"Boo!"
Krogstad.
[Politely.] Don't mention it. I called because I happened to see your husband go out with Mrs. Linden—from which, being a person of considerable penetration, I infer that he is about to give her my post at the Bank. Now, as you owe me the balance of £300, for which I hold your acknowledgment, you will see the propriety of putting a stop to this little game at once.
Nora.
But I don't at all—not a little wee bit! I'm so childish, you know—why should I?
[Sitting upright on carpet.
Krogstad.
I will try to make it plain to the meanest capacity. When you came to me for the loan, I naturally required some additional security. Your father, being a shady Government official, without a penny—for, if he had possessed one, he would presumably have left it to you—without a penny, then—I, as a cautious man of business, insisted upon having his signature as a surety. Oh, we Norwegians are sharp fellows!
Nora.
Well, you got papa's signature, didn't you?
Krogstad.
Oh, I got it right enough. Unfortunately, it was dated three days after his decease—now, how do you account for that?
Nora.
How? Why, as poor Papa was dead, and couldn't sign, I signed for him, that's all! Only somehow I forgot to put the date back. That's how. Didn't I tell you I was a silly, unbusiness like little thing? It's very simple.
Krogstad.
Very—but what you did amounts to forgery, notwithstanding. I happen to know, because I'm a lawyer, and have done a little in the forging way myself. So, to come to the point—if I get kicked out, I shall not go alone!
[He bows, and goes out.
Nora.
It can't be wrong! Why, no one but Krogstad would have been taken in by it! If the Law says it's wrong, the Law's a goose—a bigger goose than poor little me even! [To Helmer, who enters.] Oh, Torvald, how you made me jump!
Helmer.
Has anybody called? [Nora shakes her head.] Oh, my little squirrel mustn't tell naughty whoppers. Why, I just met that fellow Krogstad in the hall. He's been asking you to get me to take him back—now, hasn't he?
Nora.
[Walking about.] Do just see how pretty the Christmas-tree looks!
Helmer.
Never mind the tree—I want to have this out about Krogstad. I can't take him back, because many years ago he forged a name. As a lawyer, a close observer of human nature, and a Bank Manager, I have remarked that people who forge names seldom or never confide the fact to their children—which inevitably brings moral contagion into the entire family. From which it follows, logically, that Krogstad has been poisoning his children for years by acting a part, and is morally lost. [Stretches out his hands to her.] I can't bear a morally lost Bank-cashier about me!
Nora.
But you never thought of dismissing him till Christina came!
Helmer.
H'm! I've got some business to attend to—so good-bye, little lark!
[Goes into office and shuts door.
Nora.
[Pale with terror.] If Krogstad poisons his children because he once forged a name, I must be poisoning Emmy, and Bob, and Ivar, because I forged papa's signature! [Short pause; she raises her head proudly.] After all, if I am a doll, I can still draw a logical inference! I mustn't play with the children any more—[hotly]—I don't care—I shall, though! Who cares for Krogstad?
[She makes a face, choking with suppressed tears, as Curtain falls.
ACT SECOND
The room, with the cheap Art-furniture as before—except that the candles on the Christmas tree have guttered down and appear to have been lately blown out. The cotton-wool frogs and the chenille monkeys are disarranged, and there are walking things on the sofa. Nora alone.
Nora.
[Putting on a cloak and taking it off again.]
Bother Krogstad! There, I won't think of him. I'll only think of the costume ball at Consul Stenborg's, overhead, to-night, where I am to dance the Tarantella all alone, dressed as a Capri fisher-girl. It struck Torvald that, as I am a matron with three children, my performance might amuse the Consul's guests, and, at the same time, increase his connection at the Bank. Torvald is so practical. [To Mrs. Linden, who comes in with a large cardboard box.] Ah, Christina, so you have brought in my old costume? Would you mind, as my husband's new Cashier, just doing up the trimming for me?
Mrs. Linden.
Not at all—is it not part of my regular duties? [Sewing.] Don't you think, Nora, that you see a little too much of Dr. Rank?
Nora.
Oh, I couldn't see too much of Dr. Rank! He is so amusing—always talking about his complaints, and heredity, and all sorts of indescribably funny things. Go away now, dear; I hear Torvald.
[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 Cashier 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!
