Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (250 page)

Rosmer
(stares in bewilderment at the shut door, and says to himself)
: What can it mean?

ACT II
I

(SCENE. The sitting-room at Rosmersholm. The window and the hall-door are open. The morning sun is seen shining outside. REBECCA, dressed as in ACT I., is standing by the window, watering and arranging the flowers. Her work is lying on the armchair. MRS. HELSETH is going round the room with a feather brush, dusting the furniture.)

Rebecca
(after a short pause)
. I wonder why Mr. Rosmer is so late in coming down to-day?

Mrs. Helseth. Oh, he is often as late as this, miss. He is sure to be down directly.

Rebecca. Have you seen anything of him?

Mrs. Helseth. No, miss, except that as I took his coffee into his study he went into his bedroom to finish dressing.

Rebecca. The reason I ask is that he was not very well yesterday.

Mrs. Helseth. No, he did not look well. It made me wonder whether something had gone amiss between him and his brother-in-law.

Rebecca. What do you suppose could go amiss between them?

Mrs. Helseth. I can’t say, miss. Perhaps it was that fellow Mortensgaard set them at loggerheads.

Rebecca. It is quite possible. Do you know anything of this Peter Mortensgaard?

Mrs. Helseth. Not I! How could you think so, miss — a man like that!

Rebecca. Because of that horrid paper he edits, you mean?

Mrs. Helseth. Not only because of that, miss. I suppose you have heard that a certain married woman, whose husband had deserted her, had a child by him?

Rebecca. I have heard it; but of course that was long before I came here.

Mrs. Helseth. Bless me, yes — he was quite a young man then. But she might have had more sense than he had. He wanted to marry her, too, but that could not be done; and so he had to pay heavily for it. But since then — my word! — Mortensgaard has risen in the world. There are lots of people who run after him now.

Rebecca. I believe most of the poor people turn to him first when they are in any trouble.

Mrs. Helseth. Oh, not only the poor people, miss —

Rebecca
(glancing at her unobserved)
. Indeed?

Mrs. Helseth
(standing at the sofa, dusting vigorously)
. People you would least expect, sometimes, miss.

Rebecca
(arranging the flowers)
. Yes, but that is only an idea of yours, Mrs. Helseth. You cannot know that for certain.

Mrs. Helseth. You think I don’t know anything about that for certain, do you, miss? Indeed I do. Because — if I must let out the secret at last — I carried a letter to Mortensgaard myself once.

Rebecca
(turns round)
. No — did you!

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, that I did. And that letter, let me tell you, was written here — at Rosmersholm.

Rebecca. Really, Mrs. Helseth?

Mrs. Helseth. I give you my word it was, miss. And it was written on good note-paper — and sealed with beautiful red sealing-wax.

Rebecca. And you were entrusted with the delivery of it? Dear Mrs. Helseth, it is not very difficult to guess whom it was from.

Mrs. Helseth. Who, then?

Rebecca. Naturally, it was something that poor Mrs. Rosmer in her invalid state —

Mrs. Helseth. Well, you have mentioned her name, miss — not I.

Rebecca. But what was in the letter? — No, of course, you cannot know that.

Mrs. Helseth. Hm! — it is just possible I may know, all the same.

Rebecca. Did she tell you what she was writing about, then?

Mrs. Helseth. No, she did not do that. But when Mortensgaard had read it, he set to work and cross-questioned me, so that I got a very good idea of what was in it.

Rebecca. What do you think was in it, then? Oh, dear, good Mrs. Helseth, do tell me!

Mrs. Helseth. Certainly not, miss. Not for worlds.

Rebecca. Oh, you can tell me. You and I are such friends, you know.

Mrs. Helseth. Heaven forbid I should tell you anything about that, miss. I shall not tell you anything, except that it was some dreadful idea that they had gone and put into my poor sick mistress’s head.

Rebecca. Who had put it into her head?

Mrs. Helseth. Wicked people, miss. Wicked people.

Rebecca. Wicked — ?

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, I say it again — very wicked people, they must have been.

Rebecca. And what do you think it could be?

Mrs. Helseth. Oh, I know what I think — but, please Heaven, I’ll keep my mouth shut. At the same time, there is a certain lady in the town — hm!

Rebecca. I can see you mean Mrs. Kroll.

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, she is a queer one, she is. She has always been very much on the high horse with me. And she has never looked with any friendly eye on you, either, miss.

Rebecca. Do you think Mrs. Rosmer was quite in her right mind when she wrote that letter to Mortensgaard?

Mrs. Helseth. It is so difficult to tell, miss. I certainly don’t think she was quite out of her mind.

Rebecca. But you know she seemed to go quite distracted when she learnt that she would never be able to have a child. That was when her madness first showed itself.

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, that had a terrible effect on her, poor lady.

Rebecca
(taking up her work, and sitting down on a chair by the window)
. But, in other respects, do you not think that was really a good thing for Mr. Rosmer, Mrs. Helseth?

Mrs. Helseth. What, miss?

Rebecca. That there were no children?

Mrs. Helseth. Hm! — I really do not know what to say to that.

Rebecca. Believe me, it was best for him. Mr. Rosmer was never meant to be surrounded by crying children.

Mrs. Helseth. Little children do not cry at Rosmersholm, Miss West.

Rebecca
(looking at her)
. Not cry?

Mrs. Helseth. No. In this house, little children have never been known to cry, as long as any one can remember.

Rebecca. That is very strange.

Mrs. Helseth. Yes, isn’t it, miss? But it runs in the family. And there is another thing that is just as strange; when they grow up they never laugh — never laugh, all their lives.

Rebecca. But that would be extraordinary

Mrs. Helseth. Have you ever once heard or seen Mr. Rosmer laugh, miss?

Rebecca. No — now that I think of it, I almost believe you are right. But I fancy most of the folk hereabouts laugh very little.

Mrs. Helseth. That is quite true. People say it began at Rosmersholm, and I expect it spread like a sort of infection.

Rebecca. You are a sagacious woman, Mrs. Helseth!

Mrs. Helseth. Oh, you mustn’t sit there and make game of me, miss.
(Listens.)
Hush, hush — Mr. Rosmer is coming down. He doesn’t like to see brooms about.
(Goes out by the door on the right. ROSMER, with his stick and hat in his hand, comes in from the lobby.)

Rosmer. Good-morning, Rebecca.

Rebecca. Good-morning, dear.
(She goes on working for a little while in silence.)
Are you going out?

Rosmer. Yes.

Rebecca. It is such a lovely day.

Rosmer. You did not come up to see me this morning.

Rebecca. No — I didn’t. Not to-day.

Rosmer. Don’t you mean to do so in future, either? Rebecca. I cannot say yet, dear.

Rosmer. Has anything come for me?

Rebecca. The “County News” has come.

Rosmer. The “County News”!

Rebecca. There it is, on the table.

Rosmer
(putting down his hat and stick)
. Is there anything — ?

Rebecca. Yes.

Rosmer. And you did not send it up to me

Rebecca. You will read it quite soon enough.

Rosmer. Well, let us see.
(Takes up the paper and stands by the table reading it.)
What!—”cannot pronounce too emphatic a warning against unprincipled deserters.”
(Looks at her.)
They call me a deserter, Rebecca.

Rebecca. They mention no names at all.

Rosmer. It comes to the same thing.
(Goes on reading.)
“Secret traitors to the good cause.”—”Judas-like creatures, who shamelessly confess their apostasy as soon as they think the most opportune and most profitable moment has arrived.”—”A reckless outrage on the fair fame of honoured ancestors”—”in the expectation that those who are enjoying a brief spell of authority will not disappoint them of a suitable reward.”
(Lays the paper down on the table.)
And they write that of me — these men who have known me so long and so intimately — write a thing that they do not even believe themselves! They know there is not a single word of truth in it — and yet they write it.

Rebecca. There is more of it yet.

Rosmer
(taking up the paper again)
. “Make some allowance for inexperience and want of judgment”—”a pernicious influence which, very possibly, has extended even to matters which for the present we will refrain from publicly discussing or condemning.”
(Looks at her.)
What does that mean?

Rebecca. That is a hit at me, obviously.

Rosmer
(laying down the paper)
. Rebecca, this is the conduct of dishonourable men.

Rebecca. Yes, it seems to me they have no right to talk about Mortensgaard.

Rosmer
(walking up and down the room)
. They must be saved from this sort of thing. All the good that is in men is destroyed, if it is allowed to go on. But it shall not be so! How happy — how happy I should feel if I could succeed in bringing a little light into all this murky ugliness.

Rebecca
(getting up)
. I am sure of it. There is something great, something splendid, for you to live for!

Rosmer. Just think of it — if I could wake them to a real knowledge of themselves — bring them to be angry with and ashamed of themselves — induce them to be at one with each other in toleration, in love, Rebecca!

Rebecca. Yes! Give yourself up entirely to that task, and you will see that you will succeed.

Rosmer. I think it might be done. What happiness it would be to live one’s life, then! No more hateful strife — only emulation; every eye fixed on the same goal; every man’s will, every man’s thoughts moving forward-upward — each in its own inevitable path Happiness for all — and through the efforts of all!
(Looks out of the window as he speaks, then gives a start and says gloomily:)
Ah! not through me.

Rebecca. Not — not through you?

Rosmer. Nor for me, either.

Rebecca. Oh, John, have no such doubts.

Rosmer. Happiness, dear Rebecca, means first and foremost the calm, joyous sense of innocence.

Rebecca
(staring in front of her)
. Ah, innocence —

Rosmer. You need fear nothing on that score. But I —

Rebecca. You least of all men!

Rosmer
(pointing out of the window)
. The mill-race.

Rebecca. Oh, John! —
(MRS. HELSETH looks in in through the door on the left.)

Mrs. Helseth. Miss West!

Rebecca. Presently, presently. Not now.

Mrs. Helseth. Just a word, miss!
(REBECCA goes to the door. MRS. HELSETH tells her something, and they whisper together for a moment; then MRS. HELSETH nods and goes away.)