Chapter 2

_Nora_ (_shakes her head_). Ah, TORVALD, the mouth of a mother of a family should have more solemn things in it than macaroons! I see that now, too late. No, you have wronged me. So did Papa. Both of you called me a doll, and a squirrel, and a lark! You might have made something of me--and instead of that, you went and made too much of me--oh, you _did_!

_Helmer_. Well, you didn't seem to object to it, and really I don't exactly see what it is you _do_ want!

_Nora_. No more do I--that is what I have got to find out. If I had been properly educated, I should have known better than to date poor Papa's signature three days after he died. Now I must educate _myself_. I have to gain experience, and get clear about religion, and law, and things, and whether Society is right or I am--and I must go away and never come back any more till I _am_ educated!

_Helmer_. Then you may be away some little time? And what's to become of me and the eggs meanwhile?

_Nora_. That, TORVALD, is entirely your own affair. I have a higher duty than that towards you and the eggs. (_Looking solemnly upward._) I mean my duty towards Myself!

_Helmer_. And all this because--in a momentary annoyance at finding myself in the power of a discharged Cashier who calls me "I say TORVALD," I expressed myself with ultra-Gilbertian frankness! You talk like a silly child!

_Nora_. Because my eyes are opened, and I see my position with the eyes of IBSEN. I must go away at once, and begin to educate myself.

_Helmer_. May I ask how you are going to set about it?

_Nora_. Certainly. I shall begin--yes, I shall _begin_ with a course of the Norwegian theatres. If _that_ doesn't take the frivolity out of me, I don't really know what _will_! [_She gets her bonnet and ties it tightly._

_Helmer_. Then you are really going? And you'll never think about me and the eggs any more! Oh, NORA!

_Nora_. Indeed, I shall, occasionally--as strangers. (_She puts on a shawl sadly, and fetches her dressing-bag._) If I ever do come back, the greatest miracle of all will have to happen. Good-bye! [_She goes out through the hall; the front-door is heard to bang loudly._

_Helmer_ (_sinking on a chair_). The room empty? Then she _must_ be gone! Yes, my little lark has flown! (_The dull sound of an unskilled latchkey is heard trying the lock; presently the door opens, and Nora, with a somewhat foolish expression, reappears._) What? back already! Then you _are_ educated?

_Nora_ (_puts down dressing-bag_). No, TORVALD, not yet. Only, you see, I found I had only threepence-halfpenny in my purse, and the Norwegian theatres are all closed at this hour--and so I thought I wouldn't leave the cage till to-morrow--after breakfast.

_Helmer_ (_as if to himself_). The greatest miracle of all _has_ happened. My little bird is not in the bush _just_ yet!

[_NORA takes down a showily bound dictionary from the shelf and begins her education_; HELMER _fetches a bag of macaroons, sits near her, and tenders one humbly. A pause. NORA repulses it, proudly. He offers it again. She snatches at it suddenly, still without looking at him, and nibbles it thoughtfully as Curtain falls._

THE END (_with Mr. Punch's apologies to the Master_).

* * * * *

MODERN TYPES.

(_BY MR. PUNCH'S OWN TYPE WRITER._)

NO. XXIV.--THE GIVER OF PARTIES.

It may be that "Party," in the sense of a hospitable entertainment, is an obsolete word, and that those who speak of "giving a party" prove themselves, by the mere expression, to be fogeys whom the rushing stream of London amusements has long since thrown up on the sandy bank of middle age, there to grow dull and forget that their legs were ever apt for the waltz, or their digestions able to cope with lobster mayonnaise at 2 A.M. Yet, though he who thus speaks may not be as smart as a swell, or as much up to date as a church-parade-goer, the expression will serve, for it indicates comprehensively enough every variety of entertainment known to the London Season--the dance, the dinner, the reception, the music at home, the tea-party, and the theatre-party, for all these in her benevolence does the Giver of Parties offer to us, and all these does she find the world of London eager to accept. Now it would seem, one would imagine, to be the easiest thing in the world, if only the money be not wanting, to give a party. A hostess, so someone may say, has but to invite her friends, to light her rooms, to spread her tables, to set the champagne flowing, to order an awning, and to hire music and a linkman, and the thing is done. The result of all this will no doubt be a party--of a sort, but of a sort far different, however gorgeous it may be, from the splendid and widely-advertised gatherings which the genuine Giver of Parties organises. For in the one variety it is just possible that enjoyment may be one of the main objects sought and attained; in the latter it is certain that enjoyment, though it is not always absent, must yield the precedence to social success and promotion in the scale of Society. These are the objects that the Giver of Parties, as it is proposed to describe her, has at heart, and to their attainment she devotes herself with a persistent and all-embracing energy which no disappointment is capable of daunting. The envy of her friends, the smiles and the presence of Royalty, may be hers, but there is always some loftier height to which she must climb before she can say to herself, "_J'y suis, j'y reste_," and be thankful.

Her life has known many changes. Her parents were county people of good descent and position, but of a reduced income, for which they apparently sought compensation in an increasing family, mostly daughters. It was necessary that she should marry young, and she submitted to necessity by accepting the proposal of a man some ten years her senior, who had already come to be favourably spoken off for the success of his commercial ventures. It is needless to add that all her relations took good care to impress upon her mind the fact that the alliance was an honour to her husband, whose wealth, even though it might in time rival that of the ROTHSCHILDS, could never make him fit to be mentioned in the same breath with one who numbered among her remoter ancestors a Baron, who had fought and bled on many fields for King CHARLES THE FIRST. However, the marriage took place in spite of the inequality of rank, and the much-honoured husband bore his wife with him to London, where for a time the modest comfort of a house in distant Bayswater satisfied them. Business prospered, and money came pouring in. The wife, who, it must be said, had undeniable beauty, excellent manners, and the trick of intuitively adapting herself to any society, was taken up by a great lady who happened to see her holding a stall at a large bazaar in which the fashionable world took some interest. Acting upon the great lady's suggestion, she was photographed in the becoming Tyrolese peasant's costume which she wore as a stall-holder, and the photograph was in some mysterious way engraved in all the illustrated papers of the following week. Her name was enshrined in paragraphs, she was observed in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, she was introduced to a Royal personage who was pleased to confer upon her the distinction of his smiles, and to mention her to the select circle of his intimates as "a very pretty, pleasant little woman." And thus she was started upon the thorny path of ambitious pleasure.

It is well known that the sacred fire of fashion burns--or is supposed to burn--in Belgravia alone. Its warmth drew her irresistibly. Bayswater became too cold to hold her, and early in the following year it was announced that a large house in the purlieus of Grosvenor Square had been purchased by her husband. However, she was content to climb by degrees, and, in her first season of social brilliancy, she restricted herself to a small and early dance, and a musical evening. At the dance, universal admiration was excited by the lavish profusion of the flowers with which her staircase was adorned, by the excellent quality of the champagne, and the inexhaustible supply of oysters. At the musical evening the music was as admirably rendered as it was completely neglected. And at both parties only those people were present as to whose social status and absolute "rightness" there could be no question. Indeed the dancer, whose foot had been trodden upon at the former, might console herself with the thought that none but a noble boot had caused her pain; while at the latter the sounds of heavy breathing, which mingled inharmoniously with Mlle. FALSETTI's _bravura_, were forgiven, in consideration of the exalted rank of their producer. Her success seemed now to be assured, and even the muttered discontent of a neglected husband, who was foolish enough to prefer comfort to smartness, began to subside. In the following year her entertainments became even more splendid, and less comfortable. She took a house at Ascot, and, triumph of triumphs! a scion of Royalty deigned to accept her hospitality.

After this, one would have supposed that she might have reposed for a space. But the penalty of social life is its never-ending necessity for movement. Jealous rivals abound to dispute a hardly-won supremacy, and the least sign of faltering may involve extinction. Yet it must be said that she is kind to her own, even when she is most brilliant. She brings out a daughter to be the delight of young Guardsmen, and marries her to a widowed Peer; she furbishes up forgotten relations, and allows them to shine in the rays of her glory; she is charitable after the manner of fancy fairs, and the hospitality of her house becomes proverbial. But, in the midst of all the bustle, the confusion, and the rattling turmoil of her career, she sometimes sighs for the undistinguished ease of her life in the pre-Royal days, sighs, and returns with fresh vigour to the struggle.

And so the pleasureless days of the pleasure-seeker follow one another, each with its particular legacy of little strivings, until, at the last, consolation may come from the thought that there is at least one place where there are many mansions, but no social ambitions.

* * * * *

NEW PRAYER-BOOK REVISION.--Several alterations will now have to be made in the marriage service. If it be permissible for the bride to omit her promise "to obey," as is reported to have been the case at a wedding last week, why should any undertaking "to love," "to honour," "to cherish," and so forth remain in the text? With all this left out, a marriage, which, of course, will no longer be an ecclesiastical rite, will hardly be a very civil ceremony. In course of time all the promises will be made either explicitly or implicitly conditional, the only question being what is the least possible obligation that can be incurred by both contracting parties at the smallest possible expense.

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* * * * *

NOT CAUGHT YET!

The Boy and the Bird! And the Bird looks so old;-- Scarce the species of fowl to be easily "sold,"-- And the Boy is so young! It seems almost absurd To suppose that that pinch is to capture that Bird!

An old form of chase, if the legends run right; Like that, much akin, of the wild goose in flight. But salt, just like chaff and the plainly spread net, Was never regarded as promising yet.

But now? Well, the Birds of the age, like its Boys, Its Wives, and its Weather, its Tastes and its Toys, Have suffered a change, not a sea-change, but one Which floors half the maxims, and spoils half the fun.

Simple SIMON? Well, that's not as clear as it looks. The typical noodles of nursery books Were podgy and chubby, or lanky and pale, And--they tried to drop salt on poor dicky-bird's tail!

A fat boy in tight breeks with a palpable bait May look a great fool; but I guess we must wait,-- Before we bemock him as crass and absurd,-- To see--what effect it will have on the Bird!

The trial's well timed, and the bait looks "not bad;" The Boy _may_ "know his book," though he's only a lad. Birds sometimes fall victims to Boys on the prowl, And the Voter Bird is _not_ the wariest fowl.

The Voter Bird shortly must show what he's worth He may be the stupidest dicky on earth, Predestinate victim to salt-pinch or net; But then he may _not_,--and he is "not caught _yet_!"

* * * * *

AN AUTOCRAT'S ASPIRATION.--Pan-Slavism for Holy Russia, and Pan-Slav(e)ism for the rest of Europe.

* * * * *

LAND AND BRAIN.

(_A PAGE FROM A VADE MECUM FOR POLITICAL ECONOMISTS._)

_Question_. Can you tell me how long an Author has a right to the profits arising out of his literary labours? _Answer_. Forty-two years, or the term of his natural life plus seven years further, whichever may be the longer. _Q._ And should Lord MONKSWELL's Copyright Bill, which has been read a First Time in the House of Peers, become law, will not this right be extended to thirty years after the death of the Author? _A._ It will, to his great advantage. The same measure contains other valuable provisions to secure to the Author the just profit of his brain-work. _Q._ But will not these advantages be purchased at the price of a loss to the general good? _A._ Very likely--the community will suffer for the benefit of the individual. _Q._ In like manner a Patentee, who invents a most useful article, enjoys (for a consideration) a monopoly of its sale, does he not? _A._ For fourteen years. This enables him to recoup himself for the thought and labour he has employed in the most useful article's construction. _Q._ If Author and Inventor were allowed an absolute monopoly of the profits arising out of their brain-work, it would be immoral? _A._ No doubt, as the individuals would benefit at the cost of the community. _Q._ Why should a butterman, then, have an absolute right in the sale of his butter? _A._ Because butter is butter, and brains are merely brains. _Q._ And would it not be for the benefit of the community if the landowner of a freehold were deprived of his rights after a term of years, and his holding be given to the public? _A._ Oh dear, no! Land, as RUDYARD KIPLING would say, "is quite another story!"

* * * * *

COUNSEL'S MOTTO (_objected to in the Committee Rooms_).--"Absence makes the fees grow stronger."

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* * * * *

OPERATIC NOTES.

The first night of the Mixed Italian Opera Season, 1891. We open with GLÜCK's _Orféo_, and, in a strong opera-glass, we drink to DRURIOLANUS OPERATICUS, and say, "Here's G-luck t'you!" Nothing can begin the season better than the appearance of GIULIA and SOFIA RAVOGLI--specially GIULIA--"There's something 'bout GIULIA So werry peculia'"--(_Old Song_)--in this short Opera, that is to say, an Opera which should be short were it not for the "waits" between the Scenes and Acts, which, as it is in the nature of weights to do, must always make even the lightest Opera seem heavy. Mlle. GIULIA sang and acted perfectly. Her rendering of the last song was most pathetic. This delicious melody the audience would have had over and over again, not in merry mood, for we are never merry in the hearing of such sweet music, but in appreciative sympathy with the woes of _Orpheus_ so sweetly expressed. The lines in _Bombastes_ rise in my memory:--

"So ORPHEUS sang of old, or poets lie, And--"

On consideration, however, I will _not_ quote the remainder, but will say simply that we were all charmed. Welcome, at the commencement of another season, to Mlle. BAUERMEISTER, appearing as _Cupid_. To-morrow she will be _Dame Marta_! Wonderful! "Time cannot stale her infinite variety." How is it, O _première danseuse_, my pretty pretty Polly Hop-kino PALLADINO, Principal Shade among all these Happy but Shady characters, that thou didst not choose a classic dance in keeping with the character of the music and of the ideal--I distinctly emphasise "_ideal_"--surroundings? What oughtest thou to represent in the Elysian Fields? A Salvationised "Dancing Girl," without bonnet and tambourine? Nay, not so; but rather the very spirit of classic grace and elegance, moving rhythmically to melodious measure. In such a Scene as this ought to be, we want as much idealism as your graceful art can lend, otherwise we are only among our old friends, "the ladies and gentlemen of the Chorus"--bless em!--representing most substantially the "Shades of the Blessed," who appear to be Shades of every colour. GIULIA RAVOGLI, however, kept us entranced in the ancient classic land where once we used to wander. "_Vive Lemprière!_"

_Second Night_.--_Faust_, with a new _Marguerite_, Gay dog, _Faust_. How many _Marguerites_ have there been even in my time! Same old story. _Faust_ not a whit improved by experience--going on just the same as ever. His new _Marguerite_ does credit to his choice, for Mlle. EAMES--(isn't she Miss EAMES, and neither Mademoiselle nor Signora? And doesn't she hail from Columbia?--but no matter)--is a sweet-looking _Marguerite_, with a voice as true as is her heart to _Faust_. A genuine _Gretchen_, simple not brilliant. Brilliancy she leaves to property diamonds, but awakes enthusiasm, by her judicious acting over the inert body of _Valentine_, when she attempts no sudden Colwell-Hatchney shriek, always so perilous. Signor PEROTTI looked as _Faust_ might have done, had he been elected an Alderman of the City of London and acted up to the character. If DRURIOLANUS had lent him his Sheriff's chain to wear, Signor PEROTTI would have been perfect, that is from this point of view. M. MAUREL excellent as _Mephisto_ in a new suit of clothes. He appears now as "The Gentleman in Grey"--rather suggestive of his having become a Volunteer, and a member, of course, of "the Devil's Own." Imagine _Mephistopheles_ re-dressed at last! On both nights Signor MANCINELLI, the Conductor, seemed pleased, and that's something.

Great feature in Covent Garden this year is the decoration of the Pit-tier Lobby. DRURIOLANUS, feeling happy at the Opera prospects, and rejoicing in a full subscription, said to the Committee, "Gentlemen, let's have 'glasses round'!" Some officious person, hearing this, mistook the meaning of the great Chief, and straightway ran off and ordered _looking-glasses all round for the Lobby!_ Grand effect! brilliant! dazzling!--too much so, in fact; several glasses too much. So, after a couple of nights' reflection, when the _habitués_ came on Thursday, behold, two or three of the aristocratic mirrors or Peer-glasses had disappeared, the hat-pegs of former times had been restored, the wounded susceptibilities of the Stall-keepers whose occupation was partly gone, were healed, and where gloom was spreading, wreathed smiles once more prevailed. Even now these Opera-glasses are rather too powerful. Still, "let us see ourselves as others see us," is a good practical motto for the loiterer in the lobby, as he catches sight of himself, _en passant_, and wonders who that chap is, whose face he has seen somewhere before, but whose name he can't for the life of him recollect.

_Thursday_.--_Carmen_. Disappointed with JULIA RAVOGLI in this, though there are some fine bits of acting in it. Didn't care much about Sister SOFIA as _Mickie the Maiden_, M. LUBERT's _Don José_ good but not great; and M. CELLI, who, in default of M. DEVOYOD's not being able to appear, took the part of _Escamillo_, was great, but not very good. He was, however, well supported by Signor RANDEGGER and the Orchestra, and considering the difficulties he had to struggle with, including an apology in the bills, he came out of it safely.

_Saturday_.--Re-appearance of the great DE RESZKE Brothers, JOHN and NED (what's JOHN without an 'ed?) in _Lohengrin_. Admirable. JULIA RAVOGLI excellent as _Ortruda_, and M. MAUREL equally so as _Freddy_. But why did he "feather his skull," like the Jolly Young Waterman, in so remarkable a style? However, his _Freddy_ is a feather in his cap with which he ought to be satisfied. Miss EAMES as _Elsa_ even better than as _Marguerite_. Crammed house. "Friends in front" more than satisfied. Good start.

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE UN-SENTIMENTALIST.

THE EARLY GREEN PEA.

Oh, the early green pea! the early green pea! Is the dish of all dishes to set before me! You may tell me of salmon caught fresh from the Tay, The beauties of plump white spring chicken display, The strawberry ripened three months before date-- All these and much else you may set on my plate! But of them, no not one, stirs such rapture in me As the sweet, mellow taste of the Early Green Pea!

Oh, the early green pea, the pea of my taste, Must be gently assisted, not forced in hot haste, Lest the flavour it yield prove delusive and flat, In no way suggesting the young Marrowfat! But if it do this, oh what more could I wish, Than to see a young duckling form part of the dish! So with such a banquet spread out before me, Can you ask why I worship the Early Green Pea!

* * * * *

IN MEMORIAM.--As a tribute expressive of the high estimation in which the late Mr. P.T. BARNUM was held in England, why not endow a "Barnum Exhibition" at one of the Colleges of either University? We have "Smith's Prizeman," why not "Barnum Exhibitioner"?

* * * * *

"THE PRODIGY SON."--The three-act pantomime play at the Prince of Wales's has "caught on," as we predicted it would. Manager SEDGER thinks of temporarily adopting as his motto for this theatre, "Speech is silvern, silence is golden."

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* * * * *

SWORD VERSUS LANCET!

(_AN INCIDENT IN THE NEXT WAR._)

"Now," said the Surgeon-Field-Marshal-Commanding-in-Chief, as he stood before his men; "I have the greatest confidence in your skill. There is not one of you present who cannot perform an operation as successfully as myself;" here there was a murmur of polite denial in the ranks. "Nay, it is no flattery--I mean it. These are my last instructions. We are few, the enemy are many. We are not only soldiers but medical men. And as medical men it is our business to cure the wounds that we inflict in our more strictly military capacity."

Again there was a murmur--this time of cordial approval.