CHARLEY: Yeah. He was a happy man with a batch of cement.
LINDA: He was so wonderful with his hands.
BIFF: He had the wrong dreams. All, all, wrong.
HAPPY, almost ready to fight Biff: Don’t say that!
BIFF: He never knew who he was.
CHARLEY, stopping Happy’s movement and reply. To Biff: Nobody dast blame this man. You don’t understand: Willy was a salesman. And for a salesman, there is no rock bottom to the life. He don’t put a bolt to a nut, he don’t tell you the law or give you medicine. He’s a man way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine. And when they start not smiling back—that’s an earthquake. And then you get yourself a couple of spots on your hat, and you’re finished. Nobody dast blame this man. A salesman is got to dream, boy. It comes with the territory.
BIFF: Charley, the man didn’t know who he was.
HAPPY, infuriated: Don’t say that!
BIFF: Why don’t you come with me, Happy?
HAPPY: I’m not licked that easily. I’m staying right in this city, and I’m gonna beat this racket! He looks at Biff, his chin set. The Loman Brothers!
BIFF: I know who I am, kid.
HAPPY: All right, boy. I’m gonna show you and everybody else that Willy Loman did not die in vain. He had a good dream. It’s the only dream you can have—to come out number-one man. He fought it out here, and this is where I’m gonna win it for him.
BIFF, with a hopeless glance at Happy, bends toward his mother: Let’s go, Mom.
LINDA: I’ll be with you in a minute. Go on, Charley. He hesitates. I want to, just for a minute. I never had a chance to say good-bye.
Charley moves away, followed by Happy. Biff remains a slight distance up and left of Linda. She sits there, summoning herself. The flute begins, not far away, playing behind her speech.
LINDA: Forgive me, dear. I can’t cry. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t cry. I don’t understand it. Why did you ever do that? Help me, Willy, I can’t cry. It seems to me that you’re just on another trip. I keep expecting you. Willy, dear, I can’t cry. Why did you do it? I search and search and I search, and I can’t understand it, Willy. I made the last payment on the house today. Today, dear. And there’ll be nobody home. A sob rises in her throat. We’re free and clear. Sobbing more fully, released: We’re free. Biff comes slowly toward her. We’re free . . . We’re free . . .
Biff lifts her to her feet and moves out up right with her in his arms. Linda sobs quietly. Bernard and Charley come together and follow them, followed by Happy. Only the music of the flute is left on the darkening stage as over the house the hard towers of the apartment buildings rise into sharp focus.
CURTAIN
AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE
AN ADAPTATION OF THE PLAY BY HENRIK IBSEN
1950
Characters
MORTEN KIIL
BILLING
MRS. STOCKMANN
PETER STOCKMANN
HOVSTAD
DR. STOCKMANN
MORTEN
EJLIF
CAPTAIN HORSTER
PETRA
ASLAKSEN
THE DRUNK
TOWNSPEOPLE
SYNOPSIS OF SCENES
The action takes place in a Norwegian town.
Act One
SCENE I
Dr. Stockmann’s living room.
SCENE II
The same, the following morning.
Act Two
SCENE I
Editorial office of the People’s Daily Messenger.
SCENE II
A room in Captain Horster’s house.
Act Three
SCENE
Dr. Stockmann’s living room the following morning.
ACT ONE
SCENE I
It is evening. Dr. Stockmann’s living room is simply but cheerfully furnished. A doorway, upstage right, leads into the entrance hall, which extends from the front door to the dining room, running unseen behind the living room. At the left is another door, which leads to the Doctor’s study and other rooms. In the upstage left corner is a stove. Toward the left foreground is a sofa with a table behind it. In the right foreground are two chairs, a small table between them, on which stand a lamp and a bowl of apples. At the back, to the left, an open doorway leads to the dining room, part of which is seen. The windows are in the right wall, a bench in front of them.
As the curtain rises, Billing and Morten Kiil are eating in the dining room. Billing is junior editor of the People’s Daily Messenger. Kiil is a slovenly old man who is feeding himself in a great hurry. He gulps his last bite and comes into the living room, where he puts on his coat and ratty fur hat. Billing comes in to help him.
BILLING: You sure eat fast, Mr. Kiil. Billing is an enthusiast to the point of foolishness.
KIIL: Eating don’t get you anywhere, boy. Tell my daughter I went home.
Kiil starts across to the front door. Billing returns to his food in the dining room. Kiil halts at the bowl of apples; he takes one, tastes it, likes it, takes another and puts it in his pocket, then continues on toward the door. Again he stops, returns, and takes another apple for his pocket. Then he sees a tobacco can on the table. He covers his action from Billing’s possible glance, opens the can, smells it, pours some into his side pocket. He is just closing the can when Catherine Stockmann enters from the dining room.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Father! You’re not going, are you?
KIIL: Got business to tend to.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Oh, you’re only going back to your room and you know it. Stay! Mr. Billing’s here, and Hovstad’s coming. It’ll be interesting for you.
KIIL: Got all kinds of business. The only reason I came over was the butcher told me you bought roast beef today. Very tasty, dear.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Why don’t you wait for Tom? He only went for a little walk.
KIIL, taking out his pipe: You think he’d mind if I filled my pipe?
MRS. STOCKMANN: No, go ahead. And here—take some apples. You should always have some fruit in your room.
KIIL: No, no, wouldn’t think of it.
The doorbell rings.
MRS. STOCKMANN: That must be Hovstad. She goes to the door and opens it.
Peter Stockmann, the Mayor, enters. He is a bachelor, nearing sixty. He has always been one of those men who make it their life work to stand in the center of the ship to keep it from overturning. He probably envies the family life and warmth of this house, but when he comes he never wants to admit he came and often sits with his coat on.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Peter! Well, this is a surprise!
PETER STOCKMANN: I was just passing by . . . He sees Kiil and smiles, amused. Mr. Kiil!
KIIL, sarcastically: Your Honor! He bites into his apple and exits.
MRS. STOCKMANN: You mustn’t mind him, Peter, he’s getting terribly old. Would you like a bite to eat?
PETER STOCKMANN: No, no thanks. He sees Billing now, and Billing nods to him from the dining room.
MRS. STOCKMANN, embarrassed: He just happened to drop in.
PETER STOCKMANN: That’s all right. I can’t take hot food in the evening. Not with my stomach.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Can’t I ever get you to eat anything in this house?
PETER STOCKMANN: Bless you, I stick to my tea and toast. Much healthier and more economical.
MRS. STOCKMANN, smiling: You sound as though Tom and I throw money out the window.
PETER STOCKMANN: Not you, Catherine. He wouldn’t be home, would he?
MRS. STOCKMANN: He went for a little walk with the boys.
PETER STOCKMANN: You don’t think that’s dangerous, right after dinner? There is a loud knocking on the front door. That sounds like my brother.
MRS. STOCKMANN: I doubt it, so soon. Come in, please.
Hovstad enters. He is in his early thirties, a graduate of the peasantry struggling with a terrible conflict. For while he hates authority and wealth, he cannot bring himself to cast off a certain desire to partake of them. Perhaps he is dangerous because he wants more than anything to belong, and in a radical that is a withering wish, not easily to be borne.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Mr. Hovstad—
HOVSTAD: Sorry I’m late. I was held up at the printing shop. Surprised: Good evening, Your Honor.
PETER STOCKMANN, rather stiffly: Hovstad. On business, no doubt.
HOVSTAD: Partly. It’s about an article for the paper—
PETER STOCKMANN, sarcastically: Ha! I don’t doubt it. I understand my brother has become a prolific contributor to—what do you call it?—the People’s Daily Liberator?
HOVSTAD, laughing, but holding his ground: The People’s Daily Messenger, sir. The Doctor sometimes honors the Messenger when he wants to uncover the real truth of some subject.
PETER STOCKMANN: The truth! Oh, yes, I see.
MRS. STOCKMANN, nervously to Hovstad: Would you like to . . . She points to dining room.
PETER STOCKMANN: I don’t want you to think I blame the Doctor for using your paper. After all, every performer goes for the audience that applauds him most. It’s really not your paper I have anything against, Mr. Hovstad.
HOVSTAD: I really didn’t think so, Your Honor.
PETER STOCKMANN: As a matter of fact, I happen to admire the spirit of tolerance in our town. It’s magnificent. Just don’t forget that we have it because we all believe in the same thing; it brings us together.
HOVSTAD: Kirsten Springs, you mean.
PETER STOCKMANN: The springs, Mr. Hovstad, our wonderful new springs. They’ve changed the soul of this town. Mark my words, Kirsten Springs are going to put us on the map, and there is no question about it.
MRS. STOCKMANN: That’s what Tom says too.
PETER STOCKMANN: Everything is shooting ahead—real estate going up, money changing hands every hour, business humming—
HOVSTAD: And no more unemployment.
PETER STOCKMANN: Right. Give us a really good summer, and sick people will be coming here in carloads. The springs will turn into a regular fad, a new Carlsbad. And for once the well-to-do people won’t be the only ones paying taxes in this town.
HOVSTAD: I hear reservations are really starting to come in?
PETER STOCKMANN: Coming in every day. Looks very promising, very promising.
HOVSTAD: That’s fine. To Mrs. Stockmann: Then the Doctor’s article will come in handy.
PETER STOCKMANN: He’s written something again?
HOVSTAD: No, it’s a piece he wrote at the beginning of the winter, recommending the water. But at the time I let the article lie.
PETER STOCKMANN: Why, some hitch in it?
HOVSTAD: Oh, no, I just thought it would have a bigger effect in the spring, when people start planning for the summer.
PETER STOCKMANN: That’s smart, Mr. Hovstad, very smart.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Tom is always so full of ideas about the springs; every day he—
PETER STOCKMANN: Well, he ought to be, he gets his salary from the springs, my dear.
HOVSTAD: Oh, I think it’s more than that, don’t you? After all, Doctor Stockmann created Kirsten Springs.
PETER STOCKMANN: You don’t say! I’ve been hearing that lately, but I did think I had a certain modest part—
MRS. STOCKMANN: Oh, Tom always says—
HOVSTAD: I only meant the original idea was—
PETER STOCKMANN: My good brother is never at a loss for ideas. All sorts of ideas. But when it comes to putting them into action you need another kind of man, and I did think that at least people in this house would—
MRS. STOCKMANN: But Peter, dear—we didn’t mean to— Go get yourself a bite, Mr. Hovstad, my husband will be here any minute.
HOVSTAD: Thank you, maybe just a little something. He goes into the dining room and joins Billing at the table.
PETER STOCKMANN, lowering his voice: Isn’t it remarkable? Why is it that people without background can never learn tact?
MRS. STOCKMANN: Why let it bother you? Can’t you and Thomas share the honor like good brothers?
PETER STOCKMANN: The trouble is that certain men are never satisfied to share, Catherine.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Nonsense. You’ve always gotten along beautifully with Tom— That must be him now.
She goes to the front door, opens it. Dr. Stockmann is laughing and talking outside. He is in the prime of his life. He might be called the eternal amateur—a lover of things, of people, of sheer living, a man for whom the days are too short, and the future fabulous with discoverable joys. And for all this most people will not like him—he will not compromise for less than God’s own share of the world while they have settled for less than Man’s.
DR. STOCKMANN, in the entrance hall: Hey, Catherine! Here’s another guest for you! Here’s a hanger for your coat, Captain. Oh, that’s right, you don’t wear overcoats! Go on in, boys. You kids must be hungry all over again. Come here, Captain Horster, I want you to get a look at this roast. He pushes Captain Horster along the hallway to the dining room. Ejlif and Morten also go to the dining room.
MRS. STOCKMANN: Tom, dear . . . She motions toward Peter in the living room.
DR. STOCKMANN, turns around in the doorway to the living room and sees Peter: Oh, Peter . . . He walks across and stretches out his hand. Say now, this is really nice.
PETER STOCKMANN: I’ll have to go in a minute.
DR. STOCKMANN: Oh, nonsense, not with the toddy on the table. You haven’t forgotten the toddy, have you, Catherine?
MRS. STOCKMANN: Of course not, I’ve got the water boiling. She goes into the dining room.
PETER STOCKMANN: Toddy too?
DR. STOCKMANN: Sure, just sit down and make yourself at home.
PETER STOCKMANN: No, thanks, I don’t go in for drinking parties.
DR. STOCKMANN: But this is no party.
PETER STOCKMANN: What else do you call it? He looks toward the dining room. It’s extraordinary how you people can consume all this food and live.
DR. STOCKMANN, rubbing his hands: Why? What’s finer than to watch young people eat? Peter, those are the fellows who are going to stir up the whole future.
PETER STOCKMANN, a little alarmed: Is that so! What’s there to stir up? He sits in a chair to the left.
DR. STOCKMANN, walking around: Don’t worry, they’ll let us know when the time comes. Old idiots like you and me, we’ll be left behind like—
PETER STOCKMANN: I’ve never been called that before.
DR. STOCKMANN: Oh, Peter, don’t jump on me every minute! You know your trouble, Peter? Your impressions are blunted. You ought to sit up there in that crooked corner of the north for five years, the way I did, and then come back here. It’s like watching the first seven days of creation!
PETER STOCKMANN: Here!
DR. STOCKMANN: Things to work and fight for, Peter! Without that you’re dead. Catherine, you sure the mailman came today?
MRS. STOCKMANN, from the dining room: There wasn’t any mail today.
DR. STOCKMANN: And another thing, Peter—a good income; that’s something you learn to value after you’ve lived on a starvation diet.
PETER STOCKMANN: When did you starve?
DR. STOCKMANN: Damned near! It was pretty tough going a lot of the time up there. And now, to be able to live like a prince! Tonight, for instance, we had roast beef for dinner, and, by God, there was enough left for supper too. Please have a piece—come here.
PETER STOCKMANN: Oh, no, no—please, certainly not.
DR. STOCKMANN: At least let me show it to you! Come in here—we even have a tablecloth. He pulls his brother toward the dining room.
PETER STO
CKMANN: I saw it.
DR. STOCKMANN: Live to the hilt! that’s my motto. Anyway, Catherine says I’m earning almost as much as we spend.
PETER STOCKMANN, refusing an apple: Well, you are improving.
DR. STOCKMANN: Peter, that was a joke! You’re supposed to laugh! He sits in the other chair to the left.
PETER STOCKMANN: Roast beef twice a day is no joke.
DR. STOCKMANN: Why can’t I give myself the pleasure of having people around me? It’s a necessity for me to see young, lively, happy people, free people burning with a desire to do something. You’ll see. When Hovstad comes in we’ll talk and—
PETER STOCKMANN: Oh, yes, Hovstad. That reminds me. He told me he was going to print one of your articles.
DR. STOCKMANN: One of my articles?
PETER STOCKMANN: Yes, about the springs—an article you wrote during the winter?
DR. STOCKMANN: Oh, that one! In the first place, I don’t want that one printed right now.
PETER STOCKMANN: No? It sounded to me like it would be very timely.
DR. STOCKMANN: Under normal conditions, maybe so. He gets up and walks across the floor.
PETER STOCKMANN, looking after him: Well, what is abnormal about the conditions now?
DR. STOCKMANN, stopping: I can’t say for the moment, Peter—at least not tonight. There could be a great deal abnormal about conditions; then again, there could be nothing at all.
PETER STOCKMANN: Well, you’ve managed to sound mysterious. Is there anything wrong? Something you’re keeping from me? Because I wish once in a while you’d remind yourself that I am chairman of the board for the springs.
DR. STOCKMANN: And I would like you to remember that, Peter. Look, let’s not get into each other’s hair.
PETER STOCKMANN: I don’t make a habit of getting into people’s hair! But I’d like to underline that everything concerning Kirsten Springs must be treated in a businesslike manner, through the proper channels, and dealt with by the legally constituted authorities. I can’t allow anything done behind my back in a roundabout way.
The Penguin Arthur Miller Page 29
