read them. I wanted to test myself,--you know I like to get to the
very heart of things. Well, I read letter after letter. It is a
remarkable power that is given to a trivial matter. If I had not
read the letters, I might still have felt unhappy, but I read and
read with ever increasing calmness. I don't believe my feelings. I
go walking, searching for all the places where the earth must be
scorched with burning pleasures, in order to know whether they
enkindle memories so sacred that they can again inflame me.
Everything, everything, is extinguished. What is the matter,
little Hadda? Does everything leave you cold? Is this death
perhaps? And a mixed feeling of joy and pain seizes me, for this
came so unexpected--it came so unexpected--it came so unexpected--

INGOLF. What is the matter, Hrafnhild? Are you ill? You are so
excited. Why are you so eager to tell me all this?

HADDA PADDA. Because I don't want you to think I am making any
sacrifice. You think so, but I am not.

INGOLF. I understand.

HADDA PADDA. No, you don't understand. There was still one place
where I was afraid to go, because it meant more to me than any
other. I grasped my heart with fear, and there I seemed to find
the place. It was the Angelica Gorge,--where you had put your life
in my hands. I was afraid that if I went there, I would instantly
lose the peace of mind I had gained. But if I could not bear that,
then this peace was nothing but an illusion. I wanted to be
sincere with myself--so I went up there last night.