The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas Author: F. Anstey Illustrator: Bernard Partridge Release date: February 17, 2011 [eBook #35305] Language: English Credits: Produced by Neville Allen, David Clarke and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN - A COLLECTION OF SOME OF THE MASTER'S BEST KNOWN DRAMAS *** Produced by Neville Allen, David Clarke and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN _A COLLECTION OF SOME OF THE MASTER'S BEST-KNOWN DRAMAS_ CONDENSED, REVISED, AND SLIGHTLY RE-ARRANGED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE EARNEST STUDENT BY F. ANSTEY AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSA," "VOCES POPULI," ETC. _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY BERNARD PARTRIDGE_ LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN 1893 [_All rights reserved_] * * * * * PREFATORY NOTE _The concluding piece, "Pill-Doctor Herdal," is, as the observant reader will instantly perceive, rather a reverent attempt to tread in the footprints of the Norwegian dramatist, than a version of any actually existing masterpiece. The author is conscious that his imitation is painfully lacking in the mysterious obscurity of the original, that the vein of allegorical symbolism is thinner throughout than it should be, and that the characters are not nearly so mad as persons invariably are in real life--but these are the faults inevitable to a prentice hand, and he trusts that due allowances may be made for them by the critical._ _In conclusion he wishes to express his acknowledgments to Messrs. Bradbury and Agnew for their permission to reprint the present volume, the contents of which made their original appearance in the pages of "Punch."_ * * * * * CONTENTS ROSMERSHÖLM NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE HEDDA GABLER THE WILD DUCK PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL * * * * * ROSMERSHÖLM ACT FIRST _Sitting-room at Rosmershölm, with a stove, flower-stand, windows, ancient and modern ancestors, doors, and everything handsome about it._ REBECCA WEST _is sitting knitting a large antimacassar which is nearly finished. Now and then she looks out of a window, and smiles and nods expectantly to someone outside._ MADAM HELSETH _is laying the table for supper._ REBECCA. [_Folding up her work slowly._] But tell me precisely, what about this white horse? [_Smiling quietly._ MADAM HELSETH. Lord forgive you, Miss!--[_fetching cruet-stand, and placing it on table_]--but you're making fun of me! REBECCA. [_Gravely._] No, indeed. Nobody makes fun at Rosmershölm. Mr. Rosmer would not understand it. [_Shutting window._] Ah, here is Rector Kroll. [_Opening door._] You will stay to supper, will you not, Rector, and I will tell them to give us some little extra dish. KROLL. [_Hanging up his hat in the hall._] Many thanks. [_Wipes his boots._] May I come in? [_Comes in, puts down his stick, sits down, and looks about him._] And how do you and Rosmer get on together, eh? REBECCA. Ever since your sister, Beata, went mad and jumped into the mill-race, we have been as happy as two little birds together. [_After a pause, sitting down in arm-chair._] So you don't really mind my living here all alone with Rosmer? We were afraid you might, perhaps. KROLL. Why, how on earth--on the contrary, I shouldn't object at all if you--[_looks at her meaningly_]--h'm! REBECCA. [_Interrupting, gravely._] For shame, Rector; how can you make such jokes? KROLL. [_As if surprised._] Jokes! We do not joke in these parts--but here is Rosmer. [_Enter_ ROSMER, _gently and softly._ ROSMER. So, my dear old friend, you have come again, after a year's absence. [_Sits down._] We almost thought that---- KROLL. [_Nods._] So Miss West was saying--but you are quite mistaken. I merely thought I might remind you, if I came, of our poor Beata's suicide, so I kept away. We Norwegians are not without our simple tact. ROSMER. It was considerate--but unnecessary. Reb--I _mean_, Miss West--and I often allude to the incident, do we not? REBECCA. [_Strikes Tändstickor._] Oh yes, indeed. [_Lighting lamp._] Whenever we feel a little more cheerful than usual. KROLL. You dear good people! [_Wanders up the room._] I came because the Spirit of Revolt has crept into my School. A Secret Society has existed for weeks in the Lower Third! To-day it has come to my knowledge that a booby trap was prepared for me by the hand of my own son, Laurits, and I then discovered that a hair had been inserted in my cane by my daughter Hilda! The only way in which a right-minded Schoolmaster can combat this anarchic and subversive spirit is to start a newspaper, and I thought that you, as a weak, credulous, inexperienced and impressionable kind of man, were the very person to be the Editor. [REBECCA _laughs softly, as if to herself._ ROSMER _jumps up and sits down again._ REBECCA. [_With a look at Rosmer._] Tell him now! ROSMER. [_Returning the look._] I can't--Some other evening. Well, perhaps---- [_To_ KROLL.] I can't be your Editor--because [_in a low voice_] I--I am on the side of Laurits and Hilda! KROLL. [_Looks from one to the other, gloomily._] H'm! ROSMER. Yes. Since we last met, I have changed my views. I am going to create a new democracy, and awaken it to its true task of making all the people of this country noblemen, by freeing their wills, and purifying their minds! KROLL. What _do_ you mean! [_Takes up his hat._ ROSMER. [_Bowing his head._] I don't quite know, my dear friend; it was Reb---- I should say Miss West's scheme. KROLL. H'm! [_A suspicion appears in his face._] Now I begin to believe that what Beata said about schemes----no matter. But under the circumstances, I will _not_ stay to supper. [_Takes up his stick, and walks out._ ROSMER. I _told_ you he would be annoyed. I shall go to bed now. I don't want any supper. [_He lights a candle, and goes out; presently his footsteps are heard overhead, as he undresses._ REBECCA _pulls a bell-rope._ REBECCA. [_To_ MADAM HELSETH, _who enters with dishes._] No, Mr. Rosmer will not have supper to-night. [_In a lighter tone._] Perhaps he is afraid of the nightmare. There are so many sorts of White Horses in this world! MADAM HELSETH. [_Shaking._] Lord! lord! that Miss West--the things she does say! [REBECCA _goes out through door, knitting antimacassar thoughtfully, as Curtain falls._ * * * * * ACT SECOND ROSMER'S _study. Doors and windows, bookshelves, a writing-table. Door, with curtain, leading to_ ROSMER'S _bedroom._ ROSMER _discovered in a smoking jacket cutting a pamphlet with a paper-knife. There is a knock at the door._ ROSMER _says "Come in."_ REBECCA _enters in a morning wrapper and curl-papers. She sits on a chair close to_ ROSMER, _and looks over his shoulder as he cuts the leaves._ RECTOR KROLL _is shown up._ KROLL. [_Lays his hat on the table and looks at_ REBECCA _from head to foot._] I am really afraid that I am in the way. REBECCA. [_Surprised._] Because I am in my morning wrapper and curl-papers? You forget that I am _emancipated_, Rector Kroll. [_She leaves them and listens behind curtain in_ ROSMER'S _bedroom_. ROSMER. Yes, Miss West and I have worked our way forward in faithful comradeship. KROLL. [_Shakes his head at him slowly._] So I perceive. Miss West is naturally inclined to be forward. But, I say, _really_ you know----However, I came to tell you that poor Beata was not so mad as she looked, though flowers _did_ bewilder her so. [_Taking off his gloves meaningly._] She jumped into the mill-race because she had an idea that you ought to marry Miss West! [Illustration: "Taking off his gloves meaningly."] ROSMER. [_Jumps half up from his chair._] I? Marry--Miss West! My good gracious, Kroll! I don't _understand_, it is _most_ incomprehensible. [_Looks fixedly before him._] How _can_ people?----[_Looks at him for a moment, then rises._] Will you get out? [_Still quiet and self-restrained._] But first tell me why you never mentioned this before? KROLL. Why? Because I thought you were both orthodox, which made all the difference. Now I know that you side with Laurits and Hilda, and mean to make the democracy into noblemen, and accordingly I intend to make it hot for you in my paper. _Good_ morning! [_He slams the door with spite as_ REBECCA _enters from bedroom._ ROSMER. [_As if surprised._] You--in my bedroom! You have been listening, dear? But you _are_ so emancipated. Ah, well! so our pure and beautiful friendship has been misinterpreted, bespattered! Just because you wear a morning wrapper, and have lived here alone for a year, people with coarse souls and ignoble eyes make unpleasant remarks! But what really _did_ drive Beata mad? _Why_ did she jump into the mill-race? I'm sure we did everything we could to spare her! I made it the business of my life to keep her in ignorance of all our interests--_didn't_ I, now? REBECCA. You did. But why brood over it? What _does_ it matter? Get on with your great beautiful task, dear--[_approaching him cautiously from behind_]--winning over minds and wills, and creating noblemen, you know--_joyful_ noblemen! ROSMER. [_Walking about restlessly, as if in thought._] Yes, I know. I have never laughed in the whole course of my life--we Rosmers don't--and so I felt that spreading gladness and light, and making the democracy joyful, was properly my mission. But _now_--I feel too upset to go on, Rebecca, unless----[_Shakes his head heavily._] Yes, an idea has just occurred to me----[_Looks at her, and then runs his hands through his hair_]--Oh, my goodness! No--I _can't_. [_He leans his elbows on table._ REBECCA. Be a free man to the full, Rosmer--tell me your idea. ROSMER. [_Gloomily._] I don't know what you'll say to it. It's this: Our platonic comradeship was all very well while I was peaceful and happy. Now that I am bothered and badgered, I feel--_why_, I can't exactly explain, but I _do_ feel that I must oppose a new and living reality to the gnawing memories of the past. I should perhaps, explain that this is equivalent to an Ibsenian proposal. REBECCA. [_Catches at the chair-back with joy._] How? at _last_--a rise at last! [_Recollects herself._] But what am I about? Am I not an emancipated enigma? [_Puts her hands over her ears as if in terror._] What are you saying? You mustn't. I can't _think_ what you mean. Go away, do! ROSMER. [_Softly._] Be the new and living reality. It is the only way to put Beata out of the Saga. Shall we try it? REBECCA. Never! Do not--_do_ not ask me why--for I haven't a notion--but never! [_Nods slowly to him and rises._] White Horses would not induce me! [_With her hand on door-handle._] Now you _know_! [_She goes out._ ROSMER. [_Sits up, stares, thunderstruck, at the stove, and says to himself._] Well--I--_am_---- [_Quick Curtain._ * * * * * ACT THIRD _Sitting-room at Rosmershölm. Sun shining outside in the Garden. Inside_ REBECCA WEST _is watering a geranium with a small watering-pot. Her crochet antimacassar lies in the arm-chair._ MADAME HELSETH _is rubbing the chairs with furniture-polish from a large bottle. Enter_ ROSMER, _with his hat and stick in his hand._ MADAME HELSETH _corks the bottle and goes out to the right_. REBECCA. Good morning, dear. [_A moment after_--_crocheting._] Have you seen Rector Kroll's paper this morning? There's something about _you_ in it. ROSMER. Oh, indeed? [_Puts down hat and stick, and takes up paper._] H'm! [_Reads_--_then walks about the room._] Kroll _has_ made it hot for me. [_Reads some more._] Oh, this is _too_ bad! Rebecca, they _do_ say such nasty spiteful things! they actually call me a renegade--and I can't _think_ why! They _mustn't_ go on like this. All that is good in human nature will go to ruin if they're allowed to attack an excellent man like me! Only think, if I can make them see how unkind they have been! REBECCA. Yes, dear, in that you have a great and glorious object to attain--and I wish you may get it! ROSMER. Thanks. I think I shall. [_Happens to look through window and jumps._] Ah, no, I shan't--never now, I have just seen---- REBECCA. _Not_ the White Horse, dear? We must really not overdo that White Horse! ROSMER. No--the mill-race, where Beata----[_Puts on his hat_--_takes it off again._] I'm beginning to be haunted by--no, I _don't_ mean the Horse--by a terrible suspicion that Beata may have been right after all! Yes, I do believe, now I come to think of it, that I must really have been in love with you from the first. Tell me _your_ opinion. REBECCA. [_Struggling with herself, and still crocheting._] Oh--I can't exactly say--such an odd question to ask me! ROSMER. [_Shakes his head._] Perhaps; I have no sense of humour--no respectable Norwegian _has_--and I _do_ want to know--because, you see, if I _was_ in love with you, it was a _sin_, and if I once convinced myself of that---- [_Wanders across the room._ REBECCA. [_Breaking out._] Oh, these old ancestral prejudices! Here is your hat, and your stick, too; go and take a walk. [ROSMER _takes hat and stick, first, then goes out and takes a walk; presently_ MADAM HELSETH _appears, and tells_ REBECCA _something._ REBECCA _tells her something. They whisper together._ MADAM HELSETH _nods, and shows in_ RECTOR KROLL, _who keeps his hat in his hand, and sits on a chair._ KROLL. I merely called for the purpose of informing you that I consider you an artful and designing person, but that, on the whole, considering your birth and moral antecedents, you know--[_nods at her_]--it is not surprising. [REBECCA _walks about wringing her hands._] Why, what _is_ the matter? Did you really not know that you had no right to your father's name? I'd no _idea_ you would mind my mentioning such a trifle! REBECCA. [_Breaking out._] I _do_ mind. I am an emancipated enigma, but I retain a few little prejudices still. I _don't_ like owning to my real age, and I _do_ prefer to be legitimate. And, after your information--of which I was quite ignorant, as my mother, the late Mrs. Gamvik, never _once_ alluded to it--I feel I must confess everything. Strong-minded advanced women are like that. Here is Rosmer. [ROSMER _enters with his hat and stick._] Rosmer, I want to tell you and Rector Kroll a little story. Let us sit down, dear, all three of us. [_They sit down, mechanically, on chairs._] A long time ago, before the play began--[_in a voice scarcely audible_]--in Ibsenite dramas, all the interesting things somehow _do_ happen before the play begins---- ROSMER. But, Rebecca, I _know_ all this. KROLL. [_Looks hard at her._] Perhaps I had better go? REBECCA. No--I will be short. This was it. I wanted to take my share in the life of the New Era, and march onward with Rosmer. There was one dismal, insurmountable barrier--[_to_ ROSMER, _who nods gravely_]--Beata! I understood where your deliverance lay--and I acted. _I_ drove Beata into the mill-race.... There! ROSMER. [_After a short silence._] H'm! Well, Kroll--[_takes up his hat_]--if you're thinking of walking home, I'll go too. I'm going to be orthodox once more--after _this!_ KROLL. [_Severely and impressively, to_ REBECCA.] A nice sort of young woman _you_ are! [_Both go out hastily, without looking at_ REBECCA. REBECCA. [_Speaks to herself, under her breath._] Now I _have_ done it. I wonder _why_. [_Pulls bell-rope._] Madam Helseth, I have just had a glimpse of two rushing White Horses. Bring down my hair-trunk. [_Enter_ MADAM HELSETH, _with large hair-trunk, as Curtain falls._ * * * * * ACT FOUR _Late evening._ REBECCA WEST _stands by a lighted lamp, with a shade over it, packing sandwiches, &c., in a reticule, with a faint smile. The antimacassar is on the sofa. Enter_ ROSMER. ROSMER. [_Seeing the sandwiches, &c._] Sandwiches? Then you _are_ going! Why, on earth--I _can't_ understand! REBECCA. Dear, you never _can_. Rosmershölm is too much for me. But how did you get on with Kroll? ROSMER. We have made it up. He has convinced me that the work of ennobling men was several sizes too large for me--so I am going to let it alone---- REBECCA. [_With her faint smile._] There I almost think, dear, that you are wise. ROSMER. [_As if annoyed._] What, so _you_ don't believe in me either, Rebecca--you never _did_! [_Sits listlessly on chair._ REBECCA. Not much, dear, when you are left to yourself--but I've another confession to make. ROSMER. What, _another_? I really can't stand any more confessions just now! REBECCA. [_Sitting close to him._] It is only a little one. I bullied Beata into the mill-race--because of a wild uncontrollable---- [ROSMER _moves uneasily._] Sit still, dear--uncontrollable fancy--for _you_! ROSMER. [_Goes and sits on sofa._] Oh, my goodness, Rebecca--you _mustn't_, you know! [_He jumps up and down as if embarrassed._ [Illustration: "Oh, my goodness, Rebecca--you _mustn't_, you know!"] REBECCA. Don't be alarmed, dear, it is all over now. After living alone with you in solitude, when you showed me all your thoughts without reserve--little by little, somehow the fancy passed off. I caught the Rosmer view of life badly, and dulness descended on my soul as an extinguisher upon one of our Northern dips. The Rosmer view of life is ennobling, very--but hardly lively. And I've more yet to tell you. ROSMER. [_Turning it off._] Isn't that enough for one evening? REBECCA. [_Almost voiceless._] No, dear. I have a Past--_behind_ me! ROSMER. _Behind_ you? How strange. I had an idea of that sort already. [_Starts, as if in fear._] A joke! [_Sadly._] Ah, no--_no_, I must not give way to _that_! Never mind the Past, Rebecca; I once thought that I had made the grand discovery that, if one is only virtuous, one will be happy. I see now it was too daring, too original--an immature dream. What bothers me is that I can't--somehow I _can't_--believe entirely in you--I am not even sure that I _have_ ennobled you so very much--_isn't_ it terrible? REBECCA. [_Wringing her hands._] Oh, this killing doubt! [_Looks darkly at him._] Is there anything _I_ can do to convince you? ROSMER. [_As if impelled to speak against his will._] Yes, one thing--only I'm afraid you wouldn't see it in the same light. And yet I must mention it. It is like this. I want to recover faith in my mission, in my power to ennoble human souls. And, as a logical thinker, this I cannot do now, unless--well, unless you jump into the mill-race, too, like Beata! _REBECCA._ [_Takes up her antimacassar, with composure, and puts it on her head._] Anything to oblige you. _ROSMER._ [_Springs up._] What? You really _will_! You are _sure_ you don't mind? Then, Rebecca, I will go further. I will even go--yes--as far as you go yourself! _REBECCA._ [_Bows her head towards his breast._] You will see me off? Thanks. Now you are indeed an Ibsenite. [_Smiles almost imperceptibly._ _ROSMER._ [_Cautiously._] I said as far as _you_ go. I don't commit myself further than that. Shall we go? REBECCA. First tell me this. Are _you_ going with _me_, or am _I_ going with _you?_ ROSMER. A subtle psychological point--but we have not time to think it out here. We will discuss it as we go along. Come! [ROSMER _takes his hat and stick_, REBECCA _her reticule, with sandwiches. They go out hand-in-hand through the door, which they leave open. The room (as is not uncommon with rooms in Norway) is left empty. Then_ MADAM HELSETH _enters through another door_. MADAM HELSETH. The cab, Miss--not here! [_Looks out._] Out together--at this time of night--upon my--_not_ on the garden seat? [_Looks out of window._] My goodness! _what_ is that white thing on the bridge--the _Horse_ at last! [_Shrieks aloud._] And those two sinful creatures running home! [_Enter_ ROSMER _and_ REBECCA, _out of breath_. ROSMER. [_Scarcely able to get the words out._] It's no use, Rebecca--we must put it off till another evening. We can't be expected to jump off a footbridge which already has a White Horse on it. And if it comes to that, why should we jump at all? I know now that I really _have_ ennobled you, which was all I wanted. What would be the good of recovering faith in my mission at the bottom of a mill-pond? No, Rebecca--[_Lays his hand on her head_]--there is no judge over us, and therefore---- REBECCA. [_Interrupting gravely._] We will bind ourselves over in our own recognisances to come up for judgment when called upon. [MADAM HELSETH _holds on to a chair-back._ REBECCA _finishes the antimacassar calmly as Curtain falls_. * * * * * NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVÖET) ACT FIRST _A room tastefully filled with cheap Art-furniture. Gimcracks in an étagerè: a festoon of chenille monkeys hanging from the gaselier. Japanese fans, skeletons, cotton-wool spiders, frogs and lizards, scattered everywhere about. Drain-pipes with tall dyed grasses. A porcelain stove decorated with transferable pictures. Showily-bound books in book-case. Window. The Visitor's bell rings in the hall outside. The hall-door is heard to open, and then to shut. Presently_ NORA _walks in with parcels; a porter carries a large Christmas-tree after her--which he puts down_. NORA _gives him a shilling--and he goes out grumbling_. NORA _hums contentedly, and eats macaroons. Then_ HELMER _puts his head out of his Manager's room, and_ NORA _hides macaroons cautiously_. HELMER. [_Playfully._] Is that my little squirrel twittering--that my lark frisking in here? NORA. Ess! [_To herself._] I have only been married eight years, so these marital amenities have not yet had time to pall! HELMER. [_Threatening with his finger._] I hope the little bird has surely not been digging its beak into any macaroons, eh? NORA. [_Bolting one, and wiping her mouth._] No, most certainly not. [_To herself_] The worst of being so babyish is--one _does_ have to tell such a lot of taradiddles! [_To_ HELMER.] See what I've bought--it's been _such_ fun! [_Hums._ HELMER. [_Inspecting parcels._] H'm--rather an _expensive_ little lark! [_Takes her playfully by the ear._ NORA. Little birds like to have a flutter occasionally. Which reminds me---- [_Plays with his coat-buttons._] I'm such a simple ickle sing--but if you _are_ thinking of giving me a Christmas present, make it cash! HELMER. Just like your poor father, _he_ always asked me to make it cash--he never made any himself! It's heredity, I suppose. Well--well! [_Goes back to his Bank._ NORA _goes on humming._ _Enter_ MRS. LINDEN, _doubtfully._ NORA. What, Christina--why, how old you look! But then you are poor. I'm not. Torvald has just been made a Bank Manager. [_Tidies the room._] Isn't it really wonderfully delicious to be well off? But of course, you wouldn't know. _We_ were poor once, and, do you know, when Torvald was ill, I--[_tossing her head_]--though I _am_ such a frivolous little squirrel, and all that, I actually borrowed £300 for him to go abroad. Wasn't _that_ clever? Tra-la-la! I shan't tell you _who_ lent it. I didn't even tell Torvald. I am such a mere baby I don't tell him everything. I tell Dr. Rank, though. Oh, I'm so awfully happy I should like to shout, "Dash it all!" MRS. LINDEN. [_Stroking her hair._] Do--it is a natural and innocent outburst--you are such a child! But I am a widow, and want employment. _Do_ you think your husband could find me a place as clerk in his Bank? [_Proudly._] I am an excellent knitter! NORA. That would really be awfully funny. [_To_ HELMER, _who enters._] Torvald, this is Christina; she wants to be a clerk in your Bank--_do_ let her! She thinks such a lot of _you_. [_To herself._] Another taradiddle! HELMER. She is a sensible woman, and deserves encouragement. Come along, Mrs. Linden, and we'll see what we can do for you. [_He goes out through the hall with_ MRS. LINDEN, _and the front-door is heard to slam after them._ NORA. [_Opens door, and calls._] Now, Emmy, Ivar, and Bob, come in and have a romp with Mamma--we will play hide-and-seek. [_She gets under the table, smiling in quiet satisfaction_; KROGSTAD _enters_--NORA _pounces out upon him._] Boo!... Oh, I beg your pardon. I don't do this kind of thing _generally_--though I may be a little silly. [Illustration: "Boo!"] KROGSTAD. [_Politely._] Don't mention it. I called because I happened to see your husband go out with Mrs. Linden--from which, being a person of considerable penetration, I infer that he is about to give her my post at the Bank. Now, as you owe me the balance of £300, for which I hold your acknowledgment, you will see the propriety of putting a stop to this little game at once. NORA. But I don't at all--not a little wee bit! I'm so childish, you know--why _should_ I? [_Sitting upright on carpet._ KROGSTAD. I will try to make it plain to the meanest capacity. When you came to me for the loan, I naturally required some additional security. Your father, being a shady Government official, without a penny--for, if he had possessed one, he would presumably have left it to you--without a penny, then--I, as a cautious man of business, insisted upon having his signature as a surety. Oh, we Norwegians are sharp fellows! NORA. Well, you _got_ papa's signature, didn't you? KROGSTAD. Oh, I _got_ it right enough. Unfortunately, it was dated three days after his decease--now, how do you account for _that_? NORA. How? Why, as poor Papa was dead, and couldn't sign, I signed _for_ him, that's all! Only somehow I forgot to put the date back. _That's_ how. Didn't I _tell_ you I was a silly, unbusiness like little thing? It's very simple. KROGSTAD. Very--but what you did amounts to forgery, notwithstanding. I happen to know, because I'm a lawyer, and have done a little in the forging way myself. So, to come to the point--if _I_ get kicked out, I shall not go alone! [_He bows, and goes out._ NORA. It _can't_ be wrong! Why, no one but Krogstad would have been taken in by it! If the Law says it's wrong, the Law's a goose--a bigger goose than poor little me even! [_To_ HELMER, _who enters._] Oh, Torvald, how you made me jump! HELMER. Has anybody called? [NORA _shakes her head._] Oh, my little squirrel mustn't tell naughty whoppers. Why, I just met that fellow Krogstad in the hall. He's been asking you to get me to take him back--now, hasn't he? NORA. [_Walking about._] Do just see how pretty the Christmas-tree looks! HELMER. Never mind the tree--I want to have this out about Krogstad. I can't take him back, because many years ago he forged a name. As a lawyer, a close observer of human nature, and a Bank Manager, I have remarked that people who forge names seldom or never confide the fact to their children--which inevitably brings moral contagion into the entire family. From which it follows, logically, that Krogstad has been poisoning his children for years by acting a part, and is morally lost. [_Stretches out his hands to her._] I can't bear a morally lost Bank-cashier about me! NORA. But you never thought of dismissing him till Christina came! HELMER. H'm! I've got some business to attend to--so good-bye, little lark! [_Goes into office and shuts door._ NORA. [_Pale with terror._] If Krogstad poisons his children because he once forged a name, I must be poisoning Emmy, and Bob, and Ivar, because _I_ forged papa's signature! [_Short pause; she raises her head proudly._] After all, if I am a doll, I can still draw a logical inference! I mustn't play with the children any more--[_hotly_]--I don't care--I _shall_, though! Who cares for Krogstad? [_She makes a face, choking with suppressed tears, as Curtain falls._ * * * * * ACT SECOND _The room, with the cheap Art-furniture as before--except that the candles on the Christmas tree have guttered down and appear to have been lately blown out. The cotton-wool frogs and the chenille monkeys are disarranged, and there are walking things on the sofa._ NORA _alone_. NORA. [_Putting on a cloak and taking it off again._] Bother Krogstad! There, I won't think of him. I'll only think of the costume ball at Consul Stenborg's, overhead, to-night, where I am to dance the Tarantella all alone, dressed as a Capri fisher-girl. It struck Torvald that, as I am a matron with three children, my performance might amuse the Consul's guests, and, at the same time, increase his connection at the Bank. Torvald is so practical. [_To_ MRS. LINDEN, _who comes in with a large cardboard box._] Ah, Christina, so you have brought in my old costume? _Would_ you mind, as my husband's new Cashier, just doing up the trimming for me? MRS. LINDEN. Not at all--is it not part of my regular duties? [_Sewing._] Don't you think, Nora, that you see a little too much of Dr. Rank? NORA. Oh, I _couldn't_ see too much of Dr. Rank! He _is_ so amusing--always talking about his complaints, and heredity, and all sorts of indescribably funny things. Go away now, dear; I hear Torvald. [MRS. LINDEN _goes. Enter_ TORVALD _from the Manager's room._ NORA _runs trippingly to him._ NORA. [_Coaxing._] Oh, Torvald, if only you won't dismiss Krogstad, you can't think how your little lark would jump about and twitter. HELMER. The inducement would be stronger but for the fact that, as it is, the little lark is generally engaged in that particular occupation. And I really _must_ get rid of Krogstad. If I didn't, people would say I was under the thumb of my little squirrel here, and then Krogstad and I knew each other in early youth; and when two people knew each other in early youth--[_a short pause_]--h'm! Besides, he will address me as, "I say, Torvald"--which causes me most painful emotion! He is tactless, dishonest, familiar, and morally ruined--altogether not at all the kind of person to be a Cashier in a Bank like mine. NORA. But he writes in scurrilous papers--he is on the staff of the Norwegian _Punch_. If you dismiss him, he may write nasty things about _you_, as wicked people did about poor dear papa! HELMER. Your poor dear papa was not impeccable--far from it. I _am_--which makes all the difference. I have here a letter giving Krogstad the sack. One of the conveniences of living close to the Bank is, that I can use the housemaids as Bank-messengers. [_Goes to door and calls._] Ellen! [_Enter parlourmaid._] Take that letter--there is no answer. [ELLEN _takes it and goes._] That's settled--and now, Nora, as I am going to my private room, it will be a capital opportunity for you to practise the tambourine--thump away, little lark, the doors are double! [_Nods to her and goes in, shutting door._ NORA. [_Stroking her face._] How _am_ I to get out of this mess? [_A ring at the visitors' bell._] Dr. Rank's ring! _He_ shall help me out of it! [Dr. RANK _appears in doorway, hanging up his great-coat._] Dear Dr. Rank, how _are_ you? [_Takes both his hands_. DR. RANK. [_Sitting down near the stove._] I am a miserable, hypochondriacal wretch--that's what _I_ am. And why am I doomed to be dismal? Why? Because my father died of a fit of the blues! _Is_ that fair--I put it to _you_? NORA. Do try to be funnier than _that_! See, I will show you the flesh-coloured silk tights that I am to wear to-night--it will cheer you up. But you must only look at the feet--well, you may look at the rest if you're good. _Aren't_ they lovely? Will they fit me, do you think? DR. RANK. [_Gloomily._] A poor fellow with both feet in the grave is not the best authority on the fit of silk stockings. I shall be food for worms before long--I _know_ I shall! [Illustration: "A poor fellow with both feet in the grave is not the best authority on the fit of silk stockings."] NORA. You mustn't really be so frivolous! Take that! [_She hits him lightly on the ear with the stockings; then hums a little._] I want you to do me a great service, Dr. Rank. [_Rolling up stockings._] I always liked _you_. I love Torvald most, of _course_--but, somehow, I'd rather spend my time with you--you _are_ so amusing! RANK. If I am, can't you guess why? [_A short silence._] Because I love you! You can't pretend you didn't know it! NORA. Perhaps not--but it was really too clumsy of you to mention it just as I was about to ask a favour of you! It was in the worst taste! [_With dignity._] You must not imagine because I joke with you about silk stockings, and tell you things I never tell Torvald, that I am therefore without the most delicate and scrupulous self-respect! I am really quite a good little doll, Dr. Rank, and now--[_sits in rocking chair and smiles_]--now I shan't ask you what I was going to! [ELLEN _comes in with a card._ NORA. [_Terrified._] Oh, my goodness! [_Puts it in her pocket._ DR. RANK. Excuse my easy Norwegian pleasantry--but--h'm--anything disagreeable up? NORA. [_To herself._] Krogstad's card! I must tell _another_ whopper! [_To_ RANK.] No, nothing--only--only my new costume. I want to try it on here. I always do try on my dresses in the drawing-room--it's _cosier_, you know. So go in to Torvald and amuse him till I'm ready. [RANK _goes into_ HELMER'S _room, and_ NORA _bolts the door upon him, as_ KROGSTAD _enters from hall in a fur cap_. KROGSTAD. Well, I've got the sack, and so I came to see how _you_ are getting on. I mayn't be a nice man, but--[_with feeling_]--I have a heart! And, as I don't intend to give up the forged I.O.U. unless I'm taken back, I was afraid you might be contemplating suicide, or something of that kind; and so I called to tell you that, if I were you, I wouldn't. Bad thing for the complexion, suicide--and silly, too, because it wouldn't mend matters in the least. [_Kindly._] You must not take this affair too seriously, Mrs. Helmer. Get your husband to settle it amicably by taking me back as Cashier; _then_ I shall soon get the whip-hand of _him_, and we shall all be as pleasant and comfortable as possible together! NORA. Not even that prospect can tempt me! Besides, Torvald wouldn't have you back at any price now! KROGSTAD. All right, then. I have here a letter, telling your husband all. I will take the liberty of dropping it in the letter-box at your hall-door as I go out. I'll wish you good evening! [_He goes out; presently the dull sound of a thick letter dropping into a wire box is heard._ NORA. [_Softly, and hoarsely._] He's done it! How _am_ I to prevent Torvald from seeing it? HELMER. [_Inside the door, rattling._] Hasn't my lark changed its dress yet? [NORA _unbolts door._] What--so you are _not_ in fancy costume, after all? [_Enters with_ RANK.] Are there any letters for me in the box there? NORA. [_Voicelessly._] None--not even a postcard! Oh, Torvald, don't, please, go and look--_promise_ me you won't! I do _assure_ you there isn't a letter! And I've forgotten the Tarantella you taught me--do let's run over it. I'm so afraid of breaking down--promise me not to look at the letter-box. I can't dance unless you do. HELMER. [_Standing still, on his way to the letter-box._] I am a man of strict business habits, and some powers of observation; my little squirrel's assurances that there is nothing in the box, combined with her obvious anxiety that I should not go and see for myself, satisfy me that it is indeed empty, in spite of the fact that I have not invariably found her a strictly truthful little dicky-bird. There--there. [_Sits down to piano._] Bang away on your tambourine, little squirrel--dance away, my own lark! NORA. [_Dancing, with a long gay shawl._] Just _won't_ the little squirrel! Faster--faster! Oh, I _do_ feel so gay! We will have some champagne for dinner, _won't_ we, Torvald? [_Dances with more and more abandonment._ HELMER. [_After addressing frequent remarks in correction._] Come, come--not this awful wildness! I don't like to see _quite_ such a larky little lark as this.... Really it is time you stopped! NORA. [_Her hair coming down as she dances more wildly still, and swings the tambourine._] I can't.... I can't! [_To herself, as she dances._] I've only thirty-one hours left to be a bird in; and after that--[_shuddering_]--after _that_, Krogstad will let the cat out of the bag! [_Curtain._ * * * * * ACT THIRD _The same room_--_except that the sofa has been slightly moved, and one of the Japanese cotton-wool frogs has fallen into the fire-place_. MRS. LINDEN _sits and reads a book_--_but without understanding a single line_. MRS. LINDEN. [_Laying down her book, as a light tread is heard outside_.] Here he is at last! [KROGSTAD _comes in, and stands in the doorway._] Mr. Krogstad, I have given you a secret _rendezvous_ in this room, because it belongs to my employer, Mr. Helmer, who has lately discharged you. The etiquette of Norway permits these slight freedoms on the part of a female cashier. KROGSTAD. It does. Are we alone? [NORA _is heard overhead dancing the Tarantella_.] Yes, I hear Mrs. Helmer's fairy footfall above. She dances the Tarantella now--by-and-by she will dance to another tune! [_Changing his tone._] I don't exactly know why you should wish to have this interview--after jilting me as you did, long ago, though? MRS. LINDEN. Don't you? _I_ do. I am a widow--a Norwegian widow. And it has occurred to me that there may be a nobler side to your nature somewhere--though you have not precisely the best of reputations. KROGSTAD. Right. I am a forger, and a money-lender; I am on the staff of the Norwegian _Punch_--a most scurrilous paper. More, I have been blackmailing Mrs. Helmer by trading on her fears, like a low cowardly cur. But, in spite of all that--[_clasping his hands_]--there are the makings of a fine man about me _yet_, Christina! MRS. LINDEN. I believe you--at least, I'll chance it. I want some one to care for, and I'll marry you. KROGSTAD. [_Suspiciously._] On condition, I suppose, that I suppress the letter denouncing Mrs. Helmer? MRS. LINDEN. How can you think so? I am her dearest friend; but I can still see her faults, and it is my firm opinion that a sharp lesson will do her all the good in the world. She is _much_ too comfortable. So leave the letter in the box, and come home with me. KROGSTAD. I am wildly happy! Engaged to the female cashier of the manager who has discharged me, our future is bright and secure! [_He goes out; and_ MRS. LINDEN _sets the furniture straight; presently a noise is heard outside, and_ HELMER _enters, dragging_ NORA _in. She is in fancy dress, and he in an open black domino._ NORA. I shan't! It's too early to come away from such a nice party. I _won't_ go to bed! [_She whimpers._ HELMER. [_Tenderly._] There'sh a naughty lil' larkie for you, Mrs. Linen! Poshtively had to drag her 'way! She'sh a capricious lil' girl--from Capri. 'Scuse me!--'fraid I've been and made a pun. Shan' 'cur again! Shplendid champagne the Consul gave us--'counts for it! [_Sits down smiling._] Do you _knit_, Mrs. Cotton?... You shouldn't. Never knit. 'Broider. [_Nodding to her, solemnly._] 'Member that. Alwaysh _'broider_. More--[_hiccoughing_]--Oriental! Gobblesh you!--goo'ni! MRS. LINDEN. I only came in to--to see Nora's costume. Now I've seen it, I'll go. [_Goes out._ HELMER. Awful bore that woman--hate boresh! [_Looks at_ NORA, _then comes nearer._] Oh, you prillil squillikins, I _do_ love you so! Shomehow, I feel sho lively thishevenin'! [Illustration: "Oh, you prillil squillikins!"] NORA. [_Goes to other side of table._] I won't _have_ all that, Torvald! HELMER. Why? ain't you my lil' lark--ain't thish our lil' cage? Ver-_well_, then. [_A ring._] Rank! confound it all! [_Enter_ Dr. RANK.] Rank, dear old boy, you've been [_hiccoughs_] going it upstairs. Cap'tal champagne, eh? '_Shamed_ of you, Rank! [_He sits down on sofa, and closes his eyes gently._ DR. RANK. Did you notice it? [_With pride._] It was almost incredible the amount I contrived to put away. But I shall suffer for it to-morrow. [_Gloomily._] Heredity again! I wish I was dead! I do. NORA. Don't apologise. Torvald was just as bad; but he is always so good-tempered after champagne. DOCTOR RANK. Ah, well, I just looked in to say that I haven't long to live. Don't weep for me, Mrs. Helmer, it's chronic--and hereditary too. Here are my P.P.C. cards. I'm a fading flower. Can you oblige me with a cigar? NORA. [_With a suppressed smile._] Certainly. Let me give you a light? [DOCTOR RANK _lights his cigar, after several ineffectual attempts, and goes out_. HELMER. [_Compassionately._] Poo' old Rank--he'sh very bad to-ni'! [_Pulls himself together._] But I forgot--Bishness--I mean, bu-si-ness--mush be 'tended to. I'll go and see if there are any letters. [_Goes to box._] Hallo! some one's been at the lock with a hairpin--it's one of _your_ hairpins! [_Holding it out to her._ NORA. [_Quickly._] Not mine--one of Bob's, or Ivar's--they both wear hairpins! HELMER. [_Turning over letters absently._] You must break them of it--bad habit! What a lot o' lettersh! _double_ usual quantity. [_Opens_ KROGSTAD'S.] By Jove! [_Reads it and falls back completely sobered._] What have you got to say to _this_? NORA. [_Crying aloud._] You shan't save me--let me go! I _won't_ be saved! HELMER. Save _you_, indeed! Who's going to save _Me_? You miserable little criminal. [_Annoyed._] Ugh--ugh! NORA. [_With hardening expression._] Indeed, Torvald, your singing-bird acted for the best! HELMER. Singing-bird! Your father was a rook--and you take _after_ him. Heredity again! You have utterly destroyed my happiness. [_Walks round several times._] Just as I was beginning to get on, too! NORA. I have--but I will go away and jump into the water. HELMER. What good will _that_ do me? People will say I had a hand in this business. [_Bitterly._] If you _must_ forge, you might at least put your dates in correctly! But you never _had_ any principle! [_A ring._] The front-door bell! [_A fat letter is seen to fall into the box_; HELMER _takes it, opens it, sees enclosure, and embraces_ NORA.] Krogstad won't split. See, he returns the forged I.O.U.! Oh, my poor little lark, _what_ you must have gone through! Come under my wing, my little scared song-bird.... Eh? you _won't_! Why, what's the matter _now_? NORA. [_With cold calm._] I have wings of my own, thank you, Torvald, and I mean to use them! HELMER. What--leave your pretty cage, and [_pathetically_] the old cock bird, and the poor little innocent eggs! NORA. Exactly. Sit down, and we will talk it over first. [_Slowly._] Has it ever struck you that this is the first time you and I have ever talked seriously together about serious things? HELMER. Come, I do like that! How on earth could we talk about serious things when your mouth was always full of macaroons? NORA. [_Shakes her head._] Ah, Torvald, the mouth of a mother of a family should have more solemn things in it than macaroons! I see that now, too late. No, you have wronged me. So did papa. Both of you called me a doll, and a squirrel, and a lark! You might have made something of me--and instead of that, you went and made too much of me--oh, you _did_! HELMER. Well, you didn't seem to object to it, and really I don't exactly see what it is you _do_ want! NORA. No more do I--that is what I have got to find out. If I had been properly educated, I should have known better than to date poor papa's signature three days after he died. Now I must educate _myself_. I have to gain experience, and get clear about religion, and law, and things, and whether Society is right or I am--and I must go away and never come back any more till I _am_ educated! HELMER. Then you may be away some little time? And what's to become of me and the eggs meanwhile? NORA. That, Torvald, is entirely your own affair. I have a higher duty than that towards you and the eggs. [_Looking solemnly upward._] I mean my duty towards Myself! HELMER. And all this because--in a momentary annoyance at finding myself in the power of a discharged cashier who calls me "I say, Torvald," I expressed myself with ultra-Gilbertian frankness! You talk like a silly child! NORA. Because my eyes are opened, and I see my position with the eyes of Ibsen. I must go away at once, and begin to educate myself. HELMER. May I ask how you are going to set about it? NORA. Certainly. I shall begin--yes, I shall _begin_ with a course of the Norwegian theatres. If _that_ doesn't take the frivolity out of me, I don't really know what _will_! [_She gets her bonnet and ties it tightly._ HELMER. Then you are really going? And you'll never think about me and the eggs any more! Oh, Nora! NORA. Indeed, I shall--occasionally--as strangers. [_She puts on a shawl sadly, and fetches her dressing-bag._] If I ever do come back, the greatest miracle of all will have to happen. Good-bye! [_She goes out through the hall; the front door is heard to bang loudly._ HELMER. [_Sinking on a chair._] The room empty? Then she must be gone! Yes, my little lark has flown! [_The dull sound of an unskilled latchkey is heard trying the lock; presently the door opens, and_ NORA, _with a somewhat foolish expression, reappears._] What? back already! Then you _are_ educated? NORA. [_Puts down dressing-bag._] No, Torvald, not yet. Only, you see, I found I had only threepence-halfpenny in my purse, and the Norwegian theatres are all closed at this hour--and so I thought I wouldn't leave the cage till to-morrow--after breakfast. HELMER. [_As if to himself._] The greatest miracle of all has happened. My little bird is not in the bush _just_ yet! [NORA _takes down a showily-bound dictionary from the shelf and begins her education;_ HELMER _fetches a bag of macaroons, sits near her, and tenders one humbly. A pause._ NORA _repulses it, proudly. He offers it again. She snatches at it suddenly, still without looking at him, and nibbles it thoughtfully as Curtain falls._ * * * * * HEDDA GABLER ACT FIRST SCENE--_A sitting-room cheerfully decorated in dark colours. Broad doorway, hung with black crape, in the wall at back, leading to a back drawing-room, in which, above a sofa in black horsehair, hangs a posthumous portrait of the late_ GENERAL GABLER. _On the piano is a handsome pall. Through the glass panes of the back drawing-room window are seen a dead wall and a cemetery. Settees, sofas, chairs, &c., handsomely upholstered in black bombazine, and studded with small round nails. Bouquets of immortelles and dead grasses are lying everywhere about._ _Enter_ AUNT JULIE (_a good-natured-looking lady in a smart hat._) AUNT JULIE. Well, I declare, if I believe George or Hedda are up yet! [_Enter_ GEORGE TESMAN, _humming, stout, careless, spectacled._] Ah, my dear boy, I have called before breakfast to inquire how you and Hedda are after returning late last night from your long honeymoon. Oh, dear me, yes; am I not your old aunt, and are not these attentions usual in Norway? GEORGE. Good Lord, yes! My six months' honeymoon has been quite a little travelling scholarship, eh? I have been examining archives. Think of _that_! Look here, I'm going to write a book all about the domestic interests of the Cave-dwellers during the Deluge. I'm a clever young Norwegian man of letters, eh? AUNT JULIE. Fancy your knowing about that too! Now, dear me, thank Heaven! GEORGE. Let me, as a dutiful Norwegian nephew, untie that smart, showy hat of yours. [_Unties it, and pats her under the chin._] Well, to be sure, you have got yourself really up--fancy that! [_He puts hat on chair close to table._ AUNT JULIE. [_Giggling._] It was for Hedda's sake--to go out walking with her in. [HEDDA _approaches from the back-room; she is pallid, with cold, open, steel-grey eyes; her hair is not very thick, but what there is of it is an agreeable medium brown._] Ah, dear Hedda! [_She attempts to cuddle her._ HEDDA. [_Shrinking back._] Ugh, let me go, do! [_Looking at_ AUNT JULIE'S _hat._] Tesman, you must really tell the housemaid not to leave her old hat about on the drawing-room chairs. Oh, is it _your_ hat? Sorry I spoke, I'm sure! AUNT JULIE. [_Annoyed._] Good gracious, little Mrs. Hedda; my nice new hat that I bought to go out walking with _you_ in! GEORGE. [_Patting her on the back._] Yes, Hedda, she did, and the parasol too! Fancy, Aunt Julie always positively thinks of everything, eh? HEDDA. [_Coldly._] You hold _your_ tongue. Catch me going out walking with your aunt! One doesn't _do_ such things. GEORGE. [_Beaming._] Isn't she a charming woman? Such fascinating manners! My goodness, eh? Fancy that! AUNT JULIE. Ah, dear George, you ought indeed to be happy--but [_brings out a flat package wrapped in newspaper_] look _here_, my dear boy! GEORGE. [_Opens it._] What? my dear old morning shoes! my slippers! [_Breaks down._] This is positively too touching, Hedda, eh? Do you remember how badly I wanted them all the honeymoon? Come and just have a look at them--you _may_! HEDDA. Bother your old slippers and your old aunt too! [AUNT JULIE _goes out annoyed, followed by_ GEORGE, _still thanking her warmly for the slippers;_ HEDDA _yawns;_ GEORGE _comes back and places his old slippers reverently on the table._] Why, here comes Mrs. Elvsted--_another_ early caller! She had irritating hair, and went about making a sensation with it--an old flame of yours, I've heard. [_Enter_ MRS. ELVSTED; _she is pretty and gentle, with copious wavy white-gold hair and round prominent eyes, and the manner of a frightened rabbit._ MRS. ELVSTED. [_Nervous._] Oh, please, I'm so perfectly in despair. Ejlert Lövborg, you know, who was our tutor; he's written such a large new book. I inspired him. Oh, I know I don't look like it--but I did--he told me so. And, good gracious! now he's in this dangerous wicked town all alone, and he's a reformed character, and I'm _so_ frightened about him; so, as the wife of a sheriff twenty years older than me, I came up to look after Mr. Lövborg. Do ask him here--then I can meet him. You will? How perfectly lovely of you! My husband's _so_ fond of him! HEDDA. George, go and write an invitation at once; do you hear? [GEORGE _looks around for his slippers, takes them up and goes out._] Now we can talk, my little Thea. Do you remember how I used to pull your hair when we met on the stairs, and say I would scorch it off? Seeing people with copious hair always _does_ irritate me. MRS. ELVSTED. Goodness, yes, you were always so playful and friendly, and I was so afraid of you. I am still. And please, I've run away from my husband. Everything around him was distasteful to me. And Mr. Lövborg and I were comrades--he was dissipated, and I got a sort of power over him, and he made a real person out of me--which I wasn't before, you know; but, oh, I do hope I'm real now. He talked to me and taught me to think--chiefly of him. So, when Mr. Lövborg came here, naturally I came too. There was nothing else to do! And fancy, there is another woman whose shadow still stands between him and me! She wanted to shoot him once, and so, of course, he can never forget her. I wish I knew her name--perhaps it was that red-haired opera-singer? HEDDA. [_With cold self-command._] Very likely--but nobody does that sort of thing here. Hush! Run away now. Here comes Tesman with Judge Brack. [MRS. ELVSTED _goes out;_ GEORGE _comes in with_ JUDGE BRACK, _who is a short and elastic gentleman, with a round face, carefully brushed hair, and distinguished profile._] How awfully funny you do look by daylight, Judge! BRACK. [_Holding his hat and dropping his eye-glass._] Sincerest thanks. Still the same graceful manners, dear little Mrs. Hed--Tesman! I came to invite dear Tesman to a little bachelor-party to celebrate his return from his long honeymoon. It is customary in Scandinavian society. It will be a lively affair, for I am a gay Norwegian dog. [Illustration: "I am a gay Norwegian dog."] GEORGE. Asked out--without my wife! Think of that! Eh? Oh, dear me, yes, _I_'ll come! BRACK. By the way, Lövborg is here; he has written a wonderful book, which has made a quite extraordinary sensation. Bless me, yes! GEORGE. Lövborg--fancy! Well, I _am_--glad. Such marvellous gifts! And I was so painfully certain he had gone to the bad. Fancy that, eh? But what will become of him _now_, poor fellow, eh? I am so anxious to know! BRACK. Well, he may possibly put up for the Professorship against you, and, though you _are_ an uncommonly clever man of letters--for a Norwegian--it's not wholly improbable that he may cut you out! GEORGE. But, look here, good Lord, Judge Brack!--[_gesticulating_]--that would show an incredible want of consideration for me! I married on my chance of _getting_ that professorship. A man like Lövborg, too, who hasn't even been respectable, eh? One doesn't do such things as that! BRACK. Really? You forget we are all realistic and unconventional persons here, and do all kinds of odd things. But don't worry yourself! [_He goes out._ GEORGE. [_To_ HEDDA.] Oh, I say, Hedda, what's to become of our fairyland now, eh? We can't have a liveried servant, or give dinner parties, or have a horse for riding. Fancy that! HEDDA. [_Slowly, and wearily._] No, we shall really have to set up as fairies in reduced circumstances, now. GEORGE. [_Cheering up._] Still, we shall see Aunt Julie every day, and _that_ will be something, and I've got back my old slippers. We shan't be altogether without some amusements, eh? HEDDA. [_Crosses the floor._] Not while I have one thing to amuse myself with, at all events. GEORGE. [_Beaming with joy._] Oh, Heaven be praised and thanked for that! My goodness, so you have! And what may _that_ be, Hedda, eh? HEDDA. [_At the doorway, with suppressed scorn._] Yes, George you have the old slippers of the attentive aunt, and I have the horse-pistols of the deceased general! GEORGE. [_In an agony._] The pistols! Oh, my goodness! _what_ pistols? HEDDA. [_With cold eyes._] General Gabler's pistols--same which I shot--[_recollecting herself_]--no, that's Thackeray, not Ibsen--a _very_ different person. [_She goes through the back drawing-room._ GEORGE. [_At doorway, shouting after her._] Dearest Hedda, _not_ those dangerous things, eh? Why, they have never once been known to shoot straight yet! Don't! Have a catapult. For _my_ sake, have a catapult! [_Curtain._ * * * * * ACT SECOND SCENE--_The cheerful dark drawing-room. It is afternoon._ HEDDA _stands loading a revolver in the back drawing-room_. HEDDA. [_Looking out and shouting._] How do you do, Judge? [_Aims at him._] Mind yourself! [_She fires._ BRACK. [_Entering._] What the devil! Do you usually take pot-shots at casual visitors? [_Annoyed._ HEDDA. Invariably, when they come by the back-garden. It is my unconventional way of intimating that I am at home. One does do these things in realistic dramas, you know. And I was only aiming at the blue sky. BRACK. Which accounts for the condition of my hat. [_Exhibiting it._] Look here--_riddled!_ HEDDA. Couldn't help myself. I am so horribly bored with Tesman. Everlastingly to be with a professional person! BRACK. [_Sympathetically._] Our excellent Tesman is certainly a bit of a bore. [_Looks searchingly at her._] What on earth made you marry him? HEDDA. Tired of dancing, my dear, that's all. And then I used Tesman to take me home from parties; and we saw this villa; and I said I liked it, and so did he; and so we found some common ground, and here we are, do you see! And I loathe Tesman, and I don't even like the villa now; and I do feel the want of an entertaining companion so! BRACK. Try me. Just the kind of three-cornered arrangement that I like. Let me be the third person in the compartment--[_confidentially_]--the tried friend, and, generally speaking, cock of the walk! HEDDA. [_Audibly drawing in her breath._] I cannot resist your polished way of putting things. We will conclude a triple alliance. But hush!--here comes Tesman. [_Enter_ GEORGE _with a number of books under his arm._ GEORGE. Puff! I _am_ hot, Hedda. I've been looking into Lövborg's new book. Wonderfully thoughtful--confound him! But I must go and dress for your party, Judge. [_He goes out._ HEDDA. I wish I could get Tesman to take to politics, Judge. Couldn't he be a Cabinet Minister, or something? BRACK. H'm! [_A short pause; both look at one another, without speaking. Enter_ GEORGE, _in evening dress with gloves._ GEORGE. It is afternoon, and your party is at half-past seven--but I like to dress early. Fancy that! And I am expecting Lövborg. EJLERT LÖVBORG _comes in from the hall; he is worn and pale, with red patches on his cheek-bones, and wears an elegant perfectly new visiting-suit and black gloves._ GEORGE. Welcome! [_Introduces him to_ BRACK.] Listen--I have got your new book, but I haven't read it through yet. LÖVBORG. You needn't--it's rubbish. [_Takes a packet of MSS. out._] This _isn't_. It's in three parts; the first about the civilising forces of the future, the second about the future of the civilising forces, and the third about the forces of the future civilisation. I thought I'd read you a little of it this evening? BRACK _and_ GEORGE. [_Hastily._] Awfully nice of you--but there's a little party this evening--so sorry we can't stop! Won't you come too? HEDDA. No, he must stop and read it to me and Mrs. Elvsted instead. GEORGE. It would never have occurred to me to think of such clever things! Are you going to oppose me for the professorship, eh? LÖVBORG. [_Modestly._] No; I shall only triumph over you in the popular judgment--that's all! GEORGE. Oh, is that all? Fancy! Let us go into the back drawing-room and drink cold punch. LÖVBORG. Thanks--but I am a reformed character, and have renounced cold punch--it is poison. [GEORGE _and_ BRACK _go into the back-room and drink punch, whilst_ HEDDA _shows_ LÖVBORG _a photograph album in the front._ LÖVBORG. [_Slowly, in a low tone._] Hedda Gabler! how _could_ you throw yourself away like this!--Oh, is _that_ the Ortler Group? Beautiful!----Have you forgotten how we used to sit on the settee together behind an illustrated paper, and--yes, very picturesque peaks--I told you all about how I had been on the loose? HEDDA. Now, none of that here! These are the Dolomites.--Yes, I remember; it was a beautiful fascinating Norwegian intimacy--but it's over now. See, we spent a night in that little mountain village, Tesman and I. LÖVBORG. Did you, indeed? Do you remember that delicious moment when you threatened to shoot me down? [_Tenderly._] I do! HEDDA. [_Carelessly._] Did I! I have done that to so many people. But now all that is past, and you have found the loveliest consolation in dear, good, little Mrs. Elvsted--ah, here she is! [_Enter_ MRS. ELVSTED.] Now, Thea, sit down and drink up a good glass of cold punch. Mr. Lövborg is going to have some. If you don't, Mr. Lövborg, George and the Judge will think you are afraid of taking too much if you once begin. MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, please, Hedda! When I've inspired Mr. Lövborg so--good gracious! _don't_ make him drink cold punch! HEDDA. You see, Mr. Lövborg, our dear little friend can't trust you! LÖVBORG. So _that_ is my comrade's faith in me! [_Gloomily._] _I'll_ show her if I am to be trusted or not. [_He drinks a glass of punch._] Now I'll go to the Judge's party. I'll have another glass first. Your health, Thea! So you came up to spy on me, eh? I'll drink the Sheriff's health--_everybody's_ health! [_He tries to get more punch._ HEDDA. [_Stopping him._] No more now. You are going to a party, remember. [GEORGE _and_ TESMAN _come in from back-room._ LÖVBORG. Don't be angry, Thea. I was fallen for a moment. Now I'm up again! [MRS. ELVSTED _beams with delight._] Judge, I'll come to your party, as you _are_ so pressing, and I'll read George my manuscript all the evening. I'll do all in _my_ power to make that party go! GEORGE. No? fancy! that _will_ be amusing! HEDDA. There, go away, you wild rollicking creatures! But Mr. Lövborg must be back at ten, to take dear Thea home! MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, goodness, yes! [_In concealed agony._] Mr. Lövborg, I shan't go away till you do! [_The three men go out laughing merrily; the Act-drop is lowered for a minute; when it is raised, it is 7_ A.M., _and_ MRS. ELVSTED _and_ HEDDA _are discovered sitting up, with rugs around them._ MRS. ELVSTED. [_Wearily._] Seven in the morning, and Mr. Lövborg not here to take me home _yet_! what can he be doing? HEDDA. [_Yawning._] Reading to Tesman, with vine-leaves in his hair, I suppose. Perhaps he has got to the third part. MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, do you _really_ think so, Hedda. Oh, if I could but hope he was doing that! HEDDA. You silly little ninny! I should like to scorch your hair off. Go to bed! [MRS. ELVSTED _goes_. [_Enter_ GEORGE. GEORGE. I'm a little late, eh? But we made _such_ a night of it. Fancy! It was most amusing. Ejlert read his book to me--think of that! Astonishing book! Oh, we really had great fun! I wish _I'd_ written it. Pity he's so irreclaimable. HEDDA. I suppose you mean he has more of the courage of life than most people? GEORGE. Good Lord! He had the courage to get more drunk than most people. But, altogether, it was what you might almost call a Bacchanalian orgy. We finished up by going to have early coffee with some of these jolly chaps, and poor old Lövborg dropped his precious manuscript in the mud, and I picked it up--and here it is! Fancy if anything were to happen to it! He never could write it again. _Wouldn't_ it be sad, eh? Don't tell any one about it. [_He leaves the packet of MSS. on a chair, and rushes out_; HEDDA _hides the packet as_ BRACK _enters._ BRACK. _Another_ early call, you see! My party was such a singularly animated _soirée_ that I haven't undressed all night. Oh, it was the liveliest affair conceivable! And, like a true Norwegian host, I tracked Lövborg home; and it is only my duty, as a friend of the house, and cock of the walk, to take the first opportunity of telling you that he finished up the evening by coming to mere loggerheads with a red-haired opera-singer, and being taken off to the police-station! You mustn't have him here any more. Remember our little triple alliance! HEDDA. [_Her smile fading away._] You are certainly a dangerous person--but you must not get a hold over _me_! BRACK. [_Ambiguously._] What an idea! But I might--I am an insinuating dog. Good morning! [_Goes out._ LÖVBORG. [_Bursting in, confused and excited._] I suppose you've heard where _I've_ been? HEDDA. [_Evasively._] I heard you had a very jolly party at Judge Brack's. [MRS. ELVSTED _comes in._ LÖVBORG. It's all over. I don't mean to do any more work. I've no use for a companion now, Thea. Go home to your sheriff! MRS. ELVSTED. [_Agitated._] Never! I want to be with you when your book comes out! LÖVBORG. It won't _come_ out--I've torn it up! [MRS. ELVSTED _rushes out, wringing her hands._] Mrs. Tesman, I told her a lie--but no matter. I haven't torn my book up--I've done worse! I've taken it about to several parties, and it's been through a police-row with me--now I've lost it. Even if I found it again, it wouldn't be the same--not to me! I am a Norwegian literary man, and peculiar. So I must make an end of it altogether! [Illustration: "I am a Norwegian literary man, and peculiar."] HEDDA. Quite so--but look here, you must do it beautifully. I don't insist on your putting vine-leaves in your hair--but do it beautifully. [_Fetches pistol._] See, here is one of General Gabler's pistols--do it with _that_! LÖVBORG. Thanks! [_He takes the pistol, and goes out through the hall-door; as soon as he has gone_, HEDDA _brings out the manuscript, and puts it on the fire, whispering to herself, as Curtain falls._ * * * * * ACT THREE SCENE.--_The same room, but_--_it being evening_--_darker than ever. The crape curtains are drawn. A servant, with black ribbons in her cap, and red eyes, comes in and lights the gas quietly and carefully. Chords are heard on the piano in the back drawing-room. Presently_ HEDDA _comes in and looks out into the darkness. A short pause. Enter_ GEORGE TESMAN. GEORGE. I am _so_ uneasy about poor Lövborg. Fancy! he is not at home. Mrs. Elvsted told me he has been here early this morning, so I suppose you gave him back his manuscript, eh? HEDDA. [_Cold and immovable, supported by arm-chair._] No, I put it on the fire instead. GEORGE. On the fire! Lövborg's wonderful new book that he read to me at Brack's party, when we had that wild revelry last night! Fancy _that_! But, I say, Hedda--isn't that _rather_--eh? _Too_ bad, you know--really. A great work like that. How on earth did you come to think of it? HEDDA. [_Suppressing an almost imperceptible smile._] Well, dear George, you gave me a tolerably strong hint. GEORGE. Me? Well, to be sure--that _is_ a joke! Why, I only said that I envied him for writing such a book, and it would put me entirely in the shade if it came out, and if anything was to happen to it, I should never forgive myself, as poor Lövborg couldn't write it all over again, and so we must take the greatest care of it! And then I left it on a chair and went away--that was all! And you went and burnt the book all up! Bless me, who _would_ have expected it? HEDDA. Nobody, you dear simple old soul! But I did it for your sake--it was _love_, George! GEORGE. [_In an outburst between doubt and joy._] Hedda, you don't mean that! Your love takes such queer forms sometimes. Yes, but yes--[_laughing in excess of joy_]--why, you _must_ be fond of me! Just think of that now! Well, you _are_ fun, Hedda! Look here, I must just run and tell the housemaid that--she will enjoy the joke so, eh? HEDDA. [_Coldly, in self-command._] It is surely not necessary even for a clever Norwegian man of letters in a realistic social drama, to make quite such a fool of himself as all that. GEORGE. No, that's true too. Perhaps we'd better keep it quiet--though I _must_ tell Aunt Julie--it will make her so happy to hear that you burnt a manuscript on my account! And, besides, I should like to ask her whether that's a usual thing with young wives. [_Looks uneasy and pensive again._] But poor old Ejlert's manuscript! Oh Lor', you know! Well, well! [MRS. ELVSTED _comes in._ MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, please, I'm so uneasy about dear Mr. Lövborg. Something has happened to him, I'm sure! [JUDGE BRACK _comes in from the hall, with a new hat in his hand._ BRACK. You have guessed it, first time. Something _has_! MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, dear, good gracious! What is it? Something distressing, I'm certain of it! [_Shrieks aloud._ BRACK. [_Pleasantly._] That depends on how one takes it. He has shot himself, and is in a hospital now, that's all! GEORGE. [_Sympathetically._] That's sad, eh? poor old Lövborg! Well, I _am_ cut up to hear that. Fancy, though, eh? HEDDA. Was it through the temple, or through the breast? The breast? Well, one can do it beautifully through the breast, too. Do you know, as an advanced woman, I like an act of that sort--it's so positive to have the courage to settle the account with himself--it's beautiful, really! MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, Hedda, what an odd way to look at it! But never mind poor dear Mr. Lövborg now. What _we've_ got to do is to see if we can't put his wonderful manuscript, that he said he had torn to pieces, together again. [_Takes a bundle of small pages out of the pocket of her mantle._] There are the loose scraps he dictated it to me from. I hid them on the chance of some such emergency. And if dear Mr. Tesman and I were to put our heads together, I _do_ think something might come of it. GEORGE. Fancy! I will dedicate my life--or all I can spare of it--to the task. I seem to feel I owe him some slight amends, perhaps. No use crying over spilt milk, eh, Mrs. Elvsted? We'll sit down--just you and I--in the back drawing-room, and see if you can't inspire me as you did him, eh? MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, goodness, yes! I should like it--if it only might be possible! [GEORGE _and_ MRS. ELVSTED _go into the back drawing-room and become absorbed in eager conversation_; HEDDA _sits in a chair in the front room, and a little later_ BRACK _crosses over to her_ HEDDA. [_In a low tone._] Oh, Judge, _what_ a relief to know that everything--including Lövborg's pistol--went off so well! In the breast! Isn't there a veil of unintentional beauty in that? Such an act of voluntary courage, too! BRACK. [_Smiles._] H'm!--perhaps, dear Mrs. Hedda---- HEDDA. [_Enthusiastically._] But _wasn't_ it sweet of him! To have the courage to live his own life after his own fashion--to break away from the banquet of life--_so_ early and _so_ drunk! A beautiful act like that _does_ appeal to a superior woman's imagination! BRACK. Sorry to shatter your poetical illusions, little Mrs. Hedda, but, as a matter of fact, our lamented friend met his end under other circumstances. The shot did _not_ strike him in the _breast_--but---- [_Pauses._ HEDDA. [_Excitedly._] General Gabler's pistols! I might have known it! Did they _ever_ shoot straight? Where _was_ he hit, then? BRACK. [_In a discreet undertone._] A little lower down! HEDDA. Oh, _how_ disgusting!--how vulgar!--how ridiculous!--like everything else about me! BRACK. Yes, we're realistic types of human nature, and all that--but a trifle squalid, perhaps. And why did you give Lövborg your pistol, when it was certain to be traced by the police? For a charming cold-blooded woman with a clear head and no scruples, wasn't it just a leetle foolish! HEDDA. Perhaps; but I wanted him to do it beautifully, and he didn't! Oh, I've just admitted that I _did_ give him the pistol--how annoyingly unwise of me! Now I'm in _your_ power, I suppose? BRACK. Precisely--for some reason it's not easy to understand. But it's inevitable, and you know how you dread anything approaching scandal. All your past proceedings show that. [_To_ GEORGE _and_ MRS. ELVSTED _who come in together from the back-room._] Well, how are you getting on with the reconstruction of poor Lövborg's great work, eh? GEORGE. Capitally; we've made out the first two parts already. And really, Hedda, I do believe Mrs. Elvsted _is_ inspiring me; I begin to feel it coming on. Fancy that! MRS. ELVSTED. Yes, goodness! Hedda, _won't_ it be lovely if I can. I mean to try _so_ hard! HEDDA. Do, you dear little silly rabbit; and while you are trying I will go into the back drawing-room and lie down. [_She goes into the back room and draws the curtains. Short pause. Suddenly she is heard playing_ "The Bogie Man" _within on the piano._ GEORGE. But, dearest Hedda, don't play "_The Bogie Man_" this evening. As one of my aunts is dead, and poor old Lövborg has shot himself, it seems just a little pointed, eh? HEDDA. [_Puts her head out between the curtains._] All right. I'll be quiet after this. I'm going to practise with the late General Gabler's pistol! [_Closes the curtains again;_ GEORGE _gets behind the stove_, JUDGE BRACK _under the table, and_ MRS. ELVSTED _under the sofa. A shot is heard within._ GEORGE. [_Behind the stove._] Eh, look here, I tell you what--she's hit me! Think of that! [_His legs are visibly agitated for a short time. Another shot is heard._ MRS. ELVSTED. [_Under the sofa._] Oh, please, not me! Oh, goodness, now I can't inspire anybody any more. Oh! [_Her feet, which can be seen under the valance, quiver a little and then are suddenly still._ BRACK. [_Vivaciously, from under the table._] I say, Mrs. Hedda, I'm coming in every evening--we will have great fun here togeth----[_Another shot is heard._] Bless me! to bring down the poor old cock-of-the-walk--it's unsportsmanlike!--people don't _do_ such things as that! [_The table-cloth is violently agitated for a minute, and presently the curtains open, and_ HEDDA _appears._ HEDDA. [_Clearly and firmly._] I've been trying in there to shoot myself beautifully--but with General Gabler's pistol--[_She lifts the table-cloth, then looks behind the stove and under the sofa._] What! the accounts of all those everlasting bores settled? Then my suicide becomes unnecessary. Yes, I feel the courage of life once more! [_She goes into the back-room and plays_ "The Funeral March of a Marionette" _as the Curtain falls._] [Illustration: "What! the accounts of all those everlasting bores settled?"] * * * * * THE WILD DUCK ACT FIRST _At_ WERLE'S _house. In front a richly-upholstered study._ (R.) _A green baize door leading to_ WERLE'S _office. At back, open folding doors, revealing an elegant dining-room, in which a brilliant Norwegian dinner-party is going on. Hired Waiters in profusion. A glass is tapped with a knife. Shouts of "Bravo!" Old Mr._ WERLE _is heard making a long speech, proposing--according to the custom of Norwegian society on such occasions--the health of his House-keeper, Mrs._ SÖRBY. _Presently several short-sighted, flabby, and thin-haired_ CHAMBERLAINS _enter from the dining-room with_ HIALMAR EKDAL, _who writhes shyly under their remarks._ A CHAMBERLAIN. As we are the sole surviving specimens of Norwegian nobility, suppose we sustain our reputation as aristocratic sparklers by enlarging upon the enormous amount we have eaten, and chaffing Hialmar Ekdal, the friend of our host's son, for being a professional photographer? THE OTHER CHAMBERLAINS. Bravo! We will. [_They do; delight of_ HIALMAR. OLD WERLE _comes in, leaning on his Housekeeper's arm, followed by his son,_ GREGERS WERLE. OLD WERLE. [_Dejectedly._] Thirteen at table! [_To_ GREGERS, _with a meaning glance at_ HIALMAR.] This is the result of inviting an old college friend who has turned photographer! Wasting vintage wines on _him_, indeed. [_He passes on gloomily._ HIALMAR. [_To_ GREGERS.] I am almost sorry I came. Your old man is _not_ friendly. Yet he set me up as a photographer fifteen years ago. _Now_ he takes me down! But for him, I should never have married Gina, who, you may remember, was a servant in your family once. GREGERS. What? my old college friend married fifteen years ago--and to our Gina, of all people! If I had not been up at the works all these years, I suppose I should have heard something of such an event. But my father never mentioned it. Odd! [_He ponders_; OLD EKDAL _comes out through the green baize-door, bowing, and begging pardon, carrying copying work_. OLD WERLE _says "Ugh" and "Pah" involuntarily._ HIALMAR _shrinks back, and looks another way. A_ CHAMBERLAIN _asks him pleasantly if he knows that old man._ HIALMAR. I--oh no. Not in the least. No relation! GREGERS. [_Shocked._] What, Hialmar, you, with your great soul, deny your own father! HIALMAR. [_Vehemently._] Of course--what else _can_ a photographer do with a disreputable old parent, who has been in a penitentiary for making a fraudulent map? I shall leave this splendid banquet. The Chamberlains are not kind to me, and I feel the crushing hand of fate on my head! [_Goes out hastily, feeling it._ MRS. SÖRBY. [_Archly._] Any nobleman here say "Cold Punch"? [_Every nobleman says "Cold Punch" and follows her out in search of it with enthusiasm._ GREGERS _approaches his father, who wishes he would go_. GREGERS. Father, a word with you in private. I loathe you. I am nothing if not candid. Old Ekdal was your partner once, and it's my firm belief you deserved a prison quite as much as he did. However, you surely need not have married our Gina to my old friend Hialmar. You know very well she was no better than she should have been! [Illustration: "Father, a word with you in private: I loathe you." ] OLD WERLE. True--but then no more is Mrs. Sörby. And _I_ am going to marry _her_--if you have no objection, that is. GREGERS. None in the world! How can I object to a step-mother who is playing Blind Man's Buff at the present moment with the Norwegian nobility? I am not so overstrained as all that. But really I can_not_ allow my old friend Hialmar, with his great, confiding, childlike mind, to remain in contented ignorance of Gina's past. No, I see my mission in life at last! I shall take my hat, and inform him that his home is built upon a lie. He will be _so_ much obliged to me! [_Takes his hat, and goes out._ OLD WERLE. Ha!--I am a wealthy merchant, of dubious morals, and I am about to marry my house-keeper, who is on intimate terms with the Norwegian aristocracy. I have a son who loathes me, and who is either an Ibsenian satire on the Master's own ideals, or else an utterly impossible prig--I don't know or care which. Altogether, I flatter myself my household affords an accurate and realistic picture of Scandinavian Society! [_Curtain._ * * * * * ACT SECOND HIALMAR EKDAL'S _Photographic Studio. Cameras, neck-rests, and other instruments of torture lying about._ GINA EKDAL _and_ HEDVIG, _her daughter, aged 14, and wearing spectacles, discovered sitting up for_ HIALMAR. HEDVIG. Grandpapa is in his room with a bottle of brandy and a jug of hot water, doing some fresh copying work. Father is in society, dining out. He promised he would bring me home something nice! HIALMAR. [_Coming in, in evening dress._] And he has not forgotten his promise, my child. Behold! [_He presents her with the menu card_; HEDVIG _gulps down her tears_; HIALMAR _notices her disappointment, with annoyance_.] And this all the gratitude I get! After dining out and coming home in a dress-coat and boots, which are disgracefully tight! Well well, just to show you how hurt I am, I won't have any _beer_ now! What a selfish brute I am! [_Relenting._] You may bring me just a little drop. [_He bursts into tears._] I will play you a plaintive Bohemian dance on my flute. [_He does._] No beer at such a sacred moment as this! [_He drinks._] Ha, this is real domestic bliss! [GREGERS WERLE _comes in, in a countrified suit_. GREGERS. I have left my father's home--dinner-party and all--for ever. I am coming to lodge with you. HIALMAR. [_Still melancholy._] Have some bread and butter. You won't?--then I _will_. I want it, after your father's lavish hospitality. [HEDVIG _goes to fetch bread and butter_.] My daughter--a poor short-sighted little thing--but mine own. GREGERS. My father has had to take to strong glasses, too--he can hardly see after dinner. [_To_ OLD EKDAL, _who stumbles in very drunk_.] How can you, Lieutenant Ekdal, who were such a keen sportsman once, live in this poky little hole? OLD EKDAL. I am a sportsman still. The only difference is that once I shot bears in a forest, and now I pot tame rabbits in a garret. Quite as amusing--and safer. [_He goes to sleep on a sofa._ HIALMAR. [_With pride._] It is quite true. You shall see. [_He pushes back sliding doors, and reveals a garret full of rabbits and poultry--moonlight effect._ HEDVIG _returns with bread and butter_. HEDVIG. [_To_ GREGERS.] If you stand just there, you get the best view of our Wild Duck. We are very proud of her, because she gives the play its title, you know, and has to be brought into the dialogue a good deal. Your father peppered her out shooting, and we saved her life. HIALMAR. Yes, Gregers, our estate is not large--but still we preserve, you see. And my poor old father and I sometimes get a day's gunning in the garret. He shoots with a pistol, which my illiterate wife here _will_ call a "pigstol." He once, when he got into trouble, pointed it at himself. But the descendant of two lieutenant-colonels who had never quailed before living rabbit yet, faltered then. He _didn't_ shoot. Then I put it to my own head. But at the decisive moment, I won the victory over myself. I remained in life. Now we only shoot rabbits and fowls with it. After all I am very happy and contented as I am. [_He eats some bread and butter._ GREGERS. But you ought _not_ to be. You have a good deal of the Wild Duck about you. So have your wife and daughter. You are living in marsh vapours. Tomorrow I will take you out for a walk and explain what I mean. It is my mission in life. Good night! [_He goes out._ GINA AND HEDVIG. What _was_ the gentleman talking about, father? HIALMAR. [_Eating bread and butter._] He has been dining, you know. No matter--what _we_ have to do now, is to put my disreputable old whitehaired pariah of a parent to bed. [_He and_ GINA _lift_ OLD ECCLES--_we mean_ OLD EKDAL--_up by the legs and arms, and take him off to bed as the Curtain falls_. * * * * * ACT THREE HIALMAR'S _Studio. A photograph has just been taken._ GINA _and_ HEDVIG _are tidying up._ GINA. [_Apologetically._] There _should_ have been a luncheon-party in this act, with Dr. Relling and Mölvik, who would have been in a state of comic "chippiness," after his excesses overnight. But, as it hadn't much to do with such plot as there is, we cut it out. It came cheaper. Here comes your father back from his walk with that lunatic, young Werle--you had better go and play with the Wild Duck. [HEDVIG _goes_. HIALMAR. [_Coming in._] I have been for a walk with Gregers; he meant well--but it was tiring. Gina, he has told me that, fifteen years ago, before I married you, you were rather a Wild Duck, so to speak. [_Severely._] Why haven't you been writhing in penitence and remorse all these years, eh? GINA. [_Sensibly._] Why? Because I have had other things to do. _You_ wouldn't take any photographs, so I _had_ to. HIALMAR. All the same--it was a swamp of deceit. And where am I to find elasticity of spirit to bring out my grand invention now? I used to shut myself up in the parlour, and ponder and cry, when I thought that the effort of inventing anything would sap my vitality. [_Pathetically._] I _did_ want to leave you an inventor's widow; but I never shall now, particularly as I haven't made up my mind what to invent yet. Yes, it's all over. Rabbits are trash, and even poultry palls. And I'll wring that cursed Wild Duck's neck! GREGERS. [_Coming in beaming._] Well, so you've got it over. _Wasn't_ it soothing and ennobling, eh? and _ain't_ you both obliged to me? GINA. No; it's my opinion you'd better have minded your own business. [_Weeps._ GREGERS. [_In great surprise._] Bless me! Pardon my Norwegian _naïveté_, but this ought really to be quite a new starting-point. Why, I confidently expected to have found you both beaming!--Mrs. Ekdal, being so illiterate, may take some little time to see it--but you, Hialmar, with your deep mind, surely _you_ feel a new consecration, eh? HIALMAR. [_Dubiously._] Oh--er--yes. I suppose so--in a sort of way. [HEDVIG _runs in, overjoyed._ HEDVIG. Father, only see what Mrs. Sörby has given me for a birthday present--a beautiful deed of gift! [_Shows it._ HIALMAR. [_Eluding her._] Ha! Mrs. Sörby, the family house-keeper. My father's sight failing! Hedvig in goggles! What vistas of heredity these astonishing coincidences open up! _I_ am not short-sighted, at all events, and I see it all--all! _This_ is my answer. [_He takes the deed, and tears it across._] Now I have nothing more to do in this house. [_Puts on overcoat._] My home has fallen in ruins about me. [_Bursts into tears._] My hat! GREGERS. Oh, but you _mustn't_ go. You must be all three together, to attain the true frame of mind for self-sacrificing forgiveness, you know! HIALMAR. Self-sacrificing forgiveness be blowed! [_He tears himself away, and goes out._ HEDVIG. [_With despairing eyes._] Oh, he said it might be blowed! Now he'll _never_ come home any more! GREGERS. Shall I tell you how to regain your father's confidence, and bring him home surely? Sacrifice the Wild Duck. HEDVIG. Do you think that will do any good? GREGERS. You just _try_ it! [_Curtain._ * * * * * ACT FOURTH _Same Scene._ GREGERS _enters, and finds_ GINA _retouching photographs_. GREGERS. [_Pleasantly._] Hialmar not come in yet, after last night, I suppose? GINA. Not he! He's been out on the loose all night with Relling and Mölvik. Now he's snoring on their sofa. GREGERS. [_Disappointed._] Dear!--dear!--when he ought to be yearning to wrestle in solitude and self-examination! GINA. [_Rudely._] Self-examine your grandmother! [_She goes out_; HEDVIG _comes in_. GREGERS. [_To_ HEDVIG.] Ah, I see you haven't found courage to settle the Wild Duck yet! HEDVIG. No--it seemed such a delightful idea at first. Now it strikes me as a trifle--well, _Ibsenish_. 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 constitution'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 flashing 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-butter and coffee._] Go and pack up my scientific uncut books, my manuscripts, 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 butt-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 noble 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 rubbish! 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! [Illustration: "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 [PREFATORY NOTE.--The original title--_Mester-Pjil-drögster Herdal_--would sound a trifle too uncouth to the Philistine ear, and is therefore modified as above, although the term "drögster," strictly speaking, denotes a practitioner who has not received a regular diploma]. ACT FIRST _An elegantly furnished drawing-room at_ Dr. HERDAL'S. _In front, on the left, a console-table, on which is a large round bottle full of coloured water. On the right a stove, with a banner-screen made out of a richly-embroidered chest-protector. On the stove, a stethoscope and a small galvanic battery. In one corner, a hat and umbrella stand: in another, a desk, at which stands_ SENNA BLAKDRAF, _making out the quarterly accounts. Through a glass-door at the back is seen the Dispensary, where_ RÜBUB KALOMEL _is seated, occupied in rolling a pill. Both go on working in perfect silence for four minutes and a half._ DR. HAUSTUS HERDAL. [_Enters through hall-door; he is elderly, with a plain sensible countenance, but slightly weak hair and expression._] Come here Miss Blakdraf. [_Hangs up hat, and throws his mackintosh on a divan._] Have you made out all those bills yet? [_Looks sternly at her._ SENNA. [_In a low hesitating voice._] Almost. I have charged each patient with three attendances daily. Even when you only dropped in for a cup of tea and a chat. [_Passionately._] I felt I _must_--I _must_! DR. HERDAL. [_Alters his tone, clasps her head in his hands, and whispers._] I wish you could make out the bills for me, _always_. SENNA. [_In nervous exaltation._] How lovely that would be! Oh, you are so unspeakably good to me! It is too enthralling to be here! [_Sinks down and embraces his knees._ DR. HERDAL. So I've understood. [_With suppressed irritation._] For goodness' sake, let go my legs! I do _wish_ you wouldn't be so confoundedly neurotic! [Illustration: "For goodness' sake, let go my legs!"] RÜBUB. [_Has risen, and comes in through glass-door, breathing with difficulty; he is a prematurely bald young man of fifty-five, with a harelip, and squints slightly._] I beg pardon, Dr. Herdal, I see I interrupt you. [_As_ SENNA _rises_.] I have just completed this pill. Have you looked at it? [_He offers it for inspection, diffidently._ DR. HERDAL. [_Evasively._] It appears to be a pill of the usual dimensions. RÜBUB. [_Cast down._] All these years you have never given me one encouraging word! _Can't_ you praise my pill? DR. HERDAL. [_Struggles with himself._] I--I cannot. You should not attempt to compound pills on your own account. RÜBUB. [_Breathing laboriously._] And yet there was a time when _you_, too---- DR. HERDAL. [_Complacently._] Yes, it was certainly a pill that came as a lucky stepping stone--but not a pill like that! RÜBUB. [_Vehemently._] Listen! Is that your last word? _Is_ my aged mother to pass out of this world without ever knowing whether I am competent to construct an effective pill or not? DR. HERDAL. [_As if in desperation._] You had better try it upon your mother--it will enable her to form an opinion. Only mind--I will not be responsible for the result. RÜBUB. I understand. Exactly as you tried _your_ pill, all those years ago, upon Dr. Ryval. [_He bows and goes out._ DR. HERDAL. [_Uneasily._] He said that so strangely, Senna. But tell me now--when are you going to marry him? SENNA. [_Starts--half glancing up at him._] I--I don't know. This year--next year--now--_never_! I cannot marry him ... I cannot--I _cannot_--it is so utterly impossible to leave you! DR. HERDAL. Yes, I can understand _that_. But, my poor Senna, hadn't you better take a little walk? SENNA. [_Clasps her hands gratefully._] How sweet and thoughtful you are to me! I _will_ take a walk. DR. HERDAL. [_With a suppressed smile._] Do! And--h'm!--you needn't trouble to come back. I have advertised for a male book-keeper--they are less emotional. Good-night, my little Senna! SENNA. [_Softly and quiveringly._] Good-night, Dr. Herdal! [_Staggers out of hall-door, blowing kisses._ MRS. HERDAL. [_Enters through the window, plaintively._] Quite an acquisition for you, Haustus, this Miss Blakdraf! DR. HERDAL. She's--h'm--extremely civil and obliging. But I am parting with her, Aline--mainly on _your_ account. MRS. HERDAL. [_Evades him._] Was it on my account, indeed, Haustus? You have parted with so many young persons on my account--so you tell me! DR. HERDAL. [_Depressed._] Oh, but this is hopeless! When I have tried so hard to bring a ray of sunlight into your desolate life! I must give Rübub Kalomel notice too--his pill is really too preposterous! MRS. HERDAL. [_Feels gropingly for a chair, and sits down on the floor._] Him, _too_! Ah, Haustus, you will never make my home a real home for me. My poor first husband, Halvard Solness, tried--and _he_ couldn't! When one has had such misfortunes as I have--all the family portraits burnt, and the silk dresses, too, and a pair of twins, and nine lovely dolls. [_Chokes with tears._ DR. HERDAL. [_As if to lead her away from the subject._] Yes, yes, yes, that must have been a heavy blow for you, my poor Aline. I can understand that your spirits can never be really high again. And then for poor Master Builder Solness to be so taken up with that Miss Wangel as he was--that, too, was so wretched for you. To see him topple off the tower, as he did that day ten years ago---- MRS. HERDAL. Yes, that too, Haustus. But I did not mind it so much--it all seemed so perfectly natural in both of them. DR. HERDAL. Natural! For a girl of twenty three to taunt a middle-aged architect, whom she knew to be constitutionally liable to giddiness, never to let him have any peace till he had climbed a spire as dizzy as himself--and all for the fun of seeing him fall off--how in the world----! MRS. HERDAL. [_Laying the table for supper with dried fish and punch._] The younger generation have a keener sense of humour than we elder ones, Haustus, and perhaps after all, she was only a perplexing sort of allegory. DR. HERDAL. Yes, that would explain her to some extent, no doubt. But how _he_ could be such an old fool! MRS. HERDAL. That Miss Wangel was a strangely fascinating type of girl. Why, even I myself---- DR. HERDAL. [_Sits down and takes some fish._] Fascinating? Well, goodness knows, I couldn't see _that_ at all. [_Seriously._] Has it never struck you, Aline, that elderly Norwegians are so deucedly impressionable--mere bundles of overstrained nerves, hypersensitive ganglia. Except, of course, the Medical Profession. MRS. HERDAL. Yes, of course; those in that profession are not so inclined to gangle. And when one has succeeded by such a stroke of luck as you have---- DR. HERDAL. [_Drinks a glass of punch._] You're right enough there. If I had not been called in to prescribe for Dr. Ryval, who used to have the leading practice here, I should never have stepped so wonderfully into his shoes as I did. [_Changes to a tone of quiet chuckling merriment._] Let me tell you a funny story, Aline; it sounds a ludicrous thing--but all my good fortune here was based upon a simple little pill. For if Dr. Ryval had never taken it---- MRS. HERDAL. [_Anxiously._] Then you _do_ think it was the pill that caused him to----? DR. HERDAL. On the contrary; I am perfectly sure the pill had nothing whatever to do with it--the inquest made it quite clear that it was really the liniment. But don't you see, Aline, what tortures me night and day is the thought that it _might_ unconsciously have been the pill which---- Never to be free from _that_! To have such a thought gnawing and burning always--always, like a moral mustard plaster! [_He takes more punch._ MRS. HERDAL. Yes; I suppose there is a poultice of that sort burning on every breast--and we must never take it off either--it is our simple duty to keep it on. I too, Haustus, am haunted by a fancy that if this Miss Wangel were to ring at our bell now---- DR. HERDAL. After she has been lost sight of for ten years? She is safe enough in some sanatorium, depend upon it. And what if she _did_ come? Do you think, my dear good woman, that I--a sensible clear-headed general practitioner, who have found out all I know for myself--would let her play the deuce with me as she did with poor Halvard? No, general practitioners don't _do_ such things--even in Norway! MRS. HERDAL. Don't they indeed, Haustus? [_The surgery-bell rings loudly._] Did you hear _that_? There she is! I will go and put on my best cap. It is my duty to show her _that_ small attention. DR. HERDAL. [_Laughing nervously._] Why, what on earth!---- It's the night-bell. It is most probably the new book-keeper! [MRS. HERDAL _goes out_; Dr. HERDAL _rises with difficulty, and opens the door_.] Goodness gracious!--it is that girl, after all! [HILDA WANGEL _enters through the dispensary door. She wears a divided skirt, thick boots, and a Tam o' Shanter with an eagle's wing in it. Somewhat freckled. Carries a green tin cylinder slung round her, and a rug in a strap. Goes straight up to_ HERDAL, _her eyes sparkling with happiness_.] How are you? I've run you down, you see! The ten years are up. Isn't it scrumptiously thrilling, to see me like this? DR. HERDAL. [_Politely retreating._] It is--very much so--but still I don't in the least understand---- HILDA. [_Measures him with a glance._] Oh, you _will_. I have come to be of use to you. I've no luggage, and no money. Not that _that_ makes any difference. I never _have_. And I've been allured and attracted here. You surely know how these things come about? [_Throws her arms round him._ DR. HERDAL. What the deuce! Miss Wangel, you _mustn't_. I'm a married man! There's my wife! [MRS. HERDAL _enters_. HILDA. As if _that_ mattered--it's only dear, sweet Mrs. Solness. _She_ doesn't mind--_do_ you, dear Mrs. Solness? MRS. HERDAL. It does not seem to be of much _use_ minding, Miss Wangel. I presume you have come to stay? HILDA. [_In amused surprise._] Why, of course--what else should I come for? I _always_ come to stay, until--h'm! [_Nods slowly, and sits down at table._ DR. HERDAL. [_Involuntarily._] She's drinking my punch! If she thinks I'm going to stand this sort of thing, she's mistaken. I'll soon show her a pill-doctor is a very different kind of person from a mere Master Builder! [HILDA _finishes the punch with an indefinable expression in her eyes, and_ Dr. HERDAL _looks on gloomily as the Curtain falls_. * * * * * ACT SECOND Dr. HERDAL'S _drawing-room and dispensary, as before. It is early in the day._ Dr. HERDAL _sits by the little table, taking his own temperature with a clinical thermometer. By the door stands the_ NEW BOOK-KEEPER; _he wears blue spectacles and a discoloured white tie, and seems slightly nervous_. DR. HERDAL. Well, now you understand what is necessary. My late book-keeper, Miss Blakdraf, used to keep my accounts very cleverly--she charged every visit twice over. THE NEW BOOK-KEEPER. I am familiar with book-keeping by double entry. I was once employed at a bank. DR. HERDAL. I am discharging my assistant, too; he was always trying to push me out with his pills. Perhaps you will be able to dispense? THE NEW BOOK-KEEPER. [_Modestly._] With an additional salary, I should be able to do that too. DR. HERDAL. Capital! You _shall_ dispense with an additional salary. Go into the dispensary, and see what you can make of it. You may mistake a few drugs at first--but everything must have a beginning. [_As the_ NEW BOOK-KEEPER _retires_, MRS. HERDAL _enters in a hat and cloak with a watering-pot, noiselessly_. MRS. HERDAL. Miss Wangel got up early, before breakfast, and went for a walk. She is so wonderfully vivacious! DR. HERDAL. So I should say. But tell me, Aline, is she _really_ going to stay with us here? [_Nervously._ MRS. HERDAL. [_Looks at him._] So she tells me. And, as she has brought nothing with her except a tooth-brush and a powder-puff, I am going into the town to get her a few articles. We _must_ make her feel at home. DR. HERDAL. [_Breaking out._] I _will_ make her not only _feel_ but _be_ at home, wherever that is, this very day! I will _not_ have a perambulating Allegory without a portmanteau here on an indefinite visit. I say, she shall go--do you hear, Aline? Miss Wangel will go! [_Raps with his fist on table._ MRS. HERDAL. [_Quietly._] If you say so, Haustus, no doubt she will _have_ to go. But you must tell her so yourself. [_Puts the watering pot on the console table, and goes out, as_ HILDA _enters, sparkling with pleasure._ HILDA. [_Goes up straight to him._] Good morning, Dr. Herdal. I have just seen a pig killed. It was _ripping_--I mean, gloriously thrilling! And your wife has taken a tremendous fancy to me. Fancy _that_! DR. HERDAL. [_Gloomily._] It _is_ eccentric certainly. But my poor dear wife was always a little---- HILDA. [_Nods her head slowly several times._] So _you_ have noticed that too? I have had a long talk with her. She can't get over your discharging Mr. Kalomel--he is the only man who ever _really_ understood her. DR. HERDAL. If I could only pay her off a little bit of the huge, immeasurable debt I owe her--but I can't! HILDA. [_Looks hard at him._] Can't _I_ help you? I helped Ragnar Brovik. Didn't you know I stayed with him and poor little Kaia--after that accident to my Master Builder? I did. I made Ragnar build me the loveliest castle in the air--lovelier, even, than poor Mr. Solness's would have been--and we stood together on the very top. The steps were rather too much for Kaia. Besides, there was no room for her on top. And he put towering spires on all his semi-detached villas. Only, somehow, they didn't let. Then the castle in the air tumbled down, and Ragnar went into liquidation, and I continued my walking-tour. DR. HERDAL. [_Interested against his will._] And where did you go after _that_, may I ask, Miss Wangel? HILDA. Oh, ever so far north. There I met Mr. and Mrs. Tesman--the second Mrs. Tesman--she who was Mrs. Elvsted, with the irritating hair, you know. They were on their honeymoon, and had just decided that it was impossible to reconstruct poor Mr. Lövborg's great book out of Mrs. Elvsted's rough notes. But I insisted on George's attempting the impossible--with Me. And what _do_ you think Mrs. Tesman wears in her hair _now_? DR. HERDAL. Why, really I could not say. Vine-leaves, perhaps. HILDA. Wrong--_straws_! Poor Tesman _didn't_ fancy that--so he shot himself, _un_-beautifully, through his ticket-pocket. And I went on and took Rosmershölm for the summer. There had been misfortune in the house, so it was to let. Dear good old Rector Kroll acted as my reference; his wife and children had no sympathy with his views, so I used to see him every day. And I persuaded him, too, to attempt the impossible--he had never ridden anything but a rocking-horse in his life, but I made him promise to mount the White Horse of Rosmershölm. He didn't get over _that_. They found his body, a fortnight afterwards, in the mill-dam. Thrilling! DR. HERDAL. [_Shakes his finger at her._] What a girl you are, Miss Wangel! But you mustn't play these games _here_, you know. HILDA. [_Laughs to herself._] Of course not. But I suppose I _am_ a strange sort of bird. DR. HERDAL. You are like a strong tonic. When I look at you I seem to be regarding an effervescing saline draught. Still, I really must decline to take you. HILDA. [_A little sulky._] That is not how you spoke ten years ago, up at the mountain station, when you were such a flirt! DR. HERDAL. _Was_ I a flirt? Deuce take me if I remember. But I am not like that _now_. HILDA. Then you have really forgotten how you sat next to me at the _table d'hôte_, and made pills and swallowed them, and were so splendid and buoyant and free that all the old women who knitted left next day? DR. HERDAL. What a memory you have for trifles, Miss Wangel; it's quite wonderful! HILDA. Trifles! There was no trifling on _your_ part. When you promised to come back in ten years, like a troll, and fetch me! DR. HERDAL. Did I say all that? It _must_ have been _after table d'hôte_! HILDA. It was. I was a mere chit then--only twenty-three; but _I_ remember. And now _I_ have come for _you_. DR. HERDAL. Dear, dear! But there is nothing of the troll about me now I have married Mrs. Solness. HILDA. [_Looking sharply at him._] Yes, I remember you were always dropping in to tea in those days. DR. HERDAL. [_Seems hurt._] Every visit was duly put down in the ledger and charged for--as poor little Senna will tell you. HILDA. Little Senna? Oh, Dr. Herdal, I believe there is a bit of the troll left in you still! DR. HERDAL. [_Laughs a little._] No, no; my conscience is perfectly robust--always was. HILDA. Are you quite _quite_ sure that, when you went indoors with dear Mrs. Solness that afternoon, and left me alone with my Master Builder, you did not foresee--perhaps wish--intend, even a little, that---- H'm? DR. HERDAL. That you would talk the poor man into clambering up that tower? You want to drag _Me_ into that business now! HILDA. [_Teasingly._] Yes, I certainly think that then you went on exactly like a troll. DR. HERDAL. [_With uncontrollable emotion._] Hilda, there is not a corner of me safe from you! Yes, I see now that _must_ have been the way of it. Then I _was_ a troll in that, too! But isn't it terrible the price I have had to pay for it? To have a wife who---- No, I shall never roll a pill again--never, never! HILDA. [_Lays her head on the stove, and answers as if half asleep._] No more pills? Poor Doctor Herdal! DR. HERDAL. [_Bitterly._] No--nothing but cosy commonplace grey powders for a whole troop of children. HILDA. [_Lively again._.] Not grey powders! [_Quite seriously._] I will tell you what you shall make next. Beautiful rainbow-coloured powders that will give one a real grip on the world. Powders to make every one free and buoyant, and ready to grasp at one's own happiness, to _dare_ what one _would_. I will have you make them. I will--I _will_! [Illustration: "Beautiful rainbow-coloured powders that will give one a real grip on the world!"] DR. HERDAL. H'm! I am not quite sure that I clearly understand. And then the ingredients----? HILDA. What stupid people all of you pill-doctors are, to be sure! Why, they will be _poisons_, of course! DR. HERDAL. Poisons? Why in the world should they be _that_? HILDA. [_Without answering him._] All the thrillingest, deadliest poisons--it is only such things that are wholesome, nowadays. DR. HERDAL. [_As if caught by her enthusiasm._] And I could colour them, too, by exposing them to rays cast through a prism. Oh, Hilda, how I have needed you all these years! For, you see, with _her_ it was impossible to discuss such things. [_Embraces her._ MRS. HERDAL. [_Enters noiselessly through hall-door._] I suppose, Haustus, you are persuading Miss Wangel to start by the afternoon steamer? I have bought her a pair of curling-tongs, and a packet of hairpins. The larger parcels are coming on presently. DR. HERDAL. [_Uneasily._] H'm! Hilda--Miss Wangel I _should_ say--is kindly going to stay on a little longer, to assist me in some scientific experiments. You wouldn't understand them if I told you. MRS. HERDAL. Shouldn't I, Haustus? I daresay not. [_The_ NEW BOOK-KEEPER _looks through the glass door of dispensary._ HILDA. [_Starts violently and points--then in a whisper._] Who is _that?_ DR. HERDAL. Only the new Book-keeper and Assistant--a very intelligent person. HILDA. [_Looks straight in front of her with a far-away expression, and whispers to herself._] I thought at first it was.... But no--_that_ would be _too_ frightfully thrilling! DR. HERDAL. [_To himself._] I'm turning into a regular old troll now--but I can't help myself. After all, I am only an elderly Norwegian. We are _made_ like that.... Rainbow powders--_real_ rainbow powders! With Hilda!... Oh, to have the joy of life once more! [_Takes his temperature again as Curtain falls_. * * * * * ACT THIRD [_On the right, a smart verandah, attached to_ Dr. HERDAL'S _dwelling-house, and communicating with the drawing-room and dispensary by glass doors. On the left a tumble-down rockery, with a headless plaster Mercury. In front, a lawn, with a large silvered glass globe on a stand. Chairs and tables. All the furniture is of galvanised iron. A sunset is seen going on among the trees._ DR. HERDAL. [_Comes out of dispensary-door cautiously, and whispers._] Hilda, are you in there? [_Taps with fingers on drawing-room door._ HILDA. [_Comes out with a half-teasing smile._] Well--and how is the rainbow-powder getting on, Dr. Herdal? DR. HERDAL. [_With enthusiasm._] It is getting on simply splendidly. I sent the new assistant out to take a little walk, so that he should not be in the way. There is arsenic in the powder, Hilda, and digitalis too, and strychnine, and the best beetle-killer! HILDA. [_With happy, wondering eyes._] _Lots_ of beetle-killer. And you will give some of it to _her_, to make her free and buoyant. I think one really _has_ the right--when people happen to stand in the way----! DR. HERDAL. Yes, you may well say so, Hilda. Still--[_dubiously_]--it _does_ occur to me that such doings may perhaps be misunderstood--by the narrow-minded and conventional. [_They go on the lawn, and sit down._ HILDA. [_With an outburst._] Oh, that all seems to me so foolish--so irrelevant! As if the whole thing wasn't intended as an allegory! DR. HERDAL. [_Relieved._] Ah, so long as it is merely _allegorical_, of course---- But what is it an allegory _of_, Hilda? HILDA. [_Reflects in vain._] How can you sit there and ask such questions? I suppose I am a symbol--of some sort. DR. HERDAL. [_As a thought flashes upon him._] A cymbal? That would certainly account for your bra---- Then, am _I_ a cymbal too, Hilda? HILDA. Why yes--what else? You represent the artist-worker, or the elder generation, or the pursuit of the ideal, or a bilious conscience--or something or other. _You're_ all right! DR. HERDAL. [_Shakes his head._] Am I? But I don't quite see---- Well, well, cymbals are meant to clash a little. And I see plainly now that I ought to prescribe this powder for as many as possible. Isn't it terrible, Hilda, that so many poor souls never really die their own deaths--pass out of the world without even the formality of an inquest? As the district Coroner, I feel strongly on the subject. HILDA. And, when the Coroner has finished sitting on all the bodies, perhaps--but I shan't tell you now. [_Speaks as if to a child._] There, run away and finish making the rainbow-powder, do! DR. HERDAL. [_Skips up into the dispensary._] I will--I will! Oh, I do feel such a troll--such a light-haired, light-headed old devil! RÜBUB. [_Enters garden-gate._] I have had my dismissal--but I'm not going without saying good-bye to Mrs. Herdal. HILDA. Dr. Herdal would disapprove--you really must not, Mr. Kalomel. And, besides, Mrs. Herdal is not at home. She is in the town buying me a reel of cotton. _Dr._ Herdal is in. He is making real rainbow powders for regenerating everybody all round. Won't _that_ be fun? RÜBUB. _Making_ powders? Ha! ha! But you will see he won't _take_ one himself. It is quite notorious to us younger men that he simply daren't do it. HILDA. [_With a little snort of contempt._] Oh, I daresay--that's so likely! [_Defiantly._] I know he _can_, though. I've _seen_ him! RÜBUB. There is a tradition that he once--but not now--he knows better. I think you said Mrs. Herdal was in the town? I will go and look for her. I understand her so well. [_Goes out by gate._ HILDA. [_Calls._] Dr. Herdal! Come out this minute. I want you--awfully! DR. HERDAL. [_Puts his head out._] Just when I am making such wonderful progress with the powder. [_Comes down and leans on a table._] Have you hit upon some way of giving it to Aline? I thought if you were to put it in her arrowroot----? HILDA. No, thanks. I won't have that now. I have just recollected that it is a rule of mine never to injure anybody I have once been formally introduced to. Strangers don't count. No, poor Mrs. Herdal mustn't take that powder! DR. HERDAL. [_Disappointed._] Then is nothing to come of making rainbow powders, after all, Hilda? HILDA. [_Looks hard at him._] People say you are afraid to take your own physic. Is that true? DR. HERDAL. Yes, I am. [_After a pause--with candour._] I find it invariably disagrees with me. HILDA. [_With a half-dubious smile._] I think I can understand _that_. But you did _once_. You swallowed your own pills that day at the _table d'hôte_, ten years ago. And I heard a harp in the air, too! DR. HERDAL. [_Open-mouthed._] I don't think that _could_ have been me. I don't play any instrument. And that was quite a special thing, too. It's not every day I can do it. Those were only _bread_ pills, Hilda. HILDA. [_With flashing eyes._] But you rolled them, you took them. And I want to see you stand once more free and high and great, swallowing your own preparations. [_Passionately._] I _will_ have you do it! [_Imploringly._] Just _once_ more, Dr. Herdal! DR. HERDAL. If I did, Hilda, my medical knowledge, slight as it is, leads me to the conclusion that I should in all probability burst. HILDA. [_Looks deeply into his eyes._] So long as you burst _beautifully_! But no doubt that Miss Blakdraf---- DR. HERDAL. You must believe in me utterly and entirely. I will do anything--_anything_, Hilda, to provide you with agreeable entertainment. I _will_ swallow my own powder! [_To himself, as he goes gravely up to dispensary._] If only the drugs are sufficiently adulterated! [_Goes in; as he does so, the_ NEW ASSISTANT _enters the garden in blue spectacles, unseen by_ HILDA, _and follows him, leaving open the glass door._ SENNA. [_Comes wildly out of drawing-room._] Where is dear Dr. Herdal? Oh, Miss Wangel, he has discharged me--but I can't--I simply _can't_ live away from that lovely ledger. HILDA. [_Jubilantly._] At this moment Dr. Herdal is in the dispensary, taking one of his own powders. SENNA. [_Despairingly._] But--but it is utterly impossible! Miss Wangel, you have such a firm hold of him--_don't_ let him do that! HILDA. I have already done all I can. [RÜBUB _appears, talking confidentially with_ MRS. HERDAL, _at gate._ SENNA. Oh, Mrs. Herdal, Rübub! The Pill-Doctor is going to take one of his own preparations. Save him--quick! RÜBUB. [_With cold politeness._] I am sorry to hear it--for his sake. But it would be quite contrary to professional etiquette to prevent him. MRS. HERDAL. And I never interfere with my husband's proceedings. I know _my_ duty, Miss Blakdraf, if _others_ don't! HILDA. [_Exulting with great intensity._] At last! Now I see him in there, great and free again, mixing the powder in a spoon--with jam!... Now he raises the spoon. Higher--higher still! [_A gulp is audible from within._] There, didn't you hear a harp in the air? [_Quietly._] I can't see the spoon any more. But there is one he is striving with, in blue spectacles! THE NEW ASSISTANT'S VOICE. [_Within._] The Pill-Doctor Herdal has taken his own powder! HILDA. [_As if petrified._] That voice! _Where_ have I heard it before? No matter--he has got the powder down! [_Waves a shawl in the air, and shrieks with wild jubilation._] It's too awfully thrilling! My--_my_ Pill-Doctor! [Illustration: "My, my Pill-doctor!"] THE NEW ASSISTANT. [_Comes out on verandah._] I am happy to inform you that--as, to avoid accidents, I took the simple precaution of filling all the dispensary-jars with camphorated chalk--no serious results may be anticipated from Dr. Herdal's rashness. [_Removes spectacles._] Nora, don't you know me? HILDA. [_Reflects._] I really don't remember having the pleasure---- And I'm _sure_ I heard a harp in the air! MRS. HERDAL. I fancy, Miss Wangel, it must have been merely a bee in your bonnet. THE NEW ASSISTANT. [_Tenderly._] Still the same little singing-bird! Oh, Nora, my long-lost lark! HILDA. [_Sulkily._] I'm _not_ a lark--I'm a bird of prey--and when I get my claws into anything----! THE NEW ASSISTANT. Macaroons, for instance? I remember your tastes of old. See, Nora! [_Produces a paper-bag from his coat-tail pocket._] They were fresh this morning! HILDA. [_Wavering._] If you insist on calling me Nora, I think you must be just a little mad yourself. THE NEW ASSISTANT. We are all a little mad--in Norway. But Torvald Helmer is sane enough still to recognise his own little squirrel again! Surely, Nora, your education is complete at last--you have gained the experience you needed? HILDA. [_Nods slowly._] Yes, Torvald, you're right enough _there_. I have thought things out for myself, and have got clear about them. And I have quite made up my mind that Society and the Law are all wrong, and that I am right. HELMER. [_Overjoyed._] Then you _have_ learnt the Great Lesson, and are fit to undertake the charge of your children's education at last! You've no notion how they've grown! Yes, Nora, our marriage will be a true marriage now. You will come back to the Dolls' House, won't you? HILDA-NORA-HELMER-WANGEL. [_Hesitates._] Will you let me forge cheques if I do, Torvald? HELMER. [_Ardently._] All day. And at night, Nora, we will falsify the accounts--together! HILDA-NORA-HELMER-WANGEL. [_Throws herself into his arms, and helps herself to macaroons._] That will be fearfully thrilling! My--_my_ Manager! DR. HERDAL. [_Comes out very pale, from dispensary._] Hilda I _did_ take the---- I'm afraid I interrupt you? HELMER. Not in the least. But this lady is my little lark, and she is going back to her cage by the next steamer. DR. HERDAL. [_Bitterly._] Am I _never_ to have a gleam of happiness? But stay--do I see my little Senna once more? RÜBUB. Pardon me--_my_ little Senna. She always believed so firmly in my pill! DR. HERDAL. Well--well. If it must be. Rübub, I will take you into partnership, and we will take out a patent for that pill, jointly. Aline, my poor dear Aline, let us try once more if we cannot bring a ray of brightness into our cheerless home! MRS. HERDAL. Oh, Haustus, if only we _could_--but why do you propose that to me--_now_? DR. HERDAL. [_Softly--to himself._] Because I have tried being a troll--and found that nothing came of it, and it wasn't worth sixpence! [HILDA-NORA _goes off to the right with_ HELMER; SENNA _to the left with_ RÜBUB; Dr. HERDAL _and_ MRS. HERDAL _sit on two of the galvanised-iron chairs, and shake their heads disconsolately as the Curtain falls._ * * * * * _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. _London and Edinburgh._ * * * * * "Caustic satire and kindly humour."--_The Daily Telegraph._ WOMAN--THROUGH A MAN'S EYEGLASS BY MALCOLM C. SALAMAN WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY DUDLEY HARDY "Written with brightness and elegance, and embellished with illustrations by Dudley Hardy in his happiest sketchy vein."--_Daily Telegraph._ "Shrewd observation and brisk utterances."--_Athenæum._ "It gratifies curiosity in a manner peculiarly agreeable."--_Queen._ "You will enjoy reading the book."--_Truth._ "Full of good feeling and good sense."--_Daily Chronicle._ _Price Three Shillings and Sixpence_ LONDON: WM. HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. * * * * * "Very funny, shrewd, and whimsical."--_Vanity Fair._ THE OLD MAIDS' CLUB BY I. ZANGWILL AUTHOR OF "THE BACHELORS' CLUB," "CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO," "MERELY MARY ANN," "THE PREMIER AND THE PAINTER," ETC. WITH FORTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. H. TOWNSEND "Most strongly to be recommended to all classes of readers."--_Athenæum_. "Mr. Zangwill has a very bright and a very original humour, and every page of this closely printed book is full of point and go, and full, too, of a healthy satire that is really humorously applied common sense."--_National Review_. "There is excellent fooling in the big book."--_World_. "Extremely amusing. The illustrations add greatly to the fun of the book."--_Literary World_. _Price Three Shillings and Sixpence_ LONDON: WM. HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. * * * * * NEARLY READY _FROM WISDOM COURT_ BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN AND STEPHEN GRAHAM TALLENTYRE WITH THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. COURBAIN _CONTENTS_ ON A BED OF SICKNESS.--ON MATRIMONY.--ON THE POSTCARD.--ON THE SEA.--ON VISITORS.--ON LUCK.--ON UNSELFISHNESS.--ON GOOD WORKS.--ON LOVE.--ON THE MUSIC STOOL.--ON PURPOSE.--ON GIRL.--ON SUNDAY MORNING.--ON MEALS.--ON HEART.--ON SLEEP.--ON SOCIETIES.--ON LANGUAGE.--ON LEARNING.--ON OUR OWN BUSINESS.--ON PLEASURE.--ON OUR BIRTHPLACE.--ON OUR DOGS.--ON BEING ENGAGED.--ON LETTERS.--ON CHURCH.--ON COURAGE.--ON HONOUR AND GLORY.--THE LAST WORD. _Price Three Shillings and Sixpence_ LONDON: WM. HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. * * * * * "A work of rare humour, a thing of beauty, and a joy for now and ever."--_Punch._ _THE GENTLE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES_ _AS PLEASINGLY EXEMPLIFIED IN MANY INSTANCES, WHEREIN THE SERIOUS ONES OF THIS EARTH, CAREFULLY EXASPERATED, HAVE BEEN PRETTILY SPURRED ON TO INDISCRETION AND UNSEEMLINESS, WHILE OVERCOME BY AN UNDUE SENSE OF RIGHT._ BY J. M'NEILL WHISTLER "The book in itself, in its binding, print, and arrangement, is a work of art."--_Punch._ "There is no lack of wit, bright and original, in the book; indeed, Mr. Whistler's happy thoughts are often irresistibly comic, the very perfection of flippancy and banter."--_St. James's Gazette._ "The book is altogether so curious, so dainty in all externals, so absolutely unlike anything that ever before has proceeded from a printing-press."--_Academy._ _Price Ten Shillings and Sixpence_ LONDON: WM. HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. * * * * * Page 1 Telegraphic Address: _Sunlocks, London._ _21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C._ _March 1893._ A LIST OF MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S PUBLICATIONS AND FORTHCOMING WORKS _The Books mentioned in this List can be obtained to order by any Bookseller if not in stock, or will be sent by the Publisher post free on receipt of price._ Page 2 INDEX OF AUTHORS. PAGE Alexander 13 Arbuthnot 8 Atherton 13 Baddeley 8 Balestier 9, 13 Barrett 9 Behrs 6 Bendall 16 Björnson 11, 14 Bowen 5 Brown 9 Brown and Griffiths 16 Buchanan 8, 10, 14 Butler 5 Caine 8, 12 Caine 16 Cambridge 12 Chester 7 Clarke 10 Colomb 6 Compayre 5 Couperus 11 Crackanthorpe 13 Davidson 5 Dawson 16 De Quincey 7 Dowson 9 Eeden 4 Ellwanger 8 Ely 8 Farrar 8 Fitch 5 Forbes 6 Fothergill 9 Franzos 11 Frederic 7, 12 Garner 8 Garnett 4 Gaulot 4 Gilchrist 10 Gore 16 Gosse 4, 7, 10 Grand 9 Gray 8 Gray (Maxwell) 9 Griffiths 16 Hall 16 Harland 13 Hardy 12 Heine 4, 6 Henderson 14 Howard 10 Hughes 5 Hungerford 9, 10, 13 Ibsen 14 Irving 14 Ingersoll 9 Jæger 7, 15 Jeaffreson 6 Keeling 10 Kimball 16 Kipling and Balestier 10 Lanza 13 Le Caron 6 Lee 10 Leighton 9 Leland 16 Lie 11 Lowe 6, 7 Lowry 10 Lynch 13 Maartens 10 Maeterlinck 14 Maude 6 Mantegazza 4 Maupassant 11 Maurice 6 Merriman 4 Michel 3 Mitford 13 Moore 9 Murray 6 Norris 9 Ouida 10 Palacio-Valdés 11 Pearce 10 Pennell 7 Philips 14 Phelps 13 Pinero 15 Rawnsley 8 Renan 7 Richter 8 Riddell 13 Rives 10 Roberts (C.G.D.) 9 Roberts (A. von) 11 Salaman (M. C.) 7 Salaman (J. S.) 7 Scudamore 6 Serao 11 Sergeant 13 Sienkiewicz 11 Tallentyre 4 Tasma 10, 12 Terry 4 Thurston 16 Tolstoy 11, 14 Tree 15 Valera 11 Ward 13 Warden 13 Waugh 6 Weitemeyer 8 West 5 Whistler 4, 7 White 10 Whitman 8 Williams 8 Wood 10 Zangwill 7, 10 Zola 13 Page 3 _In preparation_. REMBRANDT: HIS LIFE, HIS WORK, AND HIS TIME. BY ÉMILE MICHEL, _MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE._ EDITED AND PREFACED BY FREDERICK WEDMORE. Nothing need be said in justification of a comprehensive book upon the life and work of Rembrandt. A classic among classics, he is also a modern of moderns. His works are to-day more sought after and better paid for than ever before; he is now at the zenith of a fame which can hardly decline. The author of this work is perhaps, of all living authorities on Rembrandt, the one who has had the largest experience, the best opportunity of knowing all that can be known of the master. The latest inventions in photogravure and process-engraving have enabled the publisher to reproduce almost everything that is accessible in the public galleries of Europe, as well as most of the numerous private collections containing specimens of Rembrandt's work in England and on the Continent. This work will be published in two volumes 4to, each containing over 300 pages. There will be over 30 photogravures, about 40 coloured reproductions of paintings and chalk drawings, and 250 illustrations in the text. Two Editions will be printed--one on Japanese vellum, limited to 200 numbered copies (for England and America), with duplicates of the plates on India paper, price _£10 10s._ net. The ordinary edition will be published at _£2 2s._ net. An illustrated prospectus is now ready and may be had on application. Orders will be received by all booksellers, in town and country. Page 4 FORTHCOMING WORKS. QUESTIONS AT ISSUE. Essays. By EDMUND GOSSE. In One Volume, crown 8vo (uniform with "Gossip in a Library"). A FRIEND OF THE QUEEN. Being Correspondence between Marie Antoinette and Monsieur de Fersen. By PAUL GAULOT. In One Volume, 8vo. FROM WISDOM COURT. By HENRY SETON MERRIMAN and STEVEN GRAHAM TALLENTYRE. With 50 Illustrations by E. COURBOIN. In One Volume, crown 8vo (uniform with "Woman through a Man's Eyeglass" and "The Old Maid's Club"). THE ART OF TAKING A WIFE. By Professor MANTEGAZZA. Translated from the Italian. In One Volume. Crown 8vo. THE SALON; or Letters on Art, Music, Popular Life, and Politics. By HEINRICH HEINE. Translated by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND. Crown 8vo (Heine's Works, Vol. 4). THE BOOK OF SONGS. By HEINRICH HEINE. Translated by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND. Crown 8vo (Heine's Works, Vol. 9). THE WORKS OF HEINRICH HEINE. Large Paper Edition, limited to 100 Numbered Copies. Price 15s. per volume net, sold only to subscribers for the complete work. Vols. I. II. and III. are now ready. LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE. 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The first issue of 200 copies will be sold at Two Guineas net per part, by Subscription for the Series only. _There will also be issued 50 copies on Japanese paper, signed by the artist, each Five Guineas net._ Page 5 THE GREAT EDUCATORS. _A Series of Volumes by Eminent Writers, presenting in their entirety "A Biographical History of Education."_ _The Times._--"A Series of Monographs on 'The Great Educators' should prove of service to all who concern themselves with the history, theory, and practice of education." _The Speaker._--"There is a promising sound about the title of Mr. Heinemann's new series, 'The Great Educators.' It should help to allay the hunger and thirst for knowledge and culture of the vast multitude of young men and maidens which our educational system turns out yearly, provided at least with an appetite for instruction." Each subject will form a complete volume, crown 8vo, 5s. _Now ready._ ARISTOTLE, and the Ancient Educational Ideals. 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FITCH, LL.D., Her Majesty's Inspector of Schools. _Others to follow._ Page 6 VICTORIA: Queen and Empress. By JOHN CORDY JEAFFRESON, Author of "The Real Lord Byron," &c. In Two Volumes, 8vo. With Portraits. _£1 10s._ ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON: a Study of his Life and Work. By ARTHUR WAUGH, B.A. Oxon. With Twenty Illustrations, from Photographs Specially Taken for this Work, and Five Portraits. Second Edition, Revised. In One Volume, demy 8vo, _10s. 6d._ TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN THE SECRET SERVICE. The Recollections of a Spy. By Major LE CARON. Eighth Edition. In One Volume, 8vo. With Portraits and Facsimiles. Price _14s._ RECOLLECTIONS OF COUNT LEO TOLSTOY. Together with a Letter to the Women of France on the "Kreutzer Sonata." By C. A. BEHRS. Translated from the Russian by C. E. TURNER, English Lecturer in the University of St. Petersburg. In One Volume, 8vo. With Portrait. _10s. 6d._ THE GREAT WAR IN 189--. A Forecast. By Rear-Admiral COLOMB, Col. 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Small 4to, cloth, with Portrait, _5s._ Vaudeville Edition, paper, _1s._ Also a Limited Large Paper Edition, _21s. net._ _Times._--"The language in which this play is couched is a model of brevity, decision, and pointedness.... Every line tells, and there is not an incident that does not bear on the action immediate or remote. As a corrective to the vapid and foolish writing with which the stage is deluged 'Hedda Gabler' is perhaps entitled to the place of honour." THE DRAMA, ADDRESSES. By HENRY IRVING. Fcap. 8vo. With Portrait by J. McN. Whistler. _3s. 6d._ Second Edition. Page 15 SOME INTERESTING FALLACIES OF THE MODERN STAGE. An Address delivered to the Playgoers' Club at St. James's Hall, on Sunday, 6th December, 1891. By HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. Crown 8vo, sewed, _6d._ THE LIFE OF HENRIK IBSEN. By HENRIK JÆGER. Translated by CLARA BELL. With the Verse done into English from the Norwegian Original by EDMUND GOSSE. Crown 8vo, cloth, _6s._ _St. James's Gazette._--"Admirably translated. Deserves a cordial and emphatic welcome." _Guardian._--"Ibsen's dramas at present enjoy a considerable vogue, and their admirers will rejoice to find full descriptions and criticisms in Mr. Jæger's book." THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO. With Introductory Notes by MALCOLM C. SALAMAN. 16mo, Paper Covers, _1s. 6d._; or Cloth, _2s. 6d._ each. THE TIMES: A Comedy in Four Acts. With a Preface by the Author. (Vol. I.) _Daily Telegraph._--"'The Times' is the best example yet given of Mr. Pinero's power as a satirist. So clever is his work that it beats down opposition. So fascinating is his style that we cannot help listening to him." _Morning Post._--"Mr. Pinero's latest belongs to a high order of dramatic literature, and the piece will be witnessed again with all the greater zest after the perusal of such admirable dialogue." THE PROFLIGATE: A Play in Four Acts. With Portrait of the Author, after J. MORDECAI. (Vol. II.) _Pall Mall Gazette._--"Will be welcomed by all who have the true interests of the stage at heart." THE CABINET MINISTER: A Farce in Four Acts. (Vol. III.) _Observer._--"It is as amusing to read as it was when played." THE HOBBY HORSE: A Comedy in Three Acts. (Vol. IV.) _St. James's Gazette._--"Mr. Pinero has seldom produced better or more interesting work than in 'The Hobby Horse.'" LADY BOUNTIFUL: A Play in Four Acts. (Vol. V.) THE MAGISTRATE: A Farce in Three Acts. (Vol. VI.) DANDY DICK: A Farce in Three Acts. (Vol. VII.) SWEET LAVENDER. (Vol. VIII.) To be followed by The Schoolmistress, The Weaker Sex, Lords and Commons, and The Squire. Page 16 POETRY. LOVE SONGS OF ENGLISH POETS, 1500-1800 With Notes by RALPH H. CAINE. Fcap. 8vo, rough edges, _3s. 6d._ *** _Large Paper Edition, limited to 100 Copies, 10s. 6d. Net._ IVY AND PASSION FLOWER: Poems. 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