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Compare and contrast Hedda Gabler and Rockaby. First, write about the plays in their historical and cultural context – what literary or artistic movements each play reflects. Then describe the similarities and dissimilarities between the styles of language in each play (dialogues, syntax, punctuation, tone, etc.). Lastly, explain how these uses of language create types of thoughts and emotions for spectators. Note: Be specific about scenes and acts when describing and citing.Writing Protocols: Submit in WORD.docx form, (no PDFs.) Format is double-spaced, 12 font, Times New Roman, all 1-inch margins, page numbers, first page with title and your name, no cover page.
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Hedda Gabler
Henrik Ibsen
HEDDA GABLER
By Henrik Ibsen
Translated by Edmund Gosse and William Archer
Introduction by William Archer
HEDDA GABLER.
PLAY IN FOUR ACTS.
CHARACTERS.
GEORGE TESMAN.*
HEDDA TESMAN, his wife.
MISS JULIANA TESMAN, his aunt.
MRS. ELVSTED.
JUDGE** BRACK.
EILERT LOVBORG.
BERTA, servant at the Tesmans.
*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.”
The scene of the action is Tesman‘s villa, in the west end of
Christiania.
INTRODUCTION.
From Munich, on June 29, 1890, Ibsen wrote to the Swedish poet,
Count Carl Soilsky: “Our intention has all along been to spend the
summer in the Tyrol again. But circumstances are against our doing
so. I am at present engaged upon a new dramatic work, which for
several reasons has made very slow progress, and I do not leave
Munich until I can take with me the completed first draft. There is
little or no prospect of my being able to complete it in July.” Ibsen
did not leave Munich at all that season. On October 30 he wrote: “At
present I am utterly engrossed in a new play. Not one leisure hour
have I had for several months.” Three weeks later (November 20) he
wrote to his French translator, Count Prozor: “My new play is
finished; the manuscript went off to Copenhagen the day before
yesterday. . . . It produces a curious feeling of emptiness to be thus
suddenly separated from a work which has occupied one‘s time and
thoughts for several months, to the exclusion of all else. But it is a
good thing, too, to have done with it. The constant intercourse with
the fictitious personages was beginning to make me quite nervous.”
To the same correspondent he wrote on December 4: “The title of the
play is Hedda Gabler. My intention in giving it this name was to
indicate that Hedda, as a personality, is to be regarded rather as her
father‘s daughter than as her husband‘s wife. It was not my desire to
deal in this play with so‐called problems. What I principally wanted
to do was to depict human beings, human emotions, and human
destinies, upon a groundwork of certain of the social conditions and
principles of the present day.”
So far we read the history of the play in the official
“Correspondence.”(1) Some interesting glimpses into the poet‘s
moods during the period between the completion of The Lady from
the Sea and the publication of Hedda Gabler are to be found in the
series of letters to Fraulein Emilie Bardach, of Vienna, published by
Dr. George Brandes.(2) This young lady Ibsen met at Gossensass in
the Tyrol in the autumn of 1889. The record of their brief friendship
belongs to the history of The Master Builder rather than to that of
Hedda Gabler, but the allusions to his work in his letters to her during
the winter of 1889 demand some examination.
So early as October 7, 1889, he writes to her: “A new poem begins to
dawn in me. I will execute it this winter, and try to transfer to it the
bright atmosphere of the summer. But I feel that it will end in
sadness—such is my nature.” Was this “dawning” poem Hedda
Gabler? Or was it rather The Master Builder that was germinating in
his mind? Who shall say? The latter hypothesis seems the more
probable, for it is hard to believe that at any stage in the incubation
of Hedda Gabler he can have conceived it as even beginning in gaiety.
A week later, however, he appears to have made up his mind that
the time had not come for the poetic utilisation of his recent
experiences. He writes on October 15: “Here I sit as usual at my
writing‐table. Now I would fain work, but am unable to. My fancy,
indeed, is very active. But it always wanders awayours. I cannot
repress my summer memories—nor do I wish to. I live through my
experience again and again and yet again. To transmute it all into a
poem, I find, in the meantime, impossible.” Clearly, then, he felt that
his imagination ought to have been engaged on some theme having
no relation to his summer experiences—the theme, no doubt, of
Hedda Gabler. In his next letter, dated October 29, he writes: “Do not
be troubled because I cannot, in the meantime, create (dichten). In
reality I am for ever creating, or, at any rate, dreaming of something
which, when in the fulness of time it ripens, will reveal itself as a
creation (Dichtung).” On November 19 he says: “I am very busily
occupied with preparations for my new poem. I sit almost the whole
day at my writing‐table. Go out only in the evening for a little
while.” The five following letters contain no allusion to the play; but
on September 18, 1890, he wrote: “My wife and son are at present at
Riva, on the Lake of Garda, and will probably remain there until the
middle of October, or even longer. Thus I am quite alone here, and
cannot get away. The new play on which I am at present engaged
will probably not be ready until November, though I sit at my
writing‐ table daily, and almost the whole day long.”
Here ends the history of Hedda Gabler, so far as the poet‘s letters
carry us. Its hard clear outlines, and perhaps somewhat bleak
atmosphere, seem to have resulted from a sort of reaction against the
sentimental “dreamery” begotten of his Gossensass experiences. He
sought refuge in the chill materialism of Hedda from the ardent
transcendentalism of Hilda, whom he already heard knocking at the
door. He was not yet in the mood to deal with her on the plane of
poetry.(3)
Hedda Gabler was published in Copenhagen on December 16, 1890.
This was the first of Ibsen‘s plays to be translated from proof‐ sheets
and published in England and America almost simultaneously with
its first appearance in Scandinavia. The earliest theatrical
performance took place at the Residenz Theater, Munich, on the last
day of January 1891, in the presence of the poet, Frau Conrad‐Ramlo
playing the title‐part. The Lessing Theater, Berlin, followed suit on
February 10. Not till February 25 was the play seen in Copenhagen,
with Fru Hennings as Hedda. On the following night it was given for
the first time in Christiania, the Norwegian Hedda being Froken
Constance Bruun. It was this production which the poet saw when
he visited the Christiania Theater for the first time after his return to
Norway, August 28, 1891. It would take pages to give even the
baldest list of the productions and revivals of Hedda Gabler in
Scandinavia and Germany, where it has always ranked among
Ibsen‘s most popular works. The admirable production of the play
by Miss Elizabeth Robins and Miss Marion Lea, at the Vaudeville
Theatre, London, April 20, 1891, may rank as the second great step
towards the popularisation of Ibsen in England, the first being the
Charrington‐ Achurch production of A Doll‘s House in 1889. Miss
Robins afterwards repeated her fine performance of Hedda many
times, in London, in the English provinces, and in New York. The
character has also been acted in London by Eleonora Duse, and as I
write (March, 5, 1907) by Mrs. Patrick Campbell, at the Court
Theatre. In Australia and America, Hedda has frequently been acted
by Miss Nance O‘Neill and other actresses—quite recently by a
Russian actress, Madame Alla Nazimova, who (playing in English)
seems to have made a notable success both in this part and in Nora.
The first French Hedda Gabler was Mlle. Marthe Brandes, who
played the part at the Vaudeville Theatre, Paris, on December 17,
1891, the performance being introduced by a lecture by M. Jules
Lemaitre. In Holland, in Italy, in Russia, the play has been acted
times without number. In short (as might easily have been foretold)
it has rivalled A Doll‘s House in world‐ wide popularity.
It has been suggested,(4) I think without sufficient ground, that Ibsen
deliberately conceived Hedda Gabler as an “international” play, and
that the scene is really the “west end” of any European city. To me it
seems quite clear that Ibsen had Christiania in mind, and the
Christiania of a somewhat earlier period than the ‘nineties. The
electric cars, telephones, and other conspicuous factors in the life of a
modern capital are notably absent from the play. There is no electric
light in Secretary Falk‘s villa. It is still the habit for ladies to return on
foot from evening parties, with gallant swains escorting them. This
“suburbanism,” which so distressed the London critics of 1891, was
characteristic of the Christiania Ibsen himself had known in the
‘sixties—the Christiania of Love‘s Comedy—rather than of the greatly
extended and modernised city of the end of the century. Moreover
Lovborg‘s allusions to the fiord, and the suggested picture of Sheriff
Elvsted, his family and his avocations are all distinctively
Norwegian. The truth seems to be very simple—the environment
and the subsidiary personages are all thoroughly national, but
Hedda herself is an “international” type, a product of civilisation by
no means peculiar to Norway.
We cannot point to any individual model or models who “sat to”
Ibsen for the character of Hedda.(5) The late Grant Allen declared
that Hedda was “nothing more nor less than the girl we take down
to dinner in London nineteen times out of twenty”; in which case
Ibsen must have suffered from a superfluidity of models, rather than
from any difficulty in finding one. But the fact is that in this, as in all
other instances, the word “model” must be taken in a very different
sense from that in which it is commonly used in painting. Ibsen
undoubtedly used models for this trait and that, but never for a
whole figure. If his characters can be called portraits at all, they are
composite portraits. Even when it seems pretty clear that the initial
impulse towards the creation of a particular character came from
some individual, the original figure is entirely transmuted in the
process of harmonisation with the dramatic scheme. We need not,
therefore, look for a definite prototype of Hedda; but Dr. Brandes
shows that two of that lady‘s exploits were probably suggested by
the anecdotic history of the day.
Ibsen had no doubt heard how the wife of a well‐known Norwegian
composer, in a fit of raging jealousy excited by her husband‘s
prolonged absence from home, burnt the manuscript of a symphony
which he had just finished. The circumstances under which Hedda
burns Lovborg‘s manuscript are, of course, entirely different and
infinitely more dramatic; but here we have merely another instance
of the dramatisation or “poetisation” of the raw material of life.
Again, a still more painful incident probably came to his knowledge
about the same time. A beautiful and very intellectual woman was
married to a well‐known man who had been addicted to drink, but
had entirely conquered the vice. One day a mad whim seized her to
put his self‐mastery and her power over him to the test. As it
happened to be his birthday, she rolled into his study a small keg of
brandy, and then withdrew. She returned some time after wards to
find that he had broached the keg, and lay insensible on the floor. In
this anecdote we cannot but recognise the germ, not only of Hedda‘s
temptation of Lovborg, but of a large part of her character.
“Thus,” says Dr. Brandes, “out of small and scattered traits of reality
Ibsen fashioned his close‐knit and profoundly thought‐out works of
art.”
For the character of Eilert Lovborg, again, Ibsen seem
unquestionably to have borrowed several traits from a definite
original. A young Danish man of letters, whom Dr. Brandes calls
Holm, was an enthusiastic admirer of Ibsen, and came to be on very
friendly terms with him. One day Ibsen was astonished to receive, in
Munich, a parcel addressed from Berlin by this young man,
containing, without a word of explanation, a packet of his (Ibsen‘s)
letters, and a photograph which he had presented to Holm. Ibsen
brooded and brooded over the incident, and at last came to the
conclusion that the young man had intended to return her letters and
photograph to a young lady to whom he was known to be attached,
and had in a fit of aberration mixed up the two objects of his
worship. Some time after, Holm appeared at Ibsen‘s rooms. He
talked quite rationally, but professed to have no knowledge
whatever of the letter‐incident, though he admitted the truth of
Ibsen‘s conjecture that the “belle dame sans merci” had demanded
the return of her letters and portrait. Ibsen was determined to get at
the root of the mystery; and a little inquiry into his young friend‘s
habits revealed the fact that he broke his fast on a bottle of port wine,
consumed a bottle of Rhine wine at lunch, of Burgundy at dinner,
and finished off the evening with one or two more bottles of port.
Then he heard, too, how, in the course of a night‘s carouse, Holm
had lost the manuscript of a book; and in these traits he saw the
outline of the figure of Eilert Lovborg.
Some time elapsed, and again Ibsen received a postal packet from
Holm. This one contained his will, in which Ibsen figured as his
residuary legatee. But many other legatees were mentioned in the
instrument— all of them ladies, such as Fraulein Alma Rothbart, of
Bremen, and Fraulein Elise Kraushaar, of Berlin. The bequests to
these meritorious spinsters were so generous that their sum
considerably exceeded the amount of the testator‘s property. Ibsen
gently but firmly declined the proffered inheritance; but Holm‘s will
no doubt suggested to him the figure of that red‐haired
“Mademoiselle Diana,” who is heard of but not seen in Hedda Gabler,
and enabled him to add some further traits to the portraiture of
Lovborg. When the play appeared, Holm recognised himself with
glee in the character of the bibulous man of letters, and thereafter
adopted “Eilert Lovborg” as his pseudonym. I do not, therefore, see
why Dr. Brandes should suppress his real name; but I willingly
imitate him in erring on the side of discretion. The poor fellow died
several years ago.
Some critics have been greatly troubled as to the precise meaning of
Hedda‘s fantastic vision of Lovborg “with vine‐leaves in his hair.”
Surely this is a very obvious image or symbol of the beautiful, the
ideal, aspect of bacchic elation and revelry. Antique art, or I am
much mistaken, shows us many figures of Dionysus himself and his
followers with vine‐leaves entwined their hair. To Ibsen‘s mind, at
any rate, the image had long been familiar. In Peer Gynt (Act iv. sc.
8), when Peer, having carried off Anitra, finds himself in a
particularly festive mood, he cries: “Were there vine‐leaves around, I
would garland my brow.” Again, in Emperor and Galilean (Pt. ii. Act
1) where Julian, in the procession of Dionysus, impersonates the god
himself, it is directed that he shall wear a wreath of vine‐ leaves.
Professor Dietrichson relates that among the young artists whose
society Ibsen frequented during his first years in Rome, it was
customary, at their little festivals, for the revellers to deck themselves
in this fashion. But the image is so obvious that there is no need to
trace it to any personal experience. The attempt to place Hedda‘s
vine‐leaves among Ibsen‘s obscurities is an example of the firm
resolution not to understand which animated the criticism of the
‘nineties.
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.ʹ” 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.
FOOTNOTES.
(1)Letters 214, 216, 217, 219.
(2)In the Ibsen volume of Die Literatur (Berlin).
(3)Dr. Julius Elias (Neue deutsche Rundschau, December 1906, p. 1462)
makes the curious assertion that the character of Thea Elvsted was in
part borrowed from this “Gossensasser Hildetypus.” It is hard to see
how even Gibes’ ingenuity could distil from the same flower two
such different essences as Thea and Hilda.
(4)See article by Herman Bang in Neue deutsche Rundschau, December
1906, p. 1495.
(5)Dr. Brahm (Neue deutsche Rundschau, December 1906, P. 1422) says
that after the first performance of Hedda Gabler in Berlin Ibsen
confided to him that the character had been suggested by a German
lady whom he met in Munich, and who did not shoot, but poisoned
herself. Nothing more seems to be known of this lady. See, too, an
article by Julius Elias in the same magazine, p. 1460.
Transcriber‘s Note:
The inclusion or ommision of commas between repeated words
(“well, well”; “there there”, etc.) in this etext is reproduced faithfully
from both the 1914 and 1926 editions of Hedda Gabler, copyright 1907
by Charles Scribner‘s Sons. Modern editions of the same translation
use the commas consistently throughout. ‐D.L.
Hedda Gabler
ACT FIRST.
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 a 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.
1
Hedda Gabler
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.(1)
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.
2
Hedda Gabler
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.
3
Hedda Gabler
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.
4
Hedda Gabler
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.
5
Hedda Gabler
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.
6
Hedda Gabler
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.
7
Hedda Gabler
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.
8
Hedda Gabler
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!
9
Hedda Gabler
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!
MISS TESMAN.
[Laughing to herself.] Yes, of course I do. You are quite right there.
[Changing the subject.] But we were talking about your journey. It
must have cost a great deal of money, George?
Tesman.
Well, you see—my handsome travelling‐scholarship went a good
way.
MISS TESMAN.
But I can‘t understand how you can have made it go far enough for
two.
TESMAN.
No, that‘s not easy to understand—eh?
MISS TESMAN.
And especially travelling with a lady—they tell me that makes it
ever so much more expensive.
TESMAN.
Yes, of course—it makes it a little more expensive. But Hedda had to
have this trip, Auntie! She really had to. Nothing else would have
done.
10
Hedda Gabler
MISS TESMAN.
No no, I suppose not. A wedding‐tour seems to be quite
indispensable nowadays.—But tell me now—have you gone
thoroughly over the house yet?
TESMAN.
Yes, you may be sure I have. I have been afoot ever since daylight.
MISS TESMAN.
And what do you think of it all?
TESMAN.
I‘m delighted! Quite delighted! Only I can‘t think what we are to do
with the two empty rooms between this inner parlour and Hedda‘s
bedroom.
MISS TESMAN.
[Laughing.] Oh my dear George, I daresay you may find some use
for them—in the course of time.
TESMAN.
Why of course you are quite right, Aunt Julia! You mean as my
library increases—eh?
MISS TESMAN.
Yes, quite so, my dear boy. It was your library I was thinking of.
TESMAN.
I am specially pleased on Hedda‘s account. Often and often, before
we were engaged, she said that she would never care to live
anywhere but in Secretary Falk‘s villa.(2)
11
Hedda Gabler
MISS TESMAN.
