JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN(1896)

The action passes one winter evening, at the Manor-house of the Rentheim family, in the neighbourhood of Christiania.

JOHN GABRIEL BORKMANPLAY IN FOUR ACTS

JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN

PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

Mrs. Borkman’sdrawing-room, furnished with old-fashioned, faded splendour. At the back, an open sliding-door leads into a garden-room, with windows and a glass door. Through it a view over the garden; twilight with driving snow. On the right, a door leading from the hall. Further forward, a large old-fashioned iron stove, with the fire lighted. On the left, towards the back, a single smaller door. In front, on the same side, a window, covered with thick curtains. Between the window and the door a horsehair sofa, with a table in front of it covered with a cloth. On the table, a lighted lamp with a shade. Beside the stove a high-backed armchair.

Mrs. Gunhild Borkmansits on the sofa, crocheting. She is an elderly lady, of cold, distinguished appearance, with stiff carriage and immobile features. Her abundant hair is very grey. Delicate transparent hands. Dressed in a gown of heavydark silk, which has originally been handsome, but is now somewhat worn and shabby. A woollen shawl over her shoulders.

She sits for a time erect and immovable at her crochet. Then the bells of a passing sledge are heard.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Listens; her eyes sparkle with gladness and she involuntarily whispers.] Erhart! At last!

[She rises and draws the curtain a little aside to look out. Appears disappointed, and sits down to her work again, on the sofa. PresentlyThe Maidenters from the hall with a visiting card on a small tray.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Quickly.] Has Mr. Erhart come after all?

The Maid.

No, ma’am. But there’s a lady——

Mrs. Borkman.

[Laying aside her crochet.] Oh, Mrs. Wilton, I suppose——

The Maid.

[Approaching.] No, it’s a strange lady——

Mrs. Borkman.

[Taking the card.] Let me see——[Reads it; rises hastily and looks intently at the girl.] Are you sure this is for me?

The Maid.

Yes, I understand it was for you, ma’m.

Mrs. Borkman.

Did she say she wanted to see Mrs. Borkman?

The Maid.

Yes, she did.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Shortly, resolutely.] Good. Then say I am at home.

[The Maidopens the door for the strange lady and goes out.MissElla Rentheimenters. She resembles her sister; but her face has rather a suffering than a hard expression. It still shows signs of great beauty, combined with strong character. She has a great deal of hair, which is drawn back from the forehead in natural ripples, and is snow-white. She is dressed in black velvet, with a hat and a fur-lined cloak of the same material.[The two sisters stand silent for a time, and look searchingly at each other. Each is evidently waiting for the other to speak first.

[The two sisters stand silent for a time, and look searchingly at each other. Each is evidently waiting for the other to speak first.

Ella Rentheim.

[Who has remained near the door.] You are surprised to see me, Gunhild.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Standing erect and immovable between the sofa and the table, resting her finger-tips upon the cloth.] Have you not made a mistake? The bailiff lives in the side wing, you know.

Ella Rentheim.

It is not the bailiff I want to see to-day.

Mrs. Borkman.

Is it me you want, then?

Ella Rentheim.

Yes. I have a few words to say to you.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Coming forward into the middle of the room.] Well—then sit down.

Ella Rentheim.

Thank you. I can quite well stand for the present.

Mrs. Borkman.

Just as you please. But at least loosen your cloak.

Ella Rentheim.

[Unbuttoning her cloak.] Yes, it is very warm here.

Mrs. Borkman.

I am always cold.

Ella Rentheim.

[Stands looking at her for a time with her arms resting on the back of the armchair.] Well, Gunhild, it is nearly eight years now since we saw each other last.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Coldly.] Since last we spoke to each other at any rate.

Ella Rentheim.

True, since we spoke to each other. I daresay you have seen me now and again—when I came on my yearly visit to the bailiff.

Mrs. Borkman.

Once or twice, I have.

Ella Rentheim.

I have caught one or two glimpses of you, too—there, at the window.

Mrs. Borkman.

You must have seen me through the curtains then. You have good eyes. [Harshly and cuttingly.] But the last time wespoketo each other—it was here in this room——

Ella Rentheim.

[Trying to stop her.] Yes, yes; I know, Gunhild!

Mrs. Borkman.

—the week before he—before he was let out.

Ella Rentheim.

[Moving towards the back.] Oh, don’t speak about that.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Firmly, but in a low voice.] It was the week before he—was set at liberty.

Ella Rentheim.

[Coming down.] Oh yes, yes, yes! I shall never forget that time! But it is too terrible to think of! Only to recall it for a moment—oh!

Mrs. Borkman.

[Gloomily.] And yet one’s thoughts can never get away from it! [Vehemently; clenching her hands together.] No, I can’t understand it! I never shall! I can’t understand how such a thing—how anything so horrible can come upon one single family! And then—that it should beourfamily! So old a family as ours! Think of its choosing us out!

Ella Rentheim.

Oh, Gunhild—there were many, many families besides ours thatthatblow fell upon.

Mrs. Borkman.

Oh yes; but those others don’t trouble me very much. For in their case it was only a matterof a little money—or some papers. But for us——! For me! And then for Erhart! My little boy—as he then was! [In rising excitement.] The shame that fell upon us two innocent ones! The dishonour! The hateful, terrible dishonour! And then the utter ruin too!

Ella Rentheim.

[Cautiously.] Tell me, Gunhild, how does he bear it?

Mrs. Borkman.

Erhart, do you mean?

Ella Rentheim.

No—he himself. How does he bear it?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Scornfully.] Do you think I ever ask aboutthat?

Ella Rentheim.

Ask? Surely you do not require to ask——

Mrs. Borkman.

[Looks at her in surprise.] You don’t suppose I ever have anything to do with him? That I ever meet him? That I see anything of him?

Ella Rentheim.

Not even that!

Mrs. Borkman.

[As before.] The man who was in gaol, in gaol for five years! [Covers her face with herhands.] Oh, the crushing shame of it! [With increased vehemence.] And then to think of all that the name of John Gabriel Borkman used to mean! No, no, no—I can never see him again! Never!

Ella Rentheim.

[Looks at her for a while.] You have a hard heart, Gunhild.

Mrs. Borkman.

Towardshim, yes.

Ella Rentheim.

After all, he is your husband.

Mrs. Borkman.

Did he not say in court that it was I who began his ruin? That I spent money so recklessly?

Ella Rentheim.

[Tentatively.] But is there not some truth in that?

Mrs. Borkman.

Why, it was he himself that made me do it! He insisted on our living in such an absurdly lavish style——

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, I know. But that is just where you should have restrained him; and apparently you didn’t.

Mrs. Borkman.

How was I to know that it was not his own money he gave me to squander? And that he himself used to squander, too—ten times more than I did!

Ella Rentheim.

[Quietly.] Well, I daresay his position forced him to do that—to some extent at any rate.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Scornfully.] Yes, it was always the same story—we were to “cut a figure.” And he did “cut a figure” to some purpose! He used to drive about with a four-in-hand as if he were a king. And he had people bowing and scraping to him just as to a king. [With a laugh.] And they always called him by his Christian names—all the country over—as if he had been the king himself. “John Gabriel,” “John Gabriel.” Every one knew what a great man “John Gabriel” was!

Ella Rentheim.

[Warmly and emphatically.] He was a great man then.

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes, to all appearance. But he never breathed a single word to me as to his real position—never gave a hint as to where he got his means from.

Ella Rentheim.

No, no; and other people did not dream of it either.

Mrs. Borkman.

I don’t care about the other people. But it was his duty to tell me the truth. And that he never did! He kept on lying to me—lying abominably——

Ella Rentheim.

[Interrupting.] Surely not, Gunhild. He kept things back perhaps, but I am sure he did not lie.

Mrs. Borkman.

Well, well; call it what you please; it makes no difference. And then it all fell to pieces—the whole thing.

Ella Rentheim.

[To herself.] Yes, everything fell to pieces—for him—and for others.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Drawing herself up menacingly.] But I tell you this, Ella, I do not give in yet! I shall redeem myself yet—you may make up your mind to that!

Ella Rentheim.

[Eagerly.] Redeem yourself! What do you mean by that?

Mrs. Borkman.

Redeem my name, and honour, and fortune! Redeem my ruined life—that is what I mean! I have some one in reserve, let me tell you—one who will wash away every stain thathehas left.

Ella Rentheim.

Gunhild! Gunhild!

Mrs. Borkman.

[With rising excitement.] There is an avenger living, I tell you! One who will make up to me for all his father’s sins!

Ella Rentheim.

Erhart you mean.

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes, Erhart, my own boy! He will redeem the family, the house, the name. All that can be redeemed.—And perhaps more besides.

Ella Rentheim.

And how do you think that is to be done?

Mrs. Borkman.

It must be done as best it can; I don’t know how. But I know that it must and shall be done. [Looks searchingly at her.] Come now, Ella; isn’t that really what you have had in mind too, ever since he was a child?

Ella Rentheim.

No, I can’t exactly say that.

Mrs. Borkman.

No? Then why did you take charge of him when the storm broke upon—upon this house?

Ella Rentheim.

You could not look after him yourself at that time, Gunhild.

Mrs. Borkman.

No, no, I could not. And his father—he had a valid enough excuse—while he was there—in safe keeping——

Ella Rentheim.

[Indignant.] Oh, how can you say such things!—You!

Mrs. Borkman.

[With a venomous expression.] And how could you make up your mind to take charge of the child of a—a John Gabriel! Just as if he had been your own? To take the child away from me—home with you—and keep him there year after year, until the boy was nearly grown up. [Looking suspiciously at her.] What was your real reason, Ella? Why did you keep him with you?

Ella Rentheim.

I came to love him so dearly——

Mrs. Borkman.

More than I—his mother?

Ella Rentheim.

[Evasively.] I don’t know about that. And then, you know, Erhart was rather delicate as a child——

Mrs. Borkman.

Erhart—delicate!

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, I thought so—at that time at any rate. And you know the air of the west coast is so much milder than here.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Smiling bitterly.] H’m—is it indeed? [Breaking off.] Yes, it is true you have done a great deal for Erhart. [With a change of tone.] Well, of course, you could afford it. [Smiling.] You were so lucky, Ella; you managed to save all your money.

Ella Rentheim.

[Hurt.] I did notmanageanything about it, I assure you. I had no idea—until long, long afterwards—that the securities belonging to me—that they had been left untouched.

Mrs. Borkman.

Well, well; I don’t understand anything about these things! I only say you were lucky. [Looking inquiringly at her.] But when you, of your own accord, undertook to educate Erhart for me—what was your motive in that?

Ella Rentheim.

[Looking at her.] My motive?

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes, some motive you must have had. What did you want to do with him? To make of him, I mean?

Ella Rentheim.

[Slowly.] I wanted to smooth the way for Erhart to happiness in life.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Contemptuously.] Pooh—people situated as we are have something else than happiness to think of.

Ella Rentheim.

What, then?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Looking steadily and earnestly at her.] Erhart has in the first place to make so brilliant a position for himself, that no trace shall be left of the shadow his father has cast upon my name—and my son’s.

Ella Rentheim.

[Searchingly.] Tell me, Gunhild, isthiswhat Erhart himself demands of his life?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Slightly taken aback.] Yes, I should hope so!

Ella Rentheim.

Is it not rather whatyoudemand of him?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Curtly.] Erhart and I always make the same demands upon ourselves.

Ella Rentheim.

[Sadly and slowly.] You are so very certain of your boy, then, Gunhild?

Mrs. Borkman.

[With, veiled triumph.] Yes, that I am—thank Heaven. You may be sure of that!

Ella Rentheim.

Then I should think in reality you must be happy after all; in spite of all the rest.

Mrs. Borkman.

So I am—so far as that goes. But then, every moment, all the rest comes rushing in upon me like a storm.

Ella Rentheim.

[With a change of tone.] Tell me—you may as well tell me at once—for that is really what I have come for——

Mrs. Borkman.

What?

Ella Rentheim.

Something I felt I must talk to you about.—Tell me—Erhart does not live out here with with—you others?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Harshly.] Erhartcannotlive out here with me. He has to live in town——

Ella Rentheim.

So he wrote to me.

Mrs. Borkman.

He must, for the sake of his studies. But he comes out to me for a little while every evening.

Ella Rentheim.

Well, may I see him then? May I speak to him at once?

Mrs. Borkman.

He has not come yet; but I expect him every moment.

Ella Rentheim.

Why, Gunhild, surely hemusthave come. I can hear his footsteps overhead.

Mrs. Borkman.

[With a rapid upward glance.] Up in the long gallery?

Ella Rentheim.

Yes. I have heard him walking up and down there ever since I came.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Looking away from her.] That is not Erhart, Ella.

Ella Rentheim.

[Surprised.] Not Erhart? [Divining.] Who is it then?

Mrs. Borkman.

It ishe.

Ella Rentheim.

[Softly, with suppressed pain.] Borkman? John Gabriel Borkman?

Mrs. Borkman.

He walks up and down like that—backwards and forwards—from morning to night—day out and day in.

Ella Rentheim.

I have heard something of this——

Mrs. Borkman.

I daresay. People find plenty to say about us, no doubt.

Ella Rentheim.

Erhart has spoken of it in his letters. He said that his father generally remained by himself—up there—and you alone down here.

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes; that is how it has been, Ella, ever since they let him out, and sent him home to me. All these long eight years.

Ella Rentheim.

I never believed it could really be so. It seemed impossible!

Mrs. Borkman.

[Nods.] It is so; and it can never be otherwise.

Ella Rentheim.

[Looking at her.] This must be a terrible life, Gunhild.

Mrs. Borkman.

Worse than terrible—almost unendurable.

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, it must be.

Mrs. Borkman.

Always to hear his footsteps up there—from early morning till far into the night. And everything sounds so clear in this house!

Ella Rentheim.

Yes, it is strange how clear the sound is.

Mrs. Borkman.

I often feel as if I had a sick wolf pacing his cage up there in the gallery, right over my head. [Listens and whispers.] Hark! Do you hear! Backwards and forwards, up and down, goes the wolf.

Ella Rentheim.

[Tentatively.] Is no change possible, Gunhild?

Mrs. Borkman.

[With a gesture of repulsion.] He has never made any movement towards a change.

Ella Rentheim.

Could you not make the first movement, then?

Mrs. Borkman.

[Indignantly.] I! After all the wrong he has done me! No, thank you! Rather let the wolf go on prowling up there.

Ella Rentheim.

This room is too hot for me. You must let me take off my things after all.

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes, I asked you to.

[Ella Rentheimtakes off her hat and cloak and lays them on a chair beside the door leading to the hall.

Ella Rentheim.

Do you never happen to meet him, away from home?

Mrs. Borkman.

[With a bitter laugh.] In society, do you mean?

Ella Rentheim.

I mean, when he goes out walking. In the woods, or——

Mrs. Borkman.

He never goes out.

Ella Rentheim.

Not even in the twilight?

Mrs. Borkman.

Never.

Ella Rentheim.

[With emotion.] He cannot bring himself to go out?

Mrs. Borkman.

I suppose not. He has his great cloak and his hat hanging in the cupboard—the cupboard in the hall you know——

Ella Rentheim.

[To herself.] The cupboard we used to hide in when we were little——

Mrs. Borkman.

[Nods.] And now and then—late in the evening—I can hear him come down as though to go out. But he always stops when he is halfway downstairs, and turns back—straight back to the gallery.

Ella Rentheim.

[Quietly.] Do none of his old friends ever come up to see him?

Mrs. Borkman.

Hehasno old friends.

Ella Rentheim.

He had so many—once.

Mrs. Borkman.

H’m! He took the best possible way to get rid of them. He was adearfriend to his friends, was John Gabriel.

Ella Rentheim.

Oh yes, that is true, Gunhild.

Mrs. Borkman.

[Vehemently.] All the same, I call it mean, petty, base, contemptible of them, to think so much of the paltry losses they may have suffered through him. They were only money losses, nothing more.

Ella Rentheim.

[Not answering her.] So he lives up there quite alone. Absolutely by himself.

Mrs. Borkman.

Yes, practically so. They tell me an old clerk or copyist or something comes out to see him now and then.

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