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Various
Essays from the Chap-Book
Being a Miscellany of Curious and interesting Tales, Histories, &c; newly composed by Many Celebrated Writers and very delightful to read
Published by Good Press, 2021
EAN 4057664574145
Table of Contents
Ibsen’s New Play By H. H. Boyesen
Bits of Criticism By John Burroughs
Verlaine: A Feminine Appreciation By Mrs. Reginald de Koven
Degeneration By Alice Morse Earle
The Pleasures of Historiography By Alice Morse Earle
The Bureau of Literary Revision By Alice Morse Earle
Mr. Meredith and his Aminta By Lewis E. Gates
The Popularity of Poetry By Edmund Gosse
Concerning Me and the Metropolis By Louise Imogen Guiney
“Trilby” By Louise Imogen Guiney
Modern Laodicea By Norman Hapgood
The Intellectual Parvenu By Norman Hapgood
The School of Jingoes By Thomas Wentworth Higginson
The Uses of Perversity By Laurence Jerrold
A Comment on Some Recent Books By Hamilton Wright Mabie
One Word More By Hamilton Wright Mabie
The Man Who Dares By Louise Chandler Moulton
Mr. Gilbert Parker’s Sonnets By Richard Henry Stoddard
Is the New Woman New? By Maurice Thompson
The Return of the Girl By Maurice Thompson
The Art of Saying Nothing Well By Maurice Thompson
Ibsen’s New Play
By H. H. Boyesen
IBSEN’S NEW PLAY.
NEVER has the great master written anything simpler and more human than “Little Eyolf.” The two fundamental chords which sound with varying force through all his earlier works are here struck anew with increased distinctness and resonance. The ennobling power of suffering, the educational value of pain,—that is the first lesson which the play conveys; and the second, which is closely akin to it, is the development of personality through the discipline of renunciation.
Alfred Allmers, a poor and obscure man of letters, has married Rita, a rich and beautiful heiress. During the first seven or eight years of their marriage they live frankly the life of the senses; and in amorous intoxication forget the world with its claims, being completely absorbed in each other. Their little son Eyolf they leave largely to his aunt, Asta (Allmers’s supposed sister), and only interest themselves in him spasmodically, and then to very little purpose. Rita is, in fact, not very fond of the child, and feels vaguely annoyed whenever she is reminded of her duties toward it. It is directly due to her erotic intensity that the boy, who has been left in his high-chair at table, tumbles down and is crippled for life. He then becomes a reproach to his mother, and she rather shuns than seeks the sight of him.
I find this development of Rita to be true and consistent. Women, as a rule, after marriage, develop the wifely character at the expense of the maternal, or the maternal at the expense of the wifely. Rita Allmers belongs to the former class. She is young, beautiful, and passionate; her wifehood is all to her; her motherhood only incidental. But this condition cannot endure. The husband, at all events, feels a subtle change steal over his relation to his wife; and in order to make it clear to himself, he goes on a long pedestrian tour into the mountains. On his return, at the end of two weeks, he is received by Rita with a bacchanalian seductiveness which ill befits his serious mood. He has resolved to introduce a radical change in the household. He will henceforth devote himself to the education of his son, and make that his chief concern. His book on “Human Responsibility,” at which he has been writing in a desultory fashion, shall no longer divert his attention from the actual responsibility, which it were a sin to shirk. Rita, however, when he unfolds his plan to her, is anything but pleased. She wants him all to herself, and is not content to share him with anybody, even though it be her own child. She cannot be put off with crumbs of affection. She coaxes, she threatens; she hints at dire consequences. With the passionate vehemence of a spoiled and petted beauty, who believes her love disdained, she upbraids him, and cries out at last that she wishes the child had never been born. Presently a wild scream is heard from the pier, and little Eyolf’s crutch is seen floating upon the still waters of the fiord.
The second act opens with a scene in which Asta is endeavoring to console Allmers in his affliction. He is trying to find the purpose, the meaning of his bereavement. “For there must be a meaning in it,” he exclaims. “Life, existence,—destiny cannot be so utterly meaningless.” Asta had loved the dead child, and he feels drawn to her by the communion of sorrow. From Rita, on the other hand, he feels repelled, because he cannot, in spite of her wild distraction, believe in the genuineness of her grief. She demands black crape, flag at half mast, and all the outward symbols of mourning; but the sensation which now is torturing her is not pain at the loss of the boy, but self-reproach. The keen tooth of remorse is piercing the very marrow of her bones. For the first time in her life she forgets how she looks,—what impression she is making. And that is, psychologically, a wholesome change. The centre of her consciousness is wrenched violently out of herself, and she sees existence with a different vision. A most admirable symbol for this unsleeping remorse which is stinging and scorching her conscience is “the great, open eyes” of little Eyolf, as he was seen lying on the bottom of the fiord. These eyes pursue the guilty mother. “They will haunt me all my life long,” she declares. Keen, simple, and soul-searching