Kroll. I am certain I have heard that name before.
Rebecca. Surely it was the name that strange creature used to write under--Rosmer (to Kroll). It is Ulrik Brendel's pseudonym, you know.
Kroll. That scamp Ulrik Brendel. You are quite right.
Rebecca. So he is alive still.
Rosmer. I thought he was travelling with a theatrical company.
Kroll. The last I heard of him was that he was in the workhouse.
Rosmer. Ask him to come in, Mrs. Helseth.
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, sir. (Goes out.)
Kroll. Do you really mean to allow this fellow into your house?
Rosmer. Oh, well, you know he was my tutor once.
Kroll. I know that what he did was to stuff your head with revolutionary ideas, and that in consequence your father turned him out of the house with a horsewhip.
Rosmer (a little bitterly). Yes, my father was always the commanding officer--even at home.
Kroll. Be grateful to his memory for that, my dear John. Ah!
(MRS. HELSETH shows ULRIK BRENDEL in at the door, then goes out and shuts the door after her. BRENDEL is a good-looking man with grey hair and beard; somewhat emaciated, but active and alert; he is dressed like a common tramp, in a threadbare frock coat, shoes with holes in them, and no visible linen at his neck or wrists.
He wears a pair of old black gloves, carries a dirty soft hat under his arm, and has a walking-stick in his hand. He looks puzzled at first, then goes quickly up to KROLL and holds out his hand to him.)Brendel. Good-evening, John!
Kroll. Excuse me Brendel. Did you ever expect to see me again? And inside these hated walls, too?
Kroll. Excuse me. (Points to ROSMER.) Over there.
Brendel (turning round). Quite right. There he is. John--my boy--my favourite pupil!
Rosmer (shaking hands with him). My old tutor!
Brendel. In spite of certain recollections, I could not pass by Rosmersholm without paying you a flying visit.
Rosmer. You are very welcome here now. Be sure of that.
Brendel. And this charming lady--? (Bows to Rebecca.) Your wife, of course.
Rosmer. Miss West.
Brendel. A near relation, I presume. And our stranger friend here? A colleague, I can see.
Rosmer. Mr. Kroll, master of the grammar school here.
Brendel. Kroll? Kroll? Wait a moment. Did you take the Philology course in your student days?
Kroll. Certainly I did.
Brendel. By Jove, I used to know you, then Kroll. Excuse me--Brendel. Were you not--
Kroll. Excuse me--
Brendel. --one of those champions of all the virtues that got me turned out of the Debating Society?
Kroll. Very possibly. But I disclaim any other acquaintance with you.
Brendel. All right, all right! Nach Belieben, Mr. Kroll. I dare say I shall get over it. Ulrik Brendel will still be himself in spite of it.
Rebecca. Are you on your way to the town, Mr. Brendel?
Brendel. You have hit the nail on the head, ma'am. At certain intervals I am obliged to do something for my living. I do not do it willingly--but, enfin--when needs must--Rosmer. My dear Mr. Brendel, will you not let me be of assistance to you? In some way or another, I mean--Brendel. Ah, what a proposal to come from you! Could you wish to soil the tie that binds us together? Never, John--never!
Rosmer. But what do you propose to do in the town, then? I assure you, you won't find it so easy--Brendel. Leave that to me, my boy. The die is cast. The unworthy individual who stands before you is started on an extensive campaign--more extensive than all his former excursions put together. (To KROLL.) May I venture to ask you, Professor--unter uns--are there in your esteemed town any fairly decent, respectable and spacious assembly-rooms?
Kroll. The most spacious is the hall belonging to the Working Men's Association.
Brendel. May I ask, sir, if you have any special influence with that no doubt most useful Association?
Kroll. I have nothing whatever to do with it.
Rebecca (to BRENDEL). You ought to apply to Peter Mortensgaard.
Brendel. Pardon, madame--what sort of an idiot is he?
Rosmer. Why do you make up your mind he is an idiot?
Brendel. Do you suppose I can't tell, from the sound of the name, that it belongs to a plebeian?
Kroll. I did not expect that answer.
Brendel. But I will conquer my prejudices. There is nothing else for it. When a man stands at a turning-point in his life--as I do--. That is settled. I shall, put myself into communication with this person--commence direct negotiations.
Rosmer. Are you in earnest when you say you are standing at a turning-point in your life?
Brendel. Does my own boy not know that wherever Ulrik Brendel stands he is always in earnest about it? Look here, I mean to become a new man now--to emerge from the cloak of reserve in which I have hitherto shrouded myself.
Rosmer. In what way?
Brendel. I mean to take an active part in life--to step forward--to look higher. The atmosphere we breathe is heavy with storms. Iwant now to offer my mite upon the altar of emancipation.
Kroll. You too?
Brendel (to them all). Has your public here any intimate acquaintance with my scattered writings?
Kroll. No, I must candidly confess that--Rebecca. I have read several of them. My foster-father had them.
Brendel. My dear lady, then you have wasted your, time. They are simply trash, allow me to tell you.
Rebecca. Really?
Brendel. Those you have read, yes. My really important works no man or woman knows anything about. No one--except myself.
Rebecca. How is that?
Brendel. Because they are not yet written.
Rosmer. But, my dear Mr. Brendel--
Brendel. You know, my dear John, that I am a bit of a sybarite--a gourmet. I have always been so. I have a taste for solitary enjoyment, because in that way my enjoyment is twice--ten times--as keen. It is, like this. When I have been wrapped in a haze of golden dreams that have descended on me--when new, intoxicating, momentous thoughts have had their birth in my mind, and I have been fanned by the beat of their wings as they bore me aloft--at such moments I have transformed them into poetry, into visions, into pictures. In general outlines, that is to say.
Rosmer. Quite so.
