IN "A Doll's
House" Ibsen returns to the subject so vital to him,--the Social Lie and
Duty,--this time as manifesting themselves in the sacred institution of the
home and in the position of woman in her gilded cage.
Nora is the beloved, adored wife of Torvald Helmer. He
is an admirable man, rigidly honest, of high moral ideals, and passionately
devoted to his wife and children. In short, a good man and an
enviable husband. Almost every mother would be proud of such a match for
her daughter, and the latter would consider herself
fortunate to become the wife of such a man.
Nora, too, considers herself fortunate. Indeed,
she worships her husband, believes in him implicitly, and is sure that if ever
her safety should be menaced, Torvald, her
idol, her god, would perform the miracle.
When a woman loves as Nora
does, nothing else matters; least of all, social, legal or moral
considerations. Therefore, when her husband's life is threatened, it is no
effort, it is joy for Nora to forge her father's name to a note and
borrow 800 cronen on it, in order to take her sick
husband to
In her eagerness to serve
her husband, and in perfect innocence of the legal aspect of her act, she does
not give the matter much thought, except for her anxiety to shield him from any
emergency that may call upon him to perform the miracle in her behalf. She
works hard, and saves every penny of her pin-money to pay back the amount she
borrowed on the forged check.
Nora is light-hearted and gay,
apparently without depth. Who, indeed, would expect depth of a doll, a
"squirrel," a song-bird? Her purpose in life is to be happy for her
husband's sake, for the sake of the children; to sing, dance, and play with
them. Besides, is she not shielded, protected, and cared for? Who, then, would
suspect Nora of depth? But already in the opening scene, when Torvald inquires what his precious
"squirrel" wants for a Christmas present, Nora quickly asks
him for money. Is it to buy macaroons or finery? In her talk with Mrs.
Linden, Nora reveals her inner self, and forecasts the inevitable
debacle of her doll's house.
After telling her friend
how she had saved her husband, Nora says: "When Torvald
gave me money for clothes and so on, I never used more than half of it; I
always bought the simplest things. . . . Torvald
never noticed anything. But it was often very hard, Christina dear. For it's
nice to be beautifully dressed. Now, isn't it? . . . 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."
Down deep in the
consciousness of Nora there evidently slumbers personality and
character, which could come into full bloom only through a great miracle--not
the kind Nora hopes for, but a miracle just the same.
Nora had borrowed the money from Nils Krogstad, a
man with a shady past in the eyes of the community and of the righteous
moralist, Torvald Helmer.
So long as Krogstad is allowed the little
breathing space a Christian people grants to him who has once broken its laws,
he is reasonably human. He does not molest Nora. But when Helmer becomes director of the bank in which Krogstad is employed, and threatens the man with
dismissal, Krogstad naturally fights back. For
as he says to Nora: "If need be, I shall fight as though for my
life to keep my little place in the bank. . . . It's not only for the money: that
matters least to me. It's something else. Well, I'd better make a clean breast
of it. Of course you know, like every one else, that some years ago I--got into
trouble. . . . The matter never came into court; but from that moment all paths
were barred to me. Then I took up the business you know about. I was obliged to
grasp at something; and I don't think I've been one of the worst. But now I
must clear out of it all. My sons are growing up; for their sake I must try to
win back as much respectability 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.
Mrs. Helmer, you evidently have no idea what you have
really done. But I can assure you that it was nothing more and nothing worse that
made me an outcast from society. . . . But this I may tell you, that if I'm
flung into the gutter a second time, you shall keep me company."
Even when Nora is
confronted with this awful threat, she does not fear for herself, only for Torvald,--so good, so true, who has such an aversion
to debts, but who loves her so devotedly that for her sake he would take the
blame upon himself. But this must never be. Nora, too, begins a fight
for life, for her husband's life and that of her children. Did not Helmer tell her that the very presence of a criminal
like Krogstad poisons the children? And is she
not a criminal?
Torvald Helmer assures her, in his male conceit,
that "early corruption generally comes from the mother's side, but of
course the father's influence may act in the same way. And this Krogstad has been poisoning his own children for years past
by a life of lies and hypocrisy--that's why I call him morally ruined."
Poor Nora, who
cannot understand why a daughter has no right to spare her dying father
anxiety, or why a wife has no right to save her husband's life, is surely not
aware of the true character of her idol. But gradually the veil is lifted. At
first, when in reply to her desperate pleading for Krogstad,
her husband discloses the true reason for wanting to get rid of him: "The
fact is, he was a college chum of mine--there was one of those rash friendships
between us that one so often repents later. I don't mind confessing it--he
calls me by my Christian name; and he insists on doing 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."
And then
again when the final blow comes. For forty-eight hours Nora battles for
her ideal, never doubting Torvald for a
moment. Indeed, so absolutely sure is she of her strong oak, her lord, her god,
that she would rather kill herself than have him take the blame for her act. The
end comes, and with it the doll's house tumbles down, and Nora discards
her doll's dress--she sheds her skin, as it were. Torvald
Helmer proves himself a petty Philistine, a bully
and a coward, as so many good husbands when they throw off their respectable
cloak.
Helmer's rage over Nora's crime
subsides the moment the danger of publicity is averted--proving that Helmer, like many a moralist, is not so much
incensed at Nora's offense as by the fear of
being found out. Not so Nora. Finding out is her salvation. It is then
that she realizes how much she has been wronged, that she is only a plaything,
a doll to Helmer. In her disillusionment she
says, "You have never loved me. You only thought it amusing to be in love
with me."
Helmer. Why, Nora, what a
thing to say!
Nora. 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 concealed
them, because he would not have liked it. He used to call me his doll child,
and play with me as I played with my dolls. Then I came to live in your house--
. . . I mean I passed from father's hands into yours. You settled 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. 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's your fault that my life has been wasted.
. . .
Helmer. It's exasperating!
Can you forsake your holiest duties in this way?
Nora. What do you call
my holiest duties?
Helmer. Do you ask me
that? Your duties to your husband and children.
Nora. I have other
duties equally sacred.
Helmer. Impossible! What
duties do you mean?
Nora. My duties toward myself.
Helmer. Before all else
you are a wife and a mother.
Nora. That I no longer
believe. I think that before all else I am a human being, just as much as you
are--or, at least, I will try to become one. I know that most people agree with
you, Torvald, and 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. . .
. 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!. . . . I can't spend the night in a strange
man's house.
Is there anything more
degrading to woman than to live with a stranger, and bear him children? Yet,
the lie of the marriage institution decrees that she shall continue to do so,
and the social conception of duty insists that for the sake of that lie she
need be nothing else than a plaything, a doll, a nonentity.
When Nora closes
behind her the door of her doll's house, she opens wide the gate of life for
woman, and proclaims the revolutionary message that only perfect freedom and
communion make a true bond between man and woman, meeting in the open, without
lies, without shame, free from the bondage of duty.
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