Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, April 4, 1891

Excerpt

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....