Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Be a free man to the full, Rosmer--tell me your idea.
ROSMER.
[_Gloomily._] I don't know what you'll say to it. It's this: Our platonic comrades.h.i.+p was all very well while I was peaceful and happy.
Now that I am bothered and badgered, I feel--_why_, I can't exactly explain, but I _do_ feel that I must oppose a new and living reality to the gnawing memories of the past. I should perhaps, explain that this is equivalent to an Ibsenian proposal.
REBECCA.
[_Catches at the chair-back with joy._] How? at _last_--a rise at last!
[_Recollects herself._] But what am I about? Am I not an emanc.i.p.ated enigma? [_Puts her hands over her ears as if in terror._] What are you saying? You mustn't. I can't _think_ what you mean. Go away, do!
ROSMER.
[_Softly._] Be the new and living reality. It is the only way to put Beata out of the Saga. Shall we try it?
REBECCA.
Never! Do not--_do_ not ask me why--for I haven't a notion--but never!
[_Nods slowly to him and rises._] White Horses would not induce me!
[_With her hand on door-handle._] Now you _know_!
[_She goes out._
ROSMER.
[_Sits up, stares, thunderstruck, at the stove, and says to himself._]
Well--I--_am_----
[_Quick Curtain._
* * * * *
ACT THIRD
_Sitting-room at Rosmersholm. Sun s.h.i.+ning outside in the Garden. Inside_ REBECCA WEST _is watering a geranium with a small watering-pot. Her crochet antimaca.s.sar lies in the arm-chair._ MADAME HELSETH _is rubbing the chairs with furniture-polish from a large bottle. Enter_ ROSMER, _with his hat and stick in his hand._ MADAME HELSETH _corks the bottle and goes out to the right_.
REBECCA.
Good morning, dear. [_A moment after_--_crocheting._] Have you seen Rector Kroll's paper this morning? There's something about _you_ in it.
ROSMER.
Oh, indeed? [_Puts down hat and stick, and takes up paper._] H'm!
[_Reads_--_then walks about the room._] Kroll _has_ made it hot for me.
[_Reads some more._] Oh, this is _too_ bad! Rebecca, they _do_ say such nasty spiteful things! they actually call me a renegade--and I can't _think_ why! They _mustn't_ go on like this. All that is good in human nature will go to ruin if they're allowed to attack an excellent man like me! Only think, if I can make them see how unkind they have been!
REBECCA.
Yes, dear, in that you have a great and glorious object to attain--and I wish you may get it!
ROSMER.
Thanks. I think I shall. [_Happens to look through window and jumps._]
Ah, no, I shan't--never now, I have just seen----
REBECCA.
_Not_ the White Horse, dear? We must really not overdo that White Horse!
ROSMER.
No--the mill-race, where Beata----[_Puts on his hat_--_takes it off again._] I'm beginning to be haunted by--no, I _don't_ mean the Horse--by a terrible suspicion that Beata may have been right after all!
Yes, I do believe, now I come to think of it, that I must really have been in love with you from the first. Tell me _your_ opinion.
REBECCA.
[_Struggling with herself, and still crocheting._] Oh--I can't exactly say--such an odd question to ask me!
ROSMER.
[_Shakes his head._] Perhaps; I have no sense of humour--no respectable Norwegian _has_--and I _do_ want to know--because, you see, if I _was_ in love with you, it was a _sin_, and if I once convinced myself of that----
[_Wanders across the room._
REBECCA.
[_Breaking out._] Oh, these old ancestral prejudices! Here is your hat, and your stick, too; go and take a walk.
[ROSMER _takes hat and stick, first, then goes out and takes a walk; presently_ MADAM HELSETH _appears, and tells_ REBECCA _something._ REBECCA _tells her something. They whisper together._ MADAM HELSETH _nods, and shows in_ RECTOR KROLL, _who keeps his hat in his hand, and sits on a chair._
KROLL.
I merely called for the purpose of informing you that I consider you an artful and designing person, but that, on the whole, considering your birth and moral antecedents, you know--[_nods at her_]--it is not surprising. [REBECCA _walks about wringing her hands._] Why, what _is_ the matter? Did you really not know that you had no right to your father's name? I'd no _idea_ you would mind my mentioning such a trifle!
REBECCA.
[_Breaking out._] I _do_ mind. I am an emanc.i.p.ated enigma, but I retain a few little prejudices still. I _don't_ like owning to my real age, and I _do_ prefer to be legitimate. And, after your information--of which I was quite ignorant, as my mother, the late Mrs. Gamvik, never _once_ alluded to it--I feel I must confess everything. Strong-minded advanced women are like that. Here is Rosmer. [ROSMER _enters with his hat and stick._] Rosmer, I want to tell you and Rector Kroll a little story. Let us sit down, dear, all three of us. [_They sit down, mechanically, on chairs._] A long time ago, before the play began--[_in a voice scarcely audible_]--in Ibsenite dramas, all the interesting things somehow _do_ happen before the play begins----
ROSMER.
But, Rebecca, I _know_ all this.
KROLL.
[_Looks hard at her._] Perhaps I had better go?
REBECCA.
No--I will be short. This was it. I wanted to take my share in the life of the New Era, and march onward with Rosmer. There was one dismal, insurmountable barrier--[_to_ ROSMER, _who nods gravely_]--Beata! I understood where your deliverance lay--and I acted. _I_ drove Beata into the mill-race.... There!
