Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas Part 13

Good Lord! He had the courage to get more drunk than most people. But, altogether, it was what you might almost call a Baccha.n.a.lian orgy. We finished up by going to have early coffee with some of these jolly chaps, and poor old Lovborg dropped his precious ma.n.u.script 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 _soiree_ that I haven't undressed all night. Oh, it was the liveliest affair conceivable! And, like a true Norwegian host, I tracked Lovborg home; and it is only my duty, as a friend of the house, and c.o.c.k 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._

LoVBORG.

[_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._

LoVBORG.

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!

LoVBORG.

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!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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_!

LoVBORG.

Thanks!

[_He takes the pistol, and goes out through the hall-door; as soon as he has gone_, HEDDA _brings out the ma.n.u.script, 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 c.r.a.pe 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 Lovborg. 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 ma.n.u.script, eh?

HEDDA.

[_Cold and immovable, supported by arm-chair._] No, I put it on the fire instead.

GEORGE.

On the fire! Lovborg'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 Lovborg 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.

n.o.body, 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 ma.n.u.script 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 ma.n.u.script! Oh Lor', you know! Well, well!