Mr Punch's Pocket Ibsen - A Collection of Some of the Master's Best Known Dramas Part 7

[_Voicelessly._] None--not even a postcard! Oh, Torvald, don't, please, go and look--_promise_ me you won't! I do _a.s.sure_ you there isn't a letter! And I've forgotten the Tarantella you taught me--do let's run over it. I'm so afraid of breaking down--promise me not to look at the letter-box. I can't dance unless you do.

HELMER.

[_Standing still, on his way to the letter-box._] I am a man of strict business habits, and some powers of observation; my little squirrel's a.s.surances that there is nothing in the box, combined with her obvious anxiety that I should not go and see for myself, satisfy me that it is indeed empty, in spite of the fact that I have not invariably found her a strictly truthful little d.i.c.ky-bird. There--there. [_Sits down to piano._] Bang away on your tambourine, little squirrel--dance away, my own lark!

NORA.

[_Dancing, with a long gay shawl._] Just _won't_ the little squirrel!

Faster--faster! Oh, I _do_ feel so gay! We will have some champagne for dinner, _won't_ we, Torvald?

[_Dances with more and more abandonment._

HELMER.

[_After addressing frequent remarks in correction._] Come, come--not this awful wildness! I don't like to see _quite_ such a larky little lark as this.... Really it is time you stopped!

NORA.

[_Her hair coming down as she dances more wildly still, and swings the tambourine._] I can't.... I can't! [_To herself, as she dances._]

I've only thirty-one hours left to be a bird in; and after that--[_shuddering_]--after _that_, Krogstad will let the cat out of the bag!

[_Curtain._

* * * * *

ACT THIRD

_The same room_--_except that the sofa has been slightly moved, and one of the j.a.panese cotton-wool frogs has fallen into the fire-place_. MRS.

LINDEN _sits and reads a book_--_but without understanding a single line_.

MRS. LINDEN.

[_Laying down her book, as a light tread is heard outside_.] Here he is at last! [KROGSTAD _comes in, and stands in the doorway._] Mr. Krogstad, I have given you a secret _rendezvous_ in this room, because it belongs to my employer, Mr. Helmer, who has lately discharged you. The etiquette of Norway permits these slight freedoms on the part of a female cas.h.i.+er.

KROGSTAD.

It does. Are we alone? [NORA _is heard overhead dancing the Tarantella_.] Yes, I hear Mrs. Helmer's fairy footfall above. She dances the Tarantella now--by-and-by she will dance to another tune! [_Changing his tone._] I don't exactly know why you should wish to have this interview--after jilting me as you did, long ago, though?

MRS. LINDEN.

Don't you? _I_ do. I am a widow--a Norwegian widow. And it has occurred to me that there may be a n.o.bler side to your nature somewhere--though you have not precisely the best of reputations.

KROGSTAD.

Right. I am a forger, and a money-lender; I am on the staff of the Norwegian _Punch_--a most scurrilous paper. More, I have been blackmailing Mrs. Helmer by trading on her fears, like a low cowardly cur. But, in spite of all that--[_clasping his hands_]--there are the makings of a fine man about me _yet_, Christina!

MRS. LINDEN.

I believe you--at least, I'll chance it. I want some one to care for, and I'll marry you.

KROGSTAD.

[_Suspiciously._] On condition, I suppose, that I suppress the letter denouncing Mrs. Helmer?

MRS. LINDEN.

How can you think so? I am her dearest friend; but I can still see her faults, and it is my firm opinion that a sharp lesson will do her all the good in the world. She is _much_ too comfortable. So leave the letter in the box, and come home with me.

KROGSTAD.

I am wildly happy! Engaged to the female cas.h.i.+er of the manager who has discharged me, our future is bright and secure!

[_He goes out; and_ MRS. LINDEN _sets the furniture straight; presently a noise is heard outside, and_ HELMER _enters, dragging_ NORA _in. She is in fancy dress, and he in an open black domino._

NORA.

I shan't! It's too early to come away from such a nice party. I _won't_ go to bed!

[_She whimpers._

HELMER.

[_Tenderly._] There'sh a naughty lil' larkie for you, Mrs. Linen!

Poshtively had to drag her 'way! She'sh a capricious lil' girl--from Capri. 'Scuse me!--'fraid I've been and made a pun. Shan' 'cur again!

Shplendid champagne the Consul gave us--'counts for it! [_Sits down smiling._] Do you _knit_, Mrs. Cotton?... You shouldn't. Never knit.

'Broider. [_Nodding to her, solemnly._] 'Member that. Alwaysh _'broider_. More--[_hiccoughing_]--Oriental! Gobblesh you!--goo'ni!

MRS. LINDEN.

I only came in to--to see Nora's costume. Now I've seen it, I'll go.

[_Goes out._

HELMER.

Awful bore that woman--hate bores.h.!.+ [_Looks at_ NORA, _then comes nearer._] Oh, you prillil squillikins, I _do_ love you so! Shomehow, I feel sho lively thishevenin'!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Oh, you prillil squillikins!"]

NORA.

[_Goes to other side of table._] I won't _have_ all that, Torvald!

HELMER.

Why? ain't you my lil' lark--ain't thish our lil' cage? Ver-_well_, then.

[_A ring._] Rank! confound it all! [_Enter_ Dr. RANK.] Rank, dear old boy, you've been [_hiccoughs_] going it upstairs. Cap'tal champagne, eh?

'_Shamed_ of you, Rank!