Part 5
[Involuntarily.] Hilda--!
HILDA.
Well!
SOLNESS.
How in the world did that come into your head?
HILDA.
Do you think I am so very far wrong then?
SOLNESS.
No, that's not what I mean. But now I'll tell you something.
HILDA.
Well?
SOLNESS.
I keep on--incessantly--in silence and alone--brooding on that very thought.
HILDA.
Yes, that seems to me perfectly natural.
SOLNESS.
[Looks somewhat searchingly at her.] Perhaps you have noticed it already?
HILDA.
No, indeed I haven't.
SOLNESS.
But just now--when you said you thought I was--off my balance? In one thing, you said--
HILDA.
Oh, I was thinking of something quite different.
SOLNESS.
What was it?
HILDA.
I am not going to tell you.
SOLNESS.
[Crosses the room.] Well, well--as you please. [Stops at the bow-window.] Come here, and I will show you something.
HILDA.
[Approaching.] What is it?
SOLNESS.
Do you see over here in the garden--?
HILDA.
Yes?
SOLNESS.
[Points.] Right above the great quarry--?
HILDA.
That new house, you mean?
SOLNESS.
The one that is being built, yes. Almost finished.
HILDA.
It seems to have a very high tower.
SOLNESS.
The scaffolding is still up.
HILDA.
Is that your new house?
SOLNESS.
Yes.
HILDA.
The house you are soon going to move into?
SOLNESS.
Yes.
HILDA.
[Looks at him.] Are there nurseries in that house, too?
SOLNESS.
Three, as there are here.
HILDA.
And no child.
SOLNESS.
And there never will be one.
HILDA.
[With a half-smile.] Well, isn't it just as I said--?
SOLNESS.
That--?
HILDA.
That you are a little--a little mad after all.
SOLNESS.
Was that what you were thinking of?
HILDA.
Yes, of all the empty nurseries I slept in.
SOLNESS.
[Lowers his voice.] We have had children--Aline and I.
HILDA.
[Looks eagerly at him.] Have you--?
SOLNESS.
Two little boys. They were of the same age.
HILDA.
Twins, then.
SOLNESS.
Yes, twins. It's eleven or twelve years ago now.
HILDA.
[Cautiously.] And so both of them--? You have lost both the twins, then?
SOLNESS.
[With quiet emotion.] We kept them only about three weeks. Or scarcely so much. [Bursts forth.] Oh, Hilda, I can't tell you what a good thing it is for me that you have come! For now at last I have some one to talk to!
HILDA.
Can you not talk to--her, too?
SOLNESS.
Not about this. Not as I want to talk and must talk. [Gloomily.] And not about so many other things, either.
HILDA.
[In a subdued voice.] Was that all you meant when you said you need me?
SOLNESS.
That was mainly what I meant--at all events, yesterday. For to-day I am not so sure--[Breaking off.] Come here and let us sit down, Hilda. Sit there on the sofa--so that you can look into the garden. [HILDA seats herself in the corner of the sofa. SOLNESS brings a chair closer.] Should you like to hear about it?
HILDA.
Yes, I shall love to sit and listen to you.
SOLNESS.
[Sits down.] Then I will tell you all about it.
HILDA.
Now I can see both the garden and you, Mr. Solness. So now, tell away! Begin!
SOLNESS.
[Points towards the bow-window.] Out there on the rising ground--where you see the new house--
HILDA.
Yes?
SOLNESS.
Aline and I lived there in the first years of our married life. There was an old house up there that had belonged to her mother; and we inherited it, and the whole of the great garden with it.
HILDA.
Was there a tower on that house, too?
SOLNESS.
No, nothing of the kind. From the outside it looked like a great, dark, ugly wooden box; but all the same, it was snug and comfortable enough inside.
HILDA.
Then did you pull down the ramshackle old place?
SOLNESS.
No, it was burnt down.
HILDA.
The whole of it?
SOLNESS.
Yes.
HILDA.
Was that a great misfortune for you?
SOLNESS.
That depends on how you look at it. As a builder, the fire was the making of me--
HILDA.
Well, but--
SOLNESS.
It was just after the birth of the two little boys--
HILDA.
The poor little twins, yes.
SOLNESS.
They came healthy and bonny into the world. And they were growing too--you could see the difference day to day.
HILDA.
Little children do grow quickly at first.
SOLNESS.
It was the prettiest sight in the world to see Aline lying with the two of them in her arms.--But then came the night of the fire--
HILDA.
[Excitedly.] What happened? Do tell me! Was any one burnt?
SOLNESS.
No, not that. Every one got safe and sound out of the house--
HILDA.
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 time harder for Aline. [Clenching his hands in suppressed fury.] Oh, that such things should be allowed to happen here 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 thing 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 you 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 the 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 if 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 these 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 year 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 the 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?