ACT TWO

The grand former gallery on the first floor of the Rentheim house. The walls are covered with old tapestries depicting hunting scenes, shepherds and shepherdesses, all in faded, bleached-out colours. On the wall to the left, a folding door, and further forward, a piano. In the left-hand corner of the back wall, a door covered in a tapestry, without a frame. Against the middle of the right wall, a large carved oak writing table covered with books and papers. Further forward on the same side, a sofa with a table and chairs. The furniture is all in the stiff Empire style.¹ Lighted lamps on the table and writing table.

JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN stands next to the piano with his hands behind his back, listening to FRIDA FOLDAL playing the final bars of the Danse macabre.

BORKMAN is of average height, a compact, powerfully built man in his sixties. Distinguished appearance, chiselled profile, piercing eyes and greyish-white curly hair and beard. He is dressed in a slightly old-fashioned black suit and a white necktie. FRIDA FOLDAL is a pretty, pale girl of fifteen with a rather tired and strained expression. She is wearing a cheap, light-coloured dress.

The piece comes to an end. Silence.

BORKMAN: Can you guess where I first heard notes like those, Miss Foldal?

FRIDA [looks up at him]: No, Mr Borkman?

BORKMAN: It was down in the mines.

FRIDA [does not understand]: Really? Down in the mines?

BORKMAN: I’m a miner’s son,² as you probably know. Or perhaps you didn’t?

FRIDA: No, Mr Borkman.

BORKMAN: A miner’s son. My father sometimes took me down into the mines with him –. Down where the metal ore sings.

FRIDA: Oh, does it – sing?

BORKMAN [nods]: As it’s being loosened. The hammer strokes that loosen it are the chimes of midnight; they strike and set it free. That’s why the ore sings – it sings with joy – in its own way.

FRIDA: Why does it do that, Mr Borkman?

BORKMAN: It wants to come up into the light of day and serve people.

He paces up and down the room, his hands all the while behind his back.

FRIDA [sits and waits a little, then looks at her watch and stands up]: Please excuse me, Mr Borkman. I’m afraid I have to leave.

BORKMAN [stands in front of her]: So soon, Miss Foldal?

FRIDA [puts her music in its case]: Yes, I’m afraid so. [Visibly embarrassed] I have another engagement this evening.

BORKMAN: Somewhere there’s a party?

FRIDA: Yes.

BORKMAN: And will you be playing for the guests?

FRIDA [biting her lip]: No; I’ll be doing the dance music.

BORKMAN: Only the dance music?

FRIDA: Yes; they’ll be dancing after dinner.

BORKMAN [stands and looks at her]: Do you like playing dance music? Going from house to house like that?

FRIDA [putting on her coat]: Yes, when I can get a booking. I always make a little from it.

BORKMAN [interested]: Is that what you think about as you sit there playing for the dances?

FRIDA: No; most of the time I think about how hard it is that I can’t join in the dancing.

BORKMAN [nodding]: That’s exactly what I wanted to know. [Moving restlessly across the floor] Yes, yes, yes – not being allowed to join in yourself, that’s the hardest thing of all. [Stops] But there is one thing that counts for more than that, Frida.

FRIDA [looks questioningly at him]: And what’s that, Mr Borkman?

BORKMAN: The fact that you have ten times more music in you than all those dancers put together.

FRIDA [smiles evasively]: Oh, I’m not so sure!

BORKMAN [holds up his index finger admonishingly]: Never be so mad as to doubt yourself!

FRIDA: But, dear Lord, if no one is aware of it –

BORKMAN: It’s enough that you are aware of it. Where is it you’re playing this evening?

FRIDA: Over at the lawyer’s house, at the Hinkels’.

BORKMAN [suddenly looks sharply at her]: The Hinkels’!

FRIDA: Yes.

BORKMAN [with a scathing smile]: Do people actually go to that man’s house? Can he persuade people to visit him?

FRIDA: Yes, there’ll be a lot of people there, according to Mrs Wilton.

BORKMAN [vehemently]: But what sort of people? Can you tell me that?

FRIDA [a little anxious]: No, I really don’t know. No – yes, I do. I do know that young Mr Borkman is to be there this evening.

BORKMAN [puzzled]: Erhart? My son?

FRIDA: Yes, he’s going.

BORKMAN: How do you know?

FRIDA: He said so himself. An hour ago.

BORKMAN: Is he out here today?

FRIDA: Yes, he’s been at Mrs Wilton’s all afternoon.

BORKMAN [searchingly]: Do you know whether he’s come here as well? I mean, has he been in and spoken to anyone downstairs?

FRIDA: Yes, he’s looked in on Mrs Borkman.

BORKMAN [bitterly]: Aha! – I might have known.

FRIDA: There was also a lady visiting, a stranger, I think.

BORKMAN: Was there? Really? Oh yes, I suppose Mrs Borkman does have visitors every now and then.

FRIDA: If I see young Mr Borkman later, shall I ask him to come up and see you too?

BORKMAN [harshly]: You will say nothing! I won’t have it. If people want to visit me, they’ll come of their own accord. I beg no one.

FRIDA: No, no; I won’t say anything, then. – Goodnight, Mr Borkman.

BORKMAN [pacing up and down and growling]: Goodnight.

FRIDA: But might I perhaps be allowed to run down the spiral staircase? It’s quicker.

BORKMAN: Oh, heavens – as far as I’m concerned you can run down whatever staircase you please. Goodnight to you!

FRIDA: Goodnight, Mr Borkman.

She exits through the little tapestry door at the back, left.

BORKMAN, preoccupied, goes up to the piano and is about to close it but leaves it as it is. Looks around the emptiness and begins pacing the floor, up and down, from the corner by the piano to the right-hand corner at the back – all the time restless and unsettled, back and forth. Eventually he walks over to the writing table, looks over in the direction of the folding door, hastily snatches a hand-held mirror, looks at himself in it and straightens his necktie.

A knock at the folding door. BORKMAN hears it, looks quickly towards the door but says nothing.

Shortly afterwards, another knock, louder this time.

BORKMAN [standing beside the writing table, his left hand resting on it and his right hand thrust inside his jacket]:³ Come in!

VILHELM FOLDAL enters the room warily. He is a stooped, exhausted man with gentle blue eyes and long, thin grey hair falling over his coat collar. A folder under his arm. A soft felt hat in his hand, and large horn-rimmed spectacles, which he pushes up on to his forehead.

BORKMAN [changes position and looks at the man who enters, with a mixture of disappointment and pleasure]: Oh, it’s you, is it?

FOLDAL: Good evening, John Gabriel. Yes, as you see, it’s me.

BORKMAN [with a stern look]: This is a bit late, isn’t it?

FOLDAL: Well, it’s quite a way, you know. Especially if you do it on foot.

BORKMAN: But why do you always walk, Vilhelm? The tram⁴ passes right outside your door.

FOLDAL: Walking is healthier – and you save the ten øre from the fare. – Anyway – has Frida been up here to play to you of late?

BORKMAN: She just this minute left. Didn’t you see her outside?

FOLDAL: No, I haven’t seen anything of her for a long time; not since she went to live with that Mrs Wilton.

BORKMAN [sits on the sofa and gestures at a chair]: You may sit too, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL [sits on the edge of the chair]: Thank you very much. [Looks at him with sadness.] You can’t imagine how lonely I’ve felt since Frida left home.

BORKMAN: Oh, come on – you have plenty to spare.

FOLDAL: Yes, God knows I have. Five in all. But Frida was the only one who even began to understand me. [Shaking his head sadly] The others don’t understand me at all.

BORKMAN [gloomy, staring straight ahead and drumming on the table with his fingers]: No, that’s just it. That is the curse which we, the exceptional, we, the elect,⁵ have to bear. The hoi polloi, the masses – all the average folk – they don’t understand us, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL [resigned]: I can live without being understood. With a little patience, one can always wait a bit longer for that. [In a choked voice] But there is something more bitter than that, you know.

BORKMAN [vehement]: There is nothing more bitter than that!

FOLDAL: Yes, there is, John Gabriel. There was a scene back at the house tonight – just before I came out here.

BORKMAN: Really? Why?

FOLDAL [in an outburst]: Those people at home – they despise me.

BORKMAN [flares up]: Despise –?

FOLDAL [wiping his eyes]: I’ve been aware of it for a long time. But today it all came out.

BORKMAN [after a short silence]: You certainly made a bad choice when you married, didn’t you?

FOLDAL: It wasn’t really a choice in my case. Besides, when the years start piling up, it makes you think hard about marriage. And back then I was so reduced, literally on my knees –

BORKMAN [jumps up in anger]: Are you referring to me? Blaming me –?

FOLDAL [alarmed]: No, for God’s sake, no, John Gabriel –!

BORKMAN: Yes, you were. You’re sitting there thinking about all the misfortune that swept over the bank –

FOLDAL [reassuringly]: But I don’t blame you for that! God forbid –!

BORKMAN [growling, sits down]: Well, that’s all right, then.

FOLDAL: Besides, you mustn’t think it’s my wife I’m complaining about. It’s true she hasn’t much education, poor thing; but she’s a good sort all the same. – No, it’s the children, you see –

BORKMAN: I thought as much.

FOLDAL: Because the children – well, they’re more cultured. And because of that they expect more from life.

BORKMAN [looks at him sympathetically]: And that’s why the young ones despise you, is it, Vilhelm?

FOLDAL [shrugs his shoulders]: But I haven’t made much of a career for myself, you see. It has to be said –

BORKMAN [moves closer, and puts his hand on FOLDAL’s arm]: Don’t they know that you wrote a tragedy in your youth?

FOLDAL: Yes, of course they know that. But it doesn’t seem to have made much of an impression on them.

BORKMAN: Then they don’t understand. Your tragedy is good. I’m quite convinced it is.

FOLDAL [brightening]: Yes, don’t you think there are some good things in it, John Gabriel? Good God, if only I could get it put on one day –. [Opens his folder, and begins looking through it eagerly.] Look! Just let me show you a part that I’ve changed –

BORKMAN: Have you got it with you?

FOLDAL: Yes, I have. It’s been so long since I last read it to you. I thought perhaps you might find it diverting to listen to an act or two –

BORKMAN [stands up with a deprecatory gesture]: No, no, save it for another time.

FOLDAL: All right, as you wish then.

BORKMAN paces up and down the floor. FOLDAL puts the manuscript away.

BORKMAN [stops in front of him]: You are quite right about what you just said – you’ve never had a proper career. But I promise you this, Vilhelm, when the hour of restitution strikes for me –

FOLDAL [begins to stand up]: Oh, thank you –!

BORKMAN [motions with his hand]: No, I’d rather you remain seated. [With mounting excitement] When the hour of restitution strikes –. When they realize they cannot do without me – when they come up to me here in this room – when they kiss the rod⁶ and beg me to assume the reins of the bank once more –! The new bank that they founded – but cannot manage –. [Positions himself by the writing table just as before and strikes his breast.] Here will I stand to receive them! And people far and wide, up and down the country, will be talking about the conditions John Gabriel Borkman has made in order to – [Stops suddenly and stares at FOLDAL.] You look so disbelievingly at me! Perhaps you don’t believe that they will come? That they must, must, must come to me one day? Don’t you believe that?

FOLDAL: Yes, God knows I do, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN [sitting back down on the sofa]: I am so firm in my belief. Unshakeable in the knowledge – that they will come. – If I did not have that certainty – I would have put a bullet through my head a long time ago.

FOLDAL [anxiously]: No! Not for anything in the world –!

BORKMAN [triumphantly]: But they are coming! They will come! You’ll see! I’m expecting them any day, any minute. And as you see, I am always ready to receive them.

FOLDAL [with a sigh]: I just wish they’d hurry up!

BORKMAN [agitated]: That’s right; time flies you know: the years fly past; life – ah, no – I daren’t think about that! [Looks at him] Do you know how I feel sometimes?

FOLDAL: How?

BORKMAN: I feel like a Napoleon, shot and maimed in his first battle.

FOLDAL [places his hand on his folder]: I know that feeling too.

BORKMAN: Yes, but on a smaller scale, of course.

FOLDAL [quietly]: John Gabriel, my little world of poetry is very precious to me.

BORKMAN [vehemently]: Yes, but I who could have made millions! All the mountain mines I would have had under my control! Countless new pits! The waterfalls!⁷ The quarries! Trade routes, shipping links covering every corner of the globe! I would have set it all up, all of it, singlehandedly!

FOLDAL: Yes, I know, I know that. You shrank from nothing.

BORKMAN [clenching his hands]: But now I have to sit here, like some great wounded game fowl⁸ looking on while others steal a march on me – taking it all away from me, piece by piece!

FOLDAL: That’s what is happening to me too.

BORKMAN [ignoring him]: Just think. How close I was to my goal! If only I’d had a margin of eight days to sort things out, all the deposits would have been honoured. All the securities I’d put to work with such daring would have been back in place, just as before. I came within a hair’s breadth of establishing dizzyingly vast corporations. And not a single person would have been even one øre out of pocket.

FOLDAL: Heavens, yes – you came so incredibly close –

BORKMAN [with suppressed rage]: And then to be overwhelmed by treachery! Right at the critical moment! [Looks at him.] Do you know what I hold to be the most infamous crime a man can commit?

FOLDAL: No, tell me.

BORKMAN: It’s not murder. Not robbery, nor nighttime break-ins. Not even perjury. Because people tend to do those things to people they hate, or are indifferent to, or don’t care about.

FOLDAL: So what is the most infamous crime, John Gabriel?

BORKMAN [with emphasis]: The most infamous of all crimes is abusing the trust of a friend.

FOLDAL [slightly dubious]: Yes, but listen –

BORKMAN [flares up]: I know what you’re going to say! It’s written all over your face. But you’re wrong. The people who had their securities in the bank would have got everything back – every little bit. No; listen, the most infamous crime a man can commit is to misuse a friend’s letters – reveal to the entire world what has been said to him in confidence, to him alone, in private, like whispering in a dark, empty, locked room. The kind of man who will stoop to such methods is poisoned to the core and infected with the morality of an übervillain.⁹ I once had a friend like that. – And it was he who crushed me.

FOLDAL: Oh, yes. I think I can guess who you mean.

BORKMAN: Every last blot on my copybook, I laid bare to him. Then when the moment came he turned the very weapons I had placed in his hands against me.

FOLDAL: I’ve never been able to understand why he –. Of course, there were all sorts of rumours going round at the time.

BORKMAN: What rumours? Tell me. I don’t know anything about this. I went straight into – into isolation. What were people saying, Vilhelm?

FOLDAL: That you were to be made a cabinet minister.

BORKMAN: I was offered it. But I turned it down.

FOLDAL: So you weren’t standing in his way?

BORKMAN: Oh, no; that wasn’t why he betrayed me.

FOLDAL: Well, then I really don’t see –

BORKMAN: I might as well tell you, Vilhelm –

FOLDAL: Go on?

BORKMAN: It was – some business involving a woman, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL: A woman? No but, John Gabriel –?

BORKMAN [interrupts]: Yes, yes, yes – enough of these stupid old stories. After all, neither of us became a minister, neither he nor I.

FOLDAL: But he went right to the top.

BORKMAN: And I to the bottom.

FOLDAL: Oh, it’s a frightful tragedy –

BORKMAN [nods to him]: Almost as frightful as yours, come to think of it.

FOLDAL [innocently]: Yes, at least as frightful.

BORKMAN [laughing quietly]: But from another perspective it really is a sort of comedy as well.

FOLDAL: A comedy? This?

BORKMAN: Yes, the way it’s now taking shape. Wait till you hear this –

FOLDAL: Yes?

BORKMAN: You say you didn’t see Frida when you arrived?

FOLDAL: No.

BORKMAN: As we two sit here, she’s playing the dance music at the home of the man who betrayed and ruined me.

FOLDAL: I had no idea!

BORKMAN: Yes, she took her sheet music and left me for – for the grand house.

FOLDAL [apologetically]: Yes, yes, poor child –

BORKMAN: And can you guess who she’s playing for – among others?

FOLDAL: Who?

BORKMAN: For my son, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL: What?

BORKMAN: What do you think of that, Vilhelm? My son is down among the dancers this evening. Now isn’t that, like I say, a comedy?

FOLDAL: Yes, but surely he doesn’t know, John Gabriel?

BORKMAN: Know what?

FOLDAL: He can’t know that he – that man – well –

BORKMAN: Go on, you can say his name. It doesn’t bother me any more.

FOLDAL: I’m certain your son isn’t aware of the connection, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN [gloomy, sits banging on the table]: Yes, he is – as surely as I’m sitting here.

FOLDAL: In that case how can you imagine that he should want to socialize in that house!

BORKMAN [shakes his head]: My son probably doesn’t see things with the same eyes as I do. I’ll swear he’s on the side of my enemies! He doubtless thinks, like the rest of them do, that Hinkel was only doing his damned duty when he went and betrayed me.

FOLDAL: But, my dear man, who could have presented it to him in that light?

BORKMAN: Who? Have you forgotten who brought him up? First his aunt – from when he was six or seven years old. And after that – his mother!

FOLDAL: I think you do them an injustice there.

BORKMAN [flares up]: I never do anyone an injustice! Both of them have gone and poisoned his mind against me, I tell you.

FOLDAL [subdued]: Yes, yes, yes, I suppose they have.

BORKMAN [indignant]: Women! They corrupt and complicate life for us. Confound our entire destinies – our march to victory.

FOLDAL: Not all of them, John Gabriel!

BORKMAN: Oh, no? Name me a single woman who is good for anything?

FOLDAL: That’s the difficulty. The few I do know aren’t good for much.

BORKMAN [snorts contemptuously]: Well, what’s the point of that, then? What’s the point of such women existing when you don’t know them?

FOLDAL [warmly]: No, John Gabriel, there is a point, even so. It’s such a happy and blessed thing to think that out there, round about us, far away – the true woman does exist after all.

BORKMAN [shifts impatiently on the sofa]: Oh, spare me the poetic claptrap!

FOLDAL [looks at him, deeply offended]: Poetic claptrap? Is that what you call my most sacred faith?

BORKMAN [harshly]: Yes, it is! It is what’s always been stopping you from getting on in the world. If only you would get all that out of your head, I could still help you get started – help you succeed.

FOLDAL [boiling inwardly]: Oh, but you can’t.

BORKMAN: Yes, I can, as soon as I’m back in power.

FOLDAL: But that day is surely a terribly long way off.

BORKMAN [vehemently]: Perhaps you think that day will never come? Answer me!

FOLDAL: I don’t know how to answer that.

BORKMAN [stands up, cold and dignified, motioning towards the door]: Then I no longer have any use for you.

FOLDAL [out of his chair]: No use –?

BORKMAN: Since you don’t believe that my luck will turn –

FOLDAL: But how can I believe that when it flies in the face of all reason? I mean, you’d need full restitution¹⁰ first –

BORKMAN: Go on! Go on!

FOLDAL: Well, I never passed my examination;¹¹ but I have read enough in my time to know –

BORKMAN [quickly]: Impossible, you mean?

FOLDAL: There’s no precedent for something like this.

BORKMAN: Not essential for exceptional people.¹²

FOLDAL: The law does not recognize such a distinction.

BORKMAN [harsh and decisive]: You’re no poet, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL [involuntarily folds his hands]: Do you mean that in all seriousness?

BORKMAN [distant, without answering]: We’re just wasting each other’s time. Best if you don’t come again.

FOLDAL: Do you really want me to leave you?

BORKMAN [without looking at him]: Have no more use for you.

FOLDAL [meekly, takes his folder]: No, no, no; I dare say you haven’t.

BORKMAN: So all this time you’ve been lying to me.

FOLDAL [shakes his head]: Never lied, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN: Haven’t you sat here feeding me lies of hope, trust and confidence?

FOLDAL: It wasn’t a lie so long as you believed in my vocation. As long as you believed in me, I believed in you.

BORKMAN: Then all this time we’ve been deceiving each other. And perhaps deceiving ourselves too – both of us.

FOLDAL: But isn’t that basically what friendship is, John Gabriel?

BORKMAN [smiles bitterly]: Yes, to deceive – that’s what friendship means. You’re quite right. I’ve experienced that once before.

FOLDAL [looks at him]: No poetic vocation! That you had to be so blunt about it!

BORKMAN [in a gentler voice]: Well, I’m no expert in that area, you know.

FOLDAL: Perhaps more than you think.

BORKMAN: Who, me?

FOLDAL [subdued]: Yes, you. Because I’ve had my doubts – now and then, you know. The horrendous doubt – that I might have made a mess of my life for the sake of a delusion.

BORKMAN: Doubt yourself and you stand on slippery ground.

FOLDAL: That was why I took such comfort in coming here and leaning on you, who believed in me. [Taking his hat] – But you’re like a stranger to me now.

BORKMAN: And you to me.

FOLDAL: Goodnight, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN: Goodnight, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL goes out to the left.

BORKMAN stands for a moment staring at the closed door, makes as though to call FOLDAL back but changes his mind and starts pacing the floor with his hands behind his back. He then stops by the sofa table and extinguishes the lamp. The room falls into semi-darkness.

Shortly afterwards there is a knock at the tapestry door at the back, left.

BORKMAN [at the table, starts, turns, and asks in a loud voice]: Who’s that knocking?

No answer; another knock.

BORKMAN [without moving]: Who is it? Come in!

ELLA RENTHEIM appears in the doorway with a lighted candle in her hand. She is wearing her black dress, as before, with her coat thrown loosely over her shoulders.

BORKMAN [staring at her]: Who are you? What do you want with me?

ELLA RENTHEIM [closes the door and approaches]: It’s me, Borkman.

She puts the candle down on the piano and remains standing there.

BORKMAN [as though thunderstruck, stares fixedly at her and says in a half whisper]: Is it – is it Ella? Is it Ella Rentheim?

ELLA RENTHEIM. Yes – it’s your Ella – as you used to call me. Once. Many – many years ago.

BORKMAN [as before]: Yes, it is you, Ella – I see that now.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Do you recognize me?

BORKMAN: Yes, now I’m beginning to –

ELLA RENTHEIM: The years have taken their toll on me and ushered autumn in, Borkman. Don’t you think so?

BORKMAN [forced]: You have changed a little. At first glance, that is –

ELLA RENTHEIM: There aren’t any dark curls falling down my neck now. The ones you used to love twisting round your fingers.

BORKMAN [hurried]: That’s right! Now I see it, Ella. You’ve changed the style of your hair.

ELLA RENTHEIM [with a sad smile]: That’s it; it’s the way I do my hair that makes all the difference.

BORKMAN [changes the subject]: I had no idea you were in this part of the country.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Well, I’ve only just arrived.

BORKMAN: Why did you make the journey – now, in winter?

ELLA RENTHEIM: You’ll find out soon enough.

BORKMAN: Is there something you want with me?

ELLA RENTHEIM: With you too. But if we’re to discuss that, I’ll have to go back a long way.

BORKMAN: You seem tired.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, I am tired.

BORKMAN: Why don’t you sit down? There – on the sofa.¹³

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, thank you. I do need to sit down.

She walks over to the right and sits down on the front corner of the sofa. BORKMAN stands by the table with his hands behind his back and looks at her. A short silence.

ELLA RENTHEIM: It’s been unspeakably long since the two of us met face to face, Borkman.

BORKMAN [gloomily]: Long, long ago. All the terrible things separate then from now.

ELLA RENTHEIM: An entire lifetime. A wasted life.

BORKMAN [looks keenly at her]: Wasted!

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, just that, wasted. For both of us.

BORKMAN [in a cold, business-like tone]: I don’t regard my life as wasted yet.

ELLA RENTHEIM: What about my life then?

BORKMAN: You have yourself to blame, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM [starts]: How can you say that?

BORKMAN: You could so easily have been happy without me.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Do you believe that?

BORKMAN: If you had only wanted to be.

ELLA RENTHEIM [bitterly]: Oh, yes, I know well enough there was someone waiting to take me on –

BORKMAN: But you turned him away –

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, I did.

BORKMAN: Time and again you turned him away. Year after year –

ELLA RENTHEIM [scornfully]: Year after year I turned happiness away, you mean?

BORKMAN: You could so easily have been happy with him too. And then I would have been saved.

ELLA RENTHEIM: You? –

BORKMAN: Yes, you would have saved me, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM: What do you mean by that?

BORKMAN: He thought I was behind your refusals – your endless rejections. So he took revenge. And it was so easy for him – he had all the letters I’d written him, confiding in him, holding nothing back. He made use of them – and that was the end of me – for the time being, that is. See, Ella, it was all your fault!

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, you see, Borkman – when all’s said and done, perhaps it is I who am in debt to you!

BORKMAN: Depends how you look at it. I’m well aware of everything I have to be grateful to you for. You made sure you secured the property, the entire estate, at the auction. You put the house completely at my disposal – and your sister’s. You took in Erhart – and cared for him in every way –

ELLA RENTHEIM: – for as long as I was allowed to –

BORKMAN: Allowed by your sister, you mean. I never concerned myself with domestic matters. – And as I was about to say – I know what sacrifices you’ve made for me and for your sister. But you were able to do so, Ella; and you must remember that it was I who put you in that position.

ELLA RENTHEIM [agitated]: You’re so wrong, Borkman! It was my deepest, my warmest love for Erhart – and for you too – that made me do it!

BORKMAN [interrupting]: My dear, let’s not get into emotions and such things. Naturally, what I mean is that, when you acted as you did, it was because I had given you the means to do so.

ELLA RENTHEIM [smiles]: Hmm, the means, the means –

BORKMAN [passionate]: Exactly – the means! When the great decisive battle was about to begin – when I could afford to spare neither family nor friends – when I had to seize – when I did seize the millions entrusted to me – I spared everything that was yours, everything you had, everything you owned – even though I could have taken it, borrowed it and used it – as I did with all the rest!

ELLA RENTHEIM [cold and calm]: That’s perfectly true, Borkman.

BORKMAN: Yes it is. And that was why – when they came and took me away – they found everything that was yours untouched in the bank vaults.

ELLA RENTHEIM [looks at him]: I’ve often wondered – why in fact did you spare everything that was mine? And only what was mine?

BORKMAN: Why?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, why? Tell me.

BORKMAN [harsh and contemptuous]: I suppose you think I did it to have something to fall back on – in case everything went wrong?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Oh no, my friend – I’m sure you didn’t think like that in those days.

BORKMAN: Never! I was so utterly confident of victory.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Well then, why did you –?

BORKMAN [shrugs his shoulders]: Oh, Lord, Ella – it’s not so easy to recall motives that are twenty years old. All I remember is that, when I’d go grappling there, alone in silence with all the great plans I had to set in motion, I felt rather like the captain of a hot-air balloon¹⁴ must feel. All those sleepless nights I’d inflate a giant air balloon, preparing to sail away over all the world’s perilous, uncertain seas.

ELLA RENTHEIM [smiles]: You, who never doubted your victory?

BORKMAN [impatient]: That’s what people are like, Ella. They both doubt and believe in the same thing. [Looks straight ahead] And I suppose that must be why I didn’t want to take you and everything that was yours up with me in the balloon.

ELLA RENTHEIM [tensely]: But why, I ask you? Tell me why!

BORKMAN [without looking at her]: Nobody takes what is most precious to them on such a journey.

ELLA RENTHEIM: But you did have what was most precious to you on board. Your future life –

BORKMAN: Life isn’t always what is most precious.

ELLA RENTHEIM [breathless]: Is that how you felt at the time?

BORKMAN: I suppose it was.

ELLA RENTHEIM: That I was the most precious thing you knew?

BORKMAN: Yes, something along those lines, I think.

ELLA RENTHEIM: But years and years had passed since you betrayed me – and married – another woman!

BORKMAN: Betrayed you, you say? You know very well that I was compelled by higher motives – well – other motives. Without his support, I couldn’t have got anywhere.

ELLA RENTHEIM [controls herself]: So you betrayed me out of – higher motives?

BORKMAN: I couldn’t do without his help. And you were the price he named for his help.

ELLA RENTHEIM: And you paid the price. In full. No haggling.

BORKMAN: Had no choice. Had to conquer or fall.

ELLA RENTHEIM [in a trembling voice, looks at him]: Can what you’re telling me really be true, that at that time I was the most precious thing to you in the world?

BORKMAN: Both at that time and after that – long, long, after that.

ELLA RENTHEIM: And even so you bartered me away. Bargained away your right to love with another man. Sold my love for a – for the chairmanship of a bank.

BORKMAN [gloomy and bowed]: I was in the grip of inexorable necessity, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM [rises from the sofa, wild and trembling]: Criminal!

BORKMAN [starts, but controls himself]: I’ve heard that word before.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Oh, don’t think for a minute I’m talking about anything you may have done against the law of the land! The use you made of all those share certificates and securities – or whatever they were – do you think I care about that! Had you let me stand by your side when everything came crashing down on you –

BORKMAN [tense]: Then what, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Believe me, I would have borne it with you, gladly. The shame, the devastation – all of it, all of it, I would have helped you to bear it –!

BORKMAN: Would you have done that? Could you?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Both would and could. Because at the time I didn’t know about your great, horrific crime.

BORKMAN: What crime? What are you talking about?

ELLA RENTHEIM: I’m talking about the crime for which there is no forgiveness.¹⁵

BORKMAN [stares at her]: You must be out of your mind.

ELLA RENTHEIM [steps closer]: You’re a murderer! You have committed the great mortal sin!

BORKMAN [moves back towards the piano]: Are you raving mad, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM: You killed the vital capacity for love¹⁶ in me. [Closer to him] Do you understand what that means? The Bible speaks of a mysterious sin for which there is no forgiveness. I’ve never been able to understand what that could possibly mean. But now I do. The great, unforgivable sin – is to murder the vital capacity for love in another human being.

BORKMAN: And you’re saying that is what I have done?

ELLA RENTHEIM: You have. I never really knew till this evening what had actually happened to me. That you betrayed me and turned to Gunhild instead – I just took to be common inconstancy on your part. And the result of heartless scheming on hers. I think I even despised you a little – in spite of everything. – But now I see it! You betrayed the woman you loved! Me, me, me! What was most precious to you in the world, you were prepared to barter away for the sake of profit. That’s the double murder you’re guilty of! The murder of your own soul and of mine!

BORKMAN [cold and controlled]: How well I recognize that passionate, indomitable spirit, Ella. It’s natural enough that you should see things the way you do. You’re a woman, after all. And as such it seems you neither know nor acknowledge any other consideration in the entire world.

ELLA RENTHEIM: No, as a matter of fact I don’t.

BORKMAN: You are ruled by your heart alone.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Only that! Only that! You’re right there.

BORKMAN: But you should remember that I am a man. As a woman, you were the most precious thing in the world to me. But in the final analysis, one woman can always be replaced by another –

ELLA RENTHEIM [looks at him with a smile]: Was that your experience after you married Gunhild?

BORKMAN: No. But my tasks in life helped me bear that too. I wanted to subjugate all sources of power in this country. All the wealth contained in the earth, the mountains, the forests and the sea – I wanted to conquer and build myself a realm and through that promote the well-being of many, many thousands of others.

ELLA RENTHEIM [lost in memories]: I know. We spent so many evenings talking over your plans.

BORKMAN: Yes, I could talk to you, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM: I used to joke about your projects and ask whether you intended to rouse all the slumbering spirits of gold.¹⁷

BORKMAN [nods]: I remember that expression. [Slowly] All the slumbering spirits of gold.

ELLA RENTHEIM: But you didn’t take it as a joke. You said: Yes, yes, Ella, that is exactly what I want to do.

BORKMAN: And so it was. All I needed was to get my foot into the stirrup –. And that depended on that one man. He was able and willing to secure me the top job in the bank – on condition that I, for my part –

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, that’s right! If you for your part gave up the woman you loved – and who in return loved you beyond words.

BORKMAN: I knew about his consuming passion for you. I knew that he’d never agree to any other terms –

ELLA RENTHEIM: And so you struck your bargain!

BORKMAN [vehement]: Yes, I did, Ella! The lust for power was untameable in me, you see! So I struck the bargain. Had to. And he helped me halfway up to the beckoning heights I wanted to reach. And I climbed and climbed. Year by year, I climbed –

ELLA RENTHEIM: And I was as good as erased from your life.

BORKMAN: But then he hurled me back down into the abyss. Because of you, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM [after a short, thoughtful silence]: Borkman – doesn’t it seem to you as though there has been something like a curse on our entire relationship?

BORKMAN [looks at her]: Curse?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes. Don’t you think so?

BORKMAN [uneasy]: Yes. But why, though –? [In an outburst] Oh Ella – I don’t even know who’s right any more – you or I!

ELLA RENTHEIM: It is you who have sinned. You have caused all human joy in me to die.

BORKMAN [anguished]: Don’t say that, Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM: All female joy at least. From the day when your image went blank inside me, I have lived my life as though in an eclipse. During those years it became more and more of a struggle – and in the end quite impossible – to love any living creature. Not humans, not animals, not plants. Only this single one –

BORKMAN: Which single one –?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Erhart, of course.

BORKMAN: Erhart –?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Erhart – your, your son, Borkman.

BORKMAN: Has he really been so close to your heart?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Why else would I have taken him in? And held on to him as long as I possibly could? Why?

BORKMAN: I thought it was out of pity. Like everything else.

ELLA RENTHEIM [with strong inner emotion]: Pity, you say! Ha, ha! I have never felt pity – not since you betrayed me. I was quite incapable of it. If a poor, starving child came into my kitchen, shivering with cold, crying, begging for a bit of food, I let the kitchen maid deal with it. Never felt any desire to take the child in with me, warm it at my own stove or take pleasure in watching it eat till it was satisfied. But I wasn’t like that when I was young; I remember it so clearly! It’s you who’ve created this empty, barren desert inside me – and around me too!

BORKMAN: Except for Erhart.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes. Except for your son. But not for any, for any other living thing. You’ve cheated me out of a mother’s joy and happiness in life. And a mother’s sorrows and tears too. And that was perhaps the greatest loss for me, you know.

BORKMAN: Do you think so, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Who knows? Perhaps a mother’s sorrows and tears would have served me best. [With stronger emotion] But at the time I couldn’t resign myself to the loss. And that’s why I took Erhart in. Won him over completely. Won his whole, warm, trusting infant heart for myself – until –. Oh!

BORKMAN: Until what?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Until his mother – his birth mother, I mean – took him back from me.

BORKMAN: But he had to leave you, I suppose. To come here, to town.

ELLA RENTHEIM [wringing her hands]: Yes, but you see, I can’t bear the desolation! The emptiness! I can’t bear the loss of your son’s heart!

BORKMAN [with a nasty look in his eyes]: Hmm – I’m sure you haven’t lost that, Ella. Hearts aren’t lost so easily to anyone in this house – downstairs on the ground floor.

ELLA RENTHEIM: But I have lost Erhart here. She has won him back. Or someone else has as well. It’s as clear as day in the letters he occasionally writes me.

BORKMAN: So that’s why you’ve come here – to take him back home with you?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, if only that were possible –!

BORKMAN: It’s possible enough, if you really want it. Because it’s you who have the prior and strongest claim to him.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Oh, claims, claims! What’s the use of claims here? If I don’t have him of his own free will, I don’t have him at all. And I must have that! I must have my child’s heart, whole and undivided now!

BORKMAN: You must remember that Erhart is well into his twenties. You can hardly count on keeping his heart undivided, as you put it, for much longer.

ELLA RENTHEIM [with a heavy smile]: It wouldn’t have to be for so very long.

BORKMAN: Really? I’d have thought that if you wanted something, you’d want it to the end of your days.

ELLA RENTHEIM: And I do. But that doesn’t mean it has to be for long.

BORKMAN [taken aback]: What do you mean by that?

ELLA RENTHEIM: I expect you know I’ve been in poor health these last years?

BORKMAN: Have you?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Didn’t you know?

BORKMAN: No, can’t say I –

ELLA RENTHEIM [looks at him surprised]: Hasn’t Erhart told you?

BORKMAN: I really can’t recall just now.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Perhaps he hasn’t talked about me at all?

BORKMAN: No, I believe he has talked about you. But then again, I see so little of him. Hardly ever. There’s a certain person downstairs who keeps him away from me. Far away, you see.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Are you absolutely sure about that, Borkman?

BORKMAN: Yes, I am. [Changes his tone] So, you’ve been ill, then, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, I have. And this autumn it has got worse, so much so that I’ve had to come here to speak to doctors who know more about it.

BORKMAN: And you’ve already seen them?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, this morning.

BORKMAN: And what did they say?

ELLA RENTHEIM: They confirmed what I’ve long suspected –

BORKMAN: What’s that?

ELLA RENTHEIM [calm and even]: That my illness is fatal, Borkman.

BORKMAN: Oh, don’t believe it, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM: You see it’s a disease there’s no help or cure for. There’s nothing the doctors can do. They have to let it take its course. They can’t keep it in check. Just alleviate the suffering a little, maybe. But that’s something, anyway.

BORKMAN: Oh, but it may yet take a long time to run its course – believe me, it may.

ELLA RENTHEIM: I’m told it might last the winter.

BORKMAN [without thinking]: Well yes – the winters are long, you know.

ELLA RENTHEIM [quietly]: Long enough for me, at any rate.

BORKMAN [eagerly, changes the subject]: But what on earth could have brought on this illness? You’ve always led such a healthy and regular life –? What can have brought it on?

ELLA RENTHEIM [looks at him]: The doctors think perhaps that at some point in my life I’d had to go through some great emotional turmoil.

BORKMAN [flares up]: Emotional! Oh, I see! You mean this is my fault!

ELLA RENTHEIM [with mounting inward agitation]: It’s too late to discuss that now! But I must have my heart’s own and only child again before I go! It’s so unspeakably hard for me, the thought that I have to leave behind all that life is – leave behind the sun and light and air, without leaving behind me here one single human being who will think of me, remember me with love and mourn me – as a son thinks of and remembers the mother he has lost.

BORKMAN [after a short pause]: Take him, Ella – if you can win him.

ELLA RENTHEIM [animated]: Do you give your consent? Can you?

BORKMAN [gloomily]: Yes. And it’s no great sacrifice either. Because I don’t really own him anyway.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Thank you, thank you for the sacrifice all the same! – But I have one thing more to ask you. A big thing for me, Borkman.

BORKMAN: Well, just say it.

ELLA RENTHEIM: I expect you’ll think it childish of me – you wouldn’t understand –

BORKMAN: Then say it – say it!

ELLA RENTHEIM: When I’m gone, which will be soon, I’ll be leaving a fair bit –

BORKMAN: Yes, I suppose you will.

ELLA RENTHEIM: And it’s my intention to leave it all to Erhart.

BORKMAN: Well, you don’t really have anyone closer to you than him.

ELLA RENTHEIM [warmly]: No, indeed, I don’t have anyone closer to me than him.

BORKMAN: No one from your own family. You’re the last.

ELLA RENTHEIM [nods slowly]: Yes, that’s just it. When I die – the Rentheim name dies with me. And the thought of being wiped out of existence – down to my very name – is choking me.

BORKMAN [flares up]: Ah – I see where this is going!

ELLA RENTHEIM [passionately]: Don’t let it happen. Let Erhart carry on my name!

BORKMAN [looks hard at her]: I understand you well enough. You want to free my son from having to bear his father’s name. That’s the idea.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Never! I would have borne it alongside you, defiantly and gladly! But a mother, who’s about to die –. A name binds you more than you think or believe, Borkman.

BORKMAN [cold and proud]: Very well, Ella. I’m man enough to bear my name alone.

ELLA RENTHEIM [grasping and pressing his hand]: Thank you, thank you! There has been a full settlement of accounts between us now! Yes, yes, let it be! You’ve done everything in your power to make amends. Because when I have left this life, I shall be leaving Erhart Rentheim behind me!

The tapestry door is pushed open. MRS BORKMAN, with the large shawl over her head, stands in the doorway.

MRS BORKMAN [in violent agitation]: Never, in all eternity, shall Erhart be called that!

ELLA RENTHEIM [shrinks back]: Gunhild!

BORKMAN [harshly and threatening]: Nobody has permission to come up to my room!

MRS BORKMAN [one step inside]: I give myself permission.

BORKMAN [goes towards her]: What do you want from me?

MRS BORKMAN: I will fight and battle for you. Shield you from the forces of evil.

ELLA RENTHEIM: The worst forces are within you, Gunhild!

MRS BORKMAN [hard]: That may be so. [Menacingly, with her arm raised] But let me tell you this – he will bear his father’s name! And raise it up high in honour once more! And I alone shall be his mother! I alone! My son’s heart shall be mine. Mine, and no one else’s.

She goes out by the tapestry door and closes it behind her.

ELLA RENTHEIM [shaken and agitated]: Borkman – Erhart will be wrecked in this storm. You and Gunhild must reach an understanding. We must go down to her at once.

BORKMAN [looks at her]: We? You mean me as well?

ELLA RENTHEIM: Both you and I.

BORKMAN [shakes his head]: She’s hard, you know. Hard as the ore I once dreamed of wresting from the mountains.

ELLA RENTHEIM: Then try it now!

BORKMAN does not answer; he stands looking uncertainly at her.