MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.
(Condensed and Revised Version by Mr. P.'s Own Harmless Ibsenite.)
No. III.—HEDDA GABLER.
ACT. III.
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 had 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. E. 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). You have guessed it, first time. Something has!
Mrs. E. Oh, dear, good gracious! What is it? Something distressing, I'm certain of it! [d.
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. E. 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. E. Oh, goodness, yes! I should like it—if it only might be possible!
[GEORGE and Mrs. E. 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). Hm!—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. E., 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. E. 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. E. (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!—it's—.
[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 tablecloth, 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.
THE END (with the usual apologies).