The “doll’s house” in which a middle-class Norwegian wife lives a prosperous middle-class life – the life that all women of her time and station are supposed to want, aspire toward, and be content with – is broken up and torn down in Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen’s 1879 play Et dukkehjem (A Doll’s House). This play – one of the most widely performed plays ever written – occasioned great controversy from the time of its first performance in Copenhagen; and while Ibsen claimed that he had no intention of writing a feminist play, its meditations on female empowerment and women’s self-actualization are just as relevant in the #MeToo era as they were in a time when women in Norway could not even vote (women’s right to vote was not recognized in Norway until 1913).
Ibsen, born in the Telemark region of Norway in 1828, underwent many times of change on his way to being the second-most performed playwright in the world after Shakespeare. While some of his earlier plays, like The Vikings at Helgoland (1858) or Peer Gynt (1867), engaged themes of classical Scandinavian history or incorporated fantastic elements, he gained his greatest fame by writing uncompromisingly realistic plays set in the middle-class, “respectable” Norway of his own time. Fearlessly, Ibsen took on subject matter that a lot of “respectable” people did not want to hear about. And perhaps part of why A Doll’s House caused such controversy, and struck such a chord, was that it expressed difficult truths about the times in which it was written.
It is Christmastime in an unnamed Norwegian town, and on the surface all is calm, all is bright, in the Helmer household. Torvald Helmer, a bank manager, is receiving a raise, and Nora exults at knowing of the good money that Helmer will be making; but Helmer pours cold water on Nora’s jubilation by reminding her that his new salary will begin “after the New Year”, and adds that “it will be a whole quarter before the salary is due.” For good measure, and to emphasize Nora’s dependence on him, Helmer further says that “Suppose, now, that I borrowed fifty pounds today, and you spent it all in the Christmas week, and then on New Year’s Eve a slate fell on my head and killed me…” Here, as throughout the play, New Year’s Eve represents the possibility, and the menace, of one’s life moving from one state to another.
Helmer is in the habit of delivering sententious little lectures to Nora, as when he tells her about his principles of “No debt, no borrowing. There can be no freedom or beauty about a home life that depends on borrowing and debt.” He adds, seeing Nora’s response to his declaration of principles, that “my little skylark must not droop her wings. What is this! Is my little squirrel out of temper?” Helmer treats Nora like a child, and speaks to her as if she were a child, before giving her money – an act that reminds Nora, and the reader, of Nora’s dependence on Helmer. And then there’s the way he regularly gets after Nora about whether she has “indulged” in sweets. Is he worried about prospective dental bills? Or does he fear that Nora might put on weight and become less sexually attractive to him? Either way, his behaviour toward her is appalling.
Nora is visited by her widowed friend, Mrs. Christine Linde. As Mrs. Linde expresses her sense that Nora has been sheltered from the sort of serious life realities that Mrs. Linde has had to face, Nora expresses a degree of resentment: “You are just like all the others. They all think that I am incapable of anything really serious”.
Nora reveals to Mrs. Linde that, when she and Helmer made a trip to Italy for the recovery of Helmer’s health, Nora did not – as Mrs. Linde and others had thought – get the money from her father. Nora tells Mrs. Linde, rather, that she had suggested that Helmer take out a loan to finance the trip; in response, as Nora reports, Helmer “said I was thoughtless, and that it was his duty as my husband not to indulge me in my whims and caprices – as I believe he called them.” Therefore, Nora arranged for a loan for the trip on her own – and has never told Helmer about it. She rationalizes that it was right for her to do so, because of “how painful and humiliating it would be for Helmer, with his manly independence, to know that he owed me anything! It would upset our mutual relations altogether; our beautiful happy home would no longer be what it is now.” Nora has been repaying the loan by taking little bits and pieces out of the allowance that Helmer gives her.
Mrs. Linde, it turns out, has come to the city because her late husband left her nothing; she hopes to secure a position at Helmer’s bank. Nora engages to help Mrs. Linde with this endeavour. But it turns out that Mrs. Linde’s gaining of the position will cause a bank employee, Krogstad, to lose his position – and Krogstad knows of the ethical shortcuts that Nora took in order to secure the funds needed for the trip from Norway to Italy. Krogstad, who was guilty of his own ethical shortcomings in the past, and sees that he may lose his position at the bank so that Mrs. Linde can gain one, tells Nora that “You will be so kind as to see that I am allowed to keep my subordinate position in the Bank”, and adds that “it is Christmas Eve. It will depend on yourself what sort of a Christmas you will spend.” Krogstad threatens to reveal to Helmer the secret of how Nora obtained the funds for the Helmers’ trip to Italy.
Krogstad is, for me, one of the most interesting characters in A Doll’s House. He is an antagonist, but one whose motivations are believable. Because of an indiscretion from his past, his options have always been limited; and he is a father, with sons who are coming into manhood, and he is determined to provide for them. Ibsen’s realist ethic, in which all characters have both virtues and flaws, along with understandable motivations, is very much on display here.
Nora’s fear of exposure by Krogstad casts a shadow over the Christmastime celebrations that are central to the play. Her attempts to persuade Helmer not to dismiss Krogstad only provoke him to make the dismissal official and immediate. The theme of the past having a corrosive influence on the present is reinforced through the character of Doctor Rank, a man who suffers (it is strongly implied) from a congenital case of venereal disease, passed on to him at his birth by his philandering father.
Doctor Rank tells Nora that “I am the most wretched of my patients, Mrs. Helmer. Lately I have been taking stock of my internal economy. Bankrupt! Probably within a month I shall lie rotting in the church-yard” (p. 108). He adds that “Helmer’s refined nature gives him an unconquerable disgust of everything that is ugly; I won’t have him in my sick-room” (p. 108). Here, as elsewhere, Ibsen scatters clues that alpha-male Helmer is not nearly so strong as he might want all the people around him – and particularly Nora – to think.
For a time, it seems that Nora may ask Doctor Rank for the money to pay off Krogstad, as demonstrated in an oddly flirtatious little conversation that the two. But the conversation takes an unproductive turn, and the reader or playgoer sees what Nora has come to understand: that she cannot look to a man, any man, to extricate her from her dilemma. She is going to have to solve this problem on her own.
The final scenes of A Doll’s House reveals a number of surprises. It turns out that Nils Krogstad and Christine Linde have a history together; Krogstad states bitterly that Christine broke off their prior romantic relationship as an example of how “a heartless woman jilts a man when a more lucrative chance comes up”, but Christine asks Krogstad to understand that “I had a helpless mother and two little brothers. We couldn’t wait for you, Nils; your prospects seemed hopeless then” (pp. 151-52). In the world of this play, a woman has little social capital aside from the ability to offer herself in marriage to a financially stable man.
Krogstad has already written a letter telling Helmer how Nora got the money for the trip by unethical and even illegal means, and has placed it in the Helmer family mailbox (to which only Helmer has the key). Much suspense and situational irony are generated by Nora’s increasingly frantic efforts to delay Helmer’s opening of the mailbox and reading of Krogstad’s letter.
Inevitably, of course, Helmer does open the mailbox and read Krogstad's letter; and when he does so, his denunciation of Nora is bitter and personal. He laments that “I must sink to such miserable depths because of a thoughtless woman!” (p. 185), and makes clear that he intends to reduce Nora to a state of virtual house arrest:
"And as for you and me, it must appear as if everything between us were as before – but naturally only in the eyes of the world. You will still remain in my house; that is a matter of course. But I shall not allow you to bring up the children; I dare not trust them to you. To think that I should be obliged to say so to one whom I have loved so dearly, and whom I still – No, that is all over. From this moment, happiness is not the question; all that concerns us is to save the remains, the fragments, the appearance…" (p. 187)
A reprieve of the ruin that Helmer saw before him causes him to call out, “Nora, I am saved!” – not we, but I. But then we see a new Nora, speaking to her husband in new tones of seriousness and saying, “We have been married now eight years. Does it not occur to you that this is the first time we two, you and I, husband and wife, have had a serious conversation?” (p. 193)
It is a powerful moment, an emotional and relational settling of accounts. When Helmer protests that he loves Nora, she replies that “You have never loved me. You have only thought it pleasant to be in love with me” (p. 195). She looks back at her upbringing, at her father who “called me his doll-child, and he played with me just as I used to play with my dolls”, and suggests that Helmer, too, has regarded and treated her as an object, a plaything, not a person:
"I mean that I was simply transferred from papa’s hands into yours. You arranged everything according to your own taste, and so I got the same tastes as you – or else I pretended to, I am really not quite sure which – I think sometimes the one and sometimes the other. When I look back on it, it seems to me as if I had been living here like a poor woman – just from hand to mouth. I have existed merely to perform tricks for you, Torvald. But you would have it so. You and papa have committed a great sin against me. It is your fault that I have made nothing of my life." (p. 196)
Here, Ibsen brings up a possibility that scandalized many theatregoers of conservative, proper 19th-century Norway – that Nora may leave Helmer and her children. “For a woman to leave her children?” one can hear some oh-so-offended citizens of Oslo saying. “It simply isn’t done!” But Ibsen was dedicated to his realist aesthetic – to using the medium of drama to show how, in real life, the things that “simply aren’t done!” in fact are done, all the time.
One line I think might stand out in particular, for many women viewers or readers of the play, comes when Helmer, trying to rescue the tatters of his marriage, protests that he would bear sorrow or want for Nora, and then adds, “But no man would sacrifice his honour for the one he loves.” Nora’s simple, eloquent reply cannot be contradicted or gainsaid: “It is a thing hundreds of thousands of women have done” (p. 207).
I re-read A Doll’s House on a visit to Oslo. I saw the statue of Ibsen outside the city’s National Theatre where many of his plays had their premiere. By happy coincidence, one of the Norwegian television networks happened to be showing the 1973 film version with Jane Fonda as Nora, David Warner as Helmer, Trevor Howard as Dr. Rank, and Edward Fox as Krogstad. To read and see A Doll’s House while sojourning in Ibsen’s cold northern homeland was a great experience. This is truly one of the most important plays ever written.