If I could only pay her off a little bit of the huge, immeasurable debt I owe her—but I can't!
[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.
[Interested against his will.] And where did you go after that, may I ask, Miss Wangel?
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?
Why, really I could not say. Vine-leaves, perhaps.
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!
[Shakes his finger at her.] What a girl you are, Miss Wangel! But you mustn't play these games here, you know.
[Laughs to herself.] Of course not. But I suppose I am a strange sort of bird.
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.
[A little sulky.] That is not how you spoke ten years ago, up at the mountain station, when you were such a flirt!
Was I a flirt? Deuce take me if I remember. But I am not like that now.
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?
What a memory you have for trifles, Miss Wangel; it's quite wonderful!
Trifles! There was no trifling on your part. When you promised to come back in ten years, like a troll, and fetch me!
Did I say all that? It must have been after table d'hôte!
It was. I was a mere chit then—only twenty-three; but I remember. And now I have come for you.
Dear, dear! But there is nothing of the troll about me now I have married Mrs. Solness.
[Looking sharply at him.] Yes, I remember you were always dropping in to tea in those days.
[Seems hurt.] Every visit was duly put down in the ledger and charged for—as poor little Senna will tell you.
Little Senna? Oh, Dr. Herdal, I believe there is a bit of the troll left in you still!
[Laughs a little.] No, no; my conscience is perfectly robust—always was.
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?
That you would talk the poor man into clambering up that tower? You want to drag Me into that business now!
[Teasingly.] Yes, I certainly think that then you went on exactly like a troll.
[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!
[Lays her head on the stove, and answers as if half asleep.] No more pills? Poor Doctor Herdal!
[Bitterly.] No—nothing but cosy commonplace grey powders for a whole troop of children.
[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!
H'm! I am not quite sure that I clearly understand. And then the ingredients——?
What stupid people all of you pill-doctors are, to be sure! Why, they will be poisons, of course!
Poisons? Why in the world should they be that?
[Without answering him.] All the thrillingest, deadliest poisons—it is only such things that are wholesome, nowadays.
[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.
[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.
[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.
Shouldn't I, Haustus? I daresay not.
[The NEW BOOK-KEEPER looks through the glass door of dispensary.
[Starts violently and points—then in a whisper.] Who is that?
Only the new Book-keeper and Assistant—a very intelligent person.
[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!
[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.
[Comes out of dispensary-door cautiously, and whispers.] Hilda, are you in there?
[Taps with fingers on drawing-room door.
[Comes out with a half-teasing smile.] Well—and how is the rainbow-powder getting on, 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!
[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——!
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.
[With an outburst.] Oh, that all seems to me so foolish—so irrelevant! As if the whole thing wasn't intended as an allegory!
[Relieved.] Ah, so long as it is merely allegorical, of course—— But what is it an allegory of, Hilda?
[Reflects in vain.] How can you sit there and ask such questions? I suppose I am a symbol—of some sort.
[As a thought flashes upon him.] A cymbal? That would certainly account for your bra—— Then, am I a cymbal too, 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!
[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.
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!
[Skips up into the dispensary.] I will—I will! Oh, I do feel such a troll—such a light-haired, light-headed old devil!
[Enters garden-gate.] I have had my dismissal—but I'm not going without saying good-bye to Mrs. Herdal.
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?
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.
[With a little snort of contempt.] Oh, I daresay—that's so likely! [Defiantly.] I know he can, though. I've seen him!
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.
[Calls.] Dr. Herdal! Come out this minute. I want you—awfully!
[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——?
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!
[Disappointed.] Then is nothing to come of making rainbow powders, after all, Hilda?
[Looks hard at him.] People say you are afraid to take your own physic. Is that true?
Yes, I am. [After a pause—with candour.] I find it invariably disagrees with me.
[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!
[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.
[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!
If I did, Hilda, my medical knowledge, slight as it is, leads me to the conclusion that I should in all probability burst.
[Looks deeply into his eyes.] So long as you burst beautifully! But no doubt that Miss Blakdraf——
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.
[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.
[Jubilantly.] At this moment Dr. Herdal is in the dispensary, taking one of his own powders.
[Despairingly.] But—but it is utterly impossible! Miss Wangel, you have such a firm hold of him—don't let him do that!
I have already done all I can.
[Rübub appears, talking confidentially with Mrs. Herdal, at gate.
Oh, Mrs. Herdal, Rübub! The Pill-Doctor is going to take one of his own preparations. Save him—quick!
[With cold politeness.] I am sorry to hear it—for his sake. But it would be quite contrary to professional etiquette to prevent him.
And I never interfere with my husband's proceedings. I know my duty, Miss Blakdraf, if others don't!
[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!
[Within.] The Pill-Doctor Herdal has taken his own powder!
[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!
[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?
[Reflects.] I really don't remember having the pleasure—— And I'm sure I heard a harp in the air!
I fancy, Miss Wangel, it must have been merely a bee in your bonnet.
[Tenderly.] Still the same little singing-bird! Oh, Nora, my long-lost lark!
[Sulkily.] I'm not a lark—I'm a bird of prey—and when I get my claws into anything——!
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!
[Wavering.] If you insist on calling me Nora, I think you must be just a little mad yourself.
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?
[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.
[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?
[Hesitates.] Will you let me forge cheques if I do, Torvald?
[Ardently.] All day. And at night, Nora, we will falsify the accounts—together!
[Throws herself into his arms, and helps herself to macaroons.] That will be fearfully thrilling! My—my Manager!
[Comes out very pale, from dispensary.] Hilda I did take the—— I'm afraid I interrupt you?
Not in the least. But this lady is my little lark, and she is going back to her cage by the next steamer.
[Bitterly.] Am I never to have a gleam of happiness? But stay—do I see my little Senna once more?
Pardon me—my little Senna. She always believed so firmly in my pill!
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!
Oh, Haustus, if only we could—but why do you propose that to me—now?
[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.
London and Edinburgh.
ADVERTISEMENTS
"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.
London: Wm. HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
THE OLD MAIDS' CLUB
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.
London: Wm. HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
FROM WISDOM COURT
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.
London: Wm. HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
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.
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.
London: Wm. HEINEMANN, 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
Telegraphic Address:
Sunlocks, London.
21 Bedford Street, W.C.
March 1893.
A LIST OF
Mr. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S
Publications
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.
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 |