Chapter 15

Ella Rentheim.

I have only just arrived.

Borkman.

Why have you come all this way now, in winter?

Ella Rentheim.

That you shall hear.

Borkman.

Is it me you have come to see?

Ella Rentheim.

You among others. But if I am to tell you my errand, I must begin far back.

Borkman.

You look tired.

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, I am tired.

Borkman.

Won’t you sit down? There, on the sofa.

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, thank you; I need rest.

[She crosses to the right and seats herself in the furthest forward corner of the sofa.Borkmanstands beside the table with his hands behind his back looking at her. A short silence.

Ella Rentheim.

It seems an endless time since we two met, Borkman, face to face.

Borkman.

[Gloomily.] It is a long, long time. And terrible things have passed since then.

Ella Rentheim.

A whole lifetime has passed—a wasted lifetime.

Borkman.

[Looking keenly at her.] Wasted!

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, I say wasted—for both of us.

Borkman.

[In a cold, business tone.] I cannot regard my life as wasted, yet.

Ella Rentheim.

And what about mine?

Borkman.

There you have yourself to blame, Ella.

Ella Rentheim.

[With a start.] And you can saythat?

Borkman.

You could quite well have been happy without me.

Ella Rentheim.

Do you believe that?

Borkman.

If you had made up your mind to.

Ella Rentheim.

[Bitterly.] Oh yes, I know well enough there was some one else ready to marry me.

Borkman.

But you rejected him.

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, I did.

Borkman.

Time after time you rejected him. Year after year——

Ella Rentheim.

[Scornfully.] Year after year I rejected happiness, I suppose you think?

Borkman.

You might perfectly well have been happy withhim. And then I should have been saved.

Ella Rentheim.

You?

Borkman.

Yes, you would have saved me, Ella.

Ella Rentheim.

How do you mean?

Borkman.

He thought I was at the bottom of your obstinacy—of your perpetual refusals. And then he took his revenge. It was so easy for him; he had all my frank, confiding letters in his keeping. He made his own use of them; and then it was all over with me—for the time, that is to say. So you see it is all your doing, Ella!

Ella Rentheim.

Oh indeed, Borkman. If we look into the matter, it appears that it is I who oweyoureparation.

Borkman.

It depends how you look at it. I know quite well all that you have done for us. You boughtin this house, and the whole property, at the auction. You placed the house entirely at my disposal—and your sister’s. You took charge of Erhart, and cared for him in every way——

Ella Rentheim.

As long as I was allowed to——

Borkman.

By your sister, you mean. I have never mixed myself up in these domestic affairs. As I was saying, I know all the sacrifices you have made for me and for your sister. But you were in a position to do so, Ella; and you must not forget that it was I who placed you in that position.

Ella Rentheim.

[Indignantly.] There you make a great mistake, Borkman! It was the love of my inmost heart for Erhart—and for you too—that made me do it!

Borkman.

[Interrupting.] My dear Ella, do not let us get upon questions of sentiment and that sort of thing. I mean, of course, that if you acted generously, it was I that put it in your power to do so.

Ella Rentheim.

[Smiling.] H’m! In my power——

Borkman.

[Warmly.] Yes, put it in your power, I say! On the eve of the great decisive battle—when Icould not afford to spare either kith or kin—when I had to grasp at—when Ididgrasp at the millions that were entrusted to me—then I spared all that was yours, every farthing, although I could have taken it, and made use of it, as I did of all the rest!

Ella Rentheim.

[Coldly and quietly.] That is quite true, Borkman.

Borkman.

Yes it is. And that was why, when they came and took me, they found all your securities untouched in the strong-room of the bank.

Ella Rentheim.

[Looking at him.] I have often and often wondered what was your real reason for sparing all my property? That, and that alone?

Borkman.

My reason?

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, your reason. Tell me.

Borkman.

[Harshly and scornfully.] Perhaps you think it was that I might have something to fall back upon, if things went wrong?

Ella Rentheim.

Oh no, I am sure you did not think of that in those days.

Borkman.

Never! I was so absolutely certain of victory.

Ella Rentheim.

Well then, why was it that——?

Borkman.

[Shrugging his shoulders.] Upon my soul, Ella, it is not so easy to remember one’s motives of twenty years ago. I only know that when I used to grapple, silently and alone, with all the great projects I had in my mind, I had something like the feeling of a man who is starting on a balloon-voyage. All through my sleepless nights I was inflating my giant balloon, and preparing to soar away into perilous, unknown regions.

Ella Rentheim.

[Smiling.] You, who never had the least doubt of victory?

Borkman.

[Impatiently.] Men are made so, Ella. They both doubt and believe at the same time. [Looking straight before him.] And I suppose that was why I would not take you and yours with me in the balloon.

Ella Rentheim.

[Eagerly.] Why, I ask you? Tell me why!

Borkman.

[Without looking at her.] One shrinks from risking what one holds dearest on such a voyage.

Ella Rentheim.

Youhadrisked what was dearest to you on that voyage. Your whole future life——

Borkman.

Life is not always what one holds dearest.

Ella Rentheim.

[Breathlessly.] Was that how you felt at that time?

Borkman.

I fancy it was.

Ella Rentheim.

I was the dearest thing in the world to you?

Borkman.

I seem to remember something of the sort.

Ella Rentheim.

And yet years and years had passed since you had deserted me—and married—married another!

Borkman.

Deserted you, you say? You must know very well that it was higher motives—well then,othermotives that compelled me. Withouthissupport I could not have done anything.

Ella Rentheim.

[Controlling herself.] So you deserted me from—higher motives.

Borkman.

I could not get on without his help. And he made you the price of helping me.

Ella Rentheim.

And you paid the price. Paid it in full—without haggling.

Borkman.

I had no choice. I had to conquer or fall.

Ella Rentheim.

[In a trembling voice, looking at him.] Can what you tell me be true—that I was then the dearest thing in the world to you?

Borkman.

Both then and afterwards—long, long after.

Ella Rentheim.

But you bartered me away none the less; drove a bargain with another man for your love. Sold my love for a—for a directorship.

Borkman.

[Gloomily and bowed down.] I was driven by inexorable necessity, Ella.

Ella Rentheim.

[Rises from the sofa, quivering with passion.] Criminal!

Borkman.

[Starts, but controls himself.] I have heard that word before.

Ella Rentheim.

Oh, don’t imagine I’m thinking of anything you may have done against the law of the land! The use you made of all those vouchers and securities, or whatever you call them—do you think I care a straw about that! If I could have stood at your side when the crash came——

Borkman.

[Eagerly.] What then, Ella?

Ella Rentheim.

Trust me, I should have borne it all so gladly along with you. The shame, the ruin—I would have helped you to bear it all—all!

Borkman.

Would you have had the will—the strength?

Ella Rentheim.

Both the will and the strength. For then I did not know of your great, your terrible crime.

Borkman.

What crime? What are you speaking of?

Ella Rentheim.

I am speaking of that crime for which there is no forgiveness.

Borkman.

[Staring at her.] You must be out of your mind.

Ella Rentheim.

[Approaching him.] You are a murderer! You have committed the one mortal sin!

Borkman.

[Falling back towards the piano.] You are raving, Ella!

Ella Rentheim.

You have killed the love-life in me. [Still nearer him.] Do you understand what that means? The Bible speaks of a mysterious sin for which there is no forgiveness. I have never understood what it could be; but now I understand. The great, unpardonable sin is to murder the love-life in a human soul.

Borkman.

And you say I have done that?

Ella Rentheim.

Youhavedone that. I have never rightly understood until this evening what had really happened to me. That you deserted me and turned to Gunhild instead—I took that to be mere common fickleness on your part, and the result of heartless scheming on hers. I almost think I despised you a little, in spite of everything. But now I see it! You deserted the woman youloved! Me, me, me! What you held dearest in the world you were ready to barter away for gain.Thatis the double murder you have committed! The murder of your own soul and of mine!

Borkman.

[With cold self-control.] How well I recognise your passionate, ungovernable spirit, Ella. No doubt it is natural enough that you should look at the thing in this light. Of course, you are a woman, and therefore it would seem that your own heart is the one thing you know or care about in the world.

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, yes it is.

Borkman.

Your own heart is the only thing that exists for you.

Ella Rentheim.

The only thing! The only thing! You are right there.

Borkman.

But you must remember that I am a man. As a woman, you were the dearest thing in the world to me. But if the worst comes to the worst, one woman can always take the place of another.

Ella Rentheim.

[Looks at him with a smile.] Was that your experience when you had made Gunhild your wife?

Borkman.

No. But the great aims I had in life helped me to bear even that. I wanted to have at my command all the sources of power in this country. All the wealth that lay hidden in thesoil, and the rocks, and the forests, and the sea—I wanted to gather it all into my hands, to make myself master of it all, and so to promote the well-being of many, many thousands.

Ella Rentheim.

[Lost in recollection.] I know it. Think of all the evenings we spent in talking over your projects.

Borkman.

Yes, I could talk toyou, Ella.

Ella Rentheim.

I jested with your plans, and asked whether you wanted to awaken all the sleeping spirits of the mine.

Borkman.

[Nodding.] I remember that phrase. [Slowly.] All the sleeping spirits of the mine.

Ella Rentheim.

But you did not take it as a jest. You said: “Yes, yes, Ella, that is just what I want to do.”

Borkman.

And so it was. If only I could get my foot into the stirrup——Andthatdepended on that one man. He could and would secure me the control of the bank—if I on my side——

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, just so! If you on your side would renounce the woman you loved—and who loved you beyond words in return.

Borkman.

I knew his consuming passion for you. I knew that on no other condition would he——

Ella Rentheim.

And so you struck the bargain.

Borkman.

[Vehemently.] Yes, I did, Ella! For the love of power is uncontrollable in me, you see! So I struck the bargain; Ihadto. And he helped me half-way up towards the beckoning heights that I was bent on reaching. And I mounted and mounted; year by year I mounted——

Ella Rentheim.

And I was as though wiped out of your life.

Borkman.

And after all he hurled me into the abyss again. On account of you, Ella.

Ella Rentheim.

[After a short thoughtful silence.] Borkman, does it not seem to you as if there had been a sort of curse on our whole relation?

Borkman.

[Looking at her.] A curse?

Ella Rentheim.

Yes. Don’t you think so?

Borkman.

[Uneasily.] Yes. But why is it? [With an outburst.] Oh Ella, I begin to wonder which is in the right—you or I!

Ella Rentheim.

It is you who have sinned. You have done to death all the gladness of life in me.

Borkman.

[Anxiously.] Do not say that, Ella!

Ella Rentheim.

All a woman’s gladness at any rate. From the day when your image began to dwindle in my mind, I have lived my life as though under an eclipse. During all these years it has grown harder and harder for me—and at last utterly impossible—to love any living creature. Human beings, animals, plants: I shrank from all—from all but one——

Borkman.

What one?

Ella Rentheim.

Erhart, of course.

Borkman.

Erhart?

Ella Rentheim.

Erhart—your son, Borkman.

Borkman.

Has he really been so close to your heart?

Ella Rentheim.

Why else should I have taken him to me, and kept him as long as ever I could? Why?

Borkman.

I thought it was out of pity, like all the rest that you did.

Ella Rentheim.

[In strong inward emotion.] Pity! Ha, ha! I have never known pity, since you deserted me. I was incapable of feeling it. If a poor starved child came into my kitchen, shivering, and crying, and begging for a morsel of food, I let the servants look to it. I never felt any desire to take the child to myself, to warm it at my own hearth, to have the pleasure of seeing it eat and be satisfied. And yet I was not like that when I was young; that I remember clearly! It is you that have created an empty, barren desert within me—and without me too!

Borkman.

Except only for Erhart.

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, except for your son. But I am hardened to every other living thing. You have cheated me of a mother’s joy and happiness in life—and of a mother’s sorrows and tears as well. And perhaps that is the heaviest part of the loss to me.

Borkman.

Do you say that, Ella?

Ella Rentheim.

Who knows? It may be that a mother’s sorrows and tears were what I needed most. [With still deeper emotion.] But at that time Icould notresign myself to my loss; and that was why I took Erhart to me. I won him entirely. Won his whole warm, trustful childish heart—until——Oh!

Borkman.

Until what?

Ella Rentheim.

Until his mother—his mother in the flesh, I mean—took him from me again.

Borkman.

He had to leave you in any case; he had to come to town.

Ella Rentheim.

[Wringing her hands.] Yes, but I cannot bear the solitude—the emptiness! I cannot bear the loss of your son’s heart!

Borkman.

[With an evil expression in his eyes.] H’m—I doubt whether you have lost it, Ella. Hearts are not so easily lost to a certain person—in the room below.

Ella Rentheim.

Ihavelost Erhart here, and she has won him back again. Or if not she, some one else. That is plain enough in the letters he writes me from time to time.

Borkman.

Then it is to take him back with you that you have come here?

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, if only it were possible——!

Borkman.

It is possible enough, if you have set your heart upon it. For you have the first and strongest claims upon him.

Ella Rentheim.

Oh, claims, claims! What is the use of claims? If he is not mine of his own free will, he is not mine at all. And have him I must! I must have my boy’s heart, whole and undivided—now!

Borkman.

You must remember that Erhart is well into his twenties. You could scarcely reckon on keeping his heart very long undivided, as you express it.

Ella Rentheim.

[With a melancholy smile.] It would not need to be for so very long.

Borkman.

Indeed? I should have thought that whenyouwant a thing, you want it to the end of your days.

Ella Rentheim.

So I do. But that need not mean for very long.

Borkman.

[Taken aback.] What do you mean by that?

Ella Rentheim.

I suppose you know I have been in bad health for many years past?

Borkman.

Haveyou?

Ella Rentheim.

Do you not know that?

Borkman.

No, I cannot say I did——

Ella Rentheim.

[Looking at him in surprise.] Has Erhart not told you so?

Borkman.

I really don’t remember at the moment.

Ella Rentheim.

Perhaps he has not spoken of me at all?

Borkman.

Oh, yes, I believe he has spoken of you. But the fact is, I so seldom see anything of him—scarcely ever. There is a certain person below that keeps him away from me. Keeps him away, you understand?

Ella Rentheim.

Are you quite sure of that, Borkman?

Borkman.

Yes, absolutely sure. [Changing his tone.] And so you have been in bad health, Ella?

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, I have. And this autumn I grew so much worse that I had to come to town and take better medical advice.

Borkman.

And you have seen the doctors already?

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, this morning.

Borkman.

And what did they say to you?

Ella Rentheim.

They gave me full assurance of what I had long suspected.

Borkman.

Well?

Ella Rentheim.

[Calmly and quietly.] My illness will never be cured, Borkman.

Borkman.

Oh, you must not believe that, Ella.

Ella Rentheim.

It is a disease that there is no help or cure for. The doctors can do nothing with it. Theymust just let it take its course. They cannot possibly check it; at most, they can allay the suffering. And that is always something.

Borkman.

Oh, but it will take a long time to run its course. I am sure it will.

Ella Rentheim.

I may perhaps last out the winter, they told me.

Borkman.

[Without thinking.] Oh, well, the winter is long.

Back to Index Next