"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. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. 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. Herd. (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 the hall-door, blowing kisses.
Mrs. Herdal (enters through the window, plaintively). Quite an acquisition for you, Haustus, this Miss Blakdraf!
Dr. Herd. She's—h'm!—extremely civil and obliging. But I am parting with her, Aline—mainly on your account.
Mrs. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. Yes, that too, Haustus. But I did not mind it so much—it all seemed so perfectly natural in both of them.
Dr. Herd. 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. Herd. (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. Herd. Yes, that would explain her to some extent, no doubt. But how he could be such an old fool!
Mrs. Herd. That Miss Wangel was a strangely fascinating type of girl. Why, even I myself——
Dr. Herd. (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. Herd. 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. Herd. (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. Herd. (anxiously). Then you do think it was the pill that caused him to——?
Dr. Herd. 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 poultice! (He takes more punch.)
Mrs. Herd. 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. Herd. 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. Herd. 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. Herd. (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. Herd. (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. Herd. What the deuce! Miss Wangel, you mustn't. I'm a married man! There's my wife! [Mrs. Herd. enters.
Hilda. As if that mattered—it's only dear, sweet Mrs. Solness. She doesn't mind—do you, dear Mrs. Solness?
Mrs. Herd. 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. Herd. (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. End of First Act.
"Among the Memorable Books of the Present Raine."—Canon Raine has just published (per Longmans) his York, as one of the series of Historic Towns. The proofs of Raine on York of course came very moist from the press. Is there a frontispiece to it of "Raine poring over his own book?" The work is highly spoken of,—so disons, "Vive le Raine!"
Mr. Wilson Barrett is to appear in a play called Pharaoh—"What the plague!"—Is he coming out as an Egyptian Mummer? Will the drama prove interesting to plague-goers?