for a single fault. 
 
 Nora. No, surely not, Thorvald. 
 
 Stenborg. I have seen examples of such men re- 
 trieving their character, when their crime has been dis- 
 covered at once and they have taken the punishment. 
 
 Nora. Punishment ? 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, there's imprisonment for forgery. 
 But that didn't happen with Krogstad. His crime was 
 not discovered till long afterwards, and that is what has 
 morally ruined him. 
 
 Nora. How — — ? 
 
 Stenborg. Just think how such a man must be al- 
 ways lying and canting and shamming. Think of the 
 mask he must wear even towards those who stand nearest 
 him — towards his own wife and children. The effect on 
 the children — that's the most terrible part of it, Nora. 
 
 Nora. Why ? 
 
 Stenborg. Because in such an atmosphere of lies 
 home life is poisoned and contaminated in every fibre; 
 every breath the children draw contains some germ of 
 evil. 
 
 Nora (behind him) . Are you sure of that, Thorvald ? 
 
 Stenborg. I have absolute statistical proof of it. I 
 
124 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 have studied these questions a good deal and I have 
 found that nearly all cases of early corruption may be 
 traced to lying mothers. 
 
 Nora. Mothers ? 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, mothers in particular; but of course 
 the father's influence may act in the same way; and 
 Krogstad knew that only too well. And yet he has been 
 poisoning his own children for years past by a life of un- 
 truthfulness and hypocrisy. That is why I call him 
 morally ruined. So my sweet little Nora must promise 
 not to plead his cause. Shake hands upon it. Come, 
 come, what's this ? Give me your hand. That's right. 
 Then it's a bargain. I assure you it would have been 
 impossible for me to work with him; it gives me a sense 
 of discomfort to come in contact with such people. 
 (Nora draws her hand away, and moves towards the table.) 
 Well, what is it? 
 
 Nora. It is so warm. Oh, I have so much to do. 
 
 Stenborg (rising). Yes, and I must try to get through 
 my business. And then the Christmas-tree shall be deco- 
 rated, and we'll bring the children in — and then we'll have 
 a joyful and happy Christmas Eve, my precious little 
 song-bird! (He goes into his room and shuts the door.) 
 
 Nora. No, no, no — ! It can't be. I will decorate 
 the Christmas-tree. No; not with my hands! 
 
 Anna (at the door, left). The children are asking if 
 they may come in, ma'am ? 
 
 Nora. No, no, don't let them come to me! Keep 
 them with you, Anna. 
 
 Anna. Very well, ma'am. (Goes back into the 
 nursery.) 
 
 Nora (pale with terror). Corrupt them? Poison — ! 
 No! Yes; yes! — But it's impossible! It must be im- 
 possible! Why, I did it for love! 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 125 
 
 SECOND ACT 
 
 The same room, 
 
 Nora is putting on her hat and cloak; her muff and gloves 
 are on the table. 
 
 Nora (anxiously, at the hall door) . Is somebody com- 
 ing? — Nobody. No, of course, he won't come to-day; 
 it's New Year's Eve; nor to-morrow either. — Stuff and 
 nonsense! Of course he won't come at all. He won't 
 do it. It won't happen. It's impossible. — O God, O 
 God, put something in Thorvald's mind, so that he won't 
 irritate that terrible man. O God, O God, I have three 
 little children. Oh, do it for the sake of my little chil- 
 dren! 
 
 Nurse (at the door, left). Now I have everything 
 ready, if you would — . Oh, I see, you're going out, 
 ma'am ? 
 
 Nora. Yes, I must go out. Isn't it fearfully close in 
 here ? I feel as if I should be stifled. 
 
 Nurse. But there's a keen wind out-of-doors. Do 
 be careful, ma'am; you might easily make yourself ill. 
 
 Nora. Well, what does that matter? Do you count 
 it a misfortune to be ill ? 
 
 Nurse. Yes, that I do. 
 
 Nora. But people are sympathetic towards those who 
 are ill. No one will do any harm to a person who is 
 ill. — Oh yes, though, there is somebody who would do it. 
 
 Nurse. Oh, but, ma'am 
 
 Nora. Listen, Lena, if anything should happen to 
 me, will you promise to take care of the children 
 
 Nurse. But you make me so terribly frightened, 
 ma'am. Is anything the matter? 
 
126 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Nora. No, no, but nobody can tell what may happen. 
 Oh, Lena, you must never desert them, so long as they 
 need you. Will you promise me that? 
 
 Nurse (in tears). Didn't I look after Nora when she 
 was little and had no mother? Can Nora think that I 
 should desert her little children? 
 
 Nora. No, of course not, I know that very well, Lena. 
 Oh, the little darlings will still be well, if I am not — . 
 But it isn't certain that anything will happen. So many 
 strange things happen in the world; so many people are 
 saved from great misfortunes. Very often it turns out 
 to be only a dream. Oh, how splendid it would be to 
 wake up and come to one's senses and cry out, I've been 
 dreaming, I've been dreaming! 
 
 Nurse. But, in heaven's name, ma'am 
 
 Nora. You mustn't look* so frightened. I had so 
 little sleep last night. 
 
 Nurse. Yes, that's the fault of all these parties. Oh, 
 ma'am, is it wise ? — out every single evening the whole 
 Christmas week; out till late at night. 
 
 Nora. Ah, but it's lovely, Lena — there's music and 
 lights, and beautiful clothes — and so much amusement; 
 one forgets; one doesn't think — Oh, but it's lovely to 
 live, Lena — to be young — to be really alive. Look, how 
 the sun is shining — the snow is dripping off the roofs; it 
 is not cold, as you said — it's spring weather — we shall 
 soon have spring — and — Spring! 
 
 Nurse. What is it, ma'am? You're as white as a 
 sheet. 
 
 Nora. Oh, it was fearful. 
 
 Nurse. What? What was it? 
 
 Nora. I was thinking of the terrible story you told 
 me when I was little. 
 
 Nurse. I ? 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 127 
 
 Nora. Don't you remember the girl who lived near 
 us, who had helped to murder her father and was exe- 
 cuted ? When they came to fetch her she screamed : No, 
 not now in the spring-time! Not now in the sunshine!— 
 Yes, it is terrible to die in the spring-time and in the sun- 
 shine. 
 
 Nurse. As I'm alive, as soon as the Doctor comes 
 I'll 
 
 Nora. You're not to say a single word to the Doctor. 
 You silly old Lena — (laughing) how could you be so 
 frightened — ha, ha, ha — can't you guess that I was 
 joking 
 
 Nurse. Well, then God forgive Nora 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes, it was horrid of me. (Petting her.) 
 Don't be angry; I'll never do it again. Oh, now you're 
 laughing! That's right; go in to the children 
 
 Nurse. Yes, I'll go. But I'll never forget how 
 frightened I was. (She goes into the nursery.) 
 
 Nora. There, there. Now I'll go out. Only not to 
 think. Only not to think. — What a delicious muff! 
 Beautiful gloves! Beautiful gloves! — To forget! — One, 
 two, three, four, five, six — (With a scream.) Ah, 
 who's that? 
 
 Stenborg (at the hall hoor). Heavens! what's hap- 
 pening ? 
 
 Nora. Oh, is it you ? 
 
 Stenborg. Of course. Is that anything to be 
 frightened of, silly little girl ? But how worn-out you 
 look, my dear Nora. What is the matter with you ? 
 
 Nora. You know, we were up very late last night. 
 
 Stenborg. Much too late. But we'll make an end 
 of that. 
 
 Nora. Yes, there will soon be an end of that. 
 
128 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Stenborg. Fortunately. After New Year's Day, 
 work will begin. 
 
 Nora. New Year's Day; — why, that's to-morrow. 
 
 Stenborg. And the day after to-morrow, business. 
 Are you going out ? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Stenborg. What, again? You've already been out 
 once to-day. 
 
 Nora. If you would rather, I will stay at home. 
 
 Stenborg. No, go if you like; it will bring the roses 
 back into your cheeks. They suit you so well. My 
 little elf mustn't have such pale cheeks and tired eyes. I 
 must have you about me, well and fresh and lively, to 
 make me feel happy and comfortable. (Kissing her.) 
 There, now go; I'll get on with my work. I've been 
 down to the Bank and brought home these papers. 
 
 Nora. To the Bank? Have you already ? 
 
 Stenborg. It's only some details that I want to 
 make myself more familiar with. Good-bye; go now; 
 but don't catch cold. 
 
 Nora. Thorvald. 
 
 Stenborg. Yes. 
 
 Nora. If your little squirrel were to beg you for 
 something so prettily? 
 
 Stenborg. Well ? 
 
 Nora. Would you do it? 
 
 Stenborg. I must first know what it is. 
 
 Nora. The squirrel would skip about and play all 
 sorts of tricks if you would do it. 
 
 Stenborg. Out with it. 
 
 Nora. Your Jark would twitter from morning till 
 night 
 
 Stenborg. Nora 
 
 Nora. Your elf would dance for you, Thorvald- 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 129 
 
 Stenborg. I understand. Have you really the cour- 
 age to ask me that again ? 
 
 Nora. I beg and implore you, Thorvald! 
 
 Stenborg. You have done that every single day this 
 week. 
 
 Nora. Yes, but to-day you will do what I ask. 
 
 Stenborg. I shall not. What has put it into your 
 head to be so frightened of this person, to be afraid I 
 shall make an enemy of him, that he will write against 
 me in the newspapers ? It is an insult to me, Nora, a 
 double insult, first to think that I am weak and then 
 that I am afraid. 
 
 Nora. No, no, no, it's not an insult. Oh, we could 
 live so quietly and happily now, in our cosy, peaceful 
 home, you and I and the children. — The children, the 
 children, Thorvald! 
 
 Stenborg. The children ? What about them ? 
 
 Nora. Oh, Thorvald, you must do what I ask. Re- 
 member, it is the last day of the year. This is the last 
 thing I shall ask of you this year. 
 
 Stenborg. And you would end the year by carrying 
 through a wilful fancy? Yes, you are wilful, Nora; you 
 have never learnt to overcome your whims. That is 
 your father's fault. He was too indulgent with you. 
 I'm sure he was never able to deny you anything. And 
 I haven't been able to, either. I am partly to blame. 
 But this must be changed; it is for your own good. 
 
 Nora. Yes, after this! Be strict, Thorvald — be as 
 strict as you like; but do what I ask just this once. Do 
 you hear, Thorvald 
 
 Stenborg. We'll put an end to this. (Rings the bell 
 by the door to the hall.) 
 
 Nora. What do you want ? 
 
130 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Stenborg. To settle the thing. (The Maid enters.) 
 Here; take this letter; give it to a messenger. See that 
 he takes it at once. The address is on it. Here's the 
 money. 
 
 Maid. Very well, sir. (Goes out.) 
 
 Stenborg. There, my little song-bird. 
 
 Nora. Thorvald, what was in the letter? 
 
 Stenborg. It was a business letter. 
 
 Nora. What was in the letter, Thorvald. 
 
 Stenborg. Krogstad's dismissal. 
 
 Nora. Call it back again, Thorvald! There's still 
 time. 
 
 Stenborg. There is no time; he must have it before 
 the year is out. 
 
 Nora. Oh, call it back again, Thorvald! For my 
 sake. For your own sake. -For the children's sake. 
 Oh, Thorvald, you don't know what you're doing. 
 
 Stenborg. Have I deserved this of you — this anxiety ? 
 Yes, Nora, it is a slur upon me. I understand very well 
 what you are thinking of. You remember all the accusa- 
 tions and denunciations and newspaper attacks that your 
 father in his time was exposed to, and that caused him so 
 many bitter hours. And now you are afraid that I — ; 
 that is what offends me, Nora. But you ought to know 
 that I am unimpeachable, while your father was not. 
 
 Nora. Thorvald! 
 
 Stenborg. No, your father was not a methodical 
 official, Nora. I can give you an example; I have never 
 cared to tell you before, but now you shall know it. The 
 twelve hundred dollars that he gave you when you in- 
 sisted on going to Italy were never even entered in his 
 accounts; it is quite impossible to find out where he got 
 them from. 
 
 Nora. My poor, poor father. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 131 
 
 Stenborg. My dearest Nora, I'm not saying that to 
 hurt you. but to make you understand what a difference 
 there is between him and me. I make no reproach 
 against your father; he was the kindest-hearted man, 
 much too good; and he was on his death-bed at the time. 
 
 Nora. Oh, what a good thing it was that father died ! 
 
 Stenborg. There, there, there, my little song-bird! 
 We won't have any of that. What are you saying? 
 That it's a good thing to die? Is that the sort of thing 
 for little song-birds, who are just beginning to live ? 
 Now then, a cheerful face, to give me light and warmth. 
 Isn't that what you're for? 
 
 Nora. Who's that coming? 
 
 Stenborg. What, anxious again ? 
 
 (Doctor Rank comes in from the hall.) 
 
 Rank. Good-day to you. All well ? 
 
 Stenborg. Oh, fairly. 
 
 Nora. Yes, thanks, Doctor. 
 
 Stenborg. But you don't look too well yourself. 
 
 Rank. I am running down hill; there's no help for it. 
 
 Stenborg. Oh, but, my dear friend. 
 
 Rank. Yes, yes — why lie to one's self ? In these last 
 days I have been auditing my life-account. A con- 
 foundedly wretched result. I may be tolerably certain 
 that this is the last New Year's Eve I shall see. A year 
 hence I shall lie rotting in the churchyard. 
 
 Nora. Ugh, that's frightful 
 
 Rank. Well, one has to go some day. But to suffer 
 thus for another's sin! Where's the justice of it? And 
 yet you can trace in every family an inexorable retribu- 
 tion. It is my father's wild oats that my poor spinal 
 marrow must do penance for. 
 
 Stenborg. Oh, you'll last a long while yet with thai 
 spinal marrow, 
 
132 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rank. Like a Lazarus; it isn't a very tempting pros- 
 pect. Ah, for a healthy, happy person it must be a 
 desperate thing to have to go. For one who has a home, 
 a circle of dear ones around him ■ 
 
 Nora. Good-bye. 
 
 Rank. Are you going out? 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes; I must have some tresh air. Good- 
 bye. (She goes out.) 
 
 Rank. Is anything the matter with her? 
 
 Stenborg. I don't know what to say; she has been 
 like that all the week, in an unnaturally excited condition; 
 she has all kinds of needless anxieties; it seems as if she 
 was not at ease in the house; she no longer plays with 
 the children 
 
 Rank. It is the great change in your position 
 
 Stenborg. Yes, it must come from that. She seems 
 to be constantly tormented by the idea that it will not 
 last. 
 
 Rank. I see, I see. 
 
 Stenborg. At first she was so exuberantly happy 
 about it. You can imagine — with her light-hearted dis- 
 position, how she felt on being suddenly placed in a 
 position free from care and even opulent. My poor 
 little Nora; I blame myself for not having prepared her 
 more cautiously. 
 
 Rank. Yes, perhaps you ought to have done so. 
 
 Stenborg. But I couldn't guess — and besides, I 
 couldn't deny myself the pleasure of seeing her so 
 radiantly happy. (Nora re-enters.) What? Are you 
 back already? 
 
 Nora. Yes, I couldn't stand it. I had such a feeling 
 of anxiety; one never knows what may happen when one 
 is out. I must see the children — (Goes to the door and 
 lays her hand on the handle, but quickly withdraws it.) 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 133 
 
 Stenborg. Why don't you go in ? 
 
 Nora. No, no, I won't go to them. There's no need 
 to; I can hear that everything is quiet; I will stay here 
 with you. 
 
 Stenborg. Well, you must dispense with my society 
 for half an hour, my dear Nora. 
 
 Nora. Oh, no, no, Thorvald, don't go out. 
 
 Stenborg. I don't intend to; I must do some work 
 in my room. But Rank will stay a little while — (Signs 
 to him.) Won't you ? I think you said 
 
 Rank. Yes, I shall be glad to walk about a little on 
 your new carpet. 
 
 Stenborg. And I'll make fast my door. No one is 
 to come in; no disturbers of the peace; no squirrels 
 among my papers — 
 
 (Goes into his room and bolts the door.) 
 
 Nora (taking off her hat and cloak) . Don't you think 
 it's frightfully warm, Doctor? 
 
 Rank. No, on the contrary. 
 
 Nora. You're cold, perhaps? 
 
 Rank. Not that either. You keep a pleasant tem- 
 perature as usual. That is one of the wonderful gifts 
 that many women have — when one enters their rooms, 
 one is permeated, as it were, by a gentle sense of well- 
 being. 
 
 Nora. Oh, yes, it is pleasant here. 
 
 Rank. Yes, isn't it? We bachelors have a keen 
 sense for such things. And we know how to appreciate 
 them. The worthy husbands don't always do that. 
 They get so used to it; they think that all these blessings 
 are a matter of course, something that follows quite 
 naturally from the fact that one is alive. It is the same 
 as with a constant unremitting noise; one does not no- 
 tice it until it ceases. I am almost certain that this is 
 
134 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 the case with Stenborg. Now that your circumstances 
 allow it, you ought now and then to leave him for a day 
 or two. 
 
 Nora {after a short pause). Do you think he would 
 miss me much, if I were away? 
 
 Rank. Try. 
 
 Nora. Oh, no, no, no. For heaven's sake, don't 
 speak like that. Who would do such a thing voluntarily ? 
 To leave him and the children! 
 
 Rank. I knew it. But with him, Mrs. Stenborg? 
 With him and the children too. 
 
 Nora. Ah, that would be lovely. 
 
 Rank. To get away a little; to see the great open 
 sea again — you who are so fond of the sea. 
 
 Nora. Oh, yes, the sea, the sea! Isn't the sea 
 splendid ? 
 
 Rank. And then, to see your home from a distance, 
 in a new light. 
 
 Nora. And to come back again, to go round one's 
 own rooms, arranging all the beautiful things one has 
 brought home, to play with the children, to see them 
 growing strong and — (In terror.) Ah! 
 
 Rank. What's the matter? 
 
 Nora. Oh, it was nothing; it was something I just 
 remembered, something that had escaped my memory. 
 
 Rank. May I feel your pulse ? 
 
 Nora. No, no, there's nothing wrong with me; I as- 
 sure you 
 
 Rank. There is something on your mind, in any case. 
 Do you think it is any use denying that to me ? And why 
 do you wish to deny it? W T hy hide anything from an 
 old friend ? For I am one, am I not ? 
 
 Nora. Oh, Doctor Rank! 
 
 Rank. Well, what is it? 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 135 
 
 Nora. No, no, I can't.— Well, tell me this, Doctor; 
 is Thorvald quite strong now ? 
 
 Rank. Yes, certainly he is. 
 
 Nora. Are you quite sure that he could stand a great 
 shock, a great grief, or anything of that sort ? 
 
 Rank. What kind of a shock or grief are you talking 
 about ? 
 
 Nora. I can't tell; so many things might happen. 
 At the time he was ill you said he must avoid any strong 
 emotion. 
 
 Rank. Yes, at that time. 
 
 Nora. And do you think after all that Thorvald is 
 so immoderately fond of me? 
 
 Rank. But, my dear Mrs. Stenborg 
 
 Nora. Perhaps it would be well if he were not so. 
 And yet I think he would surely be able to bear it, he 
 would surely get over it. 
 
 Rank. What, Mrs. Stenborg? What? 
 
 Nora. If anything happened to me. Doctor, I am 
 so fearfully anxious. My head is so confused. Suppose 
 I went out of my mind ? 
 
 Rank. What is the meaning of this ? What makes 
 you think of such things ? 
 
 Nora. Oh, one never knows — . Or if something 
 else happened to me; if I could not stay with him any 
 longer 
 
 Rank. What? 
 
 Nora. Oh, Doctor, he would surely be able to sur- 
 vive it. 
 
 Rank. My dear Mrs. Stenborg, these are fancies that 
 you must struggle against with all your might. 
 
 Nora. Oh, yes; oh, yes; I shall do that. But tell 
 me, don't you think that Thorvald would survive it, like 
 other men, if he lost me r 
 
136 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rank. Well, you see, this idea of a thing being the 
 death of a person is in most cases nothing but a figure of 
 speech, at any rate as far as the male sex is concerned. 
 As a matter of fact, we survive everything, my dear 
 Mrs. Stenborg. At the moment when the blew falls, 
 it seems impossible to bear it. But time passes, day 
 after day, and one learns to accept the inevitable, one 
 makes fresh ties 
 
 Nora. Fresh ties ! 
 
 Rank. Well, I mean 
 
 Nora. Fresh ties — ! I hadn't thought of that. 
 But no, no, no! 
 
 Rank. I must speak to Stenborg. 
 
 Nora. What will you speak about? 
 
 Rank. About your condition. 
 
 Nora. You won't! You^mustn't do that! 
 
 Rank. I must. All this is so inexplicable and so 
 
 serious 
 
 Nora. Oh, I beg you not to alarm him. 
 
 Rank. Don't be uneasy, I'll do it as gently as possi- 
 ble; but both for his sake and your own we must find 
 some way 
 
 Nora. Oh, there is no way of escaping from this. 
 
 Rank. From what? 
 
 Nora. From what is going to happen; I don't know, 
 but I feel 
 
 Rank. H'm — {Knocks.) Open the door, I must 
 speak to you. 
 
 Stenborg {opening his door) . Well ? 
 
 Rank. Look here — {Softly.) Don't be uneasy, 
 Mrs. Stenborg! {He and Stenborg go into the room; 
 the bolting of the door is heard.) 
 
 Nora (listening at the door). What are they talking 
 about? They are whispering. What are they saying 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 137 
 
 about me ? What does he think ? Oh, it isn't yet — . 
 In to the children. (Stops before the door on the left.) 
 No, no, mustn't see them. (Mrs. Linde enters from 
 the hall.) Oh, Christina, is that you? I'm so glad 
 you have come. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I hear you called at my lodgings. 
 
 Nora. Yes, but you had just gone out. I'm so glad 
 you have come. I want so much to see you and speak 
 to you. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And I have come to thank your hus- 
 band 
 
 Nora. Have you heard already ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, I have just got the letter. Per- 
 haps he is not at home? 
 
 Nora. Yes, he is; but Doctor Rank is with him. Sit 
 down here with me till he comes. No. don't sit down. 
 I'm so restless. Let us walk up and down. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nora dear, you're not well, are you? 
 
 Nora. Oh, yes, oh, yes. So you've heard from him ? 
 You got the letter, you said ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, just as I was going out. Oh, it 
 is a great kindness that your husband has shown me. 
 
 Norai I hope it will bring you happiness. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I feel happy already. In my position 
 there is no greater happiness than to feel one's self secure. 
 
 Nora. Yes, you're right there; it is a great happiness 
 to feel one's self secure. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Ah, you can't appreciate the feeling as 
 I do; you have never been tortured by insecurity. 
 
 Nora. Haven't I? Have I not been tortured by 
 anxiety for my husband's life? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. That is true. Well, fortunately that 
 time is past. 
 
138 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Nora. Ah, secure, secure. That is a great thing 
 indeed. There is no greater happiness in the world. 
 (Rings.) But who can feel really secure? (The Maid 
 appears at the door.) Bring in tea. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. So you're going to a dance overhead to- 
 morrow ? 
 
 Nora. To-morrow? Yes, of course. I shall go up 
 to it. It's to be a children's party. I'm going for the 
 sake of the children. (The Maid enters with tea.) 
 Thank you, move the table nearer the stove. And then 
 bring us the lamp. (Exit Maid.) Now then, you must 
 take a seat and make yourself comfortable. 
 
 Maid (brings the lamp and puts it on the table by tlw 
 sofa) . Is there anything else, ma'am ? 
 
 Nora. No, thank you. (Exit Maid.) Now you 
 shall taste real tea, Christina- I always have the best 
 kind. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And the best of tea-things too. How 
 pretty and tasteful! And how well it all harmonises! 
 
 Nora. Yes, Thorvald will have everything like that; 
 there must be style about it, he says, or it offends his eye. 
 You see, the pattern on the cups corresponds to the 
 pattern on the napkins. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, indeed you have pretty things. 
 
 Nora. And in future we shall have them still prettier. 
 — In future ! 
 
 Mrs. Linde. What is the matter, Nora? 
 
 Nora. Hush; it was nothing; it was only a pain in 
 the side. Look here; take the footstool for your feet. 
 Now we're comfortable; aren't we? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes. You really have a talent for 
 making one comfortable. 
 
 Nora. Thorvald says the same. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 139 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Ah, what would become of your hus- 
 band if he had not you ? 
 
 Nora. If he had not — ? What makes you think of 
 that? Why shouldn't he have me? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Oh, of course. I'm only saying, if h© 
 had not you. 
 
 Nora. Don't you think somebody could be found 
 who would look after him just as well ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Not in his eyes. 
 
 Nora. Yet one often sees a man able to forget his 
 first wife. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, and many a wife can forget her 
 first husband. 
 
 Nora. But can you understand that, Christina ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Oh, well, it depends 
 
 Nora. Ah, but divorce, now; I don't think I can 
 understand that. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. No. But it happens nevertheless, my 
 dear Nora; and it must happen. 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes, I know that; but it seems to me it 
 must be so awful, so absolutely impossible to get over ■ 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, it must be a hard struggle, no 
 doubt. 
 
 Nora. To have to leave one's house, everything; 
 never to be allowed to see it again; to know that every- 
 thing is there, but that one is as it were dead to it — . 
 Tell me, Christina, what is it that usually makes married 
 people separate? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. It may be that they don't agree, or 
 that one of them has brought shame upon the other, 
 
 Nora. Then the husband divorces his wife ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, in most cases, I suppose. 
 
 Nora. But sometimes he forgives her, doesn't he ? 
 
140 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Linde. No doubt; but do you think that would 
 be better? 
 
 Nora. No, you are right. It would not be better. — 
 And the children, an unhappy divorced wife would not be 
 allowed to keep them either? Is that really so? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, I believe so; that is, if she is the 
 guilty party. 
 
 ► Nora. Oh, guilty, guilty; what does it mean, being 
 guilty ? Has not a wife the right to love her husband ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Precisely; her husband — and only her 
 husband. 
 
 Nora. Yes, of course, who is thinking of anything 
 else? But that law is unjust, Christina. It is easy 
 enough to see that it was made by men. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Aha! you are beginning to go in for 
 Woman's Rights. „ 
 
 Nora. No, I don't care about them at all. Do you, 
 perhaps ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Not in the least. I leave that to others; 
 I have enough to do in fighting my own battle. 
 
 Nora. So have I. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. You ? 
 
 Nora. Well, I mean — I think of all the unhappy 
 mothers and unhappy little children. Christina, to 
 think of one's little children in the hands of strangers! 
 
 Mrs. Linde. That is better than that they should be 
 with a criminal mother. 
 
 Nora. Oh, there are terrible things in the world. 
 (The Maid opens the door to Krogstad.) 
 
 Maid (softly) . Madam ! 
 
 Nora (turns and starts; in a low and trembling voice) . 
 There he is ! 
 
 Mrs. Linde (in the same tone). He! What does he 
 waot> 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 141 
 
 Nora (to The Maid). It's all right; go. 
 
 (The Maid goes out. Krogstad approaches.) 
 
 Krogstad. I'm afraid I'm disturbing you, ladies? 
 
 Nora. What do you want? My husband is not at 
 home. 
 
 Krogstad. But I think he is in there. 
 
 Nora. Yes, but he can't see anyone. 
 
 Krogstad. He needn't either 
 
 Nora. Go, Christina; go in to the children. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nora, what is this? 
 
 Nora. Go, go, Christina; I must speak to this man. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I understand. 
 
 Nora. Oh, you don't understand anything. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I understand. Krogstad — what have 
 you come to? 
 
 Krogstad. To what — you drove me to. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Ah 
 
 Krogstad. It is too late now. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Krogstad — we must talk by-and-bye. 
 
 Krogstad. Too late. 
 
 Nora. Go, go 
 
 (Mrs. Linde goes into the room on the left.) 
 
 Nora (in suspense) . Now ? 
 
 Krogstad. Yes, now. 
 
 Nora. Mr. Krogstad, you won't do it. 
 
 Krogstad. Did he hesitate to do what he did? 
 
 Nora. Ah, but that was not my fault. 
 
 Krogstad. The wife must suffer for the husband's 
 fault. 
 
 Nora. Oh, you don't know how I fought and pleaded 
 your cause. 
 
 Krogstad. Did you do that from sympathy with me ? 
 
 Nora. Oh, I've been fighting for my life these last 
 days. 
 
142 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Krogstad. Bah, for your life! I too thought that 
 my life was at stake when I got into trouble — but you 
 see, Mrs. Helmer, I have survived it. 
 
 Nora. Yes, you — but how ? 
 
 Krogstad. How ? 
 
 Nora. But I can't live such a life as — as 
 
 Krogstad. As I do, you mean 
 
 Nora. Pardon me 
 
 Krogstad. You'll see, you'll get along all right in 
 time. 
 
 Nora. Mr. Krogstad, think of my little children 
 
 Krogstad. Did your husband think of my children, 
 when he closed my last road to recovery ? 
 
 Nora. O God, O God, to die so young — to have to 
 leave my husband and children 
 
 Krogstad. And you want me to believe that you have 
 the courage to die — ha, ha! 
 
 Nora. You don't believe it? 
 
 Krogstad. Do you believe it yourself? 
 
 Nora. I have thought of nothing else the last few 
 days. 
 
 Krogstad. I dare say. But the means ? Poison ? 
 Not so easy to get. Shoot yourself ? That wants some 
 practice, Mrs. Helmer. Hanging? Fie, there's some- 
 thing ugly about it — you get cut down; you would never 
 bring yourself to do that. 
 
 Nora. Do you hear it roaring ? 
 
 Krogstad. The river ? Yes, of course, that is what 
 you've been thinking of. But haven't you thought just 
 casually — Think now of putting it into execution — Out 
 •f the house at night — down into the foaming black water 
 — to be carried along, dragged under the ice — to struggle, 
 be suffocated, and to be fished up — some day, from far 
 below — and in what a state 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 143 
 
 Nora. Oh, it is horrible — oh, that I could not — Oh, 
 it is horrible 
 
 Krogstad. What, madam ? 
 
 Nora. You see it, don't you ? It's no use concealing 
 it; I have not the courage to die. 
 
 Krogstad. I thought you hadn't; but I wanted to 
 make sure 
 
 Nora. And then ? 
 
 Krogstad. There is no need to, either. Nobody 
 but your husband will know anything. 
 
 Nora. Oh, but he is the last person who must 
 
 Krogstad. I dare say you have read in novels of 
 villains whose only motive is revenge. Well, it might be 
 very pleasant if everyone could say: Look, the wife of 
 the bank manager is not a bit better than that pettifog- 
 ger Krogstad, whom her husband dismissed 
 
 Nora. But you won't reveal anything ? 
 
 Krogstad. I can't afford to, Mrs. Helmer. In my 
 first moments of despair I thought of doing so, but I 
 can't afford it. I am not like the villains in romances; 
 I have four children to support; they require food and 
 clothing. For more than a year and a half I have been 
 content with the most straitened circumstances, in order 
 to retrieve my character. Now your husband has barred 
 my way. Very well then, I will at any rate live, and 
 live well, my children shall be well looked after — Here 
 is the letter — this will tell him everything — and then he 
 will have an avalanche hanging over him; he will be in 
 my power, I can do what I like with him — make what 
 demands I like; he won't dare to show fight; it will be 
 the dismissed junior clerk that manages the bank 
 
 Nora. You will do that? 
 
 Krogstad. That and nothing else. 
 
 Nora. That will be taking his future away from him. 
 
144 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Krogstad. He has taken my future away from me. 
 
 Nora. This bank represents his life's work. And he 
 is to give it up and become dependent on you. 
 
 Krogstad. He will do that for love of you. 
 
 Nora. The fault is mine. And I did it for love of 
 him. 
 
 Krogstad. Our deeds all have offspring — but the 
 progeny does not always turn out as it ought. 
 
 Nora. And you can do this thing. 
 
 Krogstad. I have four children. 
 
 Nora. Mr. Krogstad, you won't do it. 
 
 Krogstad. Here is the letter. 
 
 Nora. Give it to me. 
 
 Krogstad. To deliver? 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes. 
 
 Krogstad. Thanks; there is a letter-box at the door; 
 it is perhaps safer 
 
 Nora. You don't know what this will bring in its 
 train. 
 
 Krogstad. The river? 
 
 Nora. Yes, now there is nothing else for it. If I 
 do not go under, my husband will. 
 
 Krogstad. I don't believe in romances, Mrs. Hel- 
 mer. 
 
 Nora. You are a wretch! Yes, you are a wretch. 
 I'm not afraid of you any longer, for now I have no 
 choice 
 
 Krogstad. Oh yes, you have — if only your husband 
 yields 
 
 Nora. He will not — he shall never be tempted to do 
 so. Now I have courage for anything. 
 
 Krogstad. Bah 
 
 Nora. Away from this home that you have ruined. 
 
 Krogstad. I ? Not you ? 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 145 
 
 Nora. What I did was done for love of my father 
 and my husband. 
 
 Krogstad. And what I am doing is done for love of 
 my children. 
 
 Nora. This will bring no blessing upon your children. 
 
 Krogstad. You think not? 
 
 Nora. You will see what this deed brings in its 
 train. 
 
 Krogstad. Bah! 
 
 Nora. You will see; you feel it yourself — you are 
 cowardly — you dare not — you're going, you're taking the 
 letter with you. 
 
 Krogstad (at ilie hall door). Bah! (Goes out.) 
 
 Nora. Wretch! — Ah — the letter. In the box. — There 
 it lies. 
 
 (Mrs. Linde enters from the room on the left.) 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Hasn't he gone ? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. And he won't come back? 
 
 Nora. He will never come back any more. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nora, what is the matter with you ? 
 What is there behind all this ? 
 
 Nora. Nothing at all; but don't tell my husband 
 that he was here. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nora, you and he have some secret be- 
 tween you. 
 
 Nora (smiling). Yes, of course; a secret under- 
 standing. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. If you were really joking, you would 
 not be so deadly pale. 
 
 Nora. Can you see that? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Your husband will also be able to see it. 
 
 Nora. My husband shall not see anything; I have 
 more faces than one. 
 
146 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nora, Nora, you are surrounding your- 
 self with hollowness. 
 
 Nora. Oh, but isn't it beautiful here? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Without truth? 
 
 Nora. Truth ? We may not think of that. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. But would it not be better if you could ? 
 
 Nora. We must not ask too much; we must be sat- 
 isfied with a little; soon I shall have to be satisfied 
 with 
 
 Mrs. Linde. With ? 
 
 Nora. With nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nora, it is no use concealing anything 
 from me. I understand it all. What you told me the 
 first time. This secret with Krogstad— — 
 
 Nora. Well, what then ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I — I used "to know him long ago. I 
 have reasons for wanting to know this. Is he a bad, a 
 despicable person ? 
 
 Nora. I don't know; I only know that he is ter- 
 rible. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. From what do you know that? 
 
 Nora (opening the door to the hall). Look; there is 
 a letter in the box. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. From him ? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. To your husband? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I must speak to Krogstad. 
 
 Nora. It is too late. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Who knows ? 
 
 Nora. Too late, I tell you — there lies the letter, 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Good-bye. (Goes out at tJie back.) 
 
 Nora. No, no; I'm dreaming. All this is a dream* 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 147 
 
 (Looks out into the hall.) Yes, there it lies. The whole 
 story is in there. 
 
 (Helmer and Doctor Rank enter from the room 
 on the right.) 
 
 Nora. Are you coming at last, Thorvald ? I'm so 
 glad you've come. Shame on you, Doctor, for keeping 
 him so long > 
 
 Helmer. We had something to talk about. How is 
 my little song-bird? 
 
 Nora. The song-bird is very well; you can see that, 
 can't you ? 
 
 Helmer. Yes, I think so too — (To Rank.) But 
 what can it be, then ? 
 
 Rank. H'm 
 
 Nora. What? Which? 
 
 Helmer. Oh, nothing at all. 
 
 Nora. Oh yes, I know. Just think, Doctor Rank 
 insists that I shall be ill. 
 
 Helmer. Yes, that's it; it's all nonsense. We be 
 ill ? Would this be a time — now that we have everything 
 we have wished for so long ? Now we are going to keep 
 New Year's Eve in peace and harmony. All business 
 is to wait till the new year. 
 
 Nora. Yes, isn't it, Thorvald ? 
 
 Helmer. Yes, I won't touch either pen or book to- 
 night. But, by-the-bye, I must just 
 
 (Going to hall door!) 
 
 Nora. Where are you going? 
 
 Helmer. Just to see if there are any letters. 
 
 Nora. No, no, Thorvald 
 
 Helmer. Why not ? 
 
 Nora. No, no, I beg you not to — there are none 
 there 
 
 Helmer. Let me just see. 
 
148 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Nora (plays a few chords at the piano). 
 
 Helmer (stops at the door). Aha! 
 
 Nora. Do you know it ? 
 
 Helmer. Will you really ? 
 
 Nora. What shall I have for a reward? 
 
 Helmer. What do you want ? 
 
 Nora. I'll tell you afterwards. 
 
 Helmer. No, now. 
 
 Nora. No, afterwards. Do you promise me? 
 
 Helmer. Is it something you have asked me before ? 
 
 Nora. No, never. Now do you promise? 
 
 Helmer. Yes, I promise. (To Rank.) Now listen 
 to this. But we must have cigarettes with it; real Turk- 
 ish ones. 
 
 (He and Rank sit by the stove. Nora plays and 
 sings Anitra's song from Peer Gynt.) 
 
 Mrs. Linde (enters from the hall). Oh, but what is 
 this? 
 
 Nora. Don't interrupt. 
 
 Helmer. A picture of family life. What do you say 
 to it? 
 
 Rank. Turkish, but pretty; is it not? 
 
 Nora. Sit down to the piano, Christina; go on play- 
 ing. (She drapes herself in shawls and dances.) 
 
 Helmer. How lovely she is, Rank. Look at the fine 
 curve of the neck. What grace in her movements, and 
 she is quite unconscious of it. 
 
 Rank. A wife is a good thing. 
 
 Helmer. A wife like her. 
 
 Nora. Are you pleased? 
 
 Helmer. Thanks! 
 
 Nora. Was it pretty? 
 
 Helmer. Thanks, thanks! 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 149 
 
 The Maid {enters from the right). Dinner is ready. 
 
 Helmer. Good. But business first 
 
 (Opens the door to the hall.') 
 
 Nora. Where are you going ? 
 
 Helmer. To look in the letter-box. 
 
 Nora. No, no. 
 
 Helmer. There's a letter in it. 
 
 Nora. Don't take it out! Let it lie there. 
 
 Helmer. But, my dear Nora — ; aha, it's from 
 Krogstad. 
 
 Nora. Thorvald, if you take it out, I'll jump out of 
 the window. 
 
 Helmer. But, Nora 
 
 Rank. H'm, Helmer 
 
 Helmer. What is it, Nora? What is the matter 
 with you ? 
 
 Nora. Oh, nothing, but I want you all to myself. 
 No business this evening — oh, you know very well what 
 he is writing about 
 
 Helmer. Yes, exactly; but I should like to see all 
 the same. 
 
 Nora. You promised me what I asked. So now, 
 you are not to open the letter-box this evening, nor to- 
 morrow either 
 
 Helmer. But, my dear little Nora 
 
 Nora. He promised, Doctor, didn't he ? 
 
 Rank. Yes, you are bound, Helmer. 
 
 Nora. No worries on holidays — and to-morrow you 
 won't have any time for business; visits all day long, and 
 the party upstairs in the evening 
 
 Helmer. Very well, so be it. To-day and to-morrow 
 I exist for you — but I give you notice — to-morrow, after 
 midnight 
 
150 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Oh, you surely don't work after mid- 
 night 
 
 Helmer. I am accustomed to it, Mrs. Linde, But 
 now let us go to dinner and drink to the old year and 
 to all our hopes in the new. 
 
 Nora. Lead the way. Help me to *9ke off all tlrs 
 finery, Christina. 
 
 Rank (to Helmer, as tJiey go out). You see, she is not 
 at all normal. 
 
 Helmer. I assure you, it is nothing but anxiety 
 about me; she has a foolish terror of that man. 
 
 (Tliey go out.) 
 
 Nora. Well? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. He's gone away already. 
 
 Nora. I told you so. 
 
 Mrs. Lestde. But he'll Be back to-morrow. 
 
 Nora. How will that help ? Thorvald has seen the 
 letter. 
 
 Mrs. Lende. He does not know what is in \*' we 
 must get hold of it. 
 
 Nora. Krogstad will write another. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Is it so bad then? 
 
 Nora. No, no, certainly not; it is silly of me. Don't 
 let them see anything in your manner. Go in to them; 
 I'll manage myself. 
 
 (Mrs. Linde goes into the dining-room) 
 
 Nora (taking off ilie shawls). Thorvald in his power ? 
 no, thank you, I didn't save his life for that. But — no, 
 no, there is no going back now. (Looks at the clock.) 
 Five. Seven hours till midnight. Then twenty-four 
 hours till the next midnight. Twenty-four and seven? 
 Thirty-one hours to live. (She goes out.) 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 151 
 
 THIRD ACT 
 
 The same room. A lighted lamp on the table in front. 
 Mrs. Linde sits by the table and absently turns the 
 pages of a booh. She tries to read, but seems unable 
 to fix her attention; she frequently listens and looks 
 anxiously towards tlie hall; then looks at her watch.) 
 
 Mrs. Linde (jumping up). What! Already? No, 
 it is not 
 
 Nora (enters in evening dress). What! Christina, 
 are you here ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Oh, is that you, Nora? 
 
 Nora. Are you sitting here, Christina? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, I wanted to see you dressed; but 
 I came too late. It was cold at my rooms, and so I 
 stayed sitting here. 
 
 Nora. I see; but you must go again 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Why? 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes, you must go. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Have you left the party so early ? 
 
 Nora. Yes, I could not bear it; it was so hot and 
 stifling. (Helmer enters from the hall.) 
 
 Helmer. But, my dear Nora, what is the meaning 
 of this ? Are you leaving the party so early ? And with- 
 out saying good-bye? Ah, good evening, Mrs. Linde! 
 
 Nora. Yes, I had to. I knew Christina was here. 
 She came to see my new dress. 
 
 Helmer. Well, but come up again ; it looks so bad 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes, I'll go up and fetch the children — 
 but then — Oh, I can't stay long, Thorvald; but you 
 must stay; dance and amuse yourself — promise me that. 
 
 Helmer. Yes, yes — only do come. Good-night, 
 Mrs. Linde — and excuse us. 
 
152 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Nora. Good-night, Christina — good-night, good-bye 
 — you must not sit here any longer, with your weak 
 eyes. Now you have seen my dress. Don't you think 
 it suits me very well ? When you think of me — then 
 remember me as I am now. Good-night — good-bye, 
 Christina — good-bye 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Good-night, my dear Nora. 
 
 Helmer. Come, come, we must go. 
 
 Nora. Good-night, good-bye. 
 
 (Helmer and Nora go out through the hall.) 
 
 Mrs. Linde (listens for a moment). What terrible 
 mental anguish! And he does not see it. He under- 
 stands nothing. — But the time — if he should not— 
 
 (Listens.) Ah (Opens the door into the hall; three 
 
 soft knocks are heard on the outer door; Mrs. Linde 
 opens it. Krogstad enters.) 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Come in here. There is no one here. 
 
 Krogstad. You have written to me. What does it 
 mean? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, I had to; I could not see you at 
 my rooms — there is nobody at home here. 
 
 Krogstad. Have we anything to say to each other? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. A great deal. 
 
 Krogstad. I should not have thought so. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. You have never understood me. 
 
 Krogstad. What was there to understand that was 
 not perfectly plain ? So many men are thrown over when 
 a better match offers. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Do you think I broke with you lightly ? 
 
 Krogstad. Did you not? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Do you really think so ? 
 
 Krogstad. Why then did you write me that letter? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Could I do anything else? Was not 
 everything to be broken off between us ? 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 153 
 
 Krogstad. Yes, for the sake of profit. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Do you forget that I had a helpless 
 mother and two little brothers? You had no prospects 
 at all. 
 
 Krogstad. Did that give you the right to cast me off ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I don't know. I have often asked my- 
 self whether I had the right. 
 
 Krogstad. When I had lost you, I seemed to lose 
 all firm footing in life. Look at me now. I am a ship- 
 wrecked man clinging to a spar. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Rescue may be at hand. 
 
 Krogstad. You can say that, when you are helping 
 to loosen my hold? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Do you think I shall do that ? 
 
 Krogstad. Are you not in league with my persecu- 
 tors ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Oh ? And why do you think that ? 
 
 Krogstad. It won't be the first time that hatred is 
 felt for one who has been wronged. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Krogstad, you don't think that of me ? 
 
 Krogstad. Then what am I to believe? Are you 
 not taking the place that I have lost? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes. 
 
 Krogstad. And could you do that if ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I have learnt prudence; life and bitter 
 necessity have schooled me. 
 
 Krogstad. And life has taught me not to trust fine 
 speeches. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Then life has taught you a very sensi- 
 ble thing. But deeds you will trust? 
 
 Krogstad. What do you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. You said you were a shipwrecked mac, 
 clinging to a spar. 
 
 Krogstad. I have good reason to say so. 
 
154 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I too am shipwrecked, and clinging to 
 a spar; I have no one to mourn for, no one to care for. 
 
 Krogstad. You make your own choice. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Do not let us dispute about that; for me 
 there was no choice left. 
 
 Krogstad. Well, what then ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nils, how if we two shipwrecked people 
 could join hands? 
 
 Krogstad. What do vou mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Two on one raft have a better chance 
 than if each clings to a separate spar. 
 
 Krogstad. Christina! 
 
 Mrs. Linde. What do you think brought me here ? 
 
 Krogstad. Could it be ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I must have work, or I can't bear to 
 live; I have worked all my life, and it has been my one 
 great happiness. Now I stand alone, aimless and for- 
 lorn. There is no happiness in working for one's self. 
 Nils, give me somebody and something to work for. 
 
 Krogstad. I cannot believe in all this. It is a 
 woman's romantic craving for self-sacrifice. 
 
 Mrs. Linde {smiling). H'm, I am the last person to 
 be called romantic. 
 
 Krogstad. And you could — ? Do you know all 
 that is said about me? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. You said that with me you would have 
 been another man. 
 
 Krogstad. Well ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Is it too late ? 
 
 Krogstad. Christina, have you thought what you 
 are doing? Will you — ? Will you* ? 
 
 * Krogstad here changes from the formal De to the 
 intimate du (thou). 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 155 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I need some one to be a mother to, 
 and your children need a mother. You need me, and I 
 need you. You told me you wanted to show the world 
 that some one will trust you in a post of confidence. 
 I will. 
 
 Krogstad. Now, Christina, I shall raise myself. — 
 Ah, I forgot — ; the whole thing is impossible 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Why? 
 
 Krogstad. You don't know — ; I have taken a step 
 against this house 
 
 Mrs. Linde. I know. 
 
 Krogstad. You know it? 
 
 Mrs. Lende. And I know to what lengths despair 
 can drive a man. 
 
 Krogstad. Oh, if I could only undo it! 
 
 Mrs. Linde. You could. Your letter is still in the 
 box. 
 
 Krogstad. Are you sure ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes; but 
 
 Krogstad. Now I understand. You want to save 
 your friend at any price. Say it out — is that your idea ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Nils, a woman who has once sold her- 
 self for the sake of others, does not do so again. 
 
 Krogstad. The letter shall be got back again. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. No, no. 
 
 Krogstad. There is still time. I shall wait here, 
 ask for it, say that it is about my dismissal — but that I 
 have accepted the situation- 
 
 Mrs. Linde. You must not recall it. 
 
 Krogstad. But wasn't it about the letter that you 
 got me to come here? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Yes, in my first moment of terror; 
 but a day has passed since then. Helmer must know 
 everything. This unhappy secret will undermine their 
 
156 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 marriage if it is allowed to remain. There must be per- 
 fect frankness. These shifts and subterfuges lead to 
 ruin. 
 
 Krogstad. Christina, your friend has not told you 
 everything. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Is there more than the debt ? 
 
 Krogstad. H'm 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Make haste! Go, go! — some one is 
 coming downstairs. Wait for me at the door [in the 
 street]; you must see me to my door. 
 
 Krogstad. I shall wait; and you will see. Oh, 
 Christina, thanks, thanks, you have made a new man of 
 me. (He goes out quickly.) 
 
 Mrs. Linde (putting on her outdoor things). He 
 
 thanks me, and it is I — ; now there is work to do 
 
 (Nora enters with the two elder children. The 
 Nurse has tlie youngest on her arm). 
 
 Nora. What; are you still here ? 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Good-night; I have a great deal to 
 talk to you about to-morrow. 
 
 Nora. To-morrow ! 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Believe me, Nora, it is a good thing to 
 speak out 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes. Good-night. 
 
 Mrs. Linde. Good-night. 
 
 Nora. A thousand times good-night. Good-bye. 
 
 (Mrs. Linde goes out.) 
 
 Nora. Put them to bed, Anna — they are so tired and 
 sleepy — Oh, look after them well. Yvhat do you say? 
 Stay a little while with mamma ? No, no — that won't do 
 — you can't be with mamma — Good-night — oh, once 
 more — Good-night — good-night — there — now you must 
 
 go in — good-night, all of you 
 
 (The Nurse goes out with tlie children!) 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 157 
 
 Nora. Oh, never to see them again! Never — 
 never 
 
 Helmer (enters). There — now it is over. Have 
 they gone to bed ? 
 
 Nora. Yes, directly. 
 
 Helmer. You are tired? 
 
 Nora. Oh, yes, a little. 
 
 Helmer. After this my little Nora must take care of 
 herself. It will be good to take a long rest, won't it ? 
 
 Nora. Yes, I almost think it will. 
 
 Helmer. Only "almost"? 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes, it will be good. 
 
 Rank (enters). May I come in so late as this? 
 
 Helmer. Oh, is it you ? Yes, come in. 
 
 Rank. I didn't get a chance of saying good-bye to 
 you upstairs, and as I knew you were a pair of night- 
 birds 
 
 Helmer. Yes, I have a couple of hours' work to do 
 yet. Well, you seemed to be enjoying yourself this 
 evening. 
 
 Rank. Yes, why not? One doesn't like to forego 
 one's last chance. 
 
 Helmer. Last? Why should it be the last? 
 
 Rank. Why ? Ah, you must ask certain mysterious 
 powers about that. But it is the last, so far as I am con- 
 cerned. 
 
 Helmer. But my dear Rank 
 
 Rank. I feel it. There's no help for it. I'm going 
 home to bed now and shall not get up again. No, no, 
 it is so; I am perfectly clear upon it. That is why I 
 wanted to say good-bye 
 
 Helmer. Oh, but of course I shall come and see you 
 ever} 7 day 
 
158 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rank. You're not to do that — not on any account. 
 I won't have it. There's something ugly about a death- 
 bed. A sick-room is hideous; the poisoned air, the 
 patient's failing strength, his altered appearance, his 
 drawn, yellow skin, glassy eyes — . No, no, promise me 
 you won't come, Helmer. I don't want to be associated 
 in your memory with such impressions. 
 
 Helmer. Do you think it will be protracted ? 
 
 Rank. Hardly. I was going to say, unfortunately. 
 Yes, isn't it strange how we hang on to our wretched 
 lives ? I who am a doctor and could so easily put an end 
 to the whole business; a few drops out of a bottle — ; 
 a slit with the lancet here over the artery 
 
 Helmer. But, Rank — what are you thinking of « 
 
 Rank. I haven't the cqurage to do it; I swear I 
 haven't the courage. I prefer to lie and suffer and die 
 by inches. But at any rate there may be some interest- 
 ing observations to be made. One can't very well ex- 
 periment with other patients toward the end. There 
 is never anything definite to be learnt from them. But 
 on one's self — yes, my friends, that is the only thing I 
 have left to look forward to. That, and my good cigars; 
 I can smoke them. Well, good-bye now, and thanks for 
 all your kindness. May you have a long life before 
 you. Now, now, Mrs. Helmer — don't let us be senti- 
 mental, don't let us have any scenes — Good-bye 
 
 Helmer. Rank, I shall come and see you. 
 
 Rank. You won't get in. Hang it, man, what have 
 you got to do with death — at present? You are a 
 healthy, happy man — no, no, it's not for you to see. 
 Good-bye then, and may it be many years before you 
 follow me. (He goes out.) 
 
 Helmer. This will be a hard blow for us, Nora! 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 159 
 
 Helmer. He had so grown into our lives, I can't 
 realise that he is gone. He and his sufferings and his 
 loneliness formed a sort of cloudy background to the sun 
 shine of our happiness. Well, perhaps it's best as it is. 
 At any rate for him. And perhaps for us too. (He 
 goes into the hall and takes a key from his pocket.) 
 
 Nora. Thorvald — what are you doing ? 
 
 Helmer. Emptying the letter-box. Why, how is 
 this ? Has anyone been at the lock ? 
 
 Nora. The lock ? 
 
 Helmer. I'm sure of it. What does it mean? I 
 can't think that the servants — here is a bit of a hair-pin 
 — Nora, it's one of yours 
 
 Nora. It must have been the children- 
 
 Helmer. Yes, of course — you must break them of 
 such tricks. H'm, h'm — there, I've got it open. — Just 
 see how they've accumulated. 
 
 Nora. Are you going to work now? 
 
 Helmer. Yes, I must. I shall not be able to sleep 
 anyhow — I can't get what Rank told us out of my head. 
 There, there, my sweet little Nora; I see it has shaken 
 you too. But you must struggle against it; it is not 
 good for you. You must be happy and joyous, my 
 little song-bird. Is not that what you were born for? 
 It did not come upon us unexpectedly. We have long 
 been prepared. And, as I said, perhaps it's best as it 
 is — for us. Now we two are thrown entirely upon 
 each other. There, there, don't be so moved, Nora; 
 there is something unlovely in it. We will not let our 
 happiness be taken from us. Now we have everything; 
 an independent position. How I am looking forward to 
 beginning my work; to be my own independent master 
 — to work with free hands. 
 
 Nora. Yes, yes, you shall, Thorvald! 
 
160 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Helmer. I'll go into my room for a while. Good- 
 night, my sweet little Nora; don't sit up too long. You 
 are badly in want of rest. 
 
 Nora. Yes, I intend to — go now, Thorvald; good- 
 night; I shall soon have finished. 
 
 Helmer. Good-night, my little lark. And to-mor- 
 row we begin a new life. Good-night; sleep well. Now 
 I shall read my letters. (He goes with the letters in his 
 hand into his room.) 
 
 Nora (looks around with wild eyes; takes a step 
 towards Hclmer's room, but stops again; in a low voice.) 
 Thorvald, Thorvald, Thorvald ! Never to see him again ! 
 The children; never to see them again. The black, icy 
 water. Oh, can I do it! Oh, if it were over! What's 
 that ? Has he opened it ? > Is he reading it ? — Good- 
 bye, my home, my home, good-bye to him and my little 
 ones! 
 
 (She has thrown a large shawl over her head and is 
 hurrying out by the Jiall. At the same moment 
 Helmer flings his door open, and stands there 
 with an open letter in his hand.) 
 
 Helmer. Nora! 
 
 Nora (with a shriek). Ah ! 
 
 Helmer. Nora, what is this 
 
 Nora. I'm going — you see that I'm going. 
 
 Helmer (holds her back). Where do you want to go? 
 Do you know what this wretch writes ? 
 
 Nora. Yes, but kill me! Strike me! 
 
 Helmer. Nora! 
 
 Nora. Let me go — I'm going! 
 
 Helmer. Awful! Is what he writes true? No, no, 
 it is impossible that this can be true. 
 
 Nora. What are you going to do to me? 
 
 Helmer. Wretched woman; what have you done! 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 161 
 
 Nora. Let me get away. Let me go. 
 
 Helmer (locks tlie door). I don't want any melodra- 
 matic airs. Here you shall stay and give an account of 
 yourself. — Do you know what you have done ? — Answer! 
 Do you know? 
 
 Nora. Yes, now I know. 
 
 Helmer. Oh! what an awful awakening! During 
 all these eight years — she who was my pride and my joy 
 — a hypocrite, a liar — worse, worse — a criminal — oh, the 
 
 unfathomable hideousness of it — ugh, ugh 
 
 (Nora says nothing.) 
 
 Helmer. I ought to have foreseen it, guessed it. 
 All your father's want of principle — be silent! — all your 
 father's want of principle you have inherited. No re- 
 ligion, no morality, no sense of duty. How I am punished 
 for screening him! I did it for your sake, and I am re- 
 warded like this. 
 
 Nora. Yes, — like this. 
 
 Helmer. You have destroyed my whole happiness, 
 my whole future. I am in the power of a scoundrel. 
 He can do whatever he pleases with me, demand what- 
 ever he chooses; and I must submit. 
 
 Nora. When I am out of the world, you will be free. 
 
 Helmer. Oh, no fine phrases. Your father, too, 
 was always ready with them. What good would it do, 
 if you were gone ? None. If he publishes the story, no 
 one will doubt that I was in collusion with you. People 
 will think I egged you on. You have undermined my 
 whole position, my whole life's work. I must hold my 
 tongue and serve him, or else I shall be ruined. Do 
 you understand now what you have done to me ? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Helmer. The thing is so incredible, I can't grasp it. 
 But we must come to an understanding. Take that 
 
162 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 shawl off! Take it off, I say. I must try to pacify him 
 in one way or another — the matter must be hushed up. 
 There must be no outward change in our way of life — 
 no outward change, vou understand. The children can- 
 not be left in your care; I dare not trust them to ycu. 
 Oh, to have to say this to one I have loved so tenderly! 
 But that is a thing of the past; henceforward there can 
 be no question of happiness, but merely of saving the 
 ruins, the shreds, the show. (A ring; Helmer starts.) 
 What's that? So late! Can it be the worst — ! Can 
 
 he — ! Hide yourself 
 
 (Nora stands motionless. He goes to tlie door and 
 opens it.) 
 
 The Maid (in the hall). Here is a letter for you, 
 ma'am. 
 
 Helmer. Give it here. (He seizes the letter and shuts 
 the door.) Yes, from him. Look there. 
 
 Nora. Read it. 
 
 Helmer. I have hardly the courage. I fear the 
 worst. We may both be lost, both you and I. Ah! I 
 must know. (Hastily tears the letter open; reads a few 
 lines; with a cry of joy.) Nora! 
 
 (Nora looks inquiringly at him.) 
 
 Helmer. Nora! — Oh! I must read it again. Yes, 
 yes, it is so. You are saved, Nora, you are saved. 
 
 Nora. How, saved? 
 
 Helmer. Look here. He sends you back your prom- 
 issory note. He writes that he regrets and apologises, 
 that a happy turn in his life — Oh, what matter what he 
 writes. We are saved, Nora! There is nothing to 
 witness against you. Oh, Nora, Nora — ; but first to get 
 rid of this hateful thing. I'll just see. (Glances at the 
 1. O. U.) No, I will not look at it. The whole thing 
 shall be nothing but a dream to me. (Tears the I. O. U. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 163 
 
 and both letters in pieces; throws Hie pieces into the fire 
 and watches them burn.) There! it's gone! Oh, Nora, 
 Nora, what terrible days these must have been for you. 
 
 Nora. I have thought a great deal during these last 
 few days, Thorvald. 
 
 Helmer. And in your agony you saw no other outlet 
 but — no, no; we won't think of that horror. We will 
 only rejoice and repeat — it's over, it's over! Don't you 
 hear, Nora? You don't seem able to grasp it. Yes, 
 it's over. What is this stony look on your face? Oh, 
 Nora, I see what it is; you don't believe that I can for- 
 give you. Everything is forgiven; I swear it. I know 
 that what you did was all for love of me. 
 
 Nora. That is true. 
 
 Helmer. You loved me as a wife should love her 
 husband. It was only the means that, with your lack of 
 knowledge, you misjudged. Do you think I love you 
 the less because you cannot do without guidance ? No, 
 no; lean on me; I will counsel you, and guide you. I 
 should be no true man if this very womanly helplessness 
 did not make you doubly dear in my eyes. You mustn't 
 dwell upon the hard things I said in my first moment of 
 terror, when the world seemed to be falling about our 
 ears. I have forgiven you, Nora — I swear I have for- 
 given you. 
 
 Nora. I thank you for your forgiveness. 
 
 (Goes out through the open door on the right.) 
 
 Helmer. No, stay; where are you going? 
 
 Nora (in the room at the side). I must collect myself. 
 Only a moment. 
 
 Helmer. Yes, collect yourself, my scared little song- 
 bird. I have broad wings to shield you. Our home is 
 lovely and cosy, Nora; here you are safe; here I can have 
 you for myself alone. You will be to me like a dove 
 
164 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 that has escaped unhurt from the claws of the hawk; 
 I shall bring your poor beating heart to rest; believe me, 
 Nora, very soon. I shall not need to tell you again that 
 I forgive you. Soon you will feel for yourself that it is 
 true. Oh, this very thing has made you doubly dear to 
 me. How could I find it in my heart to drive you away, 
 or even to reproach you ? Oh, you don't know a true 
 man's heart, Nora. There is something indescribably 
 sweet and soothing to a man in having forgiven his wife, 
 honestly forgiven her from the bottom of his heart. Has 
 she not become his property in a double sense? She 
 is as though born again. She has become, so to speak, 
 at once his wife and his child. That is what you shall 
 be to me in the future, my bewildered, helpless darling. 
 Don't be afraid, Nora; only open your heart to me, and 
 I will be both will and conscience to you. — Why, what's 
 this ? You have changed your dress ? 
 
 Nora (in everyday dress). Yes, Thorvald; now I 
 have changed my dress. 
 
 Helmer. But why ? 
 
 Nora. I shall not sleep to-night. 
 
 Helmer. But, Nora dear 
 
 Nora (looking at her watch) . It's not so late yet. Sit 
 down, Thorvald; you and I have much to say to each 
 other. (She sits at one side of the table.) 
 
 Helmer. Nora, what does this mean ? Your stony 
 look again. 
 
 Nora. Sit down. It will take some time. I have 
 much to talk over with you. 
 
 (Helmer sits opposite to her.) 
 
 Helmer. You alarm me, Nora. I don't understand 
 you. 
 
 Nora. No, that's just it. You don't understand me; 
 and I have never understood you — till to-night. No, 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 165 
 
 don't interrupt. Only listen to what I say. — We must 
 come to a final settlement, Thorvald. 
 
 Helmer. How do you mean ? 
 
 Nora. Does not one thing strike you as we sit here ? 
 
 Helmer. What should strike me? 
 
 Nora. We have been married eight years. Does 
 it not strike you that this is the first time we two, you and 
 I, man and wife, have talked together seriously ? 
 
 Helmer. Seriously ! WTiat do you call seriously ? 
 
 Nora. During eight whole years, and more — ever 
 since the day we first met — we have never exchanged 
 one serious word about serious things. 
 
 Helmer. Was I always to trouble you with the 
 cares you could not help me to bear ? 
 
 Nora. I am not talking of cares. I say that we 
 have never yet set ourselves seriously to get to the bot- 
 tom of anything. 
 
 Helmer. Why, my dearest Nora, what have you to 
 do with serious things? 
 
 Nora. There we have it! You have never under- 
 stood me. — I have had great injustice done me, Thor- 
 vald; first by father, and then by you. 
 
 Helmer. What! By your father and me? — By us, 
 who have loved you more than all the world ? 
 
 Nora. Oh, you haven't ever loved me. You never 
 loved anything but your own infatuation [only thought 
 it amusing to be in love with me]. 
 
 Helmer. Why, Nora, what a thing to say! 
 
 Nora. When I was a little girl of four or five, father 
 said I had such an extraordinary desire to learn French; 
 and he made me learn long pieces by heart; then he 
 said I had a rare talent for writing verse, and I wrote 
 many verses. But I had no wish either to learn French 
 or to write verse; only I believed I had, because father 
 
166 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 had said so. Then he told me that his old-fashioned 
 furniture and high-backed chairs with leather seats were 
 the most handsome; and I thought they were. Then 
 he said his high, white stock and his gold-headed cane 
 gave him a distinguished appearance, and I thought they 
 did so. Father used to tell me all his opinions, and I 
 held the same opinions. If I had others I said nothing 
 about them, because he wouldn't have liked it. He 
 used to call me his doll, and played with me as I played 
 with my dolls. Then I came to you, Thorvald 
 
 Helmer. You came to me ? 
 
 Nora. Well, I mean I passed from father's hands 
 into yours. You didn't want me to have anything to do 
 with French, because of all the immoral books; nor did 
 you think it the right thing* for women to write verse. 
 But you were fond of music, and you liked me to recite 
 monologues that we had heard at the theatre, and dress 
 myself up in picturesque costumes. You arranged our 
 house according to your taste, and I got the same tastes 
 — or I pretended to, I don't know which; or both ways, 
 perhaps; sometimes one and sometimes the other. You 
 and father have done me a great wrong. It is your fault 
 that I have got into the habit of lying and that my life 
 has come to nothing. 
 
 Helmer. You are unreasonable and ungrateful, Nora! 
 Have you not been happy here ? 
 
 Nora. No. I thought I was; but I never was. 
 
 Helmer. Not — not happy! 
 
 Nora. No; only merry, cheerful. Our home has 
 been a doll's house. Here I have been your doll, just 
 as I used to be father's. And the children, in their turn, 
 have been my dolls. And I thought it was amusing to 
 be played with by you, just as I thought it amusing to 
 play with them. That has been our marriage, Thorvald. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 167 
 
 Helmer. There is some truth in what you say, ex- 
 aggerated and overstrained though it be. But hence- 
 forth it shall be different. Play-time is over; now comes 
 the time for education. 
 
 Nora. Whose education? Mine, or the children's? 
 
 Helmer. Both, my dear Nora. 
 
 Nora. Oh, Thorvald, you are not the man to teach 
 me to be a fit w'fe for you. 
 
 Helmer. And you can say that ? 
 
 Nora. And I — how have I prepared myself to edu- 
 cate our children ? 
 
 Helmer. Nora! 
 
 Nora. Did you not say yourself just now, you dared 
 not trust them to me? 
 
 Helmer. In my first excitement. Why should you 
 dwell upon that? 
 
 Nora. You spoke the truth. That problem is be- 
 yond me. There is another to be solved first — I must 
 try to educate myself. You are not the man to help me 
 in that. I must set about it alone. And that is why I 
 am leaving you. 
 
 Helmer (Jumping up) . What — do you mean to 
 say ? 
 
 Nora. I must stand alone if I am ever to know my- 
 self and my surroundings; so I cannot stay here. 
 
 Helmer. Nora, Nora! 
 
 Nora. I am going this evening. It is no use post- 
 poning such things. I daresay Christina will take me 
 in for to-night 
 
 Helmer. You are mad. I shall not allow it. I 
 forbid it. 
 
 Nora. It is of no use your forbidding me anything 
 now. I shall take with me what belongs to me. From 
 you I wUl accept nothing, either now or afterwards. 
 
168 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Helmer. What madness is this! 
 
 Nora. To-morrow I shall go home — I mean to what 
 was my home. It will be easier for me to find some 
 opening there. 
 
 Helmer. Oh, in your blind inexperience 
 
 Nora. I must try to gain experience, Thorvald! 
 
 Helmer. To forsake your home, your husband, and 
 your children! And you don't consider what the world 
 will say? 
 
 Nora. I can pay no heed to that. I only know that 
 I must do it. 
 
 Helmer. This is monstrous! Can you forsake your 
 holiest duties in this way? 
 
 Nora. What do you consider my holiest duties ? 
 
 Helmer. Do I need to tell you that? Your duties 
 to your husband and your children. 
 
 Nora. Have I not other duties equally sacred ? 
 
 Helmer. Not in the first rank. What duties do you 
 mean? 
 
 Nora. My duties towards myself. 
 
 Helmer. Before all else you are a wife and mother. 
 
 Nora. That I no longer believe. I believe that be- 
 fore all else I am a human being — or that I should try to 
 become one. I know that most people agree with you, 
 Thorvald, or that they say something of that sort. But 
 henceforth I can't be satisfied with what people say, and 
 what is in books. I must think things out for myself, 
 and try to get clear about them. 
 
 Helmer. Are you not clear about your place in your 
 own home? Have you not an infallible guide in such 
 things? Have you not religion? 
 
 Nora. Oh, Thorvald, I don't really know what re- 
 ligion is. 
 
 Helmer. What do you mean ? 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 169 
 
 Nora. I know nothing but what Pastor Hansen told 
 me when I was confirmed. He explained that religion 
 was this and that. When I get away from all this and 
 stand alone, I will look into that matter too. I will see 
 whether what he taught me is right, or, at any rate, 
 whether it is right for me. 
 
 Helmer. Oh, this is unheard of! And from so 
 young a woman! But if religion cannot keep you right, 
 let me appeal to your conscience — for I suppose you have 
 some moral feeling? Or, answer me: perhaps you have 
 none ? 
 
 Nora. Ah, Thorvald, what shall I answer? [it's not 
 easy to say]. I really don't know — I am all at sea about 
 these things. I only know that I think quite differently 
 from you about moral questions. I hear, too, that the 
 law is on your side; but I can't believe it. I can't under- 
 stand that the law is right in what concerns me. That 
 a woman has no right to spare her dying father, or to 
 save her husband's life! 
 
 Helmer. You talk like a child. You don't under- 
 stand the society in which you live. 
 
 Nora. No, I do not. But now I shall try to learn. 
 I must make up my mind which is right — society or I. 
 (She goes into the room on the right andfetclies lier 
 hat and cloak.) 
 
 Helmer. Nora, you are ill; you are feverish; I 
 almost think you are out of your senses. 
 
 Nora. I have never felt so much clearness and cer- 
 tainty as to-night. 
 
 Helmer. You are clear and certain enough to forsake 
 husband and children ? 
 
 Nora. Yes. 
 
 Helmer. Then there is only one explanation possible 
 
 Nora. What is that ? 
 
170 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Helmer. You no longer love me. 
 
 Nora. Yes, Thorvald, that is so. 
 
 Helmer. Nora! Oh, oh! 
 
 Nora. I will not hide it from you — I do not love you 
 any longer. That is why I am going. 
 
 Helmer (mastering himself with difficulty). Are you 
 clear and certain on this point too ? 
 
 Nora. Yes, quite. 
 
 Helmer. And can you also make clear to me how I 
 have forfeited your love ? 
 
 Nora. (Ah, Thorvald, the point is: you have not 
 forfeited). I can. You forfeited my love this evening, 
 when I discovered that you had never loved me as I 
 loved you. You forfeited it when I saw you were not the 
 man I had imagined — when I could no longer look up 
 to you as an exalted and superior being; for you are not 
 one. 
 
 Helmer. And how did I disclose all this? 
 
 Nora. I will tell you. That which you call my 
 crime, my forging my father's name to save your life, 
 this secret has been my joy and pride, until my eyes were 
 opened to the consequences that might result from it. 
 I have gone through a week of deadly terror. 
 
 Helmer. I can well understand that. 
 
 Nora. But you do not understand why. Or can 
 you tell me? 
 
 Helmer. Well, you had no need to fear punishment 
 and disgrace. You must have known that I should em- 
 ploy every means of saving you ; that I should have been 
 compelled to submit to any conditions 
 
 Nora. H'm. What then do you think it was that 
 made me want to die ? 
 
 Helmer. You were afraid of my anger. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 171 
 
 Nora. No, Thorvald, I wanted to die in order to 
 hinder what I so firmly believed your gratitude, your 
 love and your manly spirit would prompt you to do. It 
 never for a moment occurred to me that you would think 
 of submitting to that man's conditions, that you would 
 agree to direct your actions by the will of another. I 
 was convinced that you would say to him, "Make it 
 known to the whole world"; and that then 
 
 Helmer. Well ? I should give you up to punish- 
 ment and disgrace. 
 
 Nora. No; then I firmly believed that you would 
 come forward, take everything upon yourself, and say, 
 "I am the guilty one" 
 
 Helmer. Nora! 
 
 Nora. You mean I would never have accepted such 
 a sacrifice? No, of course not. But what would my 
 word have been worth in opposition to yours ? I so 
 firmly believed that you would sacrifice yourself for me 
 — "don't listen to her," you would say — "she is not re- 
 sponsible; she is out of her senses" — you would say that 
 it was love of you — you would move heaven and earth. 
 I thought you would get Doctor Rank to witness that I 
 was mad, unhinged, distracted. I so firmly believed 
 that you would ruin yourself to save me. That is what 
 I dreaded, and therefore I wanted to die. 
 
 Helmer. Oh, Nora, Nora! 
 
 Nora. And how did it turn out? No thanks, no 
 outburst of affection, not a shred of a thought of saving 
 me. Only reproaches — sneers at my father — petty ter- 
 rors — tyrannical abuse of a defenceless victim. 
 
 Helmer. Yes, yes 
 
 Nora. And then, the very moment the danger was 
 over, it seemed to you as though nothing had happened. 
 I was again your lark, your doll, whom you would take 
 
172 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 twice as much care of in future, because she was so weak 
 and fragile. Thorvald, in that moment you stood re- 
 vealed to me as [it burst upon me that I had been living 
 here with] a strange man; and with a strange man I can- 
 not continue to live [that is what cannot continue]. 
 
 Helmer. Yes, yes, yes, an abyss has opened between 
 us. But, Nora, Nora, can it never be filled up ? 
 
 Nora. As I now am, I am no wife for you. 
 
 Helmer. I have strength to become another man. 
 
 Nora. Perhaps — when your doll is taken away from 
 you. 
 
 Helmer. To part — to part from you! No, Nora, 
 no; I can't grasp the thought. 
 
 Nora. The more reason for the thing to happen! 
 {She fetches her travelling-bag from the room on the 
 right.) 
 
 Helmer. Nora, Nora, [not now! Wait till to-mor- 
 row. 
 
 Nora. I can't spend the night in a strange man's 
 house. 
 
 H. ... brother and sister. 
 
 N. Phrases. You know very well — that wouldn't 
 long be the case.] 
 
 Nora (Putting on her outdoor things). Good-bye, 
 Thorvald. No, I won't go to the children. I know 
 they are in better hands than mine. As I now am, I 
 can be nothing to them. 
 
 Helmer. But some time, Nora — some time ? 
 
 Nora. How can I tell ? I have no idea what will 
 become of me. 
 
 Helmer. But you are my wife, now and always. 
 
 Nora. Listen to me, Thorvald — when a wife leaves 
 her husband's house, as I am doing, I have heard that 
 in the eyes of the law he is free from all duties towards 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 173 
 
 her. At any *rate, I release you from all duties. Ifou 
 must not feel yourself bound by any tie, any more than 
 I shall. There must be perfect freedom on both sides. 
 There, I give you back your ring. Give me mine. 
 
 Helmer. That too ? 
 
 Nora. That too. u 
 
 Helmer. Here it is. 
 
 Nora. Very well. Now it is all over. I lay the keys 
 here. The servants know about everything in the house 
 — better than I do. To-morrow, when I have started, 
 Christina will come to pack up the things I brought with 
 me from home. I will have them sent after me. 
 
 Helmer. All over! All over! Nora, will you never 
 think of me again ? 
 
 Nora. When a woman has lived with a man for 
 eight years, I don't think he will ever become quite a 
 stranger to her. I shall often think of you, and the chil- 
 dren, and this house. 
 
 Helmer. Nora, may I write to you ? 
 
 Nora. No, — never! You must not. 
 
 Helmer. But I must send you 
 
 Nora. Nothing, nothing. 
 
 Helmer. I must help you if you need it. 
 
 Nora. Nothing, nothing, I say. I take nothing from 
 strangers. 
 
 Helmer. I see it well; I have become a stranger to 
 you. 
 
 Nora. You have, as I to you. And therefore, good- 
 bye! 
 
 Helmer. Nora — can I never be more than a stranger 
 to you? 
 
 Nora. Oh, Thorvald, then the miracle of miracles 
 would have to happen 
 
 Helmer. What is this miracle? 
 
174 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Nora. Both of us would have to change'so that — Oh, 
 Thorvald, I no longer believe in miracles. 
 
 Helmer. But I believe in them. Tell me! We 
 must so change that ? 
 
 Nora. That communion between us shall be a mar- 
 riage. Good-bye. 
 
 (She rapidly picks up her travelling-bag, nods and 
 goes out.) 
 
 Helmer (sinks into a chair by the door). Nora! 
 Nora! — The miracle of miracles ?! 
 
 II 
 FROM THE SECOND ACT 
 
 N. People are sympathetic towards those who are 
 ill. — What are the children doing? 
 
 A. Oh, poor mites, they're amusing themselves as 
 well as they can. 
 
 N. Ask for me. If I can't have them so much with 
 me in future 
 
 A. Little children get used to anything. 
 
 N. If I went quite away from them, do you believe 
 they would forget me 
 
 A. Gracious me quite away 
 
 Nora. Hasn't your daughter become a stranger to 
 
 you- 
 
 A. How does Mrs. Nora know 
 
 N. That you have had a child — I have known that 
 since I was twelve or thirteen — otherwise you could not 
 have been my nurse. Oh, it must be terrible to be torn 
 away from one's dear ones. 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 175 
 
 A. We poor people don't look at it in that way. My 
 little Nora was like a child of my own 
 
 N. You must never leave the little ones, promise me 
 that. 
 
 A. Did I not look after Nora, when she was a little 
 girl and had no mother but me. 
 
 N. Yes, yes, they are in good hands with you. 
 
 No — How kind of you to come. 
 
 Mrs. L. I have come to thank your husband. 
 
 N. Appointed. 
 
 Mrs. L. Yes — Perhaps he is not at home. 
 
 N. Is so busy. But now you must help me. Look 
 here. Fancy ball at Stenborg's overhead on third floor. 
 I am to appear as a Neapolitan girl and dance the taran- 
 tella — learnt it on the spot — promised Torvald — Can 
 you help 
 
 Mrs. L. Will try — But I've quite forgotten to thank 
 you for the pleasant evening yesterday 
 
 Nora. Oh, Torvald has the art of making everything 
 so pleasant. 
 
 Mrs. L. You too — But tell me, is Doctor Rank al- 
 ways so serious as he was last evening 
 
 N. He suffers from a dreadful illness — But yesterday 
 it was certainly marked 
 
 Mrs. L. He comes here very often. 
 
 N. Every day — he is quite one of the family; I don't 
 think he could get on without us. 
 
 N. I assure you. But, Doctor R. ? I'm certain that 
 if I asked him 
 
 Mrs. L. N. N. behind your husband's back — why 
 don't you speak to your husband 
 
176 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 N. Oh, you don't understand it all, don't know 
 Torvald. 
 
 Mrs. L. Not Dr. R. on any account. 
 
 N. Would never occur to me; although I am sure 
 he would do it. 
 
 Mrs. L. But you must get clear of it. This secrecy 
 is likely to undermine all truthfulness in your relations 
 with your husband 
 
 N. And you can say that. Yes, I must get clear of 
 it. Tell me, when everything is paid, one gets back 
 the paper? 
 
 Mrs. L. Yes, of course. 
 
 N. Oh) to have money, Christina 
 
 Mrs. L. Would not your husband ? 
 
 N. Oh, there are many that he — (Humming.) But 
 courage— leap into it, not creep 
 
 Mrs. L. But no more secrets from your husband, N. 
 
 N. Pooh! a husband need not know everything. 
 Hush, here he comes. [Go into the nursery, dear. Tor- 
 vald doesn't like to see dressmaking.] (Goes into the 
 hall.) Oh, is that you, Torvald dear — how cold you are. 
 Haven't you been frozen at the Bank ? Well, that's all 
 right. 
 
 H. — If R. comes, he will find me in the inner oiSce — 
 
 (Goes into his room.) 
 
 N. Doctor R — Yes, it's his time for coming — It must 
 be. Now he will soon get the letter — There's a ring; 
 that's he. No, it's not he — Ah, Doctor, it's you. Bring 
 in the lamp, Ellen — Come here, Doctor; I think my hus- 
 band has something to do 
 
 R. One can't call an ugly thing by pretty names. 
 Well, one has to go some day. But to suffer thus for 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 177 
 
 another's sin. Where's the justice of it? And yet you 
 can trace in every family an inexorable retribution. It is 
 my father's wild oats that my poor spine must do penance 
 for. 
 
 N. But, my dear Doctor R — You may live a long 
 while yet. 
 
 R. H'm, I'm quite clear about it. This is the last 
 Christmas I shall spend in this house. I wonder how 
 things will look in a year's time 
 
 N. Ah, if one could know that. 
 
 R — Well, the absent are soon forgotten 
 
 R. You see, you see. 
 < N. Only to put my costume in order. Now don't 
 be angry, dear Dr. R. Fie, you were so unfriendly to 
 her last evening. Do be good; you are our first and best 
 friend, you know that — To-morrow you shall see how 
 beautiful I shall be at the ball — R., now I'll show you 
 something. Look here. 
 
 R. What is it. 
 
 N. Look. 
 
 R. Silk stockings. 
 
 N. Flesh-coloured — No, no, no, you must only look 
 at the feet. — Oh, well, I suppose you may look at the 
 rest too. 
 
 R. Do you think those stockings will fit you. 
 
 N. Why not 
 
 R. Oh, I didn't know 
 
 N. (hits him lightly on the cheek with the stockings.) 
 For shame. 
 
 R. Nora — Mrs. Helmer — when one is going to die. 
 
 N. You mustn't die and leave us; you must go on 
 being Torvald's and my best and dearest friend 
 
178 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 R. Oh, I have never had an opportunity of proving 
 my friendship to you. I have only accepted what you 
 have lavished upon me, comfort, kindness — I had almost 
 said happiness 
 
 N. And if I were to ask you for — no 
 
 R. For what ? 
 
 N. For a great proof of your friendship ? 
 
 R. Oh, do so, N.; you don't know how gladly I would 
 leave behind something — a remembrance; something that 
 would keep me from oblivion. But what is it ? 
 
 N. Oh, no, I cannot — Now that I am to say it, it seems 
 to me an impossibility — I don't know how you will judge 
 of me 
 
 R. Then I will tell you something. You shall know 
 now what you have never guessed ; have never been able 
 to guess — A dying man, as I am, may speak out; I have 
 kept silence hitherto. 
 
 N. Dr. R., keep silence still. 
 
 R. No, you shall hear it; I have loved you, N., loved 
 you ever since I have known you. Every moment I have 
 passed with you has been like a great indescribable happi- 
 ness, the only happiness I have known. 
 
 N. Not so loud — some one might hear you. 
 
 R. Helmer himself may hear every single word I have 
 addressed to you; when I am gone he shall know all; 
 but you shall hear it now, so that you may turn to me with 
 full confidence. I will only tell you this. No one has 
 loved you more deeply than I. 
 
 Nora (going to the door). Ellen, bring the lamp. 
 
 R. Nora 
 
 Nora. Oh, my dear Dr. R— that was too bad of you ■ 
 
 R. What? 
 
 N. Why should you have told me that. It was all so 
 nice; it was so unnecessary 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 179 
 
 R. What do you mean ? Did you know— 
 
 (The Maid enters with the lamp.) 
 Nora. Thanks. Put it on the table there- 
 
 (Exit Maid.) 
 
 R. Nora, I ask you, did you know 
 
 N. Oh, I don't know what I knew; one has an idea, 
 or — no, I don't know at all 
 
 R. Well, you know now that you can count upon me — 
 Now go on 
 
 N. Go on — now? 
 
 R — Oh, let me do for you whatever a man can. 
 
 N — You can do nothing for me now 
 
 R. Not now? Now that you know 
 
 N — Above all, not now. Oh, Heaven, why can't a 
 man understand 
 
 R. Yes, N., I ought to have understood. 
 
 N. Too late. 
 
 R. Ought I to go — for ever. 
 
 N. No, you mustn't. You must come and go as you've 
 always done. Torvald can't do without you. 
 
 R. But you 
 
 N. Oh, I, I — but now you must go in to Torvald for 
 a while 
 
 R. Are you angry ? 
 
 N. No; but now you must go to him. He's waiting 
 for you in the inner office. 
 
 R. When you remember what I have said to you, you 
 must also bear in mind that I am a dying man. 
 
 (He goes into Helmer's room.) 
 
 N. It was best thus. No obligation to anyone. He 
 
 won't come. Nothing will happen. 
 
 (She is going into the room on tJie left; at the same 
 moment The Maid opens the door into the hall.) 
 
 Maid (softly). Please, ma'am. 
 
180 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 N. What is it. 
 
 M. The gentleman who came to see Mr. Helmer yes- 
 terday 
 
 N. What gentleman; there were so many 
 
 M. He gave his card 
 
 N. Ah — where is he 
 
 M. He came up the back stair, he wanted to speak to 
 you alone, ma'am. 
 
 N. Oh, Heaven, now; I — I can't 
 
 M. He said he wouldn't go until he had spoken to 
 you. 
 
 N. Then let him come in; Ellen, don't say anything; 
 it's a surprise for my husband 
 
 M. Oh, yes, ma'am, I understand 
 
 N. Oh, this dreadful thing 
 
 (She slips the bolt of H.'s door.) (The Maid opens 
 the door for K. and shuts it after him.) 
 
 Kr. A money transaction of this kind with a minor 
 is not even strictly speaking binding 
 
 N. Is it not? Well, well, it's all the same, I shall 
 pay nevertheless. 
 
 Kr. Good, good; but what I was going to say was, 
 if you have any desperate scheme in your head 
 
 N. What if I have? 
 
 Kr. Put all that out of your head. Were you per- 
 haps thinking of going away secretly 
 
 N. How do you know that ? Who has told you- 
 
 Kr. Or perhaps of something worse 
 
 N. Oh, don't speak of it — that terrible 
 
 Kr. Yes, it must be terrible, especially for a lady so 
 
 delicately brought up. The icy water, black, deep ■ 
 
 N. Plow do you know all this 
 
A DOLL'S HOUSE 181 
 
 Kr. And next spring when the ice melts to come up 
 again — ugly, unrecognisable — I hadn't the courage, and 
 it was in summer time, too — and now it is midwinter « 
 
 N. Never — I should never have courage to do it. 
 
 K. Besides, it would be very foolish. You have a 
 happy home, a husband and children of whom you are 
 fond. A number of good friends, respect from everyone 
 — and your life before you. 
 
 N. Oh, yes, yes — , life might be so lovely 
 
 Kr. Therefore you must not throw it away thought- 
 lessly; I am afraid I frightened you too much yesterday, 
 and so I want to talk to you now — to prepare you 
 
 N. For what ? 
 
 Kr. I have been thinking more carefully over these 
 matters. My position is not such that I can Set go the 
 hold I have now obtained over Helmer — I shall not abuse 
 it, if he is reasonable. 
 
 N. What will you do. 
 
 K. This course is not my choice; it is your hus- 
 band's. I would have preferred to content myself with 
 regaining my position, step by step. That has not 
 succeeded; very well; with this piece of paper I have 
 my good friend T. H. in my pocket; 
 
 N. You never will; 
 
 K. I shall; within three months I shall be in the 
 Bank's service again. Before a year is out I shall be 
 the manager's right hand. He won't dare to show fight. 
 It won't be T. H., but Nils K., that manages the Joint 
 Stock Bank. 
 
 N. Do you know that this is his life's work; he will 
 never give it up; he will have his liberty and no one over 
 him. 
 
 K. Doesn't concern me — for your sake he will have 
 to yield 
 
182 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Nora. Very well ; now I have courage enough for any- 
 thing. 
 
 K. Bah — you haven't — I have seen that much — ■ 
 Drown yourself in the cold water?] 
 
 N. I shall do it 
 
 K. What would be the use of it; I have him in my 
 pocket all the same — I can hold your reputation over 
 him. — Look, here is the letter. 
 
 N. Give it to me. 
 
 K. To deliver 
 
 N. Yes, yes 
 
 K. Thanks; but perhaps it will be safer if I 
 
 N. You can't see him; you can't speak to him now — ■ 
 It is a relief to me to know that you won't do anything 
 foolish 
 
 N. He's going; he's changed his mind — ah — in the 
 letter-box 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 H. What is it you won't have? There is nothing 
 you may refuse, if I want it. Am I not your husband ? 
 What is it you won't have ? 
 
 N. Nothing. Your wishes are mine. 
 
 H. Oh, what a brute — what a madman I am. But 
 the thought of your being mine sometimes turns my 
 head (kisses her hands again and again) . Can you for- 
 give me, my dearest Nora — can you — I swear to you — 
 
 (A knock at the outer door.) 
 
 N. (with a scream) . Who is that coming ? 
 
GHOSTS 
 
The play is to be like a picture of life. Belief under- 
 mined. But it does not do to say so. " The Orphanage " 
 — for the sake of others. They are to be happy — but 
 this too is only an appearance — Everything is ghosts. 
 
 A leading point: She has been a believer and roman- 
 tic — this is not entirely obliterated by the standpoint 
 reached later — " Everything is ghosts." 
 
 Marriage for external reasons, even when these are 
 religious or moral, brings a Nemesis upon the offspring. 
 
 She, the illegitimate child, can be saved by being mar- 
 ried to — the son — but then ? 
 
 He was dissipated and his health was shattered in his 
 youth; then she appeared, the religious enthusiast; she 
 saved him; she was rich. He was going to marry a girl 
 who was considered unworthy. He had a son by his 
 wife, then he went back to the girl; a daughter. 
 
 These women of the present day, ill-used as daughters, 
 as sisters, as wives, not educated according to their gifts, 
 prevented from following their inclination, deprived of 
 their inheritance, embittered in temper — it is these who 
 furnish the mothers of the new generation. What is 
 the result? 
 
 The key-note is to be: The prolific growth of our in- 
 tellectual life, in literature, art, etc. — and in contrast to 
 this: the whole of mankind gone astray. 
 
 185 
 
186 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 The complete human being is no longer a product of 
 nature, he is an artificial product like corn, and fruit- 
 trees, and the Creole race and thoroughbred horses and 
 dogs, the vine, etc. 
 
 The fault lies in that all mankind has failed. If a man 
 claims to live and develop in a human way, it is megalo- 
 mania. All mankind, and especially the Christian part 
 of it, suffers from megalomania. 
 
 Among us, monuments are erected to the dead, since 
 we have a duty towards them; we allow lepers to marry; 
 but their offspring ? The unborn ? 
 
 FROM THE FIRST ACT 
 
 Pastor M. But one has a duty towards the society 
 in which one lives. If one has a good and beneficial 
 vocation to work at — and such we ought all to have, Mrs. 
 Alving — then one owes it to that vocation and to one's 
 self to stand before the eyes of society in as irreproach- 
 able a light as possible; for if one be not irreproachable, 
 one can make no progress with one's aims. 
 
 Mrs. A. Yes, you are perfectly right there. 
 
 Pastor M. To say nothing of the difficulty — I may 
 even say the painfulness — of the position. The serious 
 Christians of the town take a lively interest in this Or- 
 phanage. It is, of course, founded partly for the benefit 
 of the town, as well; and it is to be hoped it will, to a 
 considerable extent, result in lightening our Poor Rates. 
 But now, of course, every one in the town knows that I 
 
GHOSTS 187 
 
 have been your adviser, and have had the business ar- 
 rangements in my hands. My parishioners might there- 
 fore so easily be led to think that I, their clergyman 
 
 Mrs. A. Yes, it would undoubtedly be unpleasant 
 for you. 
 
 Pastor M. To say nothing of the fact that I have 
 no idea of the attitude my superiors in the church would 
 adopt towards the question. 
 
 Mrs. A. Very well, my dear Pastor Manders; that 
 consideration is quite decisive. 
 
 Pastor M. Then we do not insure ? 
 
 Pastor M. That is a very disputable point, Mrs. 
 Alving. A child's proper place is, and must be, the 
 home. 
 
 Os. There I think you're quite right, Pastor Man- 
 ders. 
 
 Pastor M. Ah, you can hardly have any idea of 
 what a home should be 
 
 O. Oh, but anyhow I have seen other people's 
 homes. 
 
 Pastor M. I thought, however, that over there, es- 
 pecially in artistic circles, the life was a somewhat home- 
 less one 
 
 O. Well, most of the young men are forced to live 
 so; they have no money, and besides they don't want to 
 give up their precious freedom — they live frugally, I 
 can tell you, a slice of ham and a bottle of wine. 
 
 Pastor M. But in what company ? 
 
 O. In very pleasant company, Pastor Manders. 
 Sometimes a few models join them and then, as likely 
 as not, there's dancing. 
 
188 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Pastor M. Models — ? What do you mean by that ? 
 
 O. We painters and sculptors require models, I sup- 
 pose. Otherwise how could we reproduce the tension of 
 the muscles and the reflected lights on the skin — and all 
 that sort of thing. 
 
 Pastor M. But you don't mean to say that there are 
 women who 
 
 O. Who sit to us artists; yes, I can assure you there 
 are. 
 
 Pastor M. And such immorality is tolerated by the 
 authorities ? 
 
 O. The authorities tolerate worse kinds of immorality 
 than that, Pastor, as you are doubtless not unaware 
 
 Pastor M. Alas, alas, that is only too true; but as to 
 these models, it is even worse, for it takes place openly 
 and is spoken about 
 
 O. Yes, it would never occur to us to do otherwise. 
 Oh, I can assure you, there are many fine figures among 
 the models one doesn't often see here. 
 
 Pastor M. Is it in such society you have been living 
 abroad ? 
 
 O. Sometimes too I visit my friends at their homes; 
 one has to see what their domestic circle is like, play a 
 little with the children. 
 
 Pastor M. But you said most of the artists were not 
 married. 
 
 O. Oh, that was a mistake — I meant wedded. 
 
 Pastor M. But, good heavens 
 
 O. But, my dear Pastor Manders, what are they to 
 do? A poor painter, a poor girl; they can't afford to 
 marry, it costs a great deal. What are they to do ? 
 
 Pastor M. I will tell you, Mr. Alving; they should 
 remain apart. 
 
 O. That doctrine will scarcely go down with warm- 
 
GHOSTS 189 
 
 blooded young people, full of the joy of life. Oh, the 
 glorious free life out there. 
 
 Pastor M. And, to make matters worse, such freedom 
 is to be signalised as praiseworthy 
 
 O. Let me tell you, sir, you may visit many of these 
 irregular homes and you will never hear an offensive 
 word there. And let me tell you another thing: I have 
 never come across immorality among our artists over 
 there — but do you know where I have found it ? 
 
 Pastor M. No, I'm happy to say 
 
 O. Well, then, I'm afraid I must inform you. I have 
 met with it in many a pattern husband and father who 
 has come to Paris to have a look round on his own 
 account, one of these gentlemen with a heavy gold chain 
 outside his waistcoat; do you know what is the first 
 thing these gentlemen do ? Why, they hunt up some poor 
 artist or other, get on familiar terms with him, ask him 
 to supper at a smart restaurant, make the champagne 
 flow freely — and then take his arm and propose that they 
 shall make a night of it — and then we artists hear of 
 places we never knew of before, and see things we never 
 dreamed of — But these are the respectable men, Pastor 
 Manders, and on their return you can hear their praises 
 of the pure morals of home in contrast to the corruption 
 abroad — oh yes — these men know what's what — they 
 have a right to be heard. 
 
 Mrs. A. But, my dear Oswald, you mustn't get 
 excited. 
 
 O. No, you're right; it's bad for me — I shall go for 
 a little turn before dinner. Excuse me, Pastor, I know 
 you can't take my point of view; but I had to speak out 
 for once. 
 
 (He goes out by the second door to tfie right.) 
 
 Pastor M. Then this is what he has come to! 
 
190 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Reg. You might have brought me up to be a lady, 
 ma'am, it would have suited me better. And then I 
 shouldn't have had to be so careful about money. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 
 
 A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 By Henrik Ibsen 
 
 1884 
 
FIRST ACT 
 
 At Walle's house. A richly and comfortably furnished 
 smoking-roajn; upholstered sofas and armchairs; 
 smoking -tables with pipes and cigar-boxes; lighted 
 lamps and branching candlesticks. At the back, a 
 large open door with curtains drawn back. Within 
 is seen the billiard-room, also lighted up. In front, on 
 the right (in the smoking-room), a small baize door 
 leads into the office. On the left, in front, the fireplace 
 with a fire, and beyond the fireplace a double door 
 leading into the dining-room. From within is heard 
 loud-voiced conversation and laughter of many 
 guests. A glass is tapped with a knife; silence 
 follows. A toast is proposed; then again a loud buzz 
 of conversation. 
 Walle's servant, in livery, and two or three hired waiters 
 in black are putting the smoking-room and billiard- 
 room in order. 
 Walle's Servant (bends down to put more coal on 
 the fire, while listening and saying to one of the hired 
 waiters). Hark to them, Jensen! now the old man's 
 on his legs holding a long palaver about Mrs. Sorby. 
 
 Hired Waiter (lighting a candlestick). Are they — 
 very good friends, eh? 
 
 Walle's Servant. Lord knows. 
 Hired Waiter. I've heard tell as he's been a lively 
 customer in his day. 
 
 193 
 
194 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Walle's Servant. May be. 
 
 (Puts down the fire-shovel.) 
 Another Hired Waiter (in the doorway of the billiard- 
 
 room). Pettersen, here's an old chap wanting 
 
 Walle's Servant. Now? They're just going to 
 leave the table. 
 
 (Old Ekdahl appears from the right, in the billiard- 
 room. He is white-haired, quiet in manner and 
 stoops somewhat; he is dressed in an old-fashioned 
 overcoat with a high collar; and carries in his 
 hand a winter cap and a faded cotton umbrella. 
 Under his arm a bundle of papers in a blue wrap- 
 per.) 
 Walle's Servant. Good Lord — what do you want 
 here at this time of night? .. 
 
 Ekdahl. I must get into the office 
 
 Walle's Servant. The office was closed an hour 
 
 ago, and 
 
 Ekdahl. Yes, they told me so; but I'm sure Mr. 
 Graberg's in there still, and if you — if you * (Points 
 
 * Ekdahl here hesitates between the formal De and 
 the familiar du (thou) ; Pettersen replies to him with du. 
 
 towards the baize door) would let me go this way 
 
 Walle's Servant. Well, you may go. (Moving a 
 table.) Oh, look here, Ekdahl, lend me a hand with this 
 table. 
 
 Ekdahl (involuntarily drawing himself up). I — ! 
 (Meekly.) Oh, I see, the table 
 
 Walle's Servant. Thanks. (Opens the baize door.) 
 There, in with you, Ekdahl; but mind you go out again 
 the other way, for we've got company. 
 
 Ekdahl. Yes, I know 
 
 (He goes into the office.) 
 
THE WILD DUCK 195 
 
 One of the Hired Waiters. Is he one of the office 
 people ? 
 
 Walle's Servant. No, he's only an outside hand 
 that does odd jobs of copying. But he's been a tip- 
 topper in his day, he has. 
 
 Hired Waiter. Yes, he looked like it. 
 Walle's Servant. Ah, he's been a lawyer and 
 deuce knows what. Lord, I know old Ekdahl well, I 
 do. Many a nip of bitters and bottle of ale we two 
 have drunk at Madam Eriksen's. 
 
 Hired Waiter. He don't look as if he'd much to stand 
 treat with. 
 
 Walle's Servant. Why, bless you, Jensen, it's me 
 that stands treat. I always think there's no harm in 
 being a bit civil to folks that have had a hard time. 
 Hired Waiter. Did he go bankrupt then ? 
 Walle's Servant. Worse than that. He went to 
 prison. 
 
 Hired Waiter. To prison! 
 
 Walle's Servant. Or perhaps it was the Peniten- 
 tiary. (Listens.) Sh! They're leaving the table. 
 
 (TIw dining-room door is thrown open from within, 
 by a couple of waiters. TIw whole company grad- 
 ually comes out. Walle leads the way, with an 
 elderly lady [Mrs. Sorby] on his arm; lie takes 
 her out through the billiard-room and tJience into an 
 adjoining room on the right. Gentlemen of various 
 ages enter in groups and scatter tJiemselves in the 
 smoking-room and billiard-room. Chamberlains 
 Flor, Kaspersen andr Smther enter, conversing, 
 with Gregers Walle. Last comes Halfdan 
 Ekdahl.) 
 Flor. Whew! What a dinner! — It was no joke to do 
 it justice ! 
 
196 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Kaspersen. Oh, with a little good-will one can get 
 through a lot in three hours. What do you say, Ssether ? 
 
 SjETHEr. It's the appetite that provides the motive 
 power, he-he! 
 
 Flor. Ah, if one had your stomach, Kaspersen. 
 
 Kaspersen {stroking Flor's waistcoat). I should 
 think your own would hold a good deal. 
 
 Flor. Ah, yes, if it could only digest what it can 
 hold 
 
 Gregers Walle. There's a remedy for everything, 
 Mr. Flor. Otherwise why do you suppose an all-seeing 
 Providence created mineral waters? 
 
 Kaspersen. Fie, fie, now you're getting Parisian 
 again. 
 
 Gregers. It sticks to one, unfortunately. But, you 
 see, I've just come from there. 
 
 Walle {re-entering [with Mrs. Sorby]). What are 
 you studying so intently, Ekdahl ? 
 
 Halfdan. Only an album, Mr. Walle. 
 
 Walle. Ah, photographs! They are quite in your 
 line, of course. 
 
 Kaspersen. Have you brought any with you ? Of 
 your own manufacture ? What ? 
 
 Halfdan. No, I haven't. 
 
 Walle. But you ought to have. Then you might 
 have contributed to the entertainment, you know. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. In this house every one is expected to 
 do something in return for his dinner, Mr. Ekdahl. 
 
 Flor. Where one dines so well, that duty becomes a 
 pleasure. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Chamberlain Flor exerts himself on be- 
 half of the ladies till the perspiration runs off him. 
 
 Flor. On behalf of the lady, Mrs. Sorby ; the lady of 
 the house 
 
THE WILD DUCK 197 
 
 Mrs. SSrby. Ah, to-day you have an easy task. And 
 Chamberlain Kaspersen — what does he do, I wonder ? 
 
 Flor. He produces witticisms 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Did you say, re-produces ? 
 
 Kaspersen (laughing). Now you're getting too bad! 
 
 Flor. I only said produces, but 
 
 Kaspersen. Oh, well, one can only use the gifts one 
 has. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. That's true; and therefore Chamber- 
 lain Ssether is always so ready to turr over music. 
 
 SiETHER. He-he! 
 
 Gregers {softly). You must join in, Hialmar. 
 
 Hialmar Ekdahl {shrugging his shoulders). What 
 am I to talk about? 
 
 Walberg. Throw away your cigarette end, and take 
 a proper cigar. 
 
 Kaspersen. Yes, but is Mrs. Sorby smoke-dried ? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby (lighting a cigarette) . I take care of that 
 myself. 
 
 Sjtther. Oh, I say! 
 
 Flor. Remarkably delicate Tokay. 
 
 Valberg. Yes, you may well say that. But it cost 
 a pretty penny, too; for it's one of the very finest sea- 
 sons, you must know. 
 
 Hialmar. Is there any difference between the sea- 
 sons ? 
 
 Valberg. Come! That's good! It really doesn't 
 pay to set good wine before you. 
 
 Kaspersen. Tokay is like photographs, Mr. Ekdahl; 
 they both need sunshine. Am I not right? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, light is important, no doubt. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. And it's exactly the same with Cham- 
 berlains; they, too, depend very much on sunshine r 
 
198 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Kaspersen. Oh, fie! That's a very threadbare sar- 
 casm! 
 
 Flor. Mrs. Sorby is reproducing 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Possibly; but it's true that the seasons 
 differ greatly. 
 
 Kaspersen. But you reckon me among the fine vin- 
 tages, don't you, Mrs. Sorby ? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Oh, I'm sure you all belong to the 
 same vintage, all three. 
 
 Valberg. Ha, ha, ha! — that's one for you! Fill your 
 glasses, gentlemen. In such villainously cold weather. 
 A good glass, a warm, comfortable home — at least I 
 think it is so. Within one's own four walls is the place 
 to look for true comfort. 
 
 (The guests touch their glasses and drink.) 
 Graberg (at the baize door) . Excuse me, sir, but I can't 
 get out. 
 
 Walle. Have you been locked in again ? 
 Graberg. Yes, and Flaksrud has carried off the 
 
 keys 
 
 Walle. Well, you can pass out this way. 
 
 Graberg. But here's some one else 
 
 Walle. All right; come through, both of you. Don't 
 be afraid. 
 
 (Graberg and Old Ekdahl come through the 
 baize door.) 
 Werle (involuntarily). Ugh! 
 
 (The laughter and talk among the guests cease sud- 
 denly. Hialmar starts at the sight of his father, 
 and turns aside. Graberg and Ekdahl go out 
 through tlw billiard-room [and out to the right].) 
 Werle (mutters). That damned fool Graberg! 
 Gregers. Why surely that wasn't 
 
THE WILD DUCK 199 
 
 Sjether. What's the matter? Who was it? 
 
 Gregers. Oh, nobody. 
 
 Sjgther (to Hialmar). Did you know that man? 
 
 Hialmar. I don't know — I didn't notice 
 
 Sjether. And getting in like that through closed 
 doors. I must find out about this. 
 
 (Goes away to the others.) 
 
 Mrs. Sorby (whispers to the Servant). Give him 
 something to take with him; — something good, mind. 
 
 Pettersen. I'll see to it. (Goes out.) 
 
 Gregers (softly). So that was really he! 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, it was. 
 
 Gregers. And you denied him! 
 
 Hialmar. But how could I 
 
 Gregers. I'm afraid you've become a coward, 
 Hialmar. 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, if you were in my place 
 
 (The conversation amongst the Guests, which has 
 been carried on in low tones, now swells into forced 
 joviality.) 
 
 Kaspersen (approaching Hialmar and Gregers in 
 a friendly manner). Aha! here you are reviving old 
 memories. Won't you have a light to your cigar, Mr. 
 Ekdahl ? (Handing him a candle.) Allow me. 
 
 Hialmar. No, thank you, I won't smoke now. 
 
 Flor. Haven't you some verses to read to us, Mr. 
 Ekdahl ? You used to write such charming verses, 
 
 Hialmar. No, I haven't any. 
 
 Flor. Are you all well at home? Your children — 
 You have children, I think ? 
 
 Hialmar. I have a daughter. 
 
 Flor. And what does she do? 
 
 Hialmar. Hedvig draws. 
 
200 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Flor. No, really ? That's the artistic nature she 
 has inherited. 
 
 S aether (joining them). No, it wasn't through 
 closed doors. He came on business. 
 
 Kaspersen (good-humour edly turning him round). 
 Oh, you're talking nonsense, Chamberlain. (Draws 
 him away.) 
 
 Flor. Heaven knows what he's jabbering about. 
 
 (Goes away.) 
 
 Hialmar (whispers). I'm going now, Gregers. Say 
 good-bye to your father for me. 
 
 Gregers. Yes, yes. Are you going straight home? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes. Why ? 
 
 Gregers. Oh, because I may look you up later. 
 
 Hialmar. No, you mustn't do that. Not at home. 
 We can always arrange to meet "somewhere in the town. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Are you going, Ekdahl ? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Remember me to Gina. 
 
 Hialmar. Thanks. 
 
 (He tries to get out, as far as possible unnoticed, to 
 the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Sorby (softly, to Pettersen) . Well, did you 
 give the old man something? 
 
 Pettersen. Yes; I sent him off with a bottle of 
 cognac. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Oh, you might have thought of some- 
 thing better than that. 
 
 Pettersen. Oh, no, Mrs. Sorby; cognac is what he 
 likes best in the world. 
 
 Flor (in the doorway of the billiard-room, with a sheet 
 of music in his hand.) Shall we play something to you, 
 Mrs. Sorby ? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Yes, suppose you do. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 201 
 
 The Guests. Bravo! Bravo! 
 
 ( They all go out to the right through the billiard-room^ 
 During what follows, the pianoforte is faintly 
 heard.) 
 
 Gregers. Father, won't you stay a moment ? 
 
 Werle. What is it? 
 
 Gregers. I must have a word with you. 
 
 Werle. Can it not wait till the others are gone ? 
 
 Gregers. No, it cannot; for perhaps I shall go 
 before the others. 
 
 Werle. Go ? Will you go ? What do you mean by 
 that ? 
 
 Gregers. How has that family been allowed to go 
 so miserably to the wall? 
 
 Werle. Do you mean the Ekdahls ? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, I mean the Ekdahls. Old Ekdahl was 
 once so closely associated with you. And once in his 
 life, at any rate, he was very useful to you. 
 
 Werle. Oho! you're thinking of the old story in the 
 criminal court? Those affairs were settled long ago. 
 You may be sure he Was very well paid. 
 
 Gregers. That may be. But afterwards, father; all 
 the other things 
 
 Werle. I don't know what you mean by "other 
 things." There are no other things! He never once 
 applied to me while there was yet time. He did not know 
 himself what a mess he was in, until everything came 
 to light, and then of course it was too late. 
 
 Gregers. It's not that I'm talking about, either. 
 But afterwards, since that 
 
 Werle. Ah, since that. When he came out of prison 
 he was a broken-down being. — I can assure you, Gregers, 
 I have done everything in my power to help him. I have 
 
202 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 given him copying to do for the office, and I have paid 
 him far, far more than his work is worth. Do you laugh 
 at that ? Do you think I am not telling you the truth ? 
 Well, I certainly can't refer you to my books, for I never 
 enter payments of that sort 
 
 Gregers (smiles). No, there are certain payments 
 it is not worth while to keep an account of. 
 
 Werle (taken aback) . What do you mean by that f 
 
 Gregers. Have you entered what it cost you to 
 have Hialmar Ekdahl taught photography? 
 
 Werle. I! How "entered" it? 
 
 Gregers Werle. 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 y»u talk as though I had not 
 done enough for Ekdahl's family. I can assure vou 
 these people have cost me enough. 
 
 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 — it must be eighteen or nineteen years ago 
 
 Gregers. It is now about seventeen years ago. You 
 wrote me a letter about that time — a business letter, of 
 course — and in a postscript you mentoined, quite briefly, 
 that Hialmar Ekdahl 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. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 203 
 
 Werle (with a forced laugh of derision) . No; to tell 
 the truth, it didn't occur to me that you were so particu- 
 larly interested in our former housekeeper. 
 
 Gregers. No more I was. (Lowers his voice.) 
 But there were others in this house who were particularly 
 interested in her. 
 
 Werle. What do you mean by that ? (Flaring up.) 
 You are not alluding to me, I hope? 
 
 Gregers (softly but firmly). Yos, I am alluding to 
 
 Werle. And you dare — You piesume to — How can 
 that ungrateful hound — that photographer fellow — how 
 dare he accuse me ! 
 
 Gregers. Hialmar has not said a word about these 
 things. I don't even know that he has any suspicion of 
 such a thing. 
 
 Werle. Well then, where have you got it from? 
 Who can have given you such notions about me? 
 
 Gregers. My poor unhappy mother once told me 
 this. 
 
 Werle. Your mother! I might have known as 
 much! You and she — you always held together against 
 me. It was she who turned you against me, from the 
 first. 
 
 Gregers. No, it was all she had to suffer and sub- 
 mit 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 other people, at all events. But 
 there's no getting on with overstrained creatures. And you 
 could credit such an accusation — a bare suspicion ! 
 
 Gregers. Very well; then I will make it my busi- 
 ness to find out the truth 
 
204 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Werle. You will never go burrowing into old rumours 
 and stories ? I really think that at your age you might 
 find something more useful to do. 
 
 Gregers. You and I have never agreed as to what 
 is useful. 
 
 Werle. Neither about that nor about anything else. 
 Gregers, I believe there is no one in the world you de- 
 test as you do me. 
 
 Gregers (tvhispering) . I have seen you at iruch 
 too close quarters. 
 
 Werle. You have seen me with your mother's tyes, 
 that's what it is. 
 
 Gregers. And you have never been able to forgive 
 me for taking after my mother — and for having a kind 
 of feeling for her. 
 
 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 under- 
 standing with each other. Outwardly,, at any rate. 
 
 Gregers. You mean, in the eyes of the world, as it 
 is called? 
 
 Werle. Yes, if you like to call it so. Think it over. 
 Wouldn't one think it ought to be possible ? Eh ? 
 
 Gregers (looking at him coldly). Now I see that 
 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. When I wrote to you about coming home, 
 I won't deny that I had something in my mind. 
 
 Gregers. H'm! 
 
 Werle. You see, our business, the settlement of 
 your mother's inheritance and all the rest, might if neces- 
 sary have been arranged between us by correspondence. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 205 
 
 But now, as it is — unfortunately — no longer necessary for 
 you to live out there 
 
 Gregers. Well, what then ? 
 
 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 Sorby. 
 
 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 great thing for me 
 
 Gregers. Well then, you have everything just as 
 you wish it. 
 
 Werle. Yes, but I'm 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 to it? 
 
 Gregers. Not at all. Not by any means. 
 
206 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Werle. I thought that perhaps your devotion to your 
 mother's memory 
 
 Gregers (stopping him with a gesture). No, no, no, 
 don't let us use fine phrases, father. I am not over- 
 strained. 
 
 Werle. Well, whatever you may or may not be, at all 
 events you have lifted a weight from my mind. I am 
 extremely pleased that I may reckon on your concur- 
 rence in this matter. 
 
 Gregers. Now I understand 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 laugh.) So this is what made it absolutely essen- 
 tial that I should come to town in person. For the sake 
 of Mrs. Sorby, we are to get up a pretence at family life 
 in the house; — that will be something new indeed! 
 
 Werle. How dare you say such things! 
 
 Gregers. Was there ever any family life here ? But 
 bow your plans demand something of the sort. Of 
 course; I can see that. And 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-day. So, after all, the relations 
 between them are perfectly cordial. Yes, of course. 
 Father and son — how indeed could it be otherwise! 
 Why, it's the order of nature 
 
 Werle. Yes, it ought to be the order of nature, 
 Gregers 
 
 Gregers. Oh, I haven't a rag of belief either in 
 nature or in its order. 
 
 Werle. Listen to me; I will tell you that there may 
 be much to blame in my way of life — (raising his voice) 
 
THE WILD DUCK 20? 
 
 but there are certain things for which I demand respect 
 in my house! 
 
 Gregers (bowing slightly). So I have observed ; and 
 therefore I take my hat and go. 
 
 Werle. You are going — ! Out of the house? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, for there is only one thing in the 
 world that J have respect for. 
 
 Werle. And what is that? 
 
 Gregers. You would only laugh if I told you. 
 
 Werle. A lonely man doesn't laugh so easily, Gregers. 
 
 Gregers (pointing towards the billiard-room). Look 
 father; the Chamberlains are playing blind-man's-buff 
 with Mrs. Sorby. — Good-night and good-bye. 
 (He goes out to the right.) 
 
 Werle (smiling contemptuously after him). Ha — ! 
 And he says he is not overstrained. 
 
 SECOND ACT 
 
 Hialmar Ekdahl's studio, a good-sized room, but poorly 
 furnished, evidently in tlie top storey oftlie building. 
 On tlie 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; two doors on the 
 opposite side. At the back, in tlie middle, a large 
 double sliding-door. Towards the front, by the right- 
 hand wall, an old, worn sofa with a table and a couple 
 of chairs. On the table a lighted lamp. Photo- 
 graphic apparatus of different kinds about the room, 
 Photographs lying on the table; bottles and boxes of 
 various chemicals on a bookcase at the back, 
 
 (Mrs. Ekdahl sits on a chair by the table, sewing. Hed vig 
 is sitting on the sofa, drawing.) 
 
208 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. How much was it you paid for th» 
 butter to-day ? 
 
 Hedvig. It was forty-five ore. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. And then there's the beer. Look 
 there — that makes it over a crown. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, but then father took four crowns fifty 
 for the photographs. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. So much as that? 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, exactly four crowns fifty. 
 (Silence.) 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. H'm — I'd just like to know how 
 your father's getting on at the party. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, it would be fun if we could see him. 
 (Old Ekdahl, with the paper parcel under his arm, 
 comes in by the door on the right.) 
 
 Hedvig. How late you are to-day, grandfather! 
 
 Ekdahl. Graberg kept me so long; he's always so 
 long-winded, that man. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Did you get any more copying to do, 
 father ? 
 
 Ekdahl. Yes, this whole packet. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. That's capital. 
 
 Ekdahl (putting down his umbrella). This work will 
 keep me going a long time, Gina. (Opens one of the 
 sliding-doors at the back a little). Hush! (Looks into 
 tht, dark room; pushes the door to again.) Hee-hee-hee! 
 They're all sitting fast asleep. (Goes towards the far- 
 ther door on the left.) There are matches in here, I 
 suppose ? 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. The matches is on the drawers. 
 (Ekdahl goes out.) 
 
 Hedvig. It's nice that grandfather has got all that 
 copying. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 209 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Yes, poor old father; it means a bit 
 of money for him- 
 
 Hedvig. And he won't be able to sit the whole fore- 
 noon down at that horrid Madam Eriksen's. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. No more he won't. All the same — ■ 
 well, I don't know — but I think somehow men are more 
 pleasant like when they've had something to drink. 
 
 Hedvig. Ugh, no! Well, they may be more pleasant; 
 but it makes it so unsafe 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. How unsafe? 
 
 Hedvig. I mean, it's so unsafe for the rest of us; we 
 never know quite how to treat them. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl (looks at her) . When have you noticed 
 that ? 
 
 Hedvig. Oh, you can always notice that. Moldstad 
 and Riser are both of them tipsy very often- 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Then it was them two you were think- 
 ing of. 
 
 (Old Ekdahl comes in again and is going out by the 
 foremost door to the left.) 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl (half turning in her chair). Do you 
 want something out of the kitchen, father ? 
 
 Ekdahl. Yes, I do. Don't you trouble. 
 
 (Goes out.) 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. He's not poking away at the fire, is 
 he? Hedvig, go and see what he's about. 
 
 (Ekdahl comes in again with a small jug of steam- 
 ing hot water.) 
 
 Hedvig. Have you been getting some hot water, 
 grandfather ? 
 
 Ekdahl. Yes, I have. I want it. I want to write, 
 and the ink has got as thick as porridge. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. But you mustn't sit up so late and 
 hurt your eyes father. 
 
210 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Ekdahl. My eyes must take care of themselves, 
 Gina. I'm busy, I tell you. No one's to come in to me. 
 (He goes into his room.) 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl (softly) . Can you imagine where he's 
 got money from ? 
 
 Hedvtg. From Graberg, perhaps. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Not a bit of it. Graberg always 
 pays me. 
 
 Hedvig. Then perhaps he's got a bottle on credit. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Poor father, who'd give him credit? 
 (Hialmar Ekdahl comes in from the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl (rising). Why, is that you already? 
 
 Hialmar (taking off his hat) . Yes, most of the people 
 were coming away. 
 
 Hedvig (who has risen). d So early, father? 
 
 Hialmar (taking off his overcoat) . Yes, it was a dinner- 
 party, you know. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Let me help you. (Hangs up his 
 coat.) Were there many people there? 
 
 Hialmar. Oh no, not many. We were about twelve 
 or fourteen. (To Hedvig.) Hasn't grandfather come 
 home? 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, he's in his room. 
 
 Hialmar. Well, did he say anything? 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. No, nothing particular. 
 
 Hialmar. Didn't he say anything about ? I 
 
 heard something about his having been with Graberg. 
 — I'll go in and see him for a moment. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. No, no, better not. 
 
 Hialmar. Why not ? Did he say he didn't want me 
 to go in ? 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. I don't think he wants to see nobody; 
 he has been in to fetch hot water. 
 
 Hialmar. Oho! Then he's (making a sign). 
 
THE WILD DUCK 211 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Yes, I expect so. 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, God! my poor old father! Well, well; 
 there let him sit and get all the enjoyment he can. 
 
 (Old Ekdahl, in an indoor coat and with a lighted 
 pipe, comes from his room.) 
 
 Ekdahl. Ah, there he is. I thought I heard you. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, I have just come. 
 
 Ekdahl. You didn't see me there, did you ? 
 
 Hialmar. No, I didn't. I heard you had passed 
 through 
 
 Ekdahl. Who were they, all those fellows? 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, all sorts of people. There was 
 Chamberlain Flor and Chamberlain Kaspersen and 
 Chamberlain , 
 
 Ekdahl. Hear that, Gina! Chamberlains, every one 
 of them! 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Ah, it must have been terrible genteel. 
 
 Hedvig. Did they want you to read something aloud, 
 father ? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, they wanted me to; but I knew better 
 than that. 
 
 Ekdahl. You weren't to be persuaded, eh? 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. But you might have done it. 
 
 Hialmar. No; one mustn't be at everybody's beck 
 and call. That's not my way, at any rate. And I 
 wasn't at all in the mood for it, either. 
 
 Ekdahl. No, no; Hialmar's not to be had for the 
 asking, he isn't. 
 
 Hialmar. I don't see why I should bother myself to 
 entertain people on the rare occasions when I go into so- 
 ciety. And I let them know it, too. Yes, I even found 
 myself called upon to administer a pretty sharp correc- 
 tion to one or two of those gentlemen. 
 
212 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. No, did you do that? 
 
 Ekdahl. Was it any of the Chamberlains ? 
 
 Hialmar. Indeed it was. We had a little discussion 
 about Tokay 
 
 Ekdahl. Ah, yes, there's a fine wine. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, but of course you know the vintages 
 differ; it all depends on how much of the sun's heat the 
 grapes have had. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Why, you know everything, Ekdahl. 
 
 Ekdahl. And did they dispute that with you ? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, they tried to; but then I let them 
 know [they were requested to observe] that it was just 
 the same with Chamberlains; that with them, too, dif- 
 ferent batches were of different qualities, — I said. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. What thmgs you do think of! 
 
 Ekdahl. And you said that to them— — 
 
 Hialmar. Right in their teeth. 
 
 Ekdahl. Do you hear that, Gina ? He said it right 
 in their very teeth. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Fancy — ! Right in their teeth! 
 
 Hialmar {taking up a position on the pedestal). Yes, 
 I stood like this; look here — leaning against the mantle- 
 piece and playing with my right glove while I told them 
 that. 
 
 Ekdahl. Right in their teeth. 
 
 Hedvig. How nice it is to see father in a dress-coat! 
 It suits you so well, father. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, doesn't it? And this one fits as if it 
 had been made for me. A little tight in the arm-holes, 
 perhaps. — (Takes off the coat.) But now I'll put on my 
 frock-coat — (does so) there's a more homely feeling about 
 it. (To Gina.) Don't forget to send the coat back to 
 Molvik first thing to-morrow morning. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 213 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. I'll be sure and see to it. 
 
 Hialmar (seating himself on the sofa). Ah, one is 
 never so comfortable as in the corner of one's own sofa — ■ 
 with one's feet under one's own table. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. And with a glass of beer and a 
 pipe 
 
 Hialmar. Have we any beer in the house? 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Yes, we haven't forgotten that. 
 
 (Goes into tlie kitchen.) 
 
 Hedvig. Here's your pipe and tobacco 
 
 Hialmar. Thanks! I've been regularly longing for 
 my pipe. Werle's cigars may be good enough; but a 
 good pipe is something different in the long run. 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl (comes in from the kitchen with bottles 
 of beer and glasses) . There, now you can quench your 
 thirst. 
 
 Hialmar. That's capital. Come now, father, we'll 
 have a glass together. 
 
 Ekdahl. Hum; I think I'll fill my pipe first. 
 
 (Goes into his room.) 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. (smiling). Fill his pipe! 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, well, well, well; leave him alone, poor 
 old father. 
 
 (There is a knock at the door on the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Hush, wasn't that a knock at the 
 door ? Who can it be ? (Goes and opens the door.) 
 
 Gregers (in the passage). Excuse me; does not 
 Mr. Ekdahl, the photographer, live here ? 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Yes, he does. 
 
 Hialmar (rising). Gregers! You here after all? 
 Well, come in then. 
 
 Gregers (coming in). I told you I would come and 
 see you. 
 
214 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hialmar. But this evening ? Have you left the 
 
 party? 
 
 Gregers. I have left both the party and the house. 
 Good evening, Mrs. Ekdahl ; can you remember me after 
 all these years? Do you recognise me? 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. Oh, yes, I do indeed. 
 
 Hialmar. Left your father's house, did you say ? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, I'm staying at a hotel to-night, and 
 to-morrow I shall take a lodging. By-the-bye, Hialmar, 
 you have a couple of rooms to let. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, so we have, but 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. But I'm sure they're not the sort of 
 rooms for you, Mr. Werle. 
 
 Gregers. You need not be afraid of that; I expect 
 I shall be satisfied; and we can easily agree about the 
 rent. 
 
 Hialmar. Well, that is very fortunate for us. — Now, 
 since you're here, you'll sit down, won't you ? 
 
 Gregers. Thanks; these are regular artists' quarters. 
 
 Hialmar. This is the studio, as you see ■ 
 
 Mrs. Ekdahl. But it's the largest of our rooms, so 
 we generally sit here. 
 
 II 
 FROM THE SECOND ACT 
 
 Gregers. You were a great sportsman then, Lieuten- 
 ant Ekdal. 
 
 Ekdal. So I was; so I was; went shooting every 
 day. [Uniform ] 
 
THE WILD DUCK 215 
 
 Gregers. And now I suppose you never get any 
 shooting ? 
 
 Ekdal. No, I never get any shooting now. That is, 
 not in the old way. 
 
 Hialmar. Sit down, father, and have a glass of beer. 
 Sit down, Gregers, and help yourself. 
 
 (Ekdal and Gregers seat themselves on the sofa; 
 the others sit at the table.) 
 
 Gregers. Can you remember, Lieutenant Ekdal. 
 that Christmas I came up and visited you with Hialmar ? 
 
 Ekdal. At the works? That must be a long time 
 ago. 
 
 Gregers. I suppose it is now more than twenty years 
 ago. It was the winter there were so many wolves up 
 there. 
 
 Ekdal. Ah, was it that winter! Then perhaps you 
 used to be with us at night, when we lay in the stables 
 and watched for them? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, I was there. Hialmar came too the 
 first night; but then he got tired of it. But I kept on. 
 Don't you remember, you put out the carcase of a dead 
 horse in front of the stable-door? 
 
 Ekdal. Yes, to be sure- it lay close to a big briar 
 bush. 
 
 Gregers. Quite right. 
 
 Ekdal. And then there was a heap of stones along- 
 side, that cast a shadow in the moonlight 
 
 Gregers. Yes, and there was moonlight those nights, 
 as clear as to-night 
 
 Ekdal. But the wolves didn't come in the moon- 
 light. But don't you remember that morning in the 
 early dawn, after the moon had set ? 
 
 Gregers. When thirteen of them came together ? 
 
216 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Ekdal. No, do you remember that! I shot one of 
 them by the carcase and another as they were running 
 away. 
 
 Gregers. Yes, you were indeed a great sportsman, 
 Lieutenant Ekdal. 
 
 Ekdal. Oh yes, oh yes; not so bad. I've shot bears 
 too; shot all kinds of things, both beasts and birds c 
 For the woods, you see — the woods, the woods — ! 
 What are the woods like up there now? 
 
 Ekdal. But we have to thank him for her, all the 
 same. He was out shooting, you see; and he brought her 
 down; but she was only wonnded 
 
 Gregers. Ah! She got a couple of slugs or so in her 
 body 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, she got a couple from behind. 
 
 Gregers. Oh! from behind? 
 
 Ekdal. You always have to shoot wild duck from 
 behind. 
 
 Gregers. Of course; from behind they are easier 
 to hit. 
 
 Ekdal. I should think so; if you shoot against the 
 breast, the shot glances off. 
 
 Ekdal. Well, your father had such an amazingly 
 good dog, you see; one of these new-fangled, long-haired 
 water-dogs, and he dived in after the duck and fetched 
 her up again. 
 
 Gregers. And then she was sent to you ? 
 
 Hialmar. She was not sent to us at once; at first your 
 
THE WILD DUCK 217 
 
 father took her home. But she wouldn't thrive there 
 properly. 
 
 Gregers. No, no, that's not a good place for wild- 
 fowl [wild duck]. 
 
 Hialmar. No, you can imagine it wasn't, among all 
 the tame ones. They were always setting upon her and 
 taking her food from her, so that she had no chance of 
 recovering. So Pettersen was told to put an end to her. 
 
 Ekdal {half asleep). H'm — yes — Pettersen — yes ■ 
 
 Hialmar (softly). That was how we got her, you see; 
 for father knows Pettersen a little; and when he heard 
 about the wild duck he got her handed over to us. 
 
 Gregers. And now she thrives [as] well [as possible} 
 in the garret there? 
 
 Hialmar. Splendidly, yes. She has lived in there 
 so long now that she has forgotten her natural wild life; 
 and it all depends on that. 
 
 Gregers. You are right there, Hialmar. If one 
 would keep wild duck — and if they are to thrive and 
 grow big and fat — I think the only way is to shut them up 
 in a garret, so that they never get a glimpse of the clouds 
 or the sea. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, yes, and then they forget, you see. 
 And after all, what they have forgotten, they will never 
 feel the want of. 
 
 Gregers. No, and then in time they can grow fat. 
 — But look here, Hialmar, you said you had rooms to 
 let, spare rooms. 
 
218 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 THIRD ACT 
 
 Hialmar Ekdal's studio. It is morning; the daylight 
 
 shines through the window on the right. 
 Hialmar is sitting at the table, busy with some photo- 
 graphic negatives and prints. Presently Gin a, wear- 
 ing her hat and cloak, enters from the right. She 
 has a covered basket on Iter arm. 
 HiaiiMar. Back already? Did you look in at Gre- 
 gers' room? 
 
 Gina. Yes. He has arranged everything as he likes 
 it. He'll do everything for himself, he said. 
 Hialmar. I looked in upon him too. 
 
 Ekdal. Yes, exactly; exactly. 
 
 (Hialmar and Ekdal open the upper half-door oftJte 
 garret. The morning sun is shining in through the sky- 
 lights; doves are flying in all directions; some sit cooing , 
 upon the perches; the cocks and hens are heard crowing 
 and clucking now and then.) 
 
 Hialmar {opens one of the lower half-doors a little way). 
 Squeeze through now, father. 
 
 Ekdal {creeps through the opening). Aren't you com- 
 ing too? 
 
 Hialmar. Well, I almost think — {Sees Gina at the 
 kitchen door.) No, I haven't time; I must work. And 
 then there was the net — {He pulls a cord, a piece of 
 stretched fishing net slips down in front of the opening.) 
 So! {Goes to the table.) 
 
 Gina. Is he in there again? 
 
THE WILD DUCK 219 
 
 Hialmar. Would you rather have had him slip down 
 to Madam Eriksen's? Do you want anything? You 
 know you said 
 
 Gina. I only wanted to ask if you think we can lay 
 the table for lunch here? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes; we have no appointment for to-day, 
 I suppose? 
 
 Gina. No. 
 
 Hialmar. Well then I hope there won't be any ap- 
 pointment either; and so we can have lunch here. 
 
 Gina. All right; but there's no hurry about it; you 
 can have the table yet awhile. 
 
 Hialmar (sitting down again). Oh, bless me, I'm 
 sticking at it as hard as I can! 
 
 (Gina goes out into the kitchen again.) 
 
 Ekdal (appears behind the net). I'm afraid we shall 
 have to move the water-trough after all, Hialmar. 
 
 Hialmar. What else have I been saying all along? 
 
 Ekdal. H'm — h'm — h'm. (Is no longer seen.) 
 (Hialmar goes on working a little; glances towards 
 the opening and half rises. Hedvig comes in from 
 the kitchen.) 
 
 Hialmar (sits down hurriedly) . What do you want ? 
 Perhaps you are told off to watch me ? 
 
 Hedvig. No, no. Isn't there anything I could help 
 you with? 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, no; it is right that I should bear the 
 burden alone — so long as my strength holds out. 
 
 (Hedvig goes over to tlie doorway and looks for a 
 moment into the garret.) 
 
 Hialmar. Tell me, what is he doing ? 
 
 Hedvig. I think he's making a new path to the water- 
 trough. 
 
220 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hialmar. He can never manage that alone. Look, 
 
 Hedvig — you are so clever; take this brush 
 
 Hedvig. Oh, yes, father! 
 
 Hialmar. Only for a second, you know. It's this 
 retouching — here is one to copy. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, I know how to do it; I've done it 
 with the others, you know. 
 
 Hialmar. Only a second; and then I shall have fin- 
 ished this job. 
 
 (He pushes one of the lower half-doors a little to one 
 side, creeps into the garret and draws tlie door to 
 after him. Hedvig sits at work, retouching; Hial- 
 mar and Ekdal are heard disputing inside.) 
 
 Gregers. I suppose so; if must be a sort of world by 
 itself. 
 
 Hedvig. Oh, yes, quite. And there are such lots of 
 wonderful things. 
 
 Gregers. Indeed ? 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, there are big cupboards full of books; 
 and a great many of the books have pictures in them. 
 
 Gregers. Aha! 
 
 Hedvig. And there's an old bureau with drawers and 
 flaps, and a big clock with figures that come out; but 
 it isn't going now. 
 
 Gregers. So time has come to a standstill in there- 
 in the wild duck's domain. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes. And then there's an old paint-box, and 
 all the books. 
 
 Gregers. And you read the books, I suppose? 
 
 Hedvig. Oh, yes; most of them are English though, 
 and I don't understand English. But then I look at the 
 pictures. There is one great big book called " Harrison's 
 
THE WILD DUCK 221 
 
 History of London," [it must be a hundred years old]; 
 and there are such heaps of pictures in it. At the begin- 
 ning there is Death with an hour-glass, and other figures. 
 T think that is horrid. But then there are other pictures 
 of churches, and castles, and streets, and great ships sail- 
 ing on the sea. 
 
 Gregers. And when you look at all these pictures, I 
 suppose you want to go over to London ? 
 
 Hedvig. Oh, of course I can't go there; but there is 
 no need to, either. 
 
 Gregers. No, no, because you know it, of course. 
 And besides, you couldn't very well tear yourself away 
 from the wild duck. 
 
 Hedvig. I should miss her, I know. For there is so 
 much that is strange about her. Nobody knows her, and 
 nobody knows where she came from 
 
 (Gina comes in from the kitchen with tlie table things.) 
 
 Gregers {rising) . I have come in upon you too early. 
 
 Gina. Oh, no; we're nearly ready now. Clear the 
 table, Hedvig. 
 
 (Hedvig clears away her things; she and Gina lay 
 the cloth during what follows. Gregers sits down 
 and turns over an album.) 
 
 Gregers. I hear you can retouch, Mrs. Ekdal. 
 
 Gina {with a side glance). Yes, I can. 
 
 Gregers. That was exceedingly lucky. 
 
 Gina. How — lucky ? 
 
 Gregers. That Hialmar took to photography, I 
 mean. 
 
 Gina. I can take photographs too; I learned that. 
 
 Gregers. So it is really you that carry on the busi- 
 ness, I suppose? 
 
222 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gina. Yes, when Ekdal hasn't time himself — — 
 (A shot is fired within the garret.) 
 
 Geegers (starting up). What's that? 
 
 Gina. Ugh! now they're firing again! 
 
 Gregers {going towards the doorway). Have they 
 firearms in there? 
 
 Hialmar {inside tlie net). Are you there? I didn't 
 know. 
 
 Gregers. Do you go shooting in there ? 
 
 Hialmar (showing a revolver). Only with this 
 thing 
 
 Gina. Yes, you'll do yourself a mischief some day 
 with that there pigstol. 
 
 Hialmar (snappishly). I have told you so often that 
 it's called a pistol! 
 
 Gina. Oh, one's just as good as the other. 
 
 Gregers. So you go shooting, too, up here ? 
 
 Hialmar. Only a little target practice. Mostly to 
 please father, you understand. And then the fortunate 
 thing about it is that no one can hear it on the floor below. 
 
 Gregers. You have a fowling-piece too, I see. 
 
 Hialmar. That is father's. It's of no use; some- 
 thing has gone wrong with the lock. But it's fun to 
 have it all the same; for we can take it to pieces now 
 and then, and clean and grease it, and screw it together 
 again, you see. 
 
 Hedvig (wlw has approached). Now you can see 
 the wild duck properly. 
 
 Gregers. I was just looking at her. One of her 
 wings seems to me to droop a bit. 
 
 Hialmar. Well, no wonder; her wing was broken, 
 you know. 
 
 Gregers. And she trails one foot a little; isn't that 
 
THE WILD DUCK 
 
 Hialmar. Perhaps a very little bit. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, it was by that foot the dog took hold 
 of her. 
 
 Hialmar. But she is not a bit the worse for it; and 
 that is simply marvellous for a creature that has had a 
 charge of shot in her body, and has been between a 
 dog's teeth 
 
 Gregers. — and that has lain in the depths of the 
 sea — so long. 
 
 Hedvig (smiling). Yes. 
 
 Gina (at the table) . Hedvig, you must come and help 
 me now. 
 
 (Gina and Hedvig go out into the kitchen.) 
 
 Hialmar (crawls through tlie lower half-door and 
 comes into the studio). I won't ask you to go in to 
 father; he doesn't like it. I may as well shut up before 
 the others come. (Draws up the net and shuts the upper 
 half-doors.) All these contrivances are necessary, you 
 see, for Gina objects to having rabbits and fowls in the 
 studio. 
 
 Gregers. Of course; a good housekeeper like your 
 wife 
 
 Hialmar. This arrangement of the fishing net is my 
 own invention. And it's really quite amusing to have 
 things of this sort to potter with, and to put to rights again 
 when now and then they get out of order. 
 
 Gregers. You and I have got on well in the world, 
 Hialmar. 
 
 Hialmar. How do you mean ? 
 
 Gregers. I have gone farthest; for I have gone so 
 far that soon I shall be fit for absolutely nothing. 
 
 Hialmar. You needn't be fit for anything either. 
 You can live very well without that. 
 
 Gregers. Do you tnink sot 
 
224 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, I certainly think that you are well 
 enough off. 
 
 Gregers. Well, but what about yourself? 
 
 Hialmar (in a lower voice). Is it my fault that 
 things went as they did — that I was thrown cut of my 
 course ? 
 
 Gregers. That is not what I mean 
 
 Hialmar. Then perhaps you mean that I don't work 
 my way to the front; — perhaps you think I don't toil and 
 drudge enough. 
 
 Gregers. I don't know at all how much you toil 
 and drudge. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, of course you think there's too much 
 time wasted over useless things. 
 
 Gregers, Not time but will. 
 
 Hialmar. But how can I let my poor old father go so 
 absolutely alone ? Isn't it right that I should give a little 
 thought to the trifles that amuse him? 
 
 Gregers. Is it altogether for your father's sake ? 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, no, I dare say it's for my own as well. 
 I need something to take me out of reality. 
 
 Gregers. Then you are not happy after all ? 
 
 Hialmar. Happy — happy ? Oh, yes, I am, in a way. 
 I am quite comfortable — as far as that goes. But of 
 course you can imagine that a position like that of a 
 photographer — for a man like me, is nothing but a 
 transitional phase. 
 
 Gregers. Ah! 
 
 Hialmar. Of course. And therefore — I tell you 
 plainly, Gregers, I need something to fill up the inter- 
 val 
 
 Gregers. Could not your work do that ? 
 
 Hialmar. No, no, no, not work alone; I must dream 
 the interval away — leap over it. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 225 
 
 Gregers. And when the interval is past — what comes 
 ihen ? 
 
 Hialmar. Ah, then comes the moment, it is to be 
 hoped. 
 
 Gregers. What moment? 
 
 Hialmar. I have a mission, you must know. 
 
 Gregers. Well, what do you mean by that? 
 
 Hialmar. A mission — a life's mission. It is I, you 
 see, who must restore our family name to honour. Who 
 else should do it? 
 
 Gregers. Then that is your mission. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, of course. 
 
 Gregers. And what course do you propose to fol- 
 low? 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, my dear fellow, how can I tell you 
 that beforehand ? It depends so enormously upon how 
 circumstances shape themselves when the moment arrives. 
 
 Gregers. And you have no doubt at all about the 
 moment ? 
 
 Hialmar. That would be doubting my own purpose 
 in life. 
 
 Gregers. Do you know for certain that you have 
 any purpose? 
 
 Hialmar. Are you mad ? 
 
 Gregers. Look here, Hialmar, there is something of 
 the wild duck in you. You were once wounded, and you 
 dived down and bit yourself fast in the undergrowth. 
 
 Hialmar. That was odd. 
 
 Gregers. But now I'm going to see if I can't get 
 you up again. For I too think I have a sort of mission 
 in life, you must know. Not in the way you mean; — 
 not because I feel it as a purpose or as a duty towards 
 others, but because I feel it as a necessity to myself. 
 
226 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hialmar. No, my dear Gregers, I don't understand 
 a word of all this. — Ah, now we're going to have lunch. 
 (Gina and Hedvig bring bottles of ale, a decanter 
 of brandy, glasses, etc. At the same time, Relling 
 and Molvik enter from the right.) 
 
 Gina. 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, may I introduce you to Doctor 
 Relling — Mr. Molvik. 
 
 Relling. Oh, Mr. Werle! 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 yes- 
 terday we were thirteen at table. 
 
 Hialmar. Were we thirteen ? 
 
 Relling. You may make your mind easy, Ekdal; 
 I'll be hanged if the finger of fate points to you. 
 
 Hialmar. I hope not. But come and sit down. 
 
 Gregers. Shall we not wait for your father? 
 
 Hialmar. No, his lunch will be taken in to him. 
 Come along! 
 
 (The men seat themselves at table. Gina and Hed- 
 vig go backwards and forwards and wait upon 
 them.) 
 
 Relling. Molvik was frightfully screwed yesterday, 
 Mrs. Ekdal. 
 
 Gina. Really? Is that true, Molvik? 
 
 Molvik. Oh, that depends on how you take it. 
 
 Relling. Didn't you hear us when we came home ? 
 
 Gina. No, I can't say I did. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 227 
 
 Relling. Well, Molvik was disgusting yesterday. 
 But it agrees with Molvik, Mr. Werle. I'm his doctor 
 and I prescribe a spree for him now and then. 
 
 Gregers. Is Mr. Molvik an obedient patient ? 
 
 Relling. I can't complain. But he understands 
 that it has got to be, you see; for Molvik is daemonic. 
 
 Gregers. Dsemonic ? 
 
 Relling. Molvik is a dsemonic nature, yes. 
 
 Gregers. H'm. 
 
 Molvik. Yes, that's what they say about me. 
 
 Relling. And persons of daemonic character can't 
 walk straight through the world, you see. That kind of 
 people must meander a little now and then. You must 
 have lived a very long time up at the works, Mr. Werle. 
 
 Gregers. I have lived there a good many years. 
 
 Relling. How the devil have you managed to en- 
 dure it? 
 
 Gregers. Oh, if one has books ■ 
 
 Relling. Books! They will only make you read your- 
 self mad. 
 
 Gregers. Well, there are people up there too. 
 
 Relling. Yes, the work-people. Look here, my good 
 sir, I dare swear you have a mission in life. 
 
 Gregers. I believe so too. 
 
 Hialmar. And it is a belief that gives one strength, 
 Relling. 
 
 Relling. Yes, I know you can say a word or two 
 about that. 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, yes. 
 
 (A knock at the garret door.) 
 
 Gina. Hedvig, opens the door for grandfather. 
 (Hedvig opens the door a little way; Old Ekdal 
 crawls out.) 
 
228 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Ekdal (mumbling) . Good morning, gentlemen I Good 
 appetite to you! H'm — ! (Goes into his room.) 
 
 Relling. Let us drink a glass to him, Ekdal, and 
 may he soon be in regimentals again. 
 
 Hialmar. Thanks. 
 
 Gregers. Regimentals ? 
 
 Relling. His lieutenant's uniform, of course. 
 
 Gregers (looking at Hialmar). Is that all you think 
 about ? 
 
 Hialmar. Well, of course the rehabilitation of his 
 honour goes with it. But the uniform is the most im- 
 portant thing to father. An old soldier 
 
 Gregers. Yes, but you! Yourself, Hialmar: you are 
 not going to be satisfied with that sort of thing. 
 
 Relling. Then what the devil more should he want? 
 
 Gregers. So it is only the brand of punishment you 
 would wash off him! 
 
 Relling. Upon my soul, I think that wouldn't be a 
 bad thing at all. 
 
 Gregers. And I imagined it was the guilt itself you 
 wished to release him from! 
 
 Relling. Now we are going to hear something! 
 
 Hialmar. What is past cannot be altered. 
 
 Gregers. Do you believe he was as guilty as he ap- 
 peared to be? 
 
 Hialmar. I don't believe he had any idea of what he 
 was doing. 
 
 Gregers (rising). And even so you have lived here 
 all these years, gone sluggishly through life and waited 
 and waited — or perhaps not even that 
 
 Relling. You've been brooding too long up in those 
 woods, Mr. Werle. 
 
 Gregers. If I had had the good fortune to have such 
 a father as you have- - 
 
THE WILD DUCK 229 
 
 Kialmar. The good fortune ! 
 
 Gregers. — then I would have been a different sort 
 of son to him — But it is your surroundings that have 
 pulled you down into the mire. 
 
 Relling. Look here, I say! 
 
 Molvik. Are you referring to me? 
 
 Hialmar. What have you to say about my surround- 
 ings "t 
 
 Gina, Hush, hush, Ekdal. Don't say any more 
 about it. 
 
 Gregers. I have this to say, that a man who lives 
 his life, his most intimate home life, in a marsh of lies 
 and deceit and concealment 
 
 Hialmar. Have you gone mad! 
 
 Reeling (jumps up). Be quiet, Mr. Werle! 
 
 Hialmar. His most intimate home life ! 
 
 (A knock at tJie door on Die right.) 
 
 Gina. Hush, be quiet; somebody's coming. 
 
 (Goes over to the door.) 
 
 Hialmar. Have you gone stark mad, Gregers! 
 
 Gina (opens the door and draws back). Oh — what's 
 this! 
 
 (Werle, in a fur coat, advances one step into the 
 room.) 
 
 Werle. Excuse me; but I think my son is staying 
 here. 
 
 Gina (with a gulp). Yes. 
 
 Hialmar (who has risen). Won't you ? 
 
 Werle. Thank you, I wish to speak to my son. 
 
 Gregers. WTiat is it? Here I am. 
 
 Werle. I want a few words with you, in your 
 room. 
 
 Gregers. And I, for my part, desire witnesses. 
 
230 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Werle. What I wish to speak to you about is not 
 of such a nature that 
 
 Gregers. I am not disposed, for the present, to 
 speak about anything but the Ekdals' affairs. 
 
 Werle. The Ekdals' affairs ? 
 
 Gregers. And these two gentlemen belong to the 
 house in a way. 
 
 Werle. What I have to say to you concerns only 
 you and me. 
 
 Gregers. Since I lost my mother I think there is 
 only one thing in the world that concerns me, that is 
 the Ekdals' affairs. 
 
 Hialmar. I don't know what there is especially to 
 talk about in our affairs. 
 
 Werle. Nor I either. * 
 
 Gregers. But I know it, and I intend to shout it out 
 at every street corner. Every man in the country shall 
 hear that the culprit was not Lieutenant Ekdal, but one 
 who goes about free and unfettered to this very day. 
 
 Werle. And you dare to say that, you madman! — ■ 
 For I suppose it's to me that you allude. 
 
 Gregers. No, I allude more particularly to myself. 
 
 Werle. What are you thinking of? You knew 
 nothing 
 
 Gregers. I had my doubts at the time it all hap- 
 pened; if I had spoken to Ekdal then, while there was 
 yet time 
 
 Werle. Well, why didn't you speak? 
 
 Gregers. I was afraid of you. 
 
 Werle. Evasions, inventions, imagination. You 
 yourself gave evidence in court 
 
 Gregers. Yes, I was cowardly enough for that. J 
 was afraid to take my share of the guilt. 
 
 
THE WILD DUCK 231 
 
 Werle. Oh, this is that desperately sick conscience 
 of yours. 
 
 Gregers. It is you who have made my conscience 
 *ick. 
 
 Werle. You're mistaken; it is a legacy from your 
 mother, Gregers. The only one she left you. 
 
 Gregers. Are you still unable to forget that you 
 [were mistaken when you] thought she would bring you 
 a fortune ? 
 
 Werle. We won't speak of these matters. I came 
 to ask whether you will return home with me. 
 
 Gregers. No. 
 
 Werle. And you won't enter the firm either? 
 
 Gregers. No. 
 
 Werle. Very good. But as I am thinking of mar- 
 rying again, your share of the property will fall to you at 
 once. 
 
 Gregers. I do not want that. 
 
 Werle. You don't want it? 
 
 Gregers. No. 
 
 Werle. Are you going up to the works again ? 
 
 Gregers. No; I consider myself released from your 
 service. 
 
 Werle. Then what are you going to live upon ? 
 
 Gregers. I have laid by a little out of my salary. 
 
 Werle. How long will that last? 
 
 Gregers. I think it will last my time. 
 
 Werle. What do you mean ? 
 
 Gregers. I shall answer no more questions. 
 
 Werle. Good-bye then, Gregers. 
 
 Gregers. Good-bye. 
 
 (Werle goes out to the right.) 
 
 Hialmar (looking in through the sitting-room door). 
 He's gone, isn't he? 
 
232 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gregers. Yes. 
 
 (Gina and Hedvig enter from the kitchen; Relling 
 and Molvik jfrora the sitting-room.) 
 
 Relling. That luncheon-party was a failure. 
 
 Gregers. Put on your coat, Hialmar; I want you to 
 come for a long walk with me. 
 
 Hialmar. With pleasure. 
 
 Gregers. I'm only going to fetch my overcoat. 
 
 (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Gina. Don't go with him, Ekdal. 
 
 Relling. Stay where you are; don't go out now. 
 
 Hialmar (putting on his overcoat). Not for the world. 
 I must find out what all this means 
 
 Relling. But devil take it, don't you see that the 
 fellow's mad, cracked, demented! 
 
 Gina. There, what did I tell you, Ekdal. [His 
 mother before him had strange fits like that sometimes.] 
 
 Relling. You mustn't pay any attention to his non- 
 sense. 
 
 Gina. No, no, don't. 
 
 Hialmar. Then I'll keep an eye on him at any rate. 
 Good-bye. (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Relling. It's a thousand pities the fellow didn't fall 
 on his head down one of those mines! 
 
 Gina. Do you think Gregers Werle is mad ? 
 
 Relling. No, worse luck; he's no madder than most 
 people. 
 
 Molvik:. Not daemonic either? 
 
 Relling. No, it's only you that are that, Molvik. 
 But one disease he has certainly got in his system. 
 
 Gina. What's the matter with him then? 
 
 Relling. Well, I'll tell you. He is suffering from 
 an acute attack of integrity. 
 
 Gina. Integrity ? 
 
THE WILD DUCK 233 
 
 Hedvig, What kind of disease is that ? 
 Relling. It's a national disease; but it only appears 
 sporadically. — Come on, Molvik. 
 
 (He nods and goes out to the right with Molvik. 
 Gina moves restlessly across the room; Hedvig 
 looks searchingly at her.) 
 
 FOURTH ACT 
 
 Hialmar Ekdal's studio. Afternoon. It is beginning 
 to grow dusk. 
 
 (Hedvig is moving about the studio. Gina enters 
 from tJie kitchen.) 
 
 Gina. Not yet? 
 
 Hedvig. No. 
 
 Gina. Are you sure he's not in Werle's room? 
 
 Hedvig. No, it's locked. 
 
 Gina. Nor down in Relling's either? 
 
 Hedvig. No, I've been down twice and asked. 
 
 Gina. And his dinner's standing and getting cold out 
 there. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, can you imagine what has become of 
 him, mother ? He's always home so punctually to dinner. 
 
 Gina. Oh, he'll be here directly, you'll see. 
 
 Hedvig (after a short silence). Do you think it's a 
 good thing that Werje has come to live with us? 
 
 Gina. Why shouldn't it be a good thing ? 
 
 Hedvig. Well, I don't know; but we were so com- 
 fortable by ourselves. And I think Relling suits father 
 much better than Werle. — Oh, what can have become 
 of him! 
 
 Gina (calls out). There he is! 
 
 (Hialmar Ekdal comes in from the right.) 
 
234 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedvio (going to him). Father! So you've come at 
 last! 
 
 Gina. We've been waiting such a long time for you, 
 Ekdal! 
 
 Hialmae. I was out rather long, yes. 
 
 Gina. Perhaps you've had dinner with Werle? 
 
 Hialmar. No. 
 
 Gina. Then I'll bring some in for you. 
 
 Hialmar. No, let it alone; I want nothing to eat. 
 
 Hedvig. Are you not well, father? 
 
 Hialmar. Oh yes, well enough. We have had a 
 very long walk 
 
 Gina. You didn't ought to have gone so far, Ekdal; 
 you're not used to it. 
 
 Hialmar. One can get used to a good many things. 
 Have any orders come in to-day? 
 
 Gina. No, not to-day. 
 
 Hedvig. There will be some to-morrow, father, you'll 
 see. 
 
 Hialmar. I should be glad of it; for to-morrow I am 
 going to set to work properly; I mean to do everything 
 myself; I shall take it into my own hands. 
 
 Gina. But why do you want to do that, Ekdal ? 
 What is the use of making your life a burden to you ? 
 
 Hialmar. That is my business. And then I should 
 like to keep proper accounts too. 
 
 Gina. You ? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, don't you keep accounts ? 
 
 Hedvig. But mother keeps the accounts so well. 
 
 Hialmar. And she seems to make the money go a 
 very long way, too. It's remarkable that we can live 
 so well on the little money I have made this winter. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, but remember all the copying for Gra- 
 berg, father. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 235 
 
 Hialmar. Copying, yes! 
 
 Gina. Nonsense, that doesn't come to much — 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, indeed it does; it's mostly that we live 
 on. 
 
 Gina. How can you say such a thing ? 
 
 Hedvig. Dear me, why mayn't father know that? 
 
 Hialmar. So that is what we are living on. Copy- 
 ing for Mr. Werle. 
 
 Gina. You know very well that it's Graberg who 
 pays for it. 
 
 Hialmar. Out of his own pocket? 
 
 Gina. Yes, I suppose so. 
 
 Hedvig. But it's all the same to us, father. 
 
 Hialmar. Of course; it's all the same to us where 
 the money comes from. 
 
 Gina. That's what I think too. But as we're talking 
 about it — ! You haven't been doing anything all day, 
 Hedvig- 
 
 Hedvig. Then I had better go in and 
 
 Gina. Yes, do. (Hedvig goes into the sitting-room.) 
 
 Gina. What has happened to you, Ekdal ? 
 
 Hialmar. Do you think Gregers is in his senses ? 
 
 Gina. How should I know? I don't know much 
 about him. 
 
 Hialmar. If I only knew that. 
 
 Gina. Well, you heard what Relling said about him. 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, Relling, Relling — . Light the lamp 
 for me, please. 
 
 Gina (lighting the lamp). Gregers Werle has been 
 — odd — all his life. 
 
 Hialmar. It seems to me your voice is trembling. 
 
 Gina. Is it? 
 
 Hialmar. And your hands are shaking, are they not ? 
 
 Gina. Yes. I don't know what makes them. 
 
236 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 HialmaEo Now I'll tell you what Gregers said about 
 you. 
 
 Gina (uneasy, holding her hands to her ears). No, no; 
 I won't hear it! 
 
 Hialmar (pulling her hands away) . You shall hear it* 
 
 Gina. There's no need for you to say it. 
 
 Hialmar. Then you know what it is? 
 
 Gina. I can guess. 
 
 Hialmar. So it is true. True, true! Oh, this is 
 awful! 
 
 Gina. I see very well that I ought to have told you 
 long ago. 
 
 Hialmar. You should have told me at the very first; 
 — while there was yet time. 
 
 Gina. What would you nave done then ? 
 
 Hialmar. Then of course I should have had nothing 
 to say to you. 
 
 Gina. Yes, that's what I thought; and that's why I 
 didn't say anything. 
 
 Hialmar. Unsuspecting fool that I was to imagine 
 that you had a great love for me! 
 
 Gina. That has come with years, Ekdal ; as true as I 
 stand here. Oh yes, I'm fond of you, indeed I am, more 
 than any one else can be. 
 
 Hialmar. I don't want to know anything about that. 
 What are you now in my eyes; you who could yield to a 
 middle-aged married man ? 
 
 Gina. Yes, I can't think now how I could do it. 
 
 Hialmar. Can't you ? Perhaps you have become 
 moral with years. But then — how in the world could 
 you enter into such a thing? 
 
 Gina. Oh, you must know, Ekdal, it isn't so easy 
 for poor girls. The rich men begin by degrees with 
 presents and so on — 
 
THE WILD DUCK 237 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, ready money, you're very fond of 
 that. 
 
 Gina. It was mostly jewellery and clothes and that 
 sort of thing. 
 
 Hialmar. And of course you have sent it all back to 
 him long ago. 
 
 Gina. I've worn out the clothes, and I sold the gold 
 things one by one when we were wanting money 
 
 Hialmar. We've been living on that man's money. 
 Everything we have in the house comes from him! 
 
 Gina. Ever since we were married I haven't seen a 
 penny of his; and I don't believe I've seen him once. 
 
 Hialmar. But the copying! 
 
 Gina. Bertha got me that, when she went to keep 
 house for him. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, you and Bertha, you're both of the 
 same sort. 
 
 Gina. Tell me, Ekdal — haven't I been a good wife to 
 you? 
 
 Hialmar. And what haven't you to thank me for! 
 Haven't I raised you from an inferior position ? Haven't 
 I given you a name to bear? — yes, a name — for it shall 
 come to be respected and honoured again. 
 
 Gina. That don't make any difference to me. 
 
 Hialmar. Doesn't it? Oh well, I can quite believe it. 
 
 Gina. Yes, because I love you as you are, Ekdal; 
 even if you never do the great things you're so fond of 
 talking about. 
 
 Hialmar. That's your lower nature showing itself. 
 I am misunderstood in my own home; I have always 
 been misunderstood by you. 
 
 Gina. But I've been a good wife to you, all the same. 
 (Gregers Werle comes in from the passage door.) 
 
 Gregers (in the doonvay). May I come in? 
 
238 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, come in. 
 
 Gregers. Have you not done it yet? 
 
 Hialmar. It is done. 
 
 Gregers. It is ? 
 
 Hialmar. I have passed through the bitterest mo<- 
 ments of my life. 
 
 Gregers. But also, I trust, the most ennobling. 
 
 Hialmar. Well, at any rate, we have got through it 
 for the present. 
 
 Gin a. God forgive you, Mr. Werle. 
 
 Gregers. But I don't understand this. 
 
 Hialmar. What don't you understand ? 
 
 Gregers. A crisis so great as this — so exhaustive — 
 a crisis that is to be the starting-point of an entirely new 
 life — a life founded on truth- 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, yes, I know, I know. 
 
 Gregers. I was so confident that when I came in 
 after this, I should find the light of a higher transfigura- 
 tion shining over your home; and now I am met by this 
 dulness, oppression, gloom 
 
 Gina. Oh, is that it? (Turns up the lamp.) 
 
 Gregers. Or tell me frankly, Mrs. Ekdal, is it not a 
 joy to you to be rid of this burden of concealment? 
 
 Gina. I must tell you, Mr. Werle, that I've had so 
 little time to remember all these old stories. 
 
 Gregers. I should have thought that they were never 
 out of your thoughts for a day, for an hour. 
 
 Gina. I'm sure I've had all I could do to look after 
 the house. And since I've been married no one can say 
 anything but that I've been upright and respectable. 
 
 Gregers. Your whole view of life is incomprehen- 
 sible to me — so widely, so immensely different from my 
 own. But you, Hialmar — surely you feel a new consp- 
 iration after such a moment? 
 
THE WILD DUCK 239 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, of course I do. That is — in a sort 
 of way 
 
 Gregers. The joy of forgiving one who has erred, of 
 raising one who has strayed up to yourself in love 
 
 Hialmar. Do you think a man can so easily throw off 
 the effects of an hour such as I have passed ? 
 
 Gregers. No, not a common man — perhaps; but a 
 man like you ! 
 
 Hialmar. Good God! I know that well enough. 
 But it takes time, you know. 
 
 Gregers. You have been too long at the bottom of 
 the sea, Hialmar; you have bitten yourself fast there; 
 and so it always hurts at first when one comes up into 
 the clear daylight. 
 
 Hialmar. You are right there; it hurts. 
 
 Gregers. Yes, for there is too much of the wild 
 duck in you. (Relling comes in from the passage.) 
 
 Relling. Oho! is the wild duck on the tapis again ? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, for it is the evil spirit of the house. 
 Ah, it is not without significance that it came from Mr. 
 Werle. 
 
 Relling. So it's Mr. Werle you are talking about? 
 
 Hialmar. Him and — certain others. 
 
 Relling (turning to Gregers). May the devil fly 
 away with you. 
 
 Hialmar. Then perhaps you know it too! 
 
 Relling. Oh, never mind what I know or don't 
 know. From that quarter one can expect all kinds of 
 things. 
 
 Gregers. Yes, but I who know, am I not to speak! 
 Am I to look on while two dear, good creatures come to 
 grief because they are living their life on a false founda- 
 tion? 
 
240 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Relling. But it's no business of yours. You must 
 leave off playing the quacksalver with my patients. 
 
 Hialmar. Patients ? 
 
 Relling. Oh yes, there's always somebody who's in 
 need of a doctor. But you don't understand that, Mr. 
 Werle. 
 
 Gregers. I know from experience what it is to have 
 a gnawing conscience, such as has poisoned my life; but 
 here I found my life's mission. Now I am so happy. 
 And should I not then open the eyes of two people, who 
 have such a profound need of seeing? 
 
 Relling. What is it that they are to see ? 
 
 Gregers. The truth. The recognition that their 
 association has not until to-day been a true marriage. 
 
 Relling. Do you think it will be truer hereafter? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, I have a cheerful hope of that. 
 
 Relling. Of course; people like you are always un- 
 commonly hopeful. Time after time you're taken in, 
 made fools of — hasn't that happened to you ? 
 
 Gregers. Certainly; I have suffered many disap- 
 pointments. 
 
 Relling. And yet you have a cheerful hope. 
 
 Gregers. But here is something different, something 
 out of the common. An individuality like Hialmar 
 Ekdal's 
 
 Relling. Ekdal — — ! 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, that may be true enough, but 
 
 Relling. Very well, Ekdal, then. But you see, bis 
 mission lies elsewhere; he doesn't need any better mar- 
 riage than that he has lived in hitherto. 
 
 Gina. Yes, don't you think so, Relling! We were 
 getting on so well 
 
 Hialmar. You don't understand the claims of the 
 Ideal. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 241 
 
 Relling. No, you see, Hialmar Ekdal will come out 
 all right; he can't come to grief altogether. He has his 
 great problem to wrestle with 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, my problem — I have that, of course. 
 
 Relling. And when that is solved, he will once more 
 have cast honour and glory upon the name of Ekdal. 
 
 Hialmar. I hope so, in any case. 
 
 Gregers. Well, the problem is all very well; but it is 
 something that lies outside the individuality, something 
 purely scientific, or technical, or whatever you like to 
 call it. And it is impossible for such a thing to satisfy 
 an individuality such as Hialmar's. Or do you think 
 it satisfies you ? 
 
 Hialmar. No, not entirely, I think 
 
 Gregers. There, you see, Doctor Relling. And if 
 it does not satisfy his individuality now, when that in- 
 dividuality has not developed into perfect freedom — ; 
 well, let me put a question to you; do you think any 
 great problem can be solved by an imperfect individu- 
 ality ? 
 
 Relling. Do you mean that photography cannot be 
 raised to an art so long as the photographer's relation 
 to his wife is not a true marriage? 
 
 Gregers. You put it rather bluntly; but I have such 
 an unfailing belief in the powers of development of true 
 marriage 
 
 Relling. Excuse me, Mr. Werle, have you seen many 
 true marriages? 
 
 Gregers. No, scarcely a single one. 
 
 Relling. Nor I either. 
 
 Gregers. But I have seen marriages of the oppo- 
 site kind; and what ruin they can work in a human 
 soul 
 
2i2 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Relling. And from them you draw your conclusions. 
 Well, well, Ekdal, now you know what is wanted for your 
 great discovery. 
 
 Gina. But you shouldn't talk so much about that 
 invention, Relling, for it won't come to anything after all. 
 
 Hialmab. Won't come to anything! 
 
 Relling. Well, that's a fine thing to say! 
 
 Hialmar. My problem won't come to anything, do 
 you say! 
 
 Gina. No, I'm pretty sure it won't. You've been 
 waiting all this time to find out something; and you're 
 just where you were ■ 
 
 Relling. Such things often come about by a sort of 
 revelation, Mrs. Ekdal. 
 
 Hl^lmar. But she doe§n't understand that. 
 
 Gina. Well, revelations are all very fine, but you 
 want something else besides. I should think it would 
 be better if you worked with the instruments you've 
 [we've] got, Ekdal; and then other people can find out 
 these new ones. 
 
 Hialmar. Not understood; not understood in one's 
 own home. (Sees Hedvig.) Yes, she understands me. 
 Or do you not believe in me either, Hedvig? 
 
 Hedvig. What am I to believe in, father ? 
 
 Hialmar. You are of course to believe in me in a 
 general way, to believe in my mission, and to believe in 
 the problem. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, I believe you will one day find it out. 
 
 Hialmar. H'm 
 
 Gina. Hush, there's a knock. 
 
 (Goes toward the passage door.) 
 (Mrs. Sorby comes in.) 
 
 Gina. Is it you, Bertha ? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Yes, of course it is. 
 
 
THE WILD DUCK 243 
 
 Hialmar. If you have anything to say to Gina, 
 won't you go in — (Indicating the sitting-room.) 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Thanks, I'd rather stay here. I have 
 a message from Mr. Werle. 
 
 Hialmar. What does he want with us! 
 
 Gregers. Perhaps it is something about me. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. At any rate he wishes you to know it. 
 To begin with, a somewhat important change is im- 
 pending in Mr. Werle's domestic and other relations. 
 
 Gregers. Aha! 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Mr. Werle has decided to make over the 
 business here to Graberg, and will himself move up to 
 the works. 
 
 Gregers. He will! 
 
 Hialmar. Really, will Mr. Werle move up to the 
 works ? 
 
 Relling. He won't stand that for long; it will be 
 much too lonely. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Well, he won't be altogether alone 
 either. 
 
 Gregers. Ah, then it's coming off after all ? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Yes. 
 
 Relling. What's coming off ? 
 
 Hialmar. I don't understand a word. 
 
 Gregers. I must explain the situation. My father 
 *nd Mrs. Sorby are going to be married. 
 
 Hialmar. Going to be married! 
 
 Gina. Oh! so it's come to that at last! 
 
 Relling. This is surely not true? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Yes, it is true; he has got a special 
 license and goes up there this evening. And I think of 
 going to-morrow morning. Well, now I have told you; 
 bo it is over. 
 
 Relling. So that was the end of it. 
 
244 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gregers. What do you think this will lead to, Mrs. 
 Sorby ? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. To good, I think. Mr. Werle is not 
 nearly so difficult to get on with as some people think. 
 
 Gregers. No doubt you have no cause to com- 
 plain. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Oh no; he may be unreasonable now 
 and then; but I have been through worse things, Mr. 
 Werle. And of course one is glad to be provided for. 
 
 Relling. And Mr. Werle is the man to provide for 
 you. He's no beggar. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. There are many who need not be beg- 
 gars, if only they had put their whole hearts into some- 
 thing. 
 
 Relling. Put their whole hearts — tell me, how much 
 would that help? 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Ah, a man can be so far gone that he 
 no longer has a heart for anything. 
 
 Relling. I shall go out with Molvik this evening. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. You mustn't do that, Relling. 
 
 Relling. There's nothing else for it. 
 
 (Goes out through the passage door.) 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. And then there's another thing. No 
 doubt some people think Mr. Werle ought to have done 
 a little more for an old friend like Lieutenant Ekdal. 
 
 Hialmar. Mr. Werle does a very great deal for father: 
 he pays so liberally 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Yes, for the copying; but now your 
 father's getting old; his eyesight will not be equal to the 
 work much longer; so here is an order to pay once for 
 all. You or Gina can draw every month a hundred 
 crowns for your father 
 
 Hialmar. Gina ? 
 
THE WILD DUCK 245 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Yes, or you; just as you like. And 
 when your father — well, when he no longer requires 
 anything, it passes on to Hedvig. 
 
 Hialmar (draws back, as though stabbed). To Hed- 
 vig! 
 
 Hedvig. Fancy! All that money! 
 
 Hialmar. Hedvig! What do you say to that, Gina! 
 
 Gina. Mr. Werle must have thought that 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. It seemed to him the most honourable 
 
 way ; you see, Hedvig is a child; she can quite well 
 
 accept it. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, she has most claim to it, unless Gina 
 herself 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Gina herself! 
 
 Hialmar. But I, I, I, you see! 
 
 Hedvig. I won't take anything. You shall have it 
 all, father. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. What has happened here? 
 
 Hialmar. Something that ought to have happened 
 long, long ago. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. Already. 
 
 Gregers. I understand very well why father has ar- 
 ranged this. He wanted to convince me that Hialmar 
 Ekdal was not the man I took him for. 
 
 Hialmar. He will be out in his calculations, then. 
 Look here, Gregers. (Tears tJie paper across.) There, 
 Mrs. Sorby, will you be so good as to give this back to 
 Mr. Werle. 
 
 Mrs. Sorby. I won't take it. 
 
 Hialmar (throws it on the table) . Then let it be. But 
 tell him at all events that I have torn his deed of gift in 
 pieces. 
 
 Gregers. And then ask your future husband who 
 was right s he or I. 
 
846 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Sorbt. I will. Good-bye, Gina; good luck to 
 you. 
 
 Gina. You too, Bertha. Good-bye. 
 (Mrs. Sorbt goes.) 
 
 Hialmar (in a whisper). Now you're to answer me, 
 as though you were on your oath: does Hedvig belong 
 to me or not? 
 
 Gina. I don't know. 
 
 Hialmar. You don't know! 
 
 Gina. How should I know — ; a creature like me. 
 
 Hialmar. And you brazen it out, too. — Gregers, to- 
 morrow I leave this house. 
 
 Hedvig (with a scream). Father! Oh, no, no! 
 
 Gina. You'll never do that, Ekdal! 
 
 Gregers. Must it be so> Hialmar? 
 
 Hialmar. It must. I'm going at once. (Puts on his 
 overcoat.) I shan't be home to-night 
 
 Hedvig (throws herself down on the sofa). He is go- 
 ing away from us! Father, father is going away from us! 
 Oh, mother, mother! 
 
 Gina. You mustn't cry, Hedvig; he's sure to come 
 back again. 
 
 Hedvig. No, he'll never come back again! Didn't 
 he say so? 
 
 Gina. Don't you think he'll come back, Mr. Werle ? 
 
 Gregers. I feel sure of it. Hialmar will come back 
 to his home; and you will see how exalted he will return. 
 
 Hedvig. But what have we done to him ? Mother, 
 tell me what it is ? Why doesn't he want me any more ? 
 Tell me that! Oh, tell me that! 
 
 Gina. Hush, hush, you'll know when you're older. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, but I'll never be older if father doesn't 
 want me. (Bursts into sobs and tears.) 
 
THE WILD DUCK 247 
 
 Gina. You musn't cry, Hedvig; you mustn't indeed. 
 It does you harm; Doctor Relling said so. 
 
 Hedvig. I can't help it. Oh, mother, mother, fetch 
 him home again 
 
 Gina. Yes, I'll go and look for him. Perhaps he's 
 only gone down to Relling's. (Puts on her sliawl.) But 
 you must be quiet, Hedvig; promise me! 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, yes. 
 
 Gregers. 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. 
 
 {She goes out by the passage door.) 
 
 Gregers. There now; cheer up, Hedvig. All may 
 yet be well. 
 
 Hedvig. Why doesn't father want me any more, Mr. 
 Werle ? You must tell me that. 
 
 Gregers. I can only say as your mother says: some 
 day you will know. 
 
 Hedvig. But I can't go on waiting and being as mis- 
 erable as this. 
 
 Gregers. What right have you or any human being 
 to be happy? What right, I ask. 
 
 Hedvig. Oh, I don't care about that; it is so lovely 
 to be happy and cheerful. 
 
 Gregers. There is something in life that is higher 
 than that, Hedvig. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, but that doesn't matter if only every- 
 thing is right again at home, between father and mother 
 and me. Don't you think everything can come right 
 between us? 
 
 Gregers. I have a sure hope that some day every- 
 thing will be right again between your father and 
 mother. 
 
248 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, but me! 
 
 Gregers. You must remember one thing, Hedvig 
 you are not destined to spend your whole life here at 
 home. 
 
 Hedvig. Oh yes, oh yes ! I will always stay at home. 
 I will never, never leave father and mother. — And then 
 — just think — then father doesn't want me any more! 
 
 Gregers. You must wait and hope; your father 
 has first to fight out his battle. 
 
 Hedvig. But I can't wait and be as miserable as this. 
 Why doesn't father want me any more ? Am I not really 
 father's and mother's child? Perhaps they only found 
 me? 
 
 Gregers. Found you ? Well, it might be that your 
 father believes something like that. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, but then mother can tell him that it 
 isn't true. 
 
 Gregers. And supposing he doesn't believe her. 
 
 Hedvig. Well, but even if it was true, father might 
 be just as fond of me for all that. We don't know where 
 the wild duck came from either, and yet we love it so 
 intensely. 
 
 Gregers. The wild duck. Yes, you love that wild 
 duck so intensely, Hedvig. 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, so intensely. 
 
 Gregers. And the wild duck is your property, isn't 
 she? 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, she belongs to me. But why ? 
 
 Gregers. Have you anything else that you love so 
 well? 
 
 Hedvig. Oh no; nothing in the world. 
 
 Gregers. Then you must sacrifice the dearest treas- 
 ure you have 
 
 Hedvig. The wild duck! 
 
THE WILD DUCK 249 
 
 Gregers. Yes, and get back your father's love in- 
 stead. 
 
 Hedvig. But how can you think 
 
 Gregers. He said so himself before he went; neither 
 you nor the old man cared to make such a sacrifice for 
 his sake; it is your love for him that he doubts; that is 
 why he doesn't want you any more. 
 
 Hedvig. Oh, if it was only that > 
 
 Gregers. Show him that to win him back means 
 more to you than anything in the world. Give up your 
 dearest treasure, and give it gladly. 
 
 Hedvtg. Ah, if that could only make everything 
 come right again 
 
 Gregers. You must not doubt the power of self-sac- 
 rifice; that is just what is ideal in family life, you see ■ 
 
 Hedvtg. Oh, but I don't care about anything of 
 that sort; I don't understand it. 
 
 Gregers. But don't you see that this would be a 
 deed that bore the stamp of the uncommon; and for 
 that very reason your father would recognise the kinship 
 between you and him. 
 
 Hedvig. Do you think so ? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, I'm sure of it. And your father 
 would say: Hedvig is my child in spirit and in truth, 
 even if she came from the ends of the earth. 
 
 Hedvig. Or from the depths of the sea. 
 
 Gregers. Yes, yes, from the depths of the sea, if 
 you like. 
 
 Hedvig. And then everything might come right again 
 between me and father? Oh, that would be splendid. 
 
 Gregers. Everything is splendid when one's course 
 of life is raised to a higher plane. So the dearest you 
 have must be sacrificed, Hedvig. Take your grand- 
 
250 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 father into the secret; get him to do it; look out for a 
 time when he wants to go shooting — you know 
 
 Hedvig. Yes, yes, I know 
 
 Gregers. But don't tell your mother about it 
 
 Hedvig. Why not mother? 
 
 Gregers. Because she would scarcely understand us. 
 (Gina comes in from the passage.) 
 
 Hedvig. Mother! Did you find him ? 
 
 Gina. No. I only heard as he had called and taken 
 Relling with him. 
 
 Gregers. Are you sure of that? 
 
 Gina. Yes, the woman in the yard said so. Molvik 
 went with them too. 
 
 Gregers. This evening, when his mind so sorely 
 needs to wrestle in solitude. 
 
 Gina. Yes, that's what I thought. The Lord only 
 knows where they have gone to. They weren't at 
 Madam Eriksen's. 
 
 Hedvig (bursting into tears). Oh, if he never comes 
 home any more! 
 
 Gregers. He will come home again. And then you 
 shall see how he comes home! — Good evening. And 
 sleep in peace. (He goes out by the passage door.) 
 
 Hedvig (throws Jierself weeping on Gina's neck). 
 Mother, mother! 
 
 Gina. Ah yes, that's what comes of it when you have 
 crazy creatures in the house. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 251 
 
 FROM THE FIFTH ACT 
 
 Gregers. What is your explanation of the mental 
 agitation that is going on in Ekdal ? 
 
 Relling. Devil a bit of mental agitation do I think 
 there is in him. 
 
 Gregers. But can you think that an individuality 
 like his ! 
 
 Relling. Oh, individuality, individuality! I don't 
 know what individuality is. Hialmar Ekdal is a good- 
 kind, well-behaved creature, whose chief wish is to live 
 as comfortably and as free from care as he can manage. 
 
 Gregers. He — who has to restore his name and the 
 honour of his family. 
 
 Relling. Yes, yes, I know all about that; he was 
 drivelling about that last night. But how the devil 
 should he be able to retrieve the past ? Can you tell me 
 that? 
 
 Gregers. Have you forgotten the remarkable inven- 
 tion he is working at? 
 
 Relling. So you believe in that invention in sober 
 earnest ? 
 
 Gregers. Yes, certainly. And you believe in h 
 yourself, too. 
 
 Relling. No, look here, Mr. Werle — I may be 
 something of a beast, but a fool I am not. 
 
 Gregers. Well, anyhow you spoke highly enough 
 of his endeavours yesterday. 
 
 Relling. Deuce take it, can't you see why ? All this 
 about the remarkable invention is just the life-illusion 
 that keeps him going. 
 
 Gregers. Life-illusion ? 
 
252 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Relling. Yes, of course. Most people occupy them- 
 selves with an illusion that helps them to live their lives, 
 
 Gregers. That would be a distressing state of 
 things. 
 
 Relling. Who said it was a cheerful state of things ? 
 It is so, and there's an end of it. The remarkable 
 invention is to Ekdal what the daemonic nature is to 
 Molvik. 
 
 Gregers. Isn't it true with him either? 
 
 Relling. An idiot like him — daemonic ? How the 
 devil can you believe such a thing ? And there's nothing 
 of the kind either. But if I hadn't given him that idea, 
 he would have come to grief in self-contempt long ago. 
 
 Gregers. And perhaps it is you who gave him the 
 idea. 
 
 Relling. Yes, I'm his doctor, you see; curing him 
 is out of the question; but a little injection of illusion 
 now and then — it acts as a palliative. 
 
 Gregers. That may be; but it is not so with Hial- 
 mar Ekdal. 
 
 Relling. Isn't it? Rob Hialmar Ekdal of his il- 
 lusion, and you rob him of his happiness at the same 
 stroke. 
 
 Gregers. Ah, his illusion, I dare say. But what 
 about his striving after the ideal ? 
 
 Relling. Good Lord, man! they are only two (lif- 
 erent names for the same thing. (To Hedvig, who 
 comes in.) Well, Hedvig, I'm just going down to look 
 after your father. (He goes out to the right.) 
 
 Gregers. Have you enough courage and strength of 
 will to-day ? 
 
 Hedvig. Well, I don't know; I don't seem quite able 
 to believe in such a thing. 
 
 
THE WILD DUCK 253 
 
 Gregers. Then let it be; without true resolution 
 
 there is nothing in it. (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 (Hedvig is on the point of going into the kitchen 
 
 when a knock is heard at the door to the garret; 
 
 she goes over and opens it; old Ekdal comes out; 
 
 she shuts the door again.) 
 
 Ekdal. It's no good being in there alone. What's 
 
 become of Hialmar? 
 
 Hedvig. Wouldn't you like to shoot the wild duck, 
 grandfather ? 
 
 Ekdal. Hush, hush, don't talk like that. It's only 
 something that comes over me. Old sportsman, you see. 
 Hedvig. Oughtn't they to be shot in the breast? 
 Ekdal. Under the wing, when you can manage it. 
 And it's best a little from behind. 
 
 Hedvig. Do you often want to shoot her ? 
 Ekdal. Needn't be afraid. I can make a rabbit do. 
 
 (Goes into his room.) 
 (Gina comes from the sitting-room and begins to 
 clean up the studio. Presently the passage door is 
 opened slowly; Hialmar is seen; he is without hat 
 or overcoat, unwashed and with unkempt hair.) 
 Gina. There now, you've come at last! 
 Hialmar (comes in). I'm going again at once [this 
 Instant]. 
 
 Gina. Yes, yes, I suppose so. 
 Hedvig (from the kitchen). Oh, father! 
 Hialmar (turns away and makes a gesture of repulsion) . 
 Away, away, away! 
 
 Gina. Go into the sitting-room, Hedvig. 
 
 (Hedvig does so.) 
 Hialmar. I must have my books with me. Where 
 are my books? 
 
 Gina. What books? 
 
254 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hialmar. My scientific books, of course; the tech- 
 nical magazines I require for my invention. 
 
 Gina (searches in the bookcase). Is it these here that 
 isn't bound? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, of course. 
 
 Gina (lays them on tJie table) . Shan't I get Hedvig to 
 cut them for you ? 
 
 Hialmar. There is no need. 
 
 Gina. Then you still stick to it that you'll leave us ? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, that is a matter of course, I should 
 think. 
 
 Gina. But what about grandfather? 
 
 Hialmar. He'll come with me. I am going out into 
 the town to make arrangements — . H'm — Has any 
 one found my hat on the stairs? 
 
 Gina. No. Have you lost your hat ? 
 
 Hialmar. Of course I had it on when I came in; I'm 
 quite certain of that; but I couldn't find it this morning. 
 
 Gina. If only you haven't caught cold, Ekdal. 
 
 (Goes out into the kitchen.) 
 (Hialmar rummages among the papers and photo- 
 graphs on tlie table, finds the torn document of 
 yesterday, takes it up and looks at it; sees Gina 
 and puts it down.) 
 
 Gina (brings a tray with coffee from the kitclien). 
 Here's a little something hot, if you'd fancy it. 
 
 Hialmar (glances at it). Coffee! — Do you suppose 
 I'm in the mood to drink coffee ? — My manuscripts, my 
 letters and my important papers. (Opens the sitting-room 
 door.) Is she there too ? Come out. (Hedvig comes.) 
 In the last moment I spend here, I wish to be spared from 
 interlopers. (Goes into tlie room.) 
 
 Gina. Stay out in the kitchen, Hedvig. 
 
 (Goes into the sitting-room.) 
 
THE WILD DUCK 255 
 
 Hedvig (stands a moment immovable, biting her lips 
 to suppress the tears; then clenches her hand and says 
 softly:) The wild duck. 
 
 (She goes over to the garret door, slides it a little to 
 one side, steals in and shuts it after her.) 
 
 Hialmar (with some letters [manuscript books], which 
 he lays on the table). Oh, there are a thousand and one 
 things I must drag with me. 
 
 Gina. Yes, you won't have an easy job getting every- 
 thing in order. And now your coffee's getting cold. 
 
 Hialmar. H'm. 
 
 (Drinks a mouthful or two without thinking of it.) 
 
 Gina (dusting). A nice job you'll have to find a room 
 for the rabbits. 
 
 Hialmar. What! Am I to have all those rabbits 
 with me ? 
 
 Gina. You don't suppose father can get on without 
 his rabbits. 
 
 Hialmar. He must get used to doing without them. 
 The pigeons too must remain here for the present. I 
 must try to dispense with them. Henceforward there 
 are many things I must dispense with. 
 
 (Takes a piece of bread and butter, eats it and drinks 
 some coffee.) 
 
 Gina. If we hadn't let that room, you could have 
 moved in there. 
 
 Hialmar. And remained under the same roof with 
 you and her — her — that 
 
 Gina. Hush, don't talk so loud; father's in the garret. 
 
 Hialmar. What, is he in the garret again ? 
 
 Gina. But couldn't you move into the sitting-room 
 for a day or two ? You could have it all to yourself. 
 
 Hialmar. Never within these walls. 
 
 Gina. Well then, down with Relling? 
 
%5Q FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hialmar. Don't mention that wretch's name to me. 
 The very thought of him makes me sick. Oh no, I 
 must go out into the snow-drift and seek shelter for 
 father and myself. 
 
 Hialmar. Of course I shall leave this house as soon 
 as possible. I am in the act of packing my things. I 
 cannot go on living in a home that has fallen to pieces. 
 
 Gin a. Will you give me the key of your chest of 
 drawers, Ekdal ? 
 
 Hialmar. What do you want with it? 
 
 Gina. I'll put your shirts into the portmanteau. 
 
 Hialmar. Here! And keep it. I have no more use 
 for it. 
 
 (Gina goes into4he sitting-room.) 
 
 Gregers. Do you really feel this a necessity ? 
 
 Hialmar. Do you not know me well enough to under- 
 stand that I cannot live in a ruined home ? 
 
 Gregers. But this is just the moment when this 
 home might be built up again on a foundation tenfold 
 more secure than before; upon truth, forgiveness, recon- 
 ciliation. 
 
 Hialmar. Would you be able to approve of that? 
 
 Gregers. My dear fellow, isn't that just what I was 
 aiming at? 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, but then there is the awful, the des- 
 perate side of the situation, that happiness in any case 
 is gone for ever! Just think of Hedvig, whom I have 
 loved so dearly. 
 
 Gregers. And who loves you so dearly, Hialmar. 
 
 Hialmar. But that, you see, is what I cannot be- 
 lieve after this. Whatever she may say, whatever she 
 may do, I shall always doubt her. For I can never know 
 whether she is not acting, from a sense of insecurity, from 
 
THE WILD DUCK 257 
 
 fear and a feeling that she has become, as it were, a 
 stranger in the house. 
 
 Gregers. Hedvig knows nothing of dissimulation. 
 What if she now brought you her best possession as a 
 sacrifice — would you not then believe in her? 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, what sacrifice could she make that 
 
 Gregers. A small thing, perhaps; but to her the 
 most precious. Let us just suppose that for your sake she 
 gave up the wild duck. 
 
 Hialmar. The wild duck? What would be the use 
 of that? 
 
 Gregers. To give up her most precious possession. 
 
 Hialmar. This is overstrained talk. Even if she 
 gave up the wild duck ten times over, there would still 
 be a kind of concealed gulf between us. Both Hedvig 
 and I would feel it and suffer. No, I tell you; happi- 
 ness is past for us. Never again can Hedvig and I be 
 on a footing of father and child. 
 
 {A shot is Jieard from within the garret.) 
 
 Hialmar. What! Is he shooting again! 
 
 Gina (comes in). If only he doesn't end by doing 
 himself a mischief. 
 
 Hialmar. I'll look in 
 
 Gregers. Wait a moment. Do you know what that 
 was? 
 
 Hialmar. How — was ? 
 
 Gregers. It was a useless sacrifice that poor Hedvig 
 made. She has got him to shoot the wild duck. 
 
 Gina. Are you sure of that ? 
 
 Gregers. I know it. 
 
 Hialmar. The wild duck. 
 
 Gina. Yes, she's been so tormented and despairing. 
 Ekdal. 
 
258 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gregers. And she knew no other way but to sacri- 
 fice to you the best she had. 
 
 Hialmar. And I could be so harsh towards her! 
 Where is she, Gina? 
 
 Gina (struggling with her tears). She's sitting out in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Hialmar. It must and shall come right again. (Goes 
 over and opens the kitchen door.) Hedvig, come in to me! 
 — No, she's not here. 
 
 Gina. Isn't she? Then she must have gone out. 
 
 Hialmar. Oh, if she would only come quickly, so 
 that I can tell her — For I really didn't mean anything 
 by it. 
 
 Gregers. You didn't mean anything by it? 
 
 Gina. It wasn't like you* either, Ekdal. 
 
 Hialmar. No, it was mostly on your account, 
 Gregers. You came here and made such unreasonably 
 heavy claims on me 
 
 Gregers. Do you think that! 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, you don't know me properly, you see: 
 I am not altogether as you imagine me — I want every- 
 thing to be pleasant and easy and comfortable 
 
 Gina. Ekdal is not made to be unhappy 
 
 Gregers. I'm beginning almost to believe that. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, and so I am going to stay here with 
 Gina and Hedvig, just as before 
 
 Gina. That's right. 
 
 Gregers. But, my dear fellow, that's exactly what 
 I've been striving for. 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, but you wanted it brought about by 
 a lot of hocus pocus, that I don't understand at all. 
 
 Gregers. Ah, there can't be any doubt that it is I 
 whose judgment was at fault. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 259 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, for, you see, we are not that sort, 
 neither Gina nor I. But what has become of Hedvig? 
 Oh, dear, 1 wish she would come. And then she shall 
 hear that I care for her 
 
 Gina. Just as much as she cares for you, Ekdal. 
 
 Hialmar. And just as much as she cared for the wild 
 duck. 
 
 Gregers. The sacrifice has not been in vain after 
 all. 
 
 Hialmar. No. After this Hedvig shall be our wild 
 
 duck 
 
 (Old Ekdal appears at the door of his room.) 
 
 Hialmar. Father! 
 
 Gina. Has he been firing in there? 
 
 Ekdal. So you go shooting alone, do you, Hialmar? 
 
 Hialmar. Wasn't it you that fired that shot ? 
 
 Ekdal. Me that fired ? 
 
 Gregers. Then she has shot it herself. 
 
 Hialmar. What can it mean? (Runs to the garret 
 door, tears it aside, looks in and calls loudly:) Hedvig! 
 
 Gina (going to the door). What is it? 
 
 Hialmar. She's lying on the floor! 
 
 (Goes into the garret.) 
 
 Gregers. Hedvig! 
 
 Gina. Hedvig! No, no, no! (Goes into the garret,) 
 
 Ekdal. What is it ? Was it Hedvig ! 
 
 Hialmar (carries Hedvig into the studio). She has 
 wounded herself! Call for help! 
 
 Gina (runs into the passage and is heard calling:) 
 Helling! Relling! Doctor Relling! 
 
 Hialmar (lays Hedvig down on the sofa). She's 
 coming to — she'll soon come to now. The pistol has 
 gone off. 
 
260 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Ekdal. There was a bullet in it. She didn't know 
 that. Didn't know it was loaded. 
 
 Gina (who has come back). Where has she hurt her- 
 self? I can't see anything. 
 
 (Relling, and immediately after him Molvik, from 
 the passage; the latter without his waistcoat and 
 necktie, and with his coat open.) 
 Relling. What's the matter here? 
 Gina. Hedvig has shot herself. 
 Hialmar. Come and help us! 
 Relling. Shot herself! 
 
 (Goes over to the sofa and examines her.} 
 Hialmar. It can't be dangerous; she is scarcely 
 
 bleeding at all; it can't be 
 
 Relling. How did it happen ? 
 Hialmar. Oh, we don't know ! 
 
 Gina. She wanted to shoot the wild duck 
 
 Relling. The wild duck? 
 
 Hialmar. The pistol must have gone off. 
 
 Relling. H'm! 
 
 Ekdal. Shoot the wild duck. Don't understand a 
 word of it. Won't hear any more. 
 
 (Goes into the garret.) 
 
 Relling. The ball has entered the breast 
 
 Hialmar. Yes, but she's alive! 
 
 Gina. Surely you see that Hedvig is dead. 
 
 Hialmar. No, no, she must live. Only a moment. 
 Only just till I can tell her 
 
 Relling. The bullet has gone through her heart; — 
 internal hemorrhage. Death must have been instanta- 
 neous. 
 
 Hialmar. Oh Gina, Gina, and I have done this to 
 you! 
 
 Gina. Perhaps I had no right to keep her though. 
 
THE WILD DUCK 261 
 
 Hialmar. Had I then a right to take her from you ? 
 From you, after all you have been to us for so many 
 years. 
 
 Gina. She shall be laid on her own bed. Take and 
 help me, Ekdal. 
 
 (She and Hialmar take Hedvig between them.) 
 
 Hialmar (as they are carrying her). Oh Gina, Gina, 
 can you survive this. 
 
 Gina. We must help each other to bear it. I brought 
 her into the world, and you took her out of the world; — ■ 
 so now at least she belongs to both of us. 
 
 (They carry her into the sitting-room.) 
 
 Molvtk (stretches out his arms and mumbles) . Blessed 
 be the Lord! to earth thou shalt return, to earth thou 
 shalt return. 
 
 Relling (softly). Hold your tongue, Molvik; you're 
 drunk. Go downstairs. 
 
 (Hialmar and Gina carry the body into the sitting- 
 room.) 
 
 Relling (shuts the door after them, goes over to Gre- 
 gers and says:) That pistol never went off by 
 accident. 
 
 Gregers. Are you quite sure of that? 
 
 Relling. There's no doubt about it; from the way 
 the powder has burnt the body of her dress — . She 
 pressed the pistol right against her breast and fired. 
 
 Gregers. I almost think that is how it happened. 
 
 Relling. And can you say that you are free from 
 guilt ? 
 
 Gregers. I intended it for the best. 
 
 Relling. Yes, you wanted to bring about something 
 you call a true marriage here; and then you made your 
 calculations for only the husband and wife, but you for- 
 got [left out] the child. 
 
262 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gregers. She could not bear the light of truth; it 
 dazzled her eyes. 
 
 Relling. Truth is not particularly wholesome for 
 most people. Take away the illusion from a relation- 
 ship, and you take away happiness at the same stroke. 
 
 Gregers. If that held good, it would not be worth 
 while to live one's life. 
 
 Relling. Then do you think it's such an important 
 thing to live your life ? 
 
 Gregers. Not I; on the contrary; but it isn't my 
 destiny either to live my life; I have another mission. 
 
 Relling. What mission is that? 
 
 Gregers. To be the thirteenth at table. (Goes.) 
 
 Relling. The devil it Is, 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 
 
" WHITE HORSES" 
 
 He, the noble, refined nature, who has come round to 
 a liberal point of view and from whom all his former 
 friends and acquaintances have withdrawn. A widower; 
 was unhappily married to a melancholy, half-mad wife, 
 who ended by drowning herself. 
 
 She, his two daughters' governess, emancipated, warm- 
 blooded, somewhat remorseless in a refined way. Is 
 regarded by their acquaintance as the evil spirit of the 
 house; is the object of misinterpretation and scandal. 
 
 Elder daughter; is in danger of succumbing to inactiv- 
 ity and loneliness; highly gifted, without any application 
 for her talents. 
 
 Younger daughter; observant; dawning passions. 
 
 The journalist; genius, vagabond. 
 
 DRAFT 
 
 In the drawing-room of the parsonage. Dialogue be- 
 tween S. and Miss B. The student comes in from a walk. 
 The old retired apothecary calls on business; goes away. 
 The family assembled. The cavalry captain. The mag- 
 istrate and his daughter come to call and bring an invi- 
 tation; it is accepted; then the change of views is to be 
 disclosed. The family alone; conversation turns on the 
 white horses. 
 
 265 
 
266 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 DRAFT 
 
 1st Act 
 In the drawing-room of the country house. The 
 clergyman and the young lady; 
 
 She is an intriguer and she loves him. She wishes to 
 be his wife and she pursues this end with determination. 
 Then he finds this out and she frankly admits it. There 
 is now no more happiness in life for him. The daemonic 
 in his nature is awakened by pain and bitterness. He 
 desires to die, and she is to die with him. She does so<> 
 
 FIRST ACT 
 
 Sitting-room at Boldt-Romer* s. The room is old-fashioned 
 bid comfortable. On the right a large stove; farther 
 back a door. In the back wall, a double door opening 
 into the hall. To the left, two windows, with flowers 
 in pots on the tvindow-frames. By the farther win- 
 dow, a table with a sewing-machine; in the corner, 
 on the right, a sofa with a table and easy chairs. 
 On the walls, old family portraits, representing* officers 
 and clergymen. It is afternoon. The sun is shin- 
 ing into tite room. 
 
 (Boldt-Romer is sitting in a rocking-chair in front of 
 the stove, reading a magazine. Miss Radeck sits 
 over by tlie window, working at the sewing-machine.) 
 
 Boldt-Romer (letting his book drop). H'm, it is 
 strange for all that. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 26? 
 
 Miss Radeck (looking at him). What is it you 
 mean ? 
 
 Boldt-Romer. It is strange for me to be sitting here 
 — in Easter week — without anything to attend to; with- 
 out anything to be responsible for. 
 
 Miss Radeck. But don't you feel that is a relief ? 
 
 Boldt-Romer. Yes, you may be sure I do. It's 
 only at first — . Where are the girls to-day ? 
 
 Miss Radeck. I expect they're down at the mill- 
 pond skating. 
 
 Boldt-Romer (rising). I didn't like to say so before. 
 For they must have some amusement. But I so greatly 
 dislike their skating down on the pond. 
 
 Miss Radeck. Oh, there's no danger at all. It's 
 not so deep; and besides, the ice is perfectly safe. 
 
 Boldt-Romer. I know that; it isn't that I was 
 thinking of. 
 
 Miss Radeck (looking at him) . I see, it's on account 
 of — the other thing? 
 
 Boldt-Romer. Yes. I think there is something un- 
 canny in the children skating and playing and making 
 a noise just over the spot that was their mother's death- 
 bed. 
 
 Miss Radeck. But the girls know nothing about 
 that. 
 
 Boldt-Romer. No; but we know about it unfor- 
 tunately; and therefore I cannot get rid of — . Well, 
 well, I know of course it's meaningless; nothing but a 
 sort of prejudice, or whatever we may call it; but never- 
 theless 
 
 Miss Radeck. Then you haven't got over that kind 
 of thing yet ? 
 
 Boldt-Romer. I doubt if I shall ever get over it 
 entirely. 
 
263 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Miss Radeck. Then you ought to try whether you 
 cannot recover your former standpoint. 
 
 Boldt-Romer. That? Never while I'm alive! That 
 I neither can nor will do. 
 
 Miss Radeck. At all events it would have been better 
 for you if you had never left it. 
 
 Boldt-Romer. And you can say that? To me? 
 To me, who never knew what it was to be happy until I 
 had achieved spiritual emancipation. 
 
 Miss Radeck. Oh, you have a long way to go yet 
 before you achieve complete emancipation. I believe it 
 would have been better for you if I had never entered 
 jyour door. 
 
 Boldt-Romer. Then what should I have been now ? 
 
 Miss Radeck. What you were before. 
 
 Boldt-Romer. Yes, that is true. A creature without 
 breadth of vision; without the least understanding of 
 the life of reality that is struggling and working around us. 
 
 Miss Radeck. Ah, but for all that; with a nature so 
 gentle as yours; and then all that you have inherited and 
 that has left its mark on you. Oh no, it's not so easy — . 
 (Looks oat.) Look; here comes the Rector. 
 
 Boldt-R5mer. Who is it? 
 
 Miss Radeck. Your brother-in-law. 
 
 (Rector Hermann enters from the hall.) 
 
 Hermann. But what is this I see in the papers ? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Have the papers come ? 
 
 Hermann. Yes, and they say you have resigned your 
 living. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. I've been thinking of it for a long time. 
 I cannot continue. It is impossible. 
 
 Hermann. One can Understand very well that you 
 cannot associate yourself with all these gloomy pietistic 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 269 
 
 tendencies that have gained the upper hand in no many 
 circles. But isn't it then your duty to counteract 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Not as a clergyman. I cannot con- 
 tinue in that position. 
 
 H. That I don't understand. 
 
 R. I ought never to have taken orders. Nor was it 
 of my own free will that I did so. But, you see, it was a 
 family tradition. The Church and the Army by turns — 
 from father to son. And as my father was a soldier, it 
 was perfectly natural that I should take up theology. 
 At that time I thought myself that it was as it should be. 
 
 H. And now you had become so firmly fixed in it. 
 What will you turn to now — in the prime of life ? 
 
 R. Well, I have all the affairs of the estate 
 
 H. That won't fill up your time; and you have 
 a steward and tenants too. No, it's no use making 
 any more excuses. You must and shall take part in 
 public life. 
 
 R. I had been thinking of that too — in my own way. 
 
 H. Not in any private way of your own. You must 
 enter the ranks of the party. You can see well enough 
 how great a need there is. Choose a special line. Op- 
 pose this Mortensgard who's stirring up all the ignorant 
 mob. And now I hear he is thinking of starting a paper. 
 
 R. Is he ? Well, the man has gifts. He knows how 
 to write and speak. 
 
 H. Oh, my dear fellow, that's an easy matter when a 
 man is not too particular as to the truth or the facts. 
 
 R. Well, I know so little of the facts in such matters. 
 
 H. But I know them. And I have had occasion to 
 verify this Mortensgard. He is one of the most unprinci- 
 pled pettifoggers we have in these parts. And that's 
 **ying a good deal, I can tell you. 
 
270 PROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 R. But is it not the fact that these Radicals have ac- 
 complished much good in the last few years ? 
 
 H. That I will never admit as long as I live. They ? 
 What good should they accomplish? Can any good 
 come from such an impure source? 
 
 R. But have we the right to be so positive in our judg- 
 ment of the source? 
 
 H. Don't carry your humanity to extremes, my dear 
 Rosenhjelm. And what is the good you have discovered ? 
 Perhaps you allude to the demagogues' coup d' Etat ? 
 
 R. I don't understand such matters. But it seems 
 to me that there is rather more independence in the ideas 
 of individuals. 
 
 H. And you reckon that a good thing among people 
 who are so unstable and immature? I think you are 
 considerably mistaken. And I must say I am greatly 
 surprised to hear such words from you. You who, after 
 all, have inherited all your family's respect for authority 
 and good order. 
 
 R. Who knows? — perhaps one cannot altogether 
 avoid being infected by the time one lives in. 
 
 H. Still I hope that will never be the case with either 
 you or me. We will keep ourselves unstained, Will 
 we not, Rosenhjelm? 
 
 R. To keep one's self unstained, so far as possible, is 
 undoubtedly the task of everyone. 
 
 H. Yes, and to spread purity around one, or in any 
 case to keep contamination at a distance. 
 
 R. There I certainly agree with you. 
 
 H. Well, then you must also join us in acting, taking 
 part in public life, combating all these fatal tendencies 
 
 R. But, my dear fellow, if one is not made for any of 
 this? 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 271 
 
 H. In a cultured society everyone is made to be a 
 citizen. 
 
 R. Everyone ? 
 
 H. I mean, of course, everyone who has the neces- 
 sary qualifications, everyone who possesses a certain mod- 
 icum of education and intelligence, I don't ask for actual 
 scholarship. But ordinary education and knowledge one 
 ought really to be able to demand. Now that is what 
 it would be so extremely beneficial to bring home to the 
 masses. 
 
 II 
 
 WHITE HORSES 
 A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 Henrik Ibsen 
 1886 
 
 FIRST ACT 
 
 An old-fashioned, but large and comfortable sitting-room 
 at Rosmer's. On the right, a stove; farther back, 
 on the same side, a door. In the back wall, folding- 
 doors opening into the hall. To the left, two windows, 
 with flowers in pots on a stand. Beside the Move a 
 sofa with table and easy chairs. On the walls, old 
 family portraits representing officers and clergymen. 
 It is late afternoon. The winter sun shines into the 
 room. 
 
 (Mrs. Rosmer is standing by the farthest windoio, ar- 
 ranging the flowers. Madam Helset enters from 
 the right with a basket of table linen.) 
 
272 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Madam Helset. I suppose I had better begin to lay 
 the tea-table, ma'am? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, please do. He must soon be in 
 now. 
 
 Madam Helset {laying the cloth). No, he won't 
 come just yet; for I saw him from the kitchen 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, yes 
 
 Madam Helset. — on the other side of the mill- 
 pond. At first he was going straight across the foot- 
 bridge; but then he turned back 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Did he ? 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, and then he went all the way 
 round. Ah, it's strange about such places. A place 
 where a thing like that has happened — there — . It stays 
 there; it isn't forgotten so soon.- 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. No, it is not forgotten. 
 
 Madam Helset. No, indeed it isn't. 
 
 (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (at the window, looking out). Forget. 
 Forget, ah ! 
 
 Madam Helset (in the doorway). I've just seen the 
 Rector, ma'am. He's coming here. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Are you sure of that? 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, he went across the mill-pond. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. And my husband is not at home. 
 
 Madam Helset. The tea is ready as soon as you 
 want it. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. But wait; we can't tell whether he'll 
 stay. 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, yes. (Goes out to tJie right.) 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (goes over and opens the door to the 
 hall). Good afternoon; how glad I am to see you, my 
 dear Rector! 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 273 
 
 Rector Gylling (taking off his overcoat) . Thanks. 
 Then I am not disturbing you ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Oh no, how can you think so ? On 
 the contrary. 
 
 Rector Gylling (coming in). Well, that's all right. 
 But where's your husband ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. He has only gone for a little walk. I 
 think he'll be in directly. Won't you sit down till he 
 comes ? 
 
 Gylling (sits down by the stove). Many thanks. 
 There is something I should like to speak to him about. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (sits down at the table). That is for- 
 tunate, for it has given us a chance of seeing you at last. 
 How is it you haven't been near us before? 
 
 Gylling. Oh, it doesn't do to make oneself a nui- 
 sance to young married people. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (smiling). H'm — we are not so very 
 young, you know. 
 
 Gylling. Well, newly-married anyhow. But I have 
 been away too, as you know, for a couple of weeks. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, we have heard of you at political 
 meetings. 
 
 Gylling. I've turned political agitator, as the radical 
 papers call it — in speaking of us. Or perhaps you never 
 see those papers ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (quickly). Oh yes, we see them now 
 and then 
 
 Gylling. Well, then you have seen, I suppose, how 
 I have been abused and slandered ? What rough treat- 
 ment I have had to put up with? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, but it seems to me you gave as 
 good as you got. 
 
 Gylling. So I did, though I say it that shouldn't. 
 If I have to appear in public, I am certainly not the man 
 
274 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 to turn the other cheek. — But don't let us get upon the 
 subject of that painful and irritating wrangle. Tell me 
 now — how do you like being mistress of the house? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (in a lower tone). I feel in every way so 
 unspeakably happy. 
 
 Gylling. Well, I'm heartily glad of it. Nor could 
 it be otherwise. A husband like Eilert Rosmer! And 
 then the fact that you do not find yourself amid strange 
 surroundings which you have to accustom yourself to. 
 For this house and everything belonging to it has been 
 like a home to you for a long time. The only difference 
 is that now it is all your own. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (moving a little nearer). My dear Rec- 
 tor, you say that so sincerely that I cannot think there is 
 any ill-feeling lurking in the background. 
 
 Gylling. Ill-feeling ? Why, what do you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. It would be only natural if you felt a 
 little hurt at seeing another in possession, where you were 
 accustomed to see your own sister until a year or two 
 ago. But you don't feel that ? (Giving him her hand.) 
 Thanks, my dear Rector! Thanks, thanks for that! 
 
 Gylling. But tell me, how on earth did you get such 
 an idea into your head ? That I should object — now 
 that my poor sister is gone — that I should now object to 
 your taking her empty place — to your making Rosmer 
 happy — after all his melancholy experience — and to your 
 being yourself happy after all your untiring care for her 
 — for her, that poor irresponsible creature, who chose to 
 — who ended by — leaving it all. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Oh, don't let us speak of these gloomy 
 things. Don't let us think of them. 
 
 Gylling. No, let us not. Let us keep to what is 
 bright. Tell me now, Mrs. Rosmer — . But first one 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 275 
 
 thing — ; may I be allowed to call you Agatha, as she 
 did? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer {joyfully). Oh yes, please ic (Shak- 
 ing his hands.) Thanks, thanks for wanting to' 
 (Eilert Rosmer comes in from the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Rosmer, do you see who is here ? 
 
 Rosmer. Madam Helset told me. (Pressing the Rec- 
 tor's hands.) Welcome back to this house, old friend. 
 I knew that sooner or later things would come all right 
 between us. 
 
 Gylling. Why, man, do you mean to say you too 
 have been so foolish as to fancy that I was on a strained 
 footing with you ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, only think, it was nothing but 
 fancy after all. 
 
 Rosmer. Is that really the case, Gylling ? Then why 
 did you desert us so entirely ? 
 
 Gylling. Because my presence would always have 
 been reminding you of the years of your unhappiness, and 
 and of — the life that ended in the mill-pond. 
 
 Rosmer. Well, it was a kind and considerate thought 
 of yours, Gylling. But I must tell you that it was alto- 
 gether unnecessary. Neither Agnete nor little Alfred is 
 a memory that it pains us to dwell upon. On the con- 
 trary. We often speak of them. We feel almost as if 
 they still belonged to the household. 
 
 Gylling. Do you really ? Can you do that ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, why not ? 
 
 Rosmer. It is quite natural. Both Agatha and I 
 were so deeply attached to those who are gone. Oh, 
 it is a great happiness to have nothing to reproach oneself 
 with 
 
 Gylling. Henceforward, I declare I shall come out 
 and see you every day. 
 
276 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Oh, if you would do that! 
 
 Rosmer. I wish very much that our intercourse had 
 never been interrupted. There are many things that I 
 would give a great deal to talk over with you, quite 
 frankly, — straight from the heart. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Ah yes, Rosmer! Do so now. 
 
 Gylling. Oh I can tell you I have no less to talk 
 to you about. I suppose you know I have turned agi- 
 tator ? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, so you have. 
 
 Gylling. It's quite impossible now for any thought- 
 ful and right-minded man to stand idly looking on any 
 longer. Now that the Radicals have really come into 
 power, it is time for all well-disposed citizens to unite — 
 it is high time, I say 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (with a suppressed smile). Don't you 
 think it may even be a little late? 
 
 Gylling. Unquestionably it would have been better 
 if we had checked the stream at an earlier point in its 
 course. But who could foresee what was going to hap- 
 pen ? Certainly not I. But now I have had my eyes 
 opened once for all ; for, would you believe it ? now the 
 spirit of revolt has crept into the school itself. 
 
 Rosmer. Into the school ? Into your school ? 
 
 Gylling. I tell you it has. Into my own school. 
 What do you think? It has come to my knowledge 
 that the sixth-form boys — a number of them at any rate, 
 have formed a society, and they take in Mortensgard's 
 paper. 
 
 Rosmer. H'm . 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. I have generally noticed that young 
 men are not inclined to be Radicals. 
 
 Gylling. Most of them are not. That is perfectly 
 true. Most of us, thank God, are still at that age so far 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 277 
 
 subject to respect for authority, both at home and in 
 school, that we do not lend an ear to immature criticism 
 of recognised institutions. But unfortunately there are 
 exceptions to the rule. And to us schoolmasters it is a 
 melancholy fact that the very boys who are best equipped 
 with mental ability form the exceptions. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, I have noticed that too. 
 
 Gylling. But that makes them all the more danger- 
 ous, these few black sheep. They are capable of infect- 
 ing my whole flock. The whole form. The whole 
 school. You see, that is why I have not hesitated to 
 take an active part in these political meetings and to 
 warn people against the corrupt spirit that has appeared 
 among us for the moment. 
 
 Rosmer. But have you any hope that the tide can be 
 stemmed in that way ? 
 
 Gylling. At any rate I shall have done my duty as 
 a citizen in defence of the State. And I hold it the duty 
 of every right-minded man with an atom of patriotism 
 to do likewise. In fact, that was my principal reason for 
 coming out here to-day 
 
 Rosmer. What? Do you mean that I should ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. But, my dear Rector, you know his 
 distaste 
 
 Gylling. He must get over it. (To Rosmer.) You 
 don't keep abreast of things. You cannot imagine the 
 state things are in, all over the country. There isn't a 
 single accepted idea that hasn't been turned topsy-turvy. 
 It will be a gigantic task to get all the errors rooted 
 out again. 
 
 Rosmer. I have no doubt of it. But I am the last 
 man to undertake such a task. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Rosmer, I think it is time you spoke 
 out frankly. 
 
278 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gylling. You are too shy, Rosmer. You hold your* 
 self too much aloof from life. You gave up your liv- 
 ing 
 
 Rosmer. Well, now I will speak. Why do you think 
 I gave up my living ? 
 
 Gylling. Oh, I know that well enough. I don't 
 think there was anything surprising in your feeling the 
 unpleasantness of not being able to join in the pietistic 
 tendencies which then found favour in so many circles 
 here. 
 
 Rosmer. I ought never to have taken orders, never 
 to have entered upon that class of studies; that is the 
 main point. 
 
 Gylling. But, my dear fellow, then you would have 
 broken with one of the best and most unalterable tra- 
 ditions of your family. Eilert Hannibal Rosmer was a 
 soldier. Consequently his son, Eilert Alfred Rosmer, had 
 to be a clergyman. Thus it has alternated for over two 
 hundred years. I am well acquainted with these things, 
 from my work on the family pedigree. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, and no doubt it was that which deter- 
 mined me in those days. Or rather, there was no ques- 
 tion of a determination on my part. Father — h'm, you 
 know he was a martinet in his family circle as well as in 
 his regiment — father would have it so, and there was an 
 end of it. 
 
 Gylling (with a sigh). Ah, that was in the days of 
 decent social conditions! 
 
 Rosmer. And I, unfortunately, must have belonged 
 to the class of young men you were talking of just now — 
 those with a poor mental equipment. 
 
 Gylling. You ! How on earth do you make that out ? 
 
 Rosmer. Why, there wasn't a spark of rebellious 
 spirit in me then. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 279 
 
 Gylling. No, with God's help tlvat spirit will never 
 possess you. 
 
 Rosmer. Yet I have come to take a wider view of 
 life than I used to. 
 
 Gylling. Look here, Rosmer — surely you are not 
 so weak as to be influenced by the accident that the 
 leaders of the mob have won a temporary advantage ? 
 
 Rosmer. I am little acquainted with these questions; 
 but I confess it seems to me that within the last few 
 years people are beginning to show greater independence 
 of thought. 
 
 Gylling. And what if they are ? Would you really 
 take that to be an improvement among unstable and im- 
 mature people ? But in any case you are quite mistaken. 
 Or what kind of ideas and opinions are they that are rife 
 among the malcontents in your rural district ? Are they 
 not the same ideas and opinions that excite the ill-dis- 
 posed in the town ? Yes, precisely. And do you sup- 
 pose the mob sucks these ideas and opinions from its own 
 breast P No, of course not — they find them in Peder 
 Mortensgard's paper. And that's an appetising source 
 to draw from! 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. It can't be denied that Mortensgard 
 knows how to write. 
 
 Gylling. Yes, but, good heavens — a man of his 
 foul antecedents! Well, the Radicals are not very par- 
 ticular as regards moral character. That is why he is 
 a dangerous man, this Mortensgard. He is one of the 
 most dangerous we have here. And he may give us 
 even more trouble in the future. For now he is thinking 
 of enlarging his paper; it is to appear daily; I know on 
 good authority that he is looking for a capable assistant. 
 
 Rosmer. But why don't you and the others think of 
 starting a paper in opposition to him ? Your friends in 
 
280 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 the town could provide the capital. I'm sure it would 
 not be difficult 
 
 Gylling. Ah, now you've brought me to my real 
 errand. That is the very thing we have thought of. As 
 far as the money question is concerned, the undertaking 
 is assured. But the conduct of the paper — the editing, 
 Rosmer. Tell me — don't you feel it your duty to under- 
 take it, for the sake of the good cause? 
 
 Rosmer. I! 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Oh, how can you ask ! 
 
 Gylling. I should be quite willing to try my hand 
 at that style of work too; but it is altogether impossible. 
 I have such a multitude of irons in the fire already. 
 But for you, with no profession to tie you down 
 
 Rosmer. In any case I have the management of the 
 estate. 
 
 Gylling. Nonsense; the management of your estate 
 doesn't take up much of your time. 
 
 Rosmer. But nevertheless, it is quite impossible. I 
 feel so altogether unsuitable — ; I am not fitted 
 
 Gylling. You can never know that until you have 
 tried. Besides, the rest of us would give you as much 
 help as we could. And then, too, you start with an 
 immense advantage in the unbounded prestige you enjoy 
 in the whole county. No other man can compare with 
 you in that respect. The name of Rosmer — good heav- 
 ens — the family of Rosmer, that from time immemorial 
 has stood as the symbol of all that is old and good and 
 just and upright. That, you see, is just what will en- 
 able you to act with tenfold weight. — What do you 
 say, Mrs. Rosmer? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer (laughing). My dear Rector, I can't 
 tell you how ludicrous all this seems to me. 
 
 Gylling. What do you say ? Ludicrous ? 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 281 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, ludicrous,. For you must let me 
 teli you frankly 
 
 Rosmer. No, let me say it myself 
 
 (Madam Helset appears in the doorway on the 
 right) . 
 
 Madam Helset. There's a man out in the kitchen 
 passage says he wants to see Pastor Rosmer. 
 
 Rosmer. Oh? Ask him to come in. 
 
 Madam Helset. Into the sitting-room ? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, of course. 
 
 Madam Helset. But he looks scarcely the sort of 
 man to bring into the sitting-room. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Why, what does he look like, Madam 
 Helset? 
 
 Madam Helset. Well, he's not much to look at, 
 ma'am. 
 
 Rosmer. Did he not give his name? 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, he said his name was Uldric. 
 
 Rosmer. Ulric ? 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, and then he gave another 
 name. I think it sounded like Rosen — holm, or some- 
 thing like that. 
 
 Rosmer. Ulric Rosen — ? Surely it can't be Ulric 
 Rosenhjelm ? 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, that's what he said. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. That unfortunate Ulric Rosenhjelm. 
 
 Gylling. That black sheep Rosenhjelm. So he's in 
 these parts. 
 
 Rosmer. Ask him to come in, Madam Helset. 
 
 Madam Helset. Oh, very well. (Goes out.) 
 
 Gylling. Are you really going to have an individual 
 like that in your house ? 
 
 Rosmer. I knew him a little in the days of his pros- 
 perity. 
 
282 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Didn't you know him too, Rector ? 
 
 Gylling. Never personally. H'm . 
 
 (Madam Helset opens the door on ilie right for 
 
 Ulric Rosenhjelm, and then withdraws, shutting 
 
 the door behind him. He has unkempt hair and 
 
 beard, and is dressed like a common tramp. Xo 
 
 overcoat; worn-out shoes; no shirt visible. He 
 
 wears an old pair of black gloves; a bolder hat 
 
 under his arm and a stick in his hand.) 
 
 Rosenhjelm (hesitates at first, then goes quickly up to 
 
 the Rector, and holds out his hand). How are you, 
 
 Rosmer! 
 
 Gylling. Excuse me; (points) there 
 
 Rosenhjelm (turns). Right, yes; there he is. How 
 are you, Rosmer. I could not pass by the house without 
 paying you a visit. 
 
 Rosmer. Travellers are always welcome here. 
 Rosenhjelm. I had no card on me; but I hope the 
 elderly lady I met outside has announced me ? Well, 
 that's all right. (Bows.) Ah, Mrs. Rosmer, of course. 
 And there? A brother of the cloth, I see. 
 Rosmer. The Rector. Rector Gylling. 
 Rosenhjelm. Gylling? Gylling? Wait a bit; 
 weren't you a student of philology? 
 Gylling. Of course I was. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Why, devil take it, then I knew 
 you 
 
 Gylling. Pardon me 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Weren't you 
 
 Gylling. Pardon me 
 
 Rosenhjelm. — one of those who got me expelled 
 from the Students' Club ? 
 
 Gylling. Certainly; but I disclaim any closer ac- 
 quaintanceship. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 283 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Well, well; nach Belieben, H err Rector. 
 It's all one to me. I remain the man I am for all that. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. You are on your way into town, Mr. 
 Rosenhjelm ? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Yes, gracious lady, I am. I feel al- 
 most ashamed of not knowing this part of the country. 
 What is the state of feeling in this town ? You see, I'm 
 thinking of getting up an evening entertainment. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. What is it to consist of? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Whatever may be to the taste of the 
 public. Could you not give me some good advice, Rec- 
 tor ? I will take the liberty of paying you a visit. 
 
 Gylling. Thanks; but you'd better apply direct to 
 Peder Mortensgard. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Mortensgard ? Don't know any Mor- 
 tensgard. What sort of an idiot is he ? 
 
 Gylling. Why do you call the man an idiot, if you 
 don't know him ? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Can't I tell at once by the name that 
 it belongs to a plebeian ? 
 
 Gylling. Oh? I didn't expect that answer. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Perhaps you think that Ulric Rosen- 
 hjelm hob-nobs with Tom, Dick and Harry ? 
 
 Gylling. So far as I know, you used to be specially 
 interested in the lower orders of society. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Yes, I was; and I had to suffer for it. 
 Persecution from those in authority; ridicule, scorn and 
 mockery from the thousands of indifferent people who 
 will not understand anything — and ingratitude from the 
 oppressed, whom I tried to help. Look at me. Here 
 you see Ulric Rosenhjelm, who belonged to good society, 
 to the best society — and who was the first in good society. 
 They turned me out because I had the ability and the 
 courage to say and write things that the polite world 
 
284 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 would rather have hidden. Now I never go into good 
 society — except when I am alone. 
 
 Gylling. It may not be merely ability or opposition 
 that determine one's destiny. It may also be one's 
 mode of life. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. I understand. We have an official 
 code of morality, and I have not lived in harmony with 
 it. However, I am tired of that too. I will put on the 
 new man, as it is written somewhere. Is there such a 
 thing as a Temperance Society in the town ? A Total 
 Abstinence Society? I need scarcely ask. 
 
 Gylling. Yes; I am the president. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. I saw that in your face! Well, it is 
 by no means impossible that I may come to you and 
 enroll myself as a member. t 
 
 Gylling. Yes; I must tell you that we don't receive 
 everybody without further ceremony. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. A la bonne heure! Ulric Rosenhjelm 
 has never forced himself into that sort of Society. But 
 I must not prolong my visit. I must be on my way to 
 the town and look out for a lodging. I presume there 
 is a decent hotel in the place. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Mayn't I offer you anything before 
 you go ? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Of what sort ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. A cup of tea, or 
 
 Rosenhjelm. No, no, thanks. I am always loath 
 to trespass on private hospitality. Good-bye. Oh, by 
 the way, Rosmer; for the sake of our old friendship, will 
 you do me a service? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, gladly. What is it? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. You see, I am travelling on foot. My 
 things won't arrive till later. Will you lend me a shirt 
 for a day or two ? 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 285 
 
 Rosmer. With all my heart. Is there nothing else? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Could you spare an overcoat? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, yes; certainly I can. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. And perhaps a pair of winter boots — I 
 have nothing but spring shoes with me. 
 
 Rosmer. That I can manage too. As soon as you let 
 me know your address, I will send the things in. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Not on any account. So much trouble. 
 I will take the trifles with me. 
 
 Rosmer. As you please. Come here with me then. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Let me go. Madam Helset and I will 
 see to it. (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Rosmer. Is there nothing else I can do for you ? 
 
 Rosenhjelm. No, thanks. Well, yes, damn it, I'd 
 forgotten — do you happen to have ten crowns in your 
 pocket ? 
 
 Rosmer. I expect so. (Opens his purse.) Here are 
 fifteen. 
 
 Rosenhjelm. Well well, thanks, never mind. 
 Thanks in the meantime. Remember you lent me 
 fifteen. Good-bye, gentlemen. 
 
 (Goes out to the right. Rosmer takes leave of him, 
 and shuts tlie door behind him.) 
 
 Gylling. What do you think of that! This is what 
 has become of the brilliant Ulric Rosenhjelm! 
 
 Rosmer. Unfortunately; I have known it a long 
 time. 
 
 Gylling. Yes, it was pretty well known. But to see 
 it with one's own eyes! Such talent rendered useless by 
 moral foulness — 
 
 Rosmer. Do you think he is past saving ? Would it 
 not be possible to raise him again ? 
 
 Gylling. Oh, my dear fellow, how could that be 
 managed ? 
 
286 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rosmer. I mean by going to work in a forebearing — ■ 
 kindly way with him, showing confidence in him, relying 
 on his good intentions — [a kind of self-knowledge ] 
 
 Gylling. Then you do rely on those intentions ? 
 
 Rosmer. I would gladly do so. 
 
 Gylling. In that case he might perhaps be useful to 
 us. The brilliant style he was once master of — ; his 
 pitiless, slashing pen — ; and it did not look as if he had 
 any very friendly disposition towards the Radicals- 
 
 Rosmer. Do you mean that he might be placed in 
 charge of the new paper? 
 
 Gylling. In charge! Heaven preserve us, how can 
 you think of such a thing! No, on the contrary, he 
 would of course have to be kept in the background until 
 he had rehabilitated himself. He would have to apply 
 himself to leading a decent life, — in any case to be care- 
 ful and to avoid public scandal. And if he could so far 
 conquer himself, and if he could be induced for a cer- 
 tain time to lend the good cause his bona officio, — ; ob- 
 serving the strictest anonymity, of course 
 
 (Mrs. Rosmer has re-entered in the meantime.) 
 
 Rosmer. Has he gone? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes. 
 
 Gylling. And now I must think about leaving too. 
 It is beginning to get dark. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Won't you take tea with us ? 
 
 Gylling. No, no, thanks; I cannot. — Well, my dear 
 friend, I won't press you further to-day. You must turn 
 it over in your own mind 
 
 Rosmer. Will you be at home to-morrow morn- 
 ing ? 
 
 Gylling. To-morrow? I'm sorry I can't say for 
 certain — for 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 287 
 
 Rosmer. Never mind, I'll enquire for you in any 
 case. I want to talk to you, I want to have a long talk 
 with you, my dear Gylling 
 
 Gylling. You mean about the affair of the County 
 News ? 
 
 Rosmer. About that and other things. 
 
 Gylling {shaking his hand). You will be welcome, 
 my dear friend. And I am sure you and I will soon 
 agree as to what is the duty of a good and well-disposed 
 citizen in these troublous times. Good-bye, Mrs. Ros- 
 mer! Good-bye, dear friends. 
 
 (Rosmer and Mrs. Rosmer accompany him into 
 tlie hall. As he puts on his overcoat, loud con- 
 versation is heard, the words of which do not how- 
 ever 'reach the audience. Finally, "Good-bye, 
 good-bye, good-bye," as tJie Rector goes. Ros- 
 mer and his wife re-enter the room.) 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. What was that he was saying as I 
 came in? I understood that he wanted to try Rosen- 
 hjelm on the new paper. 
 
 Rosmer. He threw it out casually as a possibility. 
 But nothing is likely to come of it. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. No, I should hope not. At all events 
 I have done my best that nothing shall come of it. 
 
 Rosmer. You, my dear? What have you done? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Now you won't be vexed with me for 
 acting on my own responsibility, will you ? Such good 
 friends as we are? 
 
 Rosmer. Of course not; you may do everything you 
 wish. But what was it? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. I gave Rosenhjelm a card of intro- 
 duction to Mortensgard. 
 
 Rosmer, You did? To Mortensgird! 
 
288 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, I scribbled a few hurried 
 words 
 
 Rosmer. But you heard him call Mortensgard an 
 idiot and a plebeian. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. We needn't pay any attention to that. 
 When a man has fallen so low as Rosenhjelm, he plays 
 the gentleman. He thanked me too, and promised to 
 deliver the card. 
 
 Rosmer. Oh, he did that? But perhaps Gylling 
 will get hold of him to-morrow. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. If he has already compromised him- 
 self with Mortensgard's paper, the County News won't 
 be able to make use of him. 
 
 Rosmer. And then it will come out that it was we 
 who recommended him. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. What harm can that do? Haven't 
 you made up your mind to have it out to-morrow ? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, that's settled. To-morrow it must and 
 shall be done. But, dear me, how hard it is nevertheless 
 to have to grieve one's faithful friends — to cause them 
 real heartfelt sorrow. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Is that all, Rosmer? Is it not 
 something that survives in you, without your know- 
 ing it? 
 
 Rosmer. My dear, what should it be ? Do you mean 
 uncertainty or doubt? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Not exactly that. 
 
 Rosmer. No, you may depend upon that. I feel so 
 free, so sure of myself. (Sits down beside her.) You 
 have faithfully helped me. My former self is dead. I 
 look upon it as one looks upon a corpse. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, but that is just when these 
 white horses appear. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 289 
 
 Rosmer. White horses ? What white horses ? 
 
 (Madam Helset brings in the tea-urn and puts it on 
 the table.) 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. What was it you told me once, Madam 
 Helset ? You said that from time immemorial a strange 
 thing happened here whenever one of the family died. 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, it's as true as I'm alive. Then 
 the white horse comes. 
 
 Rosmer. Oh, that old family legend 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. In it comes when the night is far gone. 
 Into the courtyard. Through closed gates. Neighs 
 loudly. Launches out with its hind legs, gallops once 
 round and then out again and away at full speed. 
 
 Madam Helset. Y T es, that's how it is. Both my 
 mother and my grandmother have seen it. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. And you too ? 
 
 Madam Helset. Oh, I'm not so sure whether I've 
 seen anything myself. I don't generally believe in such 
 things. But this about the white horse — I do believe in 
 that. And I shall believe in it till the day of my death. 
 Well, now I'll go and (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Rosmer (after a short silence). Do you mean that this 
 can be applied to me ? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. All the emancipated people I have 
 known — all those who believe themselves to be emanci- 
 pated — every one of them has had somewhere or other 
 a white horse like this, which they never give up believing 
 in. 
 
 Rosmer. And complete emancipation, you think, 
 means 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. It means getting rid of one's white 
 horses. [We must have light, Rosmer.] 
 
 Madam Helset [(in the doorway to the right)].. Here 
 is the lamp, ma'am. 
 
290 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 SECOND ACT 
 
 The sitting-room at Johannes Rosmer' s. It is forenoon. 
 (Rosmer is walking about the room and putting on his 
 
 overcoat. Mrs. Rosmer is brushing his hat, which 
 
 she then Jiands to him.) 
 
 Rosmer. To think that I could have been so cow- 
 ardly, so shy, so afraid of telling them everything frankly. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Yes, was it not strange? 
 
 Rosmer. I don't understand it myself. 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. But now it is over. There now. Go 
 straight in to the Rector. 
 
 Rosmer. I'm going straight in 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. And then come back as soon as you 
 can. I'm excited to hear what he will say. 
 
 Rosmer. Don't be too impatient. Good-bye for the 
 present. Good-bye! 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. Good-bye, dear Rosmer! 
 
 (He opens the door to the hall. Mrs. Rosmer goes 
 out with him. At the same moment Rector 
 Gylling, in outdoor clothes, comes into the hall.) 
 
 Rosmer. What! Have you come here? 
 
 Gylling. Yes, I have. 
 
 Rosmer. And I was just on my way to you. 
 
 Gylling. I did not want to wait; and I was not so 
 lure that you would come ■ 
 
 Rosmer. Well, take off your coat. 
 
 Gylling. If you will permit me. 
 
 (He takes off his overcoat and lays it on a chair. 
 Rosmer does the same.) 
 
 Rosmer. Is there anything wrong with you ? You 
 look so serious. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 291 
 
 Gtlling. I should be glad, to speak to you in private. 
 Could we go into your study? 
 
 Mrs. Rosmer. It is not tidy yet. Stay here; I have 
 to go out. (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Rosmer. What is it then? Has Ulric Sejerhjelm 
 been to see you ? 
 
 Gtlling. No; and he's not likely to come either. 
 But he is already being talked about. He introduced 
 himself in a fine fashion. 
 
 Rosmer. Well ? 
 
 Gtlling. He took up his quarters in a low house, 
 spent the evening in a low tavern — in the lowest company 
 of course — and drank and stood treat as long as he had 
 any money; then he began abusing the whole company 
 as a set of disreputable blackguards — and so far he was 
 quite right; — whereupon they thrashed him and pitched 
 him out of doors. 
 
 Rosmer. So he is incorrigible. 
 
 Gtlling. He had pawned the overcoat too; but I 
 am told that has been redeemed for him. And can you 
 guess by whom? 
 
 Rosmer. By whom then ? 
 
 Gtlling. By Mr. Mortensgard. Sejerhjelm's first 
 visit was to the "idiot" and "plebeian." 
 
 Rosmer. Rebecca prophesied that yesterday. 
 
 Gtlling. Indeed. And that brings me to a matter 
 it is my duty to warn you about, for our old, faithful 
 friendship's sake. 
 
 Rosmer. But, my dear Gylling, what can that be? 
 
 Gtlling. It is this : that there are things being done 
 in this house independently of you and behind your back. 
 
 Rosmer. Who is doing this ? 
 
 Gtlling. Your wife. I can quite understand it. 
 Ever since the last sad years of Beata's life she has 
 
292 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 been accustomed to manage things here; but never- 
 theless 
 
 Rosmer. My dear Gylling, you are utterly mistaken. 
 Rebecca hides nothing from me. She tells me every- 
 thing. 
 
 Gylling. Then has she told you that yesterday she 
 gave Sejerhjelm a card of introduction to Mortensgard? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, of course. 
 
 Gylling. She has — ! And what do you say to that ? 
 
 Rosmer. I altogether approve of what Rebecca has 
 done. 
 
 Gylling. Are you mad ? You approve of her corre- 
 sponding with the lowest and most dangerous opponent 
 we have here? 
 
 Rosmer. I will tell you candidly. Mortensgard's 
 conduct on many occasions has been repulsive to you. 
 But I can no longer side with you and our friends on 
 public questions. In those matters and in many others 
 I must entirely dissociate myself from you. 
 
 Gylling (starting back). What do you say! You, 
 you will dissociate yourself from your friends! Go over 
 to the enemy's camp! But that's impossible! 
 
 Rosmer. I am not thinking of taking any part in the 
 conflicts of the day. I have a horror of interfering in 
 all this hubbub, of which I do not know the ins and outs. 
 
 Gylling. But what are you going to do then ? 
 
 Rosmer. I will try to ennoble the work of emancipa- 
 tion. Do you think I don't see all the foulness that de- 
 velopment brings with it and gives rise to in its course? 
 That is what I want to oppose, to warn people against, to 
 dam up, to confine, so that the stream may flow pure and 
 clear 
 
 Gylling. Oh, Rosmer, what a confiding man you 
 ore! You don't know what elements you will have to 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 293 
 
 deal with. But when was it that you entered on these 
 paths of aberration? 
 
 Rosmer. I call it comprehension. 
 
 Gylling. Call it what you will. But when, I ask ? 
 
 Rosmer. It goes back a long time. I believe the 
 foundation was laid when I was engaged on my theologi- 
 cal studies. 
 
 Gylling. And yet you entered the Church ? 
 
 Rosmer. Our family has always had great respect for 
 the conventional. 
 
 Gylling. That quality appears to be dying out in 
 the family. 
 
 Rosmer. I think such things always die out — sooner 
 or later — and then there is a reaction to the opposite. 
 
 Gylling. But that this should come about through 
 you! And that with such a turn of mind you could ac- 
 cept the position of a clergyman 
 
 Rosmer. But as soon as I was perfectly clear I re- 
 signed. 
 
 Gylling. Perfectly clear. About what? 
 
 Rosmer. I can no longer accept this mysticism. I 
 must reject the whole of the old doctrine. 
 
 Gylling. An apostate then! A free-thinker! An 
 apostate from the faith of your fathers! 
 
 Rosmer. I have reasons for supposing that the faith 
 of my fathers did not go very deep. 
 
 Gylling. So you are an apostate. What have you 
 now to fill up your life? 
 
 Rosmer. I will continue untiringly to investigate and 
 think. I will try, as far as possible, to get to the bot- 
 tom of things. And then I will live. Be happy. 
 
 Gylling. Do you know that this opens an abyss of 
 thoughts in my mind ? 
 
 Rosmer. I don't understand you. 
 
294 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gtlling. Now I will go to the root of the whole 
 matter. Will you be frank ? Will you answer my ques- 
 tions candidly? 
 
 Rosmer. Speak, my dear Gylling, ask what you will. 
 I have nothing to conceal. 
 
 Gylling. What was the ultimate reason why Beata 
 put an end to her life ? 
 
 Rosmer. I don't understand you. Can you have 
 any uncertainty on the subject ? And can one ever ask for 
 reasons for what an unhappy, irresponsible invalid may do? 
 
 Gylling. Are you certain that Beata was completely 
 irresponsible for her actions ? The doctors, at any rate, 
 were by no means convinced of it. 
 
 Rosmer. If the doctors had ever seen her as I have 
 so often seen her, they would "have had no doubts. 
 
 Gylling. I had no doubts either — then. 
 
 Rosmer. Unhappily there wasn't the smallest room 
 for doubt. I have told you of her unfortunate frenzies 
 of passion, which she expected me to return. Oh, how 
 they terrified me! And then her sudden changes of mood; 
 her dumb, consuming hatred 
 
 Gylling. Hatred ? Of whom ? 
 
 Rosmer. Of us, who were about her c Of me, first 
 and foremost ■ 
 
 Gylling. And I have to tell you that poor unhappy 
 Beata died of her love for you. 
 
 Rosmer. What do you mean by that? 
 
 Gylling. In her last year — when it seemed to her 
 that she could not bear her life any longer, she had re- 
 course to me, to pour forth all her anguish — first, because 
 she declared that you were on the road to perversion 
 
 Rosmer. But I don't think I was at that time. In 
 any case I never confided to her my doubts and my in- 
 ward conflicts. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 295 
 
 Gtlling. That proves all the more clearly what a 
 wonderfully true intuition a deranged person may have. 
 
 Rosmer. But why did you hide this from me? 
 
 Gylling. I did not want to torture and harass you 
 still further by disclosing these accusations, which I my- 
 self did not believe in at the time. 
 
 Rosmer. But now ? 
 
 Gylling. Ah, now my eyes are opened to the incred- 
 ible — to your great crime 
 
 Rosmer. Crime! 
 
 Gylling. Yes, to the criminal life that has been and 
 is being led in your house. 
 
 Rosmer. I don't understand a word of this. 
 
 Gylling. Sometimes Beata came to me, weeping and 
 lamenting. "Rosmer no longer loves me," she said. 
 "He loves Rebecca; and she loves him." 
 
 Rosmer. She said that! 
 
 Gylling. She said that. And that of course made 
 me think her mad. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, you must have thought so. 
 
 Gylling. The last time she came to see me, she 
 said : " Now no one must stand in the way of Johannes 
 and his happiness. The White Horse must soon come 
 now." I did not understand her. 
 
 Rosmer. Never did it occur to me that her diseased 
 fancies had led her astray in that direction. My poor 
 unhappy Beata. 
 
 Gylling, Hypocrite! 
 
 Rosmer (with a start). What do you say! 
 
 Gylling. Can I doubt any longer, after all these 
 revelations, that a criminal life was being led here — 
 even then ? 
 
 Rosmer. Let me tell you that if any other man but 
 you dared 
 
296 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Gtlling. If it had been any other man but you, it 
 would not have cut me to the heart like this. But you, 
 Johannes Rosmer — to have to tear you out of my mind 
 with a single wrench. 
 
 Rosmer. Tell me now: you did not at the time be- 
 lieve a word of these accusations of Beata's ? 
 
 Gtlling. How could I believe such things of a man 
 like you — a man of honour, for you were once that. 
 
 Rosmer. But now ? 
 
 Gylling. Have you not confessed that you have long 
 been secretly an apostate from the faith of your fathers ? 
 
 Rosmer. I have long been in doubt and conflict. 
 Now I see clearly where I stand; that is the truth. But 
 what then ? 
 
 Gylling. The rest I can surely leave you to say to 
 yourself. 
 
 Rosmer. No, I tell you; no; I cannot. You are 
 bound to speak out what you mean without reserve. 
 
 Gylling. I mean that there cannot be any vast gulf, 
 any impassable abyss between free thought and 
 
 Rosmer. And what ? 
 
 Gylling. — and free love. 
 
 Rosmer. And you dare say this to me! You are not 
 ashamed of thinking and believing this! 
 
 Gylling. I don't know what there is to hinder a 
 man when he has once disavowed the moral command- 
 ments. 
 
 Rosmer. Have I done that ? 
 
 Gylling. To my mind faith and morality cannot be 
 separated. And I know no other morality than our 
 Christian one. 
 
 Rosmer. And I know no Christian morality: I know 
 no other morality than that I have within me. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 297 
 
 Gtlling. Private, human morality is but a feeble 
 protection. 
 
 Rosmer. Oh, this boundless fanaticism that has pos- 
 sessed you. 
 
 Gylling. Yes, you may call me a fanatic in that 
 respect. To my last hour I shall hate and fight against 
 these fatal tendencies of the age. They have brought 
 strife and disruption into my home — and into hundreds of 
 others as well. They have embittered my life's work 
 
 Rosmer. Political controversies, yes. But I do not 
 mix myself up with those. 
 
 Gylling. One thing cannot be separated from the 
 other. And that apostacy should seize you too. Should 
 separate us so irrevocably from each other. But I see it, 
 I see it; — this case of yours — it is the work of a cunning 
 and remorseless woman. 
 
 Rosmer. Not another word about her. 
 
 Gylling. Was it not she who from the very first 
 brought you into the path you are now following ? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes; to her praise be it said. And since 
 then we have faithfully worked together like two com- 
 rades. 
 
 Gylling. You are like a child in her hands; and 
 you don't see it. 
 
 Rosmer. I am happy and free; I can live my own 
 life. 
 
 Gylling (putting on his coat). Then see what that 
 life will be like when you are cut off from all those who 
 have hitherto been near to you. 
 
 Rosmer. They cannot all be such fanatics as you. 
 
 Gylling. You will soon find out about that. 
 
 (He gives a curt nod and goes out through the hall.) 
 (Miss Dankert enters slwrtly afterwards from the 
 right.) 
 
298 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Miss Dankert. I saw him go out. 
 
 Rosmer. He will never come back. 
 
 Miss Dankert. You have told him everything. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes. 
 
 Miss Dankert. And then? 
 
 Rosmer. Complete rupture. Irremediable 
 
 Miss Dankert. Not irremediable, Rosmer. Just 
 wait. You shall see. 
 
 Rosmer. Our old relations can never be restored. 
 
 Miss Dankert. Well, believe me; that is best for 
 you. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, I know you think so. But such old 
 habits are deeply rooted in me. 
 
 Miss Dankert. Much too deeply. You would never 
 have been free if that circle had been allowed to go on 
 exercising its influence on you. 
 
 Rosmer. I am bound to tell you this. Now that I 
 have openly withdrawn from them, they will cease to 
 regard our relationship as what it is. 
 
 Miss Dankert. Our relationship ! 
 
 Rosmer. Purity of life is not to be looked for in 
 apostates, he said. 
 
 Miss Dankert. Oh, these madmen! 
 
 Rosmer. What is to be done ? 
 
 Miss Dankert. Do you wish me to leave here ? 
 
 Rosmer. Do I wish that! 
 
 Miss Dankert. Well, it is not necessary on my ac- 
 count. 
 
 Rosmer. No, it's not, is it, Rebecca ? Your spirit is 
 so proud and free. Your own consciousness is sufficient 
 to you. 
 
 Miss Dankert. Yes, it is. Why should we flinch 
 before the low and vile thoughts of some people ? Why 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 299 
 
 should we make ourselves unhappy ? For we should be 
 so 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, yes. 
 
 Miss Dankert. No, we shall keep together in good 
 comradeship and help and support one another as well 
 as we can. But look there ! 
 
 Rosmer (with a cry). 
 
 (Rector Gylling has opened the door at the back. ) 
 
 Gylling. Well, I don't know whether I may come 
 in again. 
 
 Rosmer. Pray come in. 
 (The Rector comes in, keeping his overcoat on.) 
 
 Gtlling. What is past cannot be altered; but now 
 listen, Rosmer 
 
 Rosmer. I'm listening, I'm listening 
 
 Gylling. Is there any necessity for your sad apos- 
 tacy to be proclaimed over the whole country? 
 
 Rosmer. I must and will get out of the false position 
 I have been in so long. My book is ready. 
 
 Gylling. And you don't consider what consequences 
 this will have for you ? The whole conservative press 
 will attack you and your book 
 
 Miss Dankert. But how can you tell that, Rector? 
 You don't know the book, do you ? 
 
 Gylling. H'm, I suppose you will accuse us of fa- 
 naticism and persecution of those who differ from us. 
 But this cannot be avoided in a period of agitation like 
 ours. It is an absolute duty for every good citizen who 
 has the power to do it, to root up all the dangerous weeds, 
 whenever and wherever they may show themselves. 
 
 Rosmer. Well, well; then I know what to be pre- 
 pared for. 
 
 Gylling. No, you don't know. It will be some- 
 thing far more violent than you think. Therefore I 
 
300 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 beg you, Rosmer — hold your hand; do so — you, the 
 quiet, retiring enquirer; — this is not suited to you. 
 
 Rosmer. But can you ask me to be so cowardly! 
 
 Gylling. It is your duty to your environment, z 
 Remember the prominent position your family has oc- 
 cupied for so long. The respect you yourself enjoy. £ 
 You will make many unstable people irresolute, vacil- ^ 
 lating, unhappy. f } 
 
 Rosmer. Do you think so ? u 
 
 Gylling. You surely can't have a doubt of it your- > 
 self? j 
 
 Rosmer. But I cannot stand looking on for ever. 
 All around, in every department of life, a luxuriant ger- 
 mination is going on. And it is time that I too began to 
 live. I must and will be happ} T in this world. 
 
 Gylling. I can guess where this hunt for happiness 
 is derived from. Don't you seek it too, Miss Dankert ? 
 
 Miss Dankert. It is in the air. It is one of the 
 greatest things about the new age that we dare openly 
 proclaim happiness as our end in life. 
 
 Gylling. You do so? 
 
 Miss Dankert. Certainly I do. 
 
 Gylling. Is it principles of this kind that are preached 
 in your new book? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, if it is rightly understood. 
 
 Gylling. Poor man — you, with your conscience bur- 
 dened with guilt — you think you can find happiness by 
 those paths. 
 
 Miss Dankert. Burdened with guilt! What does 
 that mean? 
 
 Rosmer. I feel that I am free and pure. 
 
 Gylling. You believe that perhaps. But you are 
 mistaken. You have betrayed yourself. And unhappy 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 301 
 
 Beata gave you her life as a sacrifice. You are founding 
 your happiness on water. Remember the mill-pond. 
 
 (He goes.) 
 
 Rosmer. But this is not true, Rebecca. 
 
 Miss Dankert. I know that, of course. 
 
 Rosmer. But nevertheless — well, it must be said 
 some time or other. Did I really love you even then? 
 
 Miss Dankert. Love! You, Rosmer! 
 
 Rosmer. Will you go away now? 
 
 Miss Dankert (giving him her Jiand). No, my 
 friend, now I stay with you. 
 
 Rosmer. Thanks, Rebecca! 
 
 THIRD ACT 
 
 Johannes Rosmer's study. A door at the bach; also 
 on the left. Bookcases and shelves on the walls. A 
 window on the right, and before it a writing-table, 
 covered with books and papers. — Old-fashioned fur- 
 niture; a table, with table-cloth, in the middle of the 
 room. 
 
 (Johannes Rosmer is sitting in a high-backed chair at 
 the writing-table, reading a pamphlet, the pages of 
 which he cuts as lie reads. There is a knock at the 
 door on tlie left.) 
 
 Rosmer (without turning.) Pray come in. 
 
 (Miss West enters in a morning gown, with a news- 
 paper in her hand.) 
 Miss West. Good morning;. 
 
 Rosmer (reading). Good morning, dear. Is there 
 anything you want ? 
 
 Miss West. Here is to-day's County News. 
 Rosmer (turning). Is there anything in it? 
 
802 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Miss West. Yes, there is. (Gives him the paper.") 
 
 Rosmer. Already. (Reads.) Now let us see. 
 
 Miss West (behind him, leaning over the back of the 
 chair, also reads). They wanted to be the first 
 
 Rosmer. — to weaken the effect, yes. — "We can- 
 not sufficiently express our contempt" — Contempt? — 
 "for renegades who have lain in hiding while the situa- 
 tion remained uncertain " — Gylling never wrote that ■ 
 
 Miss West. Who knows? 
 
 Rosmer. No, no. " Renegades . . . but who march 
 over with colours flying as soon as victory seems as- 
 sured." And they can write such things, that they them- 
 selves don't believe. "When confused visionaries with 
 no will of their own fall into the hands of calculating 
 intriguers" — I won't read any more. (Rises.) At any 
 rate not now. 
 
 Miss West. Will you answer it? 
 
 Rosmer. Oh, what is the use ? And my name is not 
 actually mentioned either. 
 
 Miss West. But it will soon get about that it is 
 aimed at you. The calculating intriguer is of course 
 myself. 
 
 Rosmer (walking nervously about). These days of 
 denunciation — ah, it is indeed a great mission to make 
 an end of them. 
 
 (Madam Helset opens the door on tlie left.) 
 
 Miss West. What is it, Madam Helset? 
 
 Madam Helset. It's that Mortensgard, who'd like 
 to speak to Mr. Rosmer. 
 
 Rosmer. Mortensgard ? What can he want ? 
 
 Miss West. You'll let him come in, won't you ? 
 
 Rosmer (to Madam Helset). Yes, let him come in. 
 (Madam Helset opens the door to Mortensgard^ 
 closes it behind him and goes.) 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 303 
 
 MortensgArd. It is a long time since I stood before 
 you, Pastor. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, it is years ago. I have often asked 
 myself whether I did not act too harshly at that time. 
 
 MortensgArd. Do you say that, Pastor? 
 
 Rosmer. Well, you have found another position, 
 with which I am sure you feel more satisfied. 
 
 MortensgArd. Oh yes, in a way. 
 
 Rosmer. Have you anything in particular to say to 
 me? 
 
 MortensgArd. First I think I ought to thank you 
 for the card Mr. Hekfeldt brought me. 
 
 Rosmer. You may thank Miss West for that. 
 
 MortensgArd. Of course. Miss West also. 
 
 Miss West. Can you make use of him? 
 
 MortensgArd. Unhappily, I think it is too late. 
 
 Rosmer. Do you think so ? 
 
 MortensgArd. He is not abreast of the times; 
 stands so strangely outside what is going on. Looks 
 upon things with eyes that may have been radical enough 
 twenty years ago 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, they were. — Tell me, have you read 
 to-day's County News? 
 
 MortensgArd. No, not yet. 
 
 Rosmer. Don't say that, Mr. Mortensgard. I am 
 sure you have read it. 
 
 MortensgArd. Well yes, I've glanced at it — here 
 and there. 
 
 Rosmer. Then you must have seen the leading ar- 
 ticle ? 
 
 MortensgArd. Yes, it struck me as rather strange. 
 
 Rosmer. Did you understand whom it was meant for ? 
 
 MortensgArd. I don't think I could believe it my- 
 self. 
 
304 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rosmer. No, no. 
 
 Mortensgard. So there is something wrong between 
 you and the other gentlemen ? 
 
 Rosmer. I have left that circle. I am going to take 
 up a position of my own. 
 
 Mortensgard. So you have left them, Pastor? 
 Really ? I didn't expect that. 
 
 Miss West. It is a step that has been long prepared, 
 Mr. Mortensgard. 
 
 Mortensgard. Is it so ? Must say, I didn't expect 
 it. Are you going to reply to this attack, Pastor? 
 
 Rosmer. I hardly think so. I so cordially dislike 
 these squabbles between man and man. 
 
 Mortensgard. But if it should be necessary — for 
 perhaps there may be more to -come 
 
 Rosmer. Do you think so ? 
 
 Mortensgard. It is their usual way. And if you 
 should find it difficult to get anything into the County 
 News, my paper is open to you. It would be a great 
 honour to us. 
 
 Rosmer. Thanks. I may perhaps avail myself of 
 your offer. Not in this connection. But there are other 
 subjects that I wish to deal with. 
 
 Mortensgard. Whatever you like, Pastor. The 
 more the better. It will be an incalculable gain to the 
 cause of progress throughout the country, if a man like 
 you, a Churchman, takes our side. 
 
 Rosmer. But look here; I must first tell you that I 
 am no longer a Churchman. 
 
 Mortensgard. Of course, I know that; but your 
 having resigned your living makes no difference. 
 
 Rosmer. I don't mean that either. But the fact is 
 that I no longer hold the faith of the Church. 
 
 Mortensgard. You don't hold — ? You! 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 305 
 
 Rosmer. No. I have entirely broken with everything 
 of that sort. 
 
 MortensgIrd. I should advise you to keep that to 
 yourself, Mr. Rosmer. 
 
 Rosmer. You give me that advice? 
 
 Miss West. You are at no pains to conceal your 
 own opinions. 
 
 Mortensgard. It would be of little use. A man who 
 has once been so incautious — so unfortunate, as I 
 
 Rosmer. Then do you not put the truth before every- 
 thing? 
 
 Mortensgard. I put my ends before everything. 
 I have continued to be a teacher of the people; only in 
 another way. What brought me to my fall was want 
 and lack of knowledge. Now I wish to help as many 
 as possible on the way to enlightenment and better cir- 
 cumstances. And this can only be done on the path of 
 freedom. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, there we are quite agreed. 
 
 Mortensgard. In this way I am redeeming my 
 offence against society. For myself I have no hope of 
 any gain. For I am civilly dead, as you know. 
 
 Ill 
 FROM THE FIRST ACT 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, he said his name was Uldric 
 
 Rosmer. Ulric ? 
 
 Madam Helset. Yes, and then there was something 
 more. I thought it sounded like Hetmand or something 
 of the sort. 
 
306 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rosmer (to Gylling). That unfortunate Ulric Het« 
 man! 
 
 Gylling. That black sheep Ulric Hetrnan ? Then 
 he is still alive. 
 
 Rosmer. Ask him to come in, Madam Helset. 
 Madam Helset. Oh, very well. (She goes out.) 
 
 Gylling. Are you really going to let such a man into 
 your house? 
 
 Rosmer. I knew him a little in the days of his pros- 
 perity. 
 
 Gylling. When last I heard of him, he was in the 
 House of Correction. 
 
 (Madam Helset opens the door on the right for 
 
 Ulric Hetman, and then withdraws, shutting the 
 
 door behind him. He is a handsome man, with 
 
 hair and beard streaked with grey. He is dressed 
 
 like a common tramp; no overcoat; worn-out shoes; 
 
 no shirt visible. He wears an old pair of black 
 
 gloves, and carries a soft, greasy bowler hat under 
 
 his arm and a walking-stick in his hand.) 
 
 Ulric Hetman (hesitates at first, then goes quickly up 
 
 to the Rector, and holds out his hand). How are you, 
 
 Rosmer! 
 
 Gylling. Excuse me 
 
 Hetman. Didn't expect to see me again in these 
 parts, did you ? 
 
 Gylling. Excuse me — (Pointing.) There 
 
 Hetman (turns). Right. There he is. How are you, 
 Rosmer: 1 I could not pass by Rosmersholm without 
 paying yot? a visit. 
 
 Rosmer. Travellers are always welcome with us. 
 Hetman, I had no card on me. But I hope the 
 elderly lad} I met outside has duly announced me. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 307 
 
 Well, that's all right. (Bows to Rebecca.) Ah, Mrs. 
 Rosmer, of course. 
 
 Rosmer. Miss West. 
 
 Hetman. A near relation, no doubt. And there — 
 (Pointing to the Rector.) A brother of the cloth, I see. 
 
 Rosmer. Rector Gylling. 
 
 Hetman. Gylling. Gylling? Wait a bit; weren't you 
 a student of philology ? 
 
 Gylling. Of course I was. 
 
 Hetman. Why Donnerwetter, then I knew you! 
 
 Gylling. Pardon me 
 
 Hetman. Weren't you 
 
 Gylling. Pardon me 
 
 Hetman. — one of those champions of morality that 
 got me expelled from the Students' Club ? 
 
 Gylling. Very likely. But I disclaim any closer ac- 
 quaintanceship. 
 
 Hetman. Well, well; nach Belieben, Herr Rector. It's 
 all one to me. Ulric Hetman remains the man he is for 
 all that. 
 
 Rebecca. You are on your way into town, Mr. Het- 
 man? 
 
 Hetman. Yes, gracious lady, I am. I should be so 
 Unspeakably reluctant to lose anything of the respect of 
 a young, pretty, amiable and charming lady. But un- 
 happily — I am forced to confess it — as yet I do not know 
 this part of the country. 
 
 Gylling. Indeed. But you have roamed a good 
 deal about other parts of the country, from what I have 
 heard. 
 
 Hetman (gruffly) . That is so, Herr Professor. I have 
 undertaken fairly extensive journeys. (To Rosmer.) 
 But now you shall hear my plan. I have decided to give 
 a series of lectures throughout the country. And I am 
 
308 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 thinking of making this my starting-point, although — I 
 suppose my name is not very familiar in these parts? 
 
 Rosmer. No, I don't think so. 
 
 Hetman. Oh no, it wasn't to be expected of the in- 
 habitants of such a hole-and-corner place. (To Gyl- 
 ling.) But tell me, Heir Inspector — unter uns — have 
 you a tolerably decent, reputable, and commodious Pub- 
 lic Hall in your honoured city ? 
 
 Gylling. The hall of the Workmen's Society is the 
 largest. 
 
 Hetman. And has the Herr Docent any official in- 
 fluence in this doubtless most beneficent Society? 
 
 Gylling. I have nothing to do with it. 
 
 Rebecca (to Hetman). You should apply to Peter 
 Mortensgard. 
 
 Hetman. Pardon, madame — what sort of an idiot is 
 he? 
 
 Rosmer. What makes you take him for an idiot? 
 
 Hetman. Can't one tell at once by the name that he 
 is a plebeian ? 
 
 Gylling. I didn't expect that answer. 
 
 Hetman. Perhaps the Herr Professor thought that 
 Ulric Hetman was ready to demean himself with anyone 
 you please? But one has to conquer one's antipathy 
 when one stands at a turning-point in one's career. I 
 will approach this individual, will open negotiations 
 
 Rosmer. Are you really and seriously standing at a 
 turning-point ? 
 
 Hetman. Seriously, Herr Pastor? Stand he where 
 he may, Ulric Hetman always stands seriously. Now it 
 is decided. One of these days I shall emerge from my 
 somewhat unnoticed and unappreciated existence. The 
 series of lectures that I am about to give — that is to un- 
 ravel my life's greatest and newest idea. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 309 
 
 Rebecca. What idea is that, Mr. Hetman ? Oh, tell 
 us that. 
 
 Hetman. Well, here, in a confidential circle of more 
 or less close acquaintances, there is nothing to conceal. 
 I will open my long-contemplated war against all the 
 landowners in the country. 
 
 Gylling. Against the landowners ? Against the peas- 
 antry then? 
 
 Hetman. Certainly, Herr Professor. Are you with 
 me? 
 
 Gylling. I am with you in so far as I am already at 
 enmity with the Radical majority 
 
 Hetman. Bosh about majorities and such things 1 
 It's the peasants in general that I'm at war with. Both 
 the great and the small. Both the Radicals and the 
 idiots 
 
 Gylling. But allow me, Mr. ; you can't do 
 
 things without any party point of view whatever 
 
 Hetman. Now listen to me. And follow me carefully; 
 then perhaps you will be able to understand. Suppose 
 now I associate myself with three or four capitalists in 
 town. We establish a large factory for the preparation 
 of some product or other, which has not yet been dis- 
 covered. 
 
 Gylling. But where does this take us ? 
 
 Hetman. Patience, Herr Professor. In the prepara- 
 tion of this product we require all the oxygen that is con- 
 tained in or brought to the atmosphere of the county 
 — or we require all the carbon in the air. We — I and 
 the other two or three capitalists might be using it to 
 make diamonds of. But in both «ases the air of the 
 whole county would be unserviceable for men and other 
 animals and for everything organic. Everyone of them 
 would have to buy his portion of vital air from us — per- 
 
310 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 haps at an exorbitant price. If not — heraus! What do 
 you say to that? 
 
 Gylling. I don't think the authorities here would 
 permit such an industry. 
 
 Hetman. I don't think so either, honoured Sir. Nor 
 do I think they would permit it if our little syndicate 
 proposed to use the river or the fiord in such a way that 
 no fish could swim there and no craft float. (Coming 
 nearer.) Or perhaps you don't agree with me there ? 
 
 Gylling (drawing back a step). Well, well, well! Of 
 course I agree. 
 
 Hetman. I have a faint suspicion that you think I'm 
 suffering from some form of mental disease or other. 
 But that is an error for the moment. I have only been 
 trying to emphasise the fact that we all agree that the air 
 and water of our planet are common property to every- 
 body. But when the solid earth is in question — the 
 ground under our feet, that no one can do without, well, 
 das ist was Anderes! Nobody breathes a word against 
 the solid earth of the globe being in the hands of a com- 
 paratively small band of robbers, who have made use of 
 it for centuries, who are making use of it to-day, and who 
 propose to make use of it for all futurity. You see, 
 honoured Sirs — and you, fair lady, that is the obscure 
 matter of vital importance that I wish to throw light 
 upon. 
 
 Gylling. Doubt if it will be a profitable undertak- 
 ing. 
 
 Hetman. What do I care for profit ? It is the idea 
 — my greatest and my newest idea, that matters to me. 
 It struck me in a flash that mankind's sense of justice is 
 suffering from partial insanity. That is the heart of the 
 matter. This idea has come to me from above — or from 
 below — or from the obscure inscrutable powers. It has 
 
ROSMERSHOLM Sll 
 
 come to me through an inspiration, I say. Therefore it 
 is mine alone. And now I am going into the town to 
 present it to mankind. 
 
 Rebecca. But excuse me, Mr. Hetman — that idea is 
 not altogether new. 
 
 Hetman {with a start) . What do you say — fair lady ? 
 My idea is not new! 
 
 Rebecca. I am afraid, not altogether. We were just 
 reading a book this winter that deals with something 
 similar. 
 
 Hetman (to Rosmer) . Does this lady speak the truth ? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, of course. 
 
 Hetman. And in this book there is that about the 
 land and ? 
 
 Rosmer. That is what the book turns upon. 
 
 Hetman (pale and tottering). The meeting will — 
 kindly — allow me to — to sit down. 
 
 (He sinks into an easy chair and sits leaning for- 
 ward, with his hands on his knees) 
 
 Rebecca. Can't I fetch you something ? What can 
 I ? 
 
 Hetman (gazing before him). Too late. I came too 
 late. This time again. Always too late. 
 
 Gylling. That doesn't really make any difference. 
 I'm sure it will be quite new to most of the people about 
 here. 
 
 Hetman (with a look of misery) . How can it help me 
 or cheer me if the whole world thought it was new, now 
 that I know myself that it is not? 
 
 Rebecca. Oh, how I wish I had said nothing. 
 
 Hetman (rising). Fair lady — it was a hard blow 
 that your love of truth dealt me. I had treasured that 
 idea, brooded over it with jealous affection, felt it grow, 
 thought that I should never have the heart to let it go 
 
312 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 from me. And now, when I let it go, I am too late. 
 This time again. Well, well, well! No tears of sympa- 
 thy, ladies and gentlemen. I submit to no pity. De- 
 serve none either. Perhaps there is a just Nemesis in 
 this. Perhaps there has been something or other in my 
 way of living 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, don't you think so yourself? 
 
 Hetman. I will put on a new man. And then I will 
 get up one or two evening entertainments. A little dec- 
 lamation and singing and so on. (To Gylling.) Is 
 there such a thing as a Temperance Society in the town ? 
 A Total Abstinence Society? I need scarcely ask. 
 
 Gylling. Yes. I am the president. 
 
 Hetman. No, really? I shouldn't have thought it. 
 Well, it is by no means impossible that I may come to 
 you and enrol myself as a member for a week. 
 
 Gylling. Excuse me, but we don't receive members 
 by the week. 
 
 Hetman. A la bonne heure. Ulric Hetman has never 
 forced himself into that sort of Society. (Turns.) But 
 I must not prolong my visit in this pleasant house. I 
 must be on my way to the town and select a suitable 
 lodging. I presume there is a decent hotel in the place. 
 
 Rebecca. Mayn't I offer you anything before you 
 go? 
 
 Hetman. Of what sort, gracious lady? 
 
 Rebecca. A cup of tea, or 
 
 Hetman. I thank my bountiful hostess many times — 
 but I am always loath to trespass on private hospitality. 
 (Bows.) Good-bye, gentlefolks all! (Goes toward the 
 door, but turns again.) Oh, by the way — . Pastor Ros- 
 mer, for the sake of our ancient friendship, will you do 
 your old friend a small service? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, gladly. What is it? 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 313 
 
 Hetman. You see, I am travelling on foot at present. 
 My wardrobe is being sent after me. Could you lend 
 me a starched shirt — with cuffs — for a day or two? 
 
 Rosmer. Certainly. Is there nothing else? 
 
 Hetman. Well, do you know — perhaps you could 
 spare me an oldish, well-worn overcoat. 
 
 Rosmer. Oh yes; certainly I can. 
 
 Hetman. And perhaps a pair of winter boots. I 
 have been so imprudent as only to bring these light spring 
 shoes with me. 
 
 Rosmer. That we can manage too. As soon as you 
 let us know your address, we will send the things in. 
 
 Hetman. Not on any account. So much trouble. I 
 will take the bagatelles with me. 
 
 Rosmer. As you please. Come here with me then. 
 
 Rebecca. Let me go. Madam Helset and I will see 
 to it. (Goes out to the right.) 
 
 Rosmer. Is there nothing else I can do for you ? 
 
 Hetman. Upon my word, I know of nothing more. 
 Well, yes, damn it — now that I think of it — do you hap- 
 pen to have eight crowns in your pocket ? 
 
 Rosmer. Let me see. (Opens his purse.) Here is 
 a ten-crown note. 
 
 Hetman. Well, well, never mind! I can take it. I 
 can always get it changed in the town. Thanks in the 
 meantime. Remember it was ten crowns you lent me. 
 Farewell, respected Sirs. 
 
 (Goes out to the right. Rosmer takes leave of him, 
 and shuts the door behind him.) 
 
 Gylling. Merciful Heaven — so that is the once brill- 
 iant Ulric Hetman! 
 
 Rosmer. Step by step he must have gone down. 
 
 Gylling. How much people thought of him! The 
 lion of the capital, — in spite of all the excesses he was 
 
314 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 guilty of. But then came his notorious book. And that 
 broke him. 
 
 Rosmer. Do you think he is past saving ? 
 
 Gylling. He ? 
 
 Rosmer. Would it not be possible to raise him again ? 
 
 Gylling. Oh, my dear fellow, how could that be 
 managed ? 
 
 Rosmer. I mean by going to work in a forbearing 
 — kindly way; showing confidence in him; relying on 
 his good intentions. You could see that he showed a 
 kind of self-knowledge. 
 
 Gylling. Do you rely on the moods of such a man ? 
 
 Rosmer. I would gladly do so. 
 
 Gylling. Ah, Rosmer, you always had hope, when 
 nobody else had. 
 
 Madam Helset. I suppose I can take away the sup- 
 per things, Miss? 
 
 Rebecca. Yes, please. 
 
 Madam Helset (clearing aivay). It was very early 
 for the Rector to go this evening. 
 
 Rebecca. I think we shall see him again to-morrow. 
 
 Madam Helset. That you won't. There's bad 
 weather brewing. 
 
 Rebecca (putting her sewing in its basket). That's 
 good. Then perhaps I too shall have a chance of seeing 
 white horses at Rosmersholm. 
 
 FROM THE SECOND ACT 
 
 Mortensgard. That I don't doubt. But it is too 
 late now. I am branded once for all — branded for life. 
 
 Rosmer. I did not think you still took that affair so 
 much to heart 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 313 
 
 Mortensgard. Because I am now fairly well off, do 
 you mean? Much better off than if I had kept my 
 position at the school ? Yes, that is true. I am. But 
 then think of my peculiar situation. A new age has come 
 over the country. I too might have risen to anything 
 — like most of the others. But — all doors were closed 
 to me. The men I have fought for, and who owe it to me 
 that they have risen to power and honour — they will 
 have nothing to do with me. They dare not for their 
 own sake. 
 
 Rosmer. Do you think then that cowardice extends 
 even to the most powerful ? 
 
 Mortensgard. It is not cowardice, Pastor Rosmer. 
 These people can't set aside hypocrisy. If they break 
 with hypocrisy, their fall is at hand. Oh yes, you may 
 perhaps come to feel the smart of it yourself now, Pastor. 
 
 Mortensgard. Madam Helset brought it to me late 
 one evening. 
 
 Rosmer. If you had inquired of Madam Helset, you 
 would have learnt that my poor unhappy wife was not 
 fully accountable for her actions. 
 
 Mortensgard. I did make inquiries, Pastor Ros- 
 mer. But I must say that was not the impression I re- 
 ceived. 
 
 Rosmer. Was it not ? Then what did Madam Hel-- 
 set think? 
 
 Mortensgard. Well, she too was strange. I could 
 not exactly get at what she thought. 
 
 Rosmer. Oh? But what is your precise reason for 
 telling me now about this incomprehensible old letter? 
 
 Mortensgard. To impress on you the necessity for 
 extreme prudence, Pastor Rosmer. 
 
316 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rosmer. In my life, do you mean ? 
 
 MORTENSGARD. Yes. 
 
 Rosmer. Then you think that I must have something 
 to conceal? 
 
 MortensgArd. Putting everything together, I don't 
 see what other conclusion I can come to. 
 
 Rosmer. Then you believe me capable of leading an 
 immoral life. 
 
 MortensgArd. It seems to me that such an expres- 
 sion sounds strange from you now, Pastor. I should 
 have thought an emancipated man would have left be- 
 hind him all these old morbid considerations and scru- 
 ples. 
 
 Rosmer. Have you done so yourself ? 
 
 Mortensgard. Yes, of course. I take it that, since 
 I am in this world, I have the right to live my life after 
 my own mind and inclination. But of course, for one's 
 own sake one must avoid falling out with the hypocrites 
 and with all the victims of stupefaction one mixes with. 
 
 Rosmer. You and I will never agree on that point, 
 Mr. Mortensgard. 
 
 Mortensgard. H'm. But in any case be cautious, 
 Pastor. If anything should come out that conflicts with 
 current prejudices, you may be sure the whole liberal 
 movement will get the blame for it. Good-bye, Pastor 
 Rosmer. 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Rebecca. When I came down here from Finmark 
 with Dr. West — I was then a year or two over twenty 
 
 Rosmer. Oh yes. I know that. * 
 
 Rebecca. Rosmer — I was no longer what people cal/ 
 an — an innocent woman. 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 317 
 
 Rosmer. What do you say! Impossible! You are 
 out of your senses. 
 
 Gylling. Perhaps I had better go. 
 
 Rebecca. No, please stay where you are, my dear 
 Rector. Yes, Rosmer — that is the truth about me from 
 the beginning. 
 
 Rosmer. Oh, you, you! How could you — ! Who 
 was he? 
 
 Rebecca. One who had complete power over me. 
 He had taught me everything. All the desultory infor- 
 mation I had about life at that time. 
 
 Rosmer. But for all that! You — oh, that you could 
 surrender yourself ! 
 
 Rebecca. I thought then that it was something that 
 concerned no one but myself. If it were only hidden. — ■ 
 And hidden it was. 
 
 Gylling. So that is the state of the case. 
 
 Rebecca (looking at him). After such an experience 
 it is not to be wondered at that a woman should hold out. 
 Hold out in spite of pretty harsh usage. Hold out to the 
 last. 
 
 Gylling. Now I understand it — perhaps. 
 
 Rosmer. And that is what you were when you came 
 to Rosmersholm. What did you want here! 
 
 Rebecca. I wanted to take my share in the life of 
 the new era that was dawning, with its new ideas. You 
 liad told me about Ulric Hetman and the revolution he 
 had nearly — . I wanted you to be to me what he had 
 cr.ce been to you. And then, I thought, we should march 
 en ward in freedom, side by side. Ever onward. Ever 
 farther to the front. — But between you and perfect eman- 
 cipation there rose the great, insurmountable barrier. 
 
 Rosmer. What barrier do you mean ? 
 
 Rebecca. I mean this: you could grow only in the 
 
318 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 sunshine — and here you were sickening in the gloom of 
 such a marriage. 
 
 Rosmer. But we never said a word about my mar- 
 riage. Never a word. I am certain of that. 
 
 Rebecca. We did not. Nor was it necessary. For 
 I could see to the bottom of your heart. And then I 
 went to work. 
 
 Rosmer. Went to work ? In what way ? 
 
 Gylling. Do you mean that 
 
 Rebecca. Yes, Rosmer — (Rises.) Sit still. You 
 too, Rector Gylling. But now it must out. It was not 
 you, Rosmer. You are innocent. It was / — that lured 
 Beata out into the paths of delusion 
 
 Rosmer (springs up). Rebecca! 
 
 Gylling (rises from the sofaj. The paths of delusion! 
 
 Rebecca. The paths that led to the mill-pond. Now 
 you know it, both of you. 
 
 Rosmer. But I don't understand — . I only hear — 
 and don't understand a word. 
 
 Gylling. Oh yes. I am beginning to understand. 
 
 Rosmer. But what can you possibly have said ? 
 There was nothing — absolutely nothing to tell. 
 
 Rebecca. There was this: we were talking together, 
 reading together, working our way to emancipation to- 
 gether. 
 
 Rosmer. So she knew that. 
 
 Rebecca. She came to know that you were working 
 yourself free from all the old, obsolete prejudices. 
 
 Rosmer. And,then? What more? I must know all now. 
 
 Rebecca. Sometime after, I begged and implored her 
 to let me go away from Rosmersholm. 
 
 Rosmer. Why did you want to go ? 
 
 Rebecca. I did not want to go; I wanted to stay 
 where I was. But I told her that it would be best for 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 319 
 
 us all that I should go away in time. I -gave her to under- 
 stand that if I stayed any longer, I could not — I could 
 not tell — what might happen. 
 
 Rosmer. Then this is what you did. 
 
 Rebecca. Yes, Rosmer. 
 
 Rosmer. This is what you call " going to work." 
 
 Rebecca. I called it so, yes. 
 
 Rosmer. Have you confessed all now? 
 
 Rebecca. Yes. 
 
 Gylling. Not all. 
 
 Rebecca. What more should there be ? 
 
 Gylling. Did you not at last give Beata to under- 
 stand that it was necessary — not only that it would be 
 wisest, but that it was necessary — both for your own 
 sake and Rosmer's, that you should go away as soon as 
 possible ? 
 
 Rebecca. Perhaps I did say something of the sort. 
 
 Rosmer (sinks into a chair and covers his face with his 
 hands). And this tissue of lies and deceit she believed 
 in! Believed in it as firmly, as immovably, as in a gos- 
 pel. (Looks up at Rebecca.) And she never turned to me. 
 Never said one word to me. Why did she not do so ? 
 
 Rebecca. I dissuaded her so earnestly from it. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, yes, in everything she bowed before 
 your will. And then she quietly went out of life. Effaced 
 herself. Went into — the mill-pond. (Springs up.) How 
 could you — how could you play this ghastly game ? 
 
 Rebecca. I had to choose between your life and hers, 
 Rosmer. Either you would have been ruined or 
 
 Rosmer. — or Beata, yes. 
 
 Gylling. This is frightful! Frightful. 
 
 Rebecca. You think then that I acted in full, cool 
 self-possession ! Just as I stand here telling it all ! There 
 are two sorts of will in us, I believe. I wanted Beata 
 
320 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 away. But I never really believed that it would come 
 to pass. As I advanced, at each step I seemed to hear 
 something within me cry out: No farther! Not a step 
 farther! — And yet I could not stop. I had to venture the 
 least little bit farther. Only one hair's breadth more. 
 And then one more — and always one more. Have you 
 never felt what it is like to be giddy? One dare not 
 take another step. Nor look down. And yet one does it. 
 One can't help it. One almost thinks it's a delightful 
 sensation — . That is the way such things come about. 
 
 Rosmer. Now I know how it all happened. But 
 there is one thing I do not understand. How were you 
 able to bring yourself to disclose your whole heartless 
 conduct ? 
 
 Rebecca. It had to be done for your sake. I did 
 not wish you to feel oppressed and burdened by self- 
 leproach. 
 
 FROM THE FOURTH ACT 
 
 Madam Helset. But the Pastor, he's not home yet ? 
 
 Rebecca. If I don't see him, you can tell him that I 
 will write to him — a long letter. Tell him that. 
 
 Madam Helset. But dear Miss West — that'll never 
 do at all 
 
 Rebecca. What, Madam Helset? 
 
 Madam Helset. That you should go away from Ros- 
 mersholm without saying good-bye to the Pastor. 
 
 Rebecca. Well, as it happens, perhaps it is best so. 
 
 Rebecca. Could you have believed such a thing of 
 Pastor Rosmer and me ? 
 
 Madam Helset. Believed ? 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 321 
 
 Rebecca. Yes, don't you think it came like a thunder- 
 clap ? 
 
 Madam Helset. Oh, I won't quite say that either. 
 We're all of us human, Miss West. 
 
 Rebecca. That's very true, Madam Helset. We are 
 all of us human. 
 
 Madam Helset (looking towards the hall) . Oh Lord — 
 if that's not him coming! 
 
 Rebecca. After all. (Resolutely.) Well, well; so be it. 
 
 Rebecca ('pointing out through the hall). Hush. Do 
 you see who is coming? 
 
 Rosmer (looks out). It is Ulric Hetman. 
 
 (Ulric Hetman comes in through tlie hall.) 
 
 Ulric Hetman (stops in the doorway). Rosmer — my 
 boy, my boy — what is this I hear about you ? 
 
 Rosmer. Have you come to stay with us ? 
 
 Hetman. No. I have come to say my last farewell. 
 
 Rebecca. Are you leaving the town again already ? 
 
 Hetman. Yes. I'm shaking the dust off my feet. A 
 man can't live up in these parts. It's even worse than 
 down below. 
 
 Rosmer. I had thought that more light and freedom 
 was coming. 
 
 Hetman. So I hear. 
 
 Rosmer (with a melancholy smile) . Your old pupil has 
 not been false to you, you see. 
 
 Hetman. Beware of what you do. Don't follow my 
 example. All my doctrine is false. Has been false from 
 its very beginning. That I have now found out. 
 
 Rosmer. Do you no longer adhere to all the great 
 ideals ? 
 
322 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hetman. It's all rubbish, my boy. Empty dreams. 
 Nothing but mocking shadows that drag us down to de- 
 struction. Humanity is past help. 
 
 Rosmer. Do you believe that! 
 
 Hetman. Past help for all eternity. 
 
 Rosmer. But why ? Why should we believe that ? 
 
 Hetman. Because a mistake was made at the very 
 Creation. 
 
 Rosmer. And that mistake was ? 
 
 Hetman (shrugs his shoulders). Who can say! 
 
 Rosmer. Well, but how can you tell that the mistake 
 was there? 
 
 Hetman (with a mysterious smile). The Master de- 
 ceived himself, my boy. 
 
 Rosmer. Deceived himself?' The Master? How? 
 
 Hetman. Are you a judge of character? 
 
 Rosmer. I think myself I am, but 
 
 Hetman. Well, in any case you used once to mix with 
 artists — with various poets, I remember. 
 
 Rosmer. Yes. 
 
 Hetman. Didn't you notice a peculiar trait about those 
 fellows ? 
 
 Rosmer. What trait do you mean ? 
 
 Hetman. When one of these creative gentlemen had 
 finished a work, which had turned out absolutely as it 
 should be, he examined it and let it go. Quite calmly. 
 There was nothing to be said about the work. It was as 
 it should be. Didn't you notice that, my boy ? 
 
 Rosmer. Yes. And it seems to me perfectly reason- 
 able. 
 
 Hetman. I think so too. But once in a while the mas- 
 ter might chance upon a failure. Either he was not in the 
 right mood, or in too much of a hurry, or whatever it might 
 be. What does my gentleman do then? Why, he puts 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 323 
 
 his head on one side. Looks at his work with the air of 
 a connoisseur. Examines it from every side. And then 
 says he: Upon my soul — this is good* damned good. 
 
 Rosmer. Insecurity, you mean? 
 
 Hetman (nocb sloivly). The master feels that there is 
 a flaw in the work. And so he takes a firm stand. Inse- 
 curity of conscience, my boy. And that is what we have 
 all inherited. That is why humanity is incurable. Past 
 help. 
 
 Rebecca. Then is life worth living ? 
 
 Hetman. Oh yes. Only avoid doing silly things. No 
 quackery. Let life swing right or left — just as it chances. 
 
 Rebecca. But one's self ? Each individual ? 
 
 Hetman. Eat, drink and be merry, my fair young 
 lady. And you must take existence in the same way, Ros- 
 mer. The Master forgot to give us wings. Both inner 
 and outer ones. So let us crawl on the earth as long as 
 we can. There is nothing else to be done. 
 
 Rosmer. Well, in any case there is the alternative of 
 making an end of it all. 
 
 Rebecca {involuntarily). Yes, happily. 
 
 Hetman. But surely you two can get along 
 
 Rosmer. Do you think so ? Then you still believe in 
 love ? 
 
 Hetman. My son, I believe in happiness — the happi- 
 ness of living under the same roof with so attractive a 
 companion. 
 
 Rosmer. Unhappily the attractive companion is leav- 
 ing me. 
 
 Hetman. Leaving you ? 
 
 Rosmer. To-night. 
 
 Rebecca. In half an hour. 
 
 Hetman. You don't seem to understand how to keep 
 your women. Your first one left you too. 
 
324 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rosmer. Yes, she did. 
 
 Hetman. Brave woman. She went of her own accord 
 — to smooth your path. 
 
 Rosmer. Who told you that? 
 
 Hetman. That blackguard Mortensgard let out some- 
 thing about it in a letter. 
 
 Rosmer. I see. 
 
 Hetman. Respect and honour her. For that woman 
 must have had a kind of wings, it seems to me. 
 
 Rebecca. Wings ? Why wings ? 
 
 Hetman. Did she not raise herself so high that she 
 could die for her love ? 
 
 Rosmer. Ah yes — to be able to die for something. 
 
 Hetman. I would have taken my oath there wasn't a 
 single living soul that could do it. 
 
 Rosmer. To seek death — and so bear witness of one's 
 love. 
 
 Rebecca. I shall not go to-night. 
 
 Rosmer (uneasily). Yes, go! Go! 
 
 Hetman. Stay, fair lady. To you there is no danger 
 abroad. He will not let you be lured beneath the waters. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Rosmer. Are you going now ? In the dark night ? 
 
 Hetman. The dark night is best. Peace be with you. 
 
 (He goes out through the hall. There is a short silence 
 
 in the room. Rebecca is standing by tlie window, 
 
 Rosmer walks up and down. TJien lie sits down in 
 
 a chair by tlie table) 
 
 Madam Helset. Miss West, the carriage is — (Looks 
 round.) Not here? Out at this time of night? Well — 
 I must say — . H'm — (Goes out into the hall, looks round, 
 and comes in again.) Not on the garden seat. Ah, well, 
 
ROSMERSHOLM 325 
 
 well. {Goes to the window and looks out) Good God! — 
 what's that? The White Horse! Oh no, oh no!— There 
 it is. On the bridge. To-night he dares — (Shrieks 
 aloud.) In the mill-race! Both of them in the mill-race! 
 (Runs to the door on the right and cries:) Help — help! 
 (Stops, glances towards the window, and says in a lower 
 tone.) Oh no. This is past all help or remedy. It was 
 the dead wife that took them. 
 
^THE LADY FROM THE SEA ? " 
 
 A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRIK IBSEN 
 
 1888 
 
DRAFT 
 
 1st act. — The little calling-place for tourist steamers 
 They only call when there are passengers to be landed 01 
 taken on board. Shut in by high, steep mountains. The 
 free, open sea is not visible. Only the winding fiord. 
 Bathing hotel. Sanatorium higher up. When the play 
 opens the last steamer of the year is going north. The 
 boats always pass at midnight. Slowly, noiselessly they 
 .glide into the bay and out again. 
 
 The persons of the play fall into three groups. First, 
 there are peculiar figures among the inhabitants of the 
 place. The lawyer, married for the second time to the 
 woman from the free, open sea. Has two young grown- 
 up daughters of his first marriage. Refined, well-bred, 
 bitter. Past stained by a rash affair. Therefore future 
 career barred. The starving sign-painter with his artist's 
 dreams, made happy by imagination. The old married 
 clerk. In his youth he wrote a play, which was performed 
 once. Is constantly polishing it, and lives in the illusion 
 of getting it published and making a success. Takes, 
 however, no step in this direction. Reckons himself nev- 
 ertheless among literary men. Wife and children believe 
 blindly in " the piece." (Perhaps he is a private teacher, 
 not a clerk ?) — Fresvik the tailor, the radical man-midwife, 
 who shows his "emancipation" in ridiculous escapades — - 
 intrigues with other men's wives; talks about divorce and 
 the like. 
 
 The second group is formed by the summer visitors 
 and the invalids at the Sanatorium. Among these is the 
 
 329 
 
330 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 young invalid sculptor, who has to recruit his strength to 
 get through the coming winter. For next summer he is 
 promised a grant of money and a commission and other 
 support, and then he will be able to go to Italy. Dreads 
 the possibility of having to die without having seen the 
 south and without having achieved anything good in his 
 art. — His "patron" is staying at the bathing hotel. As- 
 sumes guardianship over the invalid. Is a man of prin- 
 ciple. No aid, no support this year. The grant to be 
 down in black and white, "then we will see what we can 
 do next year." ' His wife, stupid, arrogant and tactless. 
 Hurts the invalid, sometimes by design, sometimes unwit- 
 tingly. — Many secondary persons. 
 
 The third group consists of passing tourists, who enter 
 episodically into the action. * 
 
 Life is apparently bright, easy and lively up there be- 
 neath the shadow of the mountains and in the monotony 
 of seclusion. Then the idea is thrown out that this kind 
 of life is a life of shadows. No energy; no struggle for 
 liberation. Only longings and desires. Thus they live 
 through the short, light summer. And afterwards — into 
 the darkness. Then awakes the longing for the life of the 
 great world outside. But what is to be gained by that? 
 With surroundings, with spiritual development, demands 
 and longings and desires increase. He or she, who stands 
 on the height, yearns for the secrets of the future and a 
 share in the life of the future and communication with dis- 
 tant worlds. Everywhere there is limitation. The result 
 is melancholy like a hushed, wailing song over the whole 
 of human existence and over the deeds of men. A light 
 summer day with the great darkness to follow — that is 
 all. 
 
 Has the line of human development gone astray ? Whj 
 have we come to belong to the dry land ? Why not to the 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 331 
 
 air ? Why not to the sea ? The longing to possess wings. 
 The strange dreams that one can fly and that one does 
 fly without being surprised at it — how is all this to be in- 
 terpreted ? 
 
 We ought to possess ourselves of the sea. Build our 
 cities floating upon the sea. Move them southward or 
 northward according to the season. Learn to harness the 
 storms and the weather. Some such felicity will come, 
 And we — shall not be in it! Shall not live to se* 
 it! 
 
 The sea's power of attraction. Longing for the sea 
 Human beings akin to the sea. Bound by the sea. De- 
 pendent on the sea. Compelled to return to it. A fish 
 species forms a primitive link in the chain of evolution. 
 Are rudiments thereof still present in the human mind? 
 In the minds of certain individuals ? 
 
 Pictures of the teeming life of the sea and of that which 
 is "lost for ever." 
 
 The sea possesses a. power over one's moods that has 
 the effect of a will. The sea can hypnotise. Nature in 
 general can do so. The great mystery is the dependence 
 of the human will on that which is "will-less." 
 
 She came from out by the sea, where her father's par- 
 sonage lay. Grew up out there — by the free, open sea. 
 Became engaged to the wayward young mate — a dismissed 
 naval cadet — whose ship was laid up for repairs for the 
 winter in an outlying harbour. Had to break off the en- 
 gagement by her father's wish. Partly also of her own 
 accord. Could not forgive what came to light about his 
 past. So prejudiced was she at that time through her 
 education in her father's home. Nor has she ever since 
 quite left her prejudices behind, though she knows better. 
 Stands on the border-line, hesitating and doubting. 
 
 The mystery in her marriage — which she scarcely darts 
 
332 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 acknowledge to herself; scarcely dares to think of: Imag* 
 ination's power of attraction towards the former one. 
 Towards him who is gone. 
 
 In effect — in her unconscious view — it is he that she is 
 living her married life with. 
 
 But — on the other hand — are her husband and step- 
 children living wholly with her? Have not these three, 
 as it were, a whole world of memories among themselves ? 
 They keep festivals, whose meaning she can only guess. 
 Conversations come to a standstill — are broken off, when 
 she comes in. She did not know her predecessor, and 
 from delicacy the subject is not mentioned when she is 
 present. There is a freemasonry between all the others in 
 the house. The housekeeper and servants included. She 
 is never admitted to it. The others have their own affairs. 
 She stands outside. 
 
 She meets "the strange passenger." This is the name 
 given him by the other visitors. He once felt a deep at- 
 tachment to her. That was when she was engaged to the 
 young sailor. Now he is overworked and has been ordered 
 sea-bathing. Life has not brought him what he looked 
 for. He is bitter. Cutting in a jocular way. 
 
 The sculptor tells his story. Was sent to sea at twelve. 
 Shipwrecked five years ago. Was then seventeen. On 
 that occasion he got his "lesion." Lay for a long time in 
 the cold sea. Inflammation of the lungs followed. Has 
 never really got over it. But it was a great piece of luck 
 nevertheless. For it enabled him to become an artist. 
 Think of being able to model in the delightful clay, which 
 shapes itself so delicately between one's fingers! 
 
 What then does he think of modelling? Figures of 
 gods ? Or perhaps old vikings ? 
 
 No. Nothing of that sort. As soon as he can manage 
 it, he will have a try at a big group. 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 333 
 
 And what is it to represent ? 
 
 Oh, it is to represent something out of his own experi- 
 ence. 
 
 And what was that ? He really must tell it. 
 
 Well, it is to be a young woman, a sailor's wife, lying 
 asleep. And she is dreaming too. One will be able to 
 see that. 
 
 Nothing more? 
 
 Oh yes. Her husband is drowned. But he has come 
 home nevertheless. In the night-time; and there he stands 
 by her bedside and looks at her. 
 
 But in heaven's name — he said it was to be something 
 out of his own experience! 
 
 Yes. This is out of his own experience. In a sense. 
 
 He has seen ?! 
 
 Well — he doesn't mean to say he has actually seen it, 
 of course. But all the same 
 
 And then comes the tale — fragmentary and abrupt — 
 suggesting to her terrible misgivings and apprehensions. 
 
 First Act 
 
 The lawyer's house, with a large, shady veranda on the 
 left. Garden in front and around. At the back, a hedge, 
 with a small gate. Beyond the hedge, a footpath along the 
 shore, shaded by trees on either side. Between the trees 
 there is a view of the fiord, with high mountain peaks 
 in the distance. Brilliantly clear and warm summer 
 morning. 
 
 The Painter stands with a large palette, painting some 
 new posts on the veranda. The Private Teacher enters 
 from the lawyer's office at the back of the house. Has 
 got another execution delayed. Thoroughly good -hearted 
 man, that lawyer. Now if only the play is brought out, we 
 
334 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 are over the worst. Teacher. Is there company expeeted 
 to-day ? Painter. Looks like it. The daughters are put- 
 ting flowers in vases on the veranda. T. Yes, it is a gay 
 time in the tourist season. P. To-night another of the 
 big boats is coming. A few words are exchanged with the 
 girls, who go backwards and forwards. — The Sculptor comes 
 along the path, stops at the gate and enters into conversa- 
 tion with those within. The painter embarrassed at being 
 seen at such common work. Good-nature of course. Bit- 
 terness against "fashionable artists," whose own country 
 is not good enough for them. The Sculptor comes inside. 
 Wants to borrow the palette. The girls with more flowers. 
 S. Is it some anniversary? The younger: Yes, mother's 
 birthday. S. Indeed! The elder (to her sister): Do be 
 quiet! S. says good-bye and goes. T. goes also. The 
 lawyer comes out on to the verancla. Some words are ex- 
 changed with P., who has now finished his work and goes. — 
 Lawyer and daughters. He is not quite satisfied with 
 the arrangements. The elder: Oh father, "the s. p." 
 (" strange passenger ") is coming this morning, you know. 
 Lawyer smiles : Yes, yes, you're right. Observations about 
 him. Is still good-looking. An old lion of the capital. 
 The s. p. comes. Had so little opportunity of talking to 
 him last night. After a while the girls go. Then a 
 long conversation between the friends. Details about the 
 intervening years. — The wife returns from bathing. Law- 
 yer says she disports herself in the water like a mermaid. 
 Yes, yes, she says, the sea is pleasanter than the dry land. 
 Lawyer has to go and attend to his business. — Frank and 
 confidential dialogue between the two others. She has 
 not been really happy for the last three years. Why ? 
 Cannot tell him. It is so strange. — The sculptor comes 
 with a large bouquet. Bows and offers his congratula- 
 tions. — Why? On the occasion of the anniversary. — Is 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 335 
 
 there any anniversary to-day? — Yes, it is your birthday, 
 isn't it? Mine! — The s. p. No, I'm sure it isn't. Lady. 
 What makes you think that ? S. Miss B. let out the secret. 
 She said, it is mother's birthday to-day. L. I see! The 
 s. p. But — Oh, just so. L. takes the flowers and thanks 
 him. Then she enters into conversation with iS. on his 
 affairs. — Here follows the dialogue already sketched (in the 
 2nd sheet). S. is sent down into the garden to the girls. 
 The s. p. finds him too green. Lawyer enters from his 
 office. The girls from the garden room. Outburst over 
 the beautiful flowers. Oh look! Where did they come 
 from ? Mr. P. brought them. — The s. p. For a birthday 
 greeting. The younger: Oh — . The elder: There, you 
 see! Lawyer (embarrassed) : My dear, etc. Don't be hurt 
 about it — . The girls, you see — etc. Soda-water and fruit- 
 syrup in the garden room. It is cooler. I'll go and open 
 the bottles. (He and the daughters go in.) The s. p. 
 You are being wronged. You have no share in the life 
 that is led here. L. I must not complain. For I too live 
 my own life — in a way. — You? How? — That I cannot 
 tell to anybody on earth. — Won't you go in? (They go 
 into the garden room.) 
 
 Second Act 
 
 (Up at "the Prospect," a wooded height behind the 
 trading station. Far below the outer fiord is seen, with 
 islands and jutting promontories. The open sea is not 
 visible. Up on the height, a flag-staff and one or two 
 seats. A summer night. There is a tinge of orange in 
 the upper air and over the mountain peaks in the far 
 distance.) 
 
336 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Lawyer [Doctor] Wangel. [, district physician]. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel, his second wife. 
 
 Thea [Annette] ) his daughters by his former mar«> 
 
 Frida, a young girl ) riage. 
 
 Hesler, a Civil servant [, a schoolmaster]. 
 
 Hans Lovstad [Lyngstrand], a young sculptor. 
 
 Stromme, a merchant. 
 
 Mrs. Stromme, his wife. 
 
 Solfeldt [Ballesen], a painter. 
 
 Ballesen, a private tutor. 
 
 Townspeople, Visitors, Steamboat Passengers, 
 and Tourists. 
 
 (The action takes place at a trading station in Northern 
 Norway.) 
 
 End of 1. Act 
 
 Those lovely flowers ? 
 
 A birthday greeting (puts them in the vase). There, 
 ( now they are a decoration for mother's birthday. 
 (The girls fall on her neck.) 
 
 1st Act 
 
 A feeling of summer, life and gladness everywhere. 
 The days pass like a holiday. Thora takes her husband 
 into her confidence after the conversation with Hesler. 
 Wangel disturbed at hearing of her former secret engage- 
 ment. Forgiveness and forgetting. Now at any rate 
 she belongs to him alone. Hereafter there will be per- 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 337 
 
 feet confidence between him and her and the children. 
 They will mutually share each other's memories. Hence- 
 forth they will live together as husband and wife. She 
 (agitated). As husband and wife! Yes, yes! He starts. 
 Does not understand. She gives no further explanation. 
 
 2nd Act 
 
 Wan gel tries to find the explanation of her strange 
 nature by means of hints and indirect enquiries in a con- 
 versation with Hesler. It is the sea that attracts her with 
 mysterious power. Wangel speaks to her about this. 
 Does she wish to go to the sea ? Yes, yes, she wishes to 
 go to the sea! Then he is willing to move out there! 
 No, no, no sacrifices like that! No wrenching away 
 from here, where is his natural home. He holds to his 
 purpose. She: Set me free! let me go alone! For how 
 long? For ever! I cannot live with you any longer. 
 Then follows the explanation. It is really with him she 
 is living in marriage! 
 i 
 
 3rd Act 
 
 This act takes place in the secluded part of the garden, 
 with bridge and bathing-house. Thora is staying there. 
 Wangel comes to her. Then Hesler. Then at last 
 Lyngstrand. Great news! The American is here! He 
 has seen him! — Scene between Thora and Johnson. What 
 the sea has joined, man cannot put asunder. Wangel 
 comes. Recognises the American as the mate who killed 
 the captain. Calls Thora to witness. She: No, no. 
 Denies all. Johnson goes: Well, now you must get ready 
 to go, Thora. 
 
'338 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 4th Act 
 
 Same place. Now comes the settlement between Wan- 
 gel and Thora. Hesler appears. Wangel consents to 
 Thora's going. Renounces his claim upon her. 
 
 How did you see him ? 
 Just as he was in reality. 
 
 She will leave him 
 Divorce. 
 
 He has bought her 
 
 She has sold herself. 
 
 Feeling of shame over it. 
 
 This is not pure marriage. No. 
 
 But yesterday you said that 
 you saw him as he was 
 when you parted. 
 Did I say that — You are 
 mistaken. 
 
 You said yesterday 
 that at the first mo- 
 ment you did not rec- 
 ognise him. 
 The first one was so. His eyes. 
 
 It was founded in freedom. In free will on both sides. 
 This stands in the way. Oh, if she could come to love 
 him as he deserves. 
 
 The daemonic attraction of 
 the entirely unknown. 
 
 But she does not know him! 
 
 For that very reason. 
 
 She did not know W. 
 
 either. Arenholdt, 
 
 And then to-night the de- 
 cision! 
 
 For a whole lifetime. 
 
 Perhaps the true future for- 
 feited! 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 339 
 
 Life in freedom forfeited, 
 
 Tora, you love him! 
 
 I feel as though my place 
 
 were with him. 
 You shall see him. Speak 
 to him. 
 
 Conclusion: 
 
 Tora : Now I come to you 
 of my own will. 
 
 5th Act 
 
 Arenholdt, Annette, Lyngstrand and Frida in a boat 
 from left to right. 
 
 Jump ashore here. No, make fast there at the bath- 
 ing-steps. 
 
 A little while after, Arenholdt and Annette come in 
 from r. 
 
 Annette. I began to be so afraid that life would go 
 from me. 
 
 Now he is dead to her 
 
 FIRST ACT 
 
 The house of Wangel, the laivyer, with a large, shady 
 veranda, on the left. Garden in front and around. 
 [Near the veranda, a flag-staff. To the right, in the 
 garden, an arbour, with table and chairs.'] At the 
 back, a hedge, with a small gate. Beyond the hedge, 
 a footpath along the shore, siiaded by trees on either 
 side. Between the trees there is a view of the fiord, 
 with high mountain peaks in the distance. It is a 
 warm and brilliantly clear summer morning. 
 
340 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 (Ballesen, a middle-aged painter, dressed in an old velvet 
 jacket and broad-brimmed hat, with the look of an 
 artist in his costume, stands with brush and paint-pot 
 below the veranda, painti?ig some new wooden posts 
 in the railing. A little way off stands an easel with 
 a stretched canvas. Beside it, on a camp-stool, are 
 brushes, palette, and a paint-box. He is humming as 
 he works.) 
 
 (Thea Wangel comes out upon the veranda through the 
 open garden-room door. She is carrying a large vase 
 of flowers, which she places upon the table.) 
 
 Thea Wangel (looking at the freshly-painted posts). 
 Well, Ballesen — I hope you put plenty of drying-oil into 
 the colour? 
 
 Ballesen. Within an hour it will be as dry as a 
 bone, Miss Wangel. I give you my word as an artist. 
 (Thea Wangel goes into the garden-room again.) 
 (Shortly afterwards, Hans Lyngstad comes along 
 the path from tlie right. [He is a slightly -built 
 young man, of delicate appearance, poorly but neatly 
 dressed.] He stops, interested by the sight of the 
 easel and painter's materials.) 
 Hans Lyngstad (outside the hedge). Good morning. 
 Ballesen (turning quickly). Ah—! (Puts doivn the 
 paint-pot in embarrassment, and begins to busy himself at 
 the easel.) Good morning. I take my hat off to you, 
 
 sir — though I don't think I have the pleasure 
 
 Lyngstad. You are a painter, are you not? 
 Ballesen. Yes, certainly. Why should I not be a 
 painter ? 
 
 Lyngstad. Ah, I can see you are. — Should you mind 
 my coming in for a moment? 
 
 Ballesen. Do you want to have a look at it? 
 
4 THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 341 
 
 Lyngstad. Yes, I should like to extremely. 
 
 Ballesen. Oh there's nothing much to see as yet. 
 But pray come in — you're quite welcome. 
 
 Lyngstad. Many thanks. (He comes in through the 
 garden gate.) 
 
 Ballesen (painting) . I'm only sketching it in at pres- 
 ent, — just the maiir outlines, you know. 
 
 Lyngstad. Yes, I see. 
 
 Ballesen. An artist yourself, perhaps ? 
 
 Lyngstad. A painter, you mean ? 
 
 Ballesen. Yes. 
 
 Lyngstad. No, I am not. But I am going to be a 
 sculptor. 
 
 Ballesen. Oh indeed — are you ? Well, well, sculp- 
 ture, too, is a fine, gentleman-like art. (Goes back a step 
 and looks at his picture through the hollow of his hand, 
 with his head on one side.) I fancy I've seen you in the 
 street once or twice. Have you been staying here long ? 
 
 Lyngstad. No, I have only been here a fortnight. 
 But I hope I may be able to stay the whole summer. 
 
 Ballesen. To enjoy the gaieties of the season, eh? 
 
 Lyngstad. Well, rather to get up my strength a bit. 
 
 Ballesen. Not an invalid, I hope? 
 
 Lyngstad. Well, I'm what you might call a little bit 
 weak. Nothing to speak of, you know. It's only a sort 
 of short-windedness in my chest. 
 
 Ballesen. Pooh — a mere trifle. (Puts down his paU 
 ette.) But, by Jove, I was forgetting that I've promised 
 Miss Wangel to do a bit of decorating here. (Takes 
 the paint-pot and finishes the woodwork.) Perhaps you 
 think it strange to see me doing this kind of thing. But 
 I don't see anything to be ashamed of in art lending its 
 aid to handicraft occasionally. Eh ? Is there really any- 
 thing to be said against it? 
 
342 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Lyngstad. No, I'm sure there can't be. 
 (A steamer's whistle is heard again outside.) 
 
 Ballesen. Hullo! There's another monster howl- 
 ing. Now I suppose we shall be saddled with a new lot 
 of disturbers of the peace. 
 
 Lovstad. There seems to be a continual coming and 
 going of tourists here. All these steamboats calling even- 
 single day. 
 
 Ballesen. You might add, at night as well. To- 
 night the big boat for the North Cape will be here. And 
 then we shall get them — all those who stop here to make 
 excursions into the fiords. Ugh! 
 
 Lovstad. Don't you care for all the life there is 
 here in the summer? 
 
 Ballesen. No, indeed I don't. For it's quite foreign 
 to the character of the town. 
 
 Lovstad. Are you a native of the place? 
 
 Ballesen. No, I am not. But I have become 
 attached to the place by the bonds of time and habit. 
 
 Lovstad. You have lived here a long time, then ? 
 
 Ballesen. Well, seventeen or eighteen years. I came 
 here with Varde's dramatic company. But we got into 
 financial difficulties; so the company broke up and was 
 scattered to the winds. 
 
 Lovstad. But you remained here ? 
 
 Ballesen. Yes, I did. For the town needed me, I 
 must tell you. You see, at that time I was working 
 
 mostly in the decorating line. 
 
 (Thea comes out with a rocking-chair, which she 
 places in tJie veranda.) 
 
 Thea (speaking into the garden-room.) Frida — see if 
 you can find the embroidered footstool for father. 
 
 Lovstad (approaches the veranda and hoics). Good 
 morning, Miss Wangel. 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 343 
 
 Thea (by the balustrade). Ah, is that you, Mr. Lov- 
 
 stad ? Good morning. Excuse me one moment 
 
 (Goes into the house.) 
 
 Ballesen. Do you know the family here ? 
 
 Lovstad. Very slightly. I have met the young ladies 
 
 once or twice at other houses. And I had a little talk 
 
 with Mrs. Wangel the last time the band played up at 
 
 the Prospect. She said I might come and see them. 
 
 Ballesen. I'll tell you what — you ought to cultivate 
 their acquaintance. 
 
 Lovstad. Yes, I've been thinking of paying them a 
 visit — calling on them, you know. If I could only find 
 some pretext for it. 
 
 B. Oh nonsense — a pretext 
 
 (Frida comes out with the stool. Thea brings more 
 jlowers. Lovstad bows to Frida from the garden. 
 Ballesen collects his things and goes.) 
 Frida (by the balustrade) . Thea said you were in the 
 garden. 
 
 (Wangel comes in from the left, behind the house.) 
 
 Wangel. Well, here I am, little girls! 
 
 Thea. Oh, I'm so glad you have come. 
 (He goes up into the veranda.) 
 
 Frida. Have you finished at the office now, father? 
 
 Wangel. Oh no, I must go down there again pres- 
 ently. I only wanted to see if Hesler had come. He 
 hasn't, then ? 
 
 Thea. No, we have seen nothing of him yet. 
 
 Thea (nodding confidentially to him). Of course you 
 understand that it's all in honour of Mr. Hesler. When 
 an old friend comes to pay his first visit to you 
 
344 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Frida. We had the flag up for him yesterday too. 
 When he came by the boat. • 
 
 Wangel {half smiling). You are a pair of young 
 rogues — Well, well, — after all it's only natural that we 
 should remember — . But all the same — I don't like all 
 this, — the manner of it. Well — what can one say? I 
 suppose there is no other way of doing it. 
 
 Frida. Look, there he is, father. 
 
 (Hesler appears on the path, coming from the left, 
 and goes in through the garden gate.) 
 
 Wangel (going to meet him). Welcome! A hearty 
 welcome to you! 
 
 (They shake hands and go into the veranda together. 
 Hesler boivs to the daughters.) 
 
 Wangel (forces him into the rocking-chair) . Sit down. 
 Sit down, old friend! 
 
 Hesler. Thanks. (Looking about him.) So here I 
 am in my old haunts again. It is many years since I last 
 sat here. 
 
 Wangel. Yes, it's eight whole years ago. But I sup- 
 pose you recognize ? 
 
 Hesler. Perfectly. I don't think there are many 
 changes here. Except that the trees have grown a bit, 
 and you have planted a new arbour there 
 
 Wangel. Oh no, outwardly, I dare say 
 
 Hesler. And now, of course, you have two grown-up 
 daughters in the house. 
 
 Wangel. Oh, only one grown-up, surely. 
 
 Frida. (half aloud). Just listen to father! 
 
 Wangel. But now you shall just sit quiet and have 
 a good rest. You are looking rather tired after your 
 journey. 
 
 Thea. Shall we bring a little soda-water and syrup 
 into the garden-room ? It will soon be too warm out here. 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 345 
 
 Wangel. Yes, do, little girls. Soda-water and syrup. 
 And perhaps a little cognac. 
 
 Thea. Cognac too? 
 
 Wangel. Just a little. In case any one should care 
 for it. 
 
 Thea. Very well. 
 
 (She and Frida go into the garden-room and close 
 the door behind them.) 
 
 Wangel (seats himself). Are you thinking of taking 
 a regular course of baths here ? 
 
 Hesler. Not at all. I have no need of that. I am 
 just going to be idle for a month. And not think about 
 anything at all. 
 
 Wangel. And not overwork yourself again when you 
 get back. 
 
 Hesler. Well, what the deuce is one to do ? When 
 there isn't a blessed thing on earth that's worth devoting 
 one's self to and living for, it makes one glad that there is 
 such a thing as work. And so one works until one drops. 
 
 Wangel. I don't think I could ever bring myself to 
 do that. 
 
 Hesler. You don't care for it? 
 
 Wangel. Not for working more than is absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 Hesler. No, no — of course you have other things — ■ 
 and others — to live for. — Do you intend to remain here 
 for the rest of your days ? 
 
 Wangel. Oh yes, that's what it will come to, I sup- 
 pose. Here I have lived very very happily with her who 
 was taken from us. And now I live very very happily 
 with one who has come to me in her stead. — I must say 
 that, take it all in all, the fates have been kind to me. 
 
 Hesler. Is your wife not at home to-day ? 
 
 Wangel. Oh yes, she'll be here very soon. She has 
 
S46 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 gone to bathe. She never misses a day at this season; no 
 matter what the weather may be. 
 Hesler. Is she out of health ? 
 
 Wangel. No, not exactly; but she has been curiously 
 nervous the last couple of years or so. But to get into 
 the sea is life and happiness to her. 
 Hesler. I remember that of old. 
 Wangel. Yes, to be sure, you knew her when you 
 held an appointment out there. 
 
 Hesler. Of course. I used often to be at the par- 
 sonage while her father was alive. 
 
 (Mrs. Wangel, with a large light cloak over her head 
 and shoulders, comes along the path from the right and 
 through the garden gate.) 
 Wangel (rising) . Ah, here comes the mermaid! 
 (Mrs. Wangel goes quickly up into the veranda. 
 Hesler rises and bows.) 
 
 Hesler. H'm — . Have you ever told your husband 
 anything about me — about you and me ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No, I have not. I don't see that it 
 was my duty. For it never came to anything between us. 
 
 Hesler. There you are certainly right. But I mean, 
 have you told him that I once took an unsuccessful 
 step ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Not a word of it. I have only told 
 him what is true — that I liked you very much, and that 
 you were the truest and best friend I had out there. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. But you do not know that I was en- 
 gaged at that time. 
 
 Hesler. At that time — engaged! 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 347 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, engaged, as it is called. 
 
 Hesler. But that is impossible! You are mistaking 
 the time. I don't believe you knew Wangel then. And 
 anyhow he was not yet a widower. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. I know that, my dear Hesler. But it 
 is not Wangel that I am speaking of. 
 
 Hesler. Not Wangel! Another then! But at that 
 time — ! Out there in the solitude by the open sea — ; 
 I don't remember another creature that I could conceive 
 your 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh, you couldn't conceive the possi- 
 bility, even if I told you — . No, no — for the whole thing 
 was such utter madness on my part. 
 
 Hesler. Do tell me more about this 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No, no, my dear Hesler — what 
 would be the use ? It is enough for you to know that I 
 was not free at that time. And now you do know it. 
 
 Hesler. And if you had been free at that time ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. What then ? 
 
 Hesler. Would your answer have been different? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. To be perfectly frank with you, I 
 don't think it would. 
 
 Hesler. Nor I either. But then, what is the use of 
 telling me this? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel (rises nervously) . Because I must have 
 some one I can speak to about it. No, no, don't rise. 
 
 Hesler. Wangel, then, knows nothing of the matter ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No. No one has ever known any- 
 thing. I did not think there was anything to tell him. 
 After all, it was nothing but the maddest of madness; and 
 then it all came to an end so quickly. Was done with. 
 — At least — in a way. 
 
 Hesler (rising). Only in a way? Not entirely! 
 
348 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh yes, of course! My dear good 
 Hesler, it is not at all as you suppose. It's something 
 quite incomprehensible. I don't think I could find 
 words to tell you of it. And even if I could, you would 
 never be able to understand it. You would think I was 
 ill — or else that I was stark mad. 
 
 Hesler. My dear Mrs. Wangel — now you must and 
 shall tell me the whole story. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Well then — how should you, with 
 your common sense, ever be able to understand that — 
 {Breaks ojf.) Wait — another time — here is some one 
 coming. 
 
 Lyngstrand. Well, you see, when we were lying in 
 the brig over in Montreal, we had to leave our boatswain 
 in the hospital; so we shipped an American in his place. 
 And then we put to sea. We were bound for Spain. 
 This new boatswain 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. The American ? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes; — one day he borrowed from the 
 captain a bundle of old newspapers that he had come 
 across somewhere. There were many Norwegian papers 
 among them. And it was mostly those he read. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. The American ? 
 
 Hesler. Did he know Norwegian ? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, he knew some. He had sailed to 
 Norway, he said. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Well; and then? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Well, one evening it was blowing great 
 guns. All hands were on deck — all except the boatswain 
 and me. For he had sprained his ankle and couldn't 
 walk; and I wasn't very well and was lying in my bunk. 
 Well, there he sat in the fo'c'sle, reading away as usual at 
 one of the old papers — 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 349 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Was it a Norwegian paper? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, it was [I don't know]. And [But] 
 all of a sudden, I heard him give a kind of a roar. And 
 when I turned and looked at him. I saw that his face was 
 as white as chalk. Then he sat crumpling and crushing 
 the paper up, and tearing it into a thousand little pieces. 
 But that he did quite quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Did he not speak at all ? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Not at first. But presently he looked 
 at me and said, as if to himself: "She has gone and mar- 
 ried another man while I was away." 
 
 Mrs. Wangel {half to herself). Did he say that? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, and he said it in perfectly good 
 Norwegian. He must have been a Norwegian after all — ■ 
 [must have sailed in Norwegian ships, I should think]. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Well, Mr. Lyngstrand, I am sure you 
 can make a work of art out of this. 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, don't you think so? I think I 
 must be able to. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Is the dead man to represent what 
 she is dreaming of? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Oh yes, he is. But then he is to be a 
 real man at the same time. 
 
 Hesler. Who is drowned and has come home after- 
 wards ? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, I had thought of something of the 
 sort. But I find it so difficult to explain what I mean. You 
 will be able to understand it when I have finished the work. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel {with slight hesitation) . How long may 
 it be since you made that voyage with the American ? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Oh, it's a long while ago now, Mrs. 
 Wangel. It's more than two years ago. We left America 
 
350 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 in February and were wrecked in March. It was the 
 equinoctial gales that we got into. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Two years, do you say? Yes, tha* 
 agrees. 
 
 Hesler. What, do you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh no, it was only — (Rises.) It 
 seems to me so hot here. Come, let us go in. 
 
 Thea and Frida. Ah! 
 
 Wangel. H'm — . Well, you see, my dear Thora 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Come along, girls! Let us put these 
 up among the others. 
 
 Thea and Frida (throwing their arms around her). 
 Oh you dear — ! How sweet of you! 
 
 Wangel (puts his arm round Iter). Thank you, thank 
 you! I thank you from my heart for this, Thora! 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh, nonsense — why should I not 
 join with you in keeping mother's birthday? 
 
 (They go up into the veranda, in joyful excitement. 
 Hesler follows them.) 
 
 FROM THE SECOND ACT 
 
 Frida. Pooh — supposing it is true, what — (Loofcs 
 down). Hullo — here he comes with them in tow! Look 
 there ! There she is, walking with Hesler — not with father 
 — and jabbering away to him! I wonder whether she 
 isn't a bit sweet on that Hesler. 
 
 Wangel (smiling). Well, in this case it was net nec- 
 essary to ask any question. I scarcely needed to be told 
 who it was 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 351 
 Mrs. Wangel. Could you- 
 
 W angel. — so that I was not at all surprised when 
 at last he came here again. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Who, who? 
 
 Wangel. To be sure, he wrote that it was because 
 of the girls. That he wanted so much to see them 
 again 
 
 Mrs. Wangel (jestingly). Oh, then he was careful 
 of what he said. 
 
 Wangel. You too were a girl when he last saw you. 
 And so you must have remained in his recollection. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. But, my dear Wangel, I assure 
 you. . I beg you ! 
 
 Wangel. Be quite easy about it. I shall not let him 
 see anything. Hesler is a good and faithful friend of 
 mine. I rely on him with as much confidence as I do 
 on yourself. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. That you may certainly do. But I 
 tell you — it was not Hesler. 
 
 Wangel. H'm, how obstinate you can be at times. 
 Wasn't Hesler tutor out there on the island the winter 
 before he came to us? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, he was. 
 
 Wangel. Well. And wasn't it just that winter that 
 this took place, this affair of the engagement ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, you're right there again. 
 
 Wangel. Very well. Then will you tell me, my 
 dear good Thora, whether at that time there was any other 
 decent, respectable unmarried man out there, to whom 
 this might refer? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No. There was certainly no such 
 person . — But ■ 
 
 Wangel. But ? 
 
352 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Well, now I must and will tell you. 
 It was not any decent, respectable man 
 
 Wangel (starts up) . Not any decent, respectable 1 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Not one that you would call so. 
 
 Wangel. What is there behind all this? Let me 
 hear the whole story. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Do you remember that, in the late 
 autumn one year, a large American ship came into 
 Skioldvik fcr repairs? 
 
 Wangel. Yes, I remember it well. It was on board 
 her that the captain was found murdered in his cabin 
 one morning. I remember going to make the post-mor- 
 tem. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, I know you did. 
 
 Wangel. It was an ordinary seaman who had killed 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No one can tell that! It was never 
 proved. 
 
 Wangel. There is no doubt about it. Why, he ran 
 away immediately afterwards. Though, to be sure, some 
 people thought he had gone and drowned himself. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. He did not. He escaped in a vessel 
 bound for the north. 
 
 Wangel (starts) . How do you know that ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Because, Wangel — because it was 
 that ordinary seaman to whom I was betrothed. 
 
 Wangel. What do you say ? Can this be possible ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, he was the man. 
 
 Wangel. But how in the world, Thora — ! And as 
 far as I remember he was nothing but a lad at the time. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh no, he was at any rate a year or 
 two older than I. But we were both young, of course. 
 
 Wangel. And you went and engaged yourself to him! 
 What was his name ? 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 358 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. He called himself Johnson. 
 
 Wangel. Where did he come from? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. I don't know. 
 
 Wangel. But you can tell whether he was a Nor- 
 wegian or a foreigner? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. I don't know for certain. He spoke 
 good Norwegian. But there was something foreign about 
 it. 
 
 Wangel. Then did you never ask him? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No, not very often. Not so much as 
 five times altogether, I think. For then came this affair 
 about the captain; and he had to go away. 
 
 Wangel. Oh yes, let me hear about that. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Early one morning, in the dusk, I 
 got a line from him, and it said that I must come out to 
 him at Bakkehammer — you know, the headland between 
 the parsonage and Skioldvik 
 
 Wangel. Yes, yes — I know. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. — I must come there immediately, 
 for he wanted to speak to me. 
 
 Wangel. And you went? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, you may be sure I did — then. 
 Well, he said that he had stabbed the captain in the 
 night 
 
 Wangel. He told you himself! Straight out! 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes. But he had only done what 
 was right and just, he said. 
 
 Wangel. Right and just? What reason did he 
 give, then, for stabbing him? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. He would not tell me the reason. 
 He said it was not a thins: for me to hear about. 
 
854 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Wangel. And you believed him? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, you may be sure I did — then. 
 Well, he had to go away. But when he was on the point 
 of saying good-bye to me, he did a strange thing. He 
 did it quite calmly and quietly. For that was his way. 
 Always calm and quiet. 
 
 Wangel. What was it he did ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. He took a key-ring out of his pocket, 
 and drew off his finger a ring he used to wear. Then he 
 took from me a little ring that I had, and these two he 
 fastened together on the key-ring. Then he said that 
 now we two should together be wedded to the sea. 
 
 Wangel. Wedded ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, so he said. And then he 
 flung the large ring and the two, small ones far, far out 
 into the sea. Don't you think that was stranger 
 
 Wangel. And you — ? Did you agree to that? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, would you believe it, at the time 
 I only thought that it was something — that it was all as 
 it should be. But then he went away. 
 
 Wangel. And when once he was away? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh, good heavens, you can understand, 
 my dear, that I soon saw how utterly foolish and stupid 
 and meaningless the whole thing had been. 
 
 Wangel. Yes, yes. But was that the end of it? 
 Did you never hear from him afterwards ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, I heard from him. 
 
 Wangel. He wrote ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes. As soon as he reached England 
 I got a line or two from him. He said he was going on 
 to America, and told me where to address a letter. 
 
 Wangel. Did you write ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Immediately. I said, of course, that 
 all must be over between us — that he must never think 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 355 
 
 of me again, as I meant never to think any more of 
 him. 
 
 Wangel. Did he stop then? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No. 
 
 Wangel. He wrote again. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, he wrote again. 
 
 Wangel. And what was his answer to what you had 
 said ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Not a word. He wrote just as if I 
 had never broken with him. He told me quite calmly 
 that I must wait for him. When he was ready for me he 
 would let me know, and then I was to come to him at 
 once. 
 
 Wangel. He would not release you ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No. So I wrote again, almost word 
 for word the same as before: only more strongly. 
 
 Wangel. And did he give way? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh, no, far from it. He wrote as 
 calmly as before. Never a word about my having broken 
 with him. Then I saw it was useless, so I wrote to him 
 no more. 
 
 Wangel. But he ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. I have had three letters from him 
 since. Once he wrote from California and once from 
 China. The last letter I got from him was from Austra- 
 lia. He said he was going to the gold-mines; since then 
 I have heard nothing more from him. 
 
 Wangel. That man must have had an extraordinary 
 power over you, Thora. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh yes, yes. That dreadful man! 
 Oh, how happy and secure I felt when you and I came 
 together. It seemed to me as if you had saved me from 
 myself — and from something terrible both within me and 
 without. 
 
356 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Wangel. (in a low voice). Yes, we were happy in- 
 deed — the first three years. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, yes, we were. And then — to 
 think of it — then this — this other thing was to come over 
 me. 
 
 Wangel. This mental ailing, you mean ? Yes, it is 
 hard. Hard for us both. But do try now to calm your- 
 self, my dear, my precious Thora. We will try another 
 cure for you now. A fresher air than in here. The salt- 
 laden, sweeping sea-breezes, dear! What do you say to 
 that? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh, don't speak of it! Don't think of 
 such a thing! There is no help for me in that. I know, 
 I feel, that I should not be able to throw it off out there 
 either. , 
 
 Wangel. To throw off what, dear? What do you 
 mean? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel (as though brooding over something). I 
 mean the terror of him. 
 
 Wangel. Yes, but what is it after all that is so terrible 
 to you ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel (looking at him despondingly) . What 
 I have just told you. 
 
 Wangel. Well — terrible ? But would you really call 
 it so ? No doubt that man once exercised a tremendous 
 power over you. That one can easily understand. But 
 such a thing is not nearly so rare as you seem to think. 
 I have had opportunities of observing several similar 
 cases. And besides — you had the strength to break it 
 all off. To put an end to it as soon as you were able to 
 reflect a little. What is there left to brood over? It is 
 all over, long ago. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel (springs up). No, that is just what it 
 is not! And that is the terror of it! 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 357 
 
 Wangel. Not over! 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No, it is not over! And I am afraid 
 it never will be over. Never in this life. That is what 
 is so terrible to think of. 
 
 Wangel (in a low, agitated voice). Do you mean to 
 say that you have never in your heart of hearts been able 
 to forget him? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No, there was a time whe^ he came 
 to mean nothing to me. It was just as though he had 
 never existed. Oh, I felt so free and relieved for those 
 three years. They were the first three years I lived here 
 with you, Wangel. 
 
 Wangel (in suspense). And now — ! Do you mean 
 then that now it has come over you again ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, now it has come again. With 
 frightful force. It came like this two years ago. 
 
 Wangel (painfully moved). Ah! Two years ago? 
 That was it! In that case, Thora, I begin to understand 
 much more clearly. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. You are wrong, dear — this thing that 
 has come over me — oh, I don't think it can ever be under- 
 stood ! 
 
 Wangel (half to himself) . To think that for two years 
 her heart has been given to a strange man. To another! 
 Not to me — but to another! 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, yes, to you! To you alone! To 
 no one in the whole world. 
 
 Wangel. Oh, Thora! Oh yes, yes, I knew that. 
 But what is it then — . What is it between you and the 
 strange man ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. It is the dread he casts over me ■ 
 
 Wangel. Dread ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Yes, a dread. Such a dread, such a 
 
358 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 terror, as arises only from the sea. For now I must tell 
 
 you, Wangel ■ 
 
 (Young people, men and girls, come in from the left, 
 some in couples, some in groups. A few tourists 
 among them. Finally Hesler, Lyngstrand, 
 Thea and Frida come. They are no longer walk- 
 ing arm in arm.) 
 
 Wangel. Dear Thora — why did you cross-question 
 him about that voyage? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Because I believe — . (Breaking out.) 
 Now I have learnt something about Johnson. 
 
 Wangel. What have you learnt ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Johnson was on board the ship in 
 which Lyngstrand was wrecked. Of that I am perfectly 
 certain. 
 
 Wangel. My dear, what makes you think so? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Something Lyngstrand mentioned 
 this morning. Johnson came to know, during the voy- 
 age — in some way or other — I don't know how. He 
 came to know that I had married. Had married while he 
 was away. And then this came! 
 
 Wangel. What came? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. That Johnson all at once became so 
 fearfully present to me. I seemed to see him before me 
 wherever I went. 
 
 Wangel. Did he appear to you as you had seen him 
 in reality? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No, I don't see him like that. Not 
 so young as he was then. I see him older. And I see 
 him with a beard. A reddish beard. He did not have 
 a beard then. There is one thing especially that I see 
 with such fearful clearness. 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 359 
 
 Wangel. Now 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. He always wears a red neck-cloth 
 and it is fastened with a large, bluish-white pearl — a 
 
 scarf-pin, you know 
 
 Wangel. Yes, yes. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. And when I think of that pin, it 
 seems to turn into a dead fish's eye, that looks at me. 
 Looks fixedly at me. 
 
 Wangel. Good God — . You are more ill than I 
 thought; more ill than you know yourself, Thora. And 
 you have been in this state for over two years. You have 
 suffered this secret anguish without confiding in me. 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Oh, how could I have the heart to 
 do that. In you! In you, whom I love so dearly. But 
 now I must tell you all. For I feel it closing round me 
 more and more. Therefore I must now tell you the most 
 fearful thing of all. 
 
 Wangel. Yes, tell me that — do tell me that! 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. The most fearful thing is that when 
 
 the strange man became so living to me, then — Oh 
 
 Wangel. Then ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. Then I seemed to lose you, Wangel! 
 
 Wangel. Lose ? How ? 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. WTien you were [are] not present, I 
 could [can] no longer recall [retain] your appearance. 
 It was [is] the strange man that I saw [see] instead of 
 you. 
 
 Wangel. Explain yourself more clearly, Thora. 
 Mrs. Wangel. I mean that when you are out in a 
 boat and a storm comes on and I am waiting here in mor- 
 tal fear for you, it is not you that I picture to myself in 
 the boat — . Or rather, it is you, but I see you in the 
 likeness of the strange man. — And then the unspeakable. 
 Wangel. The unspeakable ? 
 
360 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Wangel. No, no, no! — Only one thing more, 
 and I have done. Wangel — how shall we fathom — that 
 about the child's eyes 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Thora (softly and trembling). Oh, do you hear that, 
 Wangel? He is coming back! 
 
 Wangel. Do not be alarmed. We shall find means 
 to prevent it. 
 
 The Stranger. Good-bye for the present, Thora. 
 To-morrow evening then. 
 
 Thora {with a shriek). Dort't look at me like that! 
 Oh, the eyes, the eyes! 
 
 Wangel. The eyes! What do you mean by that 
 
 The Stranger. And if by that time you should be of 
 a mind to come with me 
 
 Thora. Never! Never to the end of time! Never! 
 
 The Stranger. I only mean that in that case you 
 must be ready to start. To-morrow evening then, you 
 understand. 
 
 Thora. Never, I say! Go, go! 
 
 Wangel. Go into the house, Thora! 
 
 Thora. I cannot. Oh, help me! Save me, Wangel ! 
 
 The Stranger. For you must remember this, that 
 if you do not come with me this time, it will be too late. 
 
 Thora. Too late ? 
 
 The Stranger. Beyond recall, Thora. I shall never 
 return to these parts. You will never see me any more 
 nor hear from me either. I shall be as though dead and 
 gone from you, for evermore. 
 
 Thora {breathing as though relieved) . Ah ! 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 361 
 
 The Stranger. So think carefully what you do. 
 Good-bye. (He climbs over tJie fence, stops, and says:) 
 Well, Thora — be ready to start to-morrow evening; for 
 then I will come and take you away. 
 
 (He goes slowly and calmly along the footpath and out 
 to the right.) 
 
 Thora (looks after him a while). Oh, that terrible 
 creature! 
 
 Wangel. Be calm, be calm. He is gone now, and 
 you shall never see him again. 
 
 Thora. Oh, how can you say that? He is coming 
 again to-morrow [night]. 
 
 Wangel. Let him come: I will see that he does 
 not meet you. 
 
 Thora. Do you think you can prevent that ? Oh, I 
 don't know any place on earth where I can be safe from 
 him. 
 
 Wangel. Before all else you must try to get him out 
 >f your ailing mind. 
 
 Thora. Yes, yes, if I only could. (Looking away.) 
 So sure he was that I would go with him. — Have you 
 ever heard or seen a man so sure as he is, Wangel! 
 
 Wangel. You must put him out of your thoughts, I 
 say. 
 
 Thora. Yes, if one only could. 
 
 Wangel. You must! You must! You don't know 
 what it may lead to otherwise. 
 
 Thora (musing) . When he has been here — to-morrow 
 evening — . And [when] he has gone away in the 
 steamer . 
 
 Wangel. Well, what then ? 
 
 Thora. Do you think he will never come again ? 
 
 Wangel. No, dear Thora, you may feel absolutely 
 secure on that point. 
 
36<? FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Thora. Never again ? Never as long as life lasts. 
 Do you think that? 
 
 Wangel. That I am certain of. You will never see 
 him again. 
 
 Thora (involuntarily). Never 
 
 Wangel. How can you be afraid of that? W T hat 
 could he do here after this ? Do look at it reasonably, 
 dear. He has heard now, from your own lips, that you 
 will have nothing tr» do with him. 
 
 Thora. No. That is certain. To-morrow even- 
 ing — . And then never again. 
 
 FROM THE FOURTH ACT 
 
 Wangel. Ted me, Mr. Lyngstrand — that American 
 you were speaking of yesterday — do you know much 
 about him ? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Nc, not much. Only that we were 
 shipmates one voyage. 
 
 Wangel. Do you remember his name? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, it was Frimann, or something like 
 that. 
 
 Wangel. And then he shipped as nothing more than 
 boatswain. 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, it was a boatswain we happened 
 to want. And he wanted to get across. So he took the 
 berth. 
 
 Wangel. Now he is travelling as a tourist, it seems. 
 
 Lyngstrand. Did you see him too, Doctor? 
 
 Wangel. I saw a stranger pass below there. It must 
 have been he. — Tell me, what sort of a man did you 
 think he was ? I mean, when you were shipmates with 
 him, 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 363 
 
 Lyngstrand. He seemed to me to be a quiet, calm 
 man. But very determined. 
 
 Wangel. Very determined ? 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, he was. But that was in a quiet 
 way, too. I only remember one time when he became 
 quite ungovernable. 
 
 Wangel. Oh yes. That time you were speaking of 
 yesterday . 
 
 Lyngstrand. — that I am going to put into sculp- 
 ture, yes. I am so glad both you and Mrs. Wangel 
 think so well of that idea. 
 
 Wangel. How — ? Oh yes, yes. 
 
 (He goes over t) Hesler, who is standing by the 
 piano.) 
 
 Annette (softly to Lyngstrand). I'll wager my life 
 it was the strange man who came and enquired. 
 
 Lyngstrand. For Mrs. Wangel! 
 
 Annette. I don't know whom he enquired for. 
 
 Lyngstrand. Yes, it was Mrs. Wangel. But what 
 on earth ! 
 
 Annette. Well, come along. Come along. 
 
 (She and Lyngstrand go with Frida d ncn through 
 the garden.) 
 
 Wangel (to Hesler). Have you given any more 
 thought to it? 
 
 Hesler. I have thought of nothing else, ever since we 
 parted. 
 
 Wangel. And what do you think I ought to do in the 
 matter ? 
 
 Hesler. My dear Doctor, I think that you, as a 
 phvsician, ought to know better than I. 
 
 Wangel. H'm. This is no common disorder. And 
 no case for an ordinary physician — pr for ordinary reme- 
 dies. 
 
364 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hesler. How is she to-day? 
 
 Wangel. I have just been up to see her, and she ap- 
 peared to me quite calm. But behind all her moods 
 something seems to be hidden that eludes me entirely. 
 And then she is so variable, so incalculable, so subject 
 to sudden changes. 
 
 Hesler. No doubt that is due to her morbid state of 
 mind. 
 
 Wangel. Not entirely. The germ of it all is innate 
 in her. Thora belongs to the sea-folk: that is the 
 trouble. 
 
 Hesler. What do you mean precisely, my dear 
 Doctor ? 
 
 Wangel. The people who live out by the open sea 
 are like a race apart. Widely different from the people 
 of the fiords. Out there they *live the life of the sea. 
 And they never bear transplantation. I should have 
 thought of that before. It was a sin against her to take 
 her away from the sea and bring her in here. 
 
 Hesler. Have you come to look at it in that light ? 
 
 Wangel. Yes, more and more. Especially in the 
 last year or two. — But I ought to have known it from the 
 first. I ought to have known that she would inevitably 
 pine and languish in here. Oh, I did know it too, but I 
 would not acknowledge it. I loved her so much. And 
 consequently I thought first of myself. In fact, I was 
 utterly and unpardonably selfish. 
 
 Hesler. I am afraid every one is selfish under those 
 circumstances. But I can't say that I have noticed that 
 vice in you. 
 
 Wangel. Oh yes. But I try to fight against it. 
 
 Hesler. Let us speak frankly. Was it mutual affec- 
 tion that brought you and her together? 
 
 Wangel. No, I can't say it was. Not that kind of 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 365 
 
 feeling on her side. When her father was drowned — her 
 mother was subject to melancholy, you know — the new 
 lighthouse-keeper was expected. They had to leave 
 the house. Oh, I ought never to have availed myself of 
 her helpless situation. But I did so nevertheless. 
 
 Hesler. And it was only gradually that you won her ? 
 
 Wangel. I thought at any rate that I had won her. 
 There seemed to be signs of that. But then this melan- 
 choly came upon her. Oh, what remorse I felt. For I 
 was to blame. I had taken her by surprise. Almost 
 by force, I may say. For, you see, she had no choice. 
 And I was at my wits' end to know what to do. — That 
 is why I turned to you in my perplexity, and asked you 
 to come to us. 
 
 Hesler. Yes, my dear Doctor, but what good did 
 you suppose / could do? I don't understand. 
 
 Wangel. No. For I had got upon a wrong scent. 
 I fancied that she had once cared for you, and that she 
 still secretly cared for you. So I thought it might per- 
 haps do her good to see you again. 
 
 Hesler. Then it was your wife you meant when you 
 wrote that some one here was waiting for me! 
 
 Wangel. Yes; who else? 
 
 Hesler. Of course. But I did not understand you. 
 
 Wangel. Naturally not. I was on a wrong scent. 
 
 Hesler. Then, although you thought your wife had 
 an inclination for me — cared for me — you nevertheless 
 wrote for me. Asked me to come here 
 
 Wangel. I was bent upon seeing her cheerful again. 
 Rejecting no expedient. Come of it what might. 
 
 Hesler. And you think you are selfish 
 
 Wangel. Oh, I had such a great error to atone for. 
 But don't tell her I wrote for you. She believes you 
 came here of your own accord. Tell her nothing. 
 
366 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hesler. Not a word, since you wish it. Well, after 
 all, it was a good thing I came here. That the misunder- 
 standing was cleared up. For now you know that her 
 heart is not with any other man. 
 
 Wangel. No, it is wholly and solely the dread of this 
 stranger that haunts her thus. 
 
 Hesler. How do you explain the power he exercises 
 over her? 
 
 Wangel. H'm, my dear friend, there are sides to that 
 question that don't admit of explanation. 
 
 Hesler. Something inexplicable, do you mean ? En- 
 tirely inexplicable ? 
 
 Wangel. Inexplicable to the understanding of our 
 time, at any rate. To the science of our time. 
 
 Hesler. Do you believe in -such things? 
 
 Wangel. I neither believe nor disbelieve. I simply 
 do not know. So I suspend my judgment. [For I am 
 not really a man of science, I must tell you. I have ] 
 
 Hesler. But tell me — . That strange, uncanny idea 
 of hers about the child's eyes ? 
 
 Wangel (eagerly). I don't in the least believe that 
 about the eyes. That is pure imagination on her part. 
 I take that to be nothing but an outcome of her morbid 
 nervous condition. Nothing else! 
 
 Hesler. But then the other point: that this haunt- 
 ing fear, this dread and unrest came upon her just at the 
 very time when this stranger would seem to have been 
 on his way home? 
 
 Wangel. Well, that again is a belief she has imagined 
 and dreamt herself into, since the day before yesterday. 
 It did not come upon her at all so suddenly, so instan- 
 taneously, as she now maintains. But since she heard 
 from this young Lyngstrand that Johnson, or whatever 
 he is called, was on his way home three years ago in 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 367 
 
 March, she believes that her mental suffering came over 
 her in the very same month. 
 
 Hesler. And did it [not] ? 
 
 Wangel. Not at all. It had been noticeable long 
 before that. It is true she had a sharp attack precisely 
 in the month of March, three years ago 
 
 Hesler. Well then ! 
 
 Wangel. Oh, but that is quite easily accounted for 
 by the circumstances — the condition — she happened to 
 be in at that time. 
 
 Hesler. The indications may be read in either way, 
 then. 
 
 Wangel. And to be powerless to help her! To have 
 neither resource nor remedy! 
 
 Hesler. What if you made up your mind to a change 
 of residence — to move to some other place, where you 
 would live under wider, less restricted conditions ? 
 
 W t angel. I have suggested that to her. But she will 
 not. 
 
 Hesler. Not that either. 
 
 (Goes up towards the ivindow on the left.) 
 
 Wangel. Oh, I should be so glad to make any possi- 
 ble sacrifice. 
 
 (Tora enters by the door on the left.) 
 
 Tora (rapidly to Wangel). Be sure you do not go 
 out this morning! 
 
 Wangel. No, no, certainly not; I will stay at home 
 with you. (Points to Hesler.) But you haven't said 
 good morning ? 
 
 Tora Q,urns). Oh, are you there, Mr. Hesler! (Holds 
 out her hand.) Good morning. 
 
 Hesler. Good morning, Mrs. Wangel. So you're 
 not bathing to-day? 
 
368 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Tora. No, no. Don't speak to me of bathing. The 
 water is sickly here in the fiord. Won't you sit down ? 
 
 Hesler. No, thank you. Not now. (Looks at 
 Wangel.) I promised the girls I would join them in 
 the garden. 
 
 Wangel. Well, my dear friend — I won't keep you. 
 
 Tora. You will probably find them by the pond. 
 
 Hesler. I shall find them, I'm sure. 
 
 (He nods and passes across the veranda and out to 
 the right.) 
 
 Wangel (rising) . Then have the years we have lived 
 together been utterly wasted for you ? 
 
 Tora. Oh, don't think that. I have had all from 
 you that any one could possibly desire. But the years 
 have given me a,clearer insight. The sense of shame has 
 awakened in me. I see it now — the life we lead is no real 
 and true marriage. 
 
 Wangel. I can strengthen you in fighting against it. 
 
 Tora. Yes, if I had the will to fight against it. 
 
 Wangel. Have you not the will ? 
 
 Tora. Oh, that is just what I don't know. 
 
 Wangel. You must try to make sure of yourself. 
 The decision is to-night. 
 
 Tora. Yes, think of it — ! The decision so near. 
 The decision for all time. 
 
 Wangel. To-morrow he will be gone. Then you 
 will be free [of him]. [And then you will be free of all 
 your doubts ] 
 
 Tora. Perhaps I shall have forfeited my true fu- 
 ture. 
 
 Wangel. Your true ? 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 369 
 
 Tora. A life of freedom forfeited! 
 
 Wangel. Tora — do you love this man [stranger]? 
 
 Tora. Do I—? Oh how can I tell. 
 
 Wangel. That you must try to find out. 
 
 Tora. It is no use. I only know that to me he is 
 mysterious, and that oh! 
 
 Wangel. — and that ? 
 
 Tora. — and that I feel as though my place were with 
 him. 
 
 Wangel. I begin to understand. 
 
 Tora. And what help have you for me? What 
 remedy do you know of ? 
 
 Wangel. To-morrow. He will be gone. Then you 
 will be safe from disaster; then I promise to set you free. 
 We will cancel the bargain, Tora! 
 
 Tora. Oh Wangel ! 
 
 Wangel (looks out into the garden). More another 
 time. 
 
 (Arenholdt, Annette, Lyngstrand, Frida, and 
 Ballested appear behind the arbour. Ballested 
 is carrying his painting materials.) 
 
 Arenholdt (coming up on to the veranda). Ah, I 
 can tell you we have been laying great plans. 
 
 Frida. We want to go out in a boat this evening, 
 and 
 
 Lyngstrand. [B.] No, no, don't tell! 
 
 Wangel. We two have also been laying plans. 
 
 Arenholdt. No, really? 
 
 Wangel. My wife is going to Skioldvik for a time. 
 
 Annette. Going away? 
 
 Arenholdt. That is very wise. 
 
 Wangel. Tora wants to go home again; home to the 
 sea. 
 
370 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Lyngstrand. "The Lady from the Sea." Yes, one 
 can understand that. 
 
 Ballested. Understand it perfectly. The dying mer- 
 maid on the dry land 
 
 Tora. Why do you call me that! 
 Ballested. Oh no. I was only thinking of my pic- 
 ture. Good-bye, good-bye. 
 
 {Goes out by the garden gate.) 
 Frida {softly to Annette). Now they've been having 
 another conference. 
 
 {A maid-servant opens the door on the right.) 
 Wangel. To table. Come along, Arenholdt! We 
 will drink a parting cup with "the lady from the sea." 
 {They all go towards the door on the right.) 
 
 FROM THE FIFTH ACT 
 
 Ellida. I must speak with him my?elf. If you will 
 not set me free, then he must do so. One of the marriages 
 must be dissolved. 
 
 Wangel. You yourself have dissolved the relation- 
 ship that in your morbid excitability you call a marriage. 
 You have dissolved it and that is enough. 
 
 Ellida. No, no, that is not enough. What is the 
 use of your putting forward a thousand rational argu- 
 ments. It does not help me in the least, if my own feel- 
 ings are different. 
 
 Wangel. And they are so still. 
 
 Ellida. They will always be so. I shall always feel 
 as I do now. I am not made like you. You can lead 
 your life of reality here with me, and feel secure and happy 
 in it — and at the same time continue to live with your 
 memories. 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 371 
 
 Wangel. Oh, if I could only make you understand 
 how immensely different the two things are! 
 
 Ellida. Not to me. I cannot lead such a dual ex- 
 istence. I cannot continue in it any longer. Impossi- 
 ble! Perfectly impossible. Either wholly with you or 
 wholly with him! 
 
 Wangel,. All these are confused feminine ideas, 
 Ellida! Confused feminine fancies. What do you gain 
 by his releasing you from your promise, as you call it. 
 Does that make you free ? Do you suppose it will break 
 the power he exercises over you ? 
 
 Ellida. Ah, I don't know! I don't know. 
 
 Wangel. Oh yes, you may be sure that it will not 
 be so. It is not from without that your liberation will 
 come. Not from any one else. It is from within — from 
 yourself that liberation must come. 
 
 Ellida. Oh yes, yes. Do you think I don't feel that. 
 But you see, Wangel — that is just the terrible part of it, 
 that 
 
 Wangel. That ? 
 
 Ellida. — that I often feel as though I did not wish 
 for liberation either. 
 
 Wangel. Then I know no help for you. 
 
 Ellida. Oh, don't say that so confidently. There 
 must surely be something in the world — something between 
 heaven and earth, that could force my will to extricate 
 me from all this. 
 
 Wangel. I know of nothing. 
 
 Ellida. And yet it is you I count upon, Wangel. 
 You I expect help from. You alone. 
 
 Wangel. From me, with whom you will not live any 
 longer. 
 
 Ellida. Will ? 
 
372 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Wangel. Yes, will. 
 Ellida. Say rather, can. 
 
 Wangel (looks searchingly at her). In that there is 
 hope. 
 
 Ellida. Yes, do you not think so. 
 
 Annette. How could father say such a thing! 
 
 Askeholm. It appears that was not what he meant. 
 But I came here in that belief. And I think it is quite 
 excusable, Annette. So many a young girl comes to re- 
 gard her tutor with more than ordinary attachment 
 
 Annette. Yes, yes, I know that [ — in her school- 
 days]. 
 
 Askeholm. I have myself more than once had occa- 
 sion to observe something of the sort. But then the 
 young girls leave school and enter life. Other connec- 
 tions are formed, and nothing is left of their relation to 
 the tutor than a warm friendship — a Uitle bashful, per- 
 haps 
 
 Annette. Yes, that is just how it is ! 
 
 Askeholm. — a little inclined to avoid dwelling on 
 school-days [the last year at school]. Well then, I got 
 your father's letter 
 
 Annette. Yes, but that letter 
 
 Askeholm. Now you mustn't interrupt me, dear 
 Annette. I thought at any rate that I had come upon an 
 exception. I accustomed myself to the thought that here 
 was a young girl waiting and longing for me to come 
 again. WTien a man, like myself, is no longer in the 
 first flush of youth, such a belief or illusion makes an ex- 
 ceedingly strong impression. A vivid affection for you 
 grew up in me, Annette. I felt I must come to you; 
 
"THE LADY. FROM THE SEA" 373 
 
 see you again; tell you that I shared the feelings which 
 I imagined you entertained for me. 
 
 Annette. But now, when you know that it was not 
 so ? 
 
 The Stranger. I was not thinking of travelling- 
 clothes and trunks and that sort of thing. I have on 
 board with me everything she requires for the voyage; and 
 I have taken a cabin. (To Ellida.) I ask, if you 
 will go with me. 
 
 Ellida. If I will ! 
 
 The Stranger. Yes, you must choose now. In 
 half an hour it will be too late. 
 
 Ellida. What makes you hold to me so persistently ? 
 
 The Stranger. Do you not feel, as I do, that we two 
 belong to each other? 
 
 Ellida. Do you mean because of that promise, 
 which ? 
 
 The Stranger. Promises bind no one : neither man 
 nor woman. If I hold to you persistently, it is because 
 I cannot do otherwise. 
 
 Ellida. Why did you not come sooner? 
 
 Wangel. Ellida ! 
 
 (The Stranger climbs slowly over tlie garden 
 fence and comes nearer.) 
 
 Ellida (shrinks behind Wangel) . What is it ? What 
 do you want? 
 
 The Stranger. You ask why I did not come sooner. 
 
 Ellida. Yes, I asked that. 
 
 The Stranger. Three years ago I was on my way 
 to you. At last I had been so far successful that I could 
 come for you. Take you home with me, Ellida. 
 
 Wangel. Where is your home? 
 
374 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 The Stranger. A little everywhere. Spread over 
 the whole earth. And over the whole sea too, I think. 
 
 Ellida. And to that vast home you would have 
 brought me then! 
 
 The Stranger. I would have, yes. But then came 
 the shipwreck in the Channel. All gone, lock, stock and 
 barrel, all that I had scraped together. Then to work 
 again. For you, Ellida. Now I am back here. For 
 the last time. Will you come with me? Or will you 
 stay here with him! 
 
 Wangel (looking at her). Choose! 
 
 Ellida. Oh, I cannot — ! I don't know ! 
 
 (A bell is heard in the distance.) 
 
 The Stranger. There goes the warning bell. Now 
 you must say yes or no. 
 
 Ellida. To have to decide! To decide for all time! 
 To do what can never be undone! 
 
 The Stranger. Never. 
 
 Ellida. If I went with you ? 
 
 Wangel. If you went ! 
 
 Ellida. — should I be going to my happiness! 
 
 The Stranger. You must find that out. I cannot 
 tell you anything certain. 
 
 Ellida. Oh, what is it that tempts and allures and 
 seems to drag me into the unknown! The whole might 
 of the sea is centred in this one thing. 
 
 Wangel. I see it. I see it. Step by step you are 
 gliding away from me. 
 
 Ellida. If I let him go away alone — . If I stay be- 
 hind with you — Wangel — can you assure me thac I shall 
 never come to regret it? 
 
 Wangel. Never regret ? 
 
 Ellida. Yes, yes. for it can never be undone! Can 
 you assure me that I shall never come to regret it ? 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 375 
 
 Wangel. No, Ellida — I cannot. 
 
 (The bell is heard again.) 
 The Stranger (to Ellida). There is the second 
 
 bell. 
 
 Ellida (goes up to him and lays her hand on his arm.) 
 Then I am going with you. 
 
 Wangel (to himself). I knew it. 
 
 The Stranger. At last you have made your choice, 
 Ellida. 
 
 Ellida. There is no choice in this. I am going with 
 you because I must. Cannot do otherwise. 
 
 The Stranger. No, for I am the strongest. But 
 now you shall hear what I have to offer you. I would 
 not tell you anything before. For I did not wish to en- 
 tice you. Of your own will you were to go where I go. 
 But now you shall hear 
 
 Ellida. I will hear nothing! It is the unknown that 
 draws me. Into that I will go. 
 
 Wangel. Let me give you a little assistance on the 
 way, Ellida. 
 
 Ellida. What do you mean ? 
 
 Wangel. I do not wish your happiness to be clouded 
 by remorse or regret at the thought of me. You are not 
 leaving me against your will. I set you free. I cancel 
 our bargain. 
 
 Ellida. Is this true, Wangel. Do you mean it from 
 your inmost heart? 
 
 Wangel. Yes, from the inmost depths of my heart I 
 mean it. 
 
 Ellida. And can you do it! 
 Wangel. I can, because I love you. 
 Ellida. And you have come to love me so truly and so 
 dearly. 
 
376 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Wangel. The years of our marriage have brought 
 this about. 
 
 Ellida. And I have been blind to it. 
 
 Wangel. Your thoughts went in other directions. 
 Listen to me, Ellida. It would have been easy for me 
 to prevent your going away with this stranger. I do not 
 prevent you. You are now a free woman, with full right 
 to go where you will. 
 
 Ellida. This transforms everything. 
 
 (TJte steamer bell rings for the third time.) 
 
 The Stranger. Do you hear! Come away! 
 
 Ellida. I can never go with you after this. 
 
 The Stranger. You will not go! 
 
 Ellida (to Wangel). After this I can never leave 
 you. 
 
 Wangel. Ellida ! 
 
 The Stranger. It is all over then. 
 
 Ellida. Yes, irrevocably. 
 
 The Stranger. I see there is something that is 
 stronger than my will. 
 
 Ellida. Your will has no longer a feather's weight 
 with me. For me you are a dead man, who has come 
 back from the sea. But I am no longer in terror. And 
 you fascinate me no more. 
 
 The Stranger. Good-bye, Ellida! (He vaults over 
 tlie fence.) Henceforth you are nothing but a half -for- 
 gotten dream in my life. 
 
 (He goes out to the left.) 
 
 Wangel. How came this transformation ? 
 
 Ellida. Oh, do you not understand that it came 
 through liberation. 
 
 Wangel. And the unknown fascinates you no longer. 
 
 Ellida. No longer. I was free to choose it; and 
 therefore I was able to reject it. 
 
"THE LADY FROM THE SEA" 377 
 
 Wangel. And now you will come to me again, will 
 you not, Ellida? 
 
 Ellida {throwing herself on his neck). Yes, Wangel 
 — now I will come to you again. I can now, for now I 
 come to you in freedom. 
 
 Wangel. Ellida! Ellida! Oh, to think that we two 
 can now live for each other 
 
 Ellida. — and for our memories. Yours as well as 
 mine 
 
 Wangel. Yes, can we not, dearest! 
 
 Ellida. — and for our two children, Wangel! 
 
 Wangel. Ours — ! {Kisses her hands joyfully and 
 quickly.) Oh, I thank you for that word more than I 
 can tell! 
 
 (Arnholm, Annette, Lyngstband, Frida, Bal- 
 lested, and a number of townspeople and summer 
 visitors come along the footpath.) 
 
 Frida. Just look, isn't father gallant. 
 
 Ballested. It is summer time, miss. 
 
 Arnholm. The English steamer is under way. 
 
 Ltngstrand. The last trip of the season. 
 
 Ballested. "Soon will all the straits be ice-bound/' 
 as the poet says. It is sad, Mrs. Wangel. But I stick 
 to what I've said. Human beings really can acclam — ■ 
 acclimatise themselves. 
 
 Ellida. Yes, in freedom they Jan, Mr. Ballested. 
 {The great steamer glides noiselessly down the fiord< 
 The music is heard closer inshore.) 
 
HEDDA GABLER 
 
 A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRIK IBSEN 
 
 1890 
 
The pale, apparently cold beauty. Expects great 
 things of life and the joy of life. 
 
 The man who has now finally won her, homely in ap- 
 pearance, but honourable, and a gifted, liberal-minded 
 man of science. 
 
 Hedda: I have no gift for anything but being bored. 
 
 That life should have nothing in the world to offer one. 
 
 Supposing he were to go in for politics. 
 
 Brack. That is not in his line. 
 
 H. But perhaps I could get him into it. 
 
 Do you think he would ever get into the ministry. 
 
 Brack. For that he would have to be a very rich 
 man. 
 
 H. Yes and then — I doubt if it would bring me any 
 satisfaction in the long run. 
 
 * 
 
 Lovborg: I have led a rather wild life, they say. 
 Now I have to make amends. 
 
 But I cannot renounce. 
 
 NB! 
 
 Brack had always thought that Hedda's short engage- 
 ment to Tesman would come to nothing. 
 
 Hedda speaks of how she felt herself set aside, step by 
 step, when her father was no longer in favour, when he 
 retired and died without leaving anything. — It then came 
 upon her, in her bitterness, that it was for his sake she had 
 
 381 
 
382 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 been made much of. — And then she was already between 
 25 and 26. In danger of becoming an old maid. 
 
 She thinks that in reality Tesman only feels a vain 
 pride in having won her. His solicitude for her is the 
 same as is shown for a thoroughbred horse or a valuable 
 sporting dog. — This, however, does not offend her. She 
 merely regards it as a fact. 
 
 Hedda says to Brack that she does not think Tesman 
 can be called ridiculous. But in reality she finds him so. 
 Later on she finds him pitiable as well. 
 
 Tesman: Could you not call me by my Christian 
 name? 
 
 Hedda: No, indeed I couldn't — unless they had 
 given you some other name than the one you have. 
 
 Tesman puts Lovborg's manuscript in his pocket so 
 that it may not be lost. Afterwards it is Hedda who, by 
 a casual remark, with tentative intention, gives him the 
 idea of keeping it. 
 
 Then he reads it. A new line of thought is revealed to 
 him. But the strain of the situation increases. Hedda 
 awakens his jealousy. 
 
 * 
 
 In the 3rd act one thing after another comes to light 
 about Lovborg's adventures in the course of the night. 
 At last he comes himself, in quiet despair. " Where is 
 the manuscript ? " " Did I not leave it behind me here ? " 
 He does not know that he has done so. But after all, of 
 what use is the manuscript to him now ! He is writing of 
 the "moral doctrine of the future "! When he has 
 just been let out of the police cells! 
 
 Hedda's despair is that there are doubtless so many 
 chances of happiness in the world, but that she cannot 
 
HEDDA GABLER 383 
 
 discover them. It is the want of an object in life that 
 torments her. 
 
 When Hedda beguiles T. into leading E. L. into ruin, 
 it is done to test T.'s character. 
 
 It is in Hedda's presence that the irresistible craving 
 for excess always comes over E. L. 
 
 Tesman cannot understand that E. L. could wish to 
 base his future on injury to another. 
 
 Hedda. Do I hate T. ? No, not at all. I only find 
 him boring. 
 
 Brack. But nobody else thinks so. 
 
 Hedda. Neither is there any one but myself who is 
 married to him. 
 
 Brack. . , . not at all boring. 
 
 Hedda: Heavens, you always want me to express my- 
 self so correctly. Very well then. T. is not boring, but 
 I am bored by living with him. 
 
 Hedda: . . . had no prospects. Well, perhaps you 
 would have liked to see me in a convent (home for unmar- 
 ried ladies). 
 
 Hedda: . . . then isn't it an honourable thing to 
 profit by one's person ? Don't actresses and others turn 
 their advantages into profit? I had no other capital. 
 Marriage — I thought it was like buying an annuity. 
 
 Hedda: Remember that I am the child of an old 
 man — and a worn-out man too — or past his prime at any 
 rate — Perhaps that has left its mark. 
 
 Brack: Upon my word, I believe you have begun to 
 brood over problems. 
 
384 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda: Well, what cannot one lapse into when one 
 has gone and got married. 
 
 Miss R. (walking about the room). There. Now we 
 can see all the finery. Yes, yes — it looks well, Berta. 
 Flowers everywhere. 
 
 Berta. They were all sent in last night. So that 
 they might keep fresh of course. But this a lady brought 
 herself — just before you came, Miss. 
 
 Miss Rising. Yes, that is as it ought to be. When 
 a young couple come home from their honeymoon 
 
 FROM THE FrRST ACT 
 
 Miss Rising. Oh well — just at first. You must do 
 as well as you can. 
 
 Berta. Most like she'll be terrible grand in her ways. 
 
 Miss Rising. Well, you can't wonder at that. Think 
 of the sort of life she w T as accustomed to in her father's 
 time. 
 
 Berta. Yes, and if I only had to do with Master Axel, 
 it would be easy enough. 
 
 Miss Rising. No, Axel is not difficult to please. If 
 he only has what he has always been accustomed to, he's 
 satisfied. But by-the-bye, you mustn't call him Master 
 Axel any more. In future you must say Dr. Tesman. 
 
 Tesmen. Yes, you may be sure I have. 
 Miss Rising. And what do you think of it? 
 Tesman. I'm delighted. This is the very house 
 Hedda wanted to live in. She said often and often, before 
 
HEDDA GABLER 385 
 
 we were engaged, that she would never care to live any- 
 where but in Secretary Falk's villa. 
 
 Miss Rising. And how lucky it was that this very 
 house should be to let [for sale]. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, you may be sure I was glad to hear of 
 it. And Hedda too — when you wrote about it. And 
 how comfortably you have arranged it all. 
 
 Miss Rising. So you really think that, dear Axel ? 
 
 Tesman [(rising)]. Yes, it is simply splendid, I think. 
 
 Miss Rising. So do I. And Judge Brack says 
 the same. 
 
 Tesman (looking round), [(feeling the chairs.)] Fancy 
 — carved furniture! What I have always been wanting. 
 
 Miss Rising. Well, you see, now you will be made 
 professor, and then you will at once have your own salary 
 to depend upon 
 
 Tesman. That is a matter of course. But in any 
 case I am not yet appointed. 
 
 Miss Rising. Oh, you may be sure they will be 
 quick about appointing you — as soon as they hear you 
 are home again. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, that may be so. But just suppose that 
 to-morrow I fall down in the street and lie there! 
 
 Miss Rising (laughing) . Oh, there is no fear of that. 
 A man who is born to make a noise in the world, he 
 doesn't fall down in the street, you may be sure. The 
 people who want to stand in your way, they fall. Holger 
 Lovborg — his fall was the worst. And now he has to 
 lie on the bed he has made for himself — poor [unfortu- 
 nate] creature. 
 
 Tesman. Have you heard anything of him ? Since I 
 went away? 
 
386 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Miss Rising. Only that he has published a new 
 book t 
 
 Tesman. What ! Recently ? 
 
 Miss Rising. Yes, but heaven knows whether it can 
 be worth much? Ah — when your new book appears, 
 Axel! That will be another story, won't it! 
 
 Tesman. Yes, it won't be long now, Auntie. For 
 now it will be very easy for me — I feel that. 
 
 (Hedda, in a morning gown, enters by the comer 
 door on the left.) 
 
 Miss Rising (going to meet Iter). Good morning, 
 my dear Hedda! Good morning! 
 
 Hedda (holds out her hand). Good morning, dear 
 Aunt! So early a call! That is kind of you. 
 
 Miss Rising. Well — has the bride slept well in her 
 new home? 
 
 Hedda. Oh yes, thanks — passably. But of course 
 one has always to accustom one's self to new surround- 
 ings. Little by little. (Looking towards the left.) Oh — 
 there the servant has gone and opened the veranda door, 
 and let in a whole flood of sunshine. 
 
 Miss Rising (going toivards the door) . I will shut 
 
 Hedda. No, no, not that. Tesman, please let down 
 the Venetian blinds. That will give a softer light. 
 
 Tesman (goes to the door). All right — all right — 
 There now, Hedda, now you have both fresh air and 
 shade. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, fresh air we certainly must have, with 
 all these stacks of flowers — . (At the table.) H'm, — we 
 shall never get on with this servant. 
 
 Miss Rising. Not get on with Berta ! 
 
 Tesman. You don't know how good Berta is. 
 
 Hedda. Well, but just look here. She has left her 
 
HEDDA GABLER 387 
 
 old bonnet lying about on a chair. Just fancy, if any 
 one should come in and see it! 
 
 Tesman. Why Hedda! That's Aunt Jane's bonnet! 
 
 Hedda. What! No really 
 
 Miss Rising (taking up the bonnet). And, what's 
 more, it's not old, Mrs. Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. No, of course — I can see that now. 
 
 Miss Rising (half in tears) . And I only bought it in 
 honour of your coming home. 
 
 Hedda. But my dear good Miss [Aunt] Rising 
 
 Miss Rising (tying on the bonnet) . Yes, indeed I did. 
 
 Hedda. No, but look here, Aunt Jane 
 
 Tesman. Hedda is a little short-sighted, you know, 
 Auntie 
 
 Miss Rising. Well, well, I'm sure it isn't worth say- 
 ing any more about such a trifle. — But now I must see 
 about getting back into town. And to Sister Rina, poor 
 dear. — My parasol ? Ah, here it is. For this is mine 
 too. (Mutters.) Not Berta's. (Cordially to them both.) 
 Well, good-bye, good-bye, dears! Good-bye, Axel! 
 Heaven be thanked that everything is well with you. 
 
 Hedda. Good-bye, Aunt Jane! 
 
 Tesman. And mind you come and see us again soon. 
 
 Miss Rising. A thousand thanks, my boy. You 
 may be sure I shall. (She goes out by the hall door.) 
 
 Hedda. Do you think she was angry with me about 
 that bonnet ? 
 
 Tesman. No, not angry. But I think she was a lit- 
 tle annoyed. 
 
 Hedda. Well, but what an idea, to pitch her bonnet 
 about in the drawing-room? When she comes to call. 
 How can she think of such a thing ? No one does it. 
 
 Tesman. Well you may be sure Aunt Jane won't 
 do it again. 
 
388 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. In any case, I shall manage to make it up 
 with her. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, my dear Hedda, please do that. 
 
 Hedda. I will ask a few good friends to spend the 
 evening with us to-morrow. And then I can ask her 
 at the same time. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, do, Hedda! For remember what she 
 has been to me ever since I was a boy. 
 
 Hedda. And besides, it may be useful to keep her 
 about us. For this servant — we evidently can't depend 
 upon her. 
 
 Tesman. And there's one thing more you could do 
 that would delight her heart. 
 
 Hedda. What is it? 
 
 Tesman. If you could only prevail on yourself — . For 
 my sake, Hedda! If you could say du to her in future. 
 
 Hedda. No no, Tesman — you really mustn't ask 
 that of me. I have told you so already. I shall call her 
 "Aunt" — and you must be satisfied with that. I have 
 never said du even to my own uncles and aunts. 
 
 Tesman. No no — if you're not used to it — . What 
 are you looking at, Hedda? 
 
 Hedda. Oh, I'm only looking at my old pianoforte. 
 It doesn't go at all well with all the other things. 
 
 Tesman. Th j first time I draw my salary, I'll see 
 about exchanging it. 
 
 Hedda. No, no — no exchanging. I don't want to 
 part with it. I would rather have it in my own little 
 room, and then get another here in its place. When it's 
 convenient, I mean. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, of course we could do that. 
 
 Hedda (takes up the bouquet from the piano). These 
 flowers were not here last night when we arrived. 
 
 Tesman. Aunt Jane must have brought them. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 389 
 
 Hedda (examining the bouquet). A visiting-card 
 (Takes it and reads.) "Shall return later in the day." 
 — Can you guess whose card it is ? 
 
 Tesman. No. Whose ? 
 
 Hedda. Mrs. Elfstad's. An old flame of yours. 
 
 Tesman. Is it really? So Mrs. Elfstad is in town! 
 
 Hedda. It's odd that she should call upon us. I 
 have scarcely seen her since we left school. 
 
 Tesman. I haven't seen her either for — heaven knows 
 how long. I wonder how she can endure to live in such 
 an out-of-the-way hole. 
 
 Hedda (with sudden animation). But look here — ■ 
 isn't it somewhere in those parts that he — that — Holger 
 Lovborg is living? 
 
 Tesman (smiling). Your old flame, Hedda ? Yes, he 
 is somewhere in that part of the country. 
 
 (Berta enters by the hall door.) 
 
 Berta. That lady, ma'am, that brought some flowers 
 a little while ago, is here again. (Pointing.) The flow- 
 ers you have in your hand, ma'am. 
 
 Hedda. Ah, is she? Well, show her in at once. 
 (Berta opens tlie door for Mrs. Elfstad, and goes 
 out herself.) 
 
 Hedda (receives Iter warmly). How do you do, my 
 dear Mrs. Elfstad ? How delightful to see you again ! 
 
 Mrs. Elfstad (nervous, but self-controlled) . Yes, it's 
 a very long time since we met. 
 
 Tesman (gives her his hand). And we too. 
 
 [Thanks, thanks, I hardly knew whether I might call.] 
 
 Hedda. And a thousand thanks for these lovely 
 flowers 
 
 Tesman. His book? Then he has really published 
 a new book? 
 
390 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Elfstad. Yes, a big book called "Sociology." 
 Haven't you heard of it, Mr. Tesman ? 
 
 Tesman. No, how should I have heard of it? 
 
 Hedda. You see, we've been roving about all over 
 the place 
 
 Tesman. My aunt did say something about it just 
 now — . When did the book come out? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. About a fortnight ago. And since it 
 has sold so well, and been so much read — and made 
 such a sensation 
 
 Hedda. Has it indeed ? 
 
 Tesman. It must be something he has had lying by 
 since his better days. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Here it is. 
 
 (She hands him a slip of paper.) 
 
 Tesman. Good, good. Then I'll go in 
 
 Hedda. Be sure you write him a cordial letter. And 
 a good long one too. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, I will. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. But please, please don't say anything 
 about me! 
 
 Tesman. No, no — if you don't want me to. 
 
 [H. Look there. Take those with you. 
 
 T. What are they ? 
 
 H. Your slippers. 
 
 T. Oh yes, I forgot.] 
 
 (He goes out by the door in the corner on the right.) 
 
 Hedda. No, that's clear. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. And then my husband sometimes 
 made use of him in his office. — You see, Lovborg was 
 to be had for — for a small salary. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 391 
 
 Hedda. Did Holger Lovborg have to sit writing in 
 an office! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Chiefly when my husband was away 
 on official business. 
 
 Hedda. And your husband — perhaps he is often 
 away from home ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes. Being sheriff, you know, he 
 has to travel about a good deal in his district. 
 
 Hedda (leaning towards her, with both hands on her 
 shoulder) . Thea — my poor, sweet Thea — now you must 
 tell me everything — exactly as it stands. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Well then, you must question me. 
 Question me about anything you please! And I will try 
 to answer. 
 
 Hedda. What sort of a man is your husband, Thea ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. What sort of a man ? 
 
 Hedda. Well, I mean — you know — in everyday life. 
 Is he kind to you ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I am sure he means well in everything. 
 And no doubt everyone else thinks so too. I mean, the 
 few people who visit us. 
 
 Hedda, Then you don't see much society. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No. 
 
 Hedda. But can you endure it, year after year ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No, I cannot. Nor can I endure 
 that any more — after this. 
 
 Hedda. Not that, you say? Then is there some- 
 thing else? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Everything! 
 
 Hedda. Your husband must be much, much older 
 than you. There is at least twenty years' difference be- 
 tween you, is there not? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, that is true, too. Everything 
 about him is repellent to me! We have not a thought in 
 
392 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 common ! We have never had a single point of sympathy 
 —he and I. 
 
 Hedda. But is he not fond of you all the same ? 
 At heart ? In his own way ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh no — please don't think that. 
 He regards me simply as a useful property. And then 
 it doesn't cost much to keep me. I am not expensive. 
 
 Hedda. That is stupid of you. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (shakes her head). It cannot be other- 
 wise — not with him. 
 
 Hedda. No, no — if you can't make him really care 
 for you . 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. He can't care for any one but him- 
 self — and perhaps a little for the children. 
 
 Hedda. And for Holger Lovborg, Thea. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (looking at her). For Holger Lovborg! 
 What puts that into your head ? 
 
 Hedda. Well, my dear — when he lets you go — . 
 When he sends you after him all the way to town. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (smiling nervously). Oh, of course. 
 Yes, yes — (Vehemently, but not loudly.) No — I may 
 just as well make a clean breast of it! I can't sit here 
 telling lies any longer. For it must all come out in any 
 case. 
 
 Hedda. Lies! Why, dear Thea ' 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Well, to make a long story short — . 
 My husband did not know that I was coming. 
 
 Hedda. What! Your husband didn't know it! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No, of course not. For that matter, 
 he was away from home himself — he was travelling. I 
 could bear it no longer. I couldn't indeed — so utterly 
 alone as I should have been in future. 
 
 Hedda. Well? And then? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 393 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. So I put together a few little things — 
 what I needed most — as quietly as possible. And then 
 I left the house. 
 
 Hedda. Without a word ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes — and took the steamer first. 
 And then the train to town. 
 
 Hedda. Why, my dear, good Thea ! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. What else could I possibly do ? 
 
 Hedda. But what do you think your husband will 
 say when you go home again? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (looks at her). Back to him? 
 
 Hedda. Of course. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (rises and moves about the room). I 
 shall never go back to him again. 
 
 Hedda (turns on the sofa and follows her with her eyes) . 
 Then you have — left house and home — for good and all ? 
 Left everything ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. A thing of that sort cannot be un- 
 done. 
 
 Hedda (rises from tJw sofa and goes towards her) . But, 
 Thea, did you think well over this? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I thought over nothing. I only did 
 what I thought I had to do. 
 
 Hedda. And what are your plans now? What do 
 you think of doing? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I don't know yet. * I only know this, 
 that I must live where he is — if I am to live at all. 
 
 Hedda. Sit down a moment — then you will be calmer. 
 (They seat themselves at the table.) How did this — this 
 understanding — between you and Holger Lovborg come 
 about ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh. I suppose it grew up gradually. 
 As I saw that I had gained a sort of influence over hiim 
 
 Hedda . So you had that ? 
 
394 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. He gave' up his bad habits. Not 
 because I asked him to, for I never dared do that. But 
 of course he saw that they were repulsive to me; and so 
 he dropped everything of that sort. 
 
 Hedda (with slight mockery). Then you have re- 
 claimed him — as the saying goes. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. And he has made a real human being 
 of me — taught me to think, and to understand so many 
 things. 
 
 Hedda. Did he give you lessons too, Lhen ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No, not exactly lessons. But he 
 talked to me — talked about such an infinity of things. 
 
 Hedda. Scientific things, I suppose. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, that sort of thing. Why do 
 you smile? Remember, — up there I was not situated 
 as you are here. You have your husband to explain so 
 much to you. 
 
 Hedda (dryly). Yes, I have. But do you think it 
 amusing to sit and listen to explanations? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, indeed I do. Don't you think 
 so too? 
 
 Hedda. No, most certainly I don't. I think it horri- 
 bly boring. (Glances towards Tesman's door.) But that's 
 between ourselves, of course. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Everything must be between our- 
 selves. For heaven's sake — all that I've been telling 
 you just now. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, I suppose Tesman may 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (struggling with herself). Hedda — 
 there is — one thing more. 
 
 Hedda. And what is that? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I don't feel at all sure what will be 
 the end of it — between Holger Lovborg and me. Whether 
 it will be nothing but close friendship — on his side. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 395 
 
 Hedda. What ? Are you not sure of him. then ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, I think I ought to be now. 
 Now that I have left house and home for his sake. But 
 — but — oh, Hedda, there is some one that stands between 
 us. 
 
 Hedda. What do you mean by that ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Some one who has hurt him and in- 
 jured him so profoundly — . But whom I don't believe 
 he can ever forget in spite of that. 
 
 Hedda (rises slowly, rests her hands on the table and 
 fixes her eyes upon her) . Who is it you mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yourself, Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. Can this be — ! Hush! (Glances towards 
 Tesman's door.) Hush, he's coming! (Whispers.) For 
 God's sake, Thea — let all this be between ourselves! 
 (Axel Tesman, with a letter in his hand, comes from 
 his room.) 
 
 Tesman. There now; the letter is finished. 
 
 Hedda. That's right. Mrs. Elfsted and I were 
 thinking of going out. 
 
 Tesman. Good. Then perhaps you will post this 
 when you go. 
 
 Hedda (takes the letter) . I will tell the maid t d. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, of course; that is what I mean! . 
 (Berta enters from the hall.) 
 
 Berta. Judge Brack wishes to know if Mrs. Tesman 
 will receive him. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, ask Judge Brack to come in. And 
 look here — put this letter in the post. 
 
 Berta (taking the letter). Yes, ma'am. 
 
 (She opens the door for Judge Brack and goes out 
 herself.) 
 
 Brack. May one venture to call so early in the day ? 
 
 Hedda, Of course you may. 
 
596 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Tesman. Welcome at any time. (Introducing him.) 
 Mrs. Elfsted— Judge Brack. 
 
 Brack. Ah, delighted 
 
 Hedda. It's nice to see you by daylight, Judge. 
 
 Brack. And I think it's nice to see you and your hus- 
 band in your home. Where I have been arranging the 
 empty rooms and putting them into shape. 
 
 Tesman. I can't thank you sufficiently. 
 
 Brack. Oh, pray don't 
 
 Hedda. Yes, you are a friend indeed 
 
 Brack. And is Mrs. Hedda tolerably satisfied ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, indeed I am. Of course — there will 
 have to be a little re-arrangement here and there. 
 
 Brack. Oh, we only arranged things just for the 
 present. 
 
 Hedda. And one or two things are still wanting. 
 We shall have to buy some additional trifles. 
 
 Brack. Indeed ! 
 
 Hedda (laughing). Don't be alarmed! You shall 
 not be troubled with them. I shall see to them myself. 
 
 Brack. Oh, I didn't mean that. (To Tesman.) 
 By-the-bye, I really called on business 
 
 Tesman. Indeed? Business ? 
 
 Hedda. That's good of you! You want to turn me 
 out. 
 
 Brack. I! 
 
 Hedda. Yes, aren't you threatening to talk about 
 business? — Come along, Thea! (To Tesman.) I shall 
 not be out long. 
 
 Tesman. Just as you please, dear. 
 
 Hedda (to Brack). Au revoir, then — when you have 
 done your business. 
 
 Brack. Au revoir, Mrs. Hedda. 
 
 (Hedda and Mrs Elfsted go out by the hall door.) 
 
HEDDA GABLER 397 
 
 Tesman. There. Now we can have a talk. Won't 
 you sit down ? 
 
 Brack (seats himself beside the table). Thanks, for a 
 moment. 
 
 Tesman (seating himself). Then it's business ? 
 
 Brack. Yes, in a way. 
 
 Tesman. I understand. I"? the serious part of the 
 frolic that is coming now. 
 
 Tesman. It was Holger Lovborg we were talking 
 about. 
 
 Hedda (glancing at him rapidly). Ah ! 
 
 Tesman. And I really can't see what is to become of 
 him. 
 
 Brack. Perhaps I can give you some information on 
 that point. 
 
 Tesman. Indeed ! 
 
 Brack. You must not forget that he comes of a pow- 
 erful family. 
 
 Tesman. He can't count upon those people. 
 
 Brack. Are you so sure of that ? 
 
 Tesman. I know that among themselves he is known 
 as the stain on the family. 
 
 Brack. At one time they called him the hope of the 
 family. 
 
 Tesman. At one time — yes. But he has put an end 
 to all that. 
 
 Hedda. He has recovered himself, though. 
 
 Brack. And then this book that he has published — 
 
 Tesman. Well well, I hope to goodness they may find 
 something for him to do. I have just written to him. 
 Asked h'm to come to us to-morrow evening. 
 
398 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. You come too, Judge Brack. We will have 
 an amusing time. 
 
 Brack. My dear Mr. Tesman — and you too, Mrs. 
 Hedda — I think I ought not to keep you in the dark 
 about something that — that 
 
 Tesman. That concerns Holger? 
 
 Brack. Both you and him. 
 
 Tesman. Well, my dear Judge, out with it! 
 
 Brack. You must be prepared to find your appoint- 
 ment deferred longer than you desired or expected. 
 
 Tesman. What ? Is there some hitch ? 
 
 Brack. The nomination may perhaps be made con- 
 ditional on the result of a competition . 
 
 Tesman. Competition! 
 
 Hedda. With whom ? Ah* ! 
 
 Tesman. Surely not ? 
 
 Brack (rises). Yes, precisely — Holger Lovborg. 
 
 Tesman (springs up). No, no — it's quite inconceiv- 
 able! Quite impossible! 
 
 Brack. Perhaps that is what it may come to, all the 
 same. 
 
 Tesman. But that would be the most shameful in- 
 justice towards me. They had as good as promised me 
 the appointment! 
 
 Brack. Well, and no doubt you will get it in the end; 
 only after a contest. 
 
 Hedda. Fancy — ! There will be a sort of sporting 
 interest in that. 
 
 Tesman. Why, Hedda, how can you be so indifferent 
 about it! 
 
 Hedda. I am not at all indifferent. I am most eager 
 to see who wins. 
 
 Brack. In any case, Mrs. Hedda, it is best that you 
 should know the position, before you — before you set 
 
HEDDA GABLER 399 
 
 about the little purchases that you were threatening just 
 now. 
 
 Hedda. This can make no difference. 
 
 Brack. Indeed. Then I have no more to say. Good- 
 bye for the present. 
 
 Hedda. Good-bye, Judge; and be sure you call to- 
 morrow ! 
 
 Brack. Many thanks. Good-bye, good-bye. 
 
 Tesman (accompanying him to the door). Good-bye, 
 Judge ! 
 
 (Judge Brack goes out through the hall.) 
 
 Tesman. Well, Hedda — you and I must have a seri- 
 ous talk. 
 
 Hedda. Not now, Tesman. I assure you, I haven't 
 time. 
 
 Tesman. No time! 
 
 Hedda. No. I must go and change my dress be- 
 fore lunch. 
 
 (She goes toivards the door on the left.) 
 
 Tesman. But you take this as if it didn't matter at all. 
 
 Hedda (turns in the doorway). Why should I not? 
 You are so fond of saying that the strongest always wins. 
 
 (She goes out.) 
 
 Tesman (grasps the back of a chair and gazes uneasily 
 before him ) . The strongest, yes 
 
 SECOND ACT 
 
 The room at the Tesmans' as in the First Act, except that 
 the piano has been removed, and an elegant little 
 writing-table and an etagere put in its place. Some 
 of the bouquets have been removed from the table and 
 placed in the inner room. It is afternoon. 
 
400 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda, dressed in a tasteful afternoon gown, is alone in 
 the room. She stands by the open door of the veranda, 
 loading a revolver. The other lies in an open case 
 on a chair by her side. 
 
 Hedda (looks down the garden and calls). So you are 
 here again, Judge! 
 
 Judge Brack (is heard calling from below). As you 
 see, Mrs. Hedda! 
 
 Hedda (raises the revolver and points). Now I'll 
 shoot you, Judge Brack. 
 
 Judge Brack (calling unseen). No, no, no! Don't J 
 stand aiming at me! 
 
 Hedda (fires). Bang! 
 
 Brack (outside). Are you out of your senses ! 
 
 Hedda. Did I hit you ? 
 
 Brack (still outside). I wish you would let these 
 pranks alone! 
 
 Hedda (lays the revolver in the case). Come in then. 
 Judge. 
 
 (Judge Brack enters by the door of the veranda.) 
 
 Brack. What the deuce are you shooting at? 
 
 Hedda. Thrushes. 
 
 Brack. But the thrushes haven't come yet. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, then I'm firing in the air. 
 
 Brack. What is the good of that? 
 
 Hedda. Then what in heaven's name would you 
 have me do with myself? 
 
 Brack. Have you had no visitors? 
 
 Hedda (closing the door of the veranda) . Not one. I 
 suppose all our set are still out of town. I have to be 
 content with their flowers and visiting-cards. 
 
 Brack. And is Tesman not at home either ? 
 
 Hedda. No, he rushed out of the house as soon as 
 I took up the pistol-case. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 401 
 
 Brack. Really, Mrs. Hedda! 
 
 Hedda. Oh, you mustn't take it so literally. Though, 
 for that matter, he is almost as much afraid of these 
 things as you are. 
 
 (She takes the case and locks it up in a drawer of the 
 writing-table.) 
 
 Brack (standing behijid her, still with his overcoat on 
 his arm and his hat in his hand) . So he's not at home. 
 
 Hedda. No — he didn't expect you so early. And 
 then it struck him that he had to go into town and get 
 some new books. 
 
 Brack. Of course. It was stupid of me not to have 
 thought of that before. 
 
 Hedda (turning her Jiead to look at him) . Why stupid ? 
 
 Brack. Because if I had thought of it I should have 
 come — a little — earlier. 
 
 Hedda (puts the key of the writing-table in her pocket 
 and walks across the room) . Then you would have found 
 no one to receive you ; for I have been in my room chang- 
 ing my dress ever since lunch. 
 
 Brack. And is there no sort of a little chink that we 
 could talk through? 
 
 Hedda. Not for you in any case, my good Judge. — 
 But let us sit down and wait. Tesman is not likely to 
 be back for some time yet. 
 
 Brack. Yes and no. To speak frankly, I never 
 imagined that engagement would lead to anything. 
 
 Hedda (smiling) . The wish was father to the thought. 
 
 Brack (laughs). Yes, yes, yes, Mrs. Hedda, so they 
 say. 
 
 Hedda (jestingly). Oh, I assure you I have never 
 cherished any illusions with respect to you. 
 
402 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Brack. All I require is a pleasant and intimate in- 
 terior, where I can be of assistance in every possible 
 way 
 
 Hedda (raising Iter forefinger). Not with money 
 though! 
 
 Brack. No, tJiat would at once destroy the under- 
 standing. That is why, you see, I prefer those houses 
 where there is no question of anything of that sort, and 
 where I am free to come and go as a friend 
 
 Hedda. Of the mistress of the house? 
 
 Brack (bows gallantly). Of the mistress first of all, of 
 course. But of the master too, in the second place. Such 
 a triangular friendship — if I may call it so — is really a 
 great convenience for all parties, let me tell you. . 
 
 Tesman. I think it shows quite remarkable soundness 
 of judgment. He never wrote like that before. — But 
 haven't you been down into the garden and had a look 
 round, Hedda ? Eh ? 
 
 Hedda. No, I have only been out on the veranda a 
 little. 
 
 Tesman. Ah, isn't the view lovely ? Over the fiord 
 and the islands ? (Goes nearer to her.) Well, isn't it 
 nice to find yourself established as mistress of the house 
 it had always been your dream to live in ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, wasn't it a strange piece of luck ? 
 
 Tesman (putting the books togetlier). Now I shall 
 
 take all these into my study. I'm longing to ! And 
 
 then I must change my clothes. (To Brack.) I suppose 
 we needn't start just yet ? 
 
 Brack. Oh, dear no — there is not the slightest hurry. 
 
 Tesman. Well then, I can take my time. (Is going 
 with his books towards the inner room, but stops and turns 
 
HEDDA GABLER 403 
 
 in the doorway.) By-the-bye, Hedda — I looked in on 
 the aunts. 
 
 Hedda (by tJie door of the veranda). Yes, I've no 
 doubt you did. 
 
 Tesman. Aunt Jane is not coming to-day. 
 
 Hedda (turns towards him). Not coming? Is it 
 that affair of the bonnet that keeps her away ? 
 
 Tesman. Oh, not at all. How could you think such 
 a thing? But Aunt Rina is very ill now. 
 
 Hedda. She always is. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, but to-day she was much worse. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, then it's only natural that her sister 
 should remain with her. I must bear my disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Tesman (a little disappointed). Of course this does 
 not affect you so nearly. But I thought I would tell you, 
 all the same. 
 
 (He goes through the inner room and oid to the right.) 
 
 Hedda (goes over towards the stove) . Oh, those ever- 
 lasting aunts! 
 
 Brack. What bonnet were you talking about? 
 
 Hedda. Oh, it was a little episode with Miss Rysing. 
 She has such extraordinary manners at times. This 
 morning she had pitched her bonnet down here in the 
 drawing-room. (Looks at him and smiles.) And I pre- 
 tended to think it was the servant's. 
 
 Brack (shaking his head in disapproval). Now my 
 dear Mrs. Hedda, how could you do such a thing ? To 
 that excellent old lady, too! 
 
 Hedda (moving nervously about). Well, you see — 
 these impulses come over me all of a sudden; and I can- 
 not resist them. And then to suffer torments of remorse 
 — there seems to be a kind of pleasure in it. A real — 
 
404 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 refinement of pleasure. Oh, I don't know how to ex- 
 plain it. 
 
 (She has thrown herself into the easy-chair by the 
 stove.) 
 
 Brack (behind the easy-chair). You are not really 
 happy — that is at the bottom of it. 
 
 Hedda {looking before her). I know of no reason why 
 I should be — happy. Perhaps you can give me one ? 
 
 Brack. Well — amongst other things, because you 
 have got exactly the home you had set your heart on. 
 
 Hedda (looks up at him and laughs). Do you believe 
 in that legend ? 
 
 Brack. Is there nothing in it, then ? 
 
 Hedda. Oh yes, there is something in it. I'll tell you 
 the story. 
 
 Brack. Well ? 
 
 Hedda. Some time ago, when there were evening par- 
 ties at the Consul General's country house, Tesman used 
 often to contrive to see me home 
 
 Brack. Yes, yes, he was very attentive. I remember 
 that. 
 
 Hedda. And you always had one of the younger 
 ladies to look after. 
 
 Brack. And then I had to go quite a different way — 
 
 Hedda. That's true. I know you were going a dif- 
 ferent way last summer. 
 
 Brack (laughing). Oh fie, Mrs. Hedda! Well, then 
 — Tesman ? 
 
 Hedda. Well, it happened one evening. We were 
 just passing here. And Tesman was writhing in the 
 agony of having to find conversation, poor fellow. So I 
 took pity on him 
 
 Brack (smiles doubtfully). You took pity? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, I really did. And so — to help him out 
 
HEDDA GABLER 405 
 
 of his torment — I happened to say, in pure thoughtless- 
 ness, that I should like to live in this villa. And, thank 
 heaven — that loosened his tongue. 
 
 Brack. No more than that? 
 
 Hedda. Not that evening. 
 
 Brack. But afterwards? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, my thoughtlessness had consequences, 
 my dear Judge. 
 
 Brack. Unfortunately that too often happens, Mrs. 
 Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. Thanks! But all through the winter, when- 
 ever we met, he sat down and talked about this blessed 
 villa. How nice it must be to live in Secretary Falk's 
 villa. 
 
 Brack. But then you contradicted him, of course? 
 As you always do. 
 
 Hedda. No, I said just the same as he. For Tes- 
 man is not one of the men that it is any pleasure to con- 
 tradict. 
 
 Brack. And you really cared not a rap about it all 
 the time ? 
 
 Hedda. No, heaven knows I didn't. 
 
 Brack. But now ? Now that it has been made so 
 homelike for you! 
 
 Hedda. Uh, the rooms all seem to smell of lavender 
 and dried rose-leaves. — But perhaps it's Aunt Jane that 
 has brought that scent with her. 
 
 (George Tesman, dressed in black, with his gloves 
 and hat in his hand, enters from the right through 
 the inner room.) 
 Tesman. No answer from Lovborg, Hedda ? Eh ? 
 
406 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. No. I don't suppose he'll send any answer. 
 He'll come himself. 
 
 Tesman (to Brack). Well then, I must wait for him 
 as long as possible. 
 
 Brack. We have plenty of time yet. None of my 
 guests will arrive before seven or half-past. 
 Tesman. Well then, that's all right. 
 
 (He places his hat and gloves on a chair on the right.) 
 Hedda (placing Brack's hat and overcoat on the same 
 chair). And at the worst Mr. Lovborg can remain here 
 with me. 
 
 Brack (offering to take his tilings). Oh, allow me. — 
 What do you mean by "At the worst" ? 
 
 Hedda. That he won't go with you and Tesman. 
 Tesman (looks dubiously at 'her). But, Hedda dear — 
 do you think it would quite do? Remember, Auntie 
 can't come. 
 
 Hedda. No, but Mrs. Elfsted is coming. We three 
 can have a cup of tea together. 
 
 Brack. Yes, that would perhaps be the safest plan 
 for him. 
 
 Hedda (rather sharply) . Why so ? 
 Brack. You were saying this morning that you knew 
 what my bachelor parties were like. 
 
 (Berta appears at the hall door.) 
 Berta. There's a gentleman asking if you are at 
 
 home, ma'am 
 
 Hedda. Well, show him in. 
 
 (Berta goes old.) 
 
 Tesman (softly). Hedda — you'll see, this is he. 
 
 (Eilert Lovborg enters from tJie hall. He is slim 
 
 and lean; of the same age as Tesman, bid looks 
 
 older and somewhat worn out. His hair and beard 
 
 are of a blackish brown, his face long, delicately 
 
HEDDA GABLER -407 
 
 stkaped and pale, but with spots of colour on the 
 
 cheek-bones. He is dressed in a well-cut black 
 
 visiting -suit, quite new, the frock-coat rather long. 
 
 He has light brown gloves and a silk hat. He 
 
 carries under his left arm a small portfolio with 
 
 papers in it. He stops near the door and makes 
 
 a slight bow, seeming somewhat embarrassed.) 
 
 Tesman (goes up to him and gives him his hand). 
 
 My dear Lovborg! Well, so we see each other again at 
 
 last! 
 
 Eilert Lovborg (speaks in a subdued voice) . Thanks 
 for your letter, Tesman. (Approaching Hedda.) May 
 I shake hands with you too, Mrs. Tesman ? 
 
 Hedda (giving him her hand). I am glad to see you. 
 (Introducing him with a motion of her hand.) I don't 
 
 know whether you two gentlemen ? 
 
 Lovborg {bowing slightly). Judge Brack, I think. 
 Brack (bows). Oh yes — we have often met. 
 Tesman (with his hand on Lovborg's shoulder) . Well, 
 now you must make yourself at home! (Bringing him 
 further forward.) So I hear you are going to settle in 
 town again. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, I am. 
 
 Tesman. Quite right, quite right. Let me tell you. 
 I have got hold of your new book. 
 
 Lovborg (indifferently). Oh, that one. 
 Tesman. But I haven't had time to read it yet. 
 Lovborg. Oh, my dear fellow, you may spare your- 
 self the trouble. 
 Tesman. Why so? 
 
 Lovborg. Why, because there is very little in it. 
 Tesman. Very little in it! 
 
 Brack. But, good gracious, it has been very much 
 praised, I hear. 
 
408 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 L<5vborg. Just so. That was what I wanted. What 
 served my purpose. So I put nothing into the book but 
 what ever} 7 one would agree to. 
 
 Brack. Very wise of you. 
 
 Tesman. Well but, my dear 
 
 Lovborg. I had to win myself a position again — to 
 make an absolutely fresh start. 
 
 Tesman (a little embarrassed). Yes, yes, I suppose 
 you had to do that. 
 
 Lovborg (smiling, lays down his hat, and taps the 
 portfolio, which he holds out). But look here — when 
 this one appears — ! For this — this is the real book. 
 The one with something in it. 
 
 Tesman. Indeed ? And what is it ? 
 
 Lovborg. It is the continuation. 
 
 Tesman (looks dubiously at him) . The continuation ? 
 Of what ? 
 
 Lovborg. Of the book. 
 
 Tesman. Of the new book ? 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, of course. 
 
 Tesman. But, my dear fellow — does it not come 
 down to our own days ? 
 
 Lovborg. Certainly it does; and this one deals with 
 the future. 
 
 Tesman. But, my dear Lovborg — we know nothing 
 of the future. And so there is nothing to be said about it. 
 
 Lovborg (smiling). Oh yes, perhaps there is a thing 
 or two to be said about it all the same. 
 
 Brack. But there can't possibly be anything — really 
 scientific. 
 
 Lovborg. I don't trouble myself about that either. 
 (To Tesman, showing him the papers). Look here — • 
 you see. I have divided it into two sections. The first 
 section deals with "The civilising forces of the future." 
 
HEDDA GABLER 409 
 
 And here is the second — (running through the pages 
 towards the end) — here — forecasting the probable line of 
 development. 
 
 Tesman. How odd now. (Shakes his head.) I should 
 never have thought of writing anything of that sort. 
 
 Hedda (at the glass door, drumming on the pane). 
 H'm! I dare say not. 
 
 Lovborg (shutting up the portfolio) . I brought it with 
 me, thinking I might read you a little of it this evening. 
 
 Tesman. That was very good of you, Lovborg. But 
 this evening — ? (Looking at Brack.) I don't quite see 
 how we could manage it 
 
 Lovborg. Well then, some other time. There is no 
 hurry at all. 
 
 Brack. I must tell you, Mr. Lovborg — there is a lit- 
 tle gathering at my house this evening. In honour of Tes- 
 man, you understand. A few friends are coming. 
 
 Lovborg (looking for his hat). Oh — then I won't 
 detain you 
 
 Tesman. No, no, there's time enough. 
 
 Brack. No, but listen. Will you not do me the 
 favour of joining us ? 
 
 Lovborg (with slight uneasiness) . I ? No, no ! 
 Thank you very much. 
 
 Brack. Oh, nonsense — do! We shall be quite a 
 select little circle. And I assure you we shall have a 
 "lively time," as Mrs. Hed — as Mrs. Tesman says. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, I can believe that. But neverthe- 
 less 
 
 Brack. And then you might bring your manuscript 
 with you, and read it to Tesman there. I could give 
 you a room to yourselves. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, why shouldn't you ? 
 
 Hedda (interposing). But, Tesman, if Mr. Lovborg 
 
410 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 would really rather not! I am sure Mr. Lovborg is much 
 more inclined to remain here and have supper with me. 
 
 Lovborg {with a rapid look at her). With you, Mrs. 
 Tesman ! 
 
 Hedda. And with Mrs. Elfsted ■ 
 
 Lovborg. Ah ! 
 
 Hedda. — for she has promised to come this evening. 
 So you see you are almost bound to remain, Mr. Lovborg, 
 or she will have no one to see her home. 
 
 Lovborg. That's true. Many thanks, Mrs. Tesman 
 — in that case I shall be very glad to remain. 
 
 Hedda. Then I have one or two orders to give 
 
 (She goes to the hall door and rings. Berta enters. 
 Hedda talks to her in a whisper, and points tow- 
 ards the inner room* Berta nods and goes out 
 again.) 
 
 Tesman (at the same time, to Eilert Lovborg) . Tell 
 me, Lovborg — is it this new subject — the future — that 
 you are going to lecture about? 
 
 Lovborg. Yes. 
 
 Tesman. I have heard that you are thinking of de- 
 livering a course of lectures this autumn. 
 
 Lovborg. That is my intention. I hope you won't 
 take it ill, Tesman. 
 
 Tesman. Take it ill! No, not in the least. 
 
 Lovborg. You see, I can quite understand that it 
 must be disagreeable to you 
 
 Tesman. Oh, I can't expect you, out of considera- 
 tion for me, to 
 
 Brack. And then it is not the first time in your lives 
 that you two friends have met as rivals 
 
 Lovborg (looking rapidly at him). Rivals? 
 
 Hedda (doing likewise) . How ? 
 
 Brack. In generous, friendly contest, of course. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 411 
 
 For prize medals and for scholarships and for — many 
 other things. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, in those days you carried off many a 
 victory, my dear Lovborg. 
 
 Lovborg. Oh yes — at first. But latterly — . I have 
 fallen a long way behind, Tesman. 
 
 Hedda. But now you can catch him up again, Mr. < 
 Lovborg. 
 
 Lovborg. I hope to be able to. 
 
 Tesman (in suspense) . To win ? 
 
 Lovborg. Yes. If not, I should not engage in a con- 
 test 
 
 Brack. Oh, when ,a man has such good backing as 
 you have 
 
 Lovborg. Backing? Aha — you refer to those rela- 
 tives of mine, who run about and give themselves so 
 much trouble 
 
 Brack. Ah, then you have heard of it at any rate ? 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, I was told about it to-day. But I will 
 have nothing to do with those people. I decline to see 
 them! 
 
 Tesman. But, my dear Lovborg 
 
 Hedda. Will you reject all help ? 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, Mrs. Tesman, I will. 
 
 Brack. But why in the world — ! Why do you do that ? 
 
 Lovborg. Because I wish to owe the victory to myself. 
 To my own powers. 
 
 Tesman. And — and do you think you will win ? 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, I am sure of it. 
 
 Tesman. And that — it will be you who — who will 
 get the appointment? 
 
 Lovborg (looks at him in astonishment). Appoint- 
 ment? — Is it that professorship you are talking about? 
 
 Tesman. Yes, of course. 
 
412 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Lovborg. Is that what you think I am competing 
 with you for? 
 
 Tesman. But, bless my soul, what else should it be? 
 If it isn't the appointment, why 
 
 Lovborg. I wouldn't accept that appointment at 
 any price. Such a position is not the thing for me. I 
 have found that out while I was in the country. 
 
 Brack. Then it is only the honour and glory you will 
 compete for? 
 
 Lovborg (softly, with diffidence). Honour and glory 
 mean much to a man with — well — with a past like mine. 
 
 Tesman (pressing his hands) . Yes, yes, Lovborg, I can 
 quite understand. Thanks — now I recognise your old 
 self. (Joyfully, to Hedda.) Well, what do you say to 
 that! Only the honour and -glory! He is not going to 
 stand in our way. 
 
 Hedda (curtly, looking at him). Our way? Pray 
 leave me out of the question. 
 
 (She goes up towards the door of the inner room, where 
 Berta is placing a tray with decanters and glasses 
 on the table. Hedda nods approval, and comes 
 forward again. Berta goes out on the right of the 
 inner room.) 
 
 Tesman (at the same time). And you, Judge — what 
 do you say ? 
 
 Brack. Well, I say that honour and glory are fine 
 things. And an old friendship — is an exceedingly last- 
 ing bond 
 
 Tesman. Yes, certainly it is; but all the same 
 
 Lovborg. What I can't understand is that you could 
 think so ill of me. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, think of my being able to do that! 
 
 Hedda (looking at Tesman and smiling). You 
 [stand there] iook[-ing] as if you were thunderstruck. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 413 
 
 Tesman. Yes, so I am 
 
 Brack. Don't you see, Mrs. Tesman, a thunderstorm 
 has just passed over? 
 
 Tesman. But tell me, Lovborg — what are you think- 
 ing of doing? 
 
 Lovborg. I am going to live as a free man. 
 
 Brack. A pleasant occupation. But it doesn't bring 
 in much. 
 
 Lovborg. I don't want much either. Not now. 
 
 Tesman. No, and besides — when one is alona. With 
 no one but one's self to look after. I should think you 
 would get on quite well. 
 
 Hedda (pointing towards the inner room). Will you 
 not [go in and] take a glass of iced punch, gentlemen ? 
 
 Brack (looking at his luatch) . A stirrup-cup ? Yes, 
 it wouldn't come amiss. 
 
 Tesman. A capital idea, Hedda! A capital idea! 
 Now that the weight has been lifted 
 
 Hedda. Won't you go in ? You too, Mr. Lovborg. 
 
 Lovborg (with a gesture of refusal). No, thank you. 
 Nothing for me! 
 
 Tesman. Oh yes, do! Come and join us. 
 
 Lovborg. No, no, many thanks. Nothing at all. 
 
 Brack. Why bless me — iced punch is surely not 
 poison. 
 
 Lovborg. No, perhaps not for every one. 
 
 Hedda. I will keep Mr. Lovborg company in the 
 meantime. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, yes, Hedda dear — do. 
 
 (He and Brack go into the inner room, seat them- 
 selves at the table, drink punch, smoke cigars, and 
 chat during what follows. Eilert Lovborg 
 remains standing beside the stove. Hedda goes 
 to the writing -table.) 
 
414 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda (turns her head and says in a rather loud voice :) 
 Now I will show you some photographs, Mr. Lovborg. 
 You know Tesman and I made a tour in the Tyrol on 
 our way home? 
 
 (She brings an album, and places it on the table beside 
 
 the sofa, in the further corner of which she seats 
 
 herself. Lovborg approaches, stops, and looks at 
 
 her. Then he takes a chair and seats himself to 
 
 her left, with his back towards the inner room.) 
 
 Hedda (opening the album). Do you see this range 
 
 of mountains ? It's the Ortler group. Tesman has 
 
 written the name underneath. Here it is : " The Ortler 
 
 group near Meran." 
 
 Lovborg (who has never taken his eyes off her, says 
 softly and slowly:) Hedda — ty abler! 
 
 Hedda (glances hastily at him, and says softly:) Ah! 
 —Hush! 
 
 Lovborg (repeats softly, in a pained voiced) Hedda 
 Gabler! 
 
 Hedda (looking at the album). That was my name in 
 the old days — when we knew each other. 
 
 Lovborg. And now — as long as I live — I must teach 
 
 myself to say Mrs. — Tesman 
 
 Hedda (still turning over the pages). Yes. And I 
 think you ought to practise in time. The sooner the 
 better, I should say. 
 
 Lovborg. Married. Married to another ! 
 
 Hedda. Yes — so the world goes. 
 Lovborg. Oh, Hedda — Hedda — how could you do it! 
 Hedda (looks sharply at him) . What! I can't allow 
 this! 
 Lovborg. What ? 
 
 (Tesman comes from the inner room and goes towards 
 the sofa.) 
 
HEDDA GABLER 415 
 
 Hedda (calmly, in her usual voice). And this, Mr. 
 Lovborg — is a view from the Val d'Ampezzo. Look at 
 these peaks. (Looks up at Tesman.) What's the name 
 of these curious peaks ? 
 
 Tesman (looking more closely). Those? Oh, those 
 are the Dolomites. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, that's it. — Those are the Dolomites, 
 Mr. Lovborg. 
 
 Tesman (to Hedda) . I only wanted to ask whether I 
 shouldn't bring you a little punch ? Or wine, perhaps ? 
 For yourself at any rate. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, please. And a few biscuits. 
 
 Tesman. No cigarettes ? 
 
 Hedda. No [, many thanks]. 
 
 Tesman. Very well. 
 
 (He goes into tlie inner room and out to the right. 
 Brack sits in the inner room, and keeps an eye 
 from time to time on Hedda and Lovborg. Soon 
 after, Tesman again appears and seats himself at 
 the table with Brack.) 
 
 Lovborg (softly, as before). Answer me, Hedda — how 
 could you go and do this ? 
 
 Hedda (apparently- absorbed in the album). If you say 
 du to me I won't talk to you. 
 
 Lovborg. May I not say du even when we are alone ? 
 
 Hedda. No. You may think it; but you mustn't 
 say it. 
 
 Lovborg. Why not — exactly ? 
 
 Hedda. Because I should look upon it as a sort of 
 unfaithfulness towards Tesman. And I won't hear of 
 that. 
 
 Lovborg. Is it really possible that such a trifle 
 offends your love for him ? 
 
416 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda (glances at him and smiles). Love? What 
 an idea! 
 
 Lovborg. I don't understand you, Hedda. 
 Hedda. Do you believe that anything so wonderful 
 exists ? 
 
 Lovborg. As love ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes. For I don't. I believe it's only some- 
 thing that people have invented. And that they go about 
 discussing. 
 
 (In the meantime Berta has entered from the right 
 in the inner room, bringing a smaller tray with 
 punch, wine and biscuits, which she places on 
 the table of the inner room, going out again on the 
 same side. Tesman takes up the tray and brings 
 it into the drawing-room.) 
 Tesman. Here you are! Isn't this tempting? 
 Hedda. Why do you bring it yourself? 
 Tesman (filing the glasses). Because I think it's 
 fun to wait upon you, Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. But you have poured out two glasses. Mr. 
 
 Lovborg said he wouldn't have any 
 
 Tesman. Mrs. Elfsted will soon be here, won't she ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, by-the-bye — Mrs. Elfsted ! 
 
 Tesman. Had you forgotten her? 
 Hedda. Oh, we were so absorbed in these photo- 
 graphs. — Tesman — what is the name of this little village ? 
 Tesman (goes round to her). Which? Let me see. — 
 Oh, that's Gossensass, by the Brenner Pass. It was 
 
 there we stayed more than a day 
 
 Hedda. Yes, and met that lively party. 
 Tesman. Yes, of course it was there. 
 
 (He returns to the inner room and sits beside Brack.) 
 Lovborg. Not in our friendship either? 
 Hedda. What ? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 417 
 
 Lovborg. Was there no love in it? Not a single 
 spark — not a tinge of love in the whole of it ? 
 
 Hedda. I wonder? 
 
 Lovborg. None at all on your side then ? 
 
 Hedda. To me it seems as though we were two good 
 comrades — two intimate friends. You especially were 
 frankness itself. 
 
 Lovborg. I fear I was too frank. But it was you 
 that made me so. Oh, Hedda — why should not that, at 
 any rate, have continued, as it was then! 
 
 Hedda. The fault was yours that it could not. 
 Yours — and that of the life you were leading. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, I know. I know that well enough. 
 
 Hedda (looking at him). I think there was something 
 beautiful — something almost fascinating — in — in that 
 secret intimacy which no living creature so much as 
 dreamed of. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, yes, Hedda! Was there not? 
 (Pauses for a moment and looks before him.) When I 
 used to come to your father's in the afternoon — and the 
 General sat over at the window reading his papers — with 
 his back towards us 
 
 Hedda. And you and I on the corner sofa 
 
 Lovborg. With the illustrated magazines, Hedda 
 
 Hedda. Just as we are now with this album. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, and when I made my confessions to 
 you — told you about myself, things that at that time no 
 one else knew. Told you of my escapades — my days 
 and nights of devilment. — Oh, Hedda — what was the 
 power in you that drove me to confess these things ? 
 
 Hedda (starts, and looks at him). Do you think it 
 was any power in me ? 
 
 Lovborg. How else can I explain it ? And all those 
 — roundabout questions — you used to put to me 
 
418 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. Which you understood so particularly 
 well 
 
 Lovborg. But how could you sit and question me 
 like that ? Question me about — all that sort of thing ? 
 
 Hedda. And how could you answer, Mr. Lov- 
 borg ? 
 
 Lovborg. Well, a man — . But tell me now, Hedda 
 — was there not love at the bottom of this ? On your 
 side ? Was it not all because you felt as though you 
 might purge my stains away — if I made you my confes- 
 sor? Was it not so? 
 
 Hedda. No, not quite. 
 
 Lovborg. But what was your motive, then ? 
 
 Hedda (with slight hesitatiun). Do you think it so 
 strange that a lady — when it can be done — without any 
 one knowing 
 
 Lovborg. Well ? 
 
 Hedda. — should be glad to have a peep, now and 
 then, into a world which 
 
 Lovborg. Which ? 
 
 Hedda. — which she is forbidden to know anything 
 about? [To me you were like a messenger from a for- 
 bidden country.] 
 
 Lovborg {looking at her). So that was it? 
 
 Hedda. Partly. Partly — I almost think. 
 
 Lovborg. But why could not things go on between 
 us ? As they were then ? Why did you break it all off 
 so suddenly ? 
 
 Hedda. Do you need to be told that? 
 
 Lovborg. Certainly. Tell me! 
 
 Hedda. Have you forgotten your abominable beha- 
 viour — on a certain occasion ? The last time we were 
 alone. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 419 
 
 Lovborg. Oh, don't remind me of that! But I have 
 an impression that it was not that which caused the rup- 
 ture. 
 
 Hedda. No, not exactly. But from such a person as 
 you were then, I might expect — I was going to say — 
 anything. 
 
 Lovborg. Oh, you certainly had no need to fear a 
 repetition. 
 
 Hedda. The worst of it was that the whole town 
 got to know what kind of a life you were leading. What 
 kind of company you had got into. 
 
 Lovborg. I don't think, though, that I took any pains 
 to conceal it. I did it in defiance! 
 
 Hedda. And that is why all the best houses were 
 closed to you. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, the others. But that you — you, 
 Hedda ! 
 
 Hedda. Of course we had to do as the others. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, but — that is precisely what I had 
 never imagined. 
 
 Hedda. Well — fortunately you soon consoled your- 
 self in the country. 
 
 Lovborg. Not so soon as you think. 
 
 Hedda. No ? 
 
 Lovborg. But as I never heard any more from you 
 — never had a word in answer to my letters 
 
 Hedda. It is imprudent to put things in writing. 
 And besides — I ended by giving you a sufficiently plain 
 answer — in deeds. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, you went and married another. When 
 I heard that, it was quite natural that I should try to 
 console myself, as you call it. 
 
 Hedda. I'm sure I quite agree. 
 
420 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Lovborg. But, by-the-bye, how do you know all 
 this ? Mrs. Elfsted must have told you something. 
 
 Hedda. Mrs. Elfsted has told me — most of it — 
 Ought she not to have done so ? 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, to you, Hedda — with all my heart. 
 
 Hedda. But — now that — happily — you are on your 
 feet again — . Do you know what I think so very strange 
 in you ? 
 
 Lovborg. Well ? 
 
 Hedda. That you should sit here lamenting over an 
 old story like this. Over something which now, I should 
 think, must be — what shall I call it? — a sort of exercise 
 of your memory. 
 
 Lovborg. Then do you too labour under the preju- 
 dice that a man can only feei love for one woman — at a 
 time? 
 
 Hedda (looking before her for a moment). W 7 ell — per- 
 haps you're right in — (half turned toivards him). What 
 is one really to believe — if that be so ? 
 
 Lovborg. Oh, I entirely forgot that you don't believe 
 there is such a thing as love. 
 
 Hedda (turning over the 'pages of the album). You 
 mustn't take everything I say so literally, either. 
 
 Lovborg (looks at her a moment, and whispers passion- 
 ately). Oh, Hedda! Hedda Gabler! Now I begin to 
 see a hidden meaning beneath all you have been saying. 
 
 Hedda (softly, with a glance). Take care! Believe 
 nothing of the sort! 
 
 (The hall door is opened from without by Berta.) 
 
 Hedda (closes the album with a bang and calls smil- 
 ingly). Ah, at last! My darling Thea — come along! 
 (Mrs. Elfsted enters, without her cloak. She is in 
 evening dress. The door is closed behind her.) 
 
HEDDA GABLER 421 
 
 Hedda (on the sofa, stretches out her arms towards her) . 
 Oh, Thea — you can't think how I have been longing for 
 you all this time! 
 
 (Mrs. Elfsted goes up to the table and gives Hedda 
 her hand. Lovborg has risen from his chair. 
 He and Mrs. Elfsted greet each other with a 
 silent nod.) 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (ivho remains standing). Ought I not 
 to sav good evening to vour husband too ? 
 
 Hedda. Oh, leave those two where they are. They 
 are going soon. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Are they going out? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, to a bachelor party. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted {involuntarily) . Not you, Mr. Lovborg ? 
 
 Lovborg. No. 
 
 Hedda. No, Mr. Lovborg remains with you and me. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (takes a chair and is about to seat her- 
 self). Ah, how nice it is here! 
 
 Hedda. No, thank you. Not there! You'll be good 
 enough to come over here to me. I will sit between you. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, just as you please. 
 
 (She goes round the table and seats herself on the sofa 
 on Hedda's right. Lovborg also seats himself) 
 
 Lovborg (after a short pause, to Hedda). Is not she 
 lovely to look at? 
 
 Hedda. Only to look at? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (anxiously to Hedda). Oh, but does 
 he know ? 
 
 Hedda. Of course he knows 
 
 Lovborg. You were quite right to tell Hedda every- 
 thing. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Thank heaven ! I was so afraid you 
 would not like it. 
 
422 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. You afraid! When you have such power 
 over him ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, I have no power in reality. If 
 we share our thoughts and opinions, it is purely volun- 
 tary on both sides. 
 
 Lovborg (to Hedda). Yes. We two — she and I — 
 we are two good comrades. Frank, trusty comrades. 
 A man and a woman who have absolute faith in each 
 other — though our fellowship is one of perfect freedom. 
 And then she is so brave, Hedda! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Good heavens — am I brave ? 
 
 Lovborg. Perhaps not in other ways. But exceed- 
 ingly, where your comrade is concerned. 
 
 Hedda. Ah, courage — courage. If one only had that. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. There was nothing so very coura- 
 geous in coming away when 
 
 Lovborg. Oh yes, dear friend, it takes a good deal of 
 courage to leave one's husband. To leave house and 
 home. And all to throw in one's lot freely with another. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, I certainly think so too, Thea. (Lightly 
 stroking her hair.) I can't imagine — no, I don't under- 
 stand how you could do it. How you could dare actually 
 to set about it. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. But there was nothing else to be 
 done. I could not possibly stay up there alone — with 
 — with 
 
 Hedda. — with the other? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (hides her face in her hands and leans 
 her head on Hedda's shoulder). Oh, Hedda — Hedda! 
 
 Hedda. And then the worst part of it all! It will be 
 impossible to keep this a secret for long. 
 
 Lovborg. That she has left her home, yes. That 
 will soon be common property. But no one except you 
 will know that she did it to be with me. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 423 
 
 Mes. Elfsted (to Hedda). No, that must not come 
 out for the world! You won't say anything to Tesman, 
 will you ? 
 
 Hedda. Not to any living soul, Thea dear. 
 
 Lovborg. For I have to make a fresh start. And a 
 man with a past like mine—. H'm! One knows pretty 
 well how people would interpret such a connection. 
 She too would be dragged in the mire. 
 
 Hedda (looking before her). Yes, if only we could be 
 free of— of what people think 
 
 (There is a general leave-taking. Judge Brack, 
 Lovborg and Tesman go out by the hall door. At 
 the same time, Berta brings in two lamps through 
 the inner room, places them on the tables in the 
 drawing-room, and goes out again through the 
 inner room.) 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Hedda— Hedda— what will come of 
 all this ? 
 
 Hedda. We shall see about ten o'clock. 
 Mrs. Elfsted (rises and crosses the room). I only 
 hope we may. But you don't know him so well as I do. 
 Hedda. Can he be so pitiful as that! With such a 
 thirst, such a devouring thirst for all that he calls the 
 joys of life, and then— not daring to take even a sip of 
 them ! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Ah yes, Hedda, unhappily it is true. 
 
 Hedda (rising). It is not true! You may doubt 
 
 him as long as you please. I believe in him! Now we 
 
 will try 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. You have some hidden motive in 
 this, Hedda! 
 
424 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. Yes, I have. I want for once in my life to 
 have power over a human mind. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Have you not the power? 
 
 Hedda. I have not and have never had it. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Not your husband's ? 
 
 Hedda. His! Do you think that is worth the trouble ? 
 Oh, if you could only understand how poor I am. 
 
 (Clasps her passionately in her arms.) 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Let me go! Let me go! I am 
 afraid of you, Hedda! 
 
 Berta (from the inner room) . Tea is laid in the din- 
 ing-room, ma'am. (Goes out again.) 
 
 Hedda. Very well! Come along to tea, you little — - 
 you lucky little stupid! 
 
 (She drags Mrs. Elfsted almost by force towards 
 the door at the back.) 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Hedda (goes towards her). There there there! 
 There's nothing to be so alarmed about. I know quite 
 well what has happened. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Well, what do you think? Won't 
 you tell me? 
 
 Hedda. Why — of course it has been a pretty late 
 affair at Judge Brack's. These bachelors generally make 
 things rather lively. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, yes, yes — that is clear enough! 
 
 Hedda. And Tesman hasn't cared to come home and 
 ring us up in the middle of the night. He didn't want 
 to disturb me. (Laughing.) Perhaps he wasn't in- 
 clined to show himself either — immediately after a 
 jovial party. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 425 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. But in that case — where can he 
 have gone? 
 
 Hedda. Of course he has gone to those blessed 
 Aunts' and slept there. They have his old room ready 
 for him. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No, he can't be with them; for a 
 letter has just come for him from Miss Rysing. There 
 it lies. 
 
 Hedda. Indeed ? (Looks at the address.) Why yes, 
 it's addressed in Aunt Jane's own hand. Well then — ■ 
 he is staying behind at Judge Brack's — he too. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. He too ? Do you mean that Lov- 
 borg ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, Lovborg is certainly there still. Other- 
 wise he would have come to fetch you. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh Hedda, you are just saying 
 things you don't believe a bit. 
 
 Hedda. Well, bless me — even if it's as bad as you 
 think ? What of it ? Once doesn't count. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, that's just what does not apply 
 here. Here least of all! 
 
 Tesman (sits down heavily to the left of the table). En- 
 joyed myself? Oh, Hedda — I'm afraid it will take me 
 a long time to get over to-night. 
 
 Hedda. You! But you are always moderate 
 
 Tesman. Yes, of course. I didn't mean that 
 
 Hedda (in suspense). What became of Eilert Lov- 
 borg? Why didn't he come back? 
 
 Tesman. Well, you see, Hedda, that is just it. And 
 I can't get rid of the distressing thought that it was all 
 my fault. 
 
 Hedda. But what was your fault? 
 
4*6 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Tesman. I must tell you the whole story. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, yes, do. 
 
 (She seats herself on the other side of the table.) 
 
 Tesman. It began well enough. Nobody chaffed 
 him. And nobody tempted him either. He and I were 
 able to sit by ourselves in one of the side rooms. And 
 then he read to me. Long extracts from the new book 
 that is coming out. 
 
 Hedda. Well ? 
 
 Tesman. You can't imagine what a book that is go- 
 ing to be, Hedda! So grand both in design and execu- 
 tion 
 
 Hedda. Yes, yes, I don't care about that. And it 
 has nothing to do with the story either. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, it has. It is the very kernel of it, you 
 see. 
 
 Hedda. How ? 
 
 Tesman. As I sat listening to him — . It seemed 
 as if a rustling flight of ideas were darting over my head. 
 I felt myself filled with a wealth of intuition, which I 
 only half understood. 
 
 Hedda. Could you not understand it? 
 
 Tesman. Not altogether, I say. And then came 
 that gnawing thought, that has haunted me and that I 
 have thrust away from me — ever since our school-days. 
 
 Hedda. What thought ? 
 
 Tesman. That Eilert Lovborg is really my superior. 
 
 Hedda. But what if he is? He has no intention of 
 competing with you for the appointment. 
 
 Tesman. Every one who reads his new book will 
 say that he was the right man. And therefore I could 
 not resist it. Oh, Hedda, what evil may lie hid in a man ' 
 
 Hedda. Tell me more about this! 
 
HEDDA GABLER 427 
 
 Tesman. Then some more lively companions joined 
 us. They had been to a big dinner-party. Came 
 straight from table. 
 
 Hedda. And then it began ? 
 
 Tesman. Yes, then came the orgie. I saw it was 
 coming. And I saw too that it seemed to carry Eilert 
 Lovborg away. 
 
 Hedda. Could he not resist? 
 
 Tesman. Neither could nor would. I saw what it 
 would lead to. And — just think — I did nothing to save 
 him. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, I suppose there was nothing to be done. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, I might have tried to get him home 
 with me. Might have reminded him of hi? promise to 
 Mrs. Elfsted. 
 
 Hedda. Oh yes. Do you think that would have 
 been any use? 
 
 Tesman. Yes, I think so. For she has a power over 
 him that nobody else has. 
 
 Hedda. How do you know that? 
 
 Tesman. I could understand that from all he said. 
 
 Hedda What did he say! 
 
 Tesman. That the whole of his new work came to him 
 as an inspiration from her. 
 
 Hedda. And in spite of that — he wallowed in th ^se 
 orgies 
 
 Tesman. Deeper than you have any idea of. 
 
 Hedda. What became of him ? 
 
 Tesman. He went off with a lot of the others. But 
 where they went I don't know. Both Brack and I went 
 to his rooms and rang. But he hadn't come home. 
 
 Hedda. That was to be expected. And you don't 
 know any more ? 
 
428 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Tesman. No. Brack and I separated, so as to in- 
 quire in different directions. But they knew nothing 
 about him, where I went. He must have gone by him- 
 self 
 
 Hedda. And Brack ? 
 
 Tesman. I haven't seen him since. Oh, that un- 
 happy fellow — ! Now he is down again. And then 
 after all — Hedda — to think that 
 
 Hedda. What ? What do you mean ? 
 
 Tesman. That I let him go. That I could sit there 
 secretly wishing that he would go and ruin himself for 
 ever. — Am I better than he? In my inmost heart! If 
 this is the end of him, that question will never leave me 
 any peace. 
 
 Hedda. I don't think there's any use in brooding 
 over things of that sort. 
 
 Tesman. But his conduct last night cannot possibly 
 have been more $han a passing aberration. There was 
 such profound sincerity in the way he spoke of her. 
 
 Hedda. Was there ? 
 
 Tesman. I don't understand him. Can't conceive 
 how it is with him. 
 
 Hedda. Let him fall, Tesman. He is irretrievable 
 after all. 
 
 Tesman. Oh, don't let us think that. — I was able to 
 do him one service. 
 
 Hedda. Last night? 
 
 Tesman. Yes. (Taking Lovborg's portfolio out of 
 his coat pocket.) I rescued this for him. 
 
 Hedda. His new book! 
 
 Tesman. Yes; as we were leaving. He and some of 
 the others were a little way in front. I heard him shout- 
 ing and making a noise. And as I was hurrying after 
 
HEDDA GABLER 429 
 
 them to try to quiet him, I found the portfolio lying by 
 the wayside. He had lost it. 
 
 Hedda. Let me see it. 
 
 Tesman (handing her the portfolio). Here it is. 
 Just think if that had been lost. And it might have 
 been so easily. 
 
 Hedda (turning over the papers). This is not Lov- 
 borg's handwriting. 
 
 Tesman. Mrs. Elfsted wrote parts of it for him. 
 From loose notes, he said. 
 
 Hedda. So that is how they sat working together. 
 (Shuts her eyes.) I seem to be able to see them. 
 
 Tesman. You too might work with me in the same 
 way, Hedda. Might help me — if you cared to. 
 
 Hedda. You! — (Looking at him and tapping the 
 portfolio with her finger.) Well, Tesman — what are you 
 going to do with this ? 
 
 Tesman. Do with it, dear? Give it him back, of 
 course. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, yes, I suppose that is what you will do. 
 
 Tesman. But he shall have a good fright first. Put 
 it away in the writing-table drawer. And say nothing. 
 
 Hedda. You said nothing to him about having 
 found it ? 
 
 Tesman. No, of course not. In the unmanageable 
 state he was in. 
 
 Hedda. Did any of the others see you find it ? 
 
 Tesman. No, none of them. 
 
 Hedda. And you didn't tell any of them afterwards 
 either ? 
 
 Tesman. No, I wouldn't do that for his sake. 
 
 Hedda. So no one knows what has become of it ? 
 
 Tesman. No. And he shall wait a little while before 
 he is told. 
 
430 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda (goes to the writing-table and places the port* 
 folio underneath some books) . There. He shall never get 
 this back. 
 
 Tesman (springing up). But, Hedda — what are you 
 thinking of! What do you means 
 
 Hedda. This must be got rid of. [Were you not 
 thinking of getting rid of this ?] 
 
 Tesman. What has come over you ? 
 
 Hedda. Do you think he would be able to write it 
 over again? 
 
 Tesman. Impossible. The inspiration would be lack- 
 ing the second time. 
 
 Hedda. Take it and burn it. Then it will be done 
 with. 
 
 Tesman. But you must be mad. 
 
 Hedda. You must do it. I must see whether I have 
 any power over you. 
 
 Tesman. Oh, you know quite well you have. 
 
 Hedda. Not altogether. I know I have over him. 
 
 Tesman. Over him! 
 
 Hedda. It was I who made him go to Judge Brack's 
 drinking-party. 
 
 Tesman. Oh, Hedda, but how could you do that! 
 
 Hedda. It came over me with such force. So irre- 
 sistibly. I had to see whether I could tempt him to his 
 fall. 
 
 Tesman. And it turned out that you could. 
 
 Hedda. Yes. But this must be the end of it. He 
 must go away from here. 
 
 Tesman. Away! For your sake! 
 
 Hedda. Yes. If not, I can't answer for anything. 
 
 Tesman. Hedda! 
 
 Hedda. Not on any pretext must he be allowed to 
 come here! 
 
HEDDA GABLER 431 
 
 Tesman. Oh, I see what it is. You have never really 
 been able to forget him altogether! 
 
 Hedda. I don't know myself. Only get him out of 
 the way. I will not have my thoughts fixed on anything 
 but — what is coming. 
 
 Tesman. What is coming! 
 
 Hedda. Yes. 
 
 Tesman. Oh, Hedda — if I understand you aright. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, you do. 
 
 Tesman. Oh, Hedda, Hedda! And Aunt Jane! 
 Think how happy Aunt Jane will be. 
 
 Hedda. Ugh, don't be so ridiculous! 
 
 Tesman. Ridiculous ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, isn't it ridiculous and absurd that the 
 first thing you do is to cry out for — Aunt Jane ? — By- 
 the-bye, there is a letter from her here. 
 
 Tesman. For me ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes. (Handing it to him.) It came early 
 this morning. 
 
 Tesman (opening it) . What can it be ? 
 
 Hedda. Perhaps she has heard something about him. 
 
 Tesman (runs his eye through it). Oh, Hedda — she 
 says that Aunt Rina is dying. 
 
 Hedda. Well, we were prepared for that. 
 
 Tesman. She says that if I want to see her again, 
 I must make haste. I'll run in to them at once. 
 
 Hedda (suppressing a smile). Run! 
 
 Tesman (takes his hat and throws his overcoat over 
 his arm) . I do hope I mayn't come too late. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, if you run 
 
 (Berta appears at the hall door.) 
 
 Berta. Judge Brack is here, and wishes to know if 
 he may come in. 
 
 Tesman. Judge Brack! No, I can't possibly see him. 
 
432 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. But I can. (To Berta.) Ask Judge Brack 
 to come in. 
 
 (Berta opens the door to Judge Brack, and goes 
 out herself.) 
 
 Brack. Oh, are you starting again to hunt for him — 
 the bird of ill omen ? 
 
 Tesman. No, I must rush off to my aunts'. The in- 
 valid one is lying at death's door. 
 
 Brack. Dear me, is she indeed ? 
 
 Tesman. And did you find any trace of him ? 
 
 Brack. No. And you ? 
 
 Tesman. I didn't either. 
 
 Brack. I didn't think you would. But don't let 
 me detain you. At such a critical moment 
 
 Tesman. Yes, I must really hurry — Good-bye! 
 Good-bye! (He goes out by the hall door.) 
 
 Hedda. Well, you seem to have had quite a lively 
 night. 
 
 Brack. I have not had my clothes off a moment, 
 Mrs. Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. And yet you have heard nothing. 
 
 Brack. Oh yes, I have. Practically everything. 
 
 Hedda. But you said 
 
 Brack. Tesman was on tenterhooks to get away, 
 you see. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, aren't you sorry for poor Tesman ? 
 Just think, Aunt Rina — ! Well, where did you get 
 hold of Lbvborg ? 
 
 Brack. I didn't get hold of him at all. But I heard 
 that he was being well taken care of. 
 
 Hedda. Where ? 
 
 Brack. At the police station. 
 
 Hedda. Ah — but what has he done? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 43S 
 
 Brack. H'm — I think we had better not go into de- 
 tails. 
 
 Hedda. Oh yes. Details above all. They are what 
 I want to hear about. 
 
 Brack. Well, you must really excuse me all the same, 
 Mrs. Hedda. I was not present, you know. 
 
 Hedda. You! No, I know that. 
 
 Brack. I have only heard that he fell in with a lot of 
 other revellers. 
 
 Hedda. Not any of yours ? 
 
 Brack. Of mine? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, of your guests then. 
 
 Brack. Oh, can you think that! No, they always 
 behave themselves out-of-doors. They go home to bed 
 like good boys. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, yes. We well-behaved people 
 
 Brack. No, unfortunately it was some of his old 
 acquaintances he came across. 
 
 Hedda. Well, and then? 
 
 Brack. Then the usual thing happened. They paid 
 a visit to some — singing girls, I think. 
 
 Hedda. Or something of the sort, yes. And after- 
 wards ? 
 
 Brack. An orgie, presumably. Followed by the cus- 
 tomary free fight with resultant ejection. Then a street 
 row outside. Windows smashed. Police called. And 
 so to the lock-up. 
 
 Hedda. It must be curious to be present at such a 
 scene. 
 
 Brack. Would you like to be, Mrs. Hedda? 
 
 Hedda. Oh yes, once in a way. If nobody saw one. 
 And nobody heard anything of it afterwards. 
 
 Brack. No, I should think not. 
 
434 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. For there must be something untameable 
 among all this coarseness and vulgarity — . But this is 
 a thing that I keep for your ears alone, my dear Judge. 
 
 Brack. I should certainly advise you to do so. But 
 what annoys me beyond measure is that this person could 
 be so inconsiderate as to go straight from my party 
 and 
 
 Hedda. Do you think it will get about that he came 
 from your house ? 
 
 Brack. Yes, of course it will come out at the police- 
 court. 
 
 Hedda. Will the matter come into court! 
 
 Brack. Yes — when the police get hold of an affair — . 
 But I had a suspicion that something of this sort was 
 coming. And therefore, Mrs. Hedda, I will give you a 
 friendly piece of advice. After this, you must not allow 
 this person inHo your house. 
 
 Hedda. What do you say! 
 
 Brack. Yes, and there is another person that you 
 ought not to receive either. 
 
 Hedda. I can see that you mean Mrs. Elfsted. 
 
 Brack. Of course. Those two have been plotting 
 together. 
 
 Hedda. Do you know anything definite! 
 
 Brack. No, but it is not difficult to guess a thing of 
 that sort. She, a woman who as a rule never sets foot 
 in town, arrives here simultaneously with him. It was 
 all arranged between them, Mrs. Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. What do you mean ? 
 
 Brack. Their meeting here in your house. 
 
 Hedda. I don't believe it. You are mistaken. 
 
 Brack. Well, wait and see which of us is right. I 
 don't believe she will go home just at present. 
 
 Hedda. No, that she will not do. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 435 
 
 Brack. There, you see. Yes, of course I am right. 
 You are to serve as a blind. 
 
 Hedda. A blind! 
 
 Brack. Now, of course, he will try to win you over. 
 Just watch whether he doesn't strike the melancholy note. 
 Whether he doesn't begin talking of bygone days. Of 
 disappointed hopes 
 
 Hedda. — of what might have been so beautiful — 
 but was not to be. Ah yes, one has heard all that. 
 
 Brack. Perhaps that was the line that was taken 
 yesterday, when you were sitting here with the album? 
 
 Hedda. But now you are getting altogether too sus- 
 picious, my dear Judge. 
 
 Brack. Well, I confess I am on my guard against that 
 gentleman. It would be terrible to me to think that an 
 intruder was coming into 
 
 Hedda. — into the triangle. 
 
 Brack. Yes, precisely. Don't laugh at it. It would 
 simply mean that I should find myself homeless. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, come, I am sure. you have plenty of 
 other comfortable homes about town. 
 
 Brack. No, unfortunately. Not now. In the last 
 six months I have lost no fewer than three. And those 
 among the best. 
 
 Hedda. Oh — did intruding cocks come into those 
 baskets too? 
 
 Brack. No, but other intruders arrived 
 
 Hedda. Of what kind ? 
 
 Brack. Children. 
 
 Hedda. Indeed? But what have those children to 
 do with you ? 
 
 Brack (laughing). They have nothing at all to do 
 with me. That is why I call them intruders. 
 
436 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hedda. Then I don't at all see- 
 
 Brack. But, bless me, you must know that I can't 
 endure children 
 
 Hedda. And why not? 
 
 Brack. Because the little angels occupy the whole 
 attention of the mistress of the house. Old friends are 
 nothing to her when an event of that kind takes place. 
 
 Hedda. Egoist! 
 
 Brack. Happily no such danger is threatened here. 
 (Laughing.) Although — I won't deny that — it would be 
 worth anything 
 
 Hedda. Worth anything? What? 
 
 Brack. To see — a certain specialist in his new dig- 
 nity. 
 
 Hedda. Do you think that would make him so su- 
 premely ridiculous ? 
 
 Brack. Well, you mustn't be offended, Mrs. Hedda — 
 but I can't deny 
 
 Hedda. I won't listen to you any more, Judge 
 
 Brack. Ah — indeed! Well, put that gentleman out 
 of your thoughts; for I assure you he doesn't care a 
 scrap for you. 
 
 Hedda. Only for her, you mean. 
 
 Brack. For his fellow-worker, yes. (Looking at his 
 watch.) But now I must be getting back. Good-bye, 
 Mrs. Hedda. (He goes towards the glass door.) 
 
 Hedda. Are you going through the garden ? 
 
 Brack. Yes, it's a short cut for me. 
 
 Hedda. And then it is a back way, too. 
 
 Brack. Quite so. I have no objection to back ways. 
 At times. They may be piquant enough. 
 
 Hedda. When there is ball practice going on, you 
 mean. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 437 
 
 Brack (in the doorway) . Oh, people don't shoot their 
 
 own poultry, you know. And the stork — is inviolate 
 
 Hedda. — and is not to be found in these parts. 
 Brack. No, no, that's true. 
 
 (He bows, and goes out by the glass door.) 
 
 Hedda. You and she! 
 
 Lovborg. You can be of no more service to me, 
 Thea! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, how can you speak so! No 
 more service to you! Am I not to help you? Now, 
 most of all ! Are we not to work together ? 
 
 Lovborg. It is all over. I shall never do any more 
 work. Least of all with you. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. But what can have come between 
 
 us 
 
 Lovborg. Let that be as it may. But the comrade- 
 ship between us is now at an end. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, but this is so utterly inconceiv- 
 able. What am I to do with my life ? 
 
 Lovborg. You must try' to live your life as if you had 
 never known me. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. But you know I cannot do that! 
 How can you think it possible! 
 
 Lovborg. Try if you cannot, Thea. You must go 
 home again 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (with a shriek). Ah — you can say 
 that! Go home again! Leave you! 
 
 Lovborg. It will be best for you. And besides — 
 there is nothing else to be done. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Never in this world will I go back 
 there. Where you are, there will I be also. Aad what 
 would happen to you then ? 
 
438 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Lovborg. I think you can see what will happen to 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, but I must be able to give you 
 some support. I could before. Up there. 
 
 Lovborg. For a time, yes. But it wanted nothing 
 but a stormy night to blow all that we had built up into 
 fragments. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Well, that cannot be helped. — But 
 I will not let myself be driven away like this. You have 
 no right to do it. 
 
 Lovborg. No, I know that. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Well, and therefore I will not put up 
 with it! I will not submit to it on any account! Do you 
 hear, Lovborg! I tell you that. I will remain here. I 
 will be with ycju when the book appears. 
 
 Hedda. Ah, the book ! 
 
 Lovborg. My book and Thea's, Mrs. Tesman; for 
 that is what it is. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, that is what it is. You have 
 said that so often. And in my inmost self I feel that it. 
 is true. I have my share in its existence. 
 
 Lovborg. You have. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, and that is why I have a right 
 to be present when it appears. I must see with my own 
 eyes how respect and honour are showered upon you. 
 Now more than ever, Lovborg. And the happiness — 
 the happiness — oh, I must share it with you! 
 
 Lovborg. Thea — our book will never appear. 
 
 Hedda. Ah ! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Never appear! 
 
 Lovborg. Can never appear. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Lovborg — what have you done with 
 the manuscript? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 439 
 
 Hedda (breathlessly). The manuscript ! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Where is it? 
 
 Lovborg. Oh Thea — don't ask me about it! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, yes, I will know. I demand 
 to be told at once. 
 
 Lovborg. The manuscript — . Well then — I have 
 torn the manuscript into a thousand pieces. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh no, no ! 
 
 Hedda {involuntarily). But that's not true! 
 
 Lovborg (looks at her). Not true ! 
 
 Hedda (collecting herself). Oh well, of course. But 
 it sounded so incredible 
 
 Lovborg. It is true, all the same, Mrs. Tesman. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Just think, Hedda — torn his own 
 work to pieces. 
 
 Lovborg. Tore it into a thousand pieces — and scat- 
 tered them on the fiord — far out. There there is cool 
 sea-water at any rate — let them drift upon it — drift with 
 the current and the wind. And then presently they will 
 sink — deeper and deeper — as I shall, Thea. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, Lovborg, Lovborg — this is ter- 
 rible to think of. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes. Therefore you must go away in 
 time. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (without listening to him). Do you 
 know, Lovborg, that to my dying day I shall think of 
 what you have done now as though you had killed a little 
 child. 
 
 Lovborg. Yes, you are right, Thea. It is a sort of 
 child-murder. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. How could you then — ! Did it not 
 belong to me too ? 
 
 Hedda. Ah , 
 
440 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Lovborg. That is why I would rather part from you 
 now. After this, you understand. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, oh yes, I can understand. But 
 it seems impossible that we can part nevertheless ! Well 
 well, now I will go, Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. But you are not going away from town ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, I don't know. I see nothing 
 but darkness before me. 
 
 (She goes out by the hall door.) 
 
 Hedda. So you are not going to see her home, Mr. 
 Lovborg ? 
 
 Lovborg. I? Through the streets? In broad day- 
 light ? 
 
 Hedda. No, no — . Though, after all — ! Is it then 
 so utterly irretrievable — this that happened last night? 
 
 Lovborg. It will not end with last night — I know 
 that perfectly well — it is all over with me now. 
 
 Hedda. But can you never learn to control yourself ? 
 
 Lovborg. No — that is just what I cannot do. And 
 that is the desperate part of it. It is not with me as 
 with so many others. They have it in their power to 
 pull themselves up, when they find it running away with 
 them. I shall never be able to learn that. I have 
 brought myself down to be a bondman. Lost the power 
 over my own will. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, yes. But how could you treat poor 
 Thea so heartlessly ? 
 
 Lovborg. Oh, don't say that it was heartless! 
 
 Hedda. To go and destroy what has filled her whole 
 soul day and night — for months and years. You do not 
 call that heartless! 
 
 Lovborg. To you I can tell it, Hedda 
 
 Hedda. What can you tell ? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 441 
 
 Lovborg. First promise me — give me your word — 
 that what I now confide to you neither she nor any one 
 else shall ever know. 
 
 Lovborg. Beautifully ? 
 
 Hedda. For once in a way. Good-bye, you must go 
 now. And do not come here any more. 
 
 Lovborg. Good-bye, Mrs. Tesman. And give George 
 Tesman my love. 
 
 Hedda. No, wait. I must give you a memento to 
 take with you. 
 
 (She goes to the writing-table, opens the drawer and 
 returns to Lovborg with one of the pistols.) 
 Lovborg. This ? Is this the memento ? 
 Hedda. Do you remember — you asked me for it once 
 before. 
 
 Lovborg. You would not give it me then. 
 Hedda. Take it. Now it is yours. 
 Lovborg (puts the pistol in his breast pocket) . Thanks. 
 Hedda. And beautifully — promise me that. 
 Lovborg. Good-bye — Hedda Gabler. 
 
 (He goes out by the hall door.) 
 
 (Hedda listens for a moment. Then she goes up to 
 
 the writing-table, takes out Lovborg's manuscript, 
 
 goes with it and seats herself in the armchair beside 
 
 the stove, opens the packet and sorts the blue and 
 
 white quires separately, lays the white quires in 
 
 the wrapper again and keeps the blue ones in her 
 
 lap.) 
 
 Hedda (opens the stove door; presently she throws one 
 
 of the blue quires into the fire and whispers to herself) . 
 
 Now I am burning your child, Thea! (Throwing one 
 
442 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 or two more quires into the stove.) Your child and Eilert 
 Lovborg's. {Throws ihc rest in.) I am burning — I am 
 burning your child. 
 
 FOURTH ACT 
 
 The same room at the Tesmans'. It is evening. In the 
 drawing-room a lighted lamp stands on the table in the 
 corner to the right. The hanging lamp in the inner 
 room is also lighted. 
 
 (Hedda walks to and fro in the inner room and disap- 
 pears for a moment to the left. She is heard to strike 
 a few chords on the piano. Presently she comes in 
 sight again, and enters the drawing-room.) 
 
 (Berta enters from the right, through the inner room, with 
 a lighted lamp, which she places on the writing-table. 
 Her eyes are red with tveeping, and she has black 
 ribbons in lier cap. She goes quietly and circum- 
 spectly out to the right.) 
 
 (A little while afterwards, Miss Tesman, in mourning, 
 with a bonnet and veil on, comes in from the hall.) 
 
 Miss Tesman. Yes, Hedda — now my poor sister 
 has at last found peace. 
 
 Hedda (pressing her hand). I have heard the news 
 already. Tesman sent me a card. 
 
 Miss Tesman. He said he would do so. But I 
 thought nevertheless I ought myself to bring the tidings. 
 
 Hedda. That was very kind of you. She died quite 
 peacefully, did she not ? 
 
 Miss Tesman. Oh, she went so calmly, so beautifully. 
 And then she had the great happiness of seeing George 
 once more — and bidding him good-bye. Has he not 
 come home vet? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 443 
 
 Hedda. No; he wrote that he might be detained. 
 But won't you sit down ? 
 
 Miss Tesman. No, thank you. I have so much to 
 do. I must prepare my dear one for her rest as well as I 
 can. 
 
 (George Tesman enters by the hall door.) 
 
 Hedda. How long you have been. 
 
 Tesman. You here, Aunt Julia! 
 
 Miss Tesman. I was just going. Well, have you 
 seen to what you promised ? 
 
 Tesman. No, I clean forgot it. My brain is in a 
 whirl. I can't keep my thoughts together. 
 
 Miss Tesman. Why, you mustn't take it so much 
 to heart. 
 
 Tesman. Not take it to heart! 
 
 Miss Tesman. You ought to have expected it. And 
 was it not best for her to be at rest? 
 
 Tesman. Oh yes! Of course 
 
 Miss Tesman. And now you have other things to 
 think of. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, yes, so I have 
 
 Miss Tesman. That is the way of the world, Hedda. 
 My home is the house of death, and this — this is the house 
 of life. 
 
 Hedda. Life! Here! 
 
 Miss Tesman. At home we shall be sewing a shroud; 
 and here there will soon be sewing too, I suppose — but 
 of another sort, thank God! 
 
 Hedda. Oh, has he gone and told her! 
 
 Miss Tesman. Yes, therefore we must rejoice. For 
 one thing as well as the other. 
 
 Hedda. You will feel lonely now. 
 
 Miss Tesman. That will not last long. I shall find 
 an occupant for poor Rina's little room. 
 
444 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Tesman. Who do you think will take it ? 
 
 Miss Tesman. Oh, there's always some invalid body 
 in want of nursing— unfortunately. 
 
 Hedda. Would you really take such a burden upon 
 you again ? 
 
 Miss Tesman. A burden! Heaven forgive you, 
 child — it has been no burden to me. 
 
 Hedda. Well, but if you had a stranger on your 
 hands. 
 
 Miss Tesman. Oh, one soon makes friends with the 
 sick; and it's such an absolute necessity for me to have 
 some one to live for. Well, heaven be praised, there will 
 soon be something in this house, too, to keep me busy. 
 
 Hedda. > Oh, don't trouble about that. 
 
 Tesman. Oh yes, how nice everything might be 
 
 Hedda. If ? 
 
 Tesman. Oh, nothing. It will all come rijrht. 
 
 Miss Tesman. Yes, yes, I daresay you two have a 
 great deal to say to each other. Good-bye. I must go 
 home to Rina. 
 
 {There are leave-takings. Miss Tesman goes.) 
 
 Hedda. I can't make it out. It seems as though this 
 affected you more than it does her. 
 
 Tesman. Oh, it is not that. It's Eilert Lovborg I 
 am so uneasy about. 
 
 Hedda. Is there anything new about him? 
 
 Tesman. I met Mrs. Elfsted this afternoon. 
 
 Hedda. Yes! 
 
 Tesman. And she told me that he had been here early 
 this morning. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, directly after you had gone. 
 
 Tesman. He wanted to see me, I suppose. 
 
 Hedda. No, it was Mrs. Elfsted he asked for. 
 
 Tesman. Did he not inquire about the manuscript too r 
 
HEDDA GABLER 445 
 
 Hedda. No, It never occurred to him that you had 
 found it. 
 
 Tesman. I can't make it out. I hear he said that he 
 had torn it to pieces. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, so he told us. 
 
 Tesman. But did you not tell him that I had found 
 it ? That you were keeping it ? 
 
 Hedda. No. 
 
 Tesman. But, good heavens — ! Just think of the 
 desperate state he must have been in. 
 
 Hedda. Desperate! What makes you think that? 
 
 Tesman. Of course it was shame and humiliation that 
 made him say that. That he had wilfully destroyed it. 
 
 Hedda. Yes, perhaps so. 
 
 Tesman. He naturally did not want to confess that 
 he had been in such a state. That he did not know what 
 he had done with his own belongings. 
 
 Hedda. And you did not tell her that you had the 
 packet ? 
 
 Tesman. No, I was ashamed on his account. 
 
 Hedda. Be sure you don't say anything. 
 
 Tesman. Well, but it must come out all the same. 
 He must have it back, the sooner the better. Where is 
 it? 
 
 Hedda. I have not got it. 
 
 Tesman. Have not got it? What in the world do 
 you mean ? What have you done with it ? 
 
 Hedda. I have burnt it. 
 
 Tesman. Burnt! Burnt his manuscript. 
 
 Hedda. Don't scream so. The servant might hear 
 you. 
 
 Tesman. Burnt! Why, good God — ! No, no, no, 
 it's impossible. 
 
 Hedda. It is so, nevertheless. 
 
446 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Tesman. Do you know what you have done ? It's 
 unlawful appropriation of lost property. Just ask 
 Judge Brack, and he'll tell you what it is! 
 
 Hedda. Don't speak of it to any one. Neither to 
 Judge Brack nor to any one else. 
 
 Tesman. But your reason, Hedda! I must know 
 your reason! For I feel that you are concealing some- 
 thing from me. Answer me. 
 
 Hedda. Yes. I did it for your sake. 
 
 Tesman. For mine! 
 
 Hedda. When you came home and spoke so highly 
 of what he had read to you. 
 
 Tesman. Yes yes — what then ? 
 
 Hedda. I could not bear the idea that he should 
 throw you into the shade. 
 
 Tesman. Hedda! Is this true? 
 
 Hedda. You must remember that — at this time — . 
 I am not like my usual self 
 
 Tesman. Oh, great heavens — ! It was for love of me! 
 
 Hedda. Don't shout so. The servant might hear. 
 
 Tesman. Well, let her. I'll tell Berta myself. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, it will be the end of me, all this. 
 
 Tesman. What will ? 
 
 Hedda. All this — absurdity. 
 
 Tesman. Absurdity. Well well, then. Perhaps it 
 won't do to say anything to Berta. 
 
 Hedda. Oh — why not? 
 
 Tesman. No, no, I see that. But I must certainly 
 tell Aunt Julia. Oh, she will be so happy, so happy 
 
 Hedda. When she hears that I have burnt Eilert 
 Lovborg's manuscript? 
 
 Tesman. No, by-the-bye — that affair of the burning 
 — nobody must know about that. But that your love 
 for me has awakened in this way 
 
HEDDA GABLER 447 
 
 Hedda. Say nothing about that. 
 
 Tesman. Oh yes — Aunt Julia must share in that. 
 Oh, I am so happy — so proud 
 
 Hedda. Well, be so. But keep it to yourself. 
 
 Tesman. I cannot, Hedda. That would take away 
 half the pleasure of it. I wonder, now, whether this sort 
 of awakening is usual in young wives ? 
 
 Hedda. You had better ask Aunt Julia that question 
 too. 
 
 Tesman. I will, some time or other. For she knows 
 all about such things. 
 
 (Mrs. Elfsted, with her cloak on, enters by the 
 hall door. She appears to be much agitated.) 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, dear Hedda, forgive my coming 
 again - 
 
 Hedda. What is the matter with you, Thea ? 
 
 Tesman. Something about Eilert Lovborg again ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, I am so dreadfully afraid some 
 misfortune has happened to him 
 
 Hedda. Ah — do you think so? 
 
 Tesman. But, good Lord — what makes you think 
 so, Mrs. Elfsted? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I heard them talking of him at my 
 boarding-house, just as I came in 
 
 Tesman. Well ? What did they say ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, I couldn't make out anything 
 clearly. Either they knew nothing definite, or else — . 
 They stopped talking when they saw me. 
 
 Tesman. You surely misunderstood them 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No, no; I am sure it was of him they 
 were talking. And I heard something about the hospi- 
 tal 
 
 Tesman. About the hospital! 
 
 Hedda. Surely that cannot be. 
 
448 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I was in such mortal terror. And 
 then — just think 
 
 Tesman. Yes ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I went to his lodgings and asked for 
 him 
 
 Hedda. How could you make up your mind to do 
 such a thing! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, because I couldn't endure it. 
 
 Tesman. But you didn't find him ? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No. And the people knew nothing 
 about him. He hadn't been home since yesterday after- 
 noon, they said. Oh, I am sure something has happened 
 to him! 
 
 Tesman. Hedda — how would it be if I were to go 
 and get Brack 
 
 Hedda. No, not in this affair. 
 
 (Judge Brack, with his hat in his hand, enters by 
 the hall door, which Berta opens, and closes be- 
 hind him. He looks grave.) 
 
 Tesman. Oh, is that you, my dear Judge ? 
 
 Brack. Yes. It was imperative I should see you. 
 
 Tesman. I can see you have heard about Aunt 
 Rina. 
 
 Brack. Yes, that among other things. 
 
 Tesman. Isn't it sad — eh ? 
 
 Brack. Oh, that depends on how you look at it. 
 
 Tesman. Has anything else happened ? 
 
 Brack. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted (in suspense). Anything sad, Judge 
 Brack ? 
 
 Brack. That, too depends on how you look at it, 
 Mrs. Elfsted. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh! it is something about Eilert 
 Lovborg ? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 449 
 
 Brack. What makes you think that ? Have you al- 
 ready heard something? 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No, no, but 
 
 Tesman. Oh, for heaven's sake, tell us! 
 
 Brack. Eilert Lovborg has been taken to the hospital. 
 He is lying at the point of death. 
 
 Tesman. At the point of death! In the hospital. 
 
 Hedda. Ah ! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh God! oh God 
 
 Hedda (whispers). Thea — be careful. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I must go to him! I must see him 
 alive. 
 
 Brack. It is useless. No one will be admitted. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, at least tell me what has hap- 
 pened to him? 
 
 Tesman. You don't mean to say that he has him- 
 self—! 
 
 Hedda. Yes, I am sure he has. 
 
 Tesman. Hedda, how can you ! 
 
 Brack. Unfortunately you have guessed quite cor- 
 rectly, Mrs. Tesman. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, how horrible! 
 
 Tesman. Himself, then ! 
 
 Hedda. Shot himself! 
 
 Brack. Rightly guessed again. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. When did it happen? 
 
 Brack. This afternoon — between three and four. 
 
 Tesman. And where did he do it? 
 
 Brack. Where ? Well — I suppose at his lodgings ■ 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. No, that is not so; for I was there 
 between seven and eight. 
 
 Brack. Well then, somewhere else. I don't know 
 precisely. I only know that he was found — . He had 
 shot himself — in the breast. 
 
450 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, how awful! 
 
 Hedda. Was it in the breast ? 
 
 Brack. Yes. 
 
 Hedda. Not in the temple? 
 
 Brack. No, it was in the breast. 
 
 Hedda. Well, well, the breast is a good place, too. 
 
 Brack. How do you mean ? 
 
 Hedda. Oh, nothing — nothing. 
 
 Tesman. And the wound is dangerous ? 
 
 Brack. Absolutely mortal. The end has probably 
 come by this time. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, yes, I feel it! And then not to 
 see him. 
 
 Tesman. How have you learnt this ? 
 
 Brack. Through one of the police. A man I had 
 some business with 
 
 Hedda. At last a deed worth doing! 
 
 Tesman. Hedda — what are you saying? 
 
 Hedda. I say there is beauty in this! 
 
 Brack. H'm — Mrs. Tesman 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Beauty! Oh, Hedda — how can 
 you- 
 
 Tesman. But, great heaven — Hedda 
 
 Hedda. He has passed judgment on himself, and 
 has had the courage to do — the one right thing. 
 
 Tesman. And you can speak thus of something so 
 reprehensible! Fancy — a suicide 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh yes, yes. But do not condemn 
 him. He did it in delirium 
 
 Hedda. No, no, that he did not. I am certain of 
 that. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, he did. In delirium. Just as 
 when he tore up our manuscript. 
 
 Brack. The manuscript? Has he torn that up? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 451 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, last night. 
 
 Tesman {softly). Oh, Hedda — Hedda. 
 
 Brack. H'm — very extraordinary. 
 
 Tesman. To think of his going out of the world 
 without leaving behind him anything that would have 
 immortalised his memory. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, but think, if it could be put to- 
 gether again! 
 
 Tesman. Yes, if it only could. I don't know what I 
 would not give, if it only could 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted, Perhaps it-can, Mr. Tesman. 
 
 Tesman. How! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Look here. I have kept all the loose 
 notes he used to dictate to me from. 
 
 Hedda. Ah ! 
 
 Tesman. You have them! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, here. I brought them with me. 
 I was going to ask you or Hedda to keep them. 
 
 Tesman. Oh, let me see. Let me see! 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. But they are in such disorder — so 
 mixed up. 
 
 Tesman. If we could make something out of them. 
 Perhaps if we two put our heads together. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, let us try. 
 
 Tesman. We will manage it. I will dedicate my 
 life to this. 
 
 Hedda. You ? Your life ? 
 
 Tesman. Yes, or all the time I can spare. My own 
 collections must wait in the meantime. Hedda — you 
 understand. I owe this to my friend. 
 
 Hedda. Perhaps. 
 
 Tesman. And so, my dear Mrs. Elfsted, we will give 
 our whole minds to it. We will control our grief. Will 
 you promise me that? 
 
452 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. I will try to do that. 
 
 Tesman. Come here. I can't rest until we have 
 looked through them. A thing of this sort — arranging 
 other people's papers — is just the work for me. Where 
 shall we sit — here? No, in there, in the back room. 
 Excuse me — my dear Judge. Come along, Mrs. Elf- 
 sted. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh, if only it were possible. 
 
 (Tesman and Mrs. Elfsted go into the back room,, 
 sit at the table under the hanging lamp, and are 
 soon deep in the papers. Hedda crosses to the 
 stove and sits in the armchair. Presently Brack 
 goes up to her.) 
 
 Hedda. Oh, what a sense of freedom this gives one. 
 
 Brack. Freedom ? 
 
 Hedda. Yes, to know that a deed is still possible in 
 this world — a deed of beauty. 
 
 Brack. H'm — my dear Mrs. Hedda 
 
 Hedda. Oh, I know what you are going to say. For 
 you are a kind of specialist too, like — you know. You 
 are neither able nor willing to see what there is in this 
 deed of Eilert Lovborg's. 
 
 Brack. Mrs. Hedda — this man was more to you than 
 perhaps you are willing to admit — . Is that not so? 
 
 Hedda. I don't answer that. But now I can see 
 him as he used to be. And I may say this to you. To 
 me his reckless life was not aberration. There was 
 spirit in it. Defiance of public opinion. It was not 
 expiation of faults that he intended. He ended his life 
 in freedom and courage. 
 
 Brack. I am sorry, Mrs. Hedda, but I fear I must 
 dispel an amiable illusion 
 
 Hedda. Illusion ? 
 
 Brack. Which could not have lasted long in any case. 
 
HEDDA GABLER 
 
 453 
 
 Hedda. What do you mean ? 
 
 Brack. The thing did not happen exactly as I told 
 it 
 
 Hedda. How then ? 
 
 Brack. Eilert Lovborg did not shoot himself! 
 
 Hedda. Is he not shot ? 
 
 Brack. Yes. But it is not a case of suicide. 
 
 Hedda. Now you are belying him! 
 
 Brack. And it was not at his lodgings 
 
 Hedda. That makes no difference. 
 
 Brack. Eilert Lovborg died of an accidental shot 
 in the same low tavern where he made a disturbance last 
 night. 
 
 Hedda. Impossible! He cannot have been there 
 again to-day. 
 
 Brack. He was there. He went to look for some- 
 thing. Talked wildly. Accused them of having stolen 
 a child from him 
 
 Hedda. Ah ! 
 
 Brack. I thought he meant his manuscript; but 
 he destroyed that himself, didn't he? So I suppose it 
 must have been his pocket-book. — Then there was a 
 fight. He was thrown downstairs. Had a loaded pistol 
 in his pocket. It goes off, and the ball lodges — not in 
 the breast, but in the bowels. 
 
 Hedda. Oh, what curse it is that makes everything 
 I touch turn ludicrous and mean? 
 
 Brack. There is another disagreeable feature in the 
 Hedda. 
 And what is that? 
 
 The pistol he carried 
 
 Well— what of it 
 
 affair, Mrs. 
 Hedda. 
 Brack. 
 Hedda. 
 Brack. 
 Hedda. 
 
 He must have stolen it 
 
 Stolen it! That is not true! 
 
454 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Bback. No other explanation is possible — hush 
 
 (Tesman and Mrs. Elfsted have risen from the 
 table in the back room, and come into the drawing- 
 room.) 
 Tesman (with the papers in both his hands). Impos- 
 sible to see under that lamp. Do you mind our sitting 
 at your writing-table, Hedda? 
 
 Hedda. If you like. No, wait. Let me clear it first. 
 Tesman. Oh, there is plenty of room. 
 Hedda. No, no, let me clear it. I will take these 
 things in and put them on the piano. There. 
 
 (She takes a case out of the shelf, places sheet music 
 over it and carries it into the inner room, to the 
 left. Tesman lays the papers on the writing-table, 
 and moves the lamp there from the corner table. 
 He and Mrs. Elfsted sit down and become en- 
 grossed in the papers. Hedda returns.) 
 Hedda. Well, are you getting on ? 
 Tesman. It will be terribly hard to put in order. 
 (Hedda goes over to the stove, and seats herself in the 
 armchair. Brack stands beside her.) 
 Hedda (whispers). What did you say about the pis- 
 tol? 
 
 Brack. That he must have stolen it. 
 Hedda. Why do you think so? 
 Brack. Eilert Lovborg was here this morning. 
 Hedda. Yes. 
 
 Brack. Were you alone with him ? 
 Hedda. Part of the time. 
 
 Brack. Were you out of the room whilst he was 
 here? 
 
 Hedda. No. 
 
 Brack. Try to recollect. Were you not out of the 
 room a moment? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 
 
 455 
 
 Yes — perhaps just a moment. 
 And where was your pistol-case during that 
 
 It stood there on the shelf of the writing- 
 
 Hedda 
 
 Brack. 
 time ? 
 
 Hedda 
 table. 
 
 Brack. Have you looked since, to see whether both 
 
 the pistols are there? 
 
 Hedda. No. 
 
 Brack. Well, you need not. I saw the one found in 
 his pocket, and I knew it at once. 
 
 Hedda. Have you it with you ? 
 
 Brack. No; the police have it. 
 
 Hedda. What will the police do with it? 
 
 Brack. Search till they find the owner. 
 
 Hedda. Do you think they will succeed ? 
 
 Brack. Not so long as I say nothing. 
 
 Hedda. And if you do not say nothing ? 
 
 Brack. Well — Mrs. Hedda — then comes the scandal. 
 
 Hedda. The scandal! 
 
 Brack. The scandal, of which you are in such mortal 
 terror. You will be brought before the court. Will 
 have to give evidence. Was it stolen ? Or did you give 
 
 it to him ? And what conclusions will people draw from 
 that? 
 
 Hedda. That is true. I did not think of that. 
 
 Brack. Well, fortunately, there is no danger, so long 
 as I say nothing. 
 
 Hedda. So I am in your power. 
 
 Brack. I shall not abuse my advantage, Hedda. 
 
 Hedda. I am in your power none the less. A slave! 
 a slave then! Oh, that intolerable thought. I cannot 
 
 endure it! Never! (Rises.) Well, are you getting on, 
 Tesman ? 
 
456 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Tesman. Heaven knows. It will be the work of 
 months. 
 
 Hedda (passes her hands softly through Mrs. Elf- 
 sted's hair.) Doesn't it seem strange to you, Thea? 
 Here are you sitting with Tesman, just as you used to 
 sit with Eilert Ldvborg. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Ah yes, if I could only inspire your 
 husband in the same way. 
 
 Hedda. I am sure you can. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, I really think I begin to feel something 
 of the sort. But won't you go and sit with Brack again ? 
 
 Hedda. Is there nothing I can do to help you two ? 
 
 Tesman. Nothing in the world. You will have to 
 keep Hedda company, my dear Brack. 
 
 Brack. With great pleasure. 
 
 Hedda. Thanks. But now I am going to lie down 
 on the sofa. 
 
 Tesman. Yes, do. 
 
 (Hedda goes into the back room and draws the cur- 
 tains. Tliere is a pause. Suddenly Hedda is 
 heard playing a wild dance on the piano.) 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Oh — what is that? 
 
 Tesman {goes to the curtains). But, Hedda dear — 
 don't play dance-music. Just think of Aunt Rina 
 
 Hedda (in the inner room). And Aunt Julia. Yes, 
 you're right. But after this, I will be quiet. 
 
 Tesman. It's not good for her to see us at this dis- 
 tressing work. You shall take the empty room at Aunt 
 Julia's, Mrs. Elfsted, and then I will come in the even- 
 ings and we can work there. 
 
 Mrs. Elfsted. Yes, let us do that. 
 
 Hedda (calls from the inner room). I hear what you 
 are saying, Tesman. But how am I to get through the 
 evenings ? 
 
HEDDA GABLER 457 
 
 Tesman (at the writing-table) . Oh, I daresay Judge 
 Brack will be so kind as to look in now and then. 
 
 Brack (calls loudly). Every blessed evening, with all 
 the pleasure in life, Mrs. Hedda. We shall get on cap- 
 itally together, we two. 
 
 Hedda (is heard to say). Thanks for your kindness, 
 Judge. 
 
 (A shot is heard in the inner room. Tesman, Mrs. 
 Elfsted and Brack leap to their feet. Tesman 
 throws back the curtains. Hedda lies on the sofa, 
 lifeless. Screams and cries. Berta appears from 
 the right in the inner room.) 
 Tesman (shrieks). Shot herself! Shot herself in the 
 temple! 
 
 Brack (half-fainting in the armchair by the stove), 
 Good God! — people don't do such things! 
 
THE MASTER BUILDER 
 
 A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRIK IBSEN 
 1803 
 
FROM THE FIRST ACT 
 
 Solness. Well then. I daresay you know that I 
 took Knut Brovik and his son into my employment. 
 About seven or eight years ago. When the old man's 
 business had gone to the dogs. 
 
 Dr. Herdal. Yes, so I have understood. 
 
 Solness. They are really clever fellows, these two. 
 That is, when they are not working on their own account. 
 But then, a couple of years ago or more, the son took it 
 into his head to get engaged, and the next thing, of course, 
 was that he wanted to begin to build on his own account. 
 That is always the way with these young people. 
 
 Dr. Herdal (laughing) . Yes, they have a bad habit 
 of wanting to marry. 
 
 Solness. Just so. Of course that did not suit my 
 plans. H'm — for I needed them for calculating bearing- 
 strains and cubic contents — and all that sort of devilry, 
 you know. 
 
 Dr. Herdal. Oh yes, no doubt that's indispensable. 
 
 Solness. Yes, it is. But Alfred was absolutely bent 
 on setting to work for himself. No matter what increase 
 of salary I offered him, it was no use. 
 
 Dr. Herdal. Oh no, when young fellows get those 
 ideas into their heads 
 
 Solness. But one day this girl came to see them on 
 some errand or other. And when I saw how utterly in- 
 fatuated they were with each other, the thought occurred 
 to me: if I could only get her into my employment, then 
 perhaps he would stay too. 
 
 461 
 
462 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Dr. Herdal. That was not at all a bad idea. 
 
 Solness. Yes, but I did not say a word to her on 
 that subject. Only talked to her a little, in a friendly 
 way, about one thing and another. And she did not 
 know me then. Nor I her either 
 
 Dr. Herdal. Well ? 
 
 Solness. Well then, the next day, pretty late in the 
 evening, when the other two had gone home, she came 
 here again, and began to talk as if I had made an ar- 
 rangement with her. About the very thing I had fixed 
 my mind on, but hadn't said a single word about. 
 
 Dr. Herdal. That was most extraordinary. 
 
 Solness. Yes, was it not ? She wanted to know what 
 she would have to do — whether she could begin the next 
 day — and so forth. 
 
 Dr. Herdal. Don't you think she did it in order to 
 be with her sweetheart? 
 
 Solness. That was what occurred to me at first. 
 But no, that was not it. She seemed to drift quite away 
 from him, when she came here to me. 
 
 Dr. Herdal. She drifted over to you, then ? 
 
 Solness. Yes, entirely. Cannot take her eyes off 
 me. Feels it, when I look at her. Trembles and shakes 
 the moment I come near her. What do you think of 
 that? 
 
 Dr. Herdal. H'm — that's not very hard to explain. 
 
 Solness. Well, but what about the other thing ? 
 That she believed I had said to her what I had only 
 wished and willed — silently? 
 
 Dr. Herdal. Yes, that is most extraordinary. 
 
 Solness. Can you explain that, Doctor? 
 
 Dr. Herdal. No, I won't undertake to do that. 
 
 Solness. I felt sure you would not; and so I have 
 never cared to talk about it till now. But it's a cursed 
 
THE MASTER BUILDER 463 
 
 nuisance to me in the long run, you understand. Here 
 have I got to go on day after day pretending — . But I 
 cannot do anything else. For if she runs away from me 
 — then Alfred will be off too. 
 
 FROM THE SECOND ACT 
 
 Solness. Yes, thanks to the fire. For then I got 
 money in my hands to build with. To build after my 
 own heart, you understand. 
 
 Hilda. For yourself, then ? 
 
 Solness. No, not at once. But I laid out the big 
 garden in villa lots, and built four or five houses there — . 
 To begin with, you see. 
 
 Hilda (ardently). Yes, yes, that was very sensible of 
 you. For then the stupid people could see what they 
 were like. 
 
 Solness. Yes, they could. And so I came to the 
 front with a rush. Every one who was at all able to, 
 would have a house from me. Since that time I have 
 raised building after building round the outskirts of the 
 town. And far down the fiord too. And right up in the 
 country. And now at last they have begun to talk of me 
 abroad — (Breaking off.) Well, who knows — who 
 knows ? 
 
 Solness (with a slight smile) . After all, why shouldn't 
 one play a little with the impossible? 
 
 Hilda (with animation). Yes, indeed, that I can 
 understand very well. 
 
 Solness. For, you see, there are some people who 
 are always expecting to win in the lottery. Even when 
 they never have a ticket. 
 
4«4 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Hilda (looking serious). Oh yes, there must be such 
 trolls in the world, too. 
 Solness. Why trolls? 
 Hilda. What would you call it, then? 
 
 Solness (confidentially). Don't you agree with me, 
 Hilda, that there are certain people who have the power 
 and faculty of desiring a thing, craving for a thing, wil- 
 ling a thing — so persistently and so — so inexorably — that 
 at last it has to happen ? 
 
 Hilda. Of its own accord ? 
 
 Solness. Yes. Don't you believe that? 
 
 Hilda. No, I certainly don't, I think that, if you 
 want to carry anything through, you have got to put 
 your hand to it yourself. 
 
 Solness. Pure imagination. It is not one's self alone 
 that does it. 
 
 Solness. Why did you not write to me now and 
 then? 
 
 Hilda. Oh, because it was so thrilling, not to know 
 when you would come. 
 
 Solness. Then you were sure I should come? 
 
 Hilda. I expected it every single day, from early in 
 the morning. It was so gloriously thrilling. — But we 
 were going to write on the drawings, Mr. Solness. 
 
 Mrs. Solness. Oh — I can see what I can see, Hal- 
 vard. 
 
 Solness. Well, after this we shall have nothing more 
 to do with these people. And that is a good thing. 
 
THE MASTER BUILDER 465 
 
 Mrs. Solness. Are you really dismissing them? 
 
 Solness. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Solness. Her as well ? 
 
 Solness. Was not that what you wished ? 
 
 Mrs. Solness. But how can you get on without 
 her — ? (stops and throws a glance at Hilda.) Oh, per- 
 haps you have another one in reserve, Halvard ? 
 
 Solness. But, my dear, good Aline ! 
 
 Hilda (playfully). No, indeed, Mrs. Solness. You 
 needn't be afraid of me. I am not the person to stand 
 at that desk. 
 
 Mrs. Solness. But Halvard must have somebody 
 with him 
 
 Solness (changing the subject). Never mind, never 
 mind — don't let us think about it. It will be all right, 
 Aline. Now all we have to do is to think about moving 
 into our new home — as quickly as we can. This evening 
 we will hang up the wreath — (Turns to Hilda.) — right 
 on the very pinnacle of the tower. What do you say to 
 that Miss Hilda? 
 
 Hilda (looks at him with sparkling eyes). It will be 
 splendid to see you so high up once more. 
 
 Solness. Me! 
 
 Mrs. SolnEss. For Heaven's sake. Miss Wangel — ■ 
 don't imagine such a thing. When my husband always 
 gets so dizzy. 
 
 Hilda. He get dizzy! 
 
 Solness (vehemently). I don't get dizzy! It is only 
 your imagination! I don't! 
 
 Mrs. Solness. Oh, how can you say so, Halvard ? 
 Why, you can't even bear to go out on the second storey 
 balcony here. 
 
 Solness. You are wrong, I tell you 
 
466 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Solness. Oh, but you always have been so, 
 dear. Why will you never admit it? 
 
 Solness. You are wrong, Aline. Perhaps you will 
 see that this evening. 
 
 Mrs. Solness. No, please God I shall never see that. 
 I will write to the doctor — and I am sure he won't let 
 you do it. 
 
 Solness. Why, Aline ! 
 
 Mrs. Solness. Oh, but you're ill, Halvard! Oh 
 God — Oh God! (She goes out to the right.) 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Hilda. All these ten years I have stayed at home, 
 believing in you. Simply believing in you. And every 
 day I have seen you in my thoughts, free and high up. 
 
 Solness. Oh, Hilda, it is not every day that one can 
 be so. 
 
 Hilda (imploringly). Just once more, Mr. Solness. 
 
 Solness. I cannot. Have I not told you that what 
 I did then was the impossible? 
 
 Hilda. Well then, do the impossible once again! 
 
 Solness. Such a thing can never be done again. 
 
 Hilda. Yov can do it. 
 
 Solness (looking at her). How have you become 
 what you are, Hilda? 
 
 Hilda. How have you made me what I am? 
 
 [Well how ? 
 
 By willing and daring the impossible.] 
 
 Solness. The princess shall have her castle. 
 
 Hilda [jubilant, clapping her hands). Oh, Mr. Sol- 
 ness ! 
 
THE MASTER BUILDER 467 
 
 Solness. Her castle in the air the princess shall have. 
 [The one with a firm foundation.] 
 
 [If I ever try it, H., I will stand up there and say to 
 him; Hear me, Mighty Lord, thou may'st judge me as 
 thou wilt. But hereafter I will build nothing but the 
 loveliest thing in the world. Build it for a princess, 
 whom I love. H. You would say that! S. Yes. And 
 then I will say to him : Now I shall go down and throw 
 my arms round her and kiss her. H. Many times. 
 S. Many, many times. H. And then — . S. Then 
 I would wave my hat and come down and do as I said 
 to him. H. Do the impossible once again! 
 
 Now I see you again as I did when there was song in 
 the air.] 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Harald Borgheim. 
 Johanne, his wife. 
 Rita, his sister. 
 
 Alfred, his son, eleven years old. 
 Eivind Almer, a road engineer. 
 Miss Varg, Johanne's aunt. 
 {The action takes place on Borgheim's property, on the 
 fiord.) 
 
 FROM THE FIRST ACT 
 
 Well, but that can only be good for him. 
 Rita. Do you really think so ? 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. I don't think one way or the 
 other. Hakon himself is the best judge of such things. 
 (Hakon Skioldheim enters by the door on the left, 
 leading little Alfred by the hand. He has a slim, 
 slight figure and a serious expression. Thin dark 
 hair and beard. Alfred is undersized, and looks 
 somewhat delicate.) 
 Hakon Skioldheim. Well, have you come, Rita ? 
 Rita. Yes, I felt I must — . Welcome home again. 
 Skioldheim. Thank you. 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Doesn't he look well ? 
 Rita. Splendid! Quite splendid! His eyes are so 
 much brighter! And I suppose you have done a great 
 deal of writing on your travels? I shouldn't wonder if 
 you had finished the whole book, Hakon [Alfred]? 
 
 Skioldheim [Alf]. The book ? 
 
 471 
 
472 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rita [A]. Yes, I was sure you would find it go so 
 easily when once you got away. 
 
 Skioldheim. The truth is, I have not written a line 
 of the book. 
 
 Rita. Not a line ? 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Oho! I wondered when I found 
 all the paper lying untouched in your bag. 
 
 Rita. But, dear me, what have you been doing for 
 these two months [all this time]? 
 
 Skioldheim (smiling). Only thinking, thinking, think- 
 ing. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim (putting her arm round his neck). 
 And thinking a little, too, of those you had left at home ? 
 
 Skioldheim. Yes, you may be sure of that. I have 
 thought a great deal of you. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Oh, how nice of you. 
 
 Rita. But you haven't even touched the book. And 
 yet you can look so happy. And so contented with your- 
 self. That is not what you generally do — I mean when 
 your work is going badly. 
 
 Skioldheim. You are right there. For I have been 
 such a fool hitherto, Rita. All the best that is in you 
 goes into thinking. What you put on paper is worth 
 very little. 
 
 Rita. Worth very little! 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Oh but, Hakon ! 
 
 Alfred. Oh yes, Papa, what you write is worth a 
 great deal! 
 
 Skioldheim (smiling, stroking his hair). Well, well, 
 since you say so — But I can tell you, some one is com- 
 ing after me who will do it better. 
 
 Alfred. Who can that be? Oh, tell me! 
 
 Skioldheim. Only wait — you may be sure he will 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 473 
 
 come, and let us hear of him. But next summer, when I 
 go to the mountains again, I will take you with me, Alfred. 
 
 Alfred. Take me! 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Oh fie, Hakon — are you thinking 
 of deserting me again £. 
 
 Rita (to Alfred). Would you not like to go with him, 
 little boy ? 
 
 Alfred (considering). Oh, yes — I think I should. 
 If it is not very dangerous 
 
 Skioldheim. Dangerous ? How do you mean ? 
 
 Alfred. Well, might I not easily fall and be crippled ? 
 
 Skioldheim (decisively). You must and shall come 
 with me to the mountains, my boy. 
 
 Rita. And then you must ask your father to let you 
 learn to shoot, and hunt, and swim — and all that sort of 
 thing. Would you not like that, Alfred ? 
 
 Alfred. Yes, I should like that very much. — Well 
 — I should only have to be rather careful 
 
 Skioldheim. Yes, you would have to be, of course. 
 But now you can run down into the garden and amuse 
 yourself. 
 
 Alfred. Shall I not take some books with me ? 
 
 Skioldheim. No, no, no books. 
 
 Alfred. Well then, I'll just go down and amuse my- 
 self. 
 
 (He is going out on to the veranda, but stops and 
 comes back.) 
 
 Alfred. Oh, no — I dare not! 
 
 Skioldheim. Why daren't you ? 
 
 Alfred. Because Aunt Ellen is coming that way! 
 
 Skioldheim. Are you so afraid of her too? 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. What can she want here ? 
 
 Alfred. Papa, do you think it is true that she is a 
 were- wolf at night? 
 
474 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Skioldheim. Oh, not at all. What put that into 
 your head ? 
 
 Alfred. I don't know, but that's what I think. 
 
 Skioldheim. She has had a lot of trouble. And it 
 has made her rather strange. That is all. 
 
 (Miss Varg comes up the steps on to the veranda. 
 She is old and grey-haired. A thin little shrunken 
 figure. Old-fashioned fiowered gown. Black hood 
 and cloak. She has in her hand a large red um- 
 brella, and carries a black bag over her arm.) 
 
 Miss Varg. Good morning, good morning to you 
 all! It is long since I set foot here. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Yes, it is a long time. Won't 
 you sit down and rest a little ? 
 
 Miss Varg. Yes, indeed! Thanks! (Seats herself 
 on a chair by the sofa). I have been out at my work. 
 And must go out again. And it takes your strength out 
 of you. 
 
 Skioldheim. So you have been out this morning ? 
 
 Miss Varg. Yes, over on Grono. (Laughing to her- 
 self.) The people sent for me last night, to be sure. 
 They didn't like it a bit. But at last they had to bite the 
 sour apple — . (Looks at Alfred, and nods.) The sour 
 apple, my boy. The sour apple. 
 
 Alfred (involuntarily, timidly). Why did they have 
 to ? 
 
 Miss Varg. What ? 
 
 Alfred. To bite it? 
 
 Miss Varg. Why, because they couldn't keep body 
 and soul together. 
 
 Alfred (turns a doubtful and questioning look upon his 
 father) . 
 
 Skioldheim. Why could they not keep body and soul 
 together ? 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 475 
 
 Miss Varg. Because of the rats and mice, of course. 
 
 Alfred. The rats and ! 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Ugh! Poor people! Have they 
 so many of them ? — 
 
 Miss Varg (laughing). Yes, it was all alive and 
 swarming with them. Both indoors and out. They 
 came creepy-crawly up into the beds all night long. They 
 plumped into the milk-cans, and they went pattering all 
 over the floor, backwards and forwards. But then I 
 came. 
 
 Alfred. How can any one dare [I could never dare] 
 go there ! [I shall never go there, Auntie.] 
 
 Miss Varg. I dare. And then I took them with me 
 — every one. The sweet little creatures! I made an 
 end of every one of them. 
 
 Alfred (with a shriek). Papa — look! look! 
 
 Skioldheim. What is it? 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Good heavens, Alfred! 
 
 Alfred. There's something wriggling in the bag! 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim (shrieks). Ugh! 
 
 Miss Varg (laughing) . Oh, you needn't be afraid of 
 such a little thing. 
 
 Skioldheim. But what is it? 
 
 Miss Varg (loosening the string of the bag) . Why, 
 it's only little Mopseman. Come out, my little friend! 
 (A little dog with a broad black snout pokes its head 
 out of the bag.) 
 
 Miss Varg (to Alfred). Come a little nearer. He 
 won't bite. Come along! 
 
 Alfred. No, I dare not. 
 
 Miss Varg (stroking the dog). Don't you think he has 
 a gentle, friendly countenance, my young master? 
 
 Alfred [(pointing)]. That thing there? 
 
 Miss Varg. Yes, this thing here. 
 
476 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Alfred {{staring fixedly at the dog)] (almost under his 
 breath). I think he has the horriblest — countenance I 
 ever saw. 
 
 Miss Varg (closing the bag). Oh, it will come — it 
 will come, right enough. 
 
 Alfred ([drawing nearer,] involuntarily strokes the 
 bag). But he is lovely — lovely all the same. 
 
 Miss Varg (in a tone of caution). But now he is so 
 tired, so utterly tired out, poor thing. For it takes the 
 strength out of you, — that sort of work. 
 
 Skioldheim. What sort of work ? 
 
 Miss Varg. Luring. 
 
 Skioldheim. Then is it the dog that lures the rats ? 
 
 Miss Varg. Mopseman and I. I slip a string through 
 his collar, and then I lead him three times round the 
 house [,and play on my Pan's pipes]. And then they 
 have to come out of their hiding-places — every one of 
 them. [All the blessed little creatures.] Whether they 
 like it or not. 
 
 Alfred. And then does he bite them? 
 
 Miss Varg. Oh, not at all. No, we go down to the 
 boat, he and I do — and then they follow after us [, — both 
 the big ones and the little children]. 
 
 Alfred (eagerly). And what then ? 
 
 Miss Varg. Then I take my seat in the stern. [And 
 play on my Pan's pipes.] And Trond pushes out from 
 the land. And Mopseman swims behind. And I hold 
 him by the string. And all the rats and all the mice, 
 they follow [and follow] us. Ay, for they have to. 
 
 Alfred. Why do they have to ? 
 
 Miss Varg. Just because they want not to. [Because 
 they are so deadly afraid of the water — that is why they 
 have got to plunge into it.] 
 
 Alfred. Are they drowned, then? 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 477 
 
 Miss Varg. Every blessed one. [And then they 
 are at peace, the lovely little things. Down there they 
 sleep sweetly and securely.] (She rises.) In the old 
 days, I can tell you — I didn't need any Mopseman. For 
 then I did the luring myself — in another way. 
 
 Alfred. And what did you lure then? 
 
 Miss Varg. Men. One most of all. One in par- 
 ticular. 
 
 Alfred (eagerly) . Oh, who was that one ? Tell me ! 
 
 Miss Varg (laughing). It was my own sweetheart, it 
 was [, little heart-breaker]. 
 
 Alfred. And why did you lure him? 
 
 Miss Varg. Because he had gone away from me [I 
 loved him so dearly]. Far, far away over the salt sea 
 waves. But I drew him and drew him home to me again. 
 I almost had him. — But then my grasp failed. He was 
 gone — for ever. 
 
 Alfred. Well, where is he now, then ? 
 
 Miss Varg. Down where all the rats are. — But now 
 I must really be off and get to business again. Have you 
 any use for me here ? I could finish it all off while I am 
 about it. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. No, thank you, Miss Varg — I 
 don't think we require anything. 
 
 Miss Varg. Well, well, you can never tell — . If 
 there should be anything, just send for Aunt Ellen. 
 (Laughs.) Isn't it strange that everybody calls me 
 Aunt Ellen ? And yet I have no living kinsfolk — neither 
 in heaven or earth. Well, good-bye, good-bye to you 
 all. 
 
 (She goes out by the door on the right. Shortly after- 
 wards, Alfred slips cautiously and unnoticed out 
 into the garden.) 
 
 Rita. To-day she was almost horrible. 
 
478 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. I think she is so always. 
 
 Skioldheim. I can very well understand the sort of 
 spellbound fascination that she talked about. Nature 
 among the glaciers and the great waste places has some- 
 thing of the same magic about it. 
 
 Rita (looks attentively at him). [What is it that has 
 happened to you — ] Something seems almost to have 
 transformed you, Hakon. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Yes, don't you think so too ? 
 
 Skioldheim. Something has happened, that has 
 transformed me. It has happened within me. For in 
 external reality I have had no adventure on my journey. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim (seats herself on the sofa). You 
 must tell us all about it. 
 
 Skioldheim. Yes, let us sit down, too, Rita — then 
 I will try. 
 
 (He seats himself on the sofa at his wife's side. Rita 
 on a chair by the table.) 
 
 Skioldheim (after a brief pause). The journey has 
 really made me so happy and light-hearted. But there 
 has been a tinge of melancholy with it, that I cannot shake 
 off. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. That must be because you have 
 not been able to work 
 
 Skioldheim (smiles rather sadly). Yes, you know me. 
 You know that hitherto it has been so with me. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim (smiles). Very cross and fretful. 
 Quite out of humour when there was now and then a 
 difficulty with your writing. 
 
 Skioldheim. Well, you see, my dear Andrea — I have 
 now got over those vexations. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. While you were in the moun- 
 tains ? 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 479 
 
 Skioldheim. Yes, up in the great solitude. — Well 
 I can't say I have not been a happy man hitherto. But 
 I have lived my life far too much in the study. Without 
 cares, without troubles of any kind. Abundance on 
 every side. — {Giving them his hands.) And then you 
 two to flatter me and spoil me. 
 
 Rita. All we have done is to understand you, Hakon. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. We have believed in you. And 
 tried to go with you. 
 
 Skioldheim. When I look back—. Book after book 
 I have sent out into the world. They were well done, I 
 believe. And they have been well received too. And 
 now the masterpiece was to come out. The work on the 
 spiritual [psychological] doctrine of life 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Yes, but it will come out— it will 
 come out, Hakon. Now that you are at home again ■ 
 
 Skioldheim. It will never come out, dear — . Must 
 never come out. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Good heavens, but why not ? 
 
 Skioldheim. Because there is a fundamental defect 
 in it. 
 
 Rita. A fundamental defect ? But can you not rem- 
 edy it ? 
 
 Skioldheim. No, it is irreparable, Rita. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Yes, but now that you have 
 discovered it 
 
 Rita. But what can this fundamental defect be ? 
 
 Skioldheim. I have not taken renunciation into ac- 
 count. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Renunciation ? 
 
 Skioldheim. Renunciation, yes. Self-denial. The 
 desire— the joy of self-sacrifice. All that should be the 
 inmost core of one's conduct. 
 
480 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rita. Well, but why not include all this now ? 
 
 Skioldheim (shakes his head). It shall not be put 
 into any book. What I have learnt to see — shall be 
 made part of my own life's conduct. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. What do you mean by that ? 
 
 Skioldheim. You see — every family — that has 
 breeding, be it observed — has its ascending series of 
 generations: it rises from father to son, until it reaches 
 the highest point the family is capable of attaining. And 
 then it goes down again. 
 
 Rita. You are destined to attain the highest, Hakon. 
 
 Skioldheim. My belief in that has been the great 
 delusion of my life. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. You don't believe it any longer! 
 
 Skioldheim. No. Now I know that it is not so. 
 I have usurped a throne. Now I resign it. I abdi- 
 cate 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. In whose favour should you ab- 
 dicate ? 
 
 Skioldheim. In favour of the rightful one. 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim. Yes, but who, who, in Heaven's 
 name, is the rightful one ? 
 
 Skioldheim. Alfred [Eivind]. 
 
 Rita. Alfred [Eivind]! 
 
 Mrs. Skioldheim [Mrs. Almer]. Alfred [Eivind] ! 
 Do you think that? 
 
 Skioldheim [Almer]. I see it. He will be the sum- 
 mit and crown of the Skioldheim stock. 
 
 Mrs. Almer. Ah, do you believe that, Alfred ? 
 
 Almer. I believe it confidently. I will devote all 
 my powers to it. I will be his teacher 
 
 Mrs. Almer. Oh, but why burden your life so ? We 
 have no need of that. 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 481 
 
 Allmer. It is not any technical knowledge that I 
 want to cram him with. It is the art of life itself that I 
 will try to make him understand. Make the art of life 
 his very nature. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. But, Alfred, what is the 'art of life'? 
 There is no art in living, I should think. 
 
 Allmer. Don't you think so ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. No, it is the simplest thing in the 
 world. Living! When one has enough to live on, as 
 we have. And when one can live exactly as one pleases. 
 And need do nothing but what one thinks right and 
 proper. 
 
 Allmer. Yes, you have a bright and happy disposi- 
 tion, Andrea. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. You ought to cultivate th*; same. 
 
 Allmer. It will come to me through the fulfilment 
 of my duty. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. What duty ? 
 
 Allmar. My highest duty. The duty r»f making 
 every side of Eivind's individuality attain its highest, 
 fullest development. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Do you hold that to be your highest 
 duty? 
 
 Allmer. Yes, for a father there is none higher. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Nor for a mother either, I suppose ? 
 
 Allmer. No, that is understood. If I say /, it is 
 only an instance, a relic, of my old egoism. Such things 
 are not so easy to tear up by the roots. I mean, of course, 
 we. We two in fellowship, Andrea. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. No, my dearest Alfred, I really cannot 
 be altogether with you in this. 
 
 Allmer. You cannot devote your existence to per- 
 fecting our child! As far as we are able. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Oh, you talk about existence. Ex- 
 
482 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 istence — that is life — one's sense of happiness, I think it 
 might be called. 
 
 Allmer (seriouly, almost severely). I know of no 
 deeper sense of happiness than that of seeing Eivind grow 
 under my hands. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. But you used only to occupy yourself 
 with him in such a very desultory way. 
 
 Allmer. I am sorry to say you are right there. I 
 have been too much taken up by myself and by 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. — and by ? 
 
 Allmer. — by all these morbid, distorted, baseless 
 fancies that I, myself, had some special mission in the 
 world. Something of extreme importance and moment 
 — something that concerned myself alone. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Is this all that has occupied you ? 
 Occupied your life, Alfred ? 
 
 Allmer. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Nothing else at all ? 
 
 Allmer. Nothing worth mentioning, as far as I can 
 see. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. No person either ? No other person ? 
 
 Allmer. Other person ? What do you mean ? Who 
 should that be? 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Myself, I suppose. 
 
 Allmer. Oh, you, yes. But, my dearest Andrea, 
 that is a matter of course 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. No, no, no! I won't hear of anything 
 that is a matter of course. I will have it to be because I 
 am myself. And because you are yourself. 
 
 Allmer. But, dearest Andrea, that's just as it was 
 in the days of our honeymoon 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Yes, and so it must continue. 
 
 Allmer. No, but look here — we must begin to be 
 reasonable some day. 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 483 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Never in this world will you get me 
 to be reasonable. Not on this point. This talk about 
 being reasonable — it is nothing but excuses — when one 
 doesn't care any more. 
 
 Allmer. No, but listen to me 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. I have one thing to say to you, Alfred 
 — I will not consent to give up my place — the first place 
 in your heart. Not even for my own little boy. 
 
 Rita. Alfred must always have some one to devote 
 himself to. He has always been so. Towards me too. 
 As early as I can remember. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Is it only this that has put you in such 
 wild spirits to-day? 
 
 Borgheim. Yes, and all the brightness and hopeful- 
 ness [bright and hopeful prospects] that is being showered 
 upon me [that are opening out before me]. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Is there still something more ? 
 
 Borgheim. Yes, there is! There is — . No, I can't 
 keep it in any longer. {Turns to Rita.) Shall we ? 
 
 Rita (quickly and softly). No, no — ! Oh, take a 
 little walk in the garden, you mean ? 
 
 Borgheim. Walk — ? Yes, that is just what I meant. 
 
 Rita, Yes, I should like to. 
 
 Allmer. And [while you are there] you can see what 
 Eivind is doing. He is playing down there. 
 
 Borgheim. Oh, then Eivind has begun to play 
 now ? He used always to be sitting over his books. 
 
 Allmer. There is to be an end of that now. I am 
 going to make a regular open-air boy of him. 
 
 Borgheim. Ah, now, that's right! Out into the 
 open air with him. Good Lord, what can we possibly 
 
484 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 do better than play in this blessed world ? For my part, 
 I think all life is one long playtime! 
 
 (He and Rita go out on the veranda and down 
 through the garden.) 
 
 Allmer (looking after them). Is there anything be- 
 tween those two ? 
 
 Mrs. Almer. I am beginning almost to think so. 
 Would it displease you if there were ? 
 
 Allmer. It would not exactly displease me. But of 
 course, I am in a way responsible for Rita. And it is 
 always a precarious thing when two people form an 
 attachment of this sort. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer (looking at him). You mean that it does 
 not last ? 
 
 Allmer. One can never tell. Even those who en- 
 gage themselves cannot tell that. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. For my part, I don't think at all ill of 
 Borgheim. 
 
 Allmer. No, dear — ill ? Who is saying anything of 
 the sort? But I am so afraid that those two have no 
 right to undergo transformation together. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Transformation ? Must they do that ? 
 
 Allmer. Or develop — if you prefer it. Mature. 
 Grow. You must remember that in married life new 
 situations are formed. Little by little, you understand. 
 New duties assert themselves. The children, too, claim 
 their rights. They have the first claim, Andrea. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer (close to him, almost wildly). Do you 
 say that! The first. Do you say that, Alfred! 
 
 Allmer. Yes, for that is how I have come to look at 
 things. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Then you don't love me any more? 
 
 Allmer. Andrea, how can you say such a thing? 
 For it is impossible that you can mean it! 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 485 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. Oh yes, I am not far from meaning 
 it now. You are no longer the same to me as you used 
 to be. Not as you were the first year. 
 
 Allmer. Never have you been dearer to me than you 
 are now, Andrea. 
 
 Mrs. Allmer. But not in the same way. You have 
 begun to divide yourself between me and your work. 
 And I will not endure that. I want you entirely to my- 
 self. (Throwing her arms round his neck.) Oh, Alfred, 
 Alfred, I cannot give you up! 
 
 (Engineer Borgheim and Rita come up from tlie 
 garden.) 
 
 Borgheim. There! Hurrah! Now I have permis- 
 sion to tell the news! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. It is scarcely necessary, is it, dear Mr. 
 Borgheim ? 
 
 Borgheim. Ah? Is it not? Have you really been 
 able to notice anything in us ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Oh yes, indeed. 
 
 Borgheim. Well, now she has surrendered. To me — > 
 unconditionally. She hesitates no longer 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Then she did before? 
 
 Borgheim. I can't say she did not. 
 
 Allmers. I hope this may mean happiness to you, 
 dear Rita. 
 
 Rita (kissing his hand). Thanks, thanks for all you 
 have been to me. 
 
 Allmers. Rita! My little Rita! 
 
 Borgheim. And now she is going with me. To 
 share my work. We may have mountain passes enough 
 to overcome. And abrupt precipices that might make 
 one dizzv. 
 
486 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Allmers. Oh, if you but keep together in sympathy 
 — all will be well. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. And let no evil eye [come between 
 you] and take him from you, Rita. 
 
 Rita. Evil eye? 
 
 SECOND ACT 
 
 A little, open place by the side ofthejiord, on Allmers's 
 property. Mostly fir-trees, but with birclies among 
 them. A bench, a round table, and one or two 
 chairs, all made of tree-trunks and boughs with the 
 bark on, are set up on the right. Some large boul- 
 ders lie on the beach and out in the water. It is 
 about noon, on a sunny day. Tlie fiord lies as still 
 as a mirror. 
 (Alfred Allmers, in his grey summer clothes, but 
 with a mourning band on the arm, sits on the bench, 
 resting his arms on the table. His grey felt hat, 
 also with a mourning band, lies on one of the 
 chairs. He sits still for a while, and gazes ab- 
 sently out over the water. Then Miss Andrea 
 Allmers, dressed entirely in mourning, comes 
 down a little wooded hill on the left, and goes 
 quietly up to him.) 
 
 Miss Andrea. Are you sitting down here, Alfred ? 
 
 Allmers (nods slowly without answering). 
 
 (Andrea moves his hat to the table and sits down 
 on the chair.) 
 
 Andrea. I have been searching for you such a long 
 time. Have you been sitting here all the time ? 
 
 Andrea. Oh, but it is not at all certain that it hap- 
 pened so 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 437 
 
 Allmers. Yes, it is. I am sure of it. It must have 
 happened so. The people down below — they say that 
 Miss Warg rowed out. She sat in the stern of the boat 
 and the dog swam behind on a string 
 
 Andrea. Yes, yes, but all the same — that doesn't 
 
 Allmers. And, you know, there are some who saw 
 Eyolf standing at the end of the steamboat pier. A 
 moment later he was gone. No one saw any more of 
 him 
 
 Andrea. Yes, they say so, I know, but 
 
 Allmers. She has drawn him down, Andrea — there 
 is no doubt about it. 
 
 Andrea. But, Alfred, why should she do it ? 
 
 Allmers. Yes, that is just the question. Why 
 should she — ? — Eyolf certainly never did her any harm. 
 He never called names after her; he never threw stones 
 at her dog. Why, he had never seen her till yesterday. 
 Nor would it be like Evolf to do such things. So mean- 
 ingless. So utterly meaningless. And yet the order of 
 the world requires it. 
 
 Andrea. Have you spoken to Rita of this? 
 
 Allmers. I feel as if I can talk better to you about it. 
 
 Andrea. Alfred, you should talk to Rita too. 
 
 Allmers. I will do so. Both to you and to her. — 
 But now you will soon be leaving us. 
 
 Andrea. That will not make a separation between 
 you and me, I hope. 
 
 Allmers. No, I don't think I could imagine such a 
 thing. 
 
 Andrea. We shall still be near to each other, however 
 far away I may go. 
 
 Allmers. But it will be lonely for Rita and me. 
 When you go away from us too. 
 
 Andrea. I believe Rita would rather have it so. 
 
488 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Allmers (looking at her). She would rather ? 
 
 Andrea. She would rather have you entirely to her- 
 self. 
 
 Allmers. Have you noticed that? 
 
 Andrea. Yes, now and then. 
 
 Allmers. But I don't think that applies to you, 
 Andrea. 
 
 Andrea. No, perhaps not so much to me as to others. 
 
 Allmers. For she knows, of course, what we two 
 have been to each other all our days. 
 
 Andrea. Oh, Alfred — say rather, what you have 
 been to me. You have been everything to me. No 
 sacrifice has been too great for you. 
 
 Allmers. Oh, nonsense, sacrifice. Oh, I have loved 
 you so, ever since you were a little child. And then it 
 seemed to me that I had so much injustice to make up 
 for. 
 
 Andrea. You were generally away from home at that 
 time. For I am thinking more particularly of the years 
 when you were at the University. 
 
 Allmers. Yes, but, dearest Andrea — I was often at 
 home on visits. 
 
 Andrea. But all the same 
 
 Allmers. You have never hinted at such a thing be- 
 fore now. I thought the fault must be all on father's 
 side. If there was any fault. 
 
 Andrea. Oh, I don't think the fault is ever entirely 
 on one side 
 
 Allmers. You may be right there. But tell me 
 
 Andrea. Oh, please, Alfred — say no more about 
 this! (Looks into the wood on the right.) Here come 
 Rita and Bergheim. 
 
 Allmers. Shall we go and meet them r 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 489 
 
 Andrea. They can see us. They are coming this 
 way. 
 
 Allmers. Have you loved Bergheim long ? 
 Andrea (with a rapid glance at him) . Loved him ? 
 Allmers. Yes ? 
 
 Andrea. I have only known him such a short time. 
 Allmers. And now you are going away with him. 
 So far, far away. I never thought that we two should be 
 parted. 
 
 Andrea. Nor I either. 
 
 Allmers (looking before him). Where is Eyolf now? 
 Can anyone tell me that ? No one in all the world. I 
 know only that he is gone from me. And soon you 'will 
 be gone from me too, Andrea. No one, no one of my 
 own kin. 
 
 Andrea. You have Rita. 
 
 Allmers. Rita is no kin to me— it isn't like having 
 
 a sister 
 
 Andrea (eagerly) . Do you say that, Alfred ? 
 Allmers. Yes. The Allmers family is a thing apart. 
 We have always had vowels for our initials. And we 
 have all the same colour of eyes. 
 Andrea. I too, do you think? 
 
 Allmers. No, that's true. Not you. You are not 
 like father. You take more after your mother. But all 
 
 the same 
 
 Andrea. All the same ? 
 
 Allmers. Living together, I believe, has stamped us 
 alike— formed us in each other's image. Mentally and 
 outwardly. 
 
 Andrea. Do you feel it so, Alfred ? 
 Allmers. Yes, that is just how I feel it. 
 
 Andrea. Then you force me to tell you ■ 
 
 Allmers. What? What is it? Tell me 1 
 
490 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Andrea (looking out to the right). Presently. Here 
 they are coming. 
 
 (Mrs. Rita Allmers and Engineer Borgheim 
 come forward through the trees.) 
 
 Allmers. Yes, do so. 
 
 Borgheim (to Andrea). Andrea — shall we go a 
 little way along the road meanwhile? 
 
 Andrea. With pleasure. 
 
 (She and Borgheim go off along the shore to the left.) 
 (Allmers icanders aboid for a little; then he seats 
 himself on the bench on the left. Rita goes ever 
 to him.) 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Can you think the thought, Alfred 
 — that we have lost him! 
 
 Allmers. We must accustom ourselves to think, it 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. I cannot. I cannot. But is it so 
 certain that he is gone — for ever? 
 
 Allmers. But people say they saw him lying down 
 on the bottom. And then the current came and carried 
 him away. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, yes, I know that. But it is not 
 that I mean. 
 
 Allmers. What then ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. He seems to be about me just the 
 same. More, a thousand times more than before. 
 
 Allmers (bitterly.) He seems so now? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, yes. But that is not enough. 
 I must see him. Hear him. Feel him 
 
 Allmers. You were so well able to do without him 
 before — for half a day at a time 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, for then I knew I had him all 
 the same. 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 491 
 
 Allmers (sadly). Now we have him no longer. 
 Things have come about, as you wished 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. What did I wish? 
 
 Allmers (looking severely at her). That little Eyolf 
 were not here. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. That little Eyolf should not stand 
 between us. That was what I wished! 
 
 Allmers. Well, well, he does not stand between us 
 any more, poor boy. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (looking at him). Perhaps now more 
 than ever. 
 
 Allmers. You never really and truly loved him. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Eyolf would never let me take him 
 really and truly to my heart. 
 
 Allmers. Because you did not want to. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Oh yes, I did. I did want to. But 
 some one stood in the way [ — even from the first]. 
 
 Allmers. I, do you mean ? [Do you mean that I 
 stood in the way ?] 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Oh, no — not at first. 
 
 Allmers. Who, then ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Andrea. 
 
 Allmers. Andrea? Can you say that, Rita? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes; Andrea took him to her heart 
 from the time when he was quite a little child. 
 
 Allmers. If she did so, she did it in love. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. That is just it. I cannot endure to 
 share anything with others. Not in love. 
 
 Allmers. W T e two should have shared him between 
 us in love. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. We? The truth is you have never 
 had any real love for the child. 
 
 Allmers (looks at her in surprise). I have not — I 
 How can you say — how can you think such a thing! 
 
492 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, you have not. You used to be 
 so utterly taken up by your work. 
 
 Allmers. Yes, and I sacrificed it for Eyolf s sake 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, but not out of love for him. 
 
 Allmers. Why then? Tell me what you suppose! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. You had begun to be consumed with 
 mistrust of yourself. All the happy confidence — all the 
 hope that you had a great task to perform, had begun 
 to desert you. I could see that. 
 
 Allmers. Oh yes, you may be right there. But all 
 the same 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Then you went away. Up into the 
 great, free waste places. And that must have exalted 
 your mind 
 
 Allmers. It has. It has. Be sure of that, Andrea! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. But not exalted it to love 
 
 Allmers {eagerly). It was up there in the vastness 
 and solitude that I gave up my place in life for little 
 Eyolf 's sake. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. But why — why did you give it up ? 
 
 Allmers. Why ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. [I will tell you. — Allmers. W T ell ?] 
 Because you needed something new to fill up your life. 
 Andrea had so often talked to you of Eyolf's great abili- 
 ties, of all the possibilities there were in him — and that 
 sort of thing 
 
 Allmers. Yes, she took most interest in him. But 
 it was for that reason, you think ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. You wanted to make a prodigy of 
 him, Alfred. Because he was your child. But you never 
 really loved him. Never cared for him sincerely for his 
 own sake. 
 
 Allmers. Do you think that ? 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 493 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes. If I had known that you loved 
 him sincerely, I might perhaps have been resigned to 
 sharing you with him. Although — no, perhaps not. after 
 all. 
 
 Allmers (looking thoughtfully at her). But if it is so, 
 Rita, then we two have never really possessed our own 
 child. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, not in perfect love. 
 
 Allmers. And now we are sorrowing so bitterly for 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, isn't it curious that we should 
 grieve like this over a little stranger boy ? 
 
 Allmers (pained). Oh, don't call him a stranger! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. We never won the boy, Alfred. Not 
 I — nor you either. 
 
 Allmers (wringing his hands). And now it is too 
 late! Too late! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. And no consolation. No hope any- 
 where — in anything ! 
 
 Allmers (in quiet emotion). I dreamed about him 
 last night. I thought I saw him standing in the garden. 
 I felt so glad. So rich. So he was not lost to us. We 
 had him. And the terrible reality was nothing but a 
 dream. Oh, how I thanked and blessed 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (moaning softly). I could not. I 
 could not [never could]! 
 
 Allmers. Not if I went there at the same time ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, no! Not for all the glory of 
 ,'ieaven ! 
 
 Allmers. Nor I. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, you feel it so, too, don't you — 
 you could not either, could you? 
 
494 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Allmers. For here we are at home — for the present. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, for here is [the] happiness [we 
 can understand]. 
 
 Allmers. Happiness ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, we must find happiness again. 
 Without happiness I cannot live. 
 
 Allmers. Where are we to find it now ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (shaking her head). No, no, no — you 
 are right there. We shall never find it, while we do noth- 
 ing but grieve over little Eyolf. (Looks inquiringly at 
 him.) But ? 
 
 Allmers. But ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (quickly, as though in terror). No, no. 
 I dare not say it! Nor even think it. 
 
 Allmers. Yes, say it! Say it, Rita! 
 
 Rita (hesitatingly). Could we not try to — ? Would 
 it not be possible to forget him? 
 
 Allmers. Forget Eyolf! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Forget our grief for him, I mean. 
 
 Allmers. Can you wish it? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Yes, if it were possible. (With an 
 outburst.) For I cannot bear this for ever! 
 
 Allmers. But the memory, Rita ? We cannot escape 
 that. And the memory brings remorse. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. The memory of little Eyolf will soften 
 with time. Oh, don't you think so, Alfred ? 
 
 Allmers. May be — some day, perhaps. But the 
 sense of void — can that ever be deadened ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (looking before her). No, there it is. 
 The void — the void. Every day, every hour — it will 
 assert itself in the smallest trifle. 
 
 Allmers. Even the empty chair at table. Even the 
 fact that his coat is not hanging in its usual place in the 
 hall 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 495 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. And happiness will not grow in the 
 void. Neither you nor I are capable of bearing this, 
 Alfred. We must try to think of something that will 
 bring forgetfulness. 
 
 Allmers. Oh, what could that be? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Could we not see what travelling 
 would do — far away from here? 
 
 Allmers. From home? When you know you are 
 never really well anywhere but here. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Well, then, let us have crowds of 
 people about us! Keep open house! Try something of 
 that sort that might deaden and dull our thoughts 
 
 Allmers. But such a life would be impossible for 
 me — you know that. I simply could not endure it. 
 No, rather than that, I would try to take up my work 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Your work — the work that has been 
 like a wall between us ? 
 
 Allmers. It has not, Rita. You are wrong there. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, I am not! But I will not con- 
 sent to share you. I want you utterly and entirely as 
 you used to be. You must give me your love again, 
 unaltered — I will have it, I tell you. 
 
 Allmers. That love was an intoxication, and it is 
 dead [quenched]. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. And you can say that ! 
 
 Allmers. It is dead. But in what I now feel for you 
 there is a resurrection 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. I don't care a bit about any resur- 
 rection 
 
 Allmers. Rita ! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. I am a warm-blooded being. I have 
 not fishes' blood in my veins. — And now to be imprisoned 
 for life! Imprisoned in grief and bereavement. 
 
496 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Allmers (looking thoughtfully at her). Ah, can this 
 be properly called grief and bereavement — this that we 
 feel ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. What else? 
 
 Allmers. Despair. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Despair! 
 
 Allmers. Yes — despair. I believe that is the right 
 name for it. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (looking at him xcith anxious inquiry). 
 Why should we ! 
 
 A.LLMERS. Have you no inkling of the reason ? 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No. Yes. No. Tell me! 
 
 Allmers. You say it first. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, you must 
 
 Allmers. Little Eyolf 'was really rather in our 
 aray 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Oh, Alfred — how can you ! 
 
 Allmers. You were never a real mother to him. 
 And I was never entirely a father. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. What else then ? 
 
 Allmers. It sounds so paltry when I say it. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. I don't understand you, Alfred. 
 
 Allmers. But it is not paltry. I don't think it can 
 be called so. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, no — but what in the world -? 
 
 Allmers. You were rich and I was poor, Rita. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (takes a step toivards him). I don't 
 believe that! 
 
 Allmers. So it came about, nevertheless. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Paltry, then! 
 
 Allmers. I had a sister to provide for. Remember 
 that. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Then it was for her sake ! 
 
 Allmers. We were alone in the world. She and I. 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 497 
 
 I worked for her, so long as I was able. Till I was 
 ready to drop 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. And you can stand here and avow 
 all this afterwards ! 
 
 Allmers. It seemed to me I ought to free you of the 
 anguish of self-reproach. Now I think you know the 
 reason of your never being able really to love Eyolf. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Oh, but I have loved him. 
 
 Allmers. You always looked upon him as though an 
 insoluble riddle lay behind. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. You have interpreted it wrongly. I 
 was always trembling at the prospect of his taking you 
 away from me. (With a wild outburst.) And now you 
 tell me yourself that I have never possessed you. 
 
 Allmers. You have! I found you and won you so 
 entirely when Eyolf was born. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers (scornfully). Yes, I daresay. For he 
 belonged to the family, of course. The child — and the 
 sister! They are something apart. — Oh, how I hate — 
 how I hate her! 
 
 (Andrea and Borgheim come forward along the 
 path by the shore.) 
 
 Allmers. Well, here we are still, Andrea. 
 
 Andrea. And you have been talking things over. 
 We will not disturb you. 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. No, let us all walk together. We 
 must have company about us in future. Alfred and I 
 cannot get on alone. 
 
 Allmers. Yes, go on, you two. I have something 
 to say to you, Andrea! 
 
 Mrs. Allmers. Oh! Very well, will you come, Mr. 
 Borgheim ? 
 
 (Mrs. Allmers and Borgheim go up through tJie 
 wood on the right.) 
 
498 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Andrea. You have something to say to me, Alfred ? 
 
 Allmers. Yes, I want to ask you something. 
 
 Axdrea. Well ? 
 
 Allmers. Tell me, is there anything between you 
 and Borgheim? 
 
 Axdrea. Oh, I don't know how to answer you. 
 
 Allmers. What? You don't know 
 
 Axdrea. I have no right to answer. 
 
 Allmers. We two must remain together. 
 
 Axdrea. But we are together. 
 
 Allmers. Not here. I do not feel that I am at home 
 here any longer. 
 
 Axdrea. Alfred! 
 
 Allmers. Rita and I cannot share the same love. 
 
 Andrea. Oh, don't say that! 
 
 Allmers. Yes, yes, I see it now. And that is why I 
 come to you. 
 
 Axdrea. Oh, but I cannot help you in this. 
 
 Allmers. Yes, you can. You and no one else. It i? 
 a sister I need 
 
 Axdrea (almost in a whisper). A sister! 
 
 Allmers. A sister's love. Something pure! Some- 
 thing holy. I feel I shall grow wicked here. 
 
 Axdrea. Alfred ! Alfred ! 
 
 Allmers. Since you were a little child we have kept 
 together. We two alone. In those days you needed me. 
 And I did what I could for you. 
 
 Axdrea. All that I am I owe to you. 
 
 Allmers. Not so much to me. But to our beautiful, 
 holy companionship. 
 
 Axdrea. Every fibre of my mind has received it? 
 stamp from you. By you. Through you. 
 
 Allmers. No, no. This has come about through th? 
 calm, inscrutable mystery. 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 499 
 
 Andrea. What, Alfred? 
 
 Allmers. The mystery of the love of brother and 
 sister. The inexplicable attraction of sister to brother 
 and brother to sister. 
 
 Andrea. Have you felt that? 
 
 Allmers. And you too. You too, Andrea. I am 
 certain of that. 
 
 Andrea. And now ? What do you wish now ? 
 
 Allmers. I wish that you and I should return to 
 each other. 
 
 Andrea (trembling). You and I! 
 
 Allmers. In the past you needed me. Now I need 
 you. Do not let any one come between us. Promise 
 me to continue being a sister to me. 
 
 Andrea. I cannot, Alfred. 
 
 Allmers. You cannot! 
 
 Andrea. No, not now. Not as you now are. I can 
 no longer be like a sister to you. 
 
 Allmers. And why can you not? 
 
 Andrea. Because I am not. 
 
 Allmers. What does that mean! 
 
 Andrea. That I have no right to bear the name of 
 Allmers. 
 
 Allmers. Andrea! 
 
 Andrea. I have known it a long time. Now you 
 know it too. And now we must part. 
 
 Allmers. No right to bear — ! Tell me — ! Ex- 
 
 plain ! 
 
 Andrea. Not a word more! That is how it is. 
 
 Allmers (sadly). Oh, how unspeakably poor this 
 makes me. 
 
 Andrea. You might be so rich — so rich, Alfred. 
 
 Allmers. I! I richi 
 
500 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Andrea. Yes, dear. For you have Rita, and you 
 have the treasures of both sorrow and loss. (She goes 
 up the wood-path to the right.) 
 
 Allmers (to himself). No sister, then. — And little 
 Eyolf is at the mercy of the currents of the fiord. 
 
 (He goes slowly up tJie path.) 
 
 THIRD ACT 
 
 j 
 
 C 
 
 An elevation in Allmers's garden. At the back, a sheer « 
 cliff, with a railing along its edge. An extensive view 
 over the fiord. A flag at half-mast, by the railing. 
 A table, bench and garden chairs on the elevation. 
 On the right, a summer-house. It is a late summer 
 evening. 
 
 (Miss Asta Allmers is sitting on a bench on the left, and 
 appears to be waiting for some one. Her hands in 
 her lap. After a while Engineer Borgheim comes 
 up the slope at the back.) 
 
 Borgheim. So I have found you at last! 
 Asta. I have been sitting here waiting — 
 Borgheim. Not for me, have you ? 
 Asta. Yes. I have been waiting for you. 
 Borgheim (coming nearer) . I may come, then ? 
 Asta. Yes, if you like. 
 Borgheim. And talk to you — once more ? 
 Asta. Yes. Or first — let me say something to you. 
 Borgheim (standing before her). Well? 
 Asta. Are you going this eveinng ? 
 Borgheim. I am going to-night. By the steamer. I 
 must. 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 501 
 
 Asta. Yes, yes, I suppose you must. But you 
 must understand me, Borgheim. 
 
 Borgheim. That is what I want so much to do. 
 
 Asta. Oh, if one could divide one's self! Be in two 
 places at the same time. 
 
 Borgheim (with a subdued outburst). If you could — 
 what would you do? 
 
 Asta. I should go with you 
 
 Borgheim. You would ! 
 
 Asta. With you. By the steamer to-night. 
 
 Borgheim. You would do that! Then after all ! 
 
 Asta. But I cannot divide myself! I cannot let my 
 brother go. 
 
 Borgheim. No, you have already told me that twice, 
 Asta. 
 
 Asta. And least of all now, when he has lost lit- 
 tle Eyolf. For think of what he has been to me all my 
 life 
 
 Borgheim. Yes, of course I understand that, Asta. 
 You consider it your duty 
 
 Asta. Oh no, it is not for that. Not because it is 
 my duty 
 
 Borgheim. But ? 
 
 Asta. But because I love him, as — well, as I believe 
 only a sister can love a brother. 
 
 Borgheim. And you think that is the deepest kind of 
 love? 
 
 Asta. Yes, I am almost sure it is. Because it is the 
 purest — the most sacred. 
 
 Borgheim. Then what have you to say about 
 mother's love for her child ? 
 
 Asta. I have never known much of that. 
 
 Borgheim. What of a father's then ? 
 
 Asta. That I know nothing about. Do you? 
 
502 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Borgheim. Yes, both a mother's and a father's. And 
 I believe that is what has made me so light-hearted and 
 happy. But then ? 
 
 Asta. Then ? 
 
 Borgheim. Then I must make my roads alone. 
 
 Asta. Oh, if I could be with you. Help you 
 
 Borgheim. Would you, if you could ? 
 
 Asta. Yes, that I would. 
 
 Borgheim. But you cannot. 
 
 Asta. Would you be content to have only half of me, 
 Borgheim ? 
 
 Borghe. ". No, you must be utterly and entirely 
 mine. 
 
 Asta. Then I cannot. 
 
 (Alfred Allmers, comes up from below.) 
 
 Allmers (stops and looks at them). Aha, are you 
 both here, you two! 
 
 Borgheim. You know that 7 am going to start to- 
 night. 
 
 Allmers. Well, what then ? Are you going alone? 
 
 Borgheim. Yes, I am. And I shall have to remain 
 alone, too — hereafter. 
 
 Allmers. Alone. There is something terrible in 
 being alone. 
 
 Asta. Oh, but, Alfred, you are not! 
 
 Allmers. Am I not! I, who no longer have a child. 
 —Nor a sister either. 
 
 Asta (anxiously). Alfred, Alfred, you must not 
 
 Borgheim ; How can you say so? Have you not 
 heard — your sister is not going away with me. 
 
 Allmers It is all the same. Oh, Asta, I have you 
 no longer. Not as I had before. 
 
 Borgheim (looking at them in astonishment). But 
 I don't understand 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 50* 
 
 Asta. Yes, you have Alfred. Believe me — I shall 
 always be the same to you as I have been. 
 
 Allmers. But I shall not! 
 
 Asta (shrinking back). Ah ! 
 
 Allmers. Never bind yourself, Borgheim! There 
 may come a time when you will regret it. But then it 
 will be too late. 
 
 Borgheim. Never in this world could I regret any- 
 thing here. 
 
 Allmers. Oh, it is incredible what changes a human 
 being can undergo. 
 
 Asta. Could not two people change together ? Then 
 they would none the less be one. 
 
 Allmers. Never rely upon that, Asta. That would 
 be lifelong happiness. 
 
 (Mrs. Rita Allmers comes up the hill.) 
 
 Rita. Oh, are you up here too, Alfred ? 
 
 (She is going again.) 
 
 Allmers. No, stay, Rita. What did you want? 
 
 Rita. Only to walk and walk. I have no rest any- 
 where. 
 
 Allmers. Nor I either. 
 
 Rita. And then, we cannot even walk together. 
 
 Asta. Oh, but cannot you ? Try to. 
 
 Rita. That seems to be so utterly impossible now. 
 We must each take our own way in future. 
 
 Allmers. I cannot bear the loneliness 
 
 Rita. I see that. I know it. Feel it. Asta, you 
 must never leave him. 
 
 Asta. I! 
 
 Borgheim. Never! 
 
 Rita. No, he must have some one to lean upon. 
 
 Asta. Oh, but you, Rita! x 
 
 Rita. Not now. Something stands between us. 
 
504 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Allmers. It must be got rid of — if we are to live. 
 
 Rita. It will never be got rid of. You thrive in the 
 shade. And I must have sunshine. Stay with us, Asta. 
 
 Allmers. Do you wish it! 
 
 Rita. Yes, everything for your sake. Stay with him. 
 And if I am a hindrance, I will give way. 
 
 Allmers. You shall never give way. 
 
 Rita. I have given way once before. Made way for 
 my own child. Must not that be right? 
 
 Allmers. Oh, but — Rita! 
 
 Rita. You shall be our child, Asta. We will take 
 you in the place of Eyolf. For we must have a child to 
 draw us together. 
 
 Asta (looking at him) . What do you say, Alfred ? 
 
 Allmers (doubtfully). I' ? 
 
 Rita. You must ! You must ! What you need is a 
 tranquil, warm, passionless feeling. A child or a sister. 
 
 Allmers (with a glance at Asta). Ah, a sister 
 
 Asta. Do you wish me to remain here, Alfred? 
 
 Allmers. No, you must go. 
 
 Rita. You cannot! 
 
 Asta. I will and must go away. This very evening. 
 
 Rita. Where are you going? 
 
 Asta. At first only in to town. But afterwards 
 
 Borgheim. Afterwards ? 
 
 Asta. Far, far from here. (Looks at Borgheim and 
 fives him her hand.) I am going with you. 
 
 Borgheim (in radiant joy). Will you, after all! 
 
 Asta. To-morrow you shall hear everything. And 
 then you must make your choice. 
 
 Borgheim. Oh, I care for nothing else if I have you, 
 Asta! 
 
 Rita. Ah! That is how it is ! 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 505 
 
 Asta. Good-bye, Rita. (Throwing her arms round 
 her neck.) And thanks for all your goodness. (Offering 
 her hand.) Good-bye, Alfred. 
 
 Allmers (opens his arms to her). Asta 
 
 Asta (shrinking back timidly). Good-bye — good-bye! 
 (To Borgheim.) Come, come. We must hurry. 
 
 (Borgheim silently presses Allmers's and Rita's 
 hands, and follows Asta down from the hill.) 
 
 Allmers (standing at the railing and looking over the 
 ford). There comes the steamer. Soon they will be 
 gone. 
 
 Rita. And we two alone. 
 
 Allmers. It must be so. 
 
 Rita. Can we bear it? 
 
 Allmers. We must. 
 
 Rita. Yes, for Asta's sake. 
 
 Allmers (looking at her). For Asta's — ? What do 
 you mean? 
 
 Rita. She could not stay here. She, too, wished to 
 be everything to you. As I did. 
 
 Allmers. For her own sake there was no need for her 
 to go. But 
 
 Rita. But ? 
 
 Allmers. For mine. 
 
 Rita. Alfred! You could think — desire — something 
 criminal! Never! 
 
 Allmers (shaking his head). Oh no, nothing crimi- 
 nal. But there is a secret in the family 
 
 Rita. In your family ? 
 
 Allmers. Yes. Asta and I are free in every way. 
 
 Rita. And you have concealed this from me! 
 
 Allmers. I only learnt it to-day. 
 
 Rita. From her? 
 
 Allmers. Yes. 
 
506 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rita. And then she goes away. 
 Allmers. Yes, then she goes away. 
 
 Rita. And you did not ask her to remain ? 
 
 Allmers. It was better for us all that Asta should 
 
 Rita. How could you do it, Alfred ? I should never 
 have been able to do such a thing. Oh, but it is, as I was 
 saying — the fishes' blood — . No, no — I don't mean it. 
 It is what is great and pure in you that has gained the 
 victory ! 
 
 Allmers. Oh, it is a long way yet to the victory. 
 
 Rita. Then let us help each other. 
 
 Allmers. To find happiness again? 
 
 Rita. Not the happiness we have lost. We shaft 
 never find that again. Buf. 
 
 Allmers. But ? 
 
 Rita. Oh, I don't know, Alfred. But there must 
 be something to put in its place. 
 
 Allmers. Something that would counterbalance the 
 loss of happiness, do you mean ? 
 
 Rita. Nothing that would equal happiness. But 
 something that might make life livable. 
 
 Allmers. Then you will live your life by main force ? 
 At any price? 
 
 Rita. Yes, Alfred — I will. In spite of all ! In spite 
 of all. 
 
 Allmers {after a short silence). Rita — I wrote a few 
 little verses this afternoon. 
 
 Rita. Could you do that? 
 
 Allmers. Yes, to-day I could. Would you like to 
 hear them? 
 
 Rita. Yes, I should like to. Is it something about 
 me? 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 507 
 
 Allmers. About you as well. (Seats himself on the 
 
 bench.) Come and sit down, and I will read them to you. 
 
 (She seats herself on a chair by the table, opposite to 
 
 him. He takes a piece of paper out of his breast 
 
 pocket.) 
 
 Allmers (reads). 
 
 They dwelt, these two, in so cosy a house 
 In autumn and winter weather. 
 Then came the fire — and the house was gone. 
 They must search the ashes together. 
 
 For down in the ashes a jewel lies hid, 
 Whose brightness the flames could not smother, 
 And search they but faithfully, he and she, 
 'Twill be found by one or the other. 
 
 But e'en though they find it, the gem they lost, 
 The enduring jewel they cherished — • 
 She ne'er will recover her vanished peace — 
 Nor he the joy that has perished. 
 (He looks questioningly at Rita.) Did you understand 
 that, Rita? 
 
 Rita (rises). Yes. And I understood, too, that you 
 did not write those verses about me. 
 
 Allmers. About whom else ? 
 
 Rita. You wrote them about yourself and Asta. 
 
 Allmers. About little Eyolf in the first place 
 
 Rita. Oh, not at all about the little Eyolf who lies 
 out there, deep, deep down. 
 
 Allmers. Rita, Rita, how can you 
 
 Rita. You wrote them about the other one. About 
 her whom you used to call little Eyolf when she was a 
 child. 
 
508 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Allmers. Both for the big one and the little one. 
 And for you too, Rita. I had to give expression to 
 something that I can no longer bear in silence. 
 
 Rita. Would it help you if you were free of me? 
 
 Allmers. No. 
 
 Rita. And we cannot live together as man and wife 
 either. 
 
 Allmers. No. 
 
 Rita. For little Eyolf might see it, perhaps. Who 
 knows ? And he must not see us living in happiness 
 without him. 
 
 Allmers. Nor could we do so, Rita. Even if we 
 wished. 
 
 Rita. No, we could not. (Stops.) But if we could 
 call him to life again, Afredf 
 
 Allmers. What do you mean by that? 
 
 Rita. If we could make him live within us, I mean. 
 
 Allmers. Oh, he does live within us. In sorrow 
 and heartache — and in remorse too. 
 
 Rita. Oh, sorrow and heartache and remorse — that 
 is not life at all. They are not for Eyolf's childish soul. 
 We must think of something that may fill him with quiet 
 
 Allmers (shaking his head tvith a sad smile). As if 
 he could see what we are about here! 
 
 Rita. Perhaps he can see, though — in his own way. 
 We must live and act as though he were behind us. 
 Looking at us. Seeing everything and understanding 
 everything. All our actions and all our thoughts. 
 
 Allmers (wringing his hands). Oh, if he could ha^e 
 lived with us. Lived his own life. Now it is as though 
 he had never existed. What was he doing here in the 
 world, if he was not to 
 
 Rita. He did not live in vain, nevertheless. 
 
LITTLE EYOLF 509 
 
 Allmers. Oh, phrases, Rita. (Pointing down over 
 the railing.) But listen to them down below. All the 
 shrieking, yelling children. All those who let him go 
 to destruction. And who did not help him. 
 
 Rita. They will all go to destruction too, Alfred. 
 Go to destruction in their unhappy homes. 
 
 Allmers. Yes, I daresay you are right. 
 
 Rita. And we stand up here on our height and look 
 on. And do not help them. 
 
 Allmers. We ? 
 
 Rita. We could help them, if we wished. But we 
 do not. 
 
 Allmers (looking before him). That would be little 
 Eyolf's revenge. To repay death with life. 
 
 Rita. Then he would not have lived in vain. 
 
 Allmers. Nor died in vain either. 
 
 Rita. If you will — we will do it, Alfred. Stand by 
 one another like two faithful friends. 
 
 Allmers. Little Eyolf shall continue to live through 
 us. 
 
 (He goes to the flagstaff and hoists the flag to the top.) 
 
 Rita. No more sign of death. That is a relief, Al- 
 fred. Oh, what a relief! 
 
 Allmers. Thanks for rousing me to this. 
 
 Rita. Thank little Eyolf. 
 
 Allmers. Yes, him first. — In deeds. 
 
 Rita. If only one does not demand happiness — at 
 any price — I do not see why one should not be able to 
 live one's life. 
 
 Allmers. Eyolf's memory will teach us how to live 
 our lives. 
 
 Rita. Yes, yes, Alfred. And he himself will live in 
 ifchem. 
 
510 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Rita. Yes, he is living with us. We will never more 
 look for him down in the deep, dark, turbid current. 
 
 Allmers. He is not down there. He is up here on 
 earth with us, unseen. Taking part in our daily life. 
 Helping us to protect our uncertain, changeable human 
 destinies. 
 
 Rita. And if now and then a mysterious Sabbath 
 peace descends on our souls ? 
 
 Allmers. What then, Rita? 
 
 Rita. Do you not think it might be a visit from some 
 one who is gone? 
 
 Allmers. Who knows ? We will look for those who 
 are gone. Perhaps we shall catch sight of them. 
 
 Rita. Little Eyolf. And big Eyolf. Where shall 
 we look for them, Alfred? 
 
 Allmers. Upwards. 
 
 Rita (nods in approval). Yes, yes, upwards! 
 
 Allmers. Upwards — towards the stars. And to- 
 wards the great silence. 
 
 Rita (giving him her hand). Thanks! 
 
JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN 
 
FROM THE FIRST ACT 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. He thinks, what is the truth; that 
 you are ashamed of us — that you despise us. And do 
 you pretend that you don't? Were you not once plan- 
 ning to adopt him ? To make him change his name ? 
 Call himself Rentheim. Erhard Rentheim. 
 
 Miss Rentheim. That was at the height of the scan- 
 dal — when the case was before the courts. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. Yes, then you wished me to lose 
 my boy too. As I lost everything — everything else. I 
 was only to be left with the dishonoured name. I alone. 
 It was good enough for me to be called Borkman. 
 
 Miss Rentheim. I have no such designs now. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. And it would not matter if you had. 
 For in that case what would become of his mission ? No, 
 thank you. Erhard no longer needs you. And there- 
 fore he is as good as dead to you — and you to him. 
 
 Miss Rentheim (with an outburst) . Can you say that, 
 Gunhild! 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. He has promised me that. He has 
 sworn it to me. Now you know it. 
 
 Miss Rentheim (firmly, with resolution). We shall 
 see. For now I shall remain out here. 
 
 SECOND ACT 
 
 The great gallery on the first floor of the Borkman house. 
 The walls are covered with faded tapestries, repre- 
 senting hunting-scenes, gods, shepherds and shep- 
 herdesses, all in faded colours. A folding-door to the 
 513 
 
514 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 lefty and further forward a piano. In the left-hand 
 corner, at the back, a door, cut in the tapestry, and 
 covered with tapestry, without any frame. Against 
 the middle of the right xvall, a desk, with books and 
 papers. Further forward on the same side, a sofa 
 with a table and chairs in front of it. The furniture 
 is all of a stiff Empire style. A lighted chandelier 
 hangs from the ceiling. 
 
 (Jens Borkman stands by the piano, with a music-stand 
 in front of him, playing the violin. Frida Foldal 
 sits at the instrument, accompanying him.) 
 
 (Borkman is a slender man of middle height, well on in 
 the sixties. His appearance is distinguished, his 
 profile finely cut; he has white hair and is clean- 
 shaven. He is in evening dress, with a black coat 
 and a white necktie. Frida Foldal is a girl of sev- 
 enteen, pretty, pale, with a somewhat weary and over' 
 strained expression. She is cheaply dressed in dark 
 clothes.) 
 
 (They are playing the last bars of a piece of Beetho- 
 ven.) 
 Borkman (lowers the violin and remains standing at 
 
 the music-stand.) It went passably well this evening. 
 
 You are getting on, Miss Foldal. 
 
 Frida. Oh, I have had so little practice as yet, un- 
 fortunately. I am so badly wanting in proficiency. 
 Borkman. You have the fire of music in you. And 
 
 to have fire in one's soul — that is the decisive thing. 
 
 The decisive thing in every relation of life. {Turning 
 
 over the pages of the music book.) Let me see — . What 
 
 shall we take next 
 
 Frida (looks at her watch). I beg your pardon, Mr. 
 
 Borkman — but I am afraid I must go. 
 
 Borkman. Are you going already? 
 
JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN 515 
 
 Frida (rises) . I really must. I have an engagement 
 this evening. 
 
 Borkman. Are you to play for dancing? 
 
 Frida. Yes, there is to be a dance after supper. 
 
 Borkman (places his violin and bow on the piano). 
 Do you like playing dance music — in private circles, I 
 mean? 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Borkman. But it does not know why I did it; why I 
 had to do it. And that is what I want to explain. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. Reasons acquit no one. 
 
 Borkman. They may acquit one in one's own eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. Oh, let all that alone. I have 
 thought over that business enough and to spare. 
 
 Borkman. I too. During those six years in my cell 
 I had time to think it over. And during the eight years 
 up there in the gallery I have had still more ample time. 
 I have gone over the whole case again — by myself. I 
 have turned every one of my actions upside down and 
 inside out. Backwards and forwards. And the final 
 judgment I have come to is this: the one person I have 
 sinned against is — myself. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. And what about me ? What about 
 your son ? 
 
 Borkman. You and he are included in what I mean 
 when I say myself. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. And what about the hundreds of 
 others, then — the people they say you have ruined? 
 
 Borkman. I had power in my hands. And these 
 others did not concern me. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. No, no, there may be something it. 
 that. 
 
516 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Borkman. If the others had had the power, do you 
 think they would not have acted exactly as I did ? 
 Mrs. Borkman. They would not — most of them. 
 
 FROM THE FOURTH ACT 
 
 Ella Rentheim. A long sleep, I think! 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. Ella! (To The Maid.) Go for 
 help. Men and horses. 
 
 (The Maid goes out to the right.) 
 
 Mrs. Borkman (behind the bench). The night air has 
 killed him. 
 
 Ella Rentheim. So it appears. Will you not look 
 at him ? 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. No, no, no. He could not stand 
 the fresh air. 
 
 Ella Rentheim (nods slowly). It must be so. The 
 cold has killed him. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. Oh, Ella, the cold had killed him 
 long ago. 
 
 Ella Rentheim. Us too. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. You are right. 
 
 Ella Rentheim. We are three dead beings — we 
 three here. 
 
 Mrs. Borkman. We are. And now I think we two 
 may hold out our hands to each other, Ella. 
 
 Ella Rentheim (quietly). Over the third. Yes. 
 (Mrs. Borkman behind the bench, and Ella Ren- 
 theim in front of it, take each other s hand.) 
 
WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN 
 
NOTES AND DRAFT 
 
 The first act passes in the summer. Fashionable bath- 
 ing establishment on the sea coast. 
 
 Second act up at a health resort, high in the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Third act among glaciers and precipices on the western 
 slope. 
 
 He is a sculptor. Elderly. Famous. Newly mar- 
 ried. Returning from honeymoon. He has taken her 
 "up into a high mountain and shown her all the glory 
 of the world." And so he won her. She is young, bright 
 and joyous. They are both radiantly happy. Now he 
 will begin to enjoy life. 
 
 Then it is that he meets " his first love " at the bath- 
 ing establishment. The one he has forgotten. She who 
 has never forgotten. Clad in white. Accompanied by 
 her nurse. She was of rich family. Left her home and 
 went away with him, the young, poor, unknown future 
 artist. Became his model. Then she broke with him 
 and left him. Has since been married to another and 
 divorced. Then married again. He committed suicide. 
 All this happened abroad. 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 The Doctor at the Baths, an intelligent man, still young. 
 
 The Inspector at the Baths. Fussy. Goes about 
 among the visitors, spreading gossip. 
 
 The Gossiping Lady from the capital. Has the reputa- 
 tion among the visitors of being extremely amusing. 
 Malicious from thoughtlessness. 
 519 
 
520 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Many Visitors at the Baths, with their Children. 
 
 A Waiter at the Bath Hotel. 
 
 Waitresses. 
 
 The Sportsman from the mountains. 
 
 Stubow. Rambow. 
 
 Professor Erik Stubow, famous sculptor. 
 
 SCENARIO 
 
 Stubow and Maia. 
 
 The former and the Inspector. 
 
 The former and the strange lady in white with her 
 nurse. They go into the pavilion. 
 
 The former, the lady from the capital and other ladies. 
 The ladies go off after a short scene. 
 
 The mountain sportsman 'arrives with his servant and 
 dogs from the steamer. Servant and dogs out to the 
 right. 
 
 Stubow, Maia, the Sportsman and the Inspector. 
 
 The Sportsman and Maia out to the right. 
 
 The strange lady in from the left. 
 
 The Inspector goes into the hotel. 
 
 The lady and Stubow alone. Dialogue. 
 
 Maia comes back. The lady off. 
 
 Stubow and Maia decide to go to the mountain health 
 resort. 
 
 In this country only the mountains give an echo, not 
 the men and women. 
 
 He was a diplomatist, a distinguished Russian [Bul- 
 garian] diplomatist. Him I managed to drive out of his 
 mind, mad, incurably mad. It was great sport while it 
 was in the doing. I could have laughed within me. If 
 I had anything within me. 
 
WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN 521 
 
 So that was Heir von Satow. 
 
 No, my second husband was called Satow. He was 
 a Russian. 
 
 And where is he 
 
 I have killed him. 
 
 Killed! 
 
 Killed him with a fine sharp dagger which I had with 
 me in bed 
 
 [Don't believe you 
 
 Indeed you may believe it] 
 
 Have you never had children. 
 
 Yes, many children 
 
 And where are they now 
 
 I killed them. 
 
 Now you are telling lies, Irene. [All this.] 
 
 Killed them [murdered them pitilessly] as soon as they 
 came into the world. [Long, long before.] One after 
 the other. 
 
 Religious brooding? 
 No, I have never- 
 
 Some of the strings of your nature have broken. 
 Does not that always happen when a human being 
 dies? 
 
 First became famous through Irene — Now be will I.' e 
 and enjoy his youth over again with another. Then he 
 alters the statue into a group. Irene becomes a second- 
 ary figure in the work that made him famous 
 
 First a single statue; then a group. Then she left him. 
 
 Our life was not that of two human beings 
 
 What was it then 
 
 Only that of artist and model. 
 
522 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 2nd ACT. 
 
 Children playing on the upland. 
 
 Professor Rubek is sitting on the bench and looking 
 at their play. 
 
 Maia comes to look for him. Scene between them. 
 
 Irene with a band of children advances over the up- 
 land. 
 
 The bear hunter comes and fetches Maia. 
 
 Irene and Rubek. Great scene. 
 
 Something is locked up in me 
 
 You took the key with you 
 
 When we dead awaken 
 
 What do we see then ? 
 
 We see that we have never lived. 
 
 U. Come down again as fast as you can 
 The mist is upon us 
 
 We will go up above the mists. 
 
 But you must pass through them first 
 
 Oh, how I shall rejoice and sing, if I get down with a 
 whole skin 
 
 The hut by the Lake of Taunitz. There it lies 
 
 Great, white swans are dipping their necks in the 
 water. 
 
THE RESURRECTION DAY 
 
 A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRIK IBSEN 
 
 1899 
 
 FROM THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Maia (interrupting). Was it not a strange chance that 
 we four should meet here on the wild mountain side ? 
 
 Professor Rubek. You with an eagle-shooter, and I 
 with — (to Irene) — well, what do I come with? 
 
 Irene. With a shot eagle. 
 
 Maia. Shot ? 
 
 Irene. Shot in the wing, Mrs. Rubek. 
 
 Maia. Rubek — there seems to be something good and 
 reconciling in our meeting here for the last time. 
 
 Professor Rubek. Never to see each other again. 
 If you wish the same as I do. 
 
 Maia. With all my heart I do. 
 
 Ulfheim. Then all is well. I would rather have 
 carried her off — by force — violently — but let that be ■ 
 
 Maia. Then I will say good-bye to you, Rubek. 
 
 Professor Rubek. I have done you a great wrong. 
 I, too, have taken you by force 
 
 Maia. Yes, when you bought me 
 
 Professor Rubek (nods). — bought you, in spite of 
 all the ferment of open-air life in you. 
 
 523 
 
524 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Maia. And if you now set me free so easily [and 
 cheerfully], it is because you want to be free yourself. 
 
 Professor Rubek. Yes, I could not bear it any 
 longer. 
 
 Maia. If we had not been joined together in wedlock, 
 as it is called, you would have borne it longer. 
 
 Professor Rubek. You too! You too, Maia. You 
 have spent days and nights regretting it. 
 
 Ulfheim. Don't think of that now. Here we meet 
 and here we part. Here we will hold our feast. 
 
 Maia. A feast here ? Where will you get the cham- 
 pagne from, Mr. Ulfheim ? 
 
 Ulfheim. Champagne ? Must there be champagne ? 
 
 Maia. Nothing less will do! 
 
 Ulfheim. Then, upon my soul, you shall have it! 
 (He takes a key from his pocket, opens the door of 
 the shooting hut and goes in.) 
 
 Maia (looking after him). What is he doing now? 
 
 Professor Rubek. He is making a clatter with 
 knives and forks. And with glasses. He is preparing 
 the feast for us. 
 
 (Ulfheim comes out, bringing a tray covered with a 
 cloth, with bottles of wine and cold meats, and puts 
 it down on the stone table.) 
 
 Maia. But what in the world ! 
 
 Ulfheim. You will have to take pot luck, ladies and 
 gentlemen. This was really intended only for two. But 
 our guests are welcome. (Ulfheim opens a bottle of cham- 
 pagne.) [(softly.) Lars is a good fellow. He knows 
 me. Looks after everything.] 
 
 Maia (in a half whisper) . Oh, you base criminal! 
 
 Ulfheim. No reproaching your comrade. (Pouring 
 out the wine.) Only intended for two, as I said. We 
 
THE RESURRECTION DAY 525 
 
 men must make shift with beer glasses. (Hands the 
 glasses round and raises his glass.) Your health, ladies 
 and gentlemen! (To Maia.) What shall the toast be, 
 Madam ? 
 
 Maia. Freedom shall be the toast! 
 
 (She empties her glass at one draught.) 
 
 Professor Rubek. Yes, let freedom be the toast. 
 
 (He empties his glass.) 
 
 Irene. And a toast for those who have the courage 
 to use it. 
 
 (She sips at her glass and throws the rest on the 
 ground.) 
 
 Ulfheim. Thanks for the toast, Madam. I take it 
 for myself. For I have never lacked courage to use my 
 freedom! (He drinks and Jills the glasses again.) And 
 now a toast to the hunt for the new life! I have a castle 
 to offer her who follows me 
 
 Maia. No castle! I won't own it! 
 
 Ulfheim. You may want it in time. In a year or 
 two perhaps all the rest will be done with. 
 
 Maia. Hurrah! Then we shall be altogether free. 
 
 (Empties her glass.) 
 
 Ulfheim. Then we shall only have this hut left. 
 
 Maia. We can set fire to that. Burn it down any day 
 we like. 
 
 Ulfheim. But first live — live in it! 
 
 Maia. Live the new life, yes! 
 
 Ulfh. And now we take our leave. 
 
 Prof. R. No doubt we shall meet down at the hotel. 
 
 Ulf. Scarcely. Before you come down, I shall be 
 gone. 
 
 Prof. R. Are you going with him, Maia ? 
 
 M. Yes, I am going with him. 
 
526 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 Prof. R. And we are going further over the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Ulf. Shall we not warn him ? 
 
 M. {struggling for a moment ivith herself). No. Let 
 him choose his own way. 
 
 , Ulfh. {raising his hat). A pleasant trip among the 
 mountains. 
 
 {Silent leave-takings are exchanged. Ulfheim and 
 Maia begin to descend the precipice at the back.) 
 
 Ulfh. Take care. It is a deadly dangerous way we 
 are going. 
 
 M. {between jest and earnest). You must take the re- 
 sponsibility for us both. 
 
 {They continue to climb down and are no longer 
 seen.) 
 
 Prof. R. [{with a breath of relief). Now I am free!] 
 So lightly and cheerfully could she leave me. 
 
 Irene. She is awakened. 
 
 Prof. R. Awakened? 
 
 Irene. From life's deep, heavy sleep. Even as she 
 descends into the ravine, she is being carried upwards 
 towards her bright native heights — without her knowing 
 it. 
 
 Prof. R. To me she is dead. Then let her live 
 [ — or rest]. 
 
 Irene. Did you not murder her a little every day 
 — when you were living together ? 
 
 Prof. R. I? 
 
 Irene. As you murdered me a little every day. 
 Sucked her blood too — to support yourself 
 
 Prof. R. Never! Against you I have sinned. But 
 never against her. Never against any other. 
 
 Irene. Then perhaps that very thing was death to 
 her. 
 
THE RESURRECTION DAY 527 
 
 Prof. R. No one else in the world concerns us. We 
 can now be everything to each other. 
 
 Irene. Now! 
 
 Prof. R. Yes, now. Come, Irene, before we go 
 home we will'dimb up on yonder peak and look far out 
 over the country and all its glory. 
 
 Irene. Driving clouds are sweeping up the mountain 
 side. 
 
 Prof. R. But the peak rises clear of them. 
 
 Irene. And you will go up there ? 
 
 Prof. R. With you. I will live the resurrection day 
 and reshape it in a new image — in your image, Irene. 
 
 Irene. In mine ? 
 
 Prof. R. In yours, as you now are. 
 
 Irene. And do you know what I am now ? 
 
 Prof. R. Be what you please. For me, you are 
 what I see in you. 
 
 Irene. I have stood on the turn-table [in the glare 
 of electric lamps, amid the blaring of trumpets], naked, 
 and made a show of myself to hundreds of men — after 
 you. 
 
 Prof. R. It was I that drove you to the turn-table — 
 blind as I then was — I, who placed the dead clay-image 
 above the happiness of life — of love — not a hairsbreadth 
 has this lowered you in my eyes. 
 
 Irene. Nor in my own. But the desire of life is dead 
 in me. Now I have arisen, and see that life lies dead. 
 All life lies on its bier — {The clouds sink slowly down 
 like a damp mist.) See how the shroud is closing in on 
 us! But I will not die again, Arnold! — Save me! Save 
 me, if you can and will! 
 
 Prof. R. Up above the mists I have a glimpse of the 
 mountain peak. It stands there glittering in the sunrise 
 
528 FROM IBSEN'S WORKSHOP 
 
 
 — there it is we must go — through the mists of night up 
 into the light of morning. 
 
 (The mists close in thicker and thicker over the scene. 
 R. and Irene step down into the veil of mist and 
 are graducdly lost to sight.) , 
 
 (The head of the Sister of Mercy appears, searching, 
 
 in a rift in the mist.) 
 (High up above the sea of mist the mountain peak 
 shines in the morning sun.)