Blog nr. 1 - First Writer´s Workshop at Fagerstrand. August 2023

Workshop nr 1: Siri´s cabin at Fagerstrand, August 2023

Participants, the writers: Ole Christian Solbakken, Susanne Skogstad, Siri Senje

The idea for this workshop was a soft start and free roaming about in our raw material as well as its context.

(see Workshop 1 powerpoint for schedule). We had an agenda, but we allowed ourselves to keep veering away from it. This is the way of writers, people of many words, and the way of the imagination as it approaches the new arena on which it will engage and unfold.

We had decided not to start working on anything concrete like a storyline or synopsis, too early. We were to allow for a period of creative chaos. But we are dramatists. We cannot resist seeing things in scenes, and scenes tend to spring from each other and quickly begin to link together and become stories.

Note to self: As we roam about, we - the dramatists - are not, as one would imagine, hearing things in words/dialogue, rather, we are seeing things in visual/physical settings and situational contexts. In these, action takes place, usually action revealing something beneath, an inner, emotional timbre, a symbolic charge, a metaphor. Something - a something that cannot be expressed in words alone -  is evoked through the words describing a scene. This is the nature of our multilayered craft. The dramatist´s tools are images, situations, actions, pauses, vibes, tone, style, subtextual content, and more. Words, in the form of dialogue, of course, also come into play, but they often come late, or last.

Ole Christian now envisions the scene in which Henrik (we are on first name terms now), after the success of Brand and the advent of his new, steady income, goes to a professional barber in Rome, for the first time in a long time. Changes his style. Cleans up. No longer the bohemian. We all love this scene in the Roman barbershop.

Day 1: Context and main character

Discussion themes, context: 

• The biographical drama, our research context

• Historian Rosenstone´s concept of “True and false invention”  in cinematic versions of history

• Oppenheimer: What we call "the Einstein moment" at the beginning and end og the movie. A moment that did not take place "in real life", but a moment of true invention! Why? Can we articulate that?

Discussion themes, raw material:

What is “the original impulse”, the electrical current, in this material for us?

Suggestions:

The idea of “having a sense of one´s own genius”. The poem he wrote about becoming "an immortal man" and the line written down from the walk with sister Hedvig in 1850:

"Jeg vil nå opp til det høyeste i storhet og klarhet. Og så vil jeg dø." (I want to reach the highest point of greatness and clarity. Then I want to die.")

The insistence on not giving up, even 15 years after his debut as a dramatist, when he has still not had a true breakthrough.

Crazy genius man never gives up, even in the face of overwhelming and never ending obstacles, simply because he senses he does indeed have genius.

Is it possible to have a “merverdskompleks” – "superiority complex" – in spite of intense insecurity, in spite of all trials and setbacks? A vague sense  of intellectual superiority combined with introversion and lack of social competence.

His friend and rival Bjørnson applauded Henrik Ibsen´s ability to THINK.  "Ibsen is the best as THINKER", he wrote to Clemens Petersen. 

The question of why Ibsen chose the theatre  - of all literary genres/platforms - as his arena comes up?

• The novel was hardly established yet. First novel in Norwegian 1854 (Camilla Collett).

• His did write verse, but gave it up ca 1870, after the published collection.

Renowned biographer Michael Meyer: "A mere coincidence that he ended in the theatre." (the name of the coincidence, according to Meyer, was Ole Bull)!

Ibsen expert academic Narve Fulsås: "The theatre provided the right circumstances for public expression at the time." (they also write that Ibsen left the theatre and became a writer of books, first and foremost. Books = income). The only public arena?

Hmmm. What were his actual choices? 

Siri notes to this discourse, in which biographer and Ibsen experts insist that Ibsen chose the theatre "by accident" or due to external circumstances only: 

THIS IS NOT TRUE. Rahter, it is an example of how biographers  also (by necessity) interpret and filter historical information.Henrik Ibsen began writing drama in Grimstad at the age of 20. I venture that this was not a coincidence. Grimstad had no stage, no context in which he could have hoped to have his dramatic text realized. Artistic talent and expression are rarely that random. We also know that Henrik had a small puppet theatre in the barn when he was a boy, made the dolls, and put on performances for a paying audience. It is known that he made his living mostly from book sales of his dramas, but the theatres at the time werre unreliable when it came to paying for rights - copyright lawas were not developed. Long after he left his practical theatre career, Ibsen staye involved in productions of this plays, wrote to directors about casting, and gave advice concerning acting style ("keep it natural" was his mantra). 

Conclusion: Henrik Ibsen was a man of the theatre, all his life (says Siri, a woman of the theatre). 

Siri: During all my 35 years experience of working with writers, I have observed that the "dramatic talent" is a specific one, not possessed by every good writer. 

Next: Our discussion about “who is my Ibsen”

Siri: The psychologist. How he probes the depths of our souls and hearts.

Susanne: The thinker, a dramatist of ideas, value conflicts. Expert in making ideas manifest themselves in stories.

Ole Christian: The social critic, attacking the bourgeoisie, conventions, establishment, and the Church.

A political writer? No, he absolutely refused to be. Don´t make me a spokesperson for women´s liberation. I am a portrait painter.

No party, no side in politics. Suzannah says he does not vote.

“Freedom of thought and speech are the only things I can take to the streets for.”

Also:

The expert dramaturg/technician: Doll´s house, Hedda Gabler, the amazing clockwork structures of the psychological-realistic plays

Ibsen in Egypt: Ole Christian is inspired by the story of Henrik Ibsen being the King´s representative at the opening of the Suez canal. How he walks away from the others, alone in the desert, always a man apart. A strong image. We check and this happened in 1869. It is a few years after the period we cover, after his success, which brought him such privileges as this. Can we imagine it as a “rammehistorie” – a framing story? Could it be our “Einstein moment”? Or an equivalent of the young, lonely man aboard the ship in the first Ibsen series?

Day 1, Second session

We now devote our time to CHARACTER. The plan is to discuss all the important ones, but we have not covered enough ground in our research yet, so concentrate on our main character, our man Henrik. 

We brush past Laurie Hutzlers character types, for the fun of it, for inspiration:

Laurie´  7 character types:

POWER OF

Conscience

Truth

Ambition

Love

Imagination

Reason

Will

Excitement

We conclude that Henrik Johan Ibsen comes closest to a “power of truth” character, but that there are also strong elements of “power of ambition.” There is evidence in poems and plays of an insistent search for an "existential truth". His concern with being "true to oneself", his sharp attacks on all forms of individual and societal hypocrisy, his relentless soulsearching after his characters´(and his own) true motives for their actions, his portraits of our illusions and self-deceptions, his invention of the concept of the "life-lie". His plays are full of lies that bring his characters into intense dilemmas. They meet terrible destinies because of their lies.

Now, we take off into the world of personality tests. We take it upon ourselves to answer the endless questionnaire on Henrik´s behalf.  It takes one hour to complete, we are exhausted by it.  The exercise of putting ourselves in his shoes and answering the multiple test questions as HIM, is quite fascinating. Ole tells us that the Oppenheimer script is written in first person.

We now have our reward:

Ibsen´s personality type is: TURBULENT ARCHITECT – one of the rarest personality types!

This result, and the description of the type, is so interesting and to the point that we begin to believe in personality tests then and there. Thus, I include here a short intro to Ibsen as  the personality type  "Turbulent Architect":

An Architect (INTJ) is a person with the Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, and Judging personality traits. These thoughtful tacticians love perfecting the details of life, applying creativity and rationality to everything they do. Their inner world is often a private, complex one.

“Thought constitutes the greatness of man. Man is a reed, the feeblest thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed.”

It can be lonely at the top. As one of the rarest personality types – and one of the most capable – Architects (INTJs) know this all too well. Rational and quick-witted, Architects pride themselves on their ability to think for themselves, not to mention their uncanny knack for seeing right through phoniness and hypocrisy. But because their minds are never at rest, Architects may struggle to find people who can keep up with their nonstop analysis of everything around them.

A Pioneering Spirit

Architects question everything. Many personality types trust the status quo, relying on conventional wisdom and other people’s expertise to guide their lives. But ever-skeptical Architects prefer to make their own discoveries. In their quest to find better ways of doing things, they aren’t afraid to break the rules or risk disapproval – in fact, they rather enjoy it.

But as anyone with this personality type would tell you, a new idea isn’t worth anything unless it actually works. Architects want to be successful, not just inventive. They bring a single-minded drive to their work, applying the full force of their insight, logic, and willpower. And heaven help anyone who tries to slow them down by enforcing pointless rules or offering poorly thought-out criticism.

Architects, independent to the core, want to shake off other people’s expectations and pursue their own ideas.

This personality type comes with a strong independent streak. Architects don’t mind acting alone, perhaps because they don’t like waiting around for others to catch up with them. They also generally prefer making decisions without asking for anyone else’s input. At times, this lone-wolf behavior can come across as insensitive, as it fails to take into consideration other people’s thoughts, desires, and plans. It would be a mistake, however, to view Architects as uncaring. Whatever the stereotypes about their stoic intellect, these personalities feel deeply. When things go wrong or when they hurt others, Architects are personally affected and spend much time and energy trying to figure out why things happened the way that 

they did. They may not always value emotion as a decision-making tool, but they are authentically human.

A Thirst for Knowledge 

Architects can be both the boldest of dreamers and the bitterest of pessimists. They believe that, through willpower and intelligence, they can achieve even the most challenging goals. But these personalities may be cynical about human nature more generally, assuming that most people are lazy, unimaginative, or simply doomed to mediocrity.

People with the Architect personality type derive much of their self-esteem from their knowledge and mental acuity. In school, they may have been called “bookworms” or “nerds.” But rather than taking these labels as insults, many Architects embrace them. They recognize their own ability to teach themselves about – and master – any topic that interests them, whether that’s coding or capoeira or classical music.

Architects don’t just learn new things for show – they genuinely enjoy expanding the limits of their knowledge.

Architects can be single-minded, with little patience for frivolity, distractions, or idle gossip. That said, they’re far from dull or humorless. Many Architects are known for their irreverent wit, and beneath their serious exteriors, they often have a sharp, delightfully sarcastic sense of humor.

Social Frustrations 

Architects aren’t known for being warm and fuzzy. They tend to prioritize rationality and success over politeness and pleasantries – in other words, they’d rather be right than popular. This may explain why so many fictional villains are modeled on this personality type. Because Architects value truth and depth, many common social practices – from small talk to white lies – may seem pointless or downright stupid to them. As a result, they may inadvertently come across as rude or even offensive when they’re only trying to be honest.

At times, Architects may wonder whether dealing with other people is even worth the frustration.

Wow. Our feeling is that all of this fits almost too well the character that we envision Henrik Ibsen to have been.

A sense of smugness, pleased with our experiment. We can take a break and enjoy the outdoors now.

We also discuss, a little, the colorful character of Susannah´s young stepmother Magdalene Thoresen. Susannah lost her biological mother, Sara Daae Thoresen,  when she was four years old. She dies in chldrbirth with her fifth child, leaving her husband, the minister Hans Conrad Thoresen, a widower (for the second time). Not long after, he married Magdalene, their Danish governess, who was 18 years younger than him. 

Susannah´s relationship with her strong, young stepmother appears to have been ambivalent, but she surely learned something from Magdalene, who was an ambitious writer, about the ways of modern womanhood. 

We also touch upon Susannah´s  childhood friend, later to become one of the couple´s closest friends in Rome, art historian Lorentz Dietrichson. He and his artist wife Mathilde, a painter, play a part in the Ibsens´  lives for a long time.

Also, Sigurd´s first private tutor (Rome, 1866) was a young German, Schneekloth, wrote dramatic and derogatory descriptions of the Ibsen family in his private diary, later published when his journal was published after his death. We plan to read Dietrichson´s memoirs (5 volumes...) and Siri orders Schneekloth´s diaries from Denmark on the spot.

Evening, Day 1:

Ole Christian has proposed that we read the relevant series of plays, written in "our" period og Ibsens´sW life, aloud together. We now begin our own series of Writing the Writer table reads, starting with Love´s Comedy -  Ibsen´s satirical verse play from 1862 (then 34 years of age and three years married), which is a high-spirited, comedic and philosophical play. The action takes place in a beautiful garden in Christiania (now Oslo) over two light, Nordic summer nights. 

It is challenging to read verse in old style "Danish-Norwegian", but we rather enjoy our time with Falck and Svanhild, the latter modeled on Suzannah. The reading takes three hours and two evenings. We now highlight  the value conflict between an artist´s calling and the everyday world of human interaction, family life, daily necessities, material demands and trivialities. How could true, pure love and ordinary, everyday married life possibly unite? Or poetry and family life? Or the clarity and idealism of the heights, to which Falck aspires, and the duties and responsibilities of life in the valley? 

That is a major theme for Henrik Ibsen in the period we are writing about.

Screenwriters at work, imagining.

Blog nr. 2. Copenhagen,November 2023

NORWEGIAN ORIGINAL TEXT:

Fantastisk fin og rørande rapport fra møtet med Iben!

Interessant debatt om rollen som protagonist vs main character. Som nevt i Little Miss Sunshine, og i f.eks The Graduate, fungerar jo hovudkarakterane som ein katalysator for endring hos andre, men forblir til dels statiske i sitt verdssyn sjølv. 

Ideen om Susanne som ein emosjonell inngang lyd betre og betre. Vi snakka jo sist om korleis Ibsens mål, draumar og driv er heilt, heilt eksepsjonelle. Korleis skal man få publikum til å forstå og identifisere seg med Herr Ibsen, dette uoppfylte geniet som skulle bli verdsberømt? Er vi ikkje, satt opp mot eit slikt menneske, skarve tilskodarar alle saman? Er det Susannes blikk på Henrik som er vårt felles blikk? 

Det finst mykje identifikasjon og emosjonelle innganger til Henrik med heile hans turbulente personlighet og hans vanskar i eiget familie- og sosiale liv. Men på eit plan føler eg at valget om å gå meir inn i Susannas perspektiv også er eit valg mellom å, til ein viss grad, opprettholde sfinxen Henrik Ibsen, eller ikkje. For eg kjenner også på, sjølv om eg kan kjenne igjen mykje av Ibsens driv, draumar og ideverden, at det finst eit hit men ikkje lenger, i min evne til å plassere meg inn i Henriks innerste som eg ikkje har klart å bryte gjennom enno. 

Alt godt,

S

But back to Trastevere. As we walk through the famous, picturesque, cobbled stone streets after dinner, I am hard pressed to be able to imagine Henrik Ibsen and Lorentz Dietrichson´s peaceful, idyllic night in their osteria by the flowing river of Tiber. We are queueing in the narrow streets, and ninety percent of our fellow queuers are under twenty-two and mildly intoxicated. What was once a workers´ living area and a favorite area for artists´ seeking an atmosphere of informality and freedom, as well as inexpensive food and drink, has become a hub for tourists seeking “authenticity” and a young, hipster crowd seeking all night partying possibilities. We have our dinner and update of the theatre world and our lives in front of the lovely basilica, while I silently thank another friend who told me to not even think of living in crowded, noisy Trastevere.

I swear to come back in the early morning to be able to get a sense of the Ibsens´ Trastevere of 160 years ago. After all, the narrow cobbled stone streets and a number of the old buildings are the same. The Tiber river has been dammed and cleaned up, of course. The romance of enjoying your foglietta under vineleaves  in the  river breeze is forever gone, except from my imagination.

One important goal of my trip had been to visit Genzano and Ariccia in the Albano mountains South of Rome. In the first, Ibsen spent the summer of 1864 with Lorentz Dietrichson and his family (before Susannahs arrival in Italy that autumn) also enjoying the company of the widow Lina Bruun and two of her grown children. The summer in Genzano was not fruitful for Ibsen where writing was concerned; possibly living in a room behind a local osteria was an obstacle.

The next year, 1865, after Susannah and Sigurd had arrived, the family chose a neighboring town, Ariccia, without the group of artists and drinking buddies. Here, Brand was almost completed during their two months stay. My hope is that these small towns had maintained more of their original atmosphere than the Roman neighborhoods. The villages of the Calle Albano were frequently among stops on the “Grand Tour” of Italy expected to be undertaken as an educational ritual by young men of the European bourgeoisie, especially the British, from the 18th century on. Thus, the area was well known and much talked about amongst travellers.

Neither Ariccia nor Genzano has a railroad station. I spend much time on TrenItalias webpages trying to figure out where the nearest station is and whether the distance to the two villages is walkable. Henrik, Sigurd and Susannah walked the paths in these mountains extensively (though not together) during the summer of 1865 and 1866. They found their way on foot between the towns. All three Ibsen family members were wanderers (like me); daily walks were a natural part of their everyday life. When Susannah reflects in a letter upon summers spent “in the country” she comments that the Italians have a completely different way of country summer living than the Scandinavians. The latter, being nature lovers and sunshine worshippers, engage in a great deal of walking and outdoor life. The native Italians stay put and spend a lot of daytime hours inside, finding the sun to be bothersome. The evenings are spent socializing and enjoying big meals with their families.

I determine that the nearest station is Albano Lazio, the distance to Ariccia from there seems to be only two kilometers. The railway line might have existed in 1865, since both Dietrichson and Ibsen report making short trips for errands in Rome during their stays in the Calle Albano villages. There is another station about 7 kilometers from Genzano; I book a ticket there but decide the walk will take two much of my available daylight hours on this excursion. My style of travel, avoiding both airplanes and cars, is as close to the 1860-ies customs as I can get. The distance between Ariccia and Genzano appears to be a walkable four kilometers.

I leave Roma Termini in the early morning, catching an 08.00 train to Albano Lazio. The ride is a most inspiring hour. The exquisite advantage of train travel, of course, is the visual pleasure of the shifting landscape outside the windows. I am lost in imaginings about the Scandinavian artists and their frequent visits to the campagna around Rome, outside the city walls, for walks and picnics. It is what we Northerners would call a “blidt” (friendly, smiling) landscape, soft with meadows and leafy trees, fertile, walkable and without hills or rocks. As the train, which is almost empty, plods on, we reach forests, still leafy and green in November. After forty-five minutes we are ascending into the Albano mountains. The Calle Albano area of Italy has been inhabited since ancient times, and there are multiple signs of Roman presence, such as the engineer´s wonder of the ancient, Appian way. 

I suddenly spot a lake on the train´s left side, deep down in the valley, and realize that we are approaching the famous village of Castel Gandolfo, the Pope´s summer residence for many years. Castel Gandolfo is also the location of the famous story in which Henrik and Lorentz once arrived riding on stubborn and ill-behaved mules to admire the Pope´s ritualistic, annual arrival) Castel Gandolfo houses his residence, Villa Barberini, which is quite the tourist attraction during the season. So is the beautiful lake Albano shining its deep blue eye from a volcanic crater.

My only fellow passengers get off here, presumably to admire the tourist attraction of the castle. A few minutes later I am in Albano Lazio, getting off the train as the only passenger in a deadly quiet little town. Optimistically, I begin to ask a few locals about the road route to Ariccia, only to have them stare at me like the crazy, careless person I am. I capitulate and consult the battery-hungry Google Maps. As I begin my hike, which inevitably leads me along asphalted roads rather than the Ibsens´ reported paths through lovely, green landscapes, I catch myself wondering how good the maps were back then.

As a writer and cinematic biographer, I observe that I am somewhat obsessed with doing things in the order of my characters themselves. Therefore, it irks me that the geographical and railroad circumstances force me to visit the village of Ariccia before that of Genzano di Roma, when Henrik Ibsen did this the opposite way. It is as if I want Genzano to leave its impressions on me before I let Ariccia do the same. However, all I can do is to change the order of the visits in this blog text, a consciously deceitful solution. So here is yet another sliver of proof that cinematic biographers are not to be trusted. We sculpt reality and truth in order to craft an engaging and unified tale.

Genzano di Roma

The walk to Genzano is beautiful, although - unlike the Ibsens -  I have to share the road with cars. After 45 minutes of hiking along a narrow road bordered by immense pine trees I arrive in Genzano di Roma. It is a golden, classic Italian small town, with antique origins, perched on the height above the volcanic crater that cradles Lago Nemi – the lake earlier named after the goddess Diana who reportedly adored roaming in the lush forests of the area. Strangely, the Roman emperor Caligula had two large, wooden ships built here in 1 century AD, later sunk in the deep lake. The ships, widely spoken of (and plundered) by local fishermen for years, were legendary and became “real” when recovered by Mussolini in the thirties.

Genzano still has its stunning lake view. During the time of the ancient Romans, the area around Genzano was used by wealthy Roman citizens for its clean air, uncontaminated water and cooler temperatures during the hot summer months.  Goethe and Byron both lived in Nemi and noted the reflection of the moon the centre of the lake during summer. This phenomenon is the source of the Roman name for the lake, Speculum Dianae – Mirror of Diana. 

But Genzano is no longer anything like the small village in which Henrik Ibsen, the Dietrichsons and the Bruuns spent their summer away from Rome in 1865. The town has multiplied several times in size and become swamped with traffic. It is clearly a tourist town, but the tourists have gone for the year, and a melancholy emptiness has settled. There are few people in the streets, but multiple cars. Since there is no information to be found on Ibsen´s address, other than the fact that his rented room was behind an osteria known for its good wine, I spend time walking about and photographing the central piazza with its obligatory fountain, which is sure to be older than 1865, and a few of the older buildings. My next goal is the Lago Nemi,  a favorite spot for Henrik Ibsen and Lorentz Dietrichson during their 1864 Genzano summer.

I am determined to experience the lake itself,  a cherished place for Lorentz and Henrik to walk in the afternoons, read in the grassy meadows or enjoy a foglietta of white wine in an osteria by the lakeside. This turns out to be more complicated than projected. When I ask people - such as the owner of the (quiet, almost empty) restaurant Bernoni in which I have lunch - for the path down, they give me strange looks and shrug. Lakeside walks seem to have gone entirely our of style. I finally set out on my own,  only to find the downhill path closed with a barrier on which is hung prohibition and danger signs - vietato accesso - access forbidden. What exactly is the danger here, I wonder, how bad can it really be? Henrik and Lorentz walked down here almost every evening, young, strong and unconcerned about the climb up again along the steep path of the volcanic crater. I take a quick look around to check whether I have witnesses -  and begin walking down the forbidden path. 

My adventure does not last long. As it turns out, present-day Genzano citizens have been using the slope down to Diana´s lovely mirror, not for walks, but as a garbage dump. The path is ill-maintained and sadly littered with plastics and other waste, making it next to impossible to conjure up the leisurely, pastoral summer walks of 1865. Between the path and the lake is a wild jungle of bushes and shrubs, impenetrable even for an intrepid, Norwegian hiker accustomed to walking through thick forest since childhood. As I make my humble retreat, I ponder Ibsen´s central idea of “waking the people and teaching them to think grandly”. Surely, at this sad sight he would have concluded that civilization and the human spirit does not seem to have progressed in modern times.

Back in the town, I google-map myself to another route down the crater, seductively named Via Diana. That approach turns out to be closed off as well. More determined than ever to reach the lake, I repeat my civil disobedience and begin a descent along the winding road, asphalted this time.  But alas, again, I have to give up my idea of resting and reading in Diana´s meadows, Henrik and Lorentz style. Again, the jungle between road and lake is impenetrable.  After a couple of kilometers (and concern about the way back uphill and the early twilight approaching), I resign myself to taking numerous photographs and make my way back.  The high points of my Genzano adventure have been the views of the lake and the juicy, grilled beef with rosemary of the Bernoni, the only open lakeside tavern. Its only guests are three local elderly gentlemen, who are eagerly catered to by the owner/waiter. They occupy one table each, staring at a televised football game. They also stare at the lone lady in hiking gear and backpack in an unashamedly curious, but friendly, manner. I sneak a photo of one of their tables when I discover that this is the only place I have visited where Italians still serve the local wine in fogliettas, like they did in Ibsen´s times.

Arricia - the village in which Brand was born

Ariccia was the Ibsens´ Calle Albano home for three months during the summer of of 1865. The summer of Brand. Painters and writers of the Grand Tour era travelling throughout Italy often visited Ariccia for its exceptional location, landscape views and architectural landmarks. 

I arrive in the small town on foot, having walked from the train station in Albano Lazio. On the way I pass ancient ruins that must have been visible also from the Ibsen´s walking tours. The impressive (and much painted/photographed) aqueduct is the stately entranceway to the little town.  It is reported from the summer of 1864 that Henrik and Lorentz, on their evening walks from Genzano to Ariccia, sometimes met the Pope himself, who was taking his evening walk from nearby Castel Gandolfo, in the opposite direction. When the locals encountered him on the majestic bridge of Ariccia, they fell to their knees. The two Norwegians are said to have merely bowed. 

The small, mediaeval town of Ariccia is one of  Calle Albano´s main landmarks, redesigned in the 1700s by Bernini, the ever-present sculptor and architect. The Palazzo di Chigi,  the Chiesa Santa Maria Assunta and the Piazza Corte are all thought out by this man, a master of townscapes. The Ibsens came to Ariccia without the usual, merry group of Scandinavian artists and writers from the Roman Circolo Scandinavo. I expect this was a plan. No repeat of the carefree summer feast of Genzano 1864. Susannah has imposed restrictions. Henrik has a tight schedule to keep, and there will be no lively nights in the local osterias. 

I am pleased to note that Ariccia has remained much the small town it once was. There is a modern centre, but I stay in the old town, soaking in the atmosphere. The central square with its majestic design and monumental buildings now has a main road with constant car traffic running right through it - the Italian way, indeed. But the Piazza Corte, with Bernini´s Chigi Palace on one side and Church of the Assumption on the other, remains as it was in 1865. Or, possibly not, having gained 160 years in age. The run-down buildings are probably far from the impressive structures Henrik, Susannah and Sigurd could observe from their residence in the Locanda Martorelli every day. Here, on the church steps, is where Henrik Ibsen sat every quiet evening, resting after a day of writing, possibly pondering the stately lines of the Chigi Palace and admiring the beautiful, rounded dome of the Chiesa. When Bernini designed it, he had recently restored the Pantheon and was inspired by its magnificent dome.  

To the South, the square is framed by a row of buildings, among them the now dilapidated Locanda Martorelli, the pensione where poets and artists, including the Ibsens, stayed. Here,  most of Brand was conceived and written. The museum the building contains is normally open once a week, but is now closed for the season. The old pensione itself is a wizened version of its former self, windows rotting, a pharmacy occupying its first floor. Hanging around the square i the morning chill are a number of town folk, meaning town men. They have the look of people who have little better to do, possibly they are out of work, and live lives as materially poor as the Ibsens´. During the Ariccia summer of 1865, Susannah wrote to her sister that their everyday life was "not just poor, but downright impoverished".  

At this time, Ibsen´s stipend had run out, and he had not completed a work or published anything for several years. A new work was underway. Tension was probably high. It was now or never.  The writer rose every day at four, had his morning tea, wrote for five hours while Sigurd and Susannah, exiled, took their daily walks. The monumental dramatic work Brand, desticned to change the familys life forever, was almost completed here, in the short time span of three months.

I spend the morning wandering  Ariccias ancient narrow streets, sitting on stone walls and benches, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere, admiring the wide views of the lush, surrounding landscape. Surely, one can find one´s writing flow in such a place. 

The old town is a cluster of buildings on a steep mountainside. The stunning view of the surrounding fields, gardens and hills is visible from every nook and corner.  The air is fresh. Yes, the town has probably seen better days, but its peace and visual attractions are intact. As is the scent of the local specialty, porchetta,  emanating from small holes-in-the-wall equipped with ovens, where this sumptuous rolls of pork filled with herbs and roasted to delectable crispness is prepared. In 1865, Ibsen had humbled himself by writing home, to Bjørnson and others, for more money.  The coffers are empty and there is no income in sight. I imagine SUsaannah picking wild berries on her mountain walks. A day´s ration for the family now consisted  - as mentioned - of bread, a little cheese, and half a foglietta of wine. During their summer of poverty,  they must have taken in that scent of meat every day, probably without ever tasting it. (I decide my writer´s empathy does not extend this far and that I will buy some porchetta on my way home this evening, given that the hole-in-the-wall next to Locanda is still open when I return from my walk to Genzano).

After exploring the Palace, I wish to enter the enormous Chigi Palace park, also known as Goddess Diana´s sacred forest. Henrik Ibsen was given the key to the gate and took frequent walks there. But alas, the park is cosed, for securirt reasons. I resolve to come back here and to attempt to attain, in writing, a special permission to enter, a bit like my hero must have done. After all, Italy adores its artists and writers, as long as they abide by ts bureaucratic idiosyncracies.

Before leaving Ariccia for Genzano, I sit for a while on Ibsen´s  favored church steps. Imagining. I look pensive enough for one of the locals to offer to take my photo. She gives it an arty diagonal, and looks smugly pleased with herself when she gives my mobile phone back.

I leave Ariccia for Genzano the only possible way, across the aquaduct on the other side. This is an ancient road, I imagine some of the all pine trees were here when the Ibsens took their walks here.  I intend to return to before darkness falls.

After my visit to Genzano, I return to Ariccia, my definitive favorite of the two Calle Albano towns. Soft twilight now lingers over the Piazza Corte, mildening the impression of the buildings´ decay and heightening the sense of Arriccia as a village where time has stood still and history whispers.  Light is switched on in multiple lanterns and traffic has abated. This is my time to complete my Calla Albano visit by doing what my writer hero so often did; enjoy a glass of the inexpensive, local white wine in the beautiful, peaceful square. A place to indulge in a little twilight dreaming. 

It is getting dark. Time to return and hope for a train back to Rome from the neighboring town of Albano Lazio. The porchetta man is still at work, as it turns out. I enter the hole-in-the-wall shop, after waiting in line, respectfully waiting for the last person to complete his shopping. The tiny place takes only one customer at a time. 

The friendly shopkeeper wields a huge knife and cuts me 300 grams of thin porchetta slices. I then spot a grand wheel of Pecorino cheese, made from sheep´s milk, which I cannot resist. This delicacy is so expensive outside Italy today that it is mostly to be dreamed of, even for a fortunate writer from the oil-rich North. 

And yes, it is beyond delicious, I find, when I test it on the (completely empty) train back. I pray that this delicacy was dirt cheap in the 1860ies and that it was a staple of the poverty-stricken Ibsen family´s daily diet. After all, they are known to have subsisted on bread and cheese. Sheep´s milk was not yet a rarity in those days.

I return to Rome enriched with a treasure chest of impressions.