Chapter 1

PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 100.

April 4, 1891.

MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.

(_CONDENSED AND REVISED VERSION BY MR. P.'S OWN HARMLESS IBSENITE._)

NO. II.-NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVÖIT).

ACT I.

_A Room tastefully filled with cheap Art-furniture. Gimcracks in an étagère; a festoon of chenille monkeys hanging from the gaselier. Japanese fans, skeletons, cotton-wool spiders, frogs, and lizards, scattered everywhere about. Drain-pipes with tall dyed grasses. A porcelain stove decorated with transferable pictures. Showily-bound books in book-case. Window. The Visitors' bell rings in the hall outside. The hall-door is heard to open, and then to shut. Presently NORA walks in with parcels; a Porter carries a large Christmas-tree after her--which he puts down. NORA gives him a shilling--and he goes out grumbling. NORA hums contentedly, and eats macaroons. Then HELMER puts his head out of his Manager's room, and NORA hides macaroons cautiously._

_Helmer_ (_playfully_). Is that my little squirrel twittering--that my lark frisking in here?

_Nora_. Ess! (_To herself._) I have only been married eight years, so these marital amenities have not yet had time to pall!

_Helmer_ (_threatening with his finger_). I hope the little bird has surely not been digging its beak into any macaroons, eh?

_Nora_ (_bolting one, and wiping her mouth_). No, most certainly not. (_To herself_.) The worst of being so babyish is--one _does_ have to tell such a lot of taradiddles! (_To H._) See what _I_'ve bought--it's been _such_ fun!

[_Hums._

_Helmer_ (_inspecting parcels_). H'm--rather an _expensive_ little lark!

[_Takes her playfully by the ear._

_Nora_. Little birds like to have a flutter occasionally. Which reminds me--(_Plays with his coat-buttons._) I'm such a simple ickle sing--but if you _are_ thinking of giving me a Christmas present, make it cash.

_Helmer_. Just like your poor father, _he_ always asked me to make it cash--he never made any himself! It's heredity, I suppose. Well--well!

[_Goes back to his Bank. NORA goes on humming._

_Enter Mrs. LINDEN, doubtfully._

_Nora_. What, CHRISTINA--why, how old you look! But then you are poor. I'm not. TORVALD has just been made a Bank Manager. (_Tidies the room._) Isn't it really wonderfully delicious to be well off? But, of course, you wouldn't know. _We_ were poor once, and, do you know, when TORVALD was ill, I--(_tossing her head_)--though I _am_ such a frivolous little squirrel, and all that, I actually borrowed £300 for him to go abroad. Wasn't _that_ clever? Tra-la-la! I shan't tell you _who_ lent it. I didn't even tell TORVALD. I am such a mere baby I don't tell him everything. I tell Dr. RANK, though. Oh, I'm so awfully happy I should like to shout, "Dash it all!"

_Mrs. Linden_ (_stroking her hair_). Do--it is a natural and innocent outburst--you are such a child! But I am a widow, and want employment. _Do_ you think your husband could find me a place as clerk in his Bank? (_Proudly._) I am an excellent knitter!

_Nora_. That would really be awfully funny. (_To HELMER, who enters._) TORVALD, this is CHRISTINA; she wants to be a clerk in your Bank--_do_ let her! She thinks such a lot of _you_. (_To herself._) Another taradiddle!

_Helmer_. She is a sensible woman, and deserves encouragement. Come along, Mrs. LINDEN, and we'll see what we can do for you.

[_He goes out through the hall with Mrs. L., and the front-door is heard to slam after them._

_Nora_ (_opens door, and calls_). Now, EMMY, IVAR, and BOB, come in and have a romp with Mamma--we will play hide-and-seek. (_She gets under the table, smiling in quiet satisfaction; KROGSTAD enters--NORA pounces out upon him_). Boo!... Oh, I _beg_ your pardon. I don't do this kind of thing _generally_--though I may be a little silly!

_Krogstad_ (_politely_). Don't mention it. I called because I happened to see your husband go out with MRS. LINDEN--from which, being a person of considerable penetration, I infer that he is about to give her my post at the Bank. Now, as you owe me the balance of £300, for which I hold your acknowledgment, you will see the propriety of putting a stop to this little game at once.

_Nora_. But I don't at all--not a little wee bit! I'm so childish, you know--why _should_ I? [_Sitting upright on carpet._

_Krogs._ I will try to make it plain to the meanest capacity. When you came to me for the loan, I naturally required some additional security. Your father, being a shady Government official, without a penny--for, if he had possessed one, he would, presumably, have left it to you--without a penny, then, I, as a cautious man of business, insisted upon having his signature as a surety. Oh, we Norwegians are sharp fellows!

_Nora_. Well, you _got_ Papa's signature, didn't you?

_Krogs._ Oh, I _got_ it right enough. Unfortunately, it was dated three days after his decease--now, how do you account for _that_?

_Nora_. How? Why, as poor Papa was dead, and couldn't sign, I signed _for_ him, that's all! Only somehow I forgot to put the date back. _That's_ how. Didn't I _tell_ you I was a silly, unbusinesslike little thing? It's very simple.

_Krogs._ Very--but what you did amounts to forgery, notwithstanding. I happen to know, because I'm a lawyer, and have done a little in the forging way myself. So, to come to the point--if _I_ get kicked out, I shall not go alone! [_He bows, and goes out._

_Nora_. It _can't_ be wrong! Why no one but KROGSTAD would have been taken in by it! If the Law says it's wrong, the Law's a goose--a bigger goose than poor little me even! (_To HELMER, who enters_.) Oh, TORVALD, how you made me jump!

_Helmer_. Has anybody called? (_NORA shakes her head_.) Oh, my little squirrel mustn't tell naughty whoppers! Why, I just met that fellow KROGSTAD in the hall. He's been asking you to get me to take him back--now, hasn't he?

_Nora_ (_walking about_). Do just see how pretty the Christmas-tree looks!

_Helmer_. Never mind the tree--I want to have this out about KROGSTAD. I can't take him back, because many years ago he forged a name. As a lawyer, a close observer of human nature, and a Bank Manager, I have remarked that people who forge names seldom or never confide the fact to their children--which inevitably brings moral contagion into the entire family. From which it follows, logically, that KROGSTAD has been poisoning his children for years by acting a part, and is morally lost. (_Stretches out his hands to her._) I can't bear a morally lost Bank-cashier about me!

_Nora_. But you never thought of dismissing him till CHRISTINA came!

_Helmer_. H'm! I've got some business to attend to--so good-bye, little lark! [_Goes into office and shuts door._

_Nora_ (_pale with terror_). If KROGSTAD poisons his children because he once forged a name, I must be poisoning EMMY, and BOB, and IVAR, because _I_ forged Papa's signature! (_Short pause; she raises her head proudly._) After all, if I _am_ a doll, I can still draw a logical induction! I mustn't play with the children any more--(_hotly_)--I don't care--I _shall_, though! Who cares for KROGSTAD?

[_She makes a face, choking with suppressed tears, as Curtain falls._

N.B.--The tremendous psychological problem of whether NORA is as much of a doll, a squirrel, and a lark, as she seems, and if so, whether it is her own fault, or HELMER's or Society's, will be solved in subsequent numbers.

* * * * *

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.--At last by the authority of the L.C.C. his Grace of BEDFORD has been notified that within three months from now "Locks, bolts, and bars must fly asunder" in the parish of St. Pancras, where henceforth existence of all such obstruction is to cease. We hope that the gate-keepers, whose occupation is gone, have been amply provided for, as they will now have no gates, but only themselves to keep. _Mr. Punch_ has persistently advocated the reform. And now, Gentlemen, how about Mud Salad Market, which, like Scotland in _Macbeth's_ time, "stands where it did"?

* * * * *

A LAMIA, this? Nay, obvious coil, and hiss most unequivocal, betray the Snake; As fell ophidian as in fierce meridian of Afric ever lurked in swamp or brake; And yet Corinthian LYCIUS never doted on the white-throated charmer of his soul With blinder passion than our fools of Fashion Feel for this gruesome ghoul.

Poor LYCIUS had excuse. Who might refuse worship to Lamia, "now a lady bright"? But foul-fanged here, fierce-eyed, a shape of fear, the serpent stands, revealed to general sight, A loathly thing, close knotted ring on ring, of guise unlovely, and infectious breath; And yet strong witchery draws to those wide jaws Whose touch is shameful death.

See how the flattering things on painted wings, foolish as gnat-swarms near the shrivelling blaze, Flock nearer, nearer! Forms, too, quainter, queerer, frog-dupes of folly, rabbit-thralls of craze, Butterfly triflers, gay-plumed would-be riflers of golden chalices, of poisoned flowers, Flitter and flutter in delirium utter, As drawn by wizard powers.

Oh, "Painted Lady," Summer coverts shady, the greenwood home, the sweep of sunny fields, A butterfly befit; but where's the wit that mire-befouled to the swamp-demon yields? Oh, birds of Iris-glitter, black and bitter will be the wakening when those gaudy plumes Fall crushed and leaden, as your senses deaden In poisonous Python fumes!

Ye _gobemouche_ creatures of batrachian features, who "go a-wooing" such a fate as this, Have ye no vision of that doom's decision? Have ye no ear for rattle or for hiss? Salammbô's craving, morbid and enslaving, was sanity compared with your mad love, As well the swallow the fierce shrike might follow, Or hawk be chased by dove!

Tantalus' gold is all such Lamias hold; 'tis Devil's dice such Mammon vassals throw; A sordid fever fires each fool-believer in the gross glitter, the unholy glow. Vile is your Dagon! Circe's venomed flagon embruted less than doth the Lamia's wine, Than Comus' cup more perilous to sup-- As snakes are worse than swine.

The poet's snake enchanted, who so flaunted her borrowed robes amidst the daffodils, Hath piteous touches. She, from Fate's clutches, free some brief space, "escaped from so sore ills," Moves our compassion. But this modern fashion of Snake Enchanter looks unlovely all. Greed's inspiration its sole fascination. Low selfishness its thrall.

"A Serpent!" So the Sophist murmured low, and "LYCIUS' arms were empty of delight," LAMIA had fled! Would that some sage cool head, some modern APOLLONIUS, with the might Of sense magnanimous, would banish thus the bestial Lamia of our later day, Whose fascination draws a noble nation To sordid slow decay!

* * * * *

DANTE NOT "IN IT"!--The Italian language is to be excluded from the Indian Civil Service Examination. "The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian," said _Hamlet_, and SHAKSPEARE knew that the reference would be intelligible to his audience. But _Hamlet_ "up to date" in this "so-called nineteenth century" would be compelled to give the speech thus, "The original story, I believe, is written in the Italian language, with which none of us here are acquainted." But, after all, the candidates may be inclined to adapt the Gilbert-Sullivan words and music to the occasion, and sing--

"So, in spite of all temptation, At the next examination They'll bar I-tal-i-an!"

Though, years hence, it may happen that they'll be sorry they weren't compelled to get up Italian as one of the subjects.

* * * * *

"O WOMAN, IN OUR HOUR OF EASE!"--which line would make a suitable motto for our very useful, chatty, and interesting weekly contemporary entitled _Woman. À propos_ of "headings," the only one in the above-mentioned publication to which objection can possibly be taken "on the face of it" is "Wrinkles." Wouldn't "Whispers" be better? It is quite enough for _Woman_ to appear with lines, but it's too bad that wrinkles should be added while she is yet so young.

* * * * *

"CHARLES OUR FRIEND."--Once again occurs an illustration of the applicability of Dickensian characters to modern instances. In last Thursday's _Times_, by special Razzle-Dalziel wire, we read of the return of another great Arctic explorer, Mr. WASHBURTON PIKE, after having braved dangers demanding the most dauntless courage. Here, then, are two single gentlemen rolled into one: it is _Pike_ and _Pluck_ combined.

* * * * *

* * * * *

WANTED FOR THE ETON LOAN COLLECTION.

1. The earliest specimen of the Birch. (_Suggested by a Merry Swish Boy._)

2. Salt-cellar used for holding the Salt at Montem time.

3. Specimen of Haberdashery, from an Eton "Sock" shop.

4. Model of the most powerful "Long-glass" from "Tap."

5. Chips from the Earliest Block, with authentic history of Etonian Original Transgression, or "First Fault."

6. Documents tracing the connection between "Pop" and the Pawnbroking business.

7. Specimen of Lower Boy's Hat, with motto, "_Sub Tegmine Fag-I!_"

8. Portraits of Eminent "Sitters" on Fourth of June and Election Saturday in the early part of present century.

9. Scull of a "Wet-Bob" originally feathered.

10. A copy (perfect and signed) of another boy's verses. (N.B. Not very scarce.)

11. Portraits of eminent Landlords who, acting on SHERIDAN's advice, have "kept up the Xtopher."

12. Also, portrait, with life and times of the crabbed old Thames Waterman, known on the river as "Surly HALL."

[Any future suggestions that maybe sent to us will be entirely at the service of the Duke of FIFE and others, interested in promoting this most interesting exhibition.]

* * * * *

A PUBLISHER AND HIS FRIENDS.--In order to worthily celebrate the hearty reception, by the critics and the public generally, of this most interesting and successful work, the present representatives of the great publishing firm of MURRAY will give a grand banquet, and, with SMILES, will sing in chorus the once popular refrain, "We are a Murray family, we are, we are, we are!" _Prosit!_

* * * * *

TO THOSE IT MAY CONCERN.--In reply to several Correspondents, _Mr. Punch_ begs to suggest that ANTHONY TROLLOPE would certainly have observed, "_I say Yes!_" had he been told that WILKIE COLLINS had written "_I Say No!_"

* * * * *

THE WAY OF WESTMINSTER.

(_A STORY OF THE PARLIAMENTARY BAR._)

"You will not forget, Sir," said my excellent and admirable clerk, "that to-morrow you have to appear before a Committee of the House of Commons, in the matter of the Glogsweller Railway Extension?"

I glanced somewhat severely at PORTINGTON, but was gratified to find that his face was quite free from any suggestion of levity. I was the more pleased with the result of my investigation, as, truth to tell, the delivery of a brief in the matter of the Extension of the Glogsweller Railway Company had been somewhat of an event in my life. I had never before had the honour of practising at the Parliamentary Bar. So for months my mind had been entirely occupied with the date fixed for my appearance in the Committee Room of the House of Commons, known technically, I believe, at St. Stephens, as "upstairs."

"You will be sure to meet me there, to-morrow, PORTINGTON?" I observed.

"Certainly, Sir," replied my clerk. "But, as I have to be down at the Mayor's Court with Mr. CHARLES O'MULLIGAN in the morning, I daresay you won't mind if I come with your sandwiches and sherry, Sir, at two, or thereabouts."

I acquiesced, somewhat unwillingly. O'MULLIGAN shares with me the good offices of PORTINGTON, but generally contrives to secure the lion's portion of his services. I had arranged--understanding that no adjournment was made for luncheon--that some refreshment should be conveyed to me during the day's proceedings, so that my voice should lose none of its wonted resonance (owing to famine-produced weakness) when the time arrived for my advocacy of the cause of my clients. Those clients had, so to speak, but a collateral interest in the day's proceedings. The great North-East Diddlesex Railway were promoting a Bill to carry a new line into the neighbourhood of the Glogsweller Extension, and my duty was confined to cross-examining one of the expert witnesses that I knew would be asked to support the G.N.E.D.R. To be candid, we had a goods depôt near their suggested terminus, and were fearful that their proposed proximity would damage our mineral traffic. The matter was simple enough, but I had taken months in carefully studying a small library of charts, Encyclopædias, and Parliamentary Blue Books, in mastering it.

On the morning following my conversation with PORTINGTON, duly robed (I had put on my wig and gown in Chambers), I travelled by hansom to Westminster, and presented myself at the side entrance to St. Stephen's Hall. I had no difficulty in finding the Committee Room devoted to the consideration of the alleged necessities of the Great North-East Diddlesex Railway. It was a large and pleasant apartment, with a distant view through the windows of St. Thomas's Hospital. At a horse-shoe table sat the Committee, some four or five gentlemen, who might have filled equally appropriately any one of the pews reserved in the Royal Courts for the accommodation of a Special Jury. I took my place amongst a number of my learned brethren, who were perfect strangers to me. The table in front of us was littered with plans, charts, and documents of all descriptions. A Q.C. brought with him a large bag of buns, and two cups of custard, and there were other refreshments mingled with the exhibits before us. On chairs at the side were Solicitors; at our back, separated from us by a bar, were the Public. On the walls were hanging huge charts, giving in pantomimic proportions the proposed progress of the projected line. In the corners of these charts were explanations why such a part was coloured green, or red, or blue. During the day's proceedings an attendant was told off to trace the course of a counsel's harangue by pointing out, with a lecturer's wand, the various places referred to in his speech.

I was gratified to find that the expert whose evidence it was my duty to test by cross-examination, was soon in the witness-box. He was a gentleman of considerable bulk, which gave one of my learned friends, who was the first to take him in hand, the opportunity of saying, that he was a "witness of great weight," a remark which caused much laughter--even the Chairman of the Committee, a somewhat austere person, indulging in a stealthy smile at the ingenious sally. Such waggish flashes as this, I need scarcely say, were most welcome, and afforded, when they came, a pleasant relief to the necessary dryness that characterised, perforce, the proceedings. As the hands of the clock progressed, waiters carried into the Committee, various light refreshments, such as brandy-and-sodawater, sandwiches, and buns. My colleagues, too, when not actively engaged in the declamatory duties of their profession, partook of the viands with which they had provided themselves before the commencement of the day's labours. Thus the cups devoted to custard soon were empty, and the paper bags, once occupied by buns, crumpled up and discarded. I gazed at the clock. It was past two, and I was getting terribly hungry. I felt that my voice was becoming weak from famine. This would never do, and might endanger my clients' interests. I looked round eagerly for PORTINGTON. He was nowhere to be seen. I whispered to a colleague, "would the examination-in-chief last much longer?" and was told it could not possibly be concluded within a quarter of an hour. I made up my mind to hasten to a refreshment-bar I had seen in the corridor before I had entered the room, and hurriedly left my seat. I pushed my way through the public, and had scarcely got outside when I found my faithful clerk laden with sandwiches and sherry making post-haste towards me.

"Get back, Sir, as quick as you can," he cried, as he thrust the invigorating ingredients of my midday meal into my hands; "run, Sir, run; I hope they haven't noticed your absence!"

Rather offended at the peremptory tone adopted by my subordinate I returned to my seat, and was pleased to find that the examination-in-chief was nearly ended. I pulled myself together. I drank a glass of sherry and finished a sandwich. My voice was in excellent tone, and I felt that the crisis of my life had indeed been reached. I knew that it was now or never. I had this great chance of distinguishing myself by pleasing my clients and securing a practice at the Parliamentary Bar, which might mean hundreds, nay, thousands a-year. I imagined my children at Eton, my wife in a carriage and pair, my address in Grosvenor Place. All I had to do to secure these tardily-attained luxuries was to protect my clients by my careful attention to their interests. The moment at length arrived. I rose to cross-examine.

"And now, Sir," I said; feeling that I was master of the situation, and that my voice had a magnificent resonance, which was striking terror into the heart of the witness before me, _I_ am going to put a few questions to you!"

"I beg pardon," said the Chairman, promptly--"you will do nothing of the sort. You were not present during the _whole_ of the witness's * * * * * I could have wept! The momentary search for sandwiches and sherry had ruined me! Eton and Grosvenor Place vanished together (in the carriage and pair) for ever!

_Pump-Handle Court_. (_Signed_) A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.

* * * * *

OLLENDORFF IN LONDON;

OR, THE COCKNEY'S FAMILIAR PHRASE-BOOK.

NO. I.--AT THE ESTATE AGENT'S.