Part 25 (2/2)

_Madam Helset._ (_In the doorway._) I've just seen the rector, ma'am.

He's coming here.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ Are you sure of that?

_Madam Helset._ Yes, he went across the millpond.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ And my husband is not at home.

_Madam Helset._ The tea is ready as soon as you want it.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ But wait; we can't tell whether he'll stay.

_Madam Helset._ Yes, yes. (_Goes out to the right._)

_Mrs. Rosmer._ (_Goes over and opens the door to the hall._) Good afternoon; how glad I am to see you, my dear Rector![18]

In this version the ”white horses” appear, definitely explained, after some sixteen pages:

_Rosmer._ ... My former self is dead. I look upon it as one looks upon a corpse.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ Yes, but that is just when these white horses appear.

_Rosmer._ White horses? What white horses?

(_Madam Helset brings in the tea-urn and puts it on the table._)

_Mrs. Rosmer._ What was it you told me once, Madam Helset? You said that from time immemorial a strange thing happened here whenever one of the family died.

_Madam Helset._ Yes, it's true as I'm alive. Then the white horse comes.

_Rosmer._ Oh, that old family legend--

_Mrs. Rosmer._ In it comes when the night is far gone. Into the courtyard. Through closed gates. Neighs loudly. Launches out with its hind legs, gallops once round and then out again and away at full speed.

_Madam Helset._ Yes, that's how it is. Both my mother and my grandmother have seen it.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ And you too?

_Madam Helset._ Oh, I'm not so sure whether I've seen anything myself.

I don't generally believe in such things. But this about the white horse--I do believe in that. And I shall believe in it till the day of my death. Well, now I'll go and-- (_Goes out to the right._)[19]

In the final draft, Ibsen put the ”white horses” into his opening page.

The beginning of this draft emphasizes particularly a grim, unexplained tragedy. The most mysterious touch in the new arrangement is given by the ”white horses,” here treated referentially, not in definite explanation.

(_Sitting-room at Rosmersholm; s.p.a.cious, old-fas.h.i.+oned, and comfortable._)

(_Rebecca West is sitting in an easy chair by the window and crocheting a large white woolen shawl, which is nearly finished. Now and then she looks out expectantly through the leaves of the plants.

<script>