Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 9).djvu/184

 Rebecca.

Yes, Rosmer—this is the terrible part of it: that now, when all life's happiness is within my grasp—my heart is changed, and my own past cuts me off from it.

Rosmer.

Your past is dead, Rebecca. It has no hold on you any more—it is no part of you—as you are now.

Rebecca.

Oh, you know that these are only phrases, dear. And innocence? Where am I to get that from?

Rosmer. [Sadly.] Ah,—innocence.

Rebecca.

Yes, innocence. That is the source of peace and happiness. That was the vital truth you were to implant in the coming generation of happy noble-men

Rosmer.

Oh, don't remind me of that. It was only an abortive dream, Rebecca—an immature idea, that I myself no longer believe in.—Ah no, we cannot be ennobled from without, Rebecca.

Rebecca.

[Softly.] Not even by tranquil love, Rosmer?

Rosmer.

[Thoughtfully.] Yes—that would be the great thing—the most glorious in life, almost—if it were so. [Moves uneasily.] But how can I be certain of that? How convince myself?