Punch, Or The London Charivari | Page 2

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.
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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"?
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[Illustration: FASCINATION!
"APOLLONIUS, by some probable conjectures, found her out to be a serpent, a Lamia; and that all her furniture was, like Tantalus's gold described by HOMER, no substance, but mere illusion."--_Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy._]
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,