ACT THIRD.

Rosmer.

Is all that in the letter?

Mortensgård.

You may read it for yourself, sir, when you please.

Rosmer.

But I don’t understand——! What did she imagine the rumours to be about?

Mortensgård.

Firstly, that the Pastor had deserted the faith of his fathers. Your wife denied that absolutely—then. And next—h’m——

Rosmer.

Next?

Mortensgård.

Well, next she writes—rather confusedly—that she knows nothing of any sinful intrigue at Rosmersholm; that she has never been wronged in any way. And if any such rumours should get about, she implores me to say nothing of the matter in the “Beacon.”

Rosmer.

Is no name mentioned?

Mortensgård.

None.

Rosmer.

Who brought you the letter?

Mortensgård.

I have promised not to say. It was handed to me one evening, at dusk.

Rosmer.

If you had made inquiries at the time, youwould have learnt that my poor unhappy wife was not fully accountable for her actions.

Mortensgård.

I did make inquiries, Pastor Rosmer. But I must say that was not the impression I received.

Rosmer.

Was it not?—But what is your precise reason for telling me now about this incomprehensible old letter?

Mortensgård.

To impress on you the necessity for extreme prudence, Pastor Rosmer.

Rosmer.

In my life, do you mean?

Mortensgård.

Yes. You must remember that from to-day you have ceased to be a neutral.

Rosmer.

Then you have quite made up your mind that I must have something to conceal?

Mortensgård.

I don’t know why an emancipated man should refrain fromlivinglivinghis life out as fully as possible. But, as I said before, be exceedingly cautious in future. If anything should get abroad that conflicts with current prejudices, you may be sure the whole liberal movement will have to suffer for it.—Good-bye, Pastor Rosmer.

Rosmer.

Good-bye.

Mortensgård.

I shall go straight to the office and have the great news put into the “Beacon.”

Rosmer.

Yes; omit nothing.

Mortensgård.

I shall omit nothing that the public need know.

[He bows and goes out.Rosmerremains standing in the doorway while he goes down the stairs. The outer door is heard to close.

Rosmer.

[In the doorway, calls softly.] Rebecca! Re—— H’m. [Aloud.] Madam Helseth,—is Miss West not there?

Madam Helseth.

[From the hall.] No, Pastor Rosmer, she’s not here.

[The curtain at the back is drawn aside.Rebeccaappears in the doorway.

Rebecca.

Rosmer!

Rosmer.

[Turns.] What! Were you in my room? My dear, what were you doing there?

Rebecca.

[Goes up to him.] I was listening.

Rosmer.

Oh, Rebecca, how could you?

Rebecca.

I could not help it. He said it so hatefully—that about my morning gown——

Rosmer.

Then you were there when Kroll——?

Rebecca.

Yes. I wanted to know what was lurking in his mind.

Rosmer.

I would have told you.

Rebecca.

You would scarcely have told me all. And certainly not in his own words.

Rosmer.

Did you hear everything, then?

Rebecca.

Nearly everything, I think. I had to go downstairs for a moment when Mortensgård came.

Rosmer.

And then you came back again——?

Rebecca.

Don’t be vexed with me, dear friend!

Rosmer.

Do whatever you think right. You are mistressof your own actions.—But what do you say to all this, Rebecca——? Oh, I seem never to have needed you so much before!

Rebecca.

Both you and I have been prepared for what must happen some time.

Rosmer.

No, no—not for this.

Rebecca.

Not for this?

Rosmer.

I knew well enough that sooner or later our beautiful, pure friendship might be misinterpreted and soiled. Not by Kroll—I could never have believed such a thing of him—but by all those other people with the coarse souls and the ignoble eyes. Oh yes—I had reason enough for keeping our alliance so jealously concealed. It was a dangerous secret.

Rebecca.

Oh, why should we care what all those people think! We know in our own hearts that we are blameless.

Rosmer.

Blameless? I? Yes, I thought so—till to-day. But now—now, Rebecca——?

Rebecca.

Well, what now?

Rosmer.

How am I to explain Beata’s terrible accusation?

Rebecca.

[Vehemently.] Oh, don’t speak of Beata! Don’t think of Beata any more! You were just beginning to shake off the hold she has upon you, even in the grave.

Rosmer.

Since I have heard all this, she seems, in a ghastly sort of way, to be alive again.

Rebecca.

Oh no—not that, Rosmer! Not that!

Rosmer.

Yes, I tell you. We must try to get to the bottom of this. What can possibly have led her to misinterpret things so fatally?

Rebecca.

You are surely not beginning to doubt that she was on the very verge of insanity?

Rosmer.

Oh yes—that is just what I can’t feel quite certain of any longer. And besides—even if she was——

Rebecca.

If she was? Well, what then?

Rosmer.

I mean—where are we to look for the determining cause that drove her morbid spirit over the border-line of madness?

Rebecca.

Oh, why brood over problems no one can solve?

Rosmer.

I cannot help it, Rebecca. I cannot shake off these gnawing doubts, however much I may wish to.

Rebecca.

But it may become dangerous—this eternal dwelling upon one miserable subject.

Rosmer.

[Walks about restlessly, in thought.] I must have betrayed myself in one way or another. She must have noticed how happy I began to feel from the timeyoucame to us.

Rebecca.

Yes but, dear, even if she did——?

Rosmer.

Be sure it didn’t escape her that we read the same books—that the interest of discussing all the new ideas drew us together. Yet I cannot understand it! I was so careful to spare her. As I look back, it seems to me I made it the business of my life to keep her in ignorance of all our interests. Did I not, Rebecca?

Rebecca.

Yes, yes; certainly you did.

Rosmer.

And you too. And yet——! Oh, it’s terrible to think of! She must have gone about here—full of her morbid passion—saying never a word—watching us—noting everything—and misinterpreting everything.

Rebecca.

[Pressing her hands together.] Oh, I should never have come to Rosmersholm!

Rosmer.

To think of all she must have suffered in silence! All the foulness her sick brain must have conjured up around us! Did she never say anything to you to put you at all on the alert?

Rebecca.

[As if startled.] To me! Do you think I should have stayed a day longer if she had?

Rosmer.

No, no, of course not.—Oh, what a battle she must have fought! And alone too, Rebecca; desperate and quite alone!—and then, at last, that heart-breaking, accusing victory—in the mill-race.

[Throws himself into the chair by the writing-table, with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands.

Rebecca.

[Approaches him cautiously from behind.] Listen, Rosmer. If it were in your power to call Beata back—to you—to Rosmersholm—would you do it?

Rosmer.

Oh, how do I know what I would or would not do? I can think of nothing but this one thing—that cannot be recalled.

Rebecca.

You were just beginning to live, Rosmer. Youhadbegun. You had freed yourself—on every side. You felt so buoyant and happy——

Rosmer.

Oh yes—I did indeed.—And now this crushing blow falls on me.

Rebecca.

[Behind him, rests her arms on the chair-back.] How beautiful it was when we sat in the twilight, in the room downstairs, helping each other to lay out our new life-plans! You were to set resolutely to work in the world—the living world of to-day, as you said. You were to go as a messenger of emancipation from home to home; to win over minds and wills; to create noble-men around you in wider and wider circles. Noble-men.

Rosmer.

Happy noble-men.

Rebecca.

Yes—happy.

Rosmer.

For it is happiness that ennobles, Rebecca.

Rebecca.

Should you not say—sorrow as well? A great sorrow?

Rosmer.

Yes—if one can get through it—over it—away from it.

Rebecca.

Thatis what you must do.

Rosmer.

[Shakes his head gloomily.] I shall never getover this—wholly. There will always be a doubt—a question left. I can never again know that luxury of the soul which makes life so marvellously sweet to live!

Rebecca.

[Bends over his chair-back, and says more softly:] What is it you mean, Rosmer?

Rosmer.

[Looking up at her.] Peaceful, happy innocence.

Rebecca.

[Recoils a step.] Yes. Innocence.

[A short pause.

Rosmer.

[With his elbow on the table, leaning his head on his hand, and looking straight before him.] And what extraordinary penetration she showed! How systematically she put all this together! First she begins to doubt my orthodoxy——Howcouldthat occur to her? But it did occur to her; and then it grew to be a certainty. And then—yes, then of course it was easy for her to think all the rest possible. [Sits up in his chair and runs his hands through his hair.] Oh, all these horrible imaginings! I shall never get rid of them. I feel it. I know it. At any moment they will come rushing in upon me, and bring back the thought of the dead!

Rebecca.

Like the White Horse of Rosmersholm.

Rosmer.

Yes, like that. Rushing forth in the darkness—in the silence.

Rebecca.

And because of this miserable figment of the brain, you will let slip the hold you were beginning to take upon the living world?

Rosmer.

You may well think it hard. Yes, hard, Rebecca. But I have no choice. How could I ever leave this behind me?

Rebecca.

[Behind his chair.] By entering into new relations.

Rosmer.

[Surprised, looks up.] New relations?

Rebecca.

Yes, new relations to the outside world. Live, work, act. Don’t sit here brooding and groping among insoluble enigmas.

Rosmer.

[Rises.] New relations? [Walks across the floor, stops at the door and then comes back.] One question occurs to me. Has it not occurred to you too, Rebecca?

Rebecca.

[Drawing breath with difficulty.] Let me—hear—what it is?

Rosmer.

What form do you thinkourrelations will take after to-day?

Rebecca.

I believe our friendship will endure—come what may.

Rosmer.

That is not exactly what I meant. The thing that first brought us together, and that unites us so closely—our common faith in a pure comradeship between man and woman——

Rebecca.

Yes, yes—what of that?

Rosmer.

I mean, that such a relation—as this of ours—does it not presuppose a quiet, happy, peaceful life——?

Rebecca.

What then?

Rosmer.

But the life I must now look forward too is one of struggle and unrest and strong agitations. For Iwilllive my life, Rebecca! I will not be crushed to earth by horrible possibilities. I will not have my course of life forced upon me, either by the living or by—any one else.

Rebecca.

No, no—do not! Be an absolutely free man, Rosmer!

Rosmer.

But can you not guess what is in my mind? Do you not know? Don’t you see how I can best shake off all gnawing memories—all the unhappy past?

Rebecca.

How?

Rosmer.

By opposing to it a new, a living reality.

Rebecca.

[Feeling for the chair-back.] A living——What do you mean?

Rosmer.

[Comes nearer.] Rebecca—if I were to ask you—will you be my second wife?

Rebecca.

[For a moment speechless, then cries out with joy.] Your wife! Your——! I!

Rosmer.

Come; let us try it. We two will be one. The place of the dead must stand empty no longer.

Rebecca.

I—in Beata’s place——!

Rosmer.

Then she will be out of the saga—completely—for ever and ever.

Rebecca.

[Softly, trembling.] Do you believe that, Rosmer?

Rosmer.

It must be so! Itmust! I cannot—I will not go through life with a dead body on my back. Help me to cast it off, Rebecca. And let us stifle all memories in freedom, in joy, in passion. You shall be to me the only wife I have ever had.

Rebecca.

[With self-command.] Never speak of this again. I will never be your wife.

Rosmer.

What! Never! Do you not think you could come to love me? Is there not already a strain of love in our friendship?

Rebecca.

[Puts her hands over her ears as if in terror.] Don’t speak so, Rosmer! Don’t say such things!

Rosmer.

[Seizes her arm.] Yes, yes—there is a growing promise in our relation. Oh, I can see that you feel it too. Do you not, Rebecca?

Rebecca.

[Once more firm and calm.] Listen to me. I tell you—if you persist in this, I will go away from Rosmersholm.

Rosmer.

Go away! You! You cannot. It is impossible.

Rebecca.

It is still more impossible that I should be your wife. Never in this world can I marry you.

Rosmer.

[Looks at her in surprise.] You say “can”; and you say it so strangely. Why can you not?

Rebecca.

[Seizes both his hands.] Dear friend—both for your own sake and for mine—do not ask why. [Lets go his hands.] Do not, Rosmer.

[Goes towards the door on the left.

Rosmer.

Henceforth I can think of nothing but that one question—why?

Rebecca.

[Turns and looks at him.] Then it is all over.

Rosmer.

Between you and me?

Rebecca.

Yes.

Rosmer.

It will never be all over between us two. You will never leave Rosmersholm.

Rebecca.

[With her hand on the door-handle.] No, perhaps I shall not. But if you ask me again—it is all over.

Rosmer.

All over? How———?

Rebecca.

For then I will go the way that Beata went. Now you know it, Rosmer.

Rosmer.

Rebecca——?

Rebecca.

[In the doorway, nods slowly.] Now you know it.

[She goes out.

Rosmer.

[Stares, thunderstruck, at the door, and says to himself.] What—is—this?

ACT THIRD.

The sitting-room at Rosmersholm. The window and the entrance door are open. The sun is shining outside. Forenoon.

Rebecca West,dressed as in the first Act, stands at the window, watering and arranging the flowers. Her crochet-work lies in the arm-chair.Madam Helsethis moving about, dusting the furniture with a feather-brush.

Rebecca.

[After a short silence.] I can’t understand the Pastor remaining so long upstairs to-day.

Madam Helseth.

Oh, he often does that. But he’ll soon be down now, I should think.

Rebecca.

Have you seen anything of him?

Madam Helseth.

I caught a glimpse of him when I went upstairs with his coffee. He was in his bedroom, dressing.

Rebecca.

I asked because he was a little out of sorts yesterday.

Madam Helseth.

He didn’t look well. I wonder if there isn’t something amiss between him and his brother-in-law.

Rebecca.

What do you think it can be?

Madam Helseth.

I couldn’t say. Perhaps it’s that Mortensgård that has been setting them against each other.

Rebecca.

Likely enough.—Do you know anything of this Peter Mortensgård?

Madam Helseth.

No indeed. How could you think so, Miss? A fellow like him.

Rebecca.

Do you mean because he edits such a low paper?

Madam Helseth.

Oh, it’s not onlythat.—You must have heard, Miss, that he had a child by a married woman that had been deserted by her husband?

Rebecca.

Yes, I have heard of it. But it must have been long before I came here.

Madam Helseth.

It’s true he was very young at the time; and she should have known better. He wanted to marry her too; but of course he couldn’t do that. And I don’t say he hasn’t paid dear for it.—But,good Lord, Mortensgård has got on in the world since those days. There’s a many people run after him now.

Rebecca.

Yes, most of the poor people bring their affairs to him when they’re in any trouble.

Madam Helseth.

Ah, and others too, perhaps, besides the poor folk——

Rebecca.

[Looks at her furtively.] Indeed.

Madam Helseth.

[By the sofa, dusting away vigorously.] Perhaps the last people you would think likely to, Miss.

Rebecca.

[Busy with the flowers.] Come now, that’s only an idea of yours, Madam Helseth. You can’t besureof what you’re saying.

Madam Helseth.

You think I can’t, Miss? But I can tell you I am. Why—if youmustknow it—I once took a letter in to Mortensgård myself.

Rebecca.

[Turning.] No—did you?

Madam Helseth.

Yes, indeed I did. And a letter that was written here at Rosmersholm too.

Rebecca.

Really, Madam Helseth?

Madam Helseth.

Yes, that it was. And it was on fine paper, and there was a fine red seal on it too.

Rebecca.

And it was given to you to deliver? Then, my dear Madam Helseth, it’s not difficult to guess who wrote it.

Madam Helseth.

Well?

Rebecca.

It must have been something that poor Mrs. Rosmer, in her morbid state——

Madam Helseth.

It’s you that saythat, Miss, not me.

Rebecca.

But what was in the letter? Oh, I forgot——youcan’t know that.

Madam Helseth.

H’m; what if I did know it, all the same?

Rebecca.

Did she tell you what she was writing about?

Madam Helseth.

No, she didn’t exactly do that. But Mortensgård, when he’d read it, he began questioning me backwards and forwards and up and down, so that I soon guessed what was in it.

Rebecca.

Then what do you think it was? Oh my dear good Madam Helseth, do tell me.

Madam Helseth.

Oh no, Miss. Not for the whole world.

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