Rebecca. What you have never suspected. What gives light and shade to all the rest, etc.
In The Lady from the Sea, Ellida (p. 19) confesses to Arnholm the story of her insensate betrothal with the foreign sailor. Arnholm so little comprehends the need of this confession, made without rhyme or reason, that he asks with astonishment: ‘What is your object, then, in telling me that you were bound?’ ‘Because I must have someone in whom to confide,’ is Ellida’s sole—and, moreover, sufficient—answer.
In Hedda Gabler the inevitable confessions take place before the commencement of the piece. ‘Yes, Hedda,’ Lövborg says (p. 123). ‘And when I used to confess to you! Told you about myself—things that nobody else knew in those days. Sat there and admitted that I had been out on the loose for whole days and nights.... Ah, Hedda, what power was it in you that forced me to acknowledge things like that?... Had not you an idea that you could wash me clean if only I came to you in confession?’ He confesses in order to receive absolution.
In The Wild Duck confession is equally prominent, but it is deliciously ridiculed. The scene in which Gina confesses to her husband her early liaison with Werle is one of the most exquisite things in contemporary drama (Act IV.).
Hjalmar. Is it true—can it be true that—that there was an—an understanding between you and Mr. Werle, while you were in service there?
Gina. That’s not true. Not at that time. Mr. Werle did come after me, I own it; and his wife thought there was something in it ... so that I left her service.
Hjalmar. But afterwards, then!
Gina. Well, then I went home. And mother—well, she wasn’t the woman you took her for, Ekdal; she kept on worrying and worrying at me about one thing and another. For Mr. Werle was a widower by that time.
Hjalmar. Well, and then?