THE WILD DUCK
ACT ONE
At WERLEâs house. A richly and comfortably furnished study; bookcases and upholstered furniture; a writing table, with papers and documents, in the center of the room; lighted lamps with green shades, giving a subdued light. At the back, open folding doors with curtains drawn back. Within is seen a large and handsome room, brilliantly lighted with lamps and branching candlesticks. In front, on the right (in the study), a small baize door leads into WERLEâS office. On the left, in front, a fireplace with a glowing coal fire, and farther back a double door leading into the dining room.
WERLEâS servant, PETTERSEN, in livery, and JENSEN, the hired waiter, in black, are putting the study in order. In the large room, two or three other hired waiters are moving about, arranging things and lighting more candles. From the dining room, the hum of conversation and laughter of many voices are heard; a glass is tapped with a knife; silence follows, and a toast is proposed; shouts of âBravo!â and then again a buzz of conversation.
PETTERSEN (lights a lamp on the chimney place and places a shade over it): Hark to them, Jensen! now the old manâs on his legs holding a long palaver about Mrs. Sörby.
JENSEN (pushing forward an armchair): Is it true, what folks say, that theyâreâvery good friends, eh?
PETTERSEN: Lord knows.
JENSEN: Iâve heard tell as heâs been a lively customer in his day.1
PETTERSEN: Maybe.
JENSEN: And heâs giving this spread in honor of his son, they say.
PETTERSEN: Yes. His son came home yesterday.
JENSEN: This is the first time I ever heard as Mr. Werle had a son.
PETTERSEN: Oh, yes, he has a son, right enough. But heâs a fixture, as you might say, up at the Höidal works.2 Heâs never once come to town all the years Iâve been in service here.
A WAITER (in the doorway of the other room): Pettersen, hereâs an old fellow wantingâ
PETTERSEN (mutters): The devilâwhoâs this now?
OLD EKDAL appears from the right, in the inner room. He is dressed in a threadbare overcoat with a high collar; he wears woolen mittens and carries in his hand a stick and a fur cap. Under his arm, a brown paper parcel. Dirty red-brown wig and small gray mustache.
PETTERSEN (goes toward him): Good Lordâwhat do you want here?
EKDAL (in the doorway): Must get into the office, Pettersen.
PETTERSEN: The office was closed an hour ago, andâ
EKDAL: So they told me at the front door. But GrĂ„bergâs in there still. Let me slip in this way, Pettersen; thereâs a good fellow. (Points toward the baize door.) Itâs not the first time Iâve come this way.
PETTERSEN: Well, you may pass. (Opens the door.) But mind you go out again the proper way, for weâve got company.
EKDAL: I know, I knowâhm! Thanks, Pettersen, good old friend! Thanks! (Mutters softly.) Ass!
He goes into the office; PETTERSEN shuts the door after him.
JENSEN: Is he one of the office people?
PETTERSEN: No heâs only an outside hand that does odd jobs of copying. But heâs been a tip-topper in his day, has old Ekdal.
JENSEN: You can see heâs been through a lot.
PETTERSEN: Yes; he was an army officer, you know.
JENSEN: You donât say so?
PETTERSEN: No mistake about it. But then he went into the timber trade or something of the sort. They say he once played Mr. Werle a very nasty trick. They were partners in the Höidal works at the time. Oh, I know old Ekdal well, I do. Many a nip of bitters and bottle of ale we two have drunk at Madam Eriksenâs.
JENSEN: He donât look as if heâd much to stand treat with.
PETTERSEN: Why, bless you, Jensen, itâs me that stands treat. I always think thereâs no harm in being a bit civil to folks that have seen better days.
JENSEN: Did he go bankrupt, then?
PETTERSEN: Worse than that. He went to prison.
JENSEN: To prison!
PETTERSEN: Or perhaps it was the penitentiary. (Listens.)
Sh! Theyâre leaving the table.
The dining room door is thrown open from within by a couple of waiters. MRS. SĂRBY comes out conversing with two gentlemen. Gradually the whole company follows, among them WERLE. Last come HIALMAR EKDAL and GREGERS WERLE.
MRS. SĂRBY (in passing, to the servant): Tell them to serve the coffee in the music room, Pettersen.
PETTERSEN: Very well, Madam.
She goes with the two gentlemen into the inner room and thence out to the right. PETTERSEN and JENSEN go out the same way.
A FLABBY GENTLEMAN (to a THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN): Whew! What a dinner!âIt was no joke to do it justice!
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN: Oh, with a little goodwill one can get through a lot in three hours.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN: Yes, but afterward, afterward, my dear Chamberlain!
A THIRD GENTLEMAN: I hear the coffee and maraschino3 are to be served in the music room.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN: Bravo! Then perhaps Mrs. Sörby will play us something.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN (in a low voice): I hope Mrs. Sörby maynât play us a tune we donât like, one of these days!
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN: Oh, no, not she! Bertha will never turn against her old friends.
They laugh and pass into the inner room.
WERLE (in a low voice, dejectedly): I donât think anybody noticed it, Gregers.
GREGERS (looks at him): Noticed what?
WERLE: Did you not notice it either?
GREGERS: What do you mean?
WERLE: We were thirteen at table.
GREGERS: Indeed? Were there thirteen of us?
WERLE (glances toward...