"Henrik Ibsen - Hedda Gabler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ibsen Henrik)

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.'" 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