You forget that I am emancipated, Rector Kroll.
[She leaves them and listens behind curtain in Rosmer's bedroom.
Rosmer.
Yes, Miss West and I have worked our way forward in faithful comradeship.
Kroll.
[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!
"Taking off his gloves meaningly."
Rosmer.
[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?
Kroll.
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!
[He slams the door with spite as Rebecca enters from bedroom.
Rosmer.
[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?
Rebecca.
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!
Rosmer.
[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.
[He leans his elbows on table.
Rebecca.
Be a free man to the full, Rosmer—tell me your idea.
Rosmer.
[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.
Rebecca.
[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!
Rosmer.
[Softly.] Be the new and living reality. It is the only way to put Beata out of the Saga. Shall we try it?
Rebecca.
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!
[She goes out.
Rosmer.
[Sits up, stares, thunderstruck, at the stove, and says to himself.] Well—I—am——
Quick Curtain.
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.
Rebecca.
Good morning, dear. [A moment after—crocheting.] Have you seen Rector Kroll's paper this morning? There's something about you in it.
Rosmer.
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!
Rebecca.
Yes, dear, in that you have a great and glorious object to attain—and I wish you may get it!
Rosmer.
Thanks. I think I shall. [Happens to look through window and jumps.] Ah, no, I shan't—never now, I have just seen——
Rebecca.
Not the White Horse, dear? We must really not overdo that White Horse!
Rosmer.
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.
Rebecca.
