Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (295 page)

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?

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 blessed 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.