Punch (100.1891)

April 4, 1891.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

157

to see your husband go out with Mbs. 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,
dyed grasses A porcelain stove decorated with transferable presnmably have feft ft to y(m-without a penny, then, I, as a

4/lvriS/> °U%1 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, un-
businesslike little thing ? It's very simple.

Krogs. Very—but what you did amounts to forgery, notwith-
standing. 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

MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.

[Condensed and Revised Version by Mr. P.'s Own Harmless Ibsenite.)
No. II.-NORA ; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVOlT).

Act I.

A Room tastefully filled with cheap Art-furniiure. Gimcracks in
an etagere ; a festoon of chenille monkeys hanging from the
gaselier. Japanese fans, skeletons, cotton-wool spiders, frogs,
and lizards, scattered everywhere ah >ut. 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, tcalks in with
parcels; a Porter carries a large Christmas-tree after her—
which he puts dozen. NoBA gives him a shilling—and he goes
out grumbling. Noba hums contentedly, and eats macaroons.
Then Helileb puts his head out of his Manager's room, and
Noba 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 get kicked out, I shall not go

linger). I hope the little bird has (jL//^ / ./ alone ! [He bows, aiid goes out.

surely not been digging its beak , l '\ Nora. It can't be wrong! Why

into any macaroons, eh ? ,*!5*§fe&/4 rftV I n0 one Kbogstad would have

Nora {bolting one, and wiping i^w^Ki^^Sl^CS '* — ^ been taken in by it! If the Law

her mouth). No, most certainly *Wf <^^\\c%MkllJ/j^'S''^^- • ). says it's wrong, the Law's a

not. {To herself.) The worst of M^mJSTi Wwu)J ifil^^sh //^J^/ goose—a bigger goose than poor

being so babyish is—one does /.-pkjL^ . \ " ,1bC^ A\\tt§' little me even! {To Helmeb,

have to tell such a lot of tara- /-\'WrZ / u'ho enters.) Oh, Tobvald, how

diddles! [To H.) See what I've / ^WtstsMBl'Y\U «& ^ -V you made me jump!

bought—it's been sueh fun! f ^m^Mm^A } - ' (>Ji']r Helmer. Has anybody called ?

[Hums. i^^^l^gMBa^. -v.y —j—■ y~ ^"r=T=~==\( (Noba shakes her head.) Oh, my

Helmer (inspecting parcels). "^^^t^fSmSlit'). —'"■ ■ — -— - . ., ^ little squirrel mustn't tell naughty

H'm—rather an expensive little £ alEsT V /fi"' IjUfes /" ~"K^'p^. whoppers! Why, I just met that

lark! HBJ^ % 1 %/m "<1-? f ellow Krogstad in the hall. He's

[ Takes her playfully by the ear. wfflEBBK* i K #•'' - '1 ^JalL, ' , V( * itr, '. been asking you to get me to take

Nora. Little birds like to have ,; HI if > ^JffiSK 'J | him back—now, hasn't he ?

a flutter occasionally. Which ,^hRI -''! i j§ H| • "wM^^jw- JVora {walking about). Do just

reminds me-[Plays with his 'f -W; Wr Jir^y^^ifc '•• see how pretty the Christmas-

coat-buttons.) I'm such a simple / \> m^mmSStm M.Ww\ ' Ai'/^^^Ir^ '/ 'W ' tree looks!

ickle sin?—but if you are think- JfflHjH^. [Jf .. _ , ty/Mmm^ Ofv' Helmer. Never mi ad the tree

ing of giving me a Christmas '^FW^^r^— '^^sSS^=sss^^9' W^^'M-mi' I — I want to have this out about

present, make it cash ! i'^Mp^W ^=^M^ I '- \W> '<1 Kkogstad. I can't take him back,

Helmer. Just like your poor 1':*Wm\ WMf^'l J? rflW "iW'VM'i v because many years ago he forged

father, he always asked me to , \ I V ^M-w 1 ' a name. As "a lawyer, a close

make it cash—he never made any \w %^%f^mji^~)% ' " '•• ~#i^^W\\.h\ observer of human nature, and

himself! It's heredity, I Buppose. Ji'■ \^Mm^z^',^ ^^^J^^^^^vW^A a Bank Manager, I have remarked

Well—well! : T~V2;. ^ \' that people who forge names

[Goes back to his Bank. Noba ^\\\^- seldom or never confide the fact

goes on humming. ^L^5 to their children—which inevit-

Enter Mrs. L^, iouW.Uy. "Boo!" ?Kffia£u^ From^wMchit

Nora. What, Christina—why, how old you look! But then
you are poor. I'm not. Tobvaxd has just been made a Bank
Manager. [Tidies the room.) Isn't it really wonderfully delicious
to be well off P But, of course, you wouldn't know. We were poor
once, and, do you know, when Tobvald 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 Tobvald. I am
such a mere baby I don't tell him everything. I tell Dr. Rank,
though. Oh, I'm so awfully happy I Bhould 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 Helmeb, who
enters.) Tobvald, 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 1

Helmer. She is a sensible woman, and deserves encouragement.
Come along, Mrs. Linden, and we '11 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, Esiirx, Ivab, 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; Kbogstad
enters—Noba 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
vol. c. ]

follows, logically, that Kbogstad 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 Chbistina
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 Kbogstad poisons his children because
he once forged a name, I must be poisoning Emmy, and Bob, and
Ivab, because / 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 Kbogstad ?

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

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

Beiteb Late than Neveb.—At last by the authority of the
L. C. C. his Grace of Bedford has been notified that within three
months from now " Leeks, bolts, and bars must fly asunder " in the
parish of St. Pancras, where henceforth existence of all such obstruc-
tion 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 " ?