Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas - LightNovelsOnl.com
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ROSMER.
[_After a short silence._] H'm! Well, Kroll--[_takes up his hat_]--if you're thinking of walking home, I'll go too. I'm going to be orthodox once more--after _this!_
KROLL.
[_Severely and impressively, to_ REBECCA.] A nice sort of young woman _you_ are! [_Both go out hastily, without looking at_ REBECCA.
REBECCA.
[_Speaks to herself, under her breath._] Now I _have_ done it. I wonder _why_. [_Pulls bell-rope._] Madam Helseth, I have just had a glimpse of two rus.h.i.+ng White Horses. Bring down my hair-trunk.
[_Enter_ MADAM HELSETH, _with large hair-trunk, as Curtain falls._
* * * * *
ACT FOUR
_Late evening._ REBECCA WEST _stands by a lighted lamp, with a shade over it, packing sandwiches, &c., in a reticule, with a faint smile. The antimaca.s.sar is on the sofa. Enter_ ROSMER.
ROSMER.
[_Seeing the sandwiches, &c._] Sandwiches? Then you _are_ going! Why, on earth--I _can't_ understand!
REBECCA.
Dear, you never _can_. Rosmersholm is too much for me. But how did you get on with Kroll?
ROSMER.
We have made it up. He has convinced me that the work of enn.o.bling men was several sizes too large for me--so I am going to let it alone----
REBECCA.
[_With her faint smile._] There I almost think, dear, that you are wise.
ROSMER.
[_As if annoyed._] What, so _you_ don't believe in me either, Rebecca--you never _did_!
[_Sits listlessly on chair._
REBECCA.
Not much, dear, when you are left to yourself--but I've another confession to make.
ROSMER.
What, _another_? I really can't stand any more confessions just now!
REBECCA.
[_Sitting close to him._] It is only a little one. I bullied Beata into the mill-race--because of a wild uncontrollable---- [ROSMER _moves uneasily._] Sit still, dear--uncontrollable fancy--for _you_!
ROSMER.
[_Goes and sits on sofa._] Oh, my goodness, Rebecca--you _mustn't_, you know!
[_He jumps up and down as if embarra.s.sed._
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Oh, my goodness, Rebecca--you _mustn't_, you know!"]
REBECCA.
Don't be alarmed, dear, it is all over now. After living alone with you in solitude, when you showed me all your thoughts without reserve--little by little, somehow the fancy pa.s.sed off. I caught the Rosmer view of life badly, and dulness descended on my soul as an extinguisher upon one of our Northern dips. The Rosmer view of life is enn.o.bling, very--but hardly lively. And I've more yet to tell you.
ROSMER.
[_Turning it off._] Isn't that enough for one evening?
REBECCA.
[_Almost voiceless._] No, dear. I have a Past--_behind_ me!
ROSMER.
_Behind_ you? How strange. I had an idea of that sort already. [_Starts, as if in fear._] A joke! [_Sadly._] Ah, no--_no_, I must not give way to _that_! Never mind the Past, Rebecca; I once thought that I had made the grand discovery that, if one is only virtuous, one will be happy. I see now it was too daring, too original--an immature dream. What bothers me is that I can't--somehow I _can't_--believe entirely in you--I am not even sure that I _have_ enn.o.bled you so very much--_isn't_ it terrible?
REBECCA.
[_Wringing her hands._] Oh, this killing doubt! [_Looks darkly at him._]
Is there anything _I_ can do to convince you?
ROSMER.
[_As if impelled to speak against his will._] Yes, one thing--only I'm afraid you wouldn't see it in the same light. And yet I must mention it.
It is like this.
I want to recover faith in my mission, in my power to enn.o.ble human souls. And, as a logical thinker, this I cannot do now, unless--well, unless you jump into the mill-race, too, like Beata!
_REBECCA._
[_Takes up her antimaca.s.sar, with composure, and puts it on her head._]
Anything to oblige you.
_ROSMER._
[_Springs up._] What? You really _will_! You are _sure_ you don't mind?
Then, Rebecca, I will go further. I will even go--yes--as far as you go yourself!
