Part 7
No, I mean worse than that. Of your own free will you will leave me—for you think it’s only here, with me, that you have nothing to live for. Is not that what is in your thoughts?
ALLMERS.
[_Looking steadfastly at her._] What if it were——?
[_A disturbance, and the noise of angry, quarrelling voices is heard from down below, in the distance. ALLMERS goes to the railing._
RITA.
What is that? [_With an outburst._] Oh, you’ll see, they have found him!
ALLMERS.
He will never be found.
RITA.
But what is it then?
ALLMERS.
[_Coming forward._] Only fighting—as usual.
RITA.
Down on the beach?
ALLMERS.
Yes. The whole village down there ought to be swept away. Now the men have come home—drunk, as they always are. They are beating the children—do you hear the boys crying! The women are shrieking for help for them——
RITA.
Should we not get some one to go down and help them?
ALLMERS.
[_Harshly and angrily._] Help them, who did not help Eyolf! Let them go—as they let Eyolf go.
RITA.
Oh, you must not talk like that, Alfred! Nor think like that!
ALLMERS.
I cannot think otherwise. All the old hovels ought to be torn down.
RITA.
And then what is to become of all the poor people?
ALLMERS.
They must go somewhere else.
RITA.
And the children, too?
ALLMERS.
Does it make much difference where they go to the dogs?
RITA.
[_Quietly and reproachfully._] You are forcing yourself into this harshness, Alfred.
ALLMERS.
[_Vehemently._] I have a right to be harsh now! It is my duty.
RITA.
Your duty?
ALLMERS.
My duty to Eyolf. He must not lie unavenged. Once for all, Rita—it is as I tell you! Think it over! Have the whole place down there razed to the ground—when I am gone.
RITA.
[_Looks intently at him._] When you are gone?
ALLMERS.
Yes. For that will at least give you something to fill your life with—and something you must have.
RITA.
[_Firmly and decidedly._] There you are right—I must. But can you guess what I will set about—when you are gone?
ALLMERS.
Well, what?
RITA.
[_Slowly and with resolution._] As soon as you are gone from me, I will go down to the beach, and bring all the poor neglected children home with me. All the mischievous boys——
ALLMERS.
What will you do with them here?
RITA.
I will take them to my heart.
ALLMERS.
You!
RITA.
Yes, I will. From the day you leave me, they shall all be here, all of them, as if they were mine.
ALLMERS.
[_Shocked._] In our little Eyolf’s place!
RITA.
Yes, in our little Eyolf’s place. They shall live in Eyolf’s rooms. They shall read his books. They shall play with his toys. They shall take it in turns to sit in his chair at table.
ALLMERS.
But this is sheer madness in you! I do not know a creature in the world that is less fitted than you for anything of that sort.
RITA.
Then I shall have to educate myself for it; to train myself; to discipline myself.
ALLMERS.
If you are really in earnest about this—about all you say—then there must indeed be a change in you.
RITA.
Yes, there is, Alfred—and for that I have you to thank. You have made an empty place within me; and I must try to fill it up with something—with something that is a little like love.
ALLMERS.
[_Stands for a moment lost in thought; then looks at her._] The truth is, we have not done much for the poor people down there.
RITA.
We have done nothing for them.
ALLMERS.
Scarcely even thought of them.
RITA.
Never thought of them in sympathy.
ALLMERS.
We, who had "the gold, and the green forests"——
RITA.
Our hands were closed to them. And our hearts too.
ALLMERS.
[_Nods._] Then it was perhaps natural enough, after all, that they should not risk their lives to save little Eyolf.
RITA.
[_Softly._] Think, Alfred! Are you so certain that—that we would have risked ours?
ALLMERS.
[_With an uneasy gesture of repulsion._] You must never doubt that.
RITA.
Oh, we are children of earth.
ALLMERS.
What do you really think you can do with all these neglected children?
RITA.
I suppose I must try if I cannot lighten and—and ennoble their lot in life.
ALLMERS.
If you can do that—then Eyolf was not born in vain.
RITA.
Nor taken from us in vain, either.
ALLMERS.
[_Looking steadfastly at her._] Be quite clear about _one_ thing, Rita—it is not love that is driving you to this.
RITA.
No, it is not—at any rate, not yet.
ALLMERS.
Well, then what is it?
RITA.
[_Half-evasively._] You have so often talked to Asta of human responsibility——
ALLMERS.
Of the book that you hated.
RITA.
I hate that book still. But I used to sit and listen to what you told her. And now I will try to continue it—in my own way.
ALLMERS.
[_Shaking his head._] It is not for the sake of that unfinished book——
RITA.
No, I have another reason as well.
ALLMERS.
What is that?
RITA.
[_Softly, with a melancholy smile._] I want to make my peace with the great, open eyes, you see.
ALLMERS.
[_Struck, fixing his eyes upon her._] Perhaps, I could join you in that? And help you, Rita?
RITA.
Would you?
ALLMERS.
Yes—if I were only sure I could.
RITA.
[_Hesitatingly._] But then you would have to remain here.
ALLMERS.
[_Softly._] Let us try if it could not be so.
RITA.
[_Almost inaudibly._] Yes, let us, Alfred.
[_Both are silent. Then ALLMERS goes up to the flagstaff and hoists the flag to the top. RITA stands beside the summer-house and looks at him in silence._
ALLMERS.
[_Coming forward again._] We have a heavy day of work before us, Rita.
RITA.
You will see—that now and then a Sabbath peace will descend on us.
ALLMERS.
[_Quietly, with emotion._] Then, perhaps, we shall know that the spirits are with us.
RITA.
[_Whispering._] The spirits?
ALLMERS.
[_As before._] Yes, they will perhaps be around us—those whom we have lost.
RITA.
[_Nods slowly._] Our little Eyolf. And your big Eyolf, too.
ALLMERS.
[_Gazing straight before him._] Now and then, perhaps, we may still—on the way through life—have a little, passing glimpse of them.
RITA.
Where shall we look for them, Alfred?
ALLMERS.
[_Fixing his eyes upon her._] Upwards.
RITA.
[_Nods in approval._] Yes, yes—upwards.
ALLMERS.
Upwards—towards the peaks. Towards the stars. And towards the great silence.
RITA.
[_Giving him her hand._] Thanks!
JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN
(1896)
PERSONS.
JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN, _formerly Managing Director of a Bank_. MRS. GUNHILD BORKMAN, _his wife_. ERHART BORKMAN, _their son, a student_. MISS ELLA RENTHEIM, _Mrs. Borkman’s twin sister_. MRS. FANNY WILTON. VILHELM FOLDAL, _subordinate clerk in a Government office_. FRIDA FOLDAL, _his daughter_. MRS. BORKMAN’S MAID.
_The action passes one winter evening, at the Manor-house of the Rentheim family, in the neighbourhood of Christiania._
JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN
PLAY IN FOUR ACTS
ACT FIRST
_MRS. BORKMAN’S drawing-room, furnished with old-fashioned, faded splendour. At the back, an open sliding-door leads into a garden-room, with windows and a glass door. Through it a view over the garden; twilight with driving snow. On the right, a door leading from the hall. Further forward, a large old-fashioned iron stove, with the fire lighted. On the left, towards the back, a single smaller door. In front, on the same side, a window, covered with thick curtains. Between the window and the door a horsehair sofa, with a table in front of it covered with a cloth. On the table, a lighted lamp with a shade. Beside the stove a high-backed armchair._
_MRS. GUNHILD BORKMAN sits on the sofa, crocheting. She is an elderly lady, of cold, distinguished appearance, with stiff carriage and immobile features. Her abundant hair is very grey. Delicate transparent hands. Dressed in a gown of heavy dark silk, which has originally been handsome, but is now somewhat worn and shabby. A woollen shawl over her shoulders._
_She sits for a time erect and immovable at her crochet. Then the bells of a passing sledge are heard._
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Listens; her eyes sparkle with gladness and she involuntarily whispers._] Erhart! At last!
[_She rises and draws the curtain a little aside to look out. Appears disappointed, and sits down to her work again, on the sofa. Presently THE MAID enters from the hall with a visiting card on a small tray._
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Quickly._] Has Mr. Erhart come after all?
THE MAID.
No, ma’am. But there’s a lady——
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Laying aside her crochet._] Oh, Mrs. Wilton, I suppose——
THE MAID.
[_Approaching._] No, it’s a strange lady——
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Taking the card._] Let me see——[_Reads it; rises hastily and looks intently at the girl._] Are you sure this is for me?
THE MAID.
Yes, I understand it was for you, ma’m.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Did she say she wanted to see Mrs. Borkman?
THE MAID.
Yes, she did.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Shortly, resolutely._] Good. Then say I am at home.
[_THE MAID opens the door for the strange lady and goes out._ Miss _ELLA RENTHEIM enters. She resembles her sister; but her face has rather a suffering than a hard expression. It still shows signs of great beauty, combined with strong character. She has a great deal of hair, which is drawn back from the forehead in natural ripples, and is snow-white. She is dressed in black velvet, with a hat and a fur-lined cloak of the same material._
[_The two sisters stand silent for a time, and look searchingly at each other. Each is evidently waiting for the other to speak first._
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Who has remained near the door._] You are surprised to see me, Gunhild.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Standing erect and immovable between the sofa and the table, resting her finger-tips upon the cloth._] Have you not made a mistake? The bailiff lives in the side wing, you know.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
It is not the bailiff I want to see to-day.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Is it me you want, then?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes. I have a few words to say to you.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Coming forward into the middle of the room._] Well—then sit down.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Thank you. I can quite well stand for the present.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Just as you please. But at least loosen your cloak.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Unbuttoning her cloak._] Yes, it is very warm here.
MRS. BORKMAN.
I am always cold.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Stands looking at her for a time with her arms resting on the back of the armchair._] Well, Gunhild, it is nearly eight years now since we saw each other last.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Coldly._] Since last we spoke to each other at any rate.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
True, since we spoke to each other. I daresay you have seen me now and again—when I came on my yearly visit to the bailiff.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Once or twice, I have.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I have caught one or two glimpses of you, too—there, at the window.
MRS. BORKMAN.
You must have seen me through the curtains then. You have good eyes. [_Harshly and cuttingly._] But the last time we _spoke_ to each other—it was here in this room——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Trying to stop her._] Yes, yes; I know, Gunhild!
MRS. BORKMAN.
—the week before he—before he was let out.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Moving towards the back._] Oh, don’t speak about that.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Firmly, but in a low voice._] It was the week before he—was set at liberty.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Coming down._] Oh yes, yes, yes! I shall never forget that time! But it is too terrible to think of! Only to recall it for a moment—oh!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Gloomily._] And yet one’s thoughts can never get away from it! [_Vehemently; clenching her hands together._] No, I can’t understand it! I never shall! I can’t understand how such a thing—how anything so horrible can come upon one single family! And then—that it should be _our_ family! So old a family as ours! Think of its choosing us out!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Oh, Gunhild—there were many, many families besides ours that _that_ blow fell upon.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Oh yes; but those others don’t trouble me very much. For in their case it was only a matter of a little money—or some papers. But for us——! For me! And then for Erhart! My little boy—as he then was! [_In rising excitement._] The shame that fell upon us two innocent ones! The dishonour! The hateful, terrible dishonour! And then the utter ruin too!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Cautiously._] Tell me, Gunhild, how does he bear it?
MRS. BORKMAN.
Erhart, do you mean?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
No—he himself. How does he bear it?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Scornfully._] Do you think I ever ask about _that_?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Ask? Surely you do not require to ask——
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Looks at her in surprise._] You don’t suppose I ever have anything to do with him? That I ever meet him? That I see anything of him?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Not even that!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_As before._] The man who was in gaol, in gaol for five years! [_Covers her face with her_ _hands._] Oh, the crushing shame of it! [_With increased vehemence._] And then to think of all that the name of John Gabriel Borkman used to mean! No, no, no—I can never see him again! Never!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Looks at her for a while._] You have a hard heart, Gunhild.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Towards _him_, yes.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
After all, he is your husband.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Did he not say in court that it was I who began his ruin? That I spent money so recklessly?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Tentatively._] But is there not some truth in that?
MRS. BORKMAN.
Why, it was he himself that made me do it! He insisted on our living in such an absurdly lavish style——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, I know. But that is just where you should have restrained him; and apparently you didn’t.
MRS. BORKMAN.
How was I to know that it was not his own money he gave me to squander? And that he himself used to squander, too—ten times more than I did!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Quietly._] Well, I daresay his position forced him to do that—to some extent at any rate.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Scornfully._] Yes, it was always the same story—we were to “cut a figure.” And he did “cut a figure” to some purpose! He used to drive about with a four-in-hand as if he were a king. And he had people bowing and scraping to him just as to a king. [_With a laugh._] And they always called him by his Christian names—all the country over—as if he had been the king himself. “John Gabriel,” “John Gabriel.” Every one knew what a great man “John Gabriel” was!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Warmly and emphatically._] He was a great man then.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes, to all appearance. But he never breathed a single word to me as to his real position—never gave a hint as to where he got his means from.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
No, no; and other people did not dream of it either.
MRS. BORKMAN.
I don’t care about the other people. But it was his duty to tell me the truth. And that he never did! He kept on lying to me—lying abominably——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Interrupting._] Surely not, Gunhild. He kept things back perhaps, but I am sure he did not lie.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Well, well; call it what you please; it makes no difference. And then it all fell to pieces—the whole thing.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_To herself._] Yes, everything fell to pieces—for him—and for others.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Drawing herself up menacingly._] But I tell you this, Ella, I do not give in yet! I shall redeem myself yet—you may make up your mind to that!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Eagerly._] Redeem yourself! What do you mean by that?
MRS. BORKMAN.
Redeem my name, and honour, and fortune! Redeem my ruined life—that is what I mean! I have some one in reserve, let me tell you—one who will wash away every stain that _he_ has left.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Gunhild! Gunhild!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With rising excitement._] There is an avenger living, I tell you! One who will make up to me for all his father’s sins!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Erhart you mean.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes, Erhart, my own boy! He will redeem the family, the house, the name. All that can be redeemed.—And perhaps more besides.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
And how do you think that is to be done?
MRS. BORKMAN.
It must be done as best it can; I don’t know how. But I know that it must and shall be done. [_Looks searchingly at her._] Come now, Ella; isn’t that really what you have had in mind too, ever since he was a child?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
No, I can’t exactly say that.
MRS. BORKMAN.
No? Then why did you take charge of him when the storm broke upon—upon this house?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
You could not look after him yourself at that time, Gunhild.
MRS. BORKMAN.
No, no, I could not. And his father—he had a valid enough excuse—while he was there—in safe keeping——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Indignant._] Oh, how can you say such things!—You!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With a venomous expression._] And how could you make up your mind to take charge of the child of a—a John Gabriel! Just as if he had been your own? To take the child away from me—home with you—and keep him there year after year, until the boy was nearly grown up. [_Looking suspiciously at her._] What was your real reason, Ella? Why did you keep him with you?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I came to love him so dearly——
MRS. BORKMAN.
More than I—his mother?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Evasively._] I don’t know about that. And then, you know, Erhart was rather delicate as a child——
MRS. BORKMAN.
Erhart—delicate!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, I thought so—at that time at any rate. And you know the air of the west coast is so much milder than here.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Smiling bitterly._] H’m—is it indeed? [_Breaking off._] Yes, it is true you have done a great deal for Erhart. [_With a change of tone._] Well, of course, you could afford it. [_Smiling._] You were so lucky, Ella; you managed to save all your money.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Hurt._] I did not _manage_ anything about it, I assure you. I had no idea—until long, long afterwards—that the securities belonging to me—that they had been left untouched.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Well, well; I don’t understand anything about these things! I only say you were lucky. [_Looking inquiringly at her._] But when you, of your own accord, undertook to educate Erhart for me—what was your motive in that?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Looking at her._] My motive?
MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes, some motive you must have had. What did you want to do with him? To make of him, I mean?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Slowly._] I wanted to smooth the way for Erhart to happiness in life.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Contemptuously._] Pooh—people situated as we are have something else than happiness to think of.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
What, then?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Looking steadily and earnestly at her._] Erhart has in the first place to make so brilliant a position for himself, that no trace shall be left of the shadow his father has cast upon my name—and my son’s.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Searchingly._] Tell me, Gunhild, is _this_ what Erhart himself demands of his life?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Slightly taken aback._] Yes, I should hope so!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Is it not rather what _you_ demand of him?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Curtly._] Erhart and I always make the same demands upon ourselves.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Sadly and slowly._] You are so very certain of your boy, then, Gunhild?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With, veiled triumph._] Yes, that I am—thank Heaven. You may be sure of that!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Then I should think in reality you must be happy after all; in spite of all the rest.
MRS. BORKMAN.
So I am—so far as that goes. But then, every moment, all the rest comes rushing in upon me like a storm.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_With a change of tone._] Tell me—you may as well tell me at once—for that is really what I have come for——
MRS. BORKMAN.
What?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Something I felt I must talk to you about.—Tell me—Erhart does not live out here with with—you others?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Harshly._] Erhart _cannot_ live out here with me. He has to live in town——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
So he wrote to me.
MRS. BORKMAN.
He must, for the sake of his studies. But he comes out to me for a little while every evening.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Well, may I see him then? May I speak to him at once?
MRS. BORKMAN.
He has not come yet; but I expect him every moment.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Why, Gunhild, surely he _must_ have come. I can hear his footsteps overhead.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With a rapid upward glance._] Up in the long gallery?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes. I have heard him walking up and down there ever since I came.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Looking away from her._] That is not Erhart, Ella.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Surprised._] Not Erhart? [_Divining._] Who is it then?
MRS. BORKMAN.
It is _he_.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Softly, with suppressed pain._] Borkman? John Gabriel Borkman?
MRS. BORKMAN.
He walks up and down like that—backwards and forwards—from morning to night—day out and day in.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I have heard something of this——
MRS. BORKMAN.
I daresay. People find plenty to say about us, no doubt.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Erhart has spoken of it in his letters. He said that his father generally remained by himself—up there—and you alone down here.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes; that is how it has been, Ella, ever since they let him out, and sent him home to me. All these long eight years.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I never believed it could really be so. It seemed impossible!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Nods._] It is so; and it can never be otherwise.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Looking at her._] This must be a terrible life, Gunhild.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Worse than terrible—almost unendurable.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, it must be.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Always to hear his footsteps up there—from early morning till far into the night. And everything sounds so clear in this house!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, it is strange how clear the sound is.
MRS. BORKMAN.
I often feel as if I had a sick wolf pacing his cage up there in the gallery, right over my head. [_Listens and whispers._] Hark! Do you hear! Backwards and forwards, up and down, goes the wolf.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Tentatively._] Is no change possible, Gunhild?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With a gesture of repulsion._] He has never made any movement towards a change.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Could you not make the first movement, then?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Indignantly._] I! After all the wrong he has done me! No, thank you! Rather let the wolf go on prowling up there.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
This room is too hot for me. You must let me take off my things after all.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes, I asked you to.
[_ELLA RENTHEIM takes off her hat and cloak and lays them on a chair beside the door leading to the hall._
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Do you never happen to meet him, away from home?
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With a bitter laugh._] In society, do you mean?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I mean, when he goes out walking. In the woods, or——
MRS. BORKMAN.
He never goes out.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Not even in the twilight?
MRS. BORKMAN.
Never.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_With emotion._] He cannot bring himself to go out?
MRS. BORKMAN.
I suppose not. He has his great cloak and his hat hanging in the cupboard—the cupboard in the hall you know——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_To herself._] The cupboard we used to hide in when we were little——
MRS. BORKMAN.