Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas Part 6

[MRS. LINDEN _goes. Enter_ TORVALD _from the Manager's room._ NORA _runs trippingly to him._

NORA.

[_Coaxing._] Oh, Torvald, if only you won't dismiss Krogstad, you can't think how your little lark would jump about and twitter.

HELMER.

The inducement would be stronger but for the fact that, as it is, the little lark is generally engaged in that particular occupation. And I really _must_ get rid of Krogstad. If I didn't, people would say I was under the thumb of my little squirrel here, and then Krogstad and I knew each other in early youth; and when two people knew each other in early youth--[_a short pause_]--h'm! Besides, he will address me as, "I say, Torvald"--which causes me most painful emotion! He is tactless, dishonest, familiar, and morally ruined--altogether not at all the kind of person to be a Cas.h.i.+er in a Bank like mine.

NORA.

But he writes in scurrilous papers--he is on the staff of the Norwegian _Punch_. If you dismiss him, he may write nasty things about _you_, as wicked people did about poor dear papa!

HELMER.

Your poor dear papa was not impeccable--far from it. I _am_--which makes all the difference. I have here a letter giving Krogstad the sack. One of the conveniences of living close to the Bank is, that I can use the housemaids as Bank-messengers. [_Goes to door and calls._] Ellen!

[_Enter parlourmaid._] Take that letter--there is no answer. [ELLEN _takes it and goes._] That's settled--and now, Nora, as I am going to my private room, it will be a capital opportunity for you to practise the tambourine--thump away, little lark, the doors are double!

[_Nods to her and goes in, shutting door._

NORA.

[_Stroking her face._] How _am_ I to get out of this mess? [_A ring at the visitors' bell._] Dr. Rank's ring! _He_ shall help me out of it!

[Dr. RANK _appears in doorway, hanging up his great-coat._] Dear Dr.

Rank, how _are_ you? [_Takes both his hands_.

DR. RANK.

[_Sitting down near the stove._] I am a miserable, hypochondriacal wretch--that's what _I_ am. And why am I doomed to be dismal? Why?

Because my father died of a fit of the blues! _Is_ that fair--I put it to _you_?

NORA.

Do try to be funnier than _that_! See, I will show you the flesh-coloured silk tights that I am to wear to-night--it will cheer you up. But you must only look at the feet--well, you may look at the rest if you're good. _Aren't_ they lovely? Will they fit me, do you think?

DR. RANK.

[_Gloomily._] A poor fellow with both feet in the grave is not the best authority on the fit of silk stockings. I shall be food for worms before long--I _know_ I shall!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A poor fellow with both feet in the grave is not the best authority on the fit of silk stockings."]

NORA.

You mustn't really be so frivolous! Take that! [_She hits him lightly on the ear with the stockings; then hums a little._] I want you to do me a great service, Dr. Rank. [_Rolling up stockings._] I always liked _you_.

I love Torvald most, of _course_--but, somehow, I'd rather spend my time with you--you _are_ so amusing!

RANK.

If I am, can't you guess why? [_A short silence._] Because I love you!

You can't pretend you didn't know it!

NORA.

Perhaps not--but it was really too clumsy of you to mention it just as I was about to ask a favour of you! It was in the worst taste! [_With dignity._] You must not imagine because I joke with you about silk stockings, and tell you things I never tell Torvald, that I am therefore without the most delicate and scrupulous self-respect! I am really quite a good little doll, Dr. Rank, and now--[_sits in rocking chair and smiles_]--now I shan't ask you what I was going to!

[ELLEN _comes in with a card._

NORA.

[_Terrified._] Oh, my goodness!

[_Puts it in her pocket._

DR. RANK.

Excuse my easy Norwegian pleasantry--but--h'm--anything disagreeable up?

NORA.

[_To herself._] Krogstad's card! I must tell _another_ whopper! [_To_ RANK.] No, nothing--only--only my new costume. I want to try it on here.

I always do try on my dresses in the drawing-room--it's _cosier_, you know. So go in to Torvald and amuse him till I'm ready.

[RANK _goes into_ HELMER'S _room, and_ NORA _bolts the door upon him, as_ KROGSTAD _enters from hall in a fur cap_.

KROGSTAD.

Well, I've got the sack, and so I came to see how _you_ are getting on.

I mayn't be a nice man, but--[_with feeling_]--I have a heart! And, as I don't intend to give up the forged I.O.U. unless I'm taken back, I was afraid you might be contemplating suicide, or something of that kind; and so I called to tell you that, if I were you, I wouldn't. Bad thing for the complexion, suicide--and silly, too, because it wouldn't mend matters in the least. [_Kindly._] You must not take this affair too seriously, Mrs. Helmer. Get your husband to settle it amicably by taking me back as Cas.h.i.+er; _then_ I shall soon get the whip-hand of _him_, and we shall all be as pleasant and comfortable as possible together!

NORA.

Not even that prospect can tempt me! Besides, Torvald wouldn't have you back at any price now!

KROGSTAD.

All right, then. I have here a letter, telling your husband all. I will take the liberty of dropping it in the letter-box at your hall-door as I go out. I'll wish you good evening!

[_He goes out; presently the dull sound of a thick letter dropping into a wire box is heard._

NORA.

[_Softly, and hoa.r.s.ely._] He's done it! How _am_ I to prevent Torvald from seeing it?

HELMER.

[_Inside the door, rattling._] Hasn't my lark changed its dress yet?

[NORA _unbolts door._] What--so you are _not_ in fancy costume, after all? [_Enters with_ RANK.] Are there any letters for me in the box there?

NORA.