Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas Part 18

GREGERS.

[_Reprovingly._] I _thought_ you hadn't grown up quite unharmed in this house! But if you really had the true, joyous spirit of self-sacrifice, you'd have a shot at that Wild Duck, if you died for it!

HEDVIG.

[_Slowly._] I see; you mean that my const.i.tution's changing, and I ought to behave as such?

GREGERS.

Exactly, I'm what Americans would term a "crank"--but _I_ believe in you, Hedvig.

[HEDVIG _takes down the pistol from the mantelpiece, and goes into the garret with flas.h.i.+ng eyes_; GINA _comes in_.

HIALMAR.

[_Looking in at door with hesitation; he is unwashed and dishevelled._]

Has anybody happened to see my hat?

GINA.

Gracious, what a sight you are! Sit down and have some breakfast, do.

[_She brings it._

HIALMAR.

[_Indignantly._] What! touch food under _this_ roof? Never! [_Helps himself to bread-and-b.u.t.ter and coffee._] Go and pack up my scientific uncut books, my ma.n.u.scripts, and all the best rabbits, in my portmanteau. I am going away for ever. On second thoughts, I shall stay in the spare room for another day or two--it won't be the same as living with you!

[_He takes some salt meat._

GREGERS.

_Must_ you go? Just when you've got nice firm ground to build upon--thanks to me! Then there's your great invention, too.

HIALMAR.

Everything's invented already. And I only cared about my invention because, although it doesn't exist yet, I thought Hedvig believed in it, with all the strength of her sweet little short-sighted eyes! But now I don't believe in Hedvig!

[_He pours himself out another cup of coffee._

GREGERS.

[_Earnestly._] But, Hialmar, if I can prove to you that she is ready to sacrifice her cherished Wild Duck? See!

[_He pushes back sliding-door, and discovers_ HEDVIG _aiming at the_ Wild Duck _with the b.u.t.t-end of the pistol. Tableau._

GINA.

[_Excitedly._] But don't you _see_? It's the pigstol--that fatal Norwegian weapon which, in Ibsenian dramas, _never_ shoots straight! And she has got it by the wrong end too. She will shoot herself!

GREGERS.

[_Quietly._] She will! Let the child make amends. It will be a most realistic and impressive finale!

GINA.

No, no--put down the pigstol, Hedvig. Do you hear, child?

HEDVIG.

[_Still aiming._] I hear--but I shan't unless father tells me to.

GREGERS.

Hialmar, show the great soul I always _said_ you had. This sorrow will set free what is n.o.ble in you. Don't spoil a fine situation. Be a man!

Let the child shoot herself!

HIALMAR.

[_Irresolutely._] Well, really, I don't know. There's a good deal in what Gregers says. H'm!

GINA.

A good deal of tomfool rubbis.h.!.+ I'm illiterate, I know. I've been a Wild Duck in my time, and I waddle. But for all that, I'm the only person in the play with a grain of common-sense. And I'm sure--whatever Mr. Ibsen or Gregers choose to say--that a screaming burlesque like this ought _not_ to end like a tragedy--even in this queer Norway of ours! And it shan't, either! Tell the child to put that nasty pigstol down, and come away--do!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Put that nasty pigstol down!"]

HIALMAR.

[_Yielding._] Ah, well, I am a farcical character myself, after all.

Don't touch a hair of that duck's head, Hedvig. Come to my arms and all shall be forgiven!

[HEDVIG _throws down the pistol--which goes off and kills a rabbit--and rushes into her father's arms_. Old EKDAL _comes out of a corner with a fowl on each shoulder, and bursts into tears. Affecting family picture._

GREGERS.

[_Annoyed._] It's all very pretty, I dare say--but it's not Ibsen! My real mission is to be the thirteenth at table. I don't know what I mean--but I fly to fulfil it! [_He goes._

HIALMAR.

And now we've got rid of _him_, Hedvig, fetch me the deed of gift I tore up, and a slip of paper, and a penny bottle of gum, and we'll soon make a valid instrument of it again.

[_He pastes the torn deed together as the Curtain slowly descends._

* * * * *

PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL