Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (323 page)

MRS. WILTON.
[Raising her head proudly.]
I have done nothing of the sort.

MRS. BORKMAN.
You have not, say you!

MRS. WILTON. No. I have neither cajoled nor deluded him. Erhart came to me of his own free will. And of my own free will I went out half-way to meet him.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Measuring her scornfully with her eye.]
Yes, indeed! That I can easily believe.

MRS. WILTON.
[With self-control.]
Mrs. Borkman, there are forces in human life that you seem to know very little about.

MRS. BORKMAN.
What forces, may I ask?

MRS. WILTON. The forces which ordain that two people shall join their lives together, indissolubly — and fearlessly.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With a smile.]
I thought you were already indissolubly bound — to another.

MRS. WILTON.
[Shortly.]
That other has deserted me.

MRS. BORKMAN.
But he is still living, they say.

MRS. WILTON.
He is dead to me.

ERHART.
[Insistently.]
Yes, mother, he is dead to Fanny. And besides, this other makes no difference to me!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Looking sternly at him.]
So you know all this — about the other.

ERHART.
Yes, mother, I know quite well — all about it!

MRS. BORKMAN.
And yet you can say that it makes no difference to you?

ERHART.
[With defiant petulance.]
I can only tell you that it is happiness I must have! I am young! I want to live, live, live!

MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes, you are young, Erhart. Too young for this.

MRS. WILTON.
[Firmly and earnestly.]
You must not think, Mrs. Borkman, that I haven’t said the same to him. I have laid my whole life before him. Again and again I have reminded him that I am seven years older than he ——

ERHART.
[Interrupting.]
Oh, nonsense, Fanny — I knew that all the time.

MRS. WILTON.
But nothing — nothing was of any use.

MRS. BORKMAN. Indeed? Nothing? Then why did you not dismiss him without more ado? Close your door to him? You should have done that, and done it in time!

MRS. WILTON.
[Looks at her, and says in a low voice.]
I could not do that,
Mrs. Borkman.

MRS. BORKMAN.
Why could you not?

MRS. WILTON.
Because for me too this meant happiness.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Scornfully.]
H’m, happiness, happiness ——

MRS. WILTON. I have never before known happiness in life. And I cannot possibly drive happiness away from me, merely because it comes so late.

MRS. BORKMAN.
And how long do you think this happiness will last?

ERHART.
[Interrupting.]
Whether it lasts or does not last, mother, it doesn’t matter now!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[In anger.]
Blind boy that you are! Do you not see where all this is leading you?

ERHART. I don’t want to look into the future. I don’t want to look around me in any direction; I am only determined to live my own life — at last!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With deep pain.]
And you call this life, Erhart!

ERHART.
Don’t you see how lovely she is!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Wringing her hands.]
And I have to bear this load of shame as well!

BORKMAN.
[At the back, harshly and cuttingly.]
Ho — you are used to bearing things of that sort, Gunhild!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Imploringly.]
Borkman!

ERHART.
[Similarly.]
Father!

MRS. BORKMAN.
Day after day I shall have to see my own son linked to a — a ——

ERHART.
[Interrupting her harshly.]
You shall see nothing of the kind, mother! You may make your mind easy on that point. I shall not remain here.

MRS. WILTON.
[Quickly and with decision.]
We are going away, Mrs. Borkman.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Turning pale.]
Are you going away, too? Together, no doubt?

MRS. WILTON.
[Nodding.]
Yes, I am going abroad, to the south. I am taking a young girl with me. And Erhart is going along with us.

MRS. BORKMAN.
With you — and a young girl?

MRS. WILTON.
Yes. It is little Frida Foldal, whom I have had living with me.
I want her to go abroad and get more instruction in music.

MRS. BORKMAN.
So you are taking her with you?

MRS. WILTON.
Yes; I can’t well send her out into the world alone.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Suppressing a smile.]
What do you say to this, Erhart?

ERHART.
[With some embarrassment, shrugging his shoulders.]
Well, mother, since Fanny will have it so ——

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Coldly.]
And when does this distinguished party set out, if one may ask?

MRS. WILTON. We are going at once — to-night. My covered sledge is waiting on the road, outside the Hinkels’.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Looking her from head to foot.]
Aha! so that was what the party meant?

MRS. WILTON.
[Smiling.]
Yes, Erhart and I were the whole party. And little
Frida, of course.

MRS. BORKMAN.
And where is she now?

MRS. WILTON.
She is sitting in the sledge waiting for us.

ERHART.
[In painful embarrassment.]
Mother, surely you can understand?
I would have spared you all this — you and every one.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Looks at him, deeply pained.]
You would have gone away from me without saying a good-bye?

ERHART. Yes, I thought that would be best; best for all of us. Our boxes were packed and everything settled. But of course when you sent for me, I ——
[Holding out his hands to her.]
Good-bye, mother.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With a gesture of repulsion.]
Don’t touch me!

ERHART.
[Gently.]
Is that your last word?

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Sternly.]
Yes.

ERHART.
[Turning.]
Good-bye to you, then, Aunt Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Pressing his hands.]
Good-bye, Erhart! And live your life — and be as happy — as happy as ever you can.

ERHART. Thanks, Aunt.
[Bowing to BORKMAN.]
Good-bye, father.
[Whispers to MRS. WILTON.]
Let us get away, the sooner the better.

MRS. WILTON.
[In a low voice.]
Yes, let us.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With a malignant smile.]
Mrs. Wilton, do you think you are acting quite wisely in taking that girl with you?

MRS. WILTON.
[Returning the smile, half ironically, half seriously.]
Men are so unstable, Mrs. Borkman. And women too. When Erhart is done with me — and I with him — then it will be well for us both that he, poor fellow, should have some one to fall back upon.

MRS. BORKMAN.
But you yourself?

MRS. WILTON.
Oh, I shall know what to do, I assure you. Good-bye to you all!

 [She bows and goes out by the hall door. ERHART stands for a
       moment as though wavering; then he turns and follows her.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Dropping her folded hands.]
Childless.

BORKMAN.
[As though awakening to a resolution.]
Then out into the storm
alone! My hat! My cloak!
  [He goes hastily towards the door.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[In terror, stopping him.]
John Gabriel, where are you going?

BORKMAN.
Out into the storm of life, I tell you. Let me go, Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Holding him back.]
No, no, I won’t let you out! You are ill.
I can see it in your face!

BORKMAN.
Let me go, I tell you!

[He tears himself away from her, and goes out by the hall.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[In the doorway.]
Help me to hold him, Gunhild!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Coldly and sharply, standing in the middle of the room.]
I will not try to hold any one in all the world. Let them go away from me — both the one and the other! As far — as far as ever they please.
[Suddenly, with a piercing shriek.]
Erhart, don’t leave me!

 [She rushes with outstretched arms towards the door. ELLA
      RENTHEIM stops her.

ACT FOURT
H

An open space outside the main building, which lies to the right. A projecting corner of it is visible, with a door approached by a flight of low stone steps. The background consists of steep fir-clad slopes, quite close at hand. On the left are small scattered trees, forming the margin of a wood. The snowstorm has ceased; but the newly fallen snow lies deep around. The fir-branches droop under heavy loads of snow. The night is dark, with drifting clouds. Now and then the moon gleams out faintly. Only a dim light is reflected from the snow.

BORKMAN, MRS. BORKMAN and ELLA RENTHEIM are standing upon the steps, BORKMAN leaning wearily against the wall of the house. He has an old-fashioned cape thrown over his shoulders, holds a soft grey felt hat in one hand and a thick knotted stick in the other. ELLA RENTHEIM carries her cloak over her arm. MRS. BORKMAN’s great shawl has slipped down over her shoulders, so that her hair is uncovered.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Barring the way for MRS. BORKMAN.]
Don’t go after him, Gunhild!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[In fear and agitation.]
Let me pass, I say! He must not go away from me!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
It is utterly useless, I tell you! You will never overtake him.

MRS. BORKMAN.
Let me go, Ella! I will cry aloud after him all down the road.
And he must hear his mother’s cry!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
He cannot hear you. You may be sure he is in the sledge already.

MRS. BORKMAN.
No, no; he can’t be in the sledge yet!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
The doors are closed upon him long ago, believe me.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[In despair.]
If he is in the sledge, then he is there with her, with her — her!

BORKMAN.
[Laughing gloomily.]
Then he probably won’t hear his mother’s cry.

MRS. BORKMAN.
No, he will not hear it.
[Listening.]
Hark! what is that?

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Also listening.]
It sounds like sledge-bells.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With a suppressed scream.]
It is her sledge!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Perhaps it’s another.

MRS. BORKMAN. No, no, it is Mrs. Wilton’s covered sledge! I know the silver bells! Hark! Now they are driving right past here, at the foot of the hill!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Quickly.]
Gunhild, if you want to cry out to him, now is the time! Perhaps after all —— !
[The tinkle of the bells sounds close at hand, in the wood.]
Make haste, Gunhild! Now they are right under us!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Stands for a moment undecided, then she stiffens and says
sternly and coldly.]
No. I will not cry out to him. Let Erhart
Borkman pass away from me — far, far away — to what he calls life
and happiness.
  [The sound dies away in the distance.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[After a moment.]
Now the bells are out of hearing.

MRS. BORKMAN.
They sounded like funeral bells.

BORKMAN.
[With a dry suppressed laugh.]
Oho — it is not for me they are ringing to-night!

MRS. BORKMAN.
No, but for me — and for him who has gone from me.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Nodding thoughtfully.]
Who knows if, after all, they may not be ringing in life and happiness for him, Gunhild.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With sudden animation, looking hard at her.]
Life and happiness, you say!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
For a little while at any rate.

MRS. BORKMAN.
Could you endure to let him know life and happiness, with her?

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[With warmth and feeling.]
Indeed, I could, with all my heart and soul!

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Coldly.]
Then you must be richer than I am in the power of love.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Looking far away.]
Perhaps it is the lack of love that keeps the power alive.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Fixing her eyes on her.]
If that is so, then I shall soon be
as rich as you, Ella.
  [She turns and goes into the house.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Stands for a time looking with a troubled expression at BORKMAN; then lays her hand cautiously on his shoulder.]
Come, John — you must come in, too.

BORKMAN.
[As if wakening.]
I?

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, this winter air is too keen for you; I can see that, John.
So come — come in with me — into the house, into the warmth.

BORKMAN.
[Angrily.]
Up to the gallery again, I suppose.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
No, rather into the room below.

BORKMAN.
[His anger flaming forth.]
Never will I set foot under that roof again!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Where will you go then? So late, and in the dark, John?

BORKMAN.
[Putting on his hat.]
First of all, I will go out and see to all my buried treasures.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Looking anxiously at him.]
John — I don’t understand you.

BORKMAN.
[With laughter, interrupted by coughing.]
Oh, it is not hidden plunder I mean; don’t be afraid of that, Ella.
[Stopping, and pointing outwards.]
Do you see that man there? Who is it?

[VILHELM FOLDAL, in an old cape, covered with snow, with his hat-brim turned down, and a large umbrella in his hand, advances towards the corner of the house, laboriously stumbling through the snow. He is noticeably lame in his left foot.

BORKMAN.
Vilhelm! What do you want with me again?

FOLDAL.
[Looking up.]
Good heavens, are you out on the steps, John
Gabriel?
[Bowing.]
And Mrs. Borkman, too, I see.

BORKMAN.
[Shortly.]
This is not Mrs. Borkman.

FOLDAL. Oh, I beg pardon. You see, I have lost my spectacles in the snow. But how is it that you, who never put your foot out of doors —— ?

BORKMAN.
[Carelessly and gaily.]
It is high time I should come out into the open air again, don’t you see? Nearly three years in detention — five years in prison — eight years in the gallery up there ——

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Distressed.]
Borkman, I beg you ——

FOLDAL.
Ah yes, yes, yes!

BORKMAN.
But I want to know what has brought you here.

FOLDAL.
[Still standing at the foot of the steps.]
I wanted to come up
to you, John Gabriel. I felt I must come to you, in the gallery.
Ah me, that gallery —— !

BORKMAN.
Did you want to come up to me after I had shown you the door?

FOLDAL.
Oh, I couldn’t let that stand in the way.

BORKMAN.
What have you done to your foot? I see you are limping?

FOLDAL.
Yes, what do you think — I have been run over.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Run over!

FOLDAL.
Yes, by a covered sledge.

BORKMAN.
Oho!

FOLDAL.
With two horses. They came down the hill at a tearing gallop.
I couldn’t get out of the way quick enough; and so ——

ELLA RENTHEIM.
And so they ran over you?

FOLDAL. They came right down upon me, madam — or miss. They came right upon me and sent me rolling over and over in the snow — so that I lost my spectacles and got my umbrella broken.
[Rubbing his leg.]
And my ankle a little hurt too.

BORKMAN.
[Laughing inwardly.]
Do you know who were in that sledge,
Vilhelm?

FOLDAL. No, how could I see? It was a covered sledge, and the curtains were down. And the driver didn’t stop a moment after he had sent me spinning. But it doesn’t matter a bit, for ——
[With an outburst.]
Oh, I am so happy, so happy!

BORKMAN.
Happy?

FOLDAL. Well, I don’t exactly know what to call it. But I think happy is the nearest word. For something wonderful has happened! And that is why I couldn’t help — I had to come out and share my happiness with you, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN.
[Harshly.]
Well, share away then!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Oh, but first take your friend indoors with you, Borkman.

BORKMAN.
[Sternly.]
I have told you I will not go into the house.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
But don’t you hear, he has been run over!

BORKMAN. Oh, we are all of us run over, sometime or other in life. The thing is to jump up again, and let no one see you are hurt.

FOLDAL. That is a profound saying, John Gabriel. But I can easily tell you my story out here, in a few words.

BORKMAN.
[More mildly.]
Yes, please do, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.
Well, now you shall hear! Only think, when I got home this
evening after I had been with you, what did I find but a letter.
Can you guess who it was from?

BORKMAN.
Possibly from your little Frida?

FOLDAL. Precisely! Think of your hitting on it at once! Yes, it was a long letter from Frida. A footman had brought it. And can you imagine what was in it?

BORKMAN.
Perhaps it was to say good-bye to her mother and you?

FOLDAL. Exactly! How good you are at guessing, John Gabriel! Yes, she tells me that Mrs. Wilton has taken such a fancy to her, and she is to go abroad with her and study music. And Mrs. Wilton has engaged a first-rate teacher who is to accompany them on the journey — and to read with Frida. For unfortunately she has been a good deal neglected in some branches, you see.

BORKMAN.
[Shaken with inward laughter.]
Of course, of course — I see it all quite clearly, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.
[Eagerly continuing.]
And only think, she knew nothing about the arrangement until this evening; at that party, you know, h’m! And yet she found time to write to me. And the letter is such a beautiful one — so warm and affectionate, I assure you. There is not a trace of contempt for her father in it. And then what a delicate thought it was to say good-bye to us by letter — before she started.
[Laughing.]
But of course I can’t let her go like that.

BORKMAN.
[Looks inquiringly at him.]
How so?

FOLDAL. She tells me that they start early to-morrow morning; quite early.

BORKMAN.
Oh indeed — to-morrow? Does she tell you that?

FOLDAL.
[Laughing and rubbing his hands.]
Yes; but I know a trick worth two of that, you see! I am going straight up to Mrs. Wilton’s ——

BORKMAN.
This evening?

FOLDAL.
Oh, it’s not so very late yet. And even if the house is shut
up, I shall ring; without hesitation. For I must and will see
Frida before she starts. Good-night, good-night!
  [Makes a movement to go.

BORKMAN. Stop a moment, my poor Vilhelm; you may spare yourself that heavy bit of road.

FOLDAL.
Oh, you are thinking of my ankle ——

BORKMAN.
Yes; and in any case you won’t get in at Mrs. Wilton’s.

FOLDAL. Yes, indeed I will. I’ll go on ringing and knocking till some one comes and lets me in. For I must and will see Frida.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Your daughter has gone already, Mr. Foldal.

FOLDAL.
[Stands as though thunderstruck.]
Has Frida gone already! Are you quite sure? Who told you?

BORKMAN.
We had it from her future teacher.

FOLDAL.
Indeed? And who is he?

BORKMAN.
A certain Mr. Erhart Borkman.

FOLDAL.
[Beaming with joy.]
Your son, John Gabriel? Is he going with them?