Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (242 page)
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Authors: Henrik Ibsen
GINA.
Hush, hush, you mustn’t go on that awful way. We had no right to keep her, I suppose.
MOLVIK.
The child is not dead, but sleepeth.
RELLING.
Bosh.
HIALMAR
[becomes calm, goes over to the sofa, folds his arms, and looks at HEDVIG.]
There she lies so stiff and still.
RELLING
[tries to loosen the pistol.]
She’s holding it so tight, so tight.
GINA.
No, no, Relling, don’t break her fingers; let the pigstol be.
HIALMAR.
She shall take it with her.
GINA.
Yes, let her. But the child mustn’t lie here for a show. She shall go to her own room, so she shall. Help me, Ekdal.
[HIALMAR and GINA take HEDVIG between them.]
HIALMAR
[as they are carrying her.]
Oh, Gina, Gina, can you survive this!
GINA.
We must help each other to bear it. For now at least she belongs to both of us.
MOLVIK
[stretches out his arms and mumbles.]
Blessed be the Lord; to earth thou shalt return; to earth thou shalt return —
RELLING
[whispers.]
Hold your tongue, you fool; you’re drunk.
[HIALMAR and GINA carry the body out through the kitchen door. RELLING shuts it after them. MOLVIK slinks out into the passage.]
RELLING
[goes over to GREGERS and says:]
No one shall ever convince me that the pistol went off by accident.
GREGERS
[who has stood terrified, with convulsive twitchings.]
Who can say how the dreadful thing happened?
RELLING.
The powder has burnt the body of her dress. She must have pressed the pistol right against her breast and fired.
GREGERS.
Hedvig has not died in vain. Did you not see how sorrow set free what is noble in him?
RELLING.
Most people are ennobled by the actual presence of death. But how long do you suppose this nobility will last in him?
GREGERS.
Why should it not endure and increase throughout his life?
RELLING.
Before a year is over, little Hedvig will be nothing to him but a pretty theme for declamation.
GREGERS.
How dare you say that of Hialmar Ekdal?
RELLING.
We will talk of this again, when the grass has first withered on her grave. Then you’ll hear him spouting about “the child too early torn from her father’s heart;” then you’ll see him steep himself in a syrup of sentiment and self-admiration and self-pity. Just you wait!
GREGERS.
If you are right and I am wrong, then life is not worth living.
RELLING.
Oh, life would be quite tolerable, after all, if only we could be rid of the confounded duns that keep on pestering us, in our poverty, with the claim of the ideal.
GREGERS
[looking straight before him.]
In that case, I am glad that my destiny is what is.
RELLING.
May I inquire, — what is your destiny?
GREGERS
[going.]
To be the thirteenth at table.
RELLING.
The devil it is.
CURATIN
LM
Translated by R. Farquharson Sharp
Written in 1886, this play is considered to be one Ibsen’s greatest dramatic achievements.
Rosmersholm
explores themes of social and political change, in which the traditional ruling classes relinquish their right to impose their ideals on the rest of society.
The action is entirely personal, resting on the conduct of the ‘immoral’ and free thinking heroine, Rebecca, who sets herself to undermine Rosmer’s religious and political beliefs, because of his influential position in the community. Rebecca has abandoned not only Christianity but, unlike Rosmer, she has abandoned the whole ethical system of Christianity as well. Possibly she may be taken as Ibsen’s answer to the question of whether or not Christian ethics can be expected to survive the death of the Christian religion.
From the beginning of June until the end of September 1885, Ibsen was in Norway for the first time in eleven years. His experiences and impressions of seeing his mother-country again were of great importance in shaping
Rosmersholm
. In a letter to Carl Snoilsky, the Swedish poet and friend, with whom Ibsen had spent several days in Molde, he wrote: “I am also fully occupied with a new play, which I have been thinking about for some time and in which connection I carried out some close studies during my stay in Norway last summer.” Ibsen regarded Snoilsky as a truly “noble person” and he was to become the chief model for the play’s protagonist Johannes Rosmer.
On August 6th Ibsen began to write the fair copy, but many revisions were made, and it was not until September 27, 1886 that the manuscript was completed.
Rosmersholm
was published on November 23, 1886 by Gyldendalske Boghandels Forlag in Copenhagen and Christiania. The first edition was composed of 8,000 copies. Many reviewers were even more confused by
Rosmersholm
than they had been by
The Wild Duck
two years before. In Norway the reviews were almost entirely negative, while in Sweden and Denmark they were slightly better. The lukewarm reviews affected sales, which were poor and the play was not reprinted until Ibsen’s collected works were published in 1898-1900.
Rosmersholm
had its very first performance on January 17, 1887 at Den nationale Scene in Bergen. Gunnar Heiberg directed. The play, while Didi Heiberg and Nicolai Halvorsen played the parts of Rebekka West and Johannes Rosmer. Like the publication of the play, the audience received the production coolly.
The play opens one year after the suicide of Rosmer’s wife, Beata. Rebecca had previously moved into the family home, Rosmersholm, as a friend of Beata, where she lives still. It becomes plain that she and Rosmer are in love, but he insists throughout the play that their relationship is completely platonic. A highly respected member of his community, Rosmer intends to support the newly elected government and its reformist, if not revolutionary, agenda. However, when he announces this to his friend and brother-in-law Kroll, the local schoolmaster, the latter becomes enraged at what he sees as his friend’s betrayal of his ruling-class roots. Kroll begins to sabotage Rosmer’s plans, confronting him about his relationship with Rebecca and denouncing the pair, initially in guarded terms, in the local newspaper. Rosmer becomes consumed by his guilt, now believing he, rather than mental illness, caused his wife’s suicide. He attempts to escape the guilt by erasing the memory of his wife and proposing marriage to Rebecca. But she rejects him outright. Kroll accuses her of using Rosmer as a tool to work her own political agenda. She admits that it was she who drove Mrs. Rosmer to deeper depths of despair and in a way even encouraged her suicide — initially to increase her power over Rosmer, but later because she actually fell in love with him.
The central image of the play is the White Horse of Rosmersholm, the “family ghost” in Rebecca’s wording. It is rumoured to be seen by the characters after the suicide of Beata. The horse symbolises the past that revolves around Rosmer’s dead wife, and haunts the survivors. The presence of the horse at their death represents their incapacity to “deal with” the memories that haunt them. The white horse is similar to the “ghosts” that Mrs. Alving refers to in Ibsen’s 1881 tragedy
Ghosts
.
The first edition
Carl Snoilsky, the Swedish poet, served as the model of this play’s main character
John Rosmer, of Rosmersholm, an ex-clergyman.
Rebecca West, one of his household, originally engaged as
companion to the late Mrs. Rosmer.
Kroll, headmaster of the local grammar school, Rosmer’s
brother-in-law.
Ulrik Brendel.
Peter Mortensgaard.
Mrs. Helseth, Rosmer’s housekeeper.
(The action takes place at Rosmersholm, an old manor-house in the neighbourhood of a small town on a fjord in western Norway.)
ACT
1
(SCENE — The sitting-room at Rosmersholm; a spacious room, comfortably furnished in old-fashioned style. In the foreground, against the right-hand wall, is a stove decorated with sprigs of fresh birch and wild flowers. Farther back, a door. In the back wall folding doors leading into the entrance hall. In the left-hand wall a window, in front of which is a stand filled with flowers and plants. Near the stove stand a table, a couch and an easy-chair. The walls are hung round with portraits, dating from various periods, of clergymen, military officers and other officials in uniform. The window is open, and so are the doors into the lobby and the outer door. Through the latter is seen an avenue of old trees leading to a courtyard. It is a summer evening, after sunset. REBECCA WEST is sitting by the window crocheting a large white woollen shawl, which is nearly completed. From time to time she peeps out of window through the flowers. MRS. HELSETH comes in from the right.)
Mrs. Helseth. Hadn’t I better begin and lay the table for supper, miss?
Rebecca. Yes, do. Mr. Rosmer ought to be in directly.
Mrs. Helseth. Isn’t there a draught where you are sitting, miss?
Rebecca. There is a little. Will you shut up, please?
(MRS. HELSETH goes to the hall door and shuts it. Then she goes to the window, to shut it, and looks out.)
Mrs. Helseth. Isn’t that Mr. Rosmer coming there?
Rebecca. Where?
(Gets up.)
Yes, it is he.
(Stands behind the window-curtain.)
Stand on one side. Don’t let him catch sight of us.
Mrs. Helseth
(stepping back)
. Look, miss — he is beginning to use the mill path again.
Rebecca. He came by the mill path the day before yesterday too.
(Peeps out between the curtain and the window-frame)
. Now we shall see whether —
Mrs. Helseth. Is he going over the wooden bridge?
Rebecca. That is just what I want to see.
(After a moment.)
No. He has turned aside. He is coming the other way round to-day too.
(Comes away from the window.)
It is a long way round.
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, of course. One can well understand his shrinking from going over that bridge. The spot where such a thing has happened is —
Rebecca
(folding up her work)
. They cling to their dead a long time at Rosmersholm.
Mrs. Helseth. If you ask me, miss, I should say it is the dead that cling to Rosmersholm a long time.
Rebecca
(looking at her)
. The dead?
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, one might almost say that they don’t seem to be able to tear themselves away from those they have left behind.
Rebecca. What puts that idea into your head?
Mrs. Helseth. Well, otherwise I know the White Horses would not be seen here.
Rebecca. Tell me, Mrs. Helseth — what is this superstition about the White Horses?
Mrs. Helseth. Oh, it is not worth talking about. I am sure you don’t believe in such things, either.
Rebecca. Do you believe in them?
Mrs. Helseth
(goes to the window and shuts it)
. Oh, I am not going to give you a chance of laughing at me, miss.
(Looks out.)
See — is that not Mr. Rosmer out on the mill path again?
Rebecca
(looking out)
. That man out there?
(Goes to the window.)
Why, that is Mr. Kroll, of course!
Mrs. Helseth. So it is, to be sure.
Rebecca. That is delightful, because he is certain to be coming here.
Mrs. Helseth. He actually comes straight over the wooden bridge, he does for all that she was his own sister. Well, I will go in and get the supper laid, miss.
(Goes out to the right. REBECCA stands still for a moment, then waves her hand out of the window, nodding and smiling. Darkness is beginning to fall.)
Rebecca
(going to the door on the right and calling through it)
. Mrs. Helseth, I am sure you won’t mind preparing something extra nice for supper? You know what dishes Mr. Kroll is especially fond of.
Mrs. Helseth. Certainly, miss. I will.
Rebecca
(opening the door into the lobby)
. At last, Mr. Kroll! I am so glad to see you!
Kroll
(coming into the lobby and putting down his stick)
. Thank you. Are you sure I am not disturbing you?
Rebecca. You? How can you say such a thing?
Kroll
(coming into the room)
. You are always so kind.
(Looks round the room.)
Is John up in his room?
Rebecca. No, he has gone out for a walk. He is later than usual of coming in, but he is sure to be back directly.
(Points to the sofa.)
Do sit down and wait for him.
Kroll
(putting down his hat)
. Thank you.
(Sits down and looks about him.)
How charmingly pretty you have made the old room look! Flowers everywhere!
Rebecca. Mr. Rosmer is so fond of having fresh flowers about him.
Kroll. And so are you, I should say.
Rebecca. Yes, I am. I think their scent has such a delicious effect on one — and till lately we had to deny ourselves that pleasure, you know.
Kroll
(nodding slowly)
. Poor Beata could not stand the scent of them.
Rebecca. Nor their colours either. They made her feel dazed.
Kroll. Yes, I remember.
(Continues in a more cheerful tone of voice)
. Well, and how are things going here?
Rebecca. Oh, everything goes on in the same quiet, placid way. One day is exactly like another. And how are things with you? Is your wife — ?
Kroll. Oh, my dear Miss West, don’t let us talk about my affairs. In a family there is always something or other going awry — especially in such times as we live in now.
Rebecca
(after a short pause, sitting down in an easy-chair near the sofa)
. Why have you never once been near us during the whole of your holidays?
Kroll. Oh, it doesn’t do to be importunate, you know.
Rebecca. If you only knew how we have missed you.
Kroll. And, besides, I have been away, you know.
Rebecca. Yes, for a fortnight or so. I suppose you have been going the round of the public meetings?
Kroll
(nods)
. Yes, what do you say to that? Would you ever have thought I would become a political agitator in my old age — eh?
Rebecca
(smilingly)
. You have always been a little bit of an agitator, Mr. Kroll.
Kroll. Oh, yes; just for my own amusement. But for the future it is going to be in real earnest. Do you ever read the Radical newspapers?
Rebecca. Yes, I won’t deny that!
Kroll. My dear Miss West, there is no objection to that — not as far as you are concerned.
Rebecca. No, that is just what I think. I must follow the course of events — keep up with what is happening.
Kroll. Well, under any circumstances, I should never expect you, as a woman, to side actively with either party in the civic dispute — indeed one might more properly call it the civil war — that is raging here. I dare say you have read, then, the abuse these “nature’s gentlemen” are pleased to shower upon me, and the scandalous coarseness they consider they are entitled to make use of?
Rebecca. Yes, but I think you have held your own pretty forcibly.
Kroll. That I have — though I say it. I have tasted blood now, and I will make them realise that I am not the sort of man to take it lying down — .
(Checks himself.)
No, no, do not let us get upon that sad and distressing topic this evening.
Rebecca. No, my dear Mr. Kroll, certainly not.
Kroll. Tell me, instead, how you find you get on at Rosmersholm, now that you are alone here — I mean, since our poor Beata —
Rebecca. Oh, thanks — I get on very well here. Her death has made a great gap in the house in many ways, of course — and one misses her and grieves for her, naturally. But in other respects —
Kroll. Do you think you will remain here? — permanently, I mean?
Rebecca. Dear Mr. Kroll, I really never think about it at all. The fact is that I have become so thoroughly domesticated here that I almost feel as if I belonged to the place too.
Kroll. You? I should think you did!
Rebecca. And as long as Mr. Rosmer finds I can be any comfort or any use to him, I will gladly remain here, undoubtedly.
Kroll
(looking at her, with some emotion)
. You know, there is something splendid about a woman’s sacrificing the whole of her youth for others.
Rebecca. What else have I had to live for?
Kroll. At first when you came here there was your perpetual worry with that unreasonable cripple of a foster-father of yours —
Rebecca. You mustn’t think that Dr. West was as unreasonable as that when we lived in Finmark. It was the trying journeys by sea that broke him up. But it is quite true that after we had moved here there were one or two hard years before his sufferings were over.
Kroll. Were not the years that followed even harder for you?
Rebecca. No; how can you say such a thing! I, who was so genuinely fond of Beata — ! And she, poor soul was so sadly in need of care and sympathetic companionship.
Kroll. You deserve to be thanked and rewarded for the forbearance with which you speak of her.
Rebecca
(moving a little nearer to him)
. Dear Mr. Kroll, you say that so kindly and so sincerely that I feel sure you really bear me no ill-will.
Kroll. Ill-will? What do you mean?
Rebecca. Well, it would not be so very surprising if it were rather painful for you to see me, a stranger, doing just as I like here at Rosmersholm.
Kroll. How in the world could you think — !
Rebecca. Then it is not so?
(Holds out her hand to, him.)
Thank you, Mr. Kroll; thank you for that.
Kroll. But what on earth could make you take such an idea into your head?
Rebecca. I began to be afraid it might be so, as you have so seldom been out here to see us lately.
Kroll. I can assure you, you have been on the wrong scent entirely, Miss West. And, in any case, the situation of affairs is unchanged in any essential point; because during the last sad years of poor Beata’s life it was you and you alone, even then, that looked after everything here.
Rebecca. But it was more like a kind of regency in the wife’s name.
Kroll. Whatever it was, I — . I will tell you what, Miss West; as far as I am concerned I should have nothing whatever to say against it if you. But it doesn’t do to say such things.
Rebecca. What things?
Kroll. Well, if it so happened that you were to step into the empty place —
Rebecca. I have the place I want, already, Mr. Kroll.
Kroll. Yes, as far as material benefits go; but not —
Rebecca
(interrupting him, in a serious voice)
. For shame, Mr. Kroll! How can you sit there and jest about such things!
Kroll. Oh, well, I dare say our good John Rosmer thinks he has had more than enough of married life. But, all the same —
Rebecca. Really, you almost make me feel inclined to laugh at you.
Kroll. All the same — Tell me, Miss West, if I may be allowed the question, how old are you?
Rebecca. I am ashamed to say I was twenty-nine on my last birthday, Mr. Kroll. I am nearly thirty.
Kroll. Quite so. And Rosmer — how old is he? Let me see. He is five years younger than me, so he must be just about forty-three. It seems to me it would be very suitable.