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Mr. Punch's Pocket Ibsen

<h2>HEDDA GABLER</h2> <h3>ACT FIRST</h3> Scene—A sitting-room cheerfully decorated in dark colours. Broad doorway, hung with black crape, in the wall at back, leading to a back drawing-room, in which, above a sofa in black horsehair, hangs a posthumous portrait of the late General Gabler. On the piano is a handsome pall. Through the glass panes of the back drawing-room window are seen a dead wall and a cemetery. Settees, sofas, chairs, &c., handsomely upholstered in black bombazine, and studded with small round nails. Bouquets of immortelles and dead grasses are lying everywhere about. Enter Aunt Julie (a good-natured-looking lady in a smart hat.) <center>Aunt Julie.</center> Well, I declare, if I believe George or Hedda are up yet! [Enter George Tesman, humming, stout, careless, spectacled.] Ah, my dear boy, I have called before breakfast to inquire how you and Hedda are after returning late last night from your long honeymoon. Oh, dear me, yes; am I not your old aunt, and are not these attentions usual in Norway? <center>George.</center> Good Lord, yes! My six months' honeymoon has been quite a little travelling scholarship, eh? I have been examining archives. Think of that! Look here, I'm going to write a book all about the domestic interests of the Cave-dwellers during the Deluge. I'm a clever young Norwegian man of letters, eh? <center>Aunt Julie.</center> Fancy your knowing about that too! Now, dear me, thank Heaven! <center>George.</center> Let me, as a dutiful Norwegian nephew, untie that smart, showy hat of yours. [Unties it, and pats her under the chin.] Well, to be sure, you have got yourself really up—fancy that! [He puts hat on chair close to table. <center>Aunt Julie.</center> [Giggling.] It was for Hedda's sake—to go out walking with her in. [Hedda approaches from the back-room; she is pallid, with cold, open, steel-grey eyes; her hair is not very thick, but what there is of it is an agreeable medium brown.] Ah, dear Hedda! [She attempts to cuddle her. <center>Hedda.</center> [Shrinking back.] Ugh, let me go, do! [Looking at Aunt Julie's hat.] Tesman, you must really tell the housemaid not to leave her old hat about on the drawing-room chairs. Oh, is it your hat? Sorry I spoke, I'm sure! <center>Aunt Julie.</center> [Annoyed.] Good gracious, little Mrs. Hedda; my nice new hat that I bought to go out walking with you in! <center>George.</center> [Patting her on the back.] Yes, Hedda, she did, and the parasol too! Fancy, Aunt Julie always positively thinks of everything, eh? <center>Hedda.</center> [Coldly.] You hold your tongue. Catch me going out walking with your aunt! One doesn't do such things. <center>George.</center> [Beaming.] Isn't she a charming woman? Such fascinating manners! My goodness, eh? Fancy that! <center>Aunt Julie.</center> Ah, dear George, you ought indeed to be happy—but [brings out a flat package wrapped in newspaper] look here, my dear boy! <center>George.</center> [Opens it.] What? my dear old morning shoes! my slippers! [Breaks down.] This is positively too touching, Hedda, eh? Do you remember how badly I wanted them all the honeymoon? Come and just have a look at them—you may! <center>Hedda.</center> Bother your old slippers and your old aunt too! [aunt Julie goes out annoyed, followed by George, still thanking her warmly for the slippers; Hedda yawns; George comes back and places his old slippers reverently on the table.] Why, here comes Mrs. Elvsted—another early caller! She had irritating hair, and went about making a sensation with it—an old flame of yours, I've heard. Enter Mrs. Elvsted; she is pretty and gentle, with copious wavy white-gold hair and round prominent eyes, and the manner of a frightened rabbit. <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> [Nervous.] Oh, please, I'm so perfectly in despair. Ejlert Lövborg, you know, who was our tutor; he's written such a large new book. I inspired him. Oh, I know I don't look like it—but I did—he told me so. And, good gracious! now he's in this dangerous wicked town all alone, and he's a reformed character, and I'm so frightened about him; so, as the wife of a sheriff twenty years older than me, I came up to look after Mr. Lövborg. Do ask him here—then I can meet him. You will? How perfectly lovely of you! My husband's so fond of him! <center>Hedda.</center> George, go and write an invitation at once; do you hear? [George looks around for his slippers, takes them up and goes out.] Now we can talk, my little Thea. Do you remember how I used to pull your hair when we met on the stairs, and say I would scorch it off? Seeing people with copious hair always does irritate me. <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Goodness, yes, you were always so playful and friendly, and I was so afraid of you. I am still. And please, I've run away from my husband. Everything around him was distasteful to me. And Mr. Lövborg and I were comrades—he was dissipated, and I got a sort of power over him, and he made a real person out of me—which I wasn't before, you know; but, oh, I do hope I'm real now. He talked to me and taught me to think—chiefly of him. So, when Mr. Lövborg came here, naturally I came too. There was nothing else to do! And fancy, there is another woman whose shadow still stands between him and me! She wanted to shoot him once, and so, of course, he can never forget her. I wish I knew her name—perhaps it was that red-haired opera-singer? <center>Hedda.</center> [With cold self-command.] Very likely—but nobody does that sort of thing here. Hush! Run away now. Here comes Tesman with Judge Brack. [Mrs. Elvsted goes out; George comes in with Judge Brack, who is a short and elastic gentleman, with a round face, carefully brushed hair, and distinguished profile.] How awfully funny you do look by daylight, Judge! <center>Brack.</center> [Holding his hat and dropping his eye-glass.] Sincerest thanks. Still the same graceful manners, dear little Mrs. Hed—Tesman! I came to invite dear Tesman to a little bachelor-party to celebrate his return from his long honeymoon. It is customary in Scandinavian society. It will be a lively affair, for I am a gay Norwegian dog. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/p89.png" width-obs="100%" alt="gay Norwegian dog" /> <h3>"I am a gay Norwegian dog."</h3></div> <center>George.</center> Asked out—without my wife! Think of that! Eh? Oh, dear me, yes, I'll come! <center>Brack.</center> By the way, Lövborg is here; he has written a wonderful book, which has made a quite extraordinary sensation. Bless me, yes! <center>George.</center> Lövborg—fancy! Well, I am—glad. Such marvellous gifts! And I was so painfully certain he had gone to the bad. Fancy that, eh? But what will become of him now, poor fellow, eh? I am so anxious to know! <center>Brack.</center> Well, he may possibly put up for the Professorship against you, and, though you are an uncommonly clever man of letters—for a Norwegian—it's not wholly improbable that he may cut you out! <center>George.</center> But, look here, good Lord, Judge Brack!—[gesticulating]—that would show an incredible want of consideration for me! I married on my chance of getting that professorship. A man like Lövborg, too, who hasn't even been respectable, eh? One doesn't do such things as that! <center>Brack.</center> Really? You forget we are all realistic and unconventional persons here, and do all kinds of odd things. But don't worry yourself! [He goes out. <center>George.</center> [To Hedda.] Oh, I say, Hedda, what's to become of our fairyland now, eh? We can't have a liveried servant, or give dinner parties, or have a horse for riding. Fancy that! <center>Hedda.</center> [Slowly, and wearily.] No, we shall really have to set up as fairies in reduced circumstances, now. <center>George.</center> [Cheering up.] Still, we shall see Aunt Julie every day, and that will be something, and I've got back my old slippers. We shan't be altogether without some amusements, eh? <center>Hedda.</center> [Crosses the floor.] Not while I have one thing to amuse myself with, at all events. <center>George.</center> [Beaming with joy.] Oh, Heaven be praised and thanked for that! My goodness, so you have! And what may that be, Hedda, eh? <center>Hedda.</center> [At the doorway, with suppressed scorn.] Yes, George you have the old slippers of the attentive aunt, and I have the horse-pistols of the deceased general! <center>George.</center> [In an agony.] The pistols! Oh, my goodness! what pistols? <center>Hedda.</center> [With cold eyes.] General Gabler's pistols—same which I shot—[recollecting herself]—no, that's Thackeray, not Ibsen—a very different person. [She goes through the back drawing-room. <center>George.</center> [At doorway, shouting after her.] Dearest Hedda, not those dangerous things, eh? Why, they have never once been known to shoot straight yet! Don't! Have a catapult. For my sake, have a catapult! [Curtain. <hr /> <h3>ACT SECOND</h3> Scene—The cheerful dark drawing-room. It is afternoon. Hedda stands loading a revolver in the back drawing-room. <center>Hedda.</center> [Looking out and shouting.] How do you do, Judge? [Aims at him.] Mind yourself! [She fires. <center>Brack.</center> [Entering.] What the devil! Do you usually take pot-shots at casual visitors? [Annoyed. <center>Hedda.</center> Invariably, when they come by the back-garden. It is my unconventional way of intimating that I am at home. One does do these things in realistic dramas, you know. And I was only aiming at the blue sky. <center>Brack.</center> Which accounts for the condition of my hat. [Exhibiting it.] Look here—riddled! <center>Hedda.</center> Couldn't help myself. I am so horribly bored with Tesman. Everlastingly to be with a professional person! <center>Brack.</center> [Sympathetically.] Our excellent Tesman is certainly a bit of a bore. [Looks searchingly at her.] What on earth made you marry him? <center>Hedda.</center> Tired of dancing, my dear, that's all. And then I used Tesman to take me home from parties; and we saw this villa; and I said I liked it, and so did he; and so we found some common ground, and here we are, do you see! And I loathe Tesman, and I don't even like the villa now; and I do feel the want of an entertaining companion so! <center>Brack.</center> Try me. Just the kind of three-cornered arrangement that I like. Let me be the third person in the compartment—[confidentially]—the tried friend, and, generally speaking, cock of the walk! <center>Hedda.</center> [Audibly drawing in her breath.] I cannot resist your polished way of putting things. We will conclude a triple alliance. But hush!—here comes Tesman. [Enter George with a number of books under his arm. <center>George.</center> Puff! I am hot, Hedda. I've been looking into Lövborg's new book. Wonderfully thoughtful—confound him! But I must go and dress for your party, Judge. [He goes out. <center>Hedda.</center> I wish I could get Tesman to take to politics, Judge. Couldn't he be a Cabinet Minister, or something? <center>Brack.</center> H'm! [A short pause; both look at one another, without speaking. Enter George, in evening dress with gloves. <center>George.</center> It is afternoon, and your party is at half-past seven—but I like to dress early. Fancy that! And I am expecting Lövborg. Ejlert Lövborg comes in from the hall; he is worn and pale, with red patches on his cheek-bones, and wears an elegant perfectly new visiting-suit and black gloves. <center>George.</center> Welcome! [Introduces him to Brack.] Listen—I have got your new book, but I haven't read it through yet. <center>Lövborg.</center> You needn't—it's rubbish. [Takes a packet of MSS. out.] This isn't. It's in three parts; the first about the civilising forces of the future, the second about the future of the civilising forces, and the third about the forces of the future civilisation. I thought I'd read you a little of it this evening? <center>Brack and George.</center> [Hastily.] Awfully nice of you—but there's a little party this evening—so sorry we can't stop! Won't you come too? <center>Hedda.</center> No, he must stop and read it to me and Mrs. Elvsted instead. <center>George.</center> It would never have occurred to me to think of such clever things! Are you going to oppose me for the professorship, eh? <center>Lövborg.</center> [Modestly.] No; I shall only triumph over you in the popular judgment—that's all! <center>George.</center> Oh, is that all? Fancy! Let us go into the back drawing-room and drink cold punch. <center>Lövborg.</center> Thanks—but I am a reformed character, and have renounced cold punch—it is poison. [George and Brack go into the back-room and drink punch, whilst Hedda shows Lövborg a photograph album in the front. <center>Lövborg.</center> [Slowly, in a low tone.] Hedda Gabler! how could you throw yourself away like this!—Oh, is that the Ortler Group? Beautiful!—— Have you forgotten how we used to sit on the settee together behind an illustrated paper, and—yes, very picturesque peaks—I told you all about how I had been on the loose? <center>Hedda.</center> Now, none of that here! These are the Dolomites.—Yes, I remember; it was a beautiful fascinating Norwegian intimacy—but it's over now. See, we spent a night in that little mountain village, Tesman and I. <center>Lövborg.</center> Did you, indeed? Do you remember that delicious moment when you threatened to shoot me down? [Tenderly.] I do! <center>Hedda.</center> [Carelessly.] Did I! I have done that to so many people. But now all that is past, and you have found the loveliest consolation in dear, good, little Mrs. Elvsted—ah, here she is! [Enter Mrs. Elvsted.] Now, Thea, sit down and drink up a good glass of cold punch. Mr. Lövborg is going to have some. If you don't, Mr. Lövborg, George and the Judge will think you are afraid of taking too much if you once begin. <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Oh, please, Hedda! When I've inspired Mr. Lövborg so—good gracious! don't make him drink cold punch! <center>Hedda.</center> You see, Mr. Lövborg, our dear little friend can't trust you! <center>Lövborg.</center> So that is my comrade's faith in me! [Gloomily.] I'll show her if I am to be trusted or not. [He drinks a glass of punch.] Now I'll go to the Judge's party. I'll have another glass first. Your health, Thea! So you came up to spy on me, eh? I'll drink the Sheriff's health—everybody's health! [He tries to get more punch. <center>Hedda.</center> [Stopping him.] No more now. You are going to a party, remember. [George and Tesman come in from back-room. <center>Lövborg.</center> Don't be angry, Thea. I was fallen for a moment. Now I'm up again! [Mrs. Elvsted beams with delight.] Judge, I'll come to your party, as you are so pressing, and I'll read George my manuscript all the evening. I'll do all in my power to make that party go! <center>George.</center> No? fancy! that will be amusing! <center>Hedda.</center> There, go away, you wild rollicking creatures! But Mr. Lövborg must be back at ten, to take dear Thea home! <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Oh, goodness, yes! [In concealed agony.] Mr. Lövborg, I shan't go away till you do! [The three men go out laughing merrily; the Act-drop is lowered for a minute; when it is raised, it is 7 A.M., and Mrs. Elvsted and Hedda are discovered sitting up, with rugs around them. <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> [Wearily.] Seven in the morning, and Mr. Lövborg not here to take me home yet! what can he be doing? <center>Hedda.</center> [Yawning.] Reading to Tesman, with vine-leaves in his hair, I suppose. Perhaps he has got to the third part. <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Oh, do you really think so, Hedda. Oh, if I could but hope he was doing that! <center>Hedda.</center> You silly little ninny! I should like to scorch your hair off. Go to bed! [Mrs. Elvsted goes. Enter George. <center>George.</center> I'm a little late, eh? But we made such a night of it. Fancy! It was most amusing. Ejlert read his book to me—think of that! Astonishing book! Oh, we really had great fun! I wish I'd written it. Pity he's so irreclaimable. <center>Hedda.</center> I suppose you mean he has more of the courage of life than most people? <center>George.</center> Good Lord! He had the courage to get more drunk than most people. But, altogether, it was what you might almost call a Bacchanalian orgy. We finished up by going to have early coffee with some of these jolly chaps, and poor old Lövborg dropped his precious manuscript in the mud, and I picked it up—and here it is! Fancy if anything were to happen to it! He never could write it again. Wouldn't it be sad, eh? Don't tell any one about it. [He leaves the packet of MSS. on a chair, and rushes out; Hedda hides the packet as Brack enters. <center>Brack.</center> Another early call, you see! My party was such a singularly animated soirée that I haven't undressed all night. Oh, it was the liveliest affair conceivable! And, like a true Norwegian host, I tracked Lövborg home; and it is only my duty, as a friend of the house, and cock of the walk, to take the first opportunity of telling you that he finished up the evening by coming to mere loggerheads with a red-haired opera-singer, and being taken off to the police-station! You mustn't have him here any more. Remember our little triple alliance! <center>Hedda.</center> [Her smile fading away.] You are certainly a dangerous person—but you must not get a hold over me! <center>Brack.</center> [Ambiguously.] What an idea! But I might—I am an insinuating dog. Good morning! [Goes out. <center>Lövborg.</center> [Bursting in, confused and excited.] I suppose you've heard where I've been? <center>Hedda.</center> [Evasively.] I heard you had a very jolly party at Judge Brack's. [Mrs. Elvsted comes in. <center>Lövborg.</center> It's all over. I don't mean to do any more work. I've no use for a companion now, Thea. Go home to your sheriff! <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> [Agitated.] Never! I want to be with you when your book comes out! <center>Lövborg.</center> It won't come out—I've torn it up! [Mrs. Elvsted rushes out, wringing her hands.] Mrs. Tesman, I told her a lie—but no matter. I haven't torn my book up—I've done worse! I've taken it about to several parties, and it's been through a police-row with me—now I've lost it. Even if I found it again, it wouldn't be the same—not to me! I am a Norwegian literary man, and peculiar. So I must make an end of it altogether! <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/p109.png" width-obs="100%" alt="I am a Norwegian literary man" /> <h3>"I am a Norwegian literary man, and peculiar."</h3></div> <center>Hedda.</center> Quite so—but look here, you must do it beautifully. I don't insist on your putting vine-leaves in your hair—but do it beautifully. [Fetches pistol.] See, here is one of General Gabler's pistols—do it with that! <center>Lövborg.</center> Thanks! [He takes the pistol, and goes out through the hall-door; as soon as he has gone, Hedda brings out the manuscript, and puts it on the fire, whispering to herself, as Curtain falls. <hr /> <h3>ACT THIRD</h3> Scene.—The same room, but—it being evening—darker than ever. The crape curtains are drawn. A servant, with black ribbons in her cap, and red eyes, comes in and lights the gas quietly and carefully. Chords are heard on the piano in the back drawing-room. Presently Hedda comes in and looks out into the darkness. A short pause. Enter George Tesman. <center>George.</center> I am so uneasy about poor Lövborg. Fancy! he is not at home. Mrs. Elvsted told me he has been here early this morning, so I suppose you gave him back his manuscript, eh? <center>Hedda.</center> [Cold and immovable, supported by arm-chair.] No, I put it on the fire instead. <center>George.</center> On the fire! Lövborg's wonderful new book that he read to me at Brack's party, when we had that wild revelry last night! Fancy that! But, I say, Hedda—isn't that rather—eh? Too bad, you know—really. A great work like that. How on earth did you come to think of it? <center>Hedda.</center> [Suppressing an almost imperceptible smile.] Well, dear George, you gave me a tolerably strong hint. <center>George.</center> Me? Well, to be sure—that is a joke! Why, I only said that I envied him for writing such a book, and it would put me entirely in the shade if it came out, and if anything was to happen to it, I should never forgive myself, as poor Lövborg couldn't write it all over again, and so we must take the greatest care of it! And then I left it on a chair and went away—that was all! And you went and burnt the book all up! Bless me, who would have expected it? <center>Hedda.</center> Nobody, you dear simple old soul! But I did it for your sake—it was love, George! <center>George.</center> [In an outburst between doubt and joy.] Hedda, you don't mean that! Your love takes such queer forms sometimes. Yes, but yes——[laughing in excess of joy] why, you must be fond of me! Just think of that now! Well, you are fun, Hedda! Look here, I must just run and tell the housemaid that—she will enjoy the joke so, eh? <center>Hedda.</center> [Coldly, in self-command.] It is surely not necessary even for a clever Norwegian man of letters in a realistic social drama, to make quite such a fool of himself as all that. <center>George.</center> No, that's true too. Perhaps we'd better keep it quiet—though I must tell Aunt Julie—it will make her so happy to hear that you burnt a manuscript on my account! And, besides, I should like to ask her whether that's a usual thing with young wives. [Looks uneasy and pensive again.] But poor old Ejlert's manuscript! Oh Lor', you know! Well, well! [Mrs. Elvsted comes in. <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Oh, please, I'm so uneasy about dear Mr. Lövborg. Something has happened to him, I'm sure! [Judge Brack comes in from the hall, with a new hat in his hand. <center>Brack.</center> You have guessed it, first time. Something has! <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Oh, dear, good gracious! What is it? Something distressing, I'm certain of it! [Shrieks aloud. <center>Brack.</center> [Pleasantly.] That depends on how one takes it. He has shot himself, and is in a hospital now, that's all! <center>George.</center> [Sympathetically.] That's sad, eh? poor old Lövborg! Well, I am cut up to hear that. Fancy, though, eh? <center>Hedda.</center> Was it through the temple, or through the breast? The breast? Well, one can do it beautifully through the breast, too. Do you know, as an advanced woman, I like an act of that sort—it's so positive to have the courage to settle the account with himself—it's beautiful, really! <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Oh, Hedda, what an odd way to look at it! But never mind poor dear Mr. Lövborg now. What we've got to do is to see if we can't put his wonderful manuscript, that he said he had torn to pieces, together again. [Takes a bundle of small pages out of the pocket of her mantle.] There are the loose scraps he dictated it to me from. I hid them on the chance of some such emergency. And if dear Mr. Tesman and I were to put our heads together, I do think something might come of it. <center>George.</center> Fancy! I will dedicate my life—or all I can spare of it—to the task. I seem to feel I owe him some slight amends, perhaps. No use crying over spilt milk, eh, Mrs. Elvsted? We'll sit down—just you and I—in the back drawing-room, and see if you can't inspire me as you did him, eh? <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Oh, goodness, yes! I should like it—if it only might be possible! [George and Mrs. Elvsted go into the back drawing-room and become absorbed in eager conversation; Hedda sits in a chair in the front room, and a little later Brack crosses over to her <center>Hedda.</center> [In a low tone.] Oh, Judge, what a relief to know that everything—including Lövborg's pistol—went off so well! In the breast! Isn't there a veil of unintentional beauty in that? Such an act of voluntary courage, too! <center>Brack.</center> [Smiles.] H'm!—perhaps, dear Mrs. Hedda—— <center>Hedda.</center> [Enthusiastically.] But wasn't it sweet of him! To have the courage to live his own life after his own fashion—to break away from the banquet of life—so early and so drunk! A beautiful act like that does appeal to a superior woman's imagination! <center>Brack.</center> Sorry to shatter your poetical illusions, little Mrs. Hedda, but, as a matter of fact, our lamented friend met his end under other circumstances. The shot did not strike him in the breast—but—— [Pauses. <center>Hedda.</center> [Excitedly.] General Gabler's pistols! I might have known it! Did they ever shoot straight? Where was he hit, then? <center>Brack.</center> [In a discreet undertone.] A little lower down! <center>Hedda.</center> Oh, how disgusting!—how vulgar!—how ridiculous!—like everything else about me! <center>Brack.</center> Yes, we're realistic types of human nature, and all that—but a trifle squalid, perhaps. And why did you give Lövborg your pistol, when it was certain to be traced by the police? For a charming cold-blooded woman with a clear head and no scruples, wasn't it just a leetle foolish! <center>Hedda.</center> Perhaps; but I wanted him to do it beautifully, and he didn't! Oh, I've just admitted that I did give him the pistol—how annoyingly unwise of me! Now I'm in your power, I suppose? <center>Brack.</center> Precisely—for some reason it's not easy to understand. But it's inevitable, and you know how you dread anything approaching scandal. All your past proceedings show that. [To George and Mrs. Elvsted who come in together from the back-room.] Well, how are you getting on with the reconstruction of poor Lövborg's great work, eh? <center>George.</center> Capitally; we've made out the first two parts already. And really, Hedda, I do believe Mrs. Elvsted is inspiring me; I begin to feel it coming on. Fancy that! <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> Yes, goodness! Hedda, won't it be lovely if I can. I mean to try so hard! <center>Hedda.</center> Do, you dear little silly rabbit; and while you are trying I will go into the back drawing-room and lie down. [She goes into the back room and draws the curtains. Short pause. Suddenly she is heard playing "The Bogie Man" within on the piano. <center>George.</center> But, dearest Hedda, don't play "The Bogie Man" this evening. As one of my aunts is dead, and poor old Lövborg has shot himself, it seems just a little pointed, eh? <center>Hedda.</center> [Puts her head out between the curtains.] All right. I'll be quiet after this. I'm going to practise with the late General Gabler's pistol! [Closes the curtains again; George gets behind the stove, Judge Brack under the table, and Mrs. Elvsted under the sofa. A shot is heard within. <center>George.</center> [Behind the stove.] Eh, look here, I tell you what—she's hit me! Think of that! [His legs are visibly agitated for a short time. Another shot is heard. <center>Mrs. Elvsted.</center> [Under the sofa.] Oh, please, not me! Oh, goodness, now I can't inspire anybody any more. Oh! [Her feet, which can be seen under the valance, quiver a little and then are suddenly still. <center>Brack.</center> [Vivaciously, from under the table.] I say, Mrs. Hedda, I'm coming in every evening—we will have great fun here togeth—— [Another shot is heard.] Bless me! to bring down the poor old cock-of-the-walk—it's unsportsmanlike!—people don't do such things as that! [The table-cloth is violently agitated for a minute, and presently the curtains open, and Hedda appears. <center>Hedda.</center> [Clearly and firmly.] I've been trying in there to shoot myself beautifully—but with General Gabler's pistol—[She lifts the table-cloth, then looks behind the stove and under the sofa.] What! the accounts of all those everlasting bores settled? Then my suicide becomes unnecessary. Yes, I feel the courage of life once more! [She goes into the back-room and plays "The Funeral March of a Marionette" as the Curtain falls. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/p121.png" width-obs="100%" alt="accounts of bores settled" /> <h3>"What! the accounts of all those everlasting bores settled?"</h3></div> <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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