An open courtyard outside the main building, which stands to the right. One corner juts out, with an entrance door and a flight of low stone steps. Along the length of the background, close to the estate, steep slopes covered in spruce trees. To the left, scattered saplings, the beginnings of a copse. The snow has stopped falling; the ground is covered in deep, freshly fallen snow. The spruce branches bend under the weight of the snow. Dark night air. Scudding clouds. Pale, intermittent moonlight. The surroundings are illuminated only by the dim light reflected in the snow.
BORKMAN, MRS BORKMAN and ELLA RENTHEIM are standing outside on the steps. BORKMAN, weak and tired, leans against the wall of the house. He has an old-fashioned cloak1 thrown over his shoulders and holds a soft grey felt hat in one hand and a thick gnarled stick in the other. ELLA RENTHEIM carries her coat over her arm. MRS BORKMAN’s big shawl has slipped down over her neck, leaving her head bare.
ELLA RENTHEIM [blocking MRS BORKMAN’s path]: Don’t go after him, Gunhild!
MRS BORKMAN [anxious and agitated]: Let me pass! He must not leave me!
ELLA RENTHEIM: But there’s absolutely no point, I tell you! You’ll never catch him up.
MRS BORKMAN: Let me go, anyway, Ella! I’ll cry out after him down the road. He must hear his mother’s cry!
ELLA RENTHEIM: He can’t hear you. He’s probably inside the sleigh already –
MRS BORKMAN: No, no – he can’t be in the sleigh yet!
ELLA RENTHEIM: He’s been in the sleigh for some time, believe me.
MRS BORKMAN [in despair]: If he’s in the sleigh, he’s in there with her, with her – her!
BORKMAN [with a sinister laugh]: Not very likely to hear his mother’s cries then, is he?
MRS BORKMAN: No – he won’t. [Listens.] Listen! What’s that?
ELLA RENTHEIM [also listening]: Sounds like sleigh-bells.
MRS BORKMAN [with a suppressed cry]: It’s her sleigh!
ELLA RENTHEIM: Or perhaps someone else’s –
MRS BORKMAN: No, no, that’s Mrs Wilton’s sleigh-carriage! I recognize those silver bells! Listen! They’re driving right past – at the bottom of the hill!
ELLA RENTHEIM [quickly]: Gunhild, if you want to cry out to him, now is the time! Perhaps after all he’ll –!
The sound of the bells comes nearer, in the woods.
ELLA RENTHEIM: Hurry up, Gunhild! They’re just below us now.
MRS BORKMAN [stands for a moment undecided, then stiffens and says sternly and coldly]: No. I won’t cry out to him. Let Erhart Borkman drive past me. Far, far away to what he now calls life and happiness.
The sound dies away in the distance.
ELLA RENTHEIM [after a moment]: I can’t hear the bells any more.
MRS BORKMAN: To me they sounded like funeral bells.
BORKMAN [with dry, subdued laughter]: Oh – they’re not ringing for me yet!
MRS BORKMAN: No, they’re ringing for me. And for him who left me.
ELLA RENTHEIM [nods thoughtfully]: Who knows – perhaps they’re ringing in life and happiness for him after all, Gunhild?
MRS BORKMAN [flares up, gives her a stern look]: Life and happiness, you say!
ELLA RENTHEIM: For a little while at any rate.
MRS BORKMAN: Do you really wish him life and happiness – with her?
ELLA RENTHEIM [warmly and sincerely]: Yes, I do, with all my heart, I do!
MRS BORKMAN [coldly]: Then you must be more richly endowed with the power of love than I.
ELLA RENTHEIM [looks into the distance]: Perhaps it’s my longing for love that keeps that power alive.
MRS BORKMAN [fixing her eyes on her]: If that’s the case – I’ll soon be as rich as you, Ella.
She turns and goes into the house.
ELLA RENTHEIM [stands for a while looking at BORKMAN with a worried expression, then rests her hand warily on his shoulder]: John, you come along inside, too.
BORKMAN [as though waking]: Me?
ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes. This winter air’s too sharp for you. I can tell just by looking at you, John. So come on inside with me. Inside, where it’s warm.
BORKMAN [angry]: Back upstairs to the gallery, I suppose?
ELLA RENTHEIM: No, downstairs, into the living room, with her.
BORKMAN [flares up]: I’m not setting foot under that roof again!
ELLA RENTHEIM: Where will you go, then? So late – at this time of night, John?
BORKMAN [puts on his hat]: Well, the first thing I’m going to do is see to all my hidden treasures.
ELLA RENTHEIM [looks anxiously at him]: John – I don’t understand you!
BORKMAN [laughter broken by coughing]: No, don’t worry, Ella. I’m not referring to some cache of stolen goods I’ve stashed away. [Stops and points.] Look at him, there, Ella? Who’s that?
VILHELM FOLDAL in an old overcoat, covered in snow, his hat turned down, a large umbrella in his hand, appears round the corner of the house stumbling laboriously through the snow. He is limping badly with his left foot.
BORKMAN: Vilhelm! What are you doing here – back already?
FOLDAL [looks up]: Good God – is that you out on the steps, John Gabriel? [Bows] And Mrs Borkman, too, I see!
BORKMAN [curtly]: This is not Mrs Borkman.
FOLDAL: Oh, I do beg your pardon. I lost my glasses in the snow, you see. – But how is it that you – who never set foot outside –?
BORKMAN [reckless and cheerful]: Oh, I decided it was time I embraced the great outdoors again, you know. Almost three years in custody; five years in the cell; eight years in the gallery up there –
ELLA RENTHEIM [worried]: Borkman – I’m begging you –!
FOLDAL: Ah, yes, yes, yes –
BORKMAN: But what do you want with me anyway?
FOLDAL [still standing at the foot of the steps]: I wanted to see you, John Gabriel. I felt I had to come and see you, up in the gallery. Dear God – John Gabriel, that gallery!
BORKMAN: You wanted to come up even after I’d shown you the door?
FOLDAL: Oh, for heaven’s sake – that doesn’t matter.
BORKMAN: What have you done to your foot? You’re limping!
FOLDAL: Yes, you won’t believe this, John Gabriel – I’ve been run over.
ELLA RENTHEIM: Run over!
FOLDAL: Yes, by a sleigh-carriage –
BORKMAN: Aha!
FOLDAL: Drawn by two horses. They came charging down the hill at such speed that I couldn’t get out of the way quickly enough, so –
ELLA RENTHEIM: So they ran you over?
FOLDAL: They drove straight into me, ma’am – miss? They drove straight at me, and sent me flying, tumbling into the snow. I lost my glasses and broke my umbrella. [Rubs his leg] And my foot a little, too.
BORKMAN [laughs inwardly]: Do you know who was inside that sleigh, Vilhelm?
FOLDAL: No, I couldn’t see a thing. It was a carriage, after all, and the blinds were pulled down. The driver didn’t stop, even for a moment, as I lay there rolling on the ground. – But that doesn’t matter because –. [In an outburst] Oh, you know, it’s strange but I’m so happy!
BORKMAN: Happy?
FOLDAL: Well, I don’t know how to describe it exactly. But I think happy comes closest. Something quite remarkable has happened! And I just couldn’t help it – I had to come here and share my happiness with you, John Gabriel.
BORKMAN [gruffly]: Go on, then. Share your happiness!
ELLA RENTHEIM: Oh, take your friend inside with you first, Borkman.
BORKMAN [sternly]: I’ve already told you, I don’t want to go inside the house.
ELLA RENTHEIM: But didn’t you hear the man – he’s been run over!
BORKMAN: Oh, we all get run over – at some point in our lives. The thing is to pick yourself up again. And carry on as if nothing has happened.
FOLDAL: That’s very profound, John Gabriel. I can just as easily tell you my story out here – it won’t take a moment.
BORKMAN [milder]: Yes, please do, Vilhelm.
FOLDAL: Yes, well, listen to this! Just think – when I got home this evening after I’d been with you – what should I find but a letter? Can you guess who it was from?
BORKMAN: From your little Frida, perhaps?
FOLDAL: Precisely! Amazing! You got it straight away! Yes, it was from Frida. A long letter – quite a long letter. A messenger had brought it. And can you guess what she said?
BORKMAN: Would it be a goodbye to her parents, perhaps?
FOLDAL: Exactly! What remarkable guesswork, John Gabriel! Yes, she says that Mrs Wilton has been extraordinarily kind to her, and now the lady wants to go abroad and take her with her. So Frida can study music, she says. And Mrs Wilton has engaged a brilliant tutor to accompany them on their journey. And give Frida lessons! You see, she’s rather behind in certain subjects, unfortunately.
BORKMAN [shaking with inward laughter]: Well, well. I see it all too clearly, Vilhelm.
FOLDAL [continuing eagerly]: And just think – the first she knew about the journey was this evening. It was at that party, the one you know about! And even so, she took the time to write to me. And the letter is so warm – and beautiful, written from the heart, I can assure you. Not even a trace of contempt for her father any more. And how considerate, writing to say goodbye like that – before she left. [Laughs.] Of course, I’m not letting her off that easily.
BORKMAN [looks inquiringly at him]: How so?
FOLDAL: She says they’re setting off early tomorrow morning. Quite early.
BORKMAN: Oh, really – tomorrow? Is that what she told you?
FOLDAL [laughs and rubs his hands]: Yes; but I’m one step ahead of her, you see! I’m going straight up to Mrs Wilton’s –
BORKMAN: What, now – tonight?
FOLDAL: Oh, heavens, it’s not that late. And even if the house is closed up for the night, I’ll ring the bell. Without further ado. Because I must and I will see Frida before she leaves. Goodnight, goodnight! [Makes to leave.]
BORKMAN: My poor Vilhelm – listen to me and save yourself that difficult stretch of road.
FOLDAL: Oh, you’re thinking about my foot –
BORKMAN: Yes; and in any case, nobody will let you in at Mrs Wilton’s.
FOLDAL: Yes, they will. I’ll go on ringing and knocking till someone comes and opens up. Because I must and will see Frida.
ELLA RENTHEIM: Your daughter has already left, Mr Foldal.
FOLDAL [stands as though thunderstruck]: Frida’s already left? Are you quite sure? Who told you that?
BORKMAN: We have it from her future tutor.
FOLDAL: Really? And who’s that?
BORKMAN: A certain student, one Erhart Borkman.
FOLDAL [radiantly happy]: Your son, John Gabriel! Is he going with them?
BORKMAN: Oh, yes; he’s the one who’s going to help Mrs Wilton educate your little Frida.
FOLDAL: Oh, God be praised! The child is in the best of hands then. But are you quite certain that they’ve already left with her?
BORKMAN: They took her away in the sleigh that ran you over.
FOLDAL [claps his hands]: To think that my little Frida was sitting in that magnificent sleigh-carriage!
BORKMAN [nods]: Yes, yes, Vilhelm – your daughter is riding in style. And young Mr Borkman too. – Tell me – did you notice the silver bells?
FOLDAL: Yes, I did –. Did you say silver bells? Were they silver? Real, genuine silver bells?
BORKMAN: You can be quite sure of that. Everything was genuine. Both outside and inside.
FOLDAL [quietly moved]: Isn’t it strange how luck turns out for some people? My – my tiny little gift for poetry has been passed on to Frida as a gift for music. So I haven’t been a poet in vain after all. Because now she’s going out into the great, wide world, which I once had such wonderful dreams of seeing. Little Frida gets to travel in a magnificent sleigh-carriage. With silver bells on the harness –
BORKMAN: And run over her father.
FOLDAL [happy]: Oh, heavens! That doesn’t matter – as long as the child –! So, I’m too late, after all. In that case, I’d better go home and comfort her mother. She’s sitting weeping in the kitchen.
BORKMAN: Weeping?
FOLDAL [chuckling]: Yes, would you believe it, John Gabriel – she was crying her eyes out when I left.
BORKMAN: And you’re laughing, are you, Vilhelm?
FOLDAL: I am, yes, indeed I am! But you see, she doesn’t know any better – poor thing. Goodbye, then! It’s a good job the tram stop is so close by. Goodbye, goodbye, John Gabriel! Goodbye, miss.
He bows and limps away laboriously, the same way he came.
BORKMAN [stands silent for a moment, staring into space]: Goodbye, Vilhelm! This isn’t the first time you’ve been run over in life, old friend.
ELLA RENTHEIM [looks at him with suppressed anxiety]: You’re so pale, so pale, John –
BORKMAN: That’s what the prison air up there does to you.
ELLA RENTHEIM: I’ve never seen you like this before.
BORKMAN: No, but I don’t expect you’ve ever seen an escaped convict before either.
ELLA RENTHEIM: Oh, please just come inside the house with me, John!
BORKMAN: Enough of your coaxing tones. I’ve told you –
ELLA RENTHEIM: But if I really beg you? For your own sake –
The MAID comes out on to the steps.
MAID: Oh, excuse me. Mrs Borkman says I should lock the main door now.
BORKMAN [in a low voice, to ELLA]: Listen to that; they want to lock me up again!
ELLA RENTHEIM [to the MAID]: Mr Borkman isn’t feeling too well. He needs some fresh air first.
MAID: But Mrs Borkman told me to –
ELLA RENTHEIM: I’ll see to it. Just leave the key in the lock, and –
MAID: Oh, heavens; very well, I’ll do that.
She goes back into the house.
BORKMAN [stands silent for a moment and listens; then hurries down to the courtyard]: Now I’m outside the wall, Ella! Now they’ll never catch me again!
ELLA RENTHEIM [down with him]: But you’re a free man inside there, too, John. You can come and go as you please.
BORKMAN [softly, as though in terror]: Never again indoors, under a roof! It’s so good to be out here in the night. If I went back upstairs now – the ceiling and walls would close in on me. Crush me. Squash me like a fly –
ELLA RENTHEIM: But where will you go?
BORKMAN: I’ll just walk and walk and walk. See if I can find my way through to freedom, to life and back to other human beings. Will you walk with me, Ella?
ELLA RENTHEIM: Me? Now?
BORKMAN: Yes, yes – right away!
ELLA RENTHEIM: But how far?
BORKMAN: As far as I can.
ELLA RENTHEIM: But think about what you’re doing! Out in this cold, wet winter night –
BORKMAN [in a raw, hoarse voice]: Ah! – is Miss Rentheim worried about her health? Well, yes – it is rather delicate.
ELLA RENTHEIM: It’s your health I’m worried about.
BORKMAN: Ha, ha, ha! A dead man’s health! You do make me laugh, Ella!
He walks on.
ELLA RENTHEIM [following, holding on to him]: What was that you said you were?
BORKMAN: A dead man, I said. Don’t you remember what Gunhild said: that I should just lie still, there, where I lay?
ELLA RENTHEIM [making her mind up and throwing her coat around her]: I’ll come with you, John.
BORKMAN: Yes, we belong together, Ella, we two. [Walks on] Come on then!
They eventually reach the copse to the left and gradually disappear from sight inside it. The house and courtyard are no longer visible. The landscape of slopes and ridges slowly changes and becomes wilder and wilder.
ELLA RENTHEIM’S VOICE [heard in the woods to the right]: Where are we going, John? I don’t know where I am.
BORKMAN’S VOICE [higher up]: Just follow my footprints in the snow!
ELLA RENTHEIM’S VOICE: But why do we have to climb so high?
BORKMAN’S VOICE [closer]: We have to go up the winding path.
ELLA RENTHEIM [still out of sight]: Oh, but I can’t go on much longer.
BORKMAN [at the edge of the wood to the right]: Come on, come on! We’re not far from the look-out point now. There used to be a bench up there –
ELLA RENTHEIM [emerges through the trees]: Do you remember it?
BORKMAN: You can rest there.
They have reached a small clearing high in the wood. The slope rises steeply behind them. To the left, far below, a vast landscape with fjords and high ridges that tower over each other in the distance. In the clearing, to the left, a dead pine tree with a bench underneath it. Deep snow over the clearing.
BORKMAN and, after him, ELLA RENTHEIM enter from the right, trudging laboriously through the snow.
BORKMAN [stops by the sheer drop to the left]: Come here, Ella, and you’ll see.
ELLA RENTHEIM [next to him]: What do you want to show me, John?
BORKMAN [pointing outwards]: Do you see how free and open the land lies before us – far into the distance?
ELLA RENTHEIM: We would often sit on this bench – and look out, much, much further out.
BORKMAN: It was a dreamland we looked out over, back then.
ELLA RENTHEIM [nodding gravely]: Yes, the dreamland of our life. And now that land is buried in snow. – And the old tree is dead.
BORKMAN [without listening to her]: Can you make out the smoke from the big steamships on the fjord?
ELLA RENTHEIM: No.
BORKMAN: I can. – They come and they go, connecting lives all over the world.2 They create light and warmth for people in thousands of homes. That is what I dreamed of creating.
ELLA RENTHEIM [softly]: And it stayed a dream.
BORKMAN: It stayed a dream, yes. [Listens] Just listen – down by the river! The factories are working! My factories! All the factories I would have built! Just listen to them! The night shift. They work night and day. Listen, listen! Wheels whirring – rollers flashing round – round and round! Can’t you hear it, Ella?
ELLA RENTHEIM: No.
BORKMAN: I can hear it.
ELLA RENTHEIM [anxiously]: I think you’re mistaken, John.
BORKMAN [more and more fired up]: Oh, all of this, you know – it’s nothing more than the outworks3 on the periphery of the kingdom!
ELLA RENTHEIM: The kingdom, did you say? What kingdom –?
BORKMAN: My kingdom, of course! The kingdom I was about to take possession of when I – when I died.
ELLA RENTHEIM [shaken, in a low voice]: Oh, John, John!
BORKMAN: And now it’s lying there – with no ruler, defenceless – vulnerable to looters and plunderers. Ella, can you see the mountain ranges there – far away? One behind the other. They rise. They tower up! There lies my vast, infinite, inexhaustible kingdom!
ELLA RENTHEIM: Oh, but there’s an icy blast coming from that kingdom, John!
BORKMAN: That blast is like a breath of life to me. That blast comes over me like a greeting from my spirit subjects. I sense them, the trapped millions; I feel the veins of metal ore stretching out their arms to me, branching, beckoning, coaxing. That night when I stood down in the bank vault holding the lantern in my hand, I saw them before me like shadows come to life. You all wanted to be liberated then. And I tried to do it. But I lacked the power. The treasure sank back into the depths.4 [With outstretched hands] But I’ll whisper this to you here in the still of the night: I love you, as you lie there deep in the darkness with the look of death! I love you, life-craving riches – I love you, and all your blazing retinue of power and glory! I love, love, love you!
ELLA RENTHEIM [in quiet mounting agitation]: Yes, your love is still down there, John. Has always been there. But up here, in the light of day – was a warm, living human heart, throbbing and beating for you. And that heart you crushed. Oh, more than that! Ten times worse! You sold it for – for –
BORKMAN [trembles, as if the cold has gone straight through him]: For the kingdom – and the power – and the glory5 – you mean?
ELLA RENTHEIM: Yes, that is what I mean. I’ve said it once before tonight. You murdered the vital capacity for love in the woman who loved you. And whom you loved in return. To the extent that you could love someone. [With uplifted arm] And so I predict this for you – John Gabriel Borkman – you will never collect the prize you demanded for that murder. There will be no triumphal procession for you into your cold, dark kingdom!
BORKMAN [staggers to the bench and sits down heavily]: I almost fear that your prediction will come true, Ella.
ELLA RENTHEIM [next to him]: Don’t fear it, John. That is precisely the best thing that could happen to you.
BORKMAN [with a cry; clutches his chest]: Ah –! [Feebly] Now it’s let go of me.
ELLA RENTHEIM [shakes him]: What was it, John?
BORKMAN [sinks against the bench]: A hand of ice, gripping my heart.
ELLA RENTHEIM: John! Was that the ice-hand now?
BORKMAN [murmurs]: No. – No ice-hand. – It was an iron hand.
He slides right down into the bench.
ELLA RENTHEIM [tears off her coat and covers him with it]: Lie still, where you are! I’m going to fetch help.
She takes a couple of steps to the right; stops, goes back and carefully feels his pulse and his face.
ELLA RENTHEIM [softly and firmly]: No. It’s for the best, John Borkman. Best for you.
She tucks the coat more tightly around him and sits down in the snow in front of the bench.
A short silence.
MRS BORKMAN wearing an overcoat, comes through the woods on the right. In front of her, the MAID carrying a lantern.
MAID [shining the light on the snow]: Yes, yes, ma’am. Here are their tracks –
MRS BORKMAN [looking around]: Yes, here they are! They’re sitting over there on the bench. [Calls out] Ella!
ELLA RENTHEIM [stands up]: Are you looking for us?
MRS BORKMAN [sternly]: Yes, I have no choice.
ELLA RENTHEIM [pointing]: Look, he’s lying here, Gunhild.
MRS BORKMAN: Asleep!
ELLA RENTHEIM [nods]: A long, deep sleep, I think.
MRS BORKMAN [in an outburst]: Ella! [Controls herself and asks in a subdued voice] Did it happen – of his own free will?
ELLA RENTHEIM: No.
MRS BORKMAN [relieved]: So not by his own hand?
ELLA RENTHEIM: No. An ice-cold iron hand gripped his heart.
MRS BORKMAN [to the MAID]: Fetch help. Get the people from the estate to come up.
MAID: Yes, ma’am. [To herself] Holy Jesus –
She goes out through the wood to the right.
MRS BORKMAN [stands behind the bench]: So the night air killed him –
ELLA RENTHEIM: So it would seem.
MRS BORKMAN: – him, the strong man!
ELLA RENTHEIM [walks round to the front of the bench]: Aren’t you going to look at him, Gunhild?
MRS BORKMAN [with a gesture of aversion]: No, no, no. [Lowers her voice] He was a miner’s son, the banker. He couldn’t survive in the fresh air.
ELLA RENTHEIM: It was really the cold that killed him.
MRS BORKMAN [shakes her head]: The cold, you say? The cold – that killed him long ago.
ELLA RENTHEIM [nods to her]: And turned the two of us into shadows.
MRS BORKMAN: Yes, you’re right.
ELLA RENTHEIM [with a painful smile]: A dead man and two shadows – that is what the cold has done.
MRS BORKMAN: Yes, the cold that lies in the heart. – The two of us can surely join hands now, Ella?
ELLA RENTHEIM: I think we can now.
MRS BORKMAN: We twin sisters – over the man we both loved.
ELLA RENTHEIM: We two shadows – over the dead man.
MRS BORKMAN behind the bench and ELLA RENTHEIM in front, reach out to one another and join hands.