Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (270 page)

Dr. Brandes has dealt very severely with the character of Eilert Lovborg, alleging that we cannot believe in the genius attributed to him. But where is he described as a genius? The poet represents him as a very able student of sociology; but that is quite a different thing from attributing to him such genius as must necessarily shine forth in every word he utters. Dr. Brandes, indeed, declines to believe even in his ability as a sociologist, on the ground that it is idle to write about the social development of the future. “To our prosaic minds,” he says, “it may seem as if the most sensible utterance on the subject is that of the fool of the play: ‘The future! Good heavens, we know nothing of the future.’” The best retort to this criticism is that which Eilert himself makes: “There’s a thing or two to be said about it all the same.” The intelligent forecasting of the future
(as Mr. H. G. Wells has shown)
is not only clearly distinguishable from fantastic Utopianism, but is indispensable to any large statesmanship or enlightened social activity. With very real and very great respect for Dr. Brandes, I cannot think that he has been fortunate in his treatment of Lovborg’s character. It has been represented as an absurdity that he would think of reading abstracts from his new book to a man like Tesman, whom he despises. But though Tesman is a ninny, he is, as Hedda says, a “specialist” — he is a competent, plodding student of his subject. Lovborg may quite naturally wish to see how his new method, or his excursion into a new field, strikes the average scholar of the Tesman type. He is, in fact, “trying it on the dog” — neither an unreasonable nor an unusual proceeding. There is, no doubt, a certain improbability in the way in which Lovborg is represented as carrying his manuscript around, and especially in Mrs. Elvsted’s production of his rough draft from her pocket; but these are mechanical trifles, on which only a niggling criticism would dream of laying stress.

Of all Ibsen’s works,
Hedda Gabler
is the most detached, the most objective — a character-study pure and simple. It is impossible — or so it seems to me — to extract any sort of general idea from it. One cannot even call it a satire, unless one is prepared to apply that term to the record of a “case” in a work of criminology. Reverting to Dumas’s dictum that a play should contain “a painting, a judgment, an ideal,” we may say the
Hedda Gabler
fulfils only the first of these requirements. The poet does not even pass judgment on his heroine: he simply paints her full-length portrait with scientific impassivity. But what a portrait! How searching in insight, how brilliant in colouring, how rich in detail! Grant Allen’s remark, above quoted, was, of course, a whimsical exaggeration; the Hedda type is not so common as all that, else the world would quickly come to an end. But particular traits and tendencies of the Hedda type are very common in modern life, and not only among women. Hyperaesthesia lies at the root of her tragedy. With a keenly critical, relentlessly solvent intelligence, she combines a morbid shrinking from all the gross and prosaic detail of the sensual life. She has nothing to take her out of herself — not a single intellectual interest or moral enthusiasm. She cherishes, in a languid way, a petty social ambition; and even that she finds obstructed and baffled. At the same time she learns that another woman has had the courage to love and venture all, where she, in her cowardice, only hankered and refrained. Her malign egoism rises up uncontrolled, and calls to its aid her quick and subtle intellect. She ruins the other woman’s happiness, but in doing so incurs a danger from which her sense of personal dignity revolts. Life has no such charm for her that she cares to purchase it at the cost of squalid humiliation and self-contempt. The good and the bad in her alike impel her to have done with it all; and a pistol-shot ends what is surely one of the most poignant character-tragedies in literature. Ibsen’s brain never worked at higher pressure than in the conception and adjustment of those “crowded hours” in which Hedda, tangled in the web of Will and Circumstance, struggles on till she is too weary to struggle any more.

It may not be superfluous to note that the “a” in “Gabler” should be sounded long and full, like the “a” in “Garden” — NOT like the “a” in “gable” or in “gabble.”

W. A.

Character
s

George Tesman
.*

Hedda Tesman
, his wife.

Miss Juliana Tesman
, his aunt.

Mrs. Elvsted
.

Judge
**
Brack
.

Eilert Lovborg
.

Berta
, servant at the Tesmans.

The scene of the action is Tesman’s villa, in the west end of Christiania.

* Tesman, whose Christian name in the original is “Jorgen,” is described as “stipendiat i kulturhistorie” — that is to say, the holder of a scholarship for purposes of research into the History of Civilisation.

** In the original “Assessor.”

Act Firs
t

A spacious, handsome, and tastefully furnished drawing room, decorated in dark colours. In the back, a wide doorway with curtains drawn back, leading into a smaller room decorated in the same style as the drawing-room. In the right-hand wall of the front room, a folding door leading out to the hall. In the opposite wall, on the left, a glass door, also with curtains drawn back. Through the panes can be seen part of a verandah outside, and trees covered with autumn foliage. An oval table, with a cover on it, and surrounded by chairs, stands well forward. In front, by the wall on the right, a wide stove of dark porcelain, a high-backed arm-chair, a cushioned foot-rest, and two footstools. A settee, with a small round table in front of it, fills the upper right-hand corner. In front, on the left, a little way from the wall, a sofa. Further back than the glass door, a piano. On either side of the doorway at the back a whatnot with terra-cotta and majolica ornaments. — Against the back wall of the inner room a sofa, with a table, and one or two chairs. Over the sofa hangs the portrait of a handsome elderly man in a General’s uniform. Over the table a hanging lamp, with an opal glass shade. — A number of bouquets are arranged about the drawing-room, in vases and glasses. Others lie upon the tables. The floors in both rooms are covered with thick carpets. — Morning light. The sun shines in through the glass door.

Miss Juliana Tesman
, with her bonnet on carrying a parasol, comes in from the hall, followed by
Berta
, who carries a bouquet wrapped in paper.
Miss Tesman
is a comely and pleasant-looking lady of about sixty-five. She is nicely but simply dressed in a grey walking-costume.
Berta
is a middle-aged woman of plain and rather countrified appearance.

Miss Tesman.
[Stops close to the door, listens, and says softly:]
Upon my word, I don’t believe they are stirring yet!

Berta.
[Also softly.]
I told you so, Miss. Remember how late the steamboat got in last night. And then, when they got home! — good Lord, what a lot the young mistress had to unpack before she could get to bed.

Miss Tesman.
Well well — let them have their sleep out. But let us see that they get a good breath of the fresh morning air when they do appear.

She goes to the glass door and throws it open.

Berta.
[Beside the table, at a loss what to do with the bouquet in her hand.]
I declare there isn’t a bit of room left. I think I’ll put it down here, Miss. [She places it on the piano.

Miss Tesman.
So you’ve got a new mistress now, my dear Berta. Heaven knows it was a wrench to me to part with you.

Berta.
[On the point of weeping.]
And do you think it wasn’t hard for me, too, Miss? After all the blessed years I’ve been with you and Miss Rina.

Miss Tesman.
We must make the best of it, Berta. There was nothing else to be done. George can’t do without you, you see-he absolutely can’t. He has had you to look after him ever since he was a little boy.

Berta.
Ah but, Miss Julia, I can’t help thinking of Miss Rina lying helpless at home there, poor thing. And with only that new girl too! She’ll never learn to take proper care of an invalid.

Miss Tesman.
Oh, I shall manage to train her. And of course, you know, I shall take most of it upon myself. You needn’t be uneasy about my poor sister, my dear Berta.

Berta.
Well, but there’s another thing, Miss. I’m so mortally afraid I shan’t be able to suit the young mistress.

Miss Tesman.
Oh well — just at first there may be one or two things —

Berta.
Most like she’ll be terrible grand in her ways.

Miss Tesman.
Well, you can’t wonder at that — General Gabler’s daughter! Think of the sort of life she was accustomed to in her father’s time. Don’t you remember how we used to see her riding down the road along with the General? In that long black habit — and with feathers in her hat?

Berta.
Yes, indeed — I remember well enough! — But, good Lord, I should never have dreamt in those days that she and Master George would make a match of it.

Miss Tesman.
Nor I. — But by-the-bye, Berta — while I think of it: in future you mustn’t say Master George. You must say Dr. Tesman.

Berta.
Yes, the young mistress spoke of that too — last night — the moment they set foot in the house. Is it true then, Miss?

Miss Tesman.
Yes, indeed it is. Only think, Berta — some foreign university has made him a doctor — while he has been abroad, you understand. I hadn’t heard a word about it, until he told me himself upon the pier.

Berta.
Well well, he’s clever enough for anything, he is. But I didn’t think he’d have gone in for doctoring people.

Miss Tesman.
No no, it’s not that sort of doctor he is.
[Nods significantly.]
But let me tell you, we may have to call him something still grander before long.

Berta.
You don’t day so! What can that be, Miss?

Miss Tesman.
[Smiling.]
H’m — wouldn’t you like to know!
[With emotion.]
Ah, dear dear — if my poor brother could only look up from his grave now, and see what his little boy has grown into!
[Looks around.]
But bless me, Berta — why have you done this? Taken the chintz covers off all the furniture.

Berta.
The mistress told me to. She can’t abide covers on the chairs, she says.

Miss Tesman.
Are they going to make this their everyday sitting-room then?

Berta.
Yes, that’s what I understood — from the mistress. Master George — the doctor — he said nothing.

George Tesman
comes from the right into the inner room, humming to himself, and carrying an unstrapped empty portmanteau. He is a middle-sized, young-looking man of thirty-three, rather stout, with a round, open, cheerful face, fair hair and beard. He wears spectacles, and is somewhat carelessly dressed in comfortable indoor clothes.

Miss Tesman.
Good morning, good morning, George.

Tesman.
[In the doorway between the rooms.]
Aunt Julia! Dear Aunt Julia!
[Goes up to her and shakes hands warmly.]
Come all this way — so early! Eh?

Miss Tesman.
Why, of course I had to come and see how you were getting on.

Tesman.
In spite of your having had no proper night’s rest?

Miss Tesman.
Oh, that makes no difference to me.

Tesman.
Well, I suppose you got home all right from the pier? Eh?

Miss Tesman.
Yes, quite safely, thank goodness. Judge Brack was good enough to see me right to my door.

Tesman.
We were so sorry we couldn’t give you a seat in the carriage. But you saw what a pile of boxes Hedda had to bring with her.

Miss Tesman.
Yes, she had certainly plenty of boxes.

Berta.
[To
Tesman
.]
Shall I go in and see if there’s anything I can do for the mistress?

Tesman.
No thank you, Berta — you needn’t. She said she would ring if she wanted anything.

Berta.
[Going towards the right.]
Very well.

Tesman.
But look here — take this portmanteau with you.

Berta.
[Taking it.]
I’ll put it in the attic.

She goes out by the hall door.

Tesman.
Fancy, Auntie — I had the whole of that portmanteau chock full of copies of the documents. You wouldn’t believe how much I have picked up from all the archives I have been examining — curious old details that no one has had any idea of —

Miss Tesman.
Yes, you don’t seem to have wasted you time on your wedding trip, George.

Tesman.
No, that I haven’t. But do take off your bonnet, Auntie. Look here! Let me untie the strings — eh?

Miss Tesman.
[While he does so.]
Well well — this is just as if you were still at home with us.

Tesman.
[With the bonnet in his hand, looks at it from all sides.]
Why, what a gorgeous bonnet you’ve been investing in!

Miss Tesman.
I bought it on Hedda’s account.

Tesman.
On Hedda’s account? Eh?

Miss Tesman.
Yes, so that Hedda needn’t be ashamed of me if we happened to go out together.

Tesman.
[Patting her cheek.]
You always think of everything, Aunt Julia.
[Lays the bonnet on a chair beside the table.]
And now, look here — suppose we sit comfortably on the sofa and have a little chat, till Hedda comes.

They seat themselves. She places her parasol in the corner of the sofa.

Miss Tesman.
[Takes both his hands and looks at him.]
What a delight it is to have you again, as large as life, before my very eyes, George! My George — my poor brother’s own boy!

Tesman.
And it’s a delight for me, too, to see you again, Aunt Julia! You, who have been father and mother in one to me.

Miss Tesman.
Oh yes, I know you will always keep a place in your heart for your old aunts.

Tesman.
And what about Aunt Rina? No improvement — eh?

Miss Tesman.
Oh, no — we can scarcely look for any improvement in her case, poor thing. There she lies, helpless, as she has lain for all these years. But heaven grant I may not lose her yet awhile! For if I did, I don’t know what I should make of my life, George — especially now that I haven’t you to look after any more.

Tesman.
[Patting her back.]
There there there — !

Miss Tesman.
[Suddenly changing her tone.]
And to think that here are you a married man, George! — And that you should be the one to carry off Hedda Gabler — the beautiful Hedda Gabler! Only think of it — she, that was so beset with admirers!

Tesman.
[Hums a little and smiles complacently.]
Yes, I fancy I have several good friends about town who would like to stand in my shoes — eh?

Miss Tesman.
And then this fine long wedding-tour you have had! More than five — nearly six months —

Tesman.
Well, for me it has been a sort of tour of research as well. I have had to do so much grubbing among old records — and to read no end of books too, Auntie.

Miss Tesman.
Oh yes, I suppose so.
[More confidentially, and lowering her voice a little.]
But listen now, George, — have you nothing — nothing special to tell me?

Tesman.
As to our journey?

Miss Tesman.
Yes.

Tesman.
No, I don’t know of anything except what I have told you in my letters. I had a doctor’s degree conferred on me — but that I told you yesterday.

Miss Tesman.
Yes, yes, you did. But what I mean is — haven’t you any — any — expectations — ?

Tesman.
Expectations?

Miss Tesman.
Why you know, George — I’m your old auntie!

Tesman.
Why, of course I have expectations.

Miss Tesman.
Ah!

Tesman.
I have every expectation of being a professor one of these days.

Miss Tesman.
Oh yes, a professor —

Tesman.
Indeed, I may say I am certain of it. But my dear Auntie — you know all about that already!