Генрик Ибсен - The Master Builder

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.

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 RAGNAR

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.