Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen – A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas

ACT FIRST

Sitting-room at Rosmershölm, with a stove, flower-stand, windows, ancient and modern ancestors, doors, and everything handsome about it. Rebecca West is sitting knitting a large antimacassar which is nearly finished. Now and then she looks out of a window, and smiles and nods expectantly to someone outside. Madam Helseth is laying the table for supper.

[Folding up her work slowly.] But tell me precisely, what about this white horse?

Lord forgive you, Miss! – [fetching cruet-stand, and placing it on table] – but you're making fun of me!

[Gravely.] No, indeed. Nobody makes fun at Rosmershölm. Mr. Rosmer would not understand it. [Shutting window.] Ah, here is Rector Kroll. [Opening door.] You will stay to supper, will you not, Rector, and I will tell them to give us some little extra dish.

[Hanging up his hat in the hall.] Many thanks. [Wipes his boots.] May I come in? [Comes in, puts down his stick, sits down, and looks about him.] And how do you and Rosmer get on together, eh?

Ever since your sister, Beata, went mad and jumped into the mill-race, we have been as happy as two little birds together. [After a pause, sitting down in arm-chair.] So you don't really mind my living here all alone with Rosmer? We were afraid you might, perhaps.

Why, how on earth – on the contrary, I shouldn't object at all if you – [looks at her meaningly] – h'm!

[Interrupting, gravely.] For shame, Rector; how can you make such jokes?

[As if surprised.] Jokes! We do not joke in these parts – but here is Rosmer.

So, my dear old friend, you have come again, after a year's absence. [Sits down.] We almost thought that —

[Nods.] So Miss West was saying – but you are quite mistaken. I merely thought I might remind you, if I came, of our poor Beata's suicide, so I kept away. We Norwegians are not without our simple tact.

It was considerate – but unnecessary. Reb – I mean, Miss West – and I often allude to the incident, do we not?

[Strikes Tändstickor.] Oh yes, indeed. [Lighting lamp.] Whenever we feel a little more cheerful than usual.

You dear good people! [Wanders up the room.] I came because the Spirit of Revolt has crept into my School. A Secret Society has existed for weeks in the Lower Third! To-day it has come to my knowledge that a booby trap was prepared for me by the hand of my own son, Laurits, and I then discovered that a hair had been inserted in my cane by my daughter Hilda! The only way in which a right-minded Schoolmaster can combat this anarchic and subversive spirit is to start a newspaper, and I thought that you, as a weak, credulous, inexperienced and impressionable kind of man, were the very person to be the Editor.

[With a look at Rosmer.] Tell him now!

[Returning the look.] I can't – Some other evening. Well, perhaps – [To Kroll.] I can't be your Editor – because [in a low voice] I – I am on the side of Laurits and Hilda!

[Looks from one to the other, gloomily.] H'm!

Yes. Since we last met, I have changed my views. I am going to create a new democracy, and awaken it to its true task of making all the people of this country noblemen, by freeing their wills, and purifying their minds!

What do you mean!

[Bowing his head.] I don't quite know, my dear friend; it was Reb – I should say Miss West's scheme.

H'm! [A suspicion appears in his face.] Now I begin to believe that what Beata said about schemes – no matter. But under the circumstances, I will not stay to supper.

I told you he would be annoyed. I shall go to bed now. I don't want any supper. [He lights a candle, and goes out; presently his footsteps are heard overhead, as he undresses. Rebecca pulls a bell-rope.

[To Madam Helseth, who enters with dishes.] No, Mr. Rosmer will not have supper to-night. [In a lighter tone.] Perhaps he is afraid of the nightmare. There are so many sorts of White Horses in this world!

[Shaking.] Lord! lord! that Miss West – the things she does say!

ACT SECOND

Rosmer's study. Doors and windows, bookshelves, a writing-table. Door, with curtain, leading to Rosmer's bedroom. Rosmer discovered in a smoking jacket cutting a pamphlet with a paper-knife. There is a knock at the door. Rosmer says "Come in." Rebecca enters in a morning wrapper and curl-papers. She sits on a chair close to Rosmer, and looks over his shoulder as he cuts the leaves. Rector Kroll is shown up.

[Lays his hat on the table and looks at Rebecca from head to foot.] I am really afraid that I am in the way.

[Surprised.] Because I am in my morning wrapper and curl-papers? You forget that I am emancipated, Rector Kroll.

Yes, Miss West and I have worked our way forward in faithful comradeship.

[Shakes his head at him slowly.] So I perceive. Miss West is naturally inclined to be forward. But, I say, really you know – However, I came to tell you that poor Beata was not so mad as she looked, though flowers did bewilder her so. [Taking off his gloves meaningly.] She jumped into the mill-race because she had an idea that you ought to marry Miss West!

[Jumps half up from his chair.] I? Marry – Miss West! My good gracious, Kroll! I don't understand, it is most incomprehensible. [Looks fixedly before him.] How can people? – [Looks at him for a moment, then rises.] Will you get out? [Still quiet and self-restrained.] But first tell me why you never mentioned this before?

Why? Because I thought you were both orthodox, which made all the difference. Now I know that you side with Laurits and Hilda, and mean to make the democracy into noblemen, and accordingly I intend to make it hot for you in my paper. Good morning!

[As 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 the sandwiches, &c.] Sandwiches? Then you are going! Why, on earth – I can't understand!

Dear, you never can. Rosmershölm is too much for me. But how did you get on with Kroll?

We have made it up. He has convinced me that the work of ennobling men was several sizes too large for me – so I am going to let it alone —

[With her faint smile.] There I almost think, dear, that you are wise.

[As if annoyed.] What, so you don't believe in me either, Rebecca – you never did!

Not much, dear, when you are left to yourself – but I've another confession to make.

What, another? I really can't stand any more confessions just now!

[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!

[Goes and sits on sofa.] Oh, my goodness, Rebecca – you mustn't, you know!

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 passed 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 ennobling, very – but hardly lively. And I've more yet to tell you.

[Turning it off.] Isn't that enough for one evening?

[Almost voiceless.] No, dear. I have a Past —behind me!

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 ennobled you so very much —isn't it terrible?

[Wringing her hands.] Oh, this killing doubt! [Looks darkly at him.] Is there anything I can do to convince you?

[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 ennoble human souls. And, as a logical thinker, this I cannot do now, unless – well, unless you jump into the mill-race, too, like Beata!

[Takes up her antimacassar, with composure, and puts it on her head.] Anything to oblige you.

[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!

Rebecca.

[Bows her head towards his breast.] You will see me off? Thanks. Now you are indeed an Ibsenite.

[Cautiously.] I said as far as you go. I don't commit myself further than that. Shall we go?

Rebecca.

First tell me this. Are you going with me, or am I going with you?

A subtle psychological point – but we have not time to think it out here. We will discuss it as we go along. Come!

The cab, Miss – not here! [Looks out.] Out together – at this time of night – upon my —not on the garden seat? [Looks out of window.] My goodness! what is that white thing on the bridge – the Horse at last! [Shrieks aloud.] And those two sinful creatures running home!

[Scarcely able to get the words out.] It's no use, Rebecca – we must put it off till another evening. We can't be expected to jump off a footbridge which already has a White Horse on it. And if it comes to that, why should we jump at all? I know now that I really have ennobled you, which was all I wanted. What would be the good of recovering faith in my mission at the bottom of a mill-pond? No, Rebecca – [Lays his hand on her head] – there is no judge over us, and therefore —

[Interrupting gravely.] We will bind ourselves over in our own recognisances to come up for judgment when called upon.

ACT FIRST

A room tastefully filled with cheap Art-furniture. Gimcracks in an étagère: a festoon of chenille monkeys hanging from the gaselier. Japanese fans, skeletons, cotton-wool spiders, frogs and lizards, scattered everywhere about. Drain-pipes with tall dyed grasses. A porcelain stove decorated with transferable pictures. Showily-bound books in book-case. Window. The Visitor's bell rings in the hall outside. The hall-door is heard to open, and then to shut. Presently Nora walks in with parcels; a porter carries a large Christmas-tree after her – which he puts down. Nora gives him a shilling – and he goes out grumbling.

Nora hums contentedly, and eats macaroons. Then Helmer puts his head out of his Manager's room, and Nora hides macaroons cautiously.

[Playfully.] Is that my little squirrel twittering – that my lark frisking in here?

Ess! [To herself.] I have only been married eight years, so these marital amenities have not yet had time to pall!

[Threatening with his finger.] I hope the little bird has surely not been digging its beak into any macaroons, eh?

[Bolting one, and wiping her mouth.] No, most certainly not. [To herself] The worst of being so babyish is – one does have to tell such a lot of taradiddles! [To Helmer.] See what I've bought – it's been such fun! [Hums.

[Inspecting parcels.] H'm – rather an expensive little lark!

Little birds like to have a flutter occasionally. Which reminds me – [Plays with his coat-buttons.] I'm such a simple ickle sing – but if you are thinking of giving me a Christmas present, make it cash!

Just like your poor father, he always asked me to make it cash – he never made any himself! It's heredity, I suppose. Well – well!

What, Christina – why, how old you look! But then you are poor. I'm not. Torvald has just been made a Bank Manager. [Tidies the room.] Isn't it really wonderfully delicious to be well off? But of course, you wouldn't know. We were poor once, and, do you know, when Torvald was ill, I – [tossing her head] – though I am such a frivolous little squirrel, and all that, I actually borrowed £300 for him to go abroad. Wasn't that clever? Tra-la-la! I shan't tell you who lent it. I didn't even tell Torvald. I am such a mere baby I don't tell him everything. I tell Dr. Rank, though. Oh, I'm so awfully happy I should like to shout, "Dash it all!"

[Stroking her hair.] Do – it is a natural and innocent outburst – you are such a child! But I am a widow, and want employment. Do you think your husband could find me a place as clerk in his Bank? [Proudly.] I am an excellent knitter!

That would really be awfully funny. [To Helmer, who enters.] Torvald, this is Christina; she wants to be a clerk in your Bank —do let her! She thinks such a lot of you. [To herself.] Another taradiddle!

She is a sensible woman, and deserves encouragement. Come along, Mrs. Linden, and we'll see what we can do for you.