Solness.
[Speaking low, with inward emotion.] Mark what I say to you, Hilda. All that I have succeeded in doing, building, creating—all the beauty, security, cheerful comfort—ay, and magnificence too—[Clenches his hands.] Oh, is it not terrible even to think of!
Hilda.
What is so terrible?
Solness.
That all this I have to make up for, to pay for—not in money, but in human happiness. And not with my own happiness only, but with other people's too. Yes, yes, do you see that, Hilda? That is the price which my position as an artist has cost me—and others. And every single day I have to look on while the price is paid for me anew. Over again, and over again—and over again for ever!
Hilda.
[Rises and looks steadily at him.] Now I can see that you are thinking of—of her.
Solness.
Yes, mainly of Aline. For Aline—she, too, had her vocation in life, just as much as I had mine. [His voice quivers.] But her vocation has had to be stunted, and crushed, and shattered—in order that mine might force its way to—to a sort of great victory. For you must know that Aline—she, too, had a talent for building.
Hilda.
She! For building?
