Well, and what then——?
SOLNESS.
The fright had shaken Aline terribly. The alarm—the escape—the
break-neck hurry—and then the ice-cold night air—for they had to be
carried out just as they lay—both she and the little ones.
HILDA.
Was it too much for them?
SOLNESS.
Oh no, _they_ stood it well enough. But Aline fell into a fever, and it
affected her milk. She would insist on nursing them herself; because it
was her duty, she said. And both our little boys, they—[_Clenching his
hands._]—they—oh!
HILDA.
They did not get over _that_?
SOLNESS.
No, _that_ they did not get over. _That_ was how we lost them.
HILDA.
It must have been terribly hard for you.
SOLNESS.
Hard enough for me; but ten times harder for Aline. [_Clenching his
hands in suppressed fury._] Oh, that such things should be allowed to
happen here in the world! [_Shortly and firmly._] From the day I lost
them, I had no heart for building churches.
HILDA.
Did you not like building the church-tower in our town?
SOLNESS.
I didn’t like it. I know how free and happy I felt when that tower was
finished.
HILDA.
_I_ know that, too.
SOLNESS.
And now I shall never—never build anything of that sort again! Neither
churches nor church-towers.
HILDA.
[_Nods slowly._] Nothing but houses for people to live in.
SOLNESS.
Homes for human beings, Hilda.
HILDA.
But homes with high towers and pinnacles upon them.
SOLNESS.
If possible. [_Adopts a lighter tone._] But, as I said before, that fire
was the making of me—as a builder, I mean.
HILDA.
Why don’t you call yourself an architect, like the others?
SOLNESS.
I have not been systematically enough taught for that. Most of what I
know I have found out for myself.
HILDA.
But you succeeded all the same.
SOLNESS.
Yes, thanks to the fire. I laid out almost the whole of the garden in
villa lots; and _there_ I was able to build after my own heart. So I
came to the front with a rush.
HILDA.
[_Looks keenly at him._] You must surely be a very happy man, as matters
stand with you.
SOLNESS.
[_Gloomily._] Happy? Do _you_ say that, too—like all the rest of them?
HILDA.
Yes, I should say you must be. If you could only cease thinking about
the two little children——
SOLNESS.
[_Slowly._] The two little children—they are not so easy to forget,
Hilda.
HILDA.
[_Somewhat uncertainly._] Do you still feel their loss so much—after all
these years?
SOLNESS.
[_Looks fixedly at her, without replying._] A happy man you said——
HILDA.
Well, now, _are_ you not happy—in other respects?
SOLNESS.
[_Continues to look at her._] When I told you all this about the
fire—h’m——
HILDA.
Well?
SOLNESS.
Was there not one special thought that you—that you seized upon?
HILDA.
[Reflects in vain.] No. What thought should _that_ be?
SOLNESS.
[_With subdued emphasis._] It was simply and solely by that fire that I
was enabled to build homes for human beings. Cosy, comfortable, bright
homes, where father and mother and the whole troop of children can live
in safety and gladness, feeling what a happy thing it is to be alive in
the world—and most of all to belong to each other—in great things and in
small.
HILDA.
[_Ardently._] Well, and is it not a great happiness for you to be able
to build such beautiful homes?
SOLNESS.
The price, Hilda! The terrible price I had to pay for the opportunity!
HILDA.
But can you _never_ get over that?
SOLNESS.
No. That I might build homes for others, I had to forego—to forego for
all time—the home that might have been my own. I mean a home for a troop
of children—and for father and mother, too.
HILDA.
[_Cautiously._] But _need_ you have done that? For all time, you say?
SOLNESS.
[_Nods slowly._] _That_ was the price of this happiness that people talk
about. [_Breathes heavily._] This happiness—h’m—this happiness was not
to be bought any cheaper, Hilda.
HILDA.
[_As before._] But may it not come right even yet?
SOLNESS.
Never in this world—never. That is another consequence of the fire—and
of Aline’s illness afterwards.
HILDA.
[_Looks at him with an indefinable expression._] And yet you build all
these nurseries?
SOLNESS.
[_Seriously._] Have you never noticed, Hilda, how the impossible—how it
seems to beckon and cry aloud to one?
HILDA.
[_Reflecting._] The impossible? [_With animation._] Yes, indeed! Is that
how _you_ feel too?
SOLNESS.
Yes, I do.
HILDA.
Then there must be—a little of the troll in you too.
SOLNESS.
Why of the troll?
HILDA.
What would you call it, then?
SOLNESS.
[_Rises._] Well, well, perhaps you are right. [_Vehemently._] But how
can I help turning into a troll, when this is how it always goes with me
in everything—in everything!
HILDA.
How do you mean?
SOLNESS.
[_Speaking low, with inward emotion._] Mark what I say to you, Hilda.
All that I have succeeded in doing, building, creating—all the beauty,
security, cheerful comfort—ay, and magnificence too—[_Clenches his
hands._] Oh, is it not terrible even to think of——!
HILDA.
_What_ is so terrible?
SOLNESS.
That all this I have to make up for, to pay for—not in money, but in
human happiness. And not with my own happiness only, but with other
people’s too. Yes, yes, do you see _that_, Hilda? That is the price
which my position as an artist has cost me—and others. And every single
day I have to look on while the price is paid for me anew. Over again,
and over again—and over again for ever!
HILDA.
[_Rises and looks steadily at him._] Now I can see that you are thinking
of—of _her_.
SOLNESS.
Yes, mainly of Aline. For Aline—_she_, too, had her vocation in life,
just as much as I had mine. [_His voice quivers._] But her vocation has
had to be stunted, and crushed, and shattered—in order that mine might
force its way to—to a sort of great victory. For you must know that
Aline—she, too, had a talent for building.
HILDA.
She! For building?
SOLNESS.
[_Shakes his head._] Not houses and towers, and spires—not such things
as I work away at——
HILDA.
Well, but _what_ then?
SOLNESS.
[_Softly, with emotion._] For building up the souls of little children,
Hilda. For building up children’s souls in perfect balance, and in noble
and beautiful forms. For enabling them to soar up into erect and
full-grown human souls. _That_ was Aline’s talent. And there it all lies
now—unused and unusable for ever—of no earthly service to any one—just
like the ruins left by a fire.
HILDA.
Yes, but even if this were so——?
SOLNESS.
It is so! It is so! I know it!
HILDA.
Well, but in any case it is not _your_ fault.
SOLNESS.
[_Fixes his eyes on her, and nods slowly._] Ah, _that_ is the great, the
terrible question. _That_ is the doubt that is gnawing me—night and day.
HILDA.
That?
SOLNESS.
Yes. Suppose the fault _was_ mine—in a certain sense.
HILDA.
Your fault! The fire!
SOLNESS.
All of it; the whole thing. And yet, perhaps—I may not have had anything
to do with it.
HILDA.
[_Looks at him with a troubled expression._] Oh, Mr. Solness—if you can
talk like that, I am afraid you must be—ill, after all.
SOLNESS.
H’m—I don’t think I shall ever be of quite sound mind on that point.
RAGNAR BROVIK _cautiously opens the little door in the left-hand
corner._ HILDA _comes forward._
RAGNAR.
[_When he sees HILDA._] Oh. I beg pardon, Mr. Solness——
[_He makes a movement to withdraw._
SOLNESS.
No, no, don’t go. Let us get it over.
RAGNAR.
Oh, yes—if only we could.
SOLNESS.
I hear your father is no better?
RAGNAR.
Father is fast growing weaker—and therefore I beg and implore you to
write a few kind words for me on one of the plans! Something for father
to read before he——
SOLNESS.
[_Vehemently._] I won’t hear anything more about those drawings of
yours!
RAGNAR.
Have you looked at them?
SOLNESS.
Yes—I have.
RAGNAR.
And they are good for nothing? And _I_ am good for nothing, too?
SOLNESS.
[_Evasively._] Stay here with me, Ragnar. You shall have everything your
own way. And then you can marry Kaia, and live at your ease—and happily
too, who knows? Only don’t think of building on your own account.
RAGNAR.
Well, well, then I must go home and tell father what you say—I promised
I would.—Is this what I am to tell father—before he dies?
SOLNESS.
[_With a groan._] Oh tell him—tell him what you will, for me. Best to
say nothing at all to him! [_With a sudden outburst._] I _cannot_ do
anything else, Ragnar!
RAGNAR.
May I have the drawings to take with me?
SOLNESS.
Yes, take them—take them by all means! They are lying there on the
table.
RAGNAR.
[_Goes to the table._] Thanks.
HILDA.
[_Puts her hand on the portfolio._] No, no; leave them here.
SOLNESS.
Why?
HILDA.
Because I want to look at them, too.
SOLNESS.
But you _have_ been——[_To RAGNAR._] Well, leave them here, then.
RAGNAR.
Very well.
SOLNESS.
And go home at once to your father.
RAGNAR.
Yes, I suppose I must.
SOLNESS.
[_As if in desperation._] Ragnar—you _must_ not ask me to do what is
beyond my power! Do you hear, Ragnar? You _must_ not!
RAGNAR.
No, no. I beg your pardon——
[_He bows, and goes out by the corner door._ HILDA _goes over
and sits down on a chair near the mirror._
HILDA.
[_Looks angrily at SOLNESS._] That was a very ugly thing to do.
SOLNESS.
Do _you_ think so, too?
HILDA.
Yes, it was horribly ugly—and hard and bad and cruel as well.
SOLNESS.
Oh, you don’t understand my position.
HILDA.
No matter——. I say you ought not to be like that.
SOLNESS.
You said yourself, only just now, that no one but _I_ ought to be
allowed to build.
HILDA.
_I_ may say such things—but _you_ must not.
SOLNESS.
I most of all, surely, who have paid so dear for my position.
HILDA.
Oh yes—with what you call domestic comfort—and that sort of thing.
SOLNESS.
And with my peace of soul into the bargain.
HILDA.
[_Rising._] Peace of soul! [_With feeling._] Yes, yes, you are right in
that! Poor Mr. Solness—you fancy that——
SOLNESS.
[_With a quiet, chuckling laugh._] Just sit down again, Hilda, and I’ll
tell you something funny.
HILDA.
[_Sits down; with intent interest._] Well?
SOLNESS.
It sounds such a ludicrous little thing; for, you see, the whole story
turns upon nothing but a crack in a chimney.
HILDA.
No more than that?
SOLNESS.
No, not to begin with.
[_He moves a chair nearer to_ HILDA _and sits down._
HILDA.
[_Impatiently, taps on her knee._] Well, now for the crack in the
chimney!
SOLNESS.
I had noticed the split in the flue long, long before the fire. Every
time I went up into the attic, I looked to see if it was still there.
HILDA.
And it _was_?
SOLNESS.
Yes; for no one else knew about it.
HILDA.
And you said nothing?
SOLNESS.
Nothing.
HILDA.
And did not think of repairing the flue either?
SOLNESS.
Oh yes, I thought about it—but never got any further. Every time I
intended to set to work, it seemed just as if a hand held me back. Not
to-day, I thought—to-morrow; and nothing ever came of it.
HILDA.
But why did you keep putting it off like that?
SOLNESS.
Because I was revolving something in my mind. [_Slowly, and in a low
voice._] Through that little black crack in the chimney, I might,
perhaps, force my way upwards—as a builder.
HILDA.
[_Looking straight in front of her._] That must have been thrilling.
SOLNESS.
Almost irresistible—quite irresistible. For at that time it appeared to
me a perfectly simple and straightforward matter. I would have had it
happen in the winter-time—a little before midday. I was to be out
driving Aline in the sleigh. The servants at home would have made huge
fires in the stoves.
HILDA.
For, of course, it was to be bitterly cold that day?
SOLNESS.
Rather biting, yes—and they would want Aline to find it thoroughly snug
and warm when she came home.
HILDA.
I suppose she is very chilly by nature?
SOLNESS.
She _is_. And as we drove home, we were to see the smoke.
HILDA.
Only the smoke?
SOLNESS.
The smoke first. But when we came up to the garden gate, the whole of
the old timber-box was to be a rolling mass of flames.—That is how I
wanted it to be, you see.
HILDA.
Oh why, _why_ could it not have happened so!
SOLNESS.
You may well say that, Hilda.
HILDA.
Well, but now listen, Mr. Solness. Are you perfectly certain that the
fire was caused by that little crack in the chimney!
SOLNESS.
No, on the contrary—I am perfectly certain that the crack in the chimney
had nothing whatever to do with the fire.
HILDA.
What!
SOLNESS.
It has been clearly ascertained that the fire broke out in a
clothes-cupboard—in a totally different part of the house.
HILDA.
Then what is all this nonsense you are talking about the crack in the
chimney!
SOLNESS.
May I go on talking to you a little, Hilda?
HILDA.
Yes, if you’ll only talk sensibly——
SOLNESS.
I will try to. [_He moves his chair nearer._
HILDA.
Out with it, then, Mr. Solness.
SOLNESS.
[_Confidentially._] Don’t you agree with me, Hilda, that there exist
special, chosen people who have been endowed with the power and faculty
of _desiring_ a thing, _craving_ for a thing, _willing_ a thing—so
persistently and so—so inexorably— that at last it has to _happen_?
Don’t you believe that?
HILDA.
[_With an indefinable expression in her eyes._] If that is so, we shall
see, one of these days, whether _I_ am one of the chosen.
SOLNESS.
It is not one’s self _alone_ that can do such great things. Oh, no—the
helpers and the servers—they must do their part too, if it is to be of
any good. But they never come of themselves. One has to call upon them
very persistently—inwardly, you understand.
HILDA.
What are these helpers and servers?
SOLNESS.
Oh, we can talk about that some other time. For the present, let us keep
to this business of the fire.
HILDA.
Don’t you think that fire would have happened all the same—even without
your wishing for it?
SOLNESS.
If the house had been old Knut Brovik’s, it would never have burnt down
so conveniently for him. I am sure of that; for he does not know how to
call for the helpers—no, nor for the servers, either. [_Rises in
unrest._] So you see, Hilda—it is my fault, after all, that the lives of
the two little boys had to be sacrificed. And do you think it is not my
fault, too, that Aline has never been the woman she should and might
have been—and that she most longed to be?
HILDA.
Yes, but if it is all the work of those helpers and servers——?
SOLNESS.
Who called for the helpers and servers? It was I! And they came and
obeyed my will. [_In increasing excitement._] _That_ is what people call
having the luck on your side; but I must tell you what this sort of luck
feels like! It feels like a great raw place here on my breast. And the
helpers and servers keep on flaying pieces of skin off other people in
order to close my sore!—But still the sore is not healed—never, never!
Oh, if you knew how it can sometimes gnaw and burn.
HILDA.
[_Looks attentively at him._] You are ill, Mr. Solness. Very ill, I
almost think.
SOLNESS.
Say _mad_; for that is what you mean.
HILDA.
No, I don’t think there is much amiss with your intellect.
SOLNESS.
With _what_ then? Out with it!
HILDA.
I wonder whether you were not sent into the world with a sickly
conscience.
SOLNESS.
A sickly conscience? What devilry is that?
HILDA.
I mean that your conscience is feeble—too delicately built, as it
were—hasn’t strength to take a grip of things—to lift and bear what is
heavy.
SOLNESS.
[_Growls._] H’m! May I ask, then, what sort of a conscience one ought to
have?
HILDA.
I should like _your_ conscience to be—to be thoroughly robust.
SOLNESS.
Indeed? Robust, eh? Is your own conscience robust, may I ask?
HILDA.
Yes, I think it is. I have never noticed that it wasn’t.
SOLNESS.
It has not been put very severely to the test, I should think.
HILDA.
[_With a quivering of the lips._] Oh, it was no such simple matter to
leave father—I am so awfully fond of him.
SOLNESS.
Dear me! for a month or two——
HILDA.
I think I shall never go home again.
SOLNESS.
Never? Then why did you leave him?
HILDA.
[_Half-seriously, half-banteringly._] Have you forgotten again that the
ten years are up?
SOLNESS.
Oh nonsense. Was anything wrong at home? Eh?
HILDA.
[_Quite seriously._] It was this impulse within me that urged and goaded
me to come—and lured and drew me on, as well.
SOLNESS.
[_Eagerly._] There, we have it! There we have it, Hilda! There is a
troll in you too, as in me. For it’s the troll in one, you see—it is
_that_ that calls to the powers outside us. And then you _must_ give
in—whether you will or no.
HILDA.
I almost think you are right, Mr. Solness.
SOLNESS.
[_Walks about the room._] Oh, there are devils innumerable abroad in the
world, Hilda, that one never _sees_!
HILDA.
Devils, too?
SOLNESS.
[_Stops._] Good devils and bad devils; light-haired devils and
black-haired devils. If only you could always tell whether it is the
light or dark ones that have got hold of you! [_Paces about._] Ho-ho!
Then it would be simple enough!
HILDA.
[_Follows him with her eyes._] Or if one had a really vigorous,
radiantly healthy conscience—so that one _dared_ to do what one _would_.
SOLNESS.
[_Stops beside the console table._] I believe, now, that most people are
just as puny creatures as I am in that respect.
HILDA.
I shouldn’t wonder.
SOLNESS.
[_Leaning against the table._] In the sagas——. Have you read any of the
old sagas?
HILDA.
Oh yes! When I used to read books, I——
SOLNESS.
In the sagas you read about vikings, who sailed to foreign lands, and
plundered and burned and killed men——
HILDA.
And carried off women——
SOLNESS.
——and kept them in captivity——
HILDA.
——took them home in their ships——
SOLNESS.
——and behaved to them like—like the very worst of trolls.
HILDA.
[_Looks straight before her, with a half-veiled look._] I think _that_
must have been thrilling.
SOLNESS.
[_With a short, deep laugh._] To carry off women eh?
HILDA.
To be carried off.
SOLNESS.
[_Looks at her a moment._] Oh, indeed.
HILDA.
[_As if breaking the thread of the conversation._] But what made you
speak of these vikings, Mr. Solness?
SOLNESS.
Why, _those_ fellows must have had robust consciences, if you like! When
they got home again, they could eat and drink, and be as happy as
children. And the women, too! They often would not leave them on any
account. Can you understand that, Hilda?
HILDA.
Those women I can understand exceedingly well.
SOLNESS.
Oho! Perhaps you could do the same yourself?
HILDA.
Why not?
SOLNESS.
Live—of your own free will—with a ruffian like that?
HILDA.
If it was a ruffian I had come to love——
SOLNESS.
_Could_ you come to love a man like that?
HILDA.
Good heavens, you know very well one can’t choose whom one is going to
love.
SOLNESS.
[_Looks meditatively at her._] Oh no, I suppose it is the troll within
one that’s responsible for that.
HILDA.
[_Half-laughing._] And all those blessëd devils, that _you_ know so
well—both the light-haired and the dark-haired ones.
SOLNESS.
[_Quietly and warmly._] Then I hope with all my heart that the devils
will choose carefully for you, Hilda.
HILDA.
For me they _have_ chosen already—once and for all.
SOLNESS.
[_Looks earnestly at her._] Hilda—you are like a wild bird of the woods.
HILDA.
Far from it. I don’t hide myself away under the bushes.
SOLNESS.
No, no. There is rather something of the bird of prey in you.
HILDA.
That is nearer it—perhaps. [_Very vehemently._] And why not a bird of
prey? Why should not _I_ go a-hunting—I, as well as the rest? Carry off
the prey I want—if only I can get my claws into it, and do with it as I
will.
SOLNESS.
Hilda—do you know what you are?
HILDA.
Yes, I suppose I am a strange sort of bird.
SOLNESS.
No. You are like a dawning day. When I look at you—I seem to be looking
towards the sunrise.
HILDA.
Tell me, Mr. Solness—are you certain that you have never called me to
you? Inwardly, you know?
SOLNESS.
[_Softly and slowly._] I almost think I must have.
HILDA.
What did you want with me?
SOLNESS.
You are the younger generation, Hilda.
HILDA.
[_Smiles._] That younger generation that you are so afraid of?
SOLNESS.
[_Nods slowly._] And which, in my heart, I yearn towards so deeply.
[HILDA _rises, goes to the little table, and fetches_ RAGNAK
BROVIK’S _portfolio._
HILDA.
[_Holds out the portfolio to him._] We were talking of these drawings——
SOLNESS.
[_Shortly, waving them away._] Put those things away! I have seen enough
of them.
HILDA.
Yes, but you have to write your approval on them.
SOLNESS.
Write my approval on them? Never!
HILDA.
But the poor old man is lying at death’s door! Can’t you give him and
his son this pleasure before they are parted? And perhaps he might get
the commission to carry them out, too.
SOLNESS.
Yes, that is just what he would get. He has made sure of that—has my
fine gentleman!
HILDA.
Then, good heavens—if that is so—can’t you tell the least little bit of
a lie for once in a way?
SOLNESS.
A lie? [_Raging._] Hilda—take those devil’s drawings out of my sight!
HILDA.
[_Draws the portfolio a little nearer to herself._] Well well,
well—don’t bite me.—You talk of trolls—but I think you go on like a
troll yourself. [_Looks round._] Where do you keep your pen and ink?
SOLNESS.
There is nothing of the sort in here.
HILDA.
[_Goes towards the door._] But in the office where that young lady is——
SOLNESS.
Stay where you are, Hilda!—I ought to tell a lie, you say. Oh yes, for
the sake of his old father I might well do that—for in my time I have
crushed him, trodden him under foot——
HILDA.
Him, too?
SOLNESS.
I needed room for myself. But this Ragnar—he must on no account be
allowed to come to the front.
HILDA.
Poor fellow, there is surely no fear of that. If he has nothing in him——
SOLNESS.
[_Comes closer, looks at her, and whispers._] If Ragnar Brovik gets his
chance, he will strike _me_ to the earth. Crush me—as I crushed his
father.
HILDA.
Crush you? Has he the ability for that?
SOLNESS.
Yes, you may depend upon it he has the ability! He is the younger
generation that stands ready to knock at my door—to make an end of
Halvard Solness.
HILDA.
[_Looks at him with quiet reproach._] And yet you would bar him out.
Fie, Mr. Solness!
SOLNESS.
The fight I have been fighting has cost heart’s blood enough.—And I am
afraid, too, that the helpers and servers will not obey me any longer.
HILDA.
Then you must go ahead without them. There is nothing else for it.
SOLNESS.
It is hopeless, Hilda. The luck is bound to turn. A little sooner or a
little later. Retribution is inexorable.
HILDA.
[_In distress, putting her hands over her ears._] Don’t talk like that!
Do you want to kill me? To take from me what is more than my life?
SOLNESS.
And what is that?
HILDA.
The longing to see you great. To see you, with a wreath in your hand,
high, high up upon a church-tower. [_Calm again._] Come, out with your
pencil now. You must have a pencil about you?
SOLNESS.
[_Takes out his pocket-book._] I have one here.
HILDA.
[_Lays the portfolio on the sofa-table._] Very well. Now let us two sit
down here, Mr. Solness. [_SOLNESS seats himself at the table. HILDA
stands behind him, leaning over the back of the chair._] And now we will
write on the drawings. We must write very, very nicely and cordially—for
this horrid Ruar—or whatever his name is.
SOLNESS.
[_Writes a few words, turns his head and looks at her._] Tell me one
thing, Hilda.
HILDA.
Yes!
SOLNESS.
If you have been waiting for me all these ten years——
HILDA.
What then?
SOLNESS.
Why have you never written to me? Then I could have answered you.
HILDA.
[_Hastily._] No, no, no! That was just what I did not want.
SOLNESS.
Why not?
HILDA.
I was afraid the whole thing might fall to pieces.—But we were going to
write on the drawings, Mr. Solness.
SOLNESS.
So we were.
HILDA.
[_Bends forward and looks over his shoulder while he writes._] Mind now,
kindly and cordially! Oh how I hate—how I hate this Ruald——
SOLNESS.
[_Writing._] Have you never really cared for any one, Hilda?
HILDA.
[_Harshly._] What do you say?
SOLNESS.
Have you never cared for any one?
HILDA.
For any one else, I suppose you mean?
SOLNESS.
[_Looks up at her._] For any one else, yes. Have you never? In all these
ten years? Never?
HILDA.
Oh yes, now and then. When I was perfectly furious with you for not
coming.
SOLNESS.
Then you did take an interest in other people, too?
HILDA.
A little bit—for a week or so. Good heavens, Mr. Solness, you surely
know how such things come about.
SOLNESS.
Hilda—what is it you have come for?
HILDA.
Don’t waste time talking. The poor old man might go and die in the
meantime.
SOLNESS.
Answer me Hilda. What do you want of me?
HILDA.
I want my kingdom.
SOLNESS.
H’m——