ACT FOURTH

Mrs. Borkman.

[Interrupting.] And forsake your mother, and perhaps your mission in life as well? Will you, Erhart?

Ella Rentheim.

I am condemned to death. Answer me, Erhart.

Erhart.

[Warmly, with emotion.] Aunt Ella, you have been unspeakably good to me. With you I grew up in as perfect happiness as any boy can ever have known——

Mrs. Borkman.

Erhart, Erhart!

Ella Rentheim.

Oh, how glad I am that you can still say that!

Erhart.

But I cannot sacrifice myself to you now. It is not possible for me to devote myself wholly to taking a son’s place towards you.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Triumphing.] Ah, I knew it! You shall not have him! You shall not have him, Ella!

Ella Rentheim.

[Sadly.] I see it. You have won him back.

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes, yes! Mine he is, and mine he shall remain! Erhart, say it is so, dear; we two have still a long way to go together, have we not?

Erhart.

[Struggling with himself.] Mother, I may as well tell you plainly——

Mrs. Borkman.

[Eagerly.] What?

Erhart.

I am afraid it is only a very little way you and I can go together.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Stands as though thunderstruck.] What do you mean by that?

Erhart.

[Plucking up spirit.] Good heavens, mother, I am young, after all! I feel as if the close air of this room must stifle me in the end.

Mrs. Borkman.

Close air? Here—with me?

Erhart.

Yes, here with you, mother.

Ella Rentheim.

Then come with me, Erhart.

Erhart.

Oh, Aunt Ella, it’s not a whit better with you. It’s different, but no better—no better for me. It smells of rose-leaves and lavender there too; it is as airless there as here.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Shaken, but having recovered her composure with an effort.] Airless in your mother’s room, you say!

Erhart.

[In growing impatience.] Yes, I don’t know how else to express it. All this morbid watchfulness and—and idolisation, or whatever you like to call it——I can’t endure it any longer!

Mrs. Borkman.

[Looking at him with deep solemnity.] Have you forgotten what you have consecrated your life to, Erhart?

Erhart.

[With an outburst.] Oh, say rather whatyouhave consecrated my life to. You, you have been my will. You have never given me leave to have any of my own. But now I cannot bear this yoke any longer. I am young; remember that, mother. [With a polite, considerate glance towardsBorkman.] I cannot consecrate my life to making atonement for another—whoever that other may be.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Seized with a growing anxiety.] Who is it that has transformed you, Erhart?

Erhart.

[Struck.] Who? Can you not conceive that it is I myself?

Mrs. Borkman.

No, no, no! You have come under some strange power. You are not in your mother’s power any longer; nor in your—your foster-mother’s either.

Erhart.

[With laboured defiance.] I am in my own power, mother! And working my own will!

Borkman.

[Advancing towardsErhart.] Then perhaps my hour has come at last.

Erhart.

[Distantly and with measured politeness.] How so? How do you mean, sir?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Scornfully.] Yes, you may well ask that.

Borkman.

[Continuing undisturbed.] Listen, Erhart—will you not cast in your lot with your father? It is not through any other man’s life that a man who has fallen can be raised up again. These are only empty fables that have been told to you down here in the airless room. If you were to set yourself to live your life like all the saints together, it would be of no use whatever to me.

Erhart.

[With measured respectfulness.] That is very true indeed.

Borkman.

Yes, it is. And it would be of no use either if I should resign myself to wither away in abject penitence. I have tried to feed myself upon hopes and dreams, all through these years. But I am not the man to be content with that; and now I mean to have done with dreaming.

Erhart.

[With a slight bow.] And what will—what will you do, sir?

Borkman.

I will work out my own redemption, that is what I will do. I will begin at the bottom again. It is only through his present and his future that a man can atone for his past. Through work, indefatigable work, for all that, in my youth, seemed to give life its meaning—and that now seems a thousand times greater than it did then. Erhart, will you join with me and help me in this new life?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Raising her hand warningly.] Do not do it, Erhart!

Ella Rentheim.

[Warmly.] Yes, yes, do it! Oh, help him, Erhart!

Mrs. Borkman.

And you advise him to do that? You, the lonely, dying woman.

Ella Rentheim.

I don’t care about myself.

Mrs. Borkman.

No, so long as it is not I that take him from you.

Ella Rentheim.

Precisely so, Gunhild.

Borkman.

Will you, Erhart?

Erhart.

[Wrung with pain.] Father, I cannot now. It is utterly impossible!

Borkman.

What do you want to do then?

Erhart.

[With a sudden glow.] I am young! I want to live, for once in a way, as well as other people! I want to live my own life!

Ella Rentheim.

You cannot give up two or three little months to brighten the close of a poor waning life?

Erhart.

Icannot, Aunt, however much I may wish to.

Ella Rentheim.

Not for the sake of one who loves you so dearly?

Erhart.

I solemnly assure you, Aunt Ella, I cannot.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Looking sharply at him.] And your mother has no power over you either, any more?

Erhart.

I will always love you, mother; but I cannot go on living for you alone. This is no life for me.

Borkman.

Then come and join with me, after all! For life, life means work, Erhart. Come, we two will go forth into life and work together!

Erhart.

[Passionately.] Yes, but I don’twantto work now! For I amyoung! That’s what I never realised before; but now the knowledge is tingling through every vein in my body. I will not work! I will only live, live, live!

Mrs. Borkman.

[With a cry of divination.] Erhart, what will you live for?

Erhart.

[With sparkling eyes.] For happiness, mother!

Mrs. Borkman.

And where do you think you can find that?

Erhart.

Ihavefound it, already!

Mrs. Borkman.

[Shrieks.] Erhart! [Erhartgoes quickly to the hall door and throws it open.]

Erhart.

[Calls out.] Fanny, you can come in now!

[Mrs. Wilton, in outdoor wraps, appears on the threshold.

Mrs. Borkman.

[With uplifted hands.] Mrs. Wilton!

Mrs. Wilton.

[Hesitating a little, with an enquiring glance atErhart.] Do you want me to——?

Erhart.

Yes, now you can come in. I have told them everything.

[Mrs. Wiltoncomes forward into the room.Erhartcloses the door behind her. She bows formally toBorkman, who returns her bow in silence. A short pause.

Mrs. Wilton.

[In a subdued but firm voice.] So the word has been spoken—and I suppose you all think I have brought a great calamity upon this house?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Slowly, looking hard at her.] You have crushed the last remnant of interest in life for me. [With an outburst.] But all this—all this is utterly impossible!

Mrs. Wilton.

I can quite understand that it must appear impossible to you, Mrs. Borkman.

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes, you can surely see for yourself that it is impossible. Or what——?

Mrs. Wilton.

I should rather say that it seems highly improbable. But it’s so, none the less.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Turning.] Are you really in earnest about this, Erhart?

Erhart.

This means happiness for me, mother—all the beauty and happiness of life. That is all I can say to you.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Clenching her hands together; toMrs. Wilton.] Oh, how you have cajoled and deluded my unhappy son!

Mrs. Wilton.

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

Mrs. Borkman.

You have not, you say!

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’s 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.] Areyougoing 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.

Withyou—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 doyousay 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! sothatwas 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 goodbye?

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.] Goodbye, mother.

Mrs. Borkman.

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

Erhart.

[Gently.] Isthatyour 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 toBorkman.] Goodbye, father. [Whispers toMrs. 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 withme—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.Erhartstands 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 Rentheimstops her.

ACT FOURTH

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. BorkmanandElla Rentheimare standing upon the steps,Borkmanleaning 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 Rentheimcarries her cloak over her arm.Mrs. Borkman’sgreat 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! Hemustnot 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.

Hecannothear 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.

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