Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas Part 4

_REBECCA._

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

[_Smiles almost imperceptibly._

_ROSMER._

[_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?_

ROSMER.

A subtle psychological point--but we have not time to think it out here.

We will discuss it as we go along. Come!

[ROSMER _takes his hat and stick_, REBECCA _her reticule, with sandwiches. They go out hand-in-hand through the door, which they leave open. The room (as is not uncommon with rooms in Norway) is left empty.

Then_ MADAM HELSETH _enters through another door_.

MADAM HELSETH.

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!

[_Enter_ ROSMER _and_ REBECCA, _out of breath_.

ROSMER.

[_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_ enn.o.bled 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----

REBECCA.

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

[MADAM HELSETH _holds on to a chair-back._ REBECCA _finishes the antimaca.s.sar calmly as Curtain falls_.

* * * * *

NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE

(ET DIKKISVoET)

ACT FIRST

_A room tastefully filled with cheap Art-furniture. Gimcracks in an etagere: a festoon of chenille monkeys hanging from the gaselier.

j.a.panese fans, skeletons, cotton-wool spiders, frogs and lizards, scattered everywhere about. Drain-pipes with tall dyed gra.s.ses. 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 s.h.i.+lling--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_.

HELMER.

[_Playfully._] Is that my little squirrel twittering--that my lark frisking in here?

NORA.

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

HELMER.

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

NORA.

[_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._

HELMER.

[_Inspecting parcels._] H'm--rather an _expensive_ little lark!

[_Takes her playfully by the ear._

NORA.

Little birds like to have a flutter occasionally. Which reminds me---- [_Plays with his coat-b.u.t.tons._] I'm such a simple ickle sing--but if you _are_ thinking of giving me a Christmas present, make it cas.h.!.+

HELMER.

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!

[_Goes back to his Bank._ NORA _goes on humming._

_Enter_ MRS. LINDEN, _doubtfully._

NORA.

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!"

MRS. LINDEN.

[_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!

NORA.