No. II.—NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVÖIT).
ACT II.
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, over-head, 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. L. 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—so 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.
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?
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!
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 into 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.
Krogs. 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 Cashier; 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!
Krogs. 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 hoarsely). 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 (voicelessly). None—not even a postcard! Oh, TORVALD, don't, please, go and look—promise me you won't! I do assure 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 assurances 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 dicky-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.
N.B.—The final Act,—containing scenes of thrilling and realistic intensity, worked out with a masterly insight and command of psychology, the whole to conclude with a new and original dénoûment—unavoidably postponed to a future number. No money returned.