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On June 27, 1879, Ibsen wrote from Rome to Marcus Grönvold: “It is now rather hot in Rome, so in about a week we are going to Amalfi, which, being close to the sea, is cooler, and offers opportunity for bathing. I intend to complete there a new dramatic work on which I am now engaged.” From Amalfi, on September 20, he wrote to John Paulsen: “A new dramatic work, which I have just completed, has occupied so much of my time during these last months that I have had absolutely none to spare for answering letters.” This “new dramatic work” was Et Dukkehjem, which was published in Copenhagen, December 4, 1879. Dr. George Brandes has given some account of the episode in real life which suggested to Ibsen the plot of this play; but the real Nora, it appears, committed forgery, not to save her husband’s life, but to redecorate her house. The impulse received from this incident must have been trifling. It is much more to the purpose to remember that the character and situation of Nora had been clearly foreshadowed, ten years earlier, in the figure of Selma in The League of Youth.

It is with A Doll’s House that Ibsen enters upon viiihis kingdom as a world-poet. He had done greater work in the past, and he was to do greater work in the future; but this was the play which was destined to carry his name beyond the limits of Scandinavia, and even of Germany, to the remotest regions of civilisation. Here the Fates were not altogether kind to him. The fact that for many years he was known to thousands of people solely as the author of A Doll’s House, and its successor, Ghosts, was largely responsible for the extravagant misconceptions of his genius and character which prevailed during the last decade of the nineteenth century, and are not yet entirely extinct. In these plays he seemed to be delivering a direct assault on marriage, from the standpoint of feminine individualism; wherefore he was taken to be a preacher and pamphleteer rather than a poet. In these plays, and in these only, he made physical disease a considerable factor in the action; whence it was concluded that he had a morbid predilection for “nauseous” subjects. In these plays he laid special and perhaps disproportionate stress on the influence of heredity; whence he was believed to be possessed by a monomania on the point. In these plays, finally, he was trying to act the essentially uncongenial part of the prosaic realist. The effort broke down at many points, and the poet reasserted himself; but these flaws in the prosaic texture were regarded as mere bewildering errors and eccentricities. In short, he was introduced to the world at large through two plays which showed his power, indeed, almost in perfection, but left the higher and subtler qualities of his genius for the most part unrepresented. Hence the grotesquely distorted vision of him which for so long haunted the minds even of intelligent people. ixHence, for example, the amazing opinion, given forth as a truism by more than one critic of great ability, that the author of Peer Gynt was devoid of humour.

Within a little more than a fortnight of its publication A Doll’s House was presented at the Royal Theatre, Copenhagen, where Fru Hennings, as Nora, made the great success of her career. The play was soon being acted, as well as read, all over Scandinavia. Nora’s startling “declaration of independence” afforded such an inexhaustible theme for heated discussion, that at last it had to be formally barred at social gatherings, just as, in Paris twenty years later, the Dreyfus Case was proclaimed a prohibited topic. The popularity of Pillars of Society in Germany had paved the way for its successor, which spread far and wide over the German stage in the spring of 1880, and has ever since held its place in the repertory of the leading theatres. As his works were at that time wholly unprotected in Germany, Ibsen could not prevent managers from altering the end of the play to suit their taste and fancy. He was thus driven, under protest, to write an alternative ending, in which, at the last moment, the thought of her children restrained Nora from leaving home. He preferred, as he said, “to commit the outrage himself, rather than leave his work to the tender mercies of adapters.” The patched-up ending soon dropped out of use and out of memory. Ibsen’s own account of the matter will be found in his Correspondence, Letter 142.

It took ten years for the play to pass beyond the limits of Scandinavia and Germany. Madame Modjeska, it is true, presented a version of it in Louisville, Kentucky, in 1883, but it attracted no attention. In the following year Messrs. Henry xArthur Jones and Henry Herman produced at the Prince of Wales’s Theatre, London, a play entitled Breaking a Butterfly, which was described as being “founded on Ibsen’s Norah” but bore only a remote resemblance to the original. In this production Mr. Beerbohm Tree took the part of Dunkley, a melodramatic villain who filled the place of Krogstad. In 1885, again, an adventurous amateur club gave a quaint performance of Miss Lord’s translation of the play at a hall in Argyle Street, London. Not until June 7, 1889, was a A Doll’s House competently, and even brilliantly, presented to the English public, by Mr. Charles Charrington and Miss Janet Achurch, at the Novelty Theatre, London, afterwards re-named the Great Queen Street Theatre. It was this production that really made Ibsen known to the English-speaking peoples. In other words, it marked his second great stride towards world-wide, as distinct from merely national, renown—if we reckon as the first stride the success of Pillars of Society in Germany. Mr. and Mrs. Charrington took A Doll’s House with them on a long Australian tour; Miss Beatrice Cameron (Mrs. Richard Mansfield) was encouraged by the success of the London production to present the play in New York, whence it soon spread to other American cities; while in London itself it was frequently revived and vehemently discussed. The Ibsen controversy, indeed, did not break out in its full virulence until 1891, when Ghosts and Hedda Gabler were produced in London; but from the date of the Novelty production onwards, Ibsen was generally recognised as a potent factor in the intellectual and artistic life of the day.

A French adaptation of Et Dukkehjem was produced xiin Brussels in March 1889, but attracted little attention. Not until 1894 was the play introduced to the Parisian public, at the Gymnase, with Madame Réjane as Nora. This actress has since played the part frequently, not only in Paris but in London and in America. In Italian the play was first produced in 1889, and soon passed into the repertory of Eleonora Duse, who appeared as Nora in London in 1893. Few heroines in modern drama have been played by so many actresses of the first rank. To those already enumerated must be added Hedwig Niemann-Raabe and Agnes Sorma in Germany, and Minnie Maddern-Fiske in America; and, even so, the list is far from complete. There is probably no country in the world, possessing a theatre on the European model, in which A Doll’s House has not been more or less frequently acted.

Undoubtedly the great attraction of the part of Nora to the average actress was the tarantella scene. This was a theatrical effect, of an obvious, unmistakable kind. It might have been—though I am not aware that it ever actually was—made the subject of a picture-poster. But this, as it seems to me, was Ibsen’s last concession to the ideal of technique which he had acquired, in the old Bergen days, from his French masters. I have elsewhere^[1] analysed A Doll’s House at some length, from the technical point of view, suggesting that it marks a distinct, and one might almost say a sudden, revolution in the poet’s understanding of the methods and aims of his art. There is pretty good reason to suppose, as it seems to me, that he altered the plan of the play while it was actually in process of composition. He seems xiioriginally to have schemed a “happy ending,” like that of The League of Youth or Pillars of Society. No doubt it is convenient, even for the purposes of the play as it stands, that all fear of hostile action on Krogstad’s part should be dissipated before Nora and Helmer settle down to their final explanation; but is the convenience sufficiently great to account for the invention, to that end alone, of Mrs. Linden’s relation to, and influence over, Krogstad? I very much question it. I think the “happy ending” which is actually reached when Krogstad returns the forged document was, in Ibsen’s original conception, intended to be equivalent to the stopping of the Indian Girl, and the return of Olaf, in Pillars of Society—that is to say, it was to be the end of the drama properly so called, and the rest was to be a more or less conventional winding-up, a confession of faults on both sides, accompanied by mutual congratulations on the blowing-over of the threatened storm. This is the end which, as we see, every one expected: the end which adapters, in Germany, England, and elsewhere, insisted on giving to the play. There was just a shade of excuse for these gentlemen, inasmuch as the poet himself seemed to have elaborately prepared the way for them; and I suggest that the fact of his having done so shows that the play, in embryo, passed through the phase of technical development represented by Pillars of Society—the phase to which its amenders would have forced it to return. Ibsen, on the other hand, when he proceeded from planning in outline to creation in detail, found his characters outgrow his plot. When the action, in the theatrical sense, was over, they were only on the threshold of the essential drama; and in that drama, compressed xiiiinto the final scene of the play, Ibsen found his true power and his true mission.

How impossible, in his subsequent work, would be such figures as Mrs. Linden, the confidant, and Krogstad, the villain! They are not quite the ordinary confidant and villain, for Ibsen is always Ibsen, and his power of vitalisation is extraordinary. Yet we clearly feel them to belong to a different order of art from that of his later plays. How impossible, too, in the poet’s after years, would have been the little tricks of ironic coincidence and picturesque contrast which abound in A Doll’s House! The festal atmosphere of the whole play, the Christmas-tree, the tarantella, the masquerade ball, with its distant sounds of music—all the shimmer and tinsel of the background against which Nora’s soul-torture and Rank’s despair are thrown into relief belong to the system of external, artificial antithesis beloved by romantic playwrights from Lope de Vega onward, and carried to its limit by Victor Hugo. The same artificiality is apparent in minor details. “Oh, what a wonderful thing it is to live to be happy!” cries Nora, and instantly “The hall-door bell rings” and Krogstad’s shadow falls across the threshold. So, too, for his second entrance, an elaborate effect of contrast is arranged, between Nora’s gleeful romp with her children and the sinister figure which stands unannounced in their midst. It would be too much to call these things absolutely unnatural, but the very precision of the coincidence is eloquent of pre-arrangement. At any rate, they belong to an order of effects which in future Ibsen sedulously eschews. The one apparent exception to this rule which I can remember occurs in The Master Builder, where Solness’s remark, “Presently the xivyounger generation will come knocking at my door,” gives the cue for Hilda’s knock and entrance. But here an interesting distinction is to be noted. Throughout The Master Builder the poet subtly indicates the operation of mysterious, unseen agencies—the “helpers and servers” of whom Solness speaks, as well as the Power with which he held converse at the crisis in his life—guiding, or at any rate tampering with, the destinies of the characters. This being so, it is evident that the effect of pre-arrangement produced by Hilda’s appearing exactly on the given cue was deliberately aimed at. Like so many other details in the play, it might be a mere coincidence, or it might be a result of inscrutable design—we were purposely left in doubt. But the suggestion of pre-arrangement which helped to create the atmosphere of the The Master Builder was wholly out of place in A Doll’s House. In the later play it was a subtle stroke of art; in the earlier it was the effect of imperfectly dissembled artifice.

My conjecture of an actual modification of Ibsen’s design during the progress of the play may possibly be mistaken. There can be no doubt, on the other hand, that Ibsen’s full originality first reveals itself in the latter half of the third act. This is proved by the very protests, nay, the actual rebellion, which the last scene called forth. Up to that point he had been doing, approximately, what theatrical orthodoxy demanded of him. But when Nora, having put off her masquerade dress, returned to make up her account with Helmer, and with marriage as Helmer understood it, the poet flew in the face of orthodoxy, and its professors cried out in bewilderment and wrath. But it was just at this point that, in practice, xvthe real grip and thrill of the drama were found to come in. The tarantella scene never, in my experience—and I have seen five or six great actresses in the part—produced an effect in any degree commensurate with the effort involved. But when Nora and Helmer faced each other, one on each side of the table, and set to work to ravel out the skein of their illusions, then one felt oneself face to face with a new thing in drama—an order of experience, at once intellectual and emotional, not hitherto attained in the theatre. This every one felt, I think, who was in any way accessible to that order of experience. For my own part, I shall never forget how surprised I was on first seeing the play, to find this scene, in its naked simplicity, far more exciting and moving than all the artfully-arranged situations of the earlier acts. To the same effect, from another point of view, we have the testimony of Fru Hennings, the first actress who ever played the part of Nora. In an interview published soon after Ibsen’s death, she spoke of the delight it was to her, in her youth, to embody the Nora of the first and second acts, the “lark,” the “squirrel,” the irresponsible, butterfly Nora. “When I now play the part,” she went on, “the first acts leave me indifferent. Not until the third act am I really interested—but then, intensely.” To call the first and second acts positively uninteresting would of course be a gross exaggeration. What one really means is that their workmanship is still a little derivative and immature, and that not until the third act does the poet reveal the full originality and individuality of his genius.

The winter of 1879-80 Ibsen spent in Munich, and the greater part of the summer of 1880 at Berchtesgaden. November 1880 saw him back in Rome, and he passed the summer of 1881 at Sorrento. There, fourteen years earlier, he had written the last acts of Peer Gynt; there he now wrote, or at any rate completed, Gengangere. It was published in December 1881, after he had returned to Rome. On December 22 he wrote to Ludwig Passarge, one of his German translators, “My new play has now appeared, and has occasioned a terrible uproar in the Scandinavian press; every day I receive letters and newspaper articles decrying or praising it.... I consider it utterly impossible that any German theatre will accept the play at present. I hardly believe that they will dare to play it in the Scandinavian countries for some time to come.” How rightly he judged we shall see anon.

In the newspapers there was far more obloquy than praise. Two men, however, stood by him from the first: Björnson, from whom he had been practically estranged ever since The League of Youth, and George Brandes. The latter published an article in which he xviiideclared (I quote from memory) that the play might or might not be Ibsen’s greatest work, but that it was certainly his noblest deed. It was, doubtless, in acknowledgment of this article that Ibsen wrote to Brandes on January 3, 1882: “Yesterday I had the great pleasure of receiving your brilliantly clear and so warmly appreciative review of Ghosts.... All who read your article must, it seems to me, have their eyes opened to what I meant by my new book—assuming, that is, that they have any wish to see. For I cannot get rid of the impression that a very large number of the false interpretations which have appeared in the newspapers are the work of people who know better. In Norway, however, I am willing to believe that the stultification has in most cases been unintentional; and the reason is not far to seek. In that country a great many of the critics are theologians, more or less disguised; and these gentlemen are, as a rule, quite unable to write rationally about creative literature. That enfeeblement of judgment which, at least in the case of the average man, is an inevitable consequence of prolonged occupation with theological studies, betrays itself more especially in the judging of human character, human actions, and human motives. Practical business judgment, on the other hand, does not suffer so much from studies of this order. Therefore the reverend gentlemen are very often excellent members of local boards; but they are unquestionably our worst critics.” This passage is interesting as showing clearly the point of view from which Ibsen conceived the character of Manders. In the next paragraph of the same letter he discusses the attitude of “the so-called Liberal press”; but as the paragraph contains the germ of xixAn Enemy of the People, it may most fittingly be quoted in the introduction to that play.

Three days later (January 6) Ibsen wrote to Schandorph, the Danish novelist: “I was quite prepared for the hubbub. If certain of our Scandinavian reviewers have no talent for anything else, they have an unquestionable talent for thoroughly misunderstanding and misinterpreting those authors whose books they undertake to judge.... They endeavour to make me responsible for the opinions which certain of the personages of my drama express. And yet there is not in the whole book a single opinion, a single utterance, which can be laid to the account of the author. I took good care to avoid this. The very method, the order of technique which imposes its form upon the play, forbids the author to appear in the speeches of his characters. My object was to make the reader feel that he was going through a piece of real experience; and nothing could more effectually prevent such an impression than the intrusion of the author’s private opinions into the dialogue. Do they imagine at home that I am so inexpert in the theory of drama as not to know this? Of course I know it, and act accordingly. In no other play that I have written is the author so external to the action, so entirely absent from it, as in this last one.”

“They say,” he continued, “that the book preaches Nihilism. Not at all. It is not concerned to preach anything whatsoever. It merely points to the ferment of Nihilism going on under the surface, at home as elsewhere. A Pastor Manders will always goad one or other Mrs. Alving to revolt. And just because she is a woman, she will, when once she has begun, go to the utmost extremes.”

xxTowards the end of January Ibsen wrote from Rome to Olaf Skavlan: “These last weeks have brought me a wealth of experiences, lessons, and discoveries. I, of course, foresaw that my new play would call forth a howl from the camp of the stagnationists; and for this I care no more than for the barking of a pack of chained dogs. But the pusillanimity which I have observed among the so-called Liberals has given me cause for reflection. The very day after my play was published the Dagblad rushed out a hurriedly-written article, evidently designed to purge itself of all suspicion of complicity in my work. This was entirely unnecessary. I myself am responsible for what I write, I and no one else. I cannot possibly embarrass any party, for to no party do I belong. I stand like a solitary franc-tireur at the outposts, and fight for my own hand. The only man in Norway who has stood up freely, frankly, and courageously for me is Björnson. It is just like him. He has in truth a great, kingly soul, and I shall never forget his action in this matter.”

One more quotation completes the history of these stirring January days, as written by Ibsen himself. It occurs in a letter to a Danish journalist, Otto Borchsenius. “It may well be,” the poet writes, “that the play is in several respects rather daring. But it seemed to me that the time had come for moving some boundary-posts. And this was an undertaking for which a man of the older generation, like myself, was better fitted than the many younger authors who might desire to do something of the kind. I was prepared for a storm; but such storms one must not shrink from encountering. That would be cowardice.”

It happened that, just in these days, the present xxiwriter had frequent opportunities of conversing with Ibsen, and of hearing from his own lips almost all the views expressed in the above extracts. He was especially emphatic, I remember, in protesting against the notion that the opinions expressed by Mrs. Alving or Oswald were to be attributed to himself. He insisted, on the contrary, that Mrs. Alving’s views were merely typical of the moral chaos inevitably produced by re-action from the narrow conventionalism represented by Manders.

With one consent, the leading theatres of the three Scandinavian capitals declined to have anything to do with the play. It was more than eighteen months old before it found its way to the stage at all. In August 1883 it was acted for the first time at Helsingborg, Sweden, by a travelling company under the direction of an eminent Swedish actor, August Lindberg, who himself played Oswald. He took it on tour round the principal cities of Scandinavia, playing it, among the rest, at a minor theatre in Christiania. It happened that the boards of the Christiania Theatre were at the same time occupied by a French farce; and public demonstrations of protest were made against the managerial policy which gave Tête de Linotte the preference over Gengangere. Gradually the prejudice against the play broke down. Already in the autumn of 1883 it was produced at the Royal (Dramatiska) Theatre in Stockholm. When the new National Theatre was opened in Christiania in 1899, Gengangere found an early place in its repertory; and even the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen has since opened its doors to the tragedy.

Not until April 1886 was Gespenster acted in Germany, and then only at a private performance, at xxiithe Stadttheater, Augsburg, the poet himself being present. In the following winter it was acted at the famous Court Theatre at Meiningen, again in the presence of the poet. The first (private) performance in Berlin took place on January 9, 1887, at the Residenz Theater; and when the Freie Bühne, founded on the model of the Paris Théâtre Libre, began its operations two years later (September 29, 1889), Gespenster was the first play that it produced. The Freie Bühne gave the initial impulse to the whole modern movement which has given Germany a new dramatic literature; and the leaders of the movement, whether authors or critics, were one and all ardent disciples of Ibsen, who regarded Gespenster as his typical masterpiece. In Germany, then, the play certainly did, in Ibsen’s own words, “move some boundary-posts.” The Prussian censorship, presently withdrew its veto, and on November 27, 1894, the two leading literary theatres of Berlin, the Deutsches Theater and the Lessing Theater, gave simultaneous performances of the tragedy. Everywhere in Germany and Austria it is now freely performed; but it is naturally one of the least popular of Ibsen’s plays.

It was with Les Revenants that Ibsen made his first appearance on the French stage. The play was produced by the Théâtre Libre (at the Théâtre des Menus-Plaisirs) on May 29, 1890. Here, again, it became the watchword of the new school of authors and critics, and aroused a good deal of opposition among the old school. But the most hostile French criticisms were moderation itself compared with the torrents of abuse which were poured upon Ghosts by the journalists of London when, on March 13, 1891, xxiiithe Independent Theatre, under the direction of Mr. J. T. Grein, gave a private performance of the play at the Royalty Theatre, Soho. I have elsewhere^[2] placed upon record some of the amazing feats of vituperation achieved of the critics, and will not here recall them. It is sufficient to say that if the play had been a tenth part as nauseous as the epithets hurled at it and its author, the Censor’s veto would have been amply justified. That veto is still (1906) in force. England enjoys the proud distinction of being the one country in the world where Ghosts may not be publicly acted.

In the United States, the first performance of the play in English took place at the Berkeley Lyceum, New York City, on January 5, 1894. The production was described by Mr. W. D. Howells as “a great theatrical event—the very greatest I have ever known.” Other leading men of letters were equally impressed by it. Five years later, a second production took place at the Carnegie Lyceum; and an adventurous manager has even taken the play on tour in the United States. The Italian version of the tragedy, Gli Spettri, has ever since 1892 taken a prominent place in the repertory of the great actors Zaccone and Novelli, who have acted it, not only throughout Italy, but in Austria, Germany, Russia, Spain, and South America.

In an interview, published immediately after Ibsen’s death, Björnstjerne Björnson, questioned as to what he held to be his brother-poet’s greatest work, replied, without a moment’s hesitation, Gengangere. This xxivdictum can scarcely, I think, be accepted without some qualification. Even confining our attention to the modern plays, and leaving out of comparison The Pretenders, Brand, and Peer Gynt, we can scarcely call Ghosts Ibsen’s richest or most human play, and certainly not his profoundest or most poetical. If some omnipotent Censorship decreed the annihilation of all his works save one, few people, I imagine, would vote that that one should be Ghosts. Even if half a dozen works were to be saved from the wreck, I doubt whether I, for my part, would include Ghosts in the list. It is, in my judgment, a little bare, hard, austere. It is the first work in which Ibsen applies his new technical method—evolved, as I have suggested, during the composition of A Doll’s House—and he applies it with something of fanaticism. He is under the sway of a prosaic ideal—confessed in the phrase, “My object was to make the reader feel that he was going through a piece of real experience”—and he is putting some constraint upon the poet within him. The action moves a little stiffly, and all in one rhythm. It lacks variety and suppleness. Moreover, the play affords some slight excuse for the criticism which persists in regarding Ibsen as a preacher rather than as a creator—an author who cares more for ideas and doctrines than for human beings. Though Mrs. Alving, Engstrand and Regina are rounded and breathing characters, it cannot be denied that Manders strikes one as a clerical type rather than an individual, while even Oswald might not quite unfairly be described as simply and solely his father’s son, an object-lesson in heredity. We cannot be said to know him, individually and intimately, as we know Helmer or Stockmann, Hialmar Ekdal or Gregers xxvWerle. Then, again, there are one or two curious flaws in the play. The question whether Oswald’s “case” is one which actually presents itself in the medical books seems to me of very trifling moment. It is typically true, even if it be not true in detail. The suddenness of the catastrophe may possibly be exaggerated, its premonitions and even its essential nature may be misdescribed. On the other hand, I conceive it probable that the poet had documents to found upon, which may be unknown to his critics. I have never taken any pains to satisfy myself upon the point, which seems to me quite immaterial. There is not the slightest doubt that the life-history of a Captain Alving may, and often does, entail upon posterity consequences quite as tragic as those which ensue in Oswald’s case, and far more wide-spreading. That being so, the artistic justification of the poets presentment of the case is certainly not dependent on its absolute scientific accuracy. The flaws above alluded to are of another nature. One of them is the prominence given to the fact that the Asylum is uninsured. No doubt there is some symbolical purport in the circumstance; but I cannot think that it is either sufficiently clear or sufficiently important to justify the emphasis thrown upon it at the end of the second act. Another dubious point is Oswald’s argument in the first act as to the expensiveness of marriage as compared with free union. Since the parties to free union, as he describes it, accept all the responsibilities of marriage, and only pretermit the ceremony, the difference of expense, one would suppose, must be neither more nor less than the actual marriage fee. I have never seen this remark of Oswald’s adequately explained, either as a matter of xxvieconomic fact, or as a trait of character. Another blemish, of somewhat greater moment, is the inconceivable facility with which, in the third act, Manders suffers himself to be victimised by Engstrand. All these little things, taken together, detract, as it seems to me, from the artistic completeness of the play, and impair its claim to rank as the poet’s masterpiece. Even in prose drama, his greatest and most consummate achievements were yet to come.

Must we, then, wholly dissent from Björnson’s judgment? I think not. In a historical, if not in an æsthetic, sense, Ghosts may well rank as Ibsen’s greatest work. It was the play which first gave the full measure of his technical and spiritual originality and daring. It has done far more than any other of his plays to “move boundary-posts.” It has advanced the frontiers of dramatic art and implanted new ideals, both technical and intellectual, in the minds of a whole generation of playwrights. It ranks with Hernani and La Dame aux Camélias among the epoch-making plays of the nineteenth century, while in point of essential originality it towers above them. We cannot, I think, get nearer to the truth than George Brandes did in the above-quoted phrase from his first notice of the play, describing it as not, perhaps, the poet’s greatest work, but certainly his noblest deed. In another essay, Brandes has pointed to it, with equal justice, as marking Ibsen’s final breach with his early—one might almost say his hereditary—romanticism. He here becomes, at last, “the most modern of the moderns.” “This, I am convinced,” says the Danish critic, “is his imperishable glory, and will give lasting life to his works.”

• Torvald Helmer.
• Nora, his wife.
• Doctor Rank.
• Mrs. Linden.^[3]
• Nils Krogstad.
• The Helmers’ Three Children.
• Anna,^[4] their nurse.
• A Maid-servant (Ellen).
• A Porter.

ACT FIRST.

A room, comfortably and tastefully, but not expensively, furnished. In the back, on the right, a door leads to the hall; on the left another door leads to Helmer’s study. Between the two doors a pianoforte. In the middle of the left wall a door, and nearer the front a window. Near the window a round table with arm-chairs and a small sofa. In the right wall, somewhat to the back, a door, and against the same wall, further forward, a porcelain stove; in front of it a couple of arm-chairs and a rocking-chair. Between the stove and the side-door a small table. Engravings on the walls. A what-not with china and bric-à-brac. A small bookcase filled with handsomely bound books. Carpet. A fire in the stove. It is a winter day.

A bell rings in the hall outside. Presently the outer door of the flat is heard to open. Then Nora enters, humming gaily. She is in outdoor dress, and carries several parcels, which she lays on the right-hand table. She leaves the door into the hall open, and a Porter is seen outside, carrying a Christmas-tree and a basket, which he gives to the Maid-servant who has opened the door.

Hide the Christmas-tree carefully, Ellen; the children must on no account see it before this evening, when it’s lighted up. [To the Porter, taking out her purse.] How much?

Fifty öre.^[5]

There is a crown. No, keep the change.

Yes; he is at home.

[In his room.] Is that my lark twittering there?

[Busy opening some of her parcels.] Yes, it is.

Is it the squirrel frisking around?

Yes!

When did the squirrel get home?

Just this minute. [Hides the bag of macaroons in her pocket and wipes her mouth.] Come here, Torvald, and see what I’ve been buying.

Don’t interrupt me. [A little later he opens the door and looks in, pen in hand.] Buying, did you say? What! All that? Has my little spendthrift been making the money fly again?

Why, Torvald, surely we can afford to launch out a little now. It’s the first Christmas we haven’t had to pinch.

Come come; we can’t afford to squander money.

Oh yes, Torvald, do let us squander a little, now—just the least little bit! You know you’ll soon be earning heaps of money.

Yes, from New Year’s Day. But there’s a whole quarter before my first salary is due.

Never mind; we can borrow in the meantime.

Nora! [He goes up to her and takes her playfully by the ear.] Still my little featherbrain! Supposing I borrowed a thousand crowns to-day, and you made ducks and drakes of them during Christmas week, and then on New Year’s Eve a 6tile blew off the roof and knocked my brains out——

[Laying her hand on his mouth.] Hush! How can you talk so horridly?

But supposing it were to happen—what then?

If anything so dreadful happened, it would be all the same to me whether I was in debt or not.

But what about the creditors?

They! Who cares for them? They’re only strangers.

Nora, Nora! What a woman you are! But seriously, Nora, you know my principles on these points. No debts! No borrowing! Home life ceases to be free and beautiful as soon as it is founded on borrowing and debt. We two have held out bravely till now, and we are not going to give in at the last.

[Going to the fireplace.] Very well—as you please, Torvald.

[Following her.] Come come; my little lark mustn’t droop her wings like that. What? Is my squirrel in the sulks? [Takes out his purse.] Nora, what do you think I have here?

[Turning round quickly.] Money!

There! [Gives her some notes.] Of course I know all sorts of things are wanted at Christmas.

[Counting.] Ten, twenty, thirty, forty. Oh, thank you, thank you, Torvald! This will go a long way.

I should hope so.

Yes, indeed; a long way! But come here, and let me show you all I’ve been buying. And so cheap! Look, here’s a new suit for Ivar, and a little sword. Here are a horse and a trumpet for Bob. And here are a doll and a cradle for Emmy. They’re only common; but they’re good enough for her to pull to pieces. And dress-stuffs and kerchiefs for the servants. I ought to have got something better for old Anna.

And what’s in that other parcel?

[Crying out.] No, Torvald, you’re not to see that until this evening!

Oh! Ah! But now tell me, you little spendthrift, have you thought of anything for yourself?

For myself! Oh, I don’t want anything.

Nonsense! Just tell me something sensible you would like to have.

No, really I don’t know of anything——Well, listen, Torvald——

Well?

[Playing with his coat-buttons, without looking him in the face.] If you really want to give me something, you might, you know—you might——

Well? Out with it!

[Quickly.] You might give me money, Torvald. Only just what you think you can spare; then I can buy something with it later on.

But, Nora——

Oh, please do, dear Torvald, please do! I should hang the money in lovely gilt paper on the Christmas-tree. Wouldn’t that be fun?

What do they call the birds that are always making the money fly?

Yes, I know—spendthrifts,^[6] of course. But please do as I ask you, Torvald. Then I shall have time to think what I want most. Isn’t that very sensible, now?

[Smiling.] Certainly; that is to say, if you really kept the money I gave you, and really spent it on something for yourself. But it all goes in housekeeping, and for all manner of useless things, and then I have to pay up again.

But, Torvald——

Can you deny it, Nora dear? [He puts his arm round her.] It’s a sweet little lark, but it gets through a lot of money. No one would believe how much it costs a man to keep such a little bird as you.

For shame! How can you say so? Why, I save as much as ever I can.

[Laughing.] Very true—as much as you can—but that’s precisely nothing.

[Hums and smiles with covert glee.] H’m! If you only knew, Torvald, what expenses we larks and squirrels have.

You’re a strange little being! Just like your father—always on the look-out for all the money 10you can lay your hands on; but the moment you have it, it seems to slip through your fingers; you never know what becomes of it. Well, one must take you as you are. It’s in the blood. Yes, Nora, that sort of thing is hereditary.

I wish I had inherited many of papa’s qualities.

And I don’t wish you anything but just what you are—my own, sweet little song-bird. But I say—it strikes me you look so—so—what shall I call it?—so suspicious to-day——

Do I?

You do, indeed. Look me full in the face.

[Looking at him.] Well?

[Threatening with his finger.] Hasn’t the little sweet-tooth been playing pranks to-day?

No; how can you think such a thing!

Didn’t she just look in at the confectioner’s?

No, Torvald; really——

Not to sip a little jelly?

No; certainly not.

Hasn’t she even nibbled a macaroon or two?

No, Torvald, indeed, indeed!

Well, well, well; of course I’m only joking.

[Goes to the table on the right.] I shouldn’t think of doing what you disapprove of.

No, I’m sure of that; and, besides, you’ve given me your word——[Going towards her.] Well, keep your little Christmas secrets to yourself, Nora darling. The Christmas-tree will bring them all to light, I daresay.

Have you remembered to invite Doctor Rank?

No. But it’s not necessary; he’ll come as a matter of course. Besides, I shall ask him when he looks in to-day. I’ve ordered some capital wine. Nora, you can’t think how I look forward to this evening.

And I too. How the children will enjoy themselves, Torvald!

Ah, it’s glorious to feel that one has an assured 12position and ample means. Isn’t it delightful to think of?

Oh, it’s wonderful!

Do you remember last Christmas? For three whole weeks beforehand you shut yourself up every evening till long past midnight to make flowers for the Christmas-tree, and all sorts of other marvels that were to have astonished us. I was never so bored in my life.

I didn’t bore myself at all.

[Smiling.] But it came to little enough in the end, Nora.

Oh, are you going to tease me about that again? How could I help the cat getting in and pulling it all to pieces?

To be sure you couldn’t, my poor little Nora. You did your best to give us all pleasure, and that’s the main point. But, all the same, it’s a good thing the hard times are over.

Oh, isn’t it wonderful?

Now I needn’t sit here boring myself all alone; and you needn’t tire your blessed eyes and your delicate little fingers——

[Clapping her hands.] No, I needn’t, need I, Torvald? Oh, how wonderful it is to think of!of! [Takes his arm.] And now I’ll tell you how I think we ought to manage, Torvald. As soon as Christmas is over—-[The hall-door bell rings.] Oh, there’s a ring! [Arranging the room.] That’s somebody come to call. How tiresome!

I’m “not at home” to callers; remember that.

[In the doorway.] A lady to see you, ma’am.

Show her in.

[To Helmer.] And the doctor has just come, sir.

Has he gone into my study?

Yes, sir.

[Embarrassed and hesitating.] How do you do, Nora?

[Doubtfully.] How do you do?

I see you don’t recognise me.me.

No, I don’t think—oh yes!—I believe——[Suddenly brightening.] What, Christina! Is it really you?

Yes; really I!

Christina! And to think I didn’t know you! But how could I——[More softly.] How changed you are, Christina!

Yes, no doubt. In nine or ten years——

Is it really so long since we met? Yes, so it is. Oh, the last eight years have been a happy time, I can tell you. And now you have come to town? All that long journey in mid-winter! How brave of you!

I arrived by this morning’s steamer.

To have a merry Christmas, of course. Oh, how delightful! Yes, we will have a merry Christmas. Do take your things off. Aren’t you frozen? [Helping her.] There; now we’ll sit cosily by the fire. No, you take the arm-chair; I shall sit in this rocking-chair. [Seizes her hands.] Yes, now I can see the dear old face again. It was only at the first glance——But you’re a little paler, Christina—and perhaps a little thinner.

And much, much older, Nora.

Yes, perhaps a little older—not much—ever so little. [She suddenly checks herself; seriously.] Oh, what a thoughtless wretch I am! Here I sit chattering on, and——Dear, dear Christina, can you forgive me!

What do you mean, Nora?

[Softly.] Poor Christina! I forgot: you are a widow.

Yes; my husband died three years ago.

I know, I know; I saw it in the papers. Oh, believe me, Christina, I did mean to write to you; but I kept putting it off, and something always came in the way.

I can quite understand that, Nora dear.

No, Christina; it was horrid of me. Oh, you poor darling! how much you must have gone through!—And he left you nothing?

Nothing.

And no children?

None.

Nothing, nothing at all?

Not even a sorrow or a longing to dwell upon.

[Looking at her incredulously.] My dear Christina, how is that possible?

[Smiling sadly and stroking her hair.] Oh, it happens so sometimes, Nora.

So utterly alone! How dreadful that must be! I have three of the loveliest children. I can’t show them to you just now; they’re out with their nurse. But now you must tell me everything.

No, no; I want you to tell me——

No, you must begin; I won’t be egotistical to-day. To-day I’ll think only of you. Oh! but I must tell you one thing—perhaps you’ve heard of our great stroke of fortune?

No. What is it?

Only think! my husband has been made manager of the Joint Stock Bank.

Your husband! Oh, how fortunate!

Yes; isn’t it? A lawyer’s position is so uncertain, you see, especially when he won’t touch any business that’s the least bit—shady, as of course Torvald never would; and there I quite agree with him. Oh! you can imagine how glad we are. He is to enter on his new position at the New Year, and then he’ll have a large salary, and percentages. In future we shall be able to live quite differently—just as we please, in fact. Oh, Christina, I feel so lighthearted and happy! It’s delightful to have lots of money, and no need to worry about things, isn’t it?

Yes; at any rate it must be delightful to have what you need.

No, not only what you need, but heaps of money—heaps!

[Smiling.] Nora, Nora, haven’t you learnt reason yet? In our schooldays you were a shocking little spendthrift.

[Quietly smiling.] Yes; that’s what Torvald says I am still. [Holding up her forefinger.] But “Nora, Nora” is not so silly as you all think. Oh! I haven’t had the chance to be much of a spendthrift. We have both had to work.

You too?

Yes, light fancy work: crochet, and embroidery, and things of that sort; [Carelessly] and other work too. You know, of course, that Torvald left the Government service when we were married. He had little chance of promotion, and of course he required to make more money. But in the first year after our marriage he overworked himself terribly. He had to undertake all sorts of extra work, you know, and to slave early and late. He couldn’t stand it, and fell dangerously ill. Then the doctors declared he must go to the South.

You spent a whole year in Italy, didn’t you?

Yes, we did. It wasn’t easy to manage, I can tell you. It was just after Ivar’s birth. But of course we had to go. Oh, it was a wonderful, delicious journey! And it saved Torvald’s life. But it cost a frightful lot of money, Christina.

So I should think.

Twelve hundred dollars! Four thousand eight hundred crowns!^[7] Isn’t that a lot of money?

How lucky you had the money to spend!

We got it from father, you must know.

Ah, I see. He died just about that time, didn’t he?

Yes, Christina, just then. And only think! I couldn’t go and nurse him! I was expecting little Ivar’s birth daily; and then I had my poor sick Torvald to attend to. Dear, kind old father! I never saw him again, Christina. Oh! that’s the hardest thing I have had to bear since my marriage.

I know how fond you were of him. But then you went to Italy?

Yes; you see, we had the money, and the doctors said we must lose no time. We started a month later.

And your husband came back completely cured.

Sound as a bell.

But—the doctor?

What do you mean?

I thought as I came in your servant announced the doctor——

Oh, yes; Doctor Rank. But he doesn’t come professionally. He is our best friend, and never lets a day pass without looking in. No, Torvald hasn’t had an hour’s illness since that time. And the children are so healthy and well, and so am I. [Jumps up and claps her hands.] Oh, Christina, Christina, what a wonderful thing it is to live and to be happy!—Oh, but it’s really too horrid of me! Here am I talking about nothing but my own concerns. [Seats herself upon a footstool close to Christina, and lays her arms on her friend’s lap.] Oh, don’t be angry with me! Now tell me, is it really true that you didn’t love your husband? What made you marry him, then?

My mother was still alive, you see, bedridden and helpless; and then I had my two younger brothers to think of. I didn’t think it would be right for me to refuse him.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been. I suppose he was rich then?

Very well off, I believe. But his business was uncertain. It fell to pieces at his death, and there was nothing left.

And then——?

Then I had to fight my way by keeping a shop, a little school, anything I could turn my hand to. The last three years have been one long struggle 21for me. But now it is over, Nora. My poor mother no longer needs me; she is at rest. And the boys are in business, and can look after themselves.

How free your life must feel!

No, Nora; only inexpressibly empty. No one to live for! [Stands up restlessly.] That’s why I could not bear to stay any longer in that out-of-the way corner. Here it must be easier to find something to take one up—to occupy one’s thoughts. If I could only get some settled employment—some office work.

But, Christina, that’s such drudgery, and you look worn out already. It would be ever so much better for you to go to some watering-place and rest.

[Going to the window.] I have no father to give me the money, Nora.

[Rising.] Oh, don’t be vexed with me.

[Going to her.] My dear Nora, don’t you be vexed with me. The worst of a position like mine is that it makes one so bitter. You have no one to work for, yet you have to be always on the strain. You must live; and so you become selfish. When I heard of the happy change in your fortunes—can you believe it?—I was glad for my own sake more than for yours.

How do you mean? Ah, I see! You think Torvald can perhaps do something for you.

Yes; I thought so.

And so he shall, Christina. Just you leave it all to me. I shall lead up to it beautifully!—I shall think of some delightful plan to put him in a good humour! Oh, I should so love to help you.

How good of you, Nora, to stand by me so warmly! Doubly good in you, who know so little of the troubles and burdens of life.

I? I know so little of——?

[Smiling.] Oh, well—a little fancy-work, and so forth.—You’re a child, Nora.

[Tosses her head and paces the room.] Oh, come, you mustn’t be so patronising!

No?

You’re like the rest. You all think I’m fit for nothing really serious——

Well, well——

You think I’ve had no troubles in this weary world.

My dear Nora, you’ve just told me all your troubles.

Pooh—those trifles! [Softly.] I haven’t told you the great thing.

The great thing? What do you mean?

I know you look down upon me, Christina; but you have no right to. You are proud of having worked so hard and so long for your mother.

I am sure I don’t look down upon any one; but it’s true I am both proud and glad when I remember that I was able to keep my mother’s last days free from care.

And you’re proud to think of what you have done for your brothers, too.

Have I not the right to be?

Yes indeed. But now let me tell you, Christina—I, too, have something to be proud and glad of.

I don’t doubt it. But what do you mean?

Hush! Not so loud. Only think, if Torvald were to hear! He mustn’t—not for worlds! No one must know about it, Christina—no one but you.

Why, what can it be?

Come over here. [Draws her down beside her on the sofa.] Yes, Christina—I, too, have something to be proud and glad of. I saved Torvald’s life.

Saved his life? How?

I told you about our going to Italy. Torvald would have died but for that.

Well—and your father gave you the money.

[Smiling.] Yes, so Torvald and every one believes; but——

But——?

Papa didn’t give us one penny. It was I that found the money.

You? All that money?

Twelve hundred dollars. Four thousand eight hundred crowns. What do you say to that?

My dear Nora, how did you manage it? Did you win it in the lottery?

[Contemptuously] In the lottery? Pooh! Any one could have done that!

Then wherever did you get it from?

[Hums and smiles mysteriously.] H’m; tra-la-la-la!

Of course you couldn’t borrow it.

No? Why not?

Why, a wife can’t borrow without her husband’s consent.

[Tossing her head.] Oh! when the wife has some idea of business, and knows how to set about things——

But, Nora, I don’t understand——

Well, you needn’t. I never said I borrowed the money. There are many ways I may have got it.

26[Throws herself back on the sofa.] I may have got it from some admirer. When one is so—attractive as I am——

You’re too silly, Nora.

Now I’m sure you’re dying of curiosity, Christina——

Listen to me, Nora dear: haven’t you been a little rash?

[Sitting upright again.] Is it rash to save one’s husband’s life?

I think it was rash of you, without his knowledge——

But it would have been fatal for him to know! Can’t you understand that? He wasn’t even to suspect how ill he was. The doctors came to me privately and told me his life was in danger—that nothing could save him but a winter in the South. Do you think I didn’t try diplomacy first? I told him how I longed to have a trip abroad, like other young wives; I wept and prayed; I said he ought to think of my condition, and not to thwart me; and then I hinted that he could borrow the money. But then, Christina, he got almost angry. He said I was frivolous, and that it was his duty as a husband not to yield to my whims and fancies—so he called them. Very well, thought I, but saved you must be; and then I found the way to do it.

And did your husband never learn from your father that the money was not from him?

No; never. Papa died at that very time. I meant to have told him all about it, and begged him to say nothing. But he was so ill—unhappily, it wasn’t necessary.

And you have never confessed to your husband?

Good heavens! What can you be thinking of? Tell him, when he has such a loathing of debt! And besides—how painful and humiliating it would be for Torvald, with his manly self-respect, to know that he owed anything to me! It would utterly upset the relation between us; our beautiful, happy home would never again be what it is.

Will you never tell him?

[Thoughtfully, half-smiling.] Yes, some time perhaps—many, many years hence, when I’m—not so pretty. You mustn’t laugh at me! Of course I mean when Torvald is not so much in love with me as he is now; when it doesn’t amuse him any longer to see me dancing about, and dressing up and acting. Then it might be well to have something in reserve. [Breaking off.] Nonsense! nonsense! That time will never come. Now, what do you say to my grand secret, Christina? Am I fit for nothing now? You 28may believe it has cost me a lot of anxiety. It has been no joke to meet my engagements punctually. You must know, Christina, that in business there are things called instalments, and quarterly interest, that are terribly hard to provide for. So I’ve had to pinch a little here and there, wherever I could. I couldn’t save much out of the housekeeping, for of course Torvald had to live well. And I couldn’t let the children go about badly dressed; all I got for them, I spent on them, the blessed darlings!

Poor Nora! So it had to come out of your own pocket-money.

Yes, of coursecourse. After all, the whole thing was my doing. When Torvald gave me money for clothes, and so on, I never spent more than half of it; I always bought the simplest and cheapest things. It’s a mercy that everything suits me so well—Torvald never had any suspicions. But it was often very hard, Christina dear. For it’s nice to be beautifully dressed—now, isn’t it?

Indeed it is.

Well, and besides that, I made money in other ways. Last winter I was so lucky—I got a heap of copying to do. I shut myself up every evening and wrote far into the night. Oh, sometimes I was so tired, so tired. And yet it was splendid to work in that way and earn money. I almost felt as if I was a man.

Then how much have you been able to pay off?

Well, I can’t precisely say. It’s difficult to keep that sort of business clear. I only know that I’ve paid everything I could scrape together. Sometimes I really didn’t know where to turn. [Smiles.] Then I used to sit here and pretend that a rich old gentleman was in love with me——

What! What gentleman?

Oh, nobody!—that he was dead now, and that when his will was opened, there stood in large letters: “Pay over at once everything of which I die possessed to that charming person, Mrs. Nora Helmer.”

But, my dear Nora—what gentleman do you mean?

Oh dear, can’t you understand? There wasn’t any old gentleman: it was only what I used to dream and dream when I was at my wits’ end for money. But it doesn’t matter now—the tiresome old creature may stay where he is for me. I care nothing for him or his will; for now my troubles are over. [Springing up.] Oh, Christina, how glorious it is to think of! Free from all anxiety! Free, quite free. To be able to play and romp about with the children; to have things tasteful and pretty in the house, exactly as Torvald likes 30it! And then the spring will soon be here, with the great blue sky. Perhaps then we shall have a little holiday. Perhaps I shall see the sea again. Oh, what a wonderful thing it is to live and to be happy!

[Rising.] There’s a ring. Perhaps I had better go.

No; do stay. No one will come here. It’s sure to be some one for Torvald.

[In the doorway.] If you please, ma’am, there’s a gentleman to speak to Mr. Helmer.

Who is the gentleman?

[In the doorway.] It is I, Mrs. Helmer.

[Goes a step towards him, anxiously, speaking low.] You? What is it? What do you want with my husband?

Bank business—in a way. I hold a small post in the Joint Stock Bank, and your husband is to be our new chief, I hear.

Then it is——?

Only tiresome business, Mrs. Helmer; nothing more.

Then will you please go to his study.

Nora—who was that man?

A Mr. Krogstad—a lawyer.

Then it was really he?

Do you know him?

I used to know him—many years ago. He was in a lawyer’s office in our town.

Yes, so he was.

How he has changed!

I believe his marriage was unhappy.

And he is a widower now?

With a lot of children. There! Now it will burn up.

His business is not of the most creditable, they say?

Isn’t it? I daresay not. I don’t know. But don’t let us think of business—it’s so tiresome.

[Still in the doorway.] No, no; I’m in your way. I shall go and have a chat with your wife. [Shuts the door and sees Mrs. Linden.] Oh, I beg your pardon. I’m in the way here too.

No, not in the least. [Introduces them.] Doctor Rank—Mrs. Linden.

Oh, indeed; I’ve often heard Mrs. Linden’s name; I think I passed you on the stairs as I came up.

Yes; I go so very slowly. Stairs try me so much.

Ah—you are not very strong?

Only overworked.

Nothing more? Then no doubt you’ve come to town to find rest in a round of dissipation?

I have come to look for employment.

Is that an approved remedy for overwork?

One must live, Doctor Rank.

Yes, that seems to be the general opinion.

Come, Doctor Rank—you want to live yourself.

To be sure I do. However wretched I may be, I want to drag on as long as possible. All my patients, too, have the same mania. And it’s the same with people whose complaint is moral. At this very moment Helmer is talking to just such a moral incurable——

[Softly.] Ah!

Whom do you mean?

Oh, a fellow named Krogstad, a man you know nothing about—corrupt to the very core of his 34character. But even he began by announcing, as a matter of vast importance, that he must live.

Indeed? And what did he want with Torvald?

I haven’t an idea; I only gathered that it was some bank business.

I didn’t know that Krog—that this Mr. Krogstad had anything to do with the Bank?

Yes. He has got some sort of place there. [To Mrs. Linden.] I don’t know whether, in your part of the country, you have people who go grubbing and sniffing around in search of moral rottenness—and then, when they have found a “case,” don’t rest till they have got their man into some good position, where they can keep a watch upon him. Men with a clean bill of health they leave out in the cold.

Well, I suppose the—delicate characters require most care.

[Shrugs his shoulders.] There we have it! It’s that notion that makes society a hospital.

Why do you laugh at that? Have you any idea what “society” is?

What do I care for your tiresome society? I was laughing at something else—something excessively amusing. Tell me, Doctor Rank, are all the employees at the Bank dependent on Torvald now?

Is that what strikes you as excessively amusing?

[Smiles and hums.] Never mind, never mind! [Walks about the room.] Yes, it is funny to think that we—that Torvald has such power over so many people. [Takes the bag from her pocket.] Doctor Rank, will you have a macaroon?

What!—macaroons! I thought they were contraband here.

Yes; but Christina brought me these.

Mrs. Linden.

What! I——?

Oh, well! Don’t be frightened. You couldn’t possibly know that Torvald had forbidden them. The fact is, he’s afraid of me spoiling my teeth. But, oh bother, just for once!—That’s for you, Doctor Rank! [Puts a macaroon into his mouth.] And you too, Christina. And I’ll have one while we’re about it—only a tiny one, or at most two. [Walks about again.] Oh dear, I am happy! There’s only one thing in the world I really want.

Well; what’s that?

There’s something I should so like to say—in Torvald’s hearing.

Then why don’t you say it?

Because I daren’t, it’s so ugly.

Ugly?Ugly?

In that case you’d better not. But to us you might——What is it you would so like to say in Helmer’s hearing?

I should so love to say “Damn it all!”^[8]

Are you out of your mind?

Good gracious, Nora——!

Say it—there he is!

[Hides the macaroons.] Hush—sh—sh

Helmer comes out of his room, hat in hand, with his overcoat on his arm.

[Going to him.] Well, Torvald dear, have you got rid of him?

Yes; he has just gone.

Let me introduce you—this is Christina, who has come to town——

Christina? Pardon me, I don’t know——

Mrs. Linden, Torvald dear—Christina Linden.

[To Mrs. Linden.] Indeed! A school-friend of my wife’s, no doubt?

Yes; we knew each other as girls.

And only think! she has taken this long journey on purpose to speak to you.

To speak to me!

Well, not quite——

You see, Christina is tremendously clever at office-work, and she’s so anxious to work under a 38first-rate man of business in order to learn still more——

[To Mrs. Linden.] Very sensible indeed.

And when she heard you were appointed manager—it was telegraphed, you know—she started off at once, and——Torvald, dear, for my sake, you must do something for Christina. Now can’t you?

It’s not impossible. I presume Mrs. Linden is a widow?

Yes.

And you have already had some experience of business?

A good deal.

Well, then, it’s very likely I may be able to find a place for you.

[Clapping her hands.] There now! There now!

You have come at a fortunate moment, Mrs. Linden.

Oh, how can I thank you——?

[Smiling.] There is no occasion. [Puts on his overcoat.] But for the present you must excuse me——

Wait; I am going with you.

Don’t be long, Torvald dear.

Only an hour; not more.

Are you going too, Christina?

[Putting on her walking things.] Yes; I must set about looking for lodgings.

Then perhaps we can go together?

[Helping her.] What a pity we haven’t a spare room for you; but it’s impossible——

I shouldn’t think of troubling you. Good-bye, dear Nora, and thank you for all your kindness.

Good-bye for the present. Of course you’ll come back this evening. And you, too, Doctor 40Rank. What! If you’re well enough? Of course you’ll be well enough. Only wrap up warmly. [They go out, talking, into the hall. Outside on the stairs are heard children’s voices.] There they are! There they are! [She runs to the outer door and opens it. The nurse Anna, enters the hall with the children.] Come in! Come in! [Stoops down and kisses the children.] Oh, my sweet darlings! Do you see them, Christina? Aren’t they lovely?

Don’t let us stand here chattering in the draught.

Come, Mrs. Linden; only mothers can stand such a temperature.

How fresh and bright you look! And what red cheeks you’ve got! Like apples and roses. [The children chatter to her during what follows.] Have you had great fun? That’s splendid! Oh, really! You’ve been giving Emmy and Bob a ride on your sledge!—both at once, only think! Why, you’re quite a man, Ivar. Oh, give her to me a little, Anna. My sweet little dolly! [Takes the smallest from the nurse and dances with her.] Yes, yes; mother will dance with Bob too. What! Did you have a game of snowballs? Oh, I wish I’d been there. No; leave them, Anna; I’ll take their things off. Oh, yes, let 41me do it; it’s such fun. Go to the nursery; you look frozen. You’ll find some hot coffee on the stove.

Really! A big dog ran after you? But he didn’t bite you? No; dogs don’t bite dear little dolly children. Don’t peep into those parcels, Ivar. What is it? Wouldn’t you like to know? Take care—it’ll bite! What? Shall we have a game? What shall we play at? Hide-and-seek? Yes, let’s play hide-and-seek. Bob shall hide first. Am I to? Yes, let me hide first.

I beg your pardon, Mrs. Helmer——

[With a suppressed cry, turns round and half jumps up.] Ah! What do you want?

Excuse me; the outer door was ajar—somebody must have forgotten to shut it——

[Standing up.] My husband is not at home, Mr. Krogstad.

I know it.

Then what do you want here?

To say a few words to you.

To me? [To the children, softly.] Go in to Anna. What? No, the strange man won’t hurt mamma. When he’s gone we’ll go on playing. [She leads the children into the left-hand room, and shuts the door behind them. Uneasy, in suspense.] It is to me you wish to speak?

Yes, to you.

To-day? But it’s not the first yet——

No, to-day is Christmas Eve. It will depend upon yourself whether you have a merry Christmas.

What do you want? I’m not ready to-day——

Never mind that just now. I have come about another matter. You have a minute to spare?

Oh, yes, I suppose so; although——

Good. I was sitting in the restaurant opposite, and I saw your husband go down the street——

Well?

——with a lady

What then?

May I ask if the lady was a Mrs. Linden?

Yes.

Who has just come to town?

Yes. To-day.

I believe she is an intimate friend of yours?

Certainly. But I don’t understand——

I used to know her too.

I know you did.

Ah! You know all about it. I thought as much. Now, frankly, is Mrs. Linden to have a place in the Bank?

How dare you catechise me in this way, Mr. Krogstad—you, a subordinate of my husband’s? But since you ask, you shall know. Yes, Mrs. Linden is to be employed. And it is I who recommended her, Mr. Krogstad. Now you know.

Then my guess was right.

[Walking up and down.] You see one has a wee bit of influence, after all. It doesn’t follow because one’s only a woman——When people are in a subordinate position, Mr. Krogstad, they ought really to be careful how they offend anybody who—h’m——

——who has influence?

Exactly.

[Taking another tone.] Mrs. Helmer, will you have the kindness to employ your influence on my behalf?

What? How do you mean?

Will you be so good as to see that I retain my subordinate position in the Bank?

What do you mean? Who wants to take it from you?

Oh, you needn’t pretend ignorance. I can very well understand that it cannot be pleasant for your friend to meet me; and I can also understand now for whose sake I am to be hounded out.

But I assure you——

Come come now, once for all: there is time yet, and I advise you to use your influence to prevent it.

But, Mr. Krogstad, I have no influence—absolutely none.

None? I thought you said a moment ago——

Of course not in that sense. I! How can you imagine that I should have any such influence over my husband?

Oh, I know your husband from our college days. I don’t think he is any more inflexible than other husbands.

If you talk disrespectfully of my husband, I must request you to leave the house.

You are bold, madam.

I am afraid of you no longer. When New Year’s Day is over, I shall soon be out of the whole business.

[Controlling himself.] Listen to me, Mrs. Helmer. If need be, I shall fight as though for my life to keep my little place in the Bank.

Yes, so it seems.

It’s not only for the salary: that is what I care least about. It’s something else——Well, I had better make a clean breast of it. Of course you know, like every one else, that some years ago I—got into trouble.

I think I’ve heard something of the sort.

The matter never came into court; but from that moment all paths were barred to me. Then 47I took up the business you know about. I had to turn my hand to something; and I don’t think I’ve been one of the worst. But now I must get clear of it all. My sons are growing up; for their sake I must try to recover my character as well as I can. This place in the Bank was the first step; and now your husband wants to kick me off the ladder, back into the mire.

But I assure you, Mr. Krogstad, I haven’t the least power to help you.

That is because you have not the will; but I can compel you.

You won’t tell my husband that I owe you money?

H’m; suppose I were to?

It would be shameful of you. [With tears in her voice.] The secret that is my joy and my pride—that he should learn it in such an ugly, coarse way—and from you. It would involve me in all sorts of unpleasantness——

Only unpleasantness.unpleasantness.

[Hotly.] But just do it. It’s you that will come off worst, for then my husband will see what a bad 48man you are, and then you certainly won’t keep your place.

I asked whether it was only domestic unpleasantness you feared?

If my husband gets to know about it, he will of course pay you off at once, and then we shall have nothing more to do with you.

[Coming a pace nearer.] Listen, Mrs. Helmer: either your memory is defective, or you don’t know much about business. I must make the position a little clearer to you.

How so?

When your husband was ill, you came to me to borrow twelve hundred dollars.

I knew of nobody else.

I promised to find you the money——

And you did find it.

I promised to find you the money, on certain conditions. You were so much taken up at the 49time about your husband’s illness, and so eager to have the wherewithal for your journey, that you probably did not give much thought to the details. Allow me to remind you of them. I promised to find you the amount in exchange for a note of hand, which I drew up.

Yes, and I signed it.

Quite right. But then I added a few lines, making your father security for the debt. Your father was to sign this.

Was to——? He did sign it!

I had left the date blank. That is to say, your father was himself to date his signature. Do you recollect that?

Yes, I believe——

Then I gave you the paper to send to your father, by post. Is not that so?

Yes.

And of course you did so at once; for within five or six days you brought me back the 50document with your father’s signature; and I handed you the money.

Well? Have I not made my payments punctually?

Fairly—yes. But to return to the point: You were in great trouble at the time, Mrs. Helmer.

I was indeed!

Your father was very ill, I believe?

He was on his death-bed.

And died soon after?

Yes.

Tell me, Mrs. Helmer: do you happen to recollect the day of his death? The day of the month, I mean?

Father died on the 29th of September.

Quite correct. I have made inquiries. And here comes in the remarkable point—[Produces a paper] which I cannot explain.

What remarkable point? I don’t know——

The remarkable point, madam, that your father signed this paper three days after his death!

What! I don’t understand——

Your father died on the 29th of September. But look here: he has dated his signature October 2nd! Is not that remarkable, Mrs. Helmer? [Nora is silent.] Can you explain it? [Nora continues silent.] It is noteworthy, too, that the words “October 2nd” and the year are not in your father’s handwriting, but in one which I believe I know. Well, this may be explained; your father may have forgotten to date his signature, and somebody may have added the date at random, before the fact of your father’s death was known. There is nothing wrong in that. Everything depends on the signature. Of course it is genuine, Mrs. Helmer? It was really your father himself who wrote his name here?

[After a short silence, throws her head back and looks defiantly at him.] No, it was not. I wrote father’s name.

Ah!—Are you aware, madam, that that is a dangerous admission?

How so? You will soon get your money.

May I ask you one more question? Why did you not send the paper to your father?father?

It was impossible. Father was ill. If I had asked him for his signature, I should have had to tell him why I wanted the money; but he was so ill I really could not tell him that my husband’s life was in danger. It was impossible.

Then it would have been better to have given up your tour.

No, I couldn’t do that; my husband’s life depended on that journey. I couldn’t give it up.

And did it never occur to you that you were playing me false?

That was nothing to me. I didn’t care in the least about you. I couldn’t endure you for all the cruel difficulties you made, although you knew how ill my husband was.

Mrs. Helmer, you evidently do not realise what you have been guilty of. But I can assure you it was nothing more and nothing worse that made me an outcast from society.

You! You want me to believe that you did a brave thing to save your wife’s life?

The law takes no account of motives.

Then it must be a very bad law.

Bad or not, if I produce this document in court, you will be condemned according to law.

I don’t believe that. Do you mean to tell me that a daughter has no right to spare her dying father trouble and anxiety?—that a wife has no right to save her husband’s life? I don’t know much about the law, but I’m sure you’ll find, somewhere or another, that that is allowed. And you don’t know that—you, a lawyer! You must be a bad one, Mr. Krogstad.

Possibly. But business—such business as ours—I do understand. You believe that? Very well; now do as you please. But this I may tell you, that if I am flung into the gutter a second time, you shall keep me company.

[Stands a while thinking, then tosses her head.] Oh nonsense! He wants to frighten me. I’m not so foolish as that. [Begins folding the children’s 54clothes. Pauses.] But——? No, it’s impossible! Why, I did it for love!

[At the door, left.] Mamma, the strange man has gone now.

Yes, yes, I know. But don’t tell any one about the strange man. Do you hear? Not even papa!

No, mamma; and now will you play with us again?

No, no; not now.

Oh, do, mamma; you know you promised.

Yes, but I can’t just now. Run to the nursery; I have so much to do. Run along, run along, and be good, my darlings! [She pushes them gently into the inner room, and closes the door behind them. Sits on the sofa, embroiders a few stitches, butbut soon pauses.] No! [Throws down the work, rises, goes to the hall door and calls out.] Ellen, bring in the Christmas-tree! [Goes to table, left, and opens the drawer; again pauses.] No, it’s quite impossible!

[With Christmas-tree.] Where shall I stand it, ma’am?

There, in the middle of the room.

Shall I bring in anything else?

No, thank you, I have all I want.

[Busy dressing the tree.] There must be a candle here—and flowers there.—That horrible man! Nonsense, nonsense! there’s nothing to be afraid of. The Christmas-tree shall be beautiful. I’ll do everything to please you, Torvald; I’ll sing and dance, and——

Oh! You’re back already?

Yes. Has anybody been here?here?

Here? No.

That’s odd. I saw Krogstad come out of the house.

Did you? Oh, yes, by-the-bye, he was here for a minute.

Nora, I can see by your manner that he has been begging you to put in a good word for him.

Yes.

And you were to do it as if of your own accord? You were to say nothing to me of his having been here. Didn’t he suggest that too?

Yes, Torvald; but——

Nora, Nora! And you could condescend to that! To speak to such a man, to make him a promise! And then to tell me an untruth about it!

An untruth!

Didn’t you say that nobody had been here? [Threatens with his finger.] My little bird must never do that again! A song-bird must sing clear and true; no false notes. [Puts his arm round her.] That’s so, isn’t it? Yes, I was sure of it. [Lets her go.] And now we’ll say no more about it. [Sits down before the fire.] Oh, how cosy and quiet it is here!

[Busy with the tree, after a short silence.] Torvald!

Yes.

I’m looking forward so much to the Stenborgs’ fancy ball the day after to-morrow.

And I’m on tenterhooks to see what surprise you have in store for me.

Oh, it’s too tiresome!

What is?

I can’t think of anything good. Everything seems so foolish and meaningless.

Has little Nora made that discovery?

[Behind his chair, with her arms on the back.] Are you very busy, Torvald?

Well——

What papers are those?

Bank business.

Already!

I have got the retiring manager to let me make some necessary changes in the staff and the organization. I can do this during Christmas week. I want to have everything straight by the New Year.

Then that’s why that poor Krogstad——

H’m.

[Still leaning over the chair-back and slowly stroking his hair.] If you hadn’t been so very busy, I should have asked you a great, great favour, Torvald.

What can it be? Out with it.

Nobody has such perfect taste as you; and I should so love to look well at the fancy ball. Torvald, dear, couldn’t you take me in hand, and settle what I’m to be, and arrange my costume for me?

Aha! So my wilful little woman is at a loss, and making signals of distress.

Yes, please, Torvald. I can’t get on without your help.

Well, well, I’ll think it over, and we’ll soon hit upon something.

Oh, how good that is of you! [Goes to the tree again; pause.] How well the red flowers show.—Tell me, was it anything so very dreadful this Krogstad got into trouble about?

Forgery, that’s all. Don’t you know what that means?

Mayn’t he have been driven to it by need?

Yes; or, like so many others, he may have done it in pure heedlessness. I am not so hard-hearted as to condemn a man absolutely for a single fault.

No, surely not, Torvald!

Many a man can retrieve his character, if he owns his crime and takes the punishment.

Punishment——?

But Krogstad didn’t do that. He evaded the law by means of tricks and subterfuges; and that is what has morally ruined him.

Do you think that——?

Just think how a man with a thing of that sort on his conscience must be always lying and canting and shamming. Think of the mask he must wear even towards those who stand nearest him—towards his own wife and children. The effect 60on the children—that’s the most terrible part of it, Nora.

Why?

Because in such an atmosphere of lies home life is poisoned and contaminated in every fibre. Every breath the children draw contains some germ of evil.

[Closer behind him.] Are you sure of that?

As a lawyer, my dear, I have seen it often enough. Nearly all cases of early corruption may be traced to lying mothers.

Why—mothers?

It generally comes from the mother’s side; but of course the father’s influence may act in the same way. Every lawyer knows it too well. And here has this Krogstad been poisoning his own children for years past by a life of lies and hypocrisy—that is why I call him morally ruined. [Holds out both hands to her.] So my sweet little Nora must promise not to plead his cause. Shake hands upon it. Come, come, what’s this? Give me your hand. That’s right. Then it’s a bargain. I assure you it would have been impossible for me to work with him. It gives me a positive sense of physical discomfort to come in contact with such people.

How warm it is here. And I have so much to do.

[Rises and gathers up his papers.] Yes, and I must try to get some of these papers looked through before dinner. And I shall think over your costume too. Perhaps I may even find something to hang in gilt paper on the Christmas-tree. [Lays his hand on her head.] My precious little song-bird!

[Softly, after a pause.] It can’t be. It’s impossible. It must be impossible!

[At the door, left.] T

No, no, no; don’t let them come to me! Keep them with you, Anna.

Very well, ma’am.

[Pale with terror.] Corrupt my children!—Poison my home! [Short pause. She throws back her head.] It’s not true! It can never, never be true!

[Dropping the cloak.] There’s somebody coming! [Goes to the hall door and listens.] Nobody; of course nobody will come to-day, Christmas-day; nor to-morrow either. But perhaps——[Opens the door and looks out.]—No, nothing in the letter-box; quite empty. [Comes forward.] Stuff and nonsense! Of course he won’t really do anything. Such a thing couldn’t happen. It’s impossible! Why, I have three little children.

I’ve found the box with the fancy dress at last.

Thanks; put it down on the table.

[Does so.] But I’m afraid it’s very much out of order.

Oh, I wish I could tear it into a hundred thousand pieces!

Oh, no. It can easily be put to rights—just a little patience.

I shall go and get Mrs. Linden to help me.

Going out again? In such weather as this! You’ll catch cold, ma’am, and be ill.

Worse things might happen.—What are the children doing?

They’re playing with their Christmas presents, poor little dears; but——

Do they often ask for me?

You see they’ve been so used to having their mamma with them.

Yes; but, Anna, I can’t have them so much with me in future.

Well, little children get used to anything.

Do you think they do? Do you believe they would forget their mother if she went quite away?

Gracious me! Quite away?

Tell me, Anna—I’ve so often wondered about it—how could you bring yourself to give your child up to strangers?

I had to when I came to nurse my little Miss Nora.

But how could you make up your mind to it?

When I had the chance of such a good place? A poor girl who’s been in trouble must take what comes. That wicked man did nothing for me.

But your daughter must have forgotten you.

Oh, no, ma’am, that she hasn’t. She wrote to me both when she was confirmed and when she was married.

[Embracing her.] Dear old Anna—you were a good mother to me when I was little.

My poor little Nora had no mother but me.

And if my little ones had nobody else, I’m sure you would——Nonsense, nonsense! [Opens the box.] Go in to the children. Now I must——You’ll see how lovely I shall be to-morrow.

I’m sure there will be no one at the ball so lovely as my Miss Nora.

[Takes the costume out of the box, but soon throws it down again.] Oh, if I dared go out. If only nobody would come. If only nothing would happen here in the meantime. Rubbish; nobody is coming. Only not to think. What a delicious muff! Beautiful gloves, beautiful gloves! To forget—to forget! One, two, three, four, five, six——[With a scream.] Ah, there they come.

Oh, it’s you, Christina. There’s nobody else there? I’m so glad you have come.

I hear you called at my lodgings.

Yes, I was just passing. There’s something you 66must help me with. Let us sit here on the sofa—so. To-morrow evening there’s to be a fancy ball at Consul Stenborg’s overhead, and Torvald wants me to appear as a Neapolitan fisher-girl, and dance the tarantella; I learned it at Capri.

I see—quite a performance.

Yes, Torvald wishes it. Look, this is the costume; Torvald had it made for me in Italy. But now it’s all so torn, I don’t know——

Oh, we shall soon set that to rights. It’s only the trimming that has come loose here and there. Have you a needle and thread? Ah, here’s the very thing.

Oh, how kind of you.

[Sewing.] So you’re to be in costume to-morrow, Nora? I’ll tell you what—I shall come in for a moment to see you in all your glory. But I’ve quite forgotten to thank you for the pleasant evening yesterday.

[Rises and walks across the room.] Oh, yesterday, it didn’t seem so pleasant as usual.—You should have come to town a little sooner, Christina.—Torvald has certainly the art of making home bright and beautiful.

You too, I should think, or you wouldn’t be your father’s daughter. But tell me—is Doctor Rank always so depressed as he was last evening?

No, yesterday it was particularly noticeable. You see, he suffers from a dreadful illness. He has spinal consumption, poor fellow. They say his father was a horrible man, who kept mistresses and all sorts of things—so the son has been sickly from his childhood, you understand.

[Lets her sewing fall into her lap.] Why, my darling Nora, how do you come to know such things?

[Moving about the room.] Oh, when one has three children, one sometimes has visits from women who are half—half doctors—and they talk of one thing and another.

[Goes on sewing; a short pause.] Does Doctor Rank come here every day?

Every day of his life. He has been Torvald’s most intimate friend from boyhood, and he’s a good friend of mine too. Doctor Rank is quite one of the family.

But tell me—is he quite sincere? I mean, isn’t he rather given to flattering people?

No, quite the contrary. Why should you think so?

When you introduced us yesterday he said he had often heard my name; but I noticed afterwards that your husband had no notion who I was. How could Doctor Rank——?

He was quite right, Christina. You see, Torvald loves me so indescribably, he wants to have me all to himself, as he says. When we were first married he was almost jealous if I even mentioned any of my old friends at home; so naturally I gave up doing it. But I often talk of the old times to Doctor Rank, for he likes to hear about them.

Listen to me, Nora! You are still a child in many ways. I am older than you, and have had more experience. I’ll tell you something.something. You ought to get clear of all this with Dr. Rank.

Get clear of what?

The whole affair, I should say. You were talking yesterday of a rich admirer who was to find you money——

Yes, one who never existed, worse luck. What then?

Has Doctor Rank money?

Yes, he has.

And nobody to provide for?

Nobody. But——?

And he comes here every day?

Yes, I told you so.

I should have thought he would have had better taste.

I don’t understand you a bit.

Don’t pretend, Nora. Do you suppose I can’t guess who lent you the twelve hundred dollars?

Are you out of your senses? How can you think such a thing? A friend who comes here every day! Why, the position would be unbearable!

Then it really is not he?

No, I assure you. It never for a moment occurred to me——Besides, at that time he had nothing to lend; he came into his property afterwards.

Well, I believe that was lucky for you, Nora dear.

No, really, it would never have struck me to ask Dr. Rank——And yet, I’m certain that if I did——

But of course you never would.

Of course not. It’s inconceivable that it should ever be necessary. But I’m quite sure that if I spoke to Doctor Rank——

Behind your husband’s back?

I must get clear of the other thing; that’s behind his back too. I must get clear of that.

Yes, yes, I told you so yesterday; but——

[Walking up and down.] A man can manage these things much better than a woman.

One’s own husband, yes.

Nonsense. [Stands still.] When everything is paid, one gets back the paper.

Of course.

And can tear it into a hundred thousand pieces, and burn it up, the nasty, filthy thing!

[Looks at her fixedly, lays down her work, and rises slowly.] Nora, you are hiding something from me.

Can you see it in my face?

Something has happened since yesterday morning. Nora, what is it?

[Going towards her.] Christina——! [Listens.] Hush! There’s Torvald coming home. Do you mind going into the nursery for the present? Torvald can’t bear to see dressmaking going on. Get Anna to help you.

[Gathers some of the things together.] Very well; but I shan’t go away until you have told me all about it.

[Runs to meet him.] Oh, how I’ve been longing for you to come, Torvald dear!

Was that the dressmaker——?

No, Christina. She’s helping me with my costume. You’ll see how nice I shall look.

Yes, wasn’t that a happy thought of mine?

Splendid! But isn’t it good of me, too, to have given in to you about the tarantella?

[Takes her under the chin.] Good of you! To give in to your own husband? Well well, you little madcap, I know you don’t mean it. But I won’t disturb you. I daresay you want to be “trying on.”on.”

And you are going to work, I suppose?

Yes. [Shows her a bundle of papers.] Look here. I’ve just come from the Bank——

Torvald.

[Stopping.] Yes?

If your little squirrel were to beg you for something so prettily——

Well?

Would you do it?

I must know first what it is.

The squirrel would skip about and play all sorts of tricks if you would only be nice and kind.

Come, then, out with it.

Your lark would twitter from morning till night——

Oh, that she does in any case.

I’ll be an elf and dance in the moonlight for you, Torvald.

Nora—you can’t mean what you were hinting at this morning?

[Coming nearer.] Yes, Torvald, I beg and implore you!

Have you really the courage to begin that again?

Yes, yes; for my sake, you must let Krogstad keep his place in the Bank.

My dear Nora, it’s his place I intend for Mrs. Linden.

Yes, that’s so good of you. But instead of Krogstad, you could dismiss some other clerk.

Why, this is incredible obstinacy! Because you have thoughtlessly promised to put in a word for him, I am to——!

It’s not that, Torvald. It’s for your own sake. This man writes for the most scurrilous newspapers; you said so yourself. He can do you no end of harm. I’m so terribly afraid of him——

Ah, I understand; it’s old recollections that are frightening you.

What do you mean?

Of course you’re thinking of your father.

Yes—yes, of course. Only think of the shameful slanders wicked people used to write about father. I believe they would have got him dismissed if you hadn’t been sent to look into the thing, and been kind to him, and helped him.

My little Nora, between your father and me there is all the difference in the world. Your father was not altogether unimpeachable. I am; and I hope to remain so.

Oh, no one knows what wicked men may hit upon. We could live so quietly and happily now, in our cosy, peaceful home, you and I and the children, Torvald! That’s why I beg and implore you——

And it is just by pleading his cause that you make it impossible for me to keep him. It’s already known at the Bank that I intend to dismiss Krogstad. If it were now reported that the new manager let himself be turned round his wife’s little finger——

What then?

Oh, nothing, so long as a wilful woman can have her way——! I am to make myself a laughing-stock to the whole staff, and set people saying that I am open to all sorts of outside influence? Take my word for it, I should soon 76feel the consequences. And besides—there is one thing that makes Krogstad impossible for me to work with——

What thing?

I could perhaps have overlooked his moral failings at a pinch——

Yes, couldn’t you, Torvald?

And I hear he is good at his work. But the fact is, he was a college chum of mine—there was one of those rash friendships between us that one so often repents of later. I may as well confess it at once—he calls me by my Christian name;^[9] and he is tactless enough to do it even when others are present. He delights in putting on airs of familiarity—Torvald here, Torvald there! I assure you it’s most painful to me. He would make my position at the Bank perfectly unendurable.

Torvald, surely you’re not serious?

No? Why not?

That’s such a petty reason.

What! Petty! Do you consider me petty!

No, on the contrary, Torvald dear; and that’s just why——

Never mind; you call my motives petty; then I must be petty too. Petty! Very well!—Now we’ll put an end to this, once for all. [Goes to the door into the hall and calls.] Ellen!

What do you want?

[Searching among his papers.] To settle the thing. [Ellen enters.] Here; take this letter; give it to a messenger. See that he takes it at once. The address is on it. Here’s the money.

Very well, sir.

[Putting his papers together.] There, Madam Obstinacy.

[Breathless.] Torvald—what was in the letter?

Krogstad’s dismissal.

Call it back again, Torvald! There’s still time. Oh, Torvald, call it back again! For my sake, for your own, for the children’s sake! Do you hear, Torvald? Do it! You don’t know what that letter may bring upon us all.

Too late.

Yes, too late.

My dear Nora, I forgive your anxiety, though it’s anything but flattering to me. Why should you suppose that I would be afraid of a wretched scribbler’s spite? But I forgive you all the same, for it’s a proof of your great love for me. [Takes her in his arms.] That’s as it should be, my own dear Nora. Let what will happen—when it comes to the pinch, I shall have strength and courage enough. You shall see: my shoulders are broad enough to bear the whole burden.

[Terror-struck.] What do you mean by that?

The whole burden, I say——

[With decision.] That you shall never, never do!

Very well; then we’ll share it, Nora, as man and wife. That is how it should be. [Petting her.] Are you satisfied now? Come, come, come, don’t look like a scared dove. It’s all nothing—foolish fancies.—Now you ought to play the tarantella through and practise with the tambourine. I shall sit in my inner room and shut both doors, so that I shall hear nothing. You can make as much noise as you please. [Turns 79round in doorway.] And when Rank comes, just tell him where I’m to be found.

[Bewildered with terror, stands as though rooted to the ground, and whispers.] He would do it. Yes, he would do it. He would do it, in spite of all the world.—No, never that, never, never! Anything rather than that! Oh, for some way of escape! What shall I do——! [Hall bell rings.] Doctor Rank——!—Anything, anything, rather than——!

Good afternoon, Doctor Rank. I knew you by your ring. But you mustn’t go to Torvald now. I believe he’s busy.

And you?

Oh, you know very well, I have always time for you.

Thank you. I shall avail myself of your kindness as long as I can.

What do you mean? As long as you can?

Yes. Does that frighten you?

I think it’s an odd expression. Do you expect anything to happen?

Something I have long been prepared for; but I didn’t think it would come so soon.

[Catching at his arm.] What have you discovered? Doctor Rank, you must tell me!

[Sitting down by the stove.] I am running down hill. There’s no help for it.

[Draws a long breath of relief.] It’s you——?

Who else should it be?—Why lie to one’s self? I am the most wretched of all my patients, Mrs. Helmer. In these last days I have been auditing my life-account—bankrupt! Perhaps before a month is over, I shall lie rotting in the churchyard.

Oh! What an ugly way to talk.

The thing itself is so confoundedly ugly, you see. But the worst of it is, so many other ugly things have to be gone through first. There is 81only one last investigation to be made, and when that is over I shall know pretty certainly when the break-up will begin. There’s one thing I want to say to you: Helmer’s delicate nature shrinks so from all that is horrible: I will not have him in my sick-room——

But, Doctor Rank——

I won’t have him, I say—not on any account! I shall lock my door against him.—As soon as I am quite certain of the worst, I shall send you my visiting-card with a black cross on it; and then you will know that the final horror has begun.

Why, you’re perfectly unreasonable to-day; and I did so want you to be in a really good humour.

With death staring me in the face?—And to suffer thus for another’s sin! Where’s the justice of it? And in one way or another you can trace in every family some such inexorable retribution——

[Stopping her ears.] Nonsense, nonsense! Now cheer up!

Well, after all, the whole thing’s only worth laughing at. My poor innocent spine must do penance for my father’s wild oats.

[At table, left.] I suppose he was too fond of asparagus and Strasbourg pâté, wasn’t he?

Yes; and truffles.

Yes, truffles, to be sure. And oysters, I believe?

Yes, oysters; oysters, of course.

And then all the port and champagne! It’s sad that all these good things should attack the spine.

Especially when the luckless spine attacked never had any good of them.

Ah, yes, that’s the worst of it.

[Looks at her searchingly.] H’m——

[A moment later.] Why did you smile?

No; it was you that laughed.

No; it was you that smiled, Dr. Rank.

[Standing up.] I see you’re deeper than I thought.

I’m in such a crazy mood to-day.

So it seems.

[With her hands on his shoulders.] Dear, dear Doctor Rank, death shall not take you away from Torvald and me.

Oh, you’ll easily get over the loss. The absent are soon forgotten.

[Looks at him anxiously.] Do you think so?

People make fresh ties, and then——

Who make fresh ties?

You and Helmer will, when I am gone. You yourself are taking time by the forelock, it seems to me. What was that Mrs. Linden doing here yesterday?

Oh!—you’re surely not jealous of poor Christina?

Yes, I am. She will be my successor in this house. When I am out of the way, this woman will perhaps——

Hush! Not so loud! She’s in there.

To-day as well? You see!

Only to put my costume in order—dear me, how unreasonable you are! [Sits on sofa.] Now do be good, Doctor Rank! To-morrow you shall see how beautifully I shall dance; and then you may fancy that I’m doing it all to please you—and of course Torvald as well. [Takes various things out of box.] Doctor Rank, sit down here, and I’ll show you something.

[Sitting.] What is it?

Look here!here! Look!

Silk stockings.

Flesh-coloured. Aren’t they lovely? It’s so dark here now; but to-morrow——No, no, no; you must only look at the feet. Oh, well, I suppose you may look at the rest too.too.

H’m——

What are you looking so critical about? Do you think they won’t fit me?

I can’t possibly give any competent opinion on that point.

[Looking at him a moment.] For shame! [Hits him lightly on the ear with the stockings.] Take that.

And what other wonders am I to see?

You sha’n’t see anything more; for you don’t behave nicely.

[After a short silence.] When I sit here gossiping with you, I can’t imagine—I simply cannot conceive—what would have become of me if I had never entered this house.

[Smiling.] Yes, I think you do feel at home with us.

[More softly—looking straight before him.] And now to have to leave it all——

Nonsense. You sha’n’t leave us.

[In the same tone.] And not to be able to leave behind the slightest token of gratitude; scarcely even a passing regret—nothing but an empty place, that can be filled by the first comer.

And if I were to ask you for——? No——

For what?

For a great proof of your friendship.

Yes—yes?

I mean—for a very, very great service——

Would you really, for once, make me so happy?

Oh, you don’t know what it is.

Then tell me.

No, I really can’t, Doctor Rank. It’s far, far too much—not only a service, but help and advice besides——

So much the better. I can’t think what you can mean. But go on. Don’t you trust me?

As I trust no one else. I know you are my best and truest friend. So I will tell you. Well then, Doctor Rank, there is something you must help me to prevent. You know how deeply, how wonderfully Torvald loves me; he wouldn’t hesitate a moment to give his very life for my sake.

[Bending towards her.] Nora—do you think he is the only one who——?

[With a slight start.] Who——?

Who would gladly give his life for you?

[Sadly.] Oh!

I have sworn that you shall know it before I—go. I shall never find a better opportunity.—Yes, Nora, now I have told you; and now you know that you can trust me as you can no one else.

[Standing up; simply and calmly.] Let me pass, please.

[Makes way for her, but remains sitting.] Nora——

[In the doorway.] Ellen, bring the lamp. [Crosses to the stove.] Oh dear, Doctor Rank, that was too bad of you.

[Rising.] That I have loved you as deeply as—any one else? Was that too bad of me?

No, but that you should have told me so. It was so unnecessary——

What do you mean? Did you know——?

Nora—Mrs. Helmer—I ask you, did you know?

Oh, how can I tell what I knew or didn’t know? I really can’t say——How could you be so clumsy, Doctor Rank? It was all so nice!

Well, at any rate, you know now that I am at your service, body and soul. And now, go on.

[Looking at him.] Go on—now?

I beg you to tell me what you want.

I can tell you nothing now.

Yes, yes! You mustn’t punish me in that way. Let me do for you whatever a man can.

You can do nothing for me now.—Besides, I really want no help. You shall see it was only my fancy. Yes, it must be so. Of course! [Sits in the rocking-chair, looks at him and smiles.] You are a nice person, Doctor Rank! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, now that the lamp is on the table?

No; not exactly. But perhaps I ought to go—for ever.

No, indeed you mustn’t. Of course you must come and go as you’ve always done. You know very well that Torvald can’t do without you.

Yes, but you?

Oh, you know I always like to have you here.

That is just what led me astray. You are a riddle to me. It has often seemed to me as if you liked being with me almost as much as being with Helmer.

Yes; don’t you see? There are people one loves, and others one likes to talk to.

Yes—there’s something in that.

When I was a girl, of course I loved papa best. But it always delighted me to steal into the servants’ room. In the first place they never lectured me, and in the second it was such fun to hear them talk.

Ah, I see; then it’s their place I have taken?

[Jumps up and hurries towards him.] Oh, my 90dear Doctor Rank, I don’t mean that. But you understand, with Torvald it’s the same as with papa——

Please, ma’am—— [Whispers to Nora, and gives her a card.]

[Glancing at card.] Ah! [Puts it in her pocket.

Anything wrong?

No, no, not in the least. It’s only—it’s my new costume——

Your costume. Why, it’s there.

Oh, that one, yes. But this is another that—I have ordered it—Torvald mustn’t know——

Aha! So that’s the great secret.

Yes, of course. Please go to him; he’s in the inner room. Do keep him while I——

Don’t be alarmed; he sha’n’t escape.

[To Ellen.] Is he waiting in the kitchen?

Yes, he came up the back stair——

Didn’t you tell him I was engaged?

Yes, but it was no use.

He won’t go away?

No, ma’am, not until he has spoken to you.

Then let him come in; but quietly. And, Ellen—say nothing about it; it’s a surprise for my husband.

Oh, yes, ma’am, I understand. [She goes out.

It is coming! The dreadful thing is coming, after all. No, no, no, it can never be; it shall not!

[Goes towards him.] Speak softly; my husband is at home.

All right. That’s nothing to me.

What do you want?

A little information.

Be quick, then. What is it?

You know I have got my dismissal.

I couldn’t prevent it, Mr. Krogstad. I fought for you to the last, but it was of no use.

Does your husband care for you so little? He knows what I can bring upon you, and yet he dares——

How could you think I should tell him?

Well, as a matter of fact, I didn’t think it. It wasn’t like my friend Torvald Helmer to show so much courage——

Mr. Krogstad, be good enough to speak respectfully of my husband.

Certainly, with all due respect. But since you are so anxious to keep the matter secret, I suppose you are a little clearer than yesterday as to what you have done.

Clearer than you could ever make me.

Yes, such a bad lawyer as I——

What is it you want?

Only to see how you are getting on, Mrs. Helmer. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Even a mere money-lender, a gutter-journalist, a—in short, a creature like me—has a little bit of what people call feeling.

Then show it; think of my little children.

Did you and your husband think of mine? But enough of that. I only wanted to tell you that you needn’t take this matter too seriously. I shall not lodge any information, for the present.

No, surely not. I knew you wouldn’t.

The whole thing can be settled quite amicably. Nobody need know. It can remain among us three.

My husband must never know.

How can you prevent it? Can you pay off the balance?

No, not at once.

Or have you any means of raising the money in the next few days?

None—that I will make use of.

And if you had, it would not help you now. If you offered me ever so much money down, you should not get back your I.O.U.

Tell me what you want to do with it.

I only want to keep it—to have it in my possession. No outsider shall hear anything of it. So, if you have any desperate scheme in your head——

What if I have?

If you should think of leaving your husband and children——

What if I do?

Or if you should think of—something worse——

How do you know that?

Put all that out of your head.

How did you know what I had in my mind?

Most of us think of that at first. I thought of it, too; but I hadn’t the courage——

[Tonelessly.] Nor I.

[Relieved.] No, one hasn’t. You haven’t the courage either, have you?

I haven’t, I haven’t.

Besides, it would be very foolish.—Just one domestic storm, and it’s all over. I have a letter in my pocket for your husband——

Telling him everything?

Sparing you as much as possible.

[Quickly.] He must never read that letter. Tear it up. I will manage to get the money somehow——

Pardon me, Mrs. Helmer, but I believe I told you——

Oh, I’m not talking about the money I owe you. 96Tell me how much you demand from my husband—I will get it.

I demand no money from your husband.

What do you demand then?

I will tell you. I want to regain my footing in the world. I want to rise; and your husband shall help me to do it. For the last eighteen months my record has been spotless; I have been in bitter need all the time; but I was content to fight my way up, step by step. Now, I’ve been thrust down again, and I will not be satisfied with merely being reinstated as a matter of grace. I want to rise, I tell you. I must get into the Bank again, in a higher position than before. Your husband shall create a place on purpose for me——

He will never do that!

He will do it; I know him—he won’t dare to show fight! And when he and I are together there, you shall soon see! Before a year is out I shall be the manager’s right hand. It won’t be Torvald Helmer, but Nils Krogstad, that manages the Joint Stock Bank.

That shall never be.

Perhaps you will——?

Now I have the courage for it.

Oh, you don’t frighten me! A sensitive, petted creature like you——

You shall see, you shall see!

Under the ice, perhaps? Down into the cold, black water? And next spring to come up again, ugly, hairless, unrecognisable——

You can’t terrify me.

Nor you me. People don’t do that sort of thing, Mrs. Helmer. And, after all, what would be the use of it? I have your husband in my pocket, all the same.

Afterwards? When I am no longer——?

You forget, your reputation remains in my hands! [Nora stands speechless and looks at him.] Well, now you are prepared. Do nothing foolish. As soon as Helmer has received my letter, I shall expect to hear from him. And remember that it is your husband himself who has forced me back again into such paths. That I will never forgive him. Good-bye, Mrs. Helmer.

He’s going. He’s not putting the letter into the box. No, no, it would be impossible! [Opens the door further and further.] What’s that. He’s standing still; not going down stairs. Has he changed his mind? Is he——? [A letter falls into the box. Krogstad’s footsteps are heard gradually receding down the stair. Nora utters a suppressed shriek, and rushes forward towards the sofa-table; pause.] In the letter-box! [Slips shrinkingly up to the hall door.] There it lies.—Torvald, Torvald—now we are lost!

There, I think it’s all right now. Shall we just try it on?

[Hoarsely and softly.] Christina, come here.

[Throws down the dress on the sofa.] What’s the matter? You look quite distracted.

Come here. Do you see that letter? There, see—through the glass of the letter-box.

Yes, yes, I see it.

That letterletter is from Krogstad——

Nora—it was Krogstad who lent you the money?

Yes; and now Torvald will know everything.

Believe me, Nora, it’s the best thing for both of you.

You don’t know all yet. I have forged a name——

Good heavens!

Now, listen to me, Christina; you shall bear me witness——

How “witness”? What am I to——?

If I should go out of my mind—it might easily happen——

Nora!

Or if anything else should happen to me—so that I couldn’t be here——!

Nora, Nora, you’re quite beside yourself!

In case any one wanted to take it all upon himself—the whole blame—you understand——

Yes, yes; but how can you think——?

You shall bear witness that it’s not true, Christina. I’m not out of my mind at all; I know quite well what I’m saying; and I tell you nobody else knew anything about it; I did the whole thing, I myself. Remember that.

I shall remember. But I don’t understand what you mean——

Oh, how should you? It’s the miracle coming to pass.

The miracle?

Yes, the miracle. But it’s so terrible, Christina; it mustn’t happen for all the world.

I shall go straight to Krogstad and talk to him.

Don’t; he’ll do you some harm.

Once he would have done anything for me.

He?

Where does he live?

Oh, how can I tell——? Yes—— [Feels in 101her pocket.] Here’s his card. But the letter, the letter——!

[Knocking outside.] Nora!

[Shrieks in terror.] Oh, what is it? What do you want?

Well, well, don’t be frightened. We’re not coming in; you’ve bolted the door. Are you trying on your dress?

Yes, yes, I’m trying it on. It suits me so well, Torvald.

[Who has read the card.] Why, he lives close by here.

Yes, but it’s no use now. We are lost. The letter is there in the box.

And your husband has the key?

Always.

Krogstad must demand his letter back, unread. He must find some pretext——

But this is the very time when Torvald generally——

Prevent him. Keep him occupied. I shall come back as quickly as I can.

[Opens Helmer’s door and peeps in.] Torvald!

Well, may one come into one’s own room again at last? Come, Rank, we’ll have a look—— [In the doorway.] But how’s this?

What, Torvald dear?

Rank led me to expect a grand transformation.

[In the doorway.] So I understood. I suppose I was mistaken.

No, no one shall see me in my glory till to-morrow evening.

Why, Nora dear, you look so tired. Have you been practising too hard?

No, I haven’t practised at all yet.

But you’ll have to——

Oh yes, I must, I must! But, Torvald, I can’t get on at all without your help. I’ve forgotten everything.

Oh, we shall soon freshen it up again.

Yes, do help me, Torvald. You must promise me——Oh, I’m so nervous about it. Before so many people——This evening you must give yourself up entirely to me. You mustn’t do a stroke of work; you mustn’tmustn’t even touch a pen. Do promise, Torvald dear!

I promise. All this evening I shall be your slave. Little helpless thing——! But, by-the-bye, I must just—— [Going to hall door.

What do you want there?

Only to see if there are any letters.

No, no, don’t do that, Torvald.

Why not?

Torvald, I beg you not to. There are none there.

Let me just see. [Is going.

[At the door, stops.] Aha!

I can’t dance to-morrow if I don’t rehearse with you first.

[Going to her.] Are you really so nervous, dear Nora?

Yes, dreadfully! Let me rehearse at once. We have time before dinner. Oh, do sit down and play for me, Torvald dear; direct me and put me right, as you used to do.

With all the pleasure in life, since you wish it.

Now play for me! Now I’ll dance!

[Playing.] Slower! Slower!

Can’t do it slower!

Not so violently, Nora.

I must! I must!

[Stops.] No, no, Nora—that will never do.

[Laughs and swings her tambourine.] Didn’t I tell you so!

Let me play for her.

[Rising.] Yes, do—then I can direct her better.

Ah——!

[Dancing.] We’re having such fun here, Christina!

Why, Nora dear, you’re dancing as if it were a matter of life and death.

So it is.

Rank, stop! This is the merest madness. Stop, I say!

[Going towards her.] I couldn’t have believed it. You’ve positively forgotten all I taught you.

[Throws the tambourine away.] You see for yourself.

You really do want teaching.

Yes, you see how much I need it. You must practise with me up to the last moment. Will you promise me, Torvald?

Certainly, certainly.

Neither to-day nor to morrow must you think of anything but me. You mustn’t open a single letter—mustn’t look at the letter-box.letter-box.

Ah, you’re still afraid of that man——

Oh yes, yes, I am.

Nora, I can see it in your face—there’s a letter from him in the box.

I don’t know, I believe so. But you’re not to read anything now; nothing ugly must come between us until all is over.

[Softly, to Helmer.] You mustn’t contradict her.

[Putting his arm around her.] The child shall have her own way. But to-morrow night, when the dance is over——

Then you shall be free.

Dinner is on the table, ma’am.

We’ll have some champagne, Ellen.

Yes, ma’am. [Goes out.

Dear me! Quite a banquet.

Yes, and we’ll keep it up till morning. [Calling out.] And macaroons, Ellen—plenty—just this once.

[Seizing her hand.] Come, come, don’t let us have this wild excitement! Be my own little lark again.

Oh yes, I will. But now go into the dining-room; and you too, Doctor Rank. Christina, you must help me to do up my hair.

[Softly, as they go.] There’s nothing in the wind? Nothing—I mean——?

Oh no, nothing of the kind. It’s merely this babyish anxiety I was telling you about.

Well?

He’s gone out of town.

I saw it in your face.

He comes back to-morrow evening. I left a note for him.

You shouldn’t have done that. Things must 109take their course. After all, there’s something glorious in waiting for the miracle.

What is it you’re waiting for?

Oh, you can’t understand. Go to them in the dining-room; I shall come in a moment.

Five. Seven hours till midnight. Then twenty-four hours till the next midnight. Then the tarantella will be over. Twenty-four and seven? Thirty-one hours to live.

What has become of my little lark?

[Runs to him with open arms.] Here she is!

The same room. The table, with the chairs around it, in the middle. A lighted lamp on the table. The door to the hall stands open. Dance music is heard from the floor above.

Mrs. Linden sits by the table and absently turns the pages of a book. She tries to read, but seems unable to fix her attention; she frequently listens and looks anxiously towards the hall door.

[Looks at her watch.] Not here yet; and the time is nearly up. If only he hasn’t—— [Listens again.] Ah, there he is. [She goes into the hall and cautiously opens the outer door; soft footsteps are heard on the stairs; she whispers.] Come in; there is no one here.

[In the doorway!] I found a note from you at my house. What does it mean?

I must speak to you.

Indeed? And in this house?

I could not see you at my rooms. They have no separate entrance. Come in; we are quite alone. The servants are asleep, and the Helmers are at the ball upstairs.

[Coming into the room.] Ah! So the Helmers are dancing this evening? Really?

Yes. Why not?

Quite right. Why not?

And now let us talk a little.

Have we two anything to say to each other?

A great deal.

I should not have thought so.

Because you have never really understood me.

What was there to understand? The most natural thing in the world—a heartless woman throws a man over when a better match offers.

Do you really think me so heartless? Do you think I broke with you lightly?

Did you not?

Do you really think so?

If not, why did you write me that letter?

Was it not best? Since I had to break with you, was it not right that I should try to put an end to all that you felt for me?

[Clenching his hands together.] So that was it? And all this—for the sake of money!

You ought not to forget that I had a helpless mother and two little brothers. We could not wait for you, Nils, as your prospects then stood.

Perhaps not; but you had no right to cast me off for the sake of others, whoever the others might be.

I don’t know. I have often asked myself whether I had the right.

[More softly.] When I had lost you, I seemed 113to have no firm ground left under my feet. Look at me now. I am a shipwrecked man clinging to a spar.

Rescue may be at hand.

It was at hand; but then you came and stood in the way.

Without my knowledge, Nils. I did not know till to-day that it was you I was to replace in the Bank.

Well, I take your word for it. But now that you do know, do you mean to give way?

No, for that would not help you in the least.

Oh, help, help——! I should do it whether or no.

I have learnt prudence. Life and bitter necessity have schooled me.

And life has taught me not to trust fine speeches.

Then life has taught you a very sensible thing. But deeds you will trust?

What do you mean?

You said you were a shipwrecked man, clinging to a spar.

I have good reason to say so.

I too am shipwrecked, and clinging to a spar. I have no one to mourn for, no one to care for.

You made your own choice.

No choice was left me.

Well, what then?

Nils, how if we two shipwrecked people could join hands?

What!

Two on a raft have a better chance than if each clings to a separate spar.

Christina!

What do you think brought me to town?

Had you any thought of me?

I must have work or I can’t bear to live. All my life, as long as I can remember, I have worked; work has been my one great joy. Now I stand quite alone in the world, aimless and forlorn. There is no happiness in working for one’s self. Nils, give me somebody and something to work for.

I cannot believe in all this. It is simply a woman’s romantic craving for self-sacrifice.

Have you ever found me romantic?

Would you really——? Tell me: do you know all my past?

Yes.

And do you know what people say of me?

Did you not say just now that with me you could have been another man?

I am sure of it.

Is it too late?

Christina, do you know what you are doing? Yes, you do; I see it in your face. Have you the courage then——?

I need some one to be a mother to, and your children need a mother. You need me, and I—I need you. Nils, I believe in your better self. With you I fear nothing.

[Seizing her hands.] Thank you—thank you, Christina. Now I shall make others see me as you do.—Ah, I forgot——

[Listening.] Hush! The tarantella! Go! go!

Why? What is it?

Don’t you hear the dancing overhead? As soon as that is over they will be here.

Oh yes, I shall go. Nothing will come of this, after all. Of course, you don’t know the step I have taken against the Helmers.

Yes, Nils, I do know.

And yet you have the courage to——?

I know to what lengths despair can drive a man.

Oh, if I could only undo it!

You could. Your letter is still in the box.

Are you sure?

Yes; but——

[Looking to her searchingly.] Is that what it all means? You want to save your friend at any price. Say it out—is that your idea?

Nils, a woman who has once sold herself for the sake of others, does not do so again.

I shall demand my letter back again.

No, no.

Yes, of course. I shall wait till Helmer comes; I shall tell him to give it back to me—that it’s only about my dismissal—that I don’t want it read——

No, Nils, you must not recall the letter.

But tell me, wasn’t that just why you got me to come here?

Yes, in my first alarm. But a day has passed since then, and in that day I have seen incredible things in this house. Helmer must know everything; there must be an end to this unhappy secret. These two must come to a full understanding. They must have done with all these shifts and subterfuges.

Very well, if you like to risk it. But one thing I can do, and at once——

[Listening.] Make haste! Go, go! The dance is over; we’re not safe another moment.

I shall wait for you in the street.

Yes, do; you must see me home.

I never was so happy in all my life!

[Arranging the room and getting her outdoor things together.] What a change! What a change! To have some one to work for, to live for; a home to make happy! Well, it shall not be my fault if I fail.—I wish they would come.—[Listens.] Ah, here they are! I must get my things on.

[Struggling with him in the doorway.] No, no, no! I won’t go in! I want to go upstairs again; I don’t want to leave so early!

But, my dearest girl——!

Oh, please, please, Torvald, I beseech you—only one hour more!

Not one minute more, Nora dear; you know what we agreed. Come, come in; you’re catching cold here.

Good-evening.

Christina!

What, Mrs. Linden! You here so late?

Yes, I ought to apologise. I did so want to see Nora in her costume.

Have you been sitting here waiting for me?

Yes; unfortunately I came too late. You had gone upstairs already, and I felt I couldn’t go away without seeing you.

[Taking Nora’s shawl off.] Well then, just look at her! I assure you she’s worth it. Isn’t she lovely, Mrs. Linden?

Yes, I must say——

Isn’t she exquisite? Every one said so. But she’s dreadfully obstinate, dear little creature. What’s to be done with her? Just think, I had almost to force her away.

Oh, Torvald, you’ll be sorry some day that you didn’t let me stay, if only for one half-hour more.

There! You hear her, Mrs. Linden? She dances her tarantella with wild applause, and well she deserved it, I must say—though there was, perhaps, a little too much nature in her rendering of the idea—more than was, strictly speaking, artistic. But never mind—the point is, she made a great success, a tremendous success. Was I to let her remain after that—to weaken the impression? Not if I know it. I took my sweet little Capri girl—my capricious little Capri girl, I might say—under my arm; a rapid turn round the room, a curtsey to all sides, and—as they say in novels—the lovely apparition vanished! An exit should always be effective, Mrs. Linden; but I can’t get Nora to see it. By Jove! it’s warm here. [Throws his domino on a chair and opens the door to his room.] What! No light there? Oh, of course. Excuse me——

[Whispers breathlessly.] Well?

[Softly.] I’ve spoken to him.

And——?

Nora—you must tell your husband everything——

Nora.

[Tonelessly.] I knew it!

You have nothing to fear from Krogstad; but you must speak out.

I shall not speak.speak.

Then the letter will.

Thank you, Christina. Now I know what I have to do. Hush——!

[Coming back.] Well, Mrs. Linden, have you admired her?

Yes; and now I must say good-night.

What, already? Does this knitting belong to you?

[Takes it.] Yes, thanks; I was nearly forgetting it.

Then you do knit?

Yes.

Do you know, you ought to embroider instead?

Indeed! Why?

Because it’s so much prettier. Look now! You 123hold the embroidery in the left hand, so, and then work the needle with the right hand, in a long, graceful curve—don’t you?

Yes, I suppose so.

But knitting is always ugly. Just look—your arms close to your sides, and the needles going up and down—there’s something Chinese about it.—They really gave us splendid champagne to-night.

Well, good-night, Nora, and don’t be obstinate any more.

Well said, Mrs. Linden!

Good-night, Mr. Helmer.

[Accompanying her to the door.] Good-night, good-night; I hope you’ll get safely home. I should be glad to—but you have such a short way to go. Good-night, good-night. [She goes; Helmer shuts the door after her and comes forward again.] At last we’ve got rid of her: she’s a terrible bore.

Aren’t you very tired, Torvald?

No, not in the least.

Nor sleepy?

Not a bit. I feel particularly lively. But you? You do look tired and sleepy.

Yes, very tired. I shall soon sleep now.

There, you see. I was right after all not to let you stay longer.

Oh, everything you do is right.

[Kissing her forehead.] Now my lark is speaking like a reasonable being. Did you notice how jolly Rank was this evening?

Indeed? Was he? I had no chance of speaking to him.

Nor I, much; but I haven’t seen him in such good spirits for a long time. [Looks at Nora a little, then comes nearer her.] It’s splendid to be back in our own home, to be quite alone together!—Oh, you enchanting creature!

Don’t look at me in that way, Torvald.

I am not to look at my dearest treasure?—at all 125the loveliness that is mine, mine only, wholly and entirely mine?

[Goes to the other side of the table.] You mustn’t say these things to me this evening.

[Following.] I see you have the tarantella still in your blood—-and that makes you all the more enticing. Listen! the other people are going now. [More softly.] Nora—soon the whole house will be still.

Yes, I hope so.

Yes, don’t you, Nora darling? When we are among strangers, do you know why I speak so little to you, and keep so far away, and only steal a glance at you now and then—do you know why I do it? Because I am fancying that we love each other in secret, that I am secretly betrothed to you, and that no one dreams that there is anything between us.

Yes, yes, yes. I know all your thoughts are with me.

And then, when the time comes to go, and I put the shawl about your smooth, soft shoulders, and this glorious neck of yours, I imagine you are my bride, that our marriage is just over, that I am bringing you for the first time to my home—that I am alone with you for the first time—quite alone with you, in your trembling loveliness! All this 126evening I have been longing for you, and you only. When I watched you swaying and whirling in the tarantella—my blood boiled—I could endure it no longer; and that’s why I made you come home with me so early——

Go now, Torvald! Go away from me. I won’t have all this.

What do you mean? Ah, I see you’re teasing me, little Nora! Won’t—won’t! Am I not your husband——?

[Starts.] Did you hear——?

[Going towards the hall.] Who’s there?

[Outside.] It is I; may I come in for a moment?

[In a low tone, annoyed.] Oh! what can he want just now? [Aloud.] Wait a moment. [Opens door.] Come, it’s nice of you to look in.

I thought I heard your voice, and that put it into my head. [Looks round.] Ah, this dear old place! How cosy you two are here!

You seemed to find it pleasant enough upstairs, too.

Exceedingly. Why not? Why shouldn’t one take one’s share of everything in this world? All one can, at least, and as long as one can. The wine was splendid——

Especially the champagne.

Did you notice it? It’s incredible the quantity I contrived to get down.

Torvald drank plenty of champagne, too.

Did he?

Yes, and it always puts him in such spirits.

Well, why shouldn’t one have a jolly evening after a well-spent day?

Well-spent! Well, I haven’t much to boast of in that respect.

[Slapping him on the shoulder.] But I have, don’t you see?

I suppose you have been engaged in a scientific investigation, Doctor Rank?

Quite right.

Bless me! Little Nora talking about scientific investigations!

Am I to congratulate you on the result?

By all means.

It was good then?

The best possible, both for doctor and patient—certainty.

[Quickly and searchingly.] Certainty?

Absolute certainty. Wasn’t I right to enjoy myself after that?

Yes, quite right, Doctor Rank.

And so say I, provided you don’t have to pay for it to-morrow.

Well, in this life nothing is to be had for nothing.

Doctor Rank—I’m sure you are very fond of masquerades?

Yes, when there are plenty of amusing disguises——

Tell me, what shall we two be at our next masquerade?

Little featherbrain! Thinking of your next already!

We two? I’ll tell you. You must go as a good fairy.

Ah, but what costume would indicate that?

She has simply to wear her everyday dress.

Capital! But don’t you know what you will be yourself?

Yes, my dear friend, I am perfectly clear upon that point.

Well?

At the next masquerade I shall be invisible.

What a comical idea!

There’s a big black hat—haven’t you heard of 130the invisible hat? It comes down all over you, and then no one can see you.

[With a suppressed smile.] No, you’re right there.

But I’m quite forgetting what I came for. Helmer, give me a cigar—one of the dark Havanas.

With the greatest pleasure. [Hands cigar-case.

[Takes one and cuts the end off.] Thank you.

[Striking a wax match.] Let me give you a light.

A thousand thanks.

And now, good-bye!

Good-bye, good-bye, my dear fellow.

Sleep well, Doctor Rank.

Thanks for the wish.

Wish me the same.

You? Very well, since you ask me—Sleep well. And thanks for the light.

[In an undertone.] He’s been drinking a good deal.

[Absently.] I daresay. [Helmer takes his bunch of keys from his pocket and goes into the hall.] Torvald, what are you doing there?

I must empty the letter-box; it’s quite full; there will be no room for the newspapers to-morrow morning.

Are you going to work to-night?

You know very well I am not.—Why, how is this? Some one has been at the lock.

The lock——?

I’m sure of it. What does it mean? I can’t think that the servants——? Here’s a broken hair-pin. Nora, it’s one of yours.

[Quickly.] It must have been the children——

Then you must break them of such tricks.—There! At last I’ve got it open. [Takes contents out and calls into the kitchen.] Ellen!—Ellen, just put the hall door lamp out.

Just see how they’ve accumulated. [Turning them over.] Why, what’s this?

[At the window.] The letter! Oh no, no, Torvald!

Two visiting-cards—from Rank.

From Doctor Rank?

[Looking at them.] Doctor Rank. They were on the top. He must just have put them in.

Is there anything on them?

There’s a black cross over the name. Look at it. What an unpleasant idea! It looks just as if he were announcing his own death.

So he is.

What! Do you know anything? Has he told you anything?

Yes. These cards mean that he has taken his last leave of us. He is going to shut himself up and die.

Poor fellow! Of course I knew we couldn’t hope to keep him long. But so soon——! And to go and creep into his lair like a wounded animal——

When we must go, it is best to go silently.silently. Don’t you think so, Torvald?

[Walking up and down.] He had so grown into our lives, I can’t realise that he is gone. He and his sufferings and his loneliness formed a sort of cloudy background to the sunshine of our happiness.—Well, perhaps it’s best as it is—at any rate for him. [Stands still.] And perhaps for us too, Nora. Now we two are thrown entirely upon each other. [Takes her in his arms.] My darling wife! I feel as if I could never hold you close enough. Do you know, Nora, I often wish some danger might threaten you, that I might risk body and soul, and everything, everything, for your dear sake.

[Tears herself from him and says firmly.] Now you shall read your letters, Torvald.

No, no; not to-night. I want to be with you, my sweet wife.

With the thought of your dying friend——?

You are right. This has shaken us both. Unloveliness has come between us—thoughts of death and decay. We must seek to cast them off. Till then—we will remain apart.

[Her arms round his neck.] Torvald! Goodnight! good-night!

[Kissing her forehead!] Good-night, my little song-bird. Sleep well, Nora. Now I shall go and read my letters.

[With wild eyes, gropes about her, seizes Helmer’s domino, throws it round her, and whispers quickly, hoarsely, and brokenly.] Never to see him again. Never, never, never. [Throws her shawl over her head.] Never to see the children again. Never, never.—Oh that black, icy water! Oh that bottomless——! If it were only over! Now he has it; he’s reading it. Oh, no, no, no, not yet. Torvald, good-bye——! Good-bye, my little ones——!

Nora!

[Shrieks.] Ah——!

What is this? Do you know what is in this letter?

Yes, I know. Let me go! Let me pass!

[Holds her back.] Where do you want to go?

[Tries to break away from him.] You shall not save me, Torvald.

[Falling back.] True! Is what he writes true? No, no, it is impossible that this can be true.

It is true. I have loved you beyond all else in the world.

Pshaw—no silly evasions!

[A step nearer him.] Torvald——!

Wretched woman—what have you done!

Let me go—you shall not save me! You shall not take my guilt upon yourself!

I don’t want any melodramatic airs. [Locks the outer door.] Here you shall stay and give an account of yourself. Do you understand what you have done? Answer! Do you understand it?

[Looks at him fixedly, and says with a stiffening expression.] Yes; now I begin fully to understand it.

[Walking up and down.] Oh! what an awful awakening! During all these eight years—she who was my pride and my joy—a hypocrite, a liar—worse, worse—a criminal. Oh, the unfathomable hideousness of it all! Ugh! Ugh!

I ought to have known how it would be. I ought to have foreseen it. All your father’s want of principle—be silent!—all your father’s want of principle you have inherited—no religion, no morality, no sense of duty. How I am punished for screening him! I did it for your sake; and you reward me like this.

Yes—like this.

You have destroyed my whole happiness. You have ruined my future. Oh, it’s frightful to think of! I am in the power of a scoundrel; he can do whatever he pleases with me, demand whatever 137he chooses; he can domineer over me as much as he likes, and I must submit. And all this disaster and ruin is brought upon me by an unprincipled woman!

When I am out of the world, you will be free.

Oh, no fine phrases. Your father, too, was always ready with them. What good would it do me, if you were “out of the world,” as you say? No good whatever! He can publish the story all the same; I might even be suspected of collusion. People will think I was at the bottom of it all and egged you on. And for all this I have you to thank—you whom I have done nothing but pet and spoil during our whole married life. Do you understand now what you have done to me?

[With cold calmness.] Yes.

The thing is so incredible, I can’t grasp it. But we must come to an understanding. Take that shawl off. Take it off, I say! I must try to pacify him in one way or another—the matter must be hushed up, cost what it may.—As for you and me, we must make no outward change in our way of life—no outward change, you understand. Of course, you will continue to live here. But the children cannot be left in your care. I dare not trust them to you.—Oh, to have to say this to one I have loved so tenderly—whom I still——! But that must be a thing of the past. 138Henceforward there can be no question of happiness, but merely of saving the ruins, the shreds, the show—— [A ring; Helmer starts.] What’s that? So late! Can it be the worst? Can he——? Hide yourself, Nora; say you are ill.

[Half dressed, in the hall.] Here is a letter for you, ma’am.

Give it to me. [Seizes the letter and shuts the door.] Yes, from him. You shall not have it. I shall read it.

Read it!

[By the lamp.] I have hardly the courage to. We may both be lost, both you and I. Ah! I must know. [Hastily tears the letter open; reads a few lines, looks at an enclosure; with a cry of joy.] Nora!

Nora!—Oh! I must read it again.—Yes, yes, it is so. I am saved! Nora, I am saved!

And I?

You too, of course; we are both saved, both of us. Look here—he sends you back your promissory note. He writes that he regrets and apologises, 139that a happy turn in his life——Oh, what matter what he writes. We are saved, Nora! No one can harm you. Oh, Nora, Nora——; but first to get rid of this hateful thing. I’ll just see—— [Glances at the I.O.U.] No, I will not look at it; the whole thing shall be nothing but a dream to me. [Tears the I.O.U. and both letters in pieces. Throws them into the fire and watches them burn.] There! it’s gone!—He said that ever since Christmas Eve——Oh, Nora, they must have been three terrible days for you!

I have fought a hard fight for the last three days.

And in your agony you saw no other outlet but——No; we won’t think of that horror. We will only rejoice and repeat—it’s over, all over! Don’t you hear, Nora? You don’t seem able to grasp it. Yes, it’s over. What is this set look on your face? Oh, my poor Nora, I understand; you cannot believe that I have forgiven you. But I have, Nora; I swear it. I have forgiven everything. I know that what you did was all for love of me.

That is true.

You loved me as a wife should love her husband. It was only the means that, in your inexperience, you misjudged. But do you think I love you the less because you cannot do without guidance? No, no. Only lean on me; I will counsel you, and guide you. I should be no true man if this 140very womanly helplessness did not make you doubly dear in my eyes. You mustn’t dwell upon the hard things I said in my first moment of terror, when the world seemed to be tumbling about my ears. I have forgiven you, Nora—I swear I have forgiven you.

I thank you for your forgiveness.

No, stay——! [Looking through the doorway.] What are you going to do?

[Inside.] To take off my masquerade dress.

[In the doorway.] Yes, do, dear. Try to calm down, and recover your balance, my scared little song-bird. You may rest secure. I have broad wings to shield you. [Walking up and down near the door.] Oh, how lovely—how cosy our home is, Nora! Here you are safe; here I can shelter you like a hunted dove whom I have saved from the claws of the hawk. I shall soon bring your poor beating heart to rest; believe me, Nora, very soon. To-morrow all this will seem quite different—everything will be as before. I shall not need to tell you again that I forgive you; you will feel for yourself that it is true. How could you think I could find it in my heart to drive you away, or even so much as to reproach you? Oh, you don’t know a true man’s heart, Nora. There is some thing indescribably sweet and soothing to a man 141in having forgiven his wife—honestly forgiven her, from the bottom of his heart. She becomes his property in a double sense. She is as though born again; she has become, so to speak, at once his wife and his child. That is what you shall henceforth be to me, my bewildered, helpless darling. Don’t be troubled about anything, Nora; only open your heart to me, and I will be both will and conscience to you. [Nora enters in everyday dress.] Why, what’s this? Not gone to bed? You have changed your dress?

Yes, Torvald; now I have changed my dress.

But why now, so late——?

I shall not sleep to-night.

But, Nora dear——

[Looking at her watch.] It’s not so late yet. Sit down, Torvald; you and I have much to say to each other. [She sits at one side of the table.

Nora—what does this mean? Your cold, set face——

Sit down. It will take some time. I have much to talk over with you.

You alarm me, Nora. I don’t understand you.

No, that is just it. You don’t understand me; and I have never understood you—till to-night. No, don’t interrupt. Only listen to what I say.—We must come to a final settlement, Torvald.

How do you mean?

[After a short silence.] Does not one thing strike you as we sit here?

What should strike me?

We have been married eight years. Does it not strike you that this is the first time we two, you and I, man and wife, have talked together seriously?

Seriously! What do you call seriously?

During eight whole years, and more—ever since the day we first met—we have never exchanged one serious word about serious things.

Was I always to trouble you with the cares you could not help me to bear?

I am not talking of cares. I say that we have never yet set ourselves seriously to get to the bottom of anything.

Why, my dearest Nora, what have you to do with serious things?

There we have it! You have never understood me.—I have had great injustice done me, Torvald; first by father, and then by you.

What! By your father and me?—By us, who have loved you more than all the world?

[Shaking her head.] You have never loved me. You only thought it amusing to be in love with me.

Why, Nora, what a thing to say!

Yes, it is so, Torvald. While I was at home with father, he used to tell me all his opinions, and I held the same opinions. If I had others I said nothing about them, because he wouldn’t have liked it. He used to call me his doll-child, and played with me as I played with my dolls. Then I came to live in your house——

What an expression to use about our marriage!

[Undisturbed.] I mean I passed from father’s hands into yours. You arranged everything according to your taste; and I got the same tastes as you; or I pretended to—I don’t know which—both ways, perhaps; sometimes one and sometimes the other. When I look back on it now, I seem to have been living here like a beggar, from hand to mouth. I lived by performing tricks for you, Torvald. But you would have it so. You and father have done me a great wrong. It is your fault that my life has come to nothing.

Why, Nora, how unreasonable and ungrateful you are! Have you not been happy here?

No, never. I thought I was; but I never was.

Not—not happy!

No; only merry. And you have always been so kind to me. But our house has been nothing but a play-room. Here I have been your doll-wife, just as at home I used to be papa’s doll-child. And the children, in their turn, have been my dolls. I thought it fun when you played with me, just as the children did when I played with them. That has been our marriage, Torvald.

There is some truth in what you say, exaggerated 145and overstrained though it be. But henceforth it shall be different. Play-time is over; now comes the time for education.

Whose education? Mine, or the children’s?

Both, my dear Nora.

Oh, Torvald, you are not the man to teach me to be a fit wife for you.

And you can say that?

And I—how have I prepared myself to educate the children?

Nora!

Did you not say yourself, a few minutes ago, you dared not trust them to me?

In the excitement of the moment! Why should you dwell upon that?

No—you were perfectly right. That problem is beyond me. There is another to be solved first—I must try to educate myself. You are not the man to help me in that. I must set about it alone. And that is why I am leaving you.

[Jumping up.] What—do you mean to say——?

I must stand quite alone if I am ever to know myself and my surroundings; so I cannot stay with you.

Nora! Nora!

I am going at once. I daresay Christina will take me in for to-night——

You are mad! I shall not allow it! I forbid it!

It is of no use your forbidding me anything now. I shall take with me what belongs to me. From you I will accept nothing, either now or afterwards.

What madness this is!

To-morrow I shall go home—I mean to what was my home. It will be easier for me to find some opening there.

Oh, in your blind inexperience——

I must try to gain experience, Torvald.

To forsake your home, your husband, and your children! And you don’t consider what the world will say.

I can pay no heed to that. I only know that I must do it.

This is monstrous! Can you forsake your holiest duties in this way?

What do you consider my holiest duties?

Do I need to tell you that? Your duties to your husband and your children.

I have other duties equally sacred.

Impossible! What duties do you mean?

My duties towards myself.

Before all else you are a wife and a mother.

That I no longer believe. I believe that before all else I am a human being, just as much as you are—or at least that I should try to become one. I know that most people agree with you, Torvald, 148and that they say so in books. But henceforth I can’t be satisfied with what most people say, and what is in books. I must think things out for myself, and try to get clear about them.

Are you not clear about your place in your own home? Have you not an infallible guide in questions like these? Have you not religion?

Oh, Torvald, I don’t really know what religion is.

What do you mean?

I know nothing but what Pastor Hansen told me when I was confirmed. He explained that religion was this and that. When I get away from all this and stand alone, I will look into that matter too. I will see whether what he taught me is right, or, at any rate, whether it is right for me.

Oh, this is unheard of! And from so young a woman! But if religion cannot keep you right, let me appeal to your conscience—for I suppose you have some moral feeling? Or, answer me: perhaps you have none?

Well, Torvald, it’s not easy to say. I really don’t know—I am all at sea about these things. I only know that I think quite differently from 149you about them. I hear, too, that the laws are different from what I thought; but I can’t believe that they can be right. It appears that a woman has no right to spare her dying father, or to save her husband’s life! I don’t believe that.

You talk like a child. You don’t understand the society in which you live.

No, I do not. But now I shall try to learn. I must make up my mind which is right—society or I.

Nora, you are ill; you are feverish; I almost think you are out of your senses.

I have never felt so much clearness and certainty as to-night.

You are clear and certain enough to forsake husband and children?

Yes, I am.

Then there is only one explanation possible.

What is that?

You no longer love me.

No; that is just it.

Nora!—Can you say so!

Oh, I’m so sorry, Torvald; for you’ve always been so kind to me. But I can’t help it. I do not love you any longer.

[Mastering himself with difficulty.] Are you clear and certain on this point too?

Yes, quite. That is why I will not stay here any longer.

And can you also make clear to me how I have forfeited your love?

Yes, I can. It was this evening, when the miracle did not happen; for then I saw you were not the man I had imagined.

Explain yourself more clearly; I don’t understand.

I have waited so patiently all these eight years; for of course I saw clearly enough that miracles don’t happen every day. When this crushing blow 151threatened me, I said to myself so confidently, “Now comes the miracle!” When Krogstad’s letter lay in the box, it never for a moment occurred to me that you would think of submitting to that man’s conditions. I was convinced that you would say to him, “Make it known to all the world”; and that then——

Well? When I had given my own wife’s name up to disgrace and shame——?

Then I firmly believed that you would come forward, take everything upon yourself, and say, “I am the guilty one.”

Nora——!

You mean I would never have accepted such a sacrifice? No, certainly not. But what would my assertions have been worth in opposition to yours?—That was the miracle that I hoped for and dreaded. And it was to hinder that that I wanted to die.

I would gladly work for you day and night, Nora—bear sorrow and want for your sake. But no man sacrifices his honour, even for one he loves.

Millions of women have done so.

Oh, you think and talk like a silly child.

Very likely. But you neither think nor talk like the man I can share my life with. When your terror was over—not for what threatened me, but for yourself—when there was nothing more to fear—then it seemed to you as though nothing had happened. I was your lark again, your doll, just as before—whom you would take twice as much care of in future, because she was so weak and fragile. [Stands up.] Torvald—in that moment it burst upon me that I had been living here these eight years with a strange man, and had borne him three children.—Oh, I can’t bear to think of it! I could tear myself to pieces!

[Sadly.] I see it, I see it; an abyss has opened between us.—But, Nora, can it never be filled up?

As I now am, I am no wife for you.

I have strength to become another man.

Perhaps—when your doll is taken away from you.

To part—to part from you! No, Nora, no; I can’t grasp the thought.

[Going into room on the right.] The more reason for the thing to happen.

Nora, Nora, not now! Wait till to-morrow.

[Putting on cloak.] I can’t spend the night in a strange man’s house.

But can we not live here, as brother and sister——?

[Fastening her hat.] You know very well that wouldn’t last long. [Puts on the shawl.] Goodbye, Torvald. No, I won’t go to the children. I know they are in better hands than mine. As I now am, I can be nothing to them.

But some time, Nora—some time——?

How can I tell? I have no idea what will become of me.

But you are my wife, now and always!

Listen, Torvald—when a wife leaves her 154husband’s house, as I am doing, I have heard that in the eyes of the law he is free from all duties towards her. At any rate, I release you from all duties. You must not feel yourself bound, any more than I shall. There must be perfect freedom on both sides. There, I give you back your ring. Give me mine.

That too?

That too.

Here it is.

Very well. Now it is all over. I lay the keys here. The servants know about everything in the house—better than I do. To-morrow, when I have started, Christina will come to pack up the things I brought with me from home. I will have them sent after me.

All over! all over! Nora, will you never think of me again?

Oh, I shall often think of you, and the children, and this house.

May I write to you, Nora?

No—never. You must not.

But I must send you——

Nothing, nothing.

I must help you if you need it.

No, I say. I take nothing from strangers.

Nora—can I never be more than a stranger to you?

[Taking her travelling-bag.] Oh, Torvald, then the miracle of miracles would have to happen——

What is the miracle of miracles?

Both of us would have to change so that——Oh, Torvald, I no longer believe in miracles.

But I will believe. Tell me! We must so change that——?

That communion between us shall be a marriage. Good-bye.

[Sinks into a chair by the door with his face in his hands.] Nora! Nora! [He looks round and rises.] Empty. She is gone. [A hope springs up in him.] Ah! The miracle of miracles——?!

• Mrs. Helen Alving, widow of Captain Alving, late Chamberlain^[10] to the King.
• Oswald Alving, her son, a painter.
• Pastor Manders.
• Jacob Engstrand, a carpenter.
• Regina Engstrand, Mrs. Alving’s maid.

ACT FIRST.

A spacious garden-room, with one door to the left, and two doors to the right. In the middle of the room a round table, with chairs about it. On the table lie books, periodicals, and newspapers. In the foreground to the left a window, and by it a small sofa, with a work-table in front of it. In the background, the room is continued into a somewhat narrower conservatory, the walls of which are formed by large panes of glass. In the right-hand wall of the conservatory is a door leading down into the garden. Through the glass wall a gloomy fjord-landscape is faintly visible, veiled by steady rain.

Engstrand, the carpenter, stands by the garden door. His left leg is somewhat bent; he has a clump of wood under the sole of his boot. Regina, with an empty garden syringe in her hand, hinders him from advancing.

[In a low voice.] What do you want? Stop where you are. You’re positively dripping.

It’s the Lord’s own rain, my girl.

It’s the devil’s rain, I say.

Lord, how you talk, Regina. [Limps a step or two forward into the room.] It’s just this as I wanted to say——

Don’t clatter so with that foot of yours, I tell you! The young master’s asleep upstairs.

Asleep? In the middle of the day?

It’s no business of yours.

I was out on the loose last night——

I can quite believe that.

Yes, we’re weak vessels, we poor mortals, my girl——

So it seems.

——and temptations are manifold in this world, you see. But all the same, I was hard at work, God knows, at half-past five this morning.

Very well; only be off now. I won’t stop here and have rendezvous’s^[11] with you.

What do you say you won’t have?

I won’t have any one find you here; so just you go about your business.

[Advances a step or two.] Blest if I go before I’ve had a talk with you. This afternoon I shall have finished my work at the school-house, and then I shall take to-night’s boat and be off home to the town.

[Mutters.] Pleasant journey to you!

Thank you, my child. To-morrow the Orphanage is to be opened, and then there’ll be fine doings, no doubt, and plenty of intoxicating drink going, you know. And nobody shall say of Jacob Engstrand that he can’t keep out of temptation’s way.