BILLING: His father-in-law.
HOVSTAD: Kiil? Since when has he got money?
BILLING: I think he’s loaded with it.
HOVSTAD: No! Why, as long as I’ve known him he’s worn the same overcoat, the same suit—
BILLING: Yeah, and the same ring on his right hand. You ever get a look at that boulder? He points to his finger.
HOVSTAD: No, I never—
BILLING: All year he wears the diamond inside, but on New Year’s Eve he turns it around. Figure it out—when a man has no visible means of support, what is he living on? Money, right?
Petra enters, carrying a book.
PETRA: Hello.
HOVSTAD: Well, fancy seeing you here. Sit down. What—
PETRA, walking slowly up to Hovstad: I want to ask you a question. She starts to open the book.
BILLING: What’s that?
PETRA: The English novel you wanted translated.
HOVSTAD: Aren’t you going to do it?
PETRA, with deadly seriousness and curiosity: I don’t get this.
HOVSTAD: You don’t get what?
PETRA: This book is absolutely against everything you people believe.
HOVSTAD: Oh, it isn’t that bad.
PETRA: But, Mr. Hovstad, it says if you’re good there’s a supernatural force that’ll fix it so you end up happy. And if you’re bad you’ll be punished. Since when does the world work that way?
HOVSTAD: Yes, Petra, but this is a newspaper, people like to read that kind of thing. They buy the paper for that and then we slip in our political stuff. A newspaper can’t buck the public—
PETRA, astonished, beginning to be angry: You don’t say! She starts to go.
HOVSTAD, hurrying after her: Now, wait a minute, I don’t want you to go feeling that way. He holds the manuscript out to Billing. Here, take this to the printer, will you?
BILLING, taking the manuscript: Sure. He goes.
HOVSTAD: I just want you to understand something: I never even read that book. It was Billing’s idea.
PETRA, trying to penetrate his eyes: I thought he was a radical.
HOVSTAD: He is. But he’s also a—
PETRA, testily: A newspaperman.
HOVSTAD: Well, that too, but I was going to say that Billing is trying to get the job as secretary to the Magistrate.
PETRA: What?
HOVSTAD: People are—people, Miss Stockmann.
PETRA: But the Magistrate! He’s been fighting everything progressive in this town for thirty years.
HOVSTAD: Let’s not argue about it, I just didn’t want you to go out of here with a wrong idea of me. I guess you know that I—I happen to admire women like you. I’ve never had a chance to tell you, but I—well, I want you to know it. Do you mind? He smiles.
PETRA: No, I don’t mind, but—reading that book upset me. I really don’t understand. Will you tell me why you’re supporting my father?
HOVSTAD: What’s the mystery? It’s a matter of principle.
PETRA: But a paper that’ll print a book like this has no principle.
HOVSTAD: Why do you jump to such extremes? You’re just like . . .
PETRA: Like what?
HOVSTAD: I simply mean that . . .
PETRA, moving away from him: Like my father, you mean. You really have no use for him, do you?
HOVSTAD: Now wait a minute!
PETRA: What’s behind this? Are you just trying to hold my hand or something?
HOVSTAD: I happen to agree with your father, and that’s why I’m printing his stuff.
PETRA: You’re trying to put something over, I think. Why are you in this?
HOVSTAD: Who’re you accusing? Billing gave you that book, not me!
PETRA: But you don’t mind printing it, do you? What are you trying to do with my father? You have no principles—what are you up to here?
Aslaksen hurriedly enters from the printing shop, Stockmann’s manuscript in his hand.
ASLAKSEN: My God! Hovstad! He sees Petra. Miss Stockmann.
PETRA, looking at Hovstad: I don’t think I’ve been so frightened in my life. She goes out.
HOVSTAD, starting after her: Please, you mustn’t think I—
ASLAKSEN, stopping him: Where are you going? The Mayor’s out there.
HOVSTAD: The Mayor!
ASLAKSEN: He wants to speak to you. He came in the back door. He doesn’t want to be seen.
HOVSTAD: What does he want? He goes to the printing-room door, opens it, calls out with a certain edge of servility: Come in, Your Honor!
PETER STOCKMANN, entering: Thank you.
Hovstad carefully closes the door.
PETER STOCKMANN, walking around: It’s clean! I always imagined this place would look dirty. But it’s clean. Commendingly: Very nice, Mr. Aslaksen. He puts his hat on the desk.
ASLAKSEN: Not at all, Your Honor—I mean to say, I always . . .
HOVSTAD: What can I do for you, Your Honor? Sit down?
PETER STOCKMANN, sits, placing his cane on the table: I had a very annoying thing happen today, Mr. Hovstad.
HOVSTAD: That so?
PETER STOCKMANN: It seems my brother has written some sort of—memorandum. About the springs.
HOVSTAD: You don’t say.
PETER STOCKMANN, looking at Hovstad now: He mentioned it . . . to you?
HOVSTAD: Yes. I think he said something about it.
ASLAKSEN, nervously starts to go out, attempting to hide the manuscript: Will you excuse me, gentlemen . . .
PETER STOCKMANN, pointing to the manuscript: That’s it, isn’t it?
ASLAKSEN: This? I don’t know, I haven’t had a chance to look at it, the printer just handed it to me . . .
HOVSTAD: Isn’t that the thing the printer wanted the spelling checked?
ASLAKSEN: That’s it. It’s only a question of spelling. I’ll be right back.
PETER STOCKMANN: I’m very good at spelling. He holds out his hand. Maybe I can help you.
HOVSTAD: No, Your Honor, there’s some Latin in it. You wouldn’t know Latin, would you?
PETER STOCKMANN: Oh, yes. I used to help my brother with his Latin all the time. Let me have it.
Aslaksen gives him the manuscript. Peter Stockmann looks at the title on the first page, then glances up sarcastically at Hovstad, who avoids his eyes.
PETER STOCKMANN: You’re going to print this?
HOVSTAD: I can’t very well refuse a signed article. A signed article is the author’s responsibility.
PETER STOCKMANN: Mr. Aslaksen, you’re going to allow this?
ASLAKSEN: I’m the publisher, not the editor, Your Honor. My policy is freedom for the editor.
PETER STOCKMANN: You have a point—I can see that.
ASLAKSEN, reaching for the manuscript: So if you don’t mind . . .
PETER STOCKMANN: Not at all. But he holds on to the manuscript. After a pause: This reconstruction of the springs—
ASLAKSEN: I realize, Your Honor—it does mean tremendous sacrifices for the stockholders.
PETER STOCKMANN: Don’t upset yourself. The first thing a Mayor learns is that the less wealthy can always be prevailed upon to demand a spirit of sacrifice for the public good.
ASLAKSEN: I’m glad you see that.
PETER STOCKMANN: Oh, yes. Especially when it’s the wealthy who are going to do the sacrificing. What you don’t seem to understand, Mr. Aslaksen, is that so long as I am Mayor, any changes in those springs are going to be paid for by a municipal loan.
ASLAKSEN: A municipal—you mean you’re going to tax the people for this?
PETER STOCKMANN: Exactly.
HOVSTAD: But the springs are a private corporation!
PETER STOCKMANN: The corporation built Kirsten Springs out of its own money. If
the people want them changed, the people naturally must pay the bill. The corporation is in no position to put out any more money. It simply can’t do it.
ASLAKSEN, to Hovstad: That’s impossible! People will never stand for a new tax. To the Mayor: Is this a fact or your opinion?
PETER STOCKMANN: It happens to be a fact. Plus another fact—you’ll forgive me for talking about facts in a newspaper office—but don’t forget that the springs will take two years to make over. Two years without income for your small businessmen, Mr. Aslaksen, and a heavy new tax besides. And all because—his private emotion comes to the surface; he throttles the manuscript in his hand—because of this dream, this hallucination, that we live in a pesthole!
HOVSTAD: That’s based on science.
PETER STOCKMANN, raising the manuscript and throwing it down on the table: This is based on vindictiveness, on his hatred of authority and nothing else. He pounds on the manuscript. This is the mad dream of a man who is trying to blow up our way of life! It has nothing to do with reform or science or anything else, but pure and simple destruction! And I intend to see to it that the people understand it exactly so!
ASLAKSEN, hit by this: My God! To Hovstad: Maybe . . . You sure you want to support this thing, Hovstad?
HOVSTAD, nervously: Frankly I’d never thought of it in quite that way. I mean . . . To the Mayor: When you think of it psychologically it’s completely possible, of course, that the man is simply out to— I don’t know what to say, Your Honor. I’d hate to hurt the town in any way. I never imagined we’d have to have a new tax.
PETER STOCKMANN: You should have imagined it because you’re going to have to advocate it. Unless, of course, liberal and radical newspaper readers enjoy high taxes. But you’d know that better than I. I happen to have here a brief story of the actual facts. It proves that, with a little care, nobody need be harmed at all by the water. He takes out a long envelope. Of course, in time we’d have to make a few minor structural changes and we’d pay for those.
HOVSTAD: May I see that?
PETER STOCKMANN: I want you to study it, Mr. Hovstad, and see if you don’t agree that—
BILLING, entering quickly: Are you expecting the Doctor?
PETER STOCKMANN, alarmed: He’s here?
BILLING: Just coming across the street.
PETER STOCKMANN: I’d rather not run into him here. How can I . . .
BILLING: Right this way, sir, hurry up!
ASLAKSEN, at the entrance door, peeking: Hurry up!
PETER STOCKMANN, going with Billing through the door at the left: Get him out of here right away! They exit.
HOVSTAD: Do something, do something!
Aslaksen pokes among some papers on the table. Hovstad sits at the desk, starts to “write.” Dr. Stockmann enters.
DR. STOCKMANN: Any proofs yet? He sees they hardly turn to him. I guess not, eh?
ASLAKSEN, without turning: No, you can’t expect them for some time.
DR. STOCKMANN: You mind if I wait?
HOVSTAD: No sense in that, Doctor, it’ll be quite a while yet.
DR. STOCKMANN, laughing, places his hand on Hovstad’s back: Bear with me, Hovstad, I just can’t wait to see it in print.
HOVSTAD: We’re pretty busy, Doctor, so . . .
DR. STOCKMANN, starting toward the door: Don’t let me hold you up. That’s the way to be, busy, busy. We’ll make this town shine like a jewel! He has opened the door, now he comes back. Just one thing. I—
HOVSTAD: Couldn’t we talk some other time? We’re very—
DR. STOCKMANN: Two words. Just walking down the street now, I looked at the people, in the stores, driving the wagons, and suddenly I was—well, touched, you know? By their innocence, I mean. What I’m driving at is, when this exposé breaks they’re liable to start making a saint out of me or something, and I— Aslaksen, I want you to promise me that you’re not going to try to get up any dinner for me or—
ASLAKSEN, turning toward the Doctor: Doctor, there’s no use concealing—
DR. STOCKMANN: I knew it. Now look, I will simply not attend a dinner in my honor.
HOVSTAD, getting up: Doctor, I think it’s time we—
Mrs. Stockmann enters.
MRS. STOCKMANN: I thought so. Thomas, I want you home. Now come. I want you to talk to Petra.
DR. STOCKMANN: What happened? What are you doing here?
HOVSTAD: Something wrong, Mrs. Stockmann?
MRS. STOCKMANN, leveling a look of accusation at Hovstad: Doctor Stockmann is the father of three children, Mr. Hovstad.
DR. STOCKMANN: Now look, dear, everybody knows that. What’s the—
MRS. STOCKMANN, restraining an outburst at her husband: Nobody would believe it from the way you’re dragging us into this disaster!
DR. STOCKMANN: What disaster?
MRS. STOCKMANN, to Hovstad: He treated you like a son, now you make a fool of him?
HOVSTAD: I’m not making a—
DR. STOCKMANN: Catherine! He indicates Hovstad. How can you accuse—
MRS. STOCKMANN, to Hovstad: He’ll lose his job at the springs, do you realize that? You print the article, and they’ll grind him up like a piece of flesh!
DR. STOCKMANN: Catherine, you’re embarrassing me! I beg your pardon, gentlemen . . .
MRS. STOCKMANN: Mr. Hovstad, what are you up to?
DR. STOCKMANN: I won’t have you jumping at Hovstad, Catherine!
MRS. STOCKMANN: I want you home! This man is not your friend!
DR. STOCKMANN: He is my friend! Any man who shares my risk is my friend! You simply don’t understand that as soon as this breaks everybody in this town is going to come out in the streets and drive that gang of— He picks up the Mayor’s cane from the table, notices what it is, and stops. He looks from it to Hovstad and Aslaksen. What’s this? They don’t reply. Now he notices the hat on the desk and picks it up with the tip of the cane. He looks at them again. He is angry, incredulous. What the hell is he doing here?
ASLAKSEN: All right, Doctor, now let’s be calm and—
DR. STOCKMANN, starting to move: Where is he? What’d he do, talk you out of it? Hovstad! Hovstad remains immobile. He won’t get away with it! Where’d you hide him? He opens the door at the left.
ASLAKSEN: Be careful, Doctor!
Peter Stockmann enters with Billing through the door Dr. Stockmann opened. Peter Stockmann tries to hide his embarrassment.
DR. STOCKMANN: Well, Peter, poisoning the water was not enough! You’re working on the press now, eh? He crosses to the entrance door.
PETER STOCKMANN: My hat, please. And my stick. Dr. Stockmann puts on the Mayor’s hat. Now what’s this nonsense! Take that off, that’s official insignia!
DR. STOCKMANN: I just wanted you to realize, Peter—he takes off the hat and looks at it—that anyone may wear this hat in a democracy, and that a free citizen is not afraid to touch it. He hands him the hat. And as for the baton of command, Your Honor, it can pass from hand to hand. He hands the cane to Peter Stockmann. So don’t gloat yet. The people haven’t spoken. He turns to Hovstad and Aslaksen. And I have the people because I have the truth, my friends!
aslaksen: Doctor, we’re not scientists. We can’t judge whether your article is really true.
dr. stockmann: Then print it under my name. Let me defend it!
HOVSTAD: I’m not printing it. I’m not going to sacrifice this newspaper. When the whole story gets out the public is not going to stand for any changes in the springs.
ASLAKSEN: His Honor just told us, Doctor—you see, there will have to be a new tax—
DR. STOCKMANN: Ahhhhh! Yes. I see. That’s why you’re not scientists suddenly and can’t decide if I’m telling the truth. Well. So!
HOVSTAD: Don’t take that attitude. The point is—
DR. STOCKMANN: The point, the point, oh, the point
is going to fly through this town like an arrow, and I am going to fire it! To Aslaksen: Will you print this article as a pamphlet? I’ll pay for it.
ASLAKSEN: I’m not going to ruin this paper and this town. Doctor, for the sake of your family—
MRS. STOCKMANN: You can leave his family out of this, Mr. Aslaksen. God help me, I think you people are horrible!
DR. STOCKMANN: My article, if you don’t mind.
ASLAKSEN, giving it to him: Doctor, you won’t get it printed in this town.
PETER STOCKMANN: Can’t you forget it? He indicates Hovstad and Aslaksen. Can’t you see now that everybody—
DR. STOCKMANN: Your Honor, I can’t forget it, and you will never forget it as long as you live. I am going to call a mass meeting, and I—
PETER STOCKMANN: And who is going to rent you a hall?
DR. STOCKMANN: Then I will take a drum and go from street to street, proclaiming that the springs are befouled and poison is rotting the body politic! He starts for the door.
PETER STOCKMANN: And I believe you really are that mad!
DR. STOCKMANN: Mad? Oh, my brother, you haven’t even heard me raise my voice yet. Catherine? He holds out his hand, she gives him her elbow. They go stiffly out.
Peter Stockmann looks regretfully toward the exit, then takes out his manuscript and hands it to Hovstad, who in turn gives it to Billing, who hands it to Aslaksen, who takes it and exits. Peter Stockmann puts his hat on and moves toward the door. Blackout.
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
SCENE II
A room in Captain Horster’s house. The room is bare, as though unused for a long time. A large doorway is at the left, two shuttered windows at the back, and another door at the right. Upstage right, packing cases have been set together, forming a platform, on which are a chair and a small table. There are two chairs next to the platform at the right. One chair stands downstage left.
The room is angled, thus making possible the illusion of a large crowd off in the wing to the left. The platform faces the audience at an angle, thus giving the speakers the chance to speak straight out front and creating the illusion of a large crowd by addressing “people” in the audience.
As the curtain rises the room is empty. Captain Horster enters, carrying a pitcher of water, a glass, and a bell. He is putting these on the table when Billing enters. A crowd is heard talking outside in the street.
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 33