Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen – A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas. Anstey F.
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if surprised..] You – in my bedroom! You have been listening, dear? But you are so emancipated. Ah, well! so our pure and beautiful friendship has been misinterpreted, bespattered! Just because you wear a morning wrapper, and have lived here alone for a year, people with coarse souls and ignoble eyes make unpleasant remarks! But what really did drive Beata mad? Why did she jump into the mill-race? I'm sure we did everything we could to spare her! I made it the business of my life to keep her in ignorance of all our interests —didn't I, now?
You did. But why brood over it? What does it matter? Get on with your great beautiful task, dear – [approaching him cautiously from behind] – winning over minds and wills, and creating noblemen, you know —joyful noblemen!
[Walking about restlessly, as if in thought.] Yes, I know. I have never laughed in the whole course of my life – we Rosmers don't – and so I felt that spreading gladness and light, and making the democracy joyful, was properly my mission. But now– I feel too upset to go on, Rebecca, unless – [Shakes his head heavily.] Yes, an idea has just occurred to me – [Looks at her, and then runs his hands through his hair] – Oh, my goodness! No – I can't.
Be a free man to the full, Rosmer – tell me your idea.
[Gloomily.] I don't know what you'll say to it. It's this: Our platonic comradeship 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.
[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 emancipated 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!
[Softly.] Be the new and living reality. It is the only way to put Beata out of the Saga. Shall we try it?
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!
[Sits up, stares, thunderstruck, at the stove, and says to himself.] Well – I —am—
ACT THREE
Sitting-room at Rosmershölm. Sun shining outside in the Garden. Inside Rebecca West is watering a geranium with a small watering-pot. Her crochet antimacassar 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.
Good morning, dear. [A moment after—crocheting.] Have you seen Rector Kroll's paper this morning? There's something about you in it.
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!
Yes, dear, in that you have a great and glorious object to attain – and I wish you may get it!
Thanks. I think I shall. [Happens to look through window and jumps.] Ah, no, I shan't – never now, I have just seen —
Not the White Horse, dear? We must really not overdo that White Horse!
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.
[Struggling with herself, and still crocheting.] Oh – I can't exactly say – such an odd question to ask me!
[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 —
[Breaking out.] Oh, these old ancestral prejudices! Here is your hat, and your stick, too; go and take a walk.
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!
[Breaking out.] I do mind. I am an emancipated 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 – ;
But, Rebecca, I know all this.
[Looks hard at her.] Perhaps I had better go?
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!
[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!
[Severely and impressively, to Rebecca.] A nice sort of young woman you are! [Both go out hastily, without looking at 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 rushing White Horses. Bring down my hair-trunk.
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 antimacassar is on the sofa. Enter Rosmer.
[Seeing