Public-domain ebook
by Various
Language: en355 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Punch·Humour·Plays/Films/Dramas
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #13352.
The opening · free to read
Hialmar (to Gregers). I am almost sorry I came. Your old min 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 "Puh" 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!
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 stepmother 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 housekeeper, 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!
ACT II.
HIALMAR EKDAL's Photographic Studio. Cameras, neck-rests, and other instruments of torture lying about. GINA EKDAL and HEDWIG, 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 shortsighted 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.
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. To-morrow 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 Hedwig. 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 led as the Curtain falls._
Arms.--Quarterly: 1. A female figure habited in white robes reaching to the ankles, with Arms elevated, all quite proper, for Grace. 2. A wildman or ratepayer rampant, for Thrift. 3. A bend (or bar) sinister on a chart vert, for Bloomsbury. 4. Three demi-councillors, wings elevated, regardant an empty seat, for Vacancy.
Crest.--On a beadle's hat erased, a new broom.
Supporters.--Dexter, a Paul Pry regardant, grasping an eyeglass sinister. Sinister, a Stiggins. Both gorged.
Monday.--Arrived on the ground ready to fight my opponent to the death. We had just measured the ground, when an agent of Police appeared upon the scene, and we had to decamp hurriedly. Duel postponed till to-morrow.
Tuesday.--New spot chosen. Pistols this time instead of rapiers. Just as we were about to fire, appearance of the agents of the law. Postponement again absolutely necessary.
Wednesday.--Once more ready to meet. Both of us rather amused at the precautions we have to take to prevent interruption. Opponent obligingly suggested a new and suitable spot for the settlement of our little differences. Found it to be a most excellent selection, but before we could fight, once more interrupted. Both of us greatly annoyed, and arranged to meet to-morrow.
Thursday.--Amused to find myself first in the field--my opponent five minutes late. Both of us had come before the seconds, and so spent the time in a pleasant little chat, and cigarettes. My opponent not half a bad fellow when you come to know him. Just as he was in the middle of a most amusing story, our seconds arrived--with the Police! Postponement once more imperative.
Friday.--Opponent turned up first, and, at my request, completed his yesterday's story--one of the best I have ever heard. Most amusing chap--should have liked to have heard another, when, finding ourselves uninterrupted, we thought we had better seize the opportunity to settle our affair of honour. Our customary luck! Seemingly had just time to kill one another, when enter the Police! Programme as before.
Saturday.--Met again. Really quite pleased to have made the acquaintance of such a nice fellow as my opponent. Full of fun and anecdote. On comparing notes, we found that we had entirely forgotten what on earth we had quarrelled about. So shook hands and arranged that if we fired at anyone, our target should be the Police.
All who love English horses, and back English Trade, Should welcome the annual "Cart-Horse Parade." No function of Fashion on Racecourse or Row Should "fetch" our equestrian enthusiast so. First-rate English horses in holiday guise! A sight that to please a true Britisher's eyes. And then the Society--surely that will be Supported by Britons. Ask good WALTER GILBEY (Cambridge House, Regent's Park). He will tell you no doubt What the C.-H.P.S. have, some time, been about. Fancy prizes to Carmen for care of their horses! That charms a horse-lover. To plump the resources Of such a Society--by their support In subscriptions--all friends of the horse and of sport Should surely be eager; so, horse-lovers willing, Despatch the gold pound plus the odd silver shilling!
HISTORY AND ART.--Doubts have been thrown on the genuineness of the story about St. ELIZABETH of Hungary as illustrated by Mr. CALDERON's well-known and striking picture in this year's Academy. Mr. CALDERON affirms, according to the best of his high lights, that he has simply portrayed the naked truth. So far, in a certain sense, the Court is with him. Still, historians are neither unbiassed nor infallible, and painters are inclined to sacrifice much for effect. For our part, we should be inclined to refer the situation, which this picture illustrates, to some incident in the life of the celebrated Miss ELIZABETH MARTIN, generally known as "BETTY MARTIN." The legend may be found in some work by that voluminous writer Finis, or by the oft-quoted Ibid, under the quaint heading, Historia Mei et Beati Martini.
No. 278. "_The Fleecy Charge_." A title that suggests an attempt at extortion, but is here applied to A picture in wool-work by the veteran, T. SYDNEY COOPER, R.A. Of course whatever the artist may ask for it, it will always be "sheep at the price."
No. 388. "_Writing a Message to St. Helena_." Hope St. Helena received it. Probably forwarded by a winged messenger as suggested by the name of the artist, which is EYRE CROWE, A.
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