by Henrik Ibsen
ERHART [painfully embarrassed]: Mother – surely you can understand –? I wanted to spare you all this – you and everyone else.
MRS BORKMAN [looks at him, deeply offended]: You would have left me without saying goodbye?
ERHART: Yes, I thought it would be best that way. Best for both parties. Everything was already packed and ready. My clothes packed. But of course when you sent for me, I –. [Tries to reach out to her] Goodbye, then, Mother.
MRS BORKMAN [gestures to push him away]: Don’t touch me!
ERHART [weakly]: Is that your last word?
MRS BORKMAN [hard]: Yes.
ERHART [turns]: Then goodbye to you, Aunt Ella.
ELLA RENTHEIM [pressing his hands]: Goodbye, Erhart! Live your life – and be as happy, as happy – as ever you can!
ERHART: Thank you, Aunt. [Bowing to BORKMAN] Goodbye, Father. [Whispers to MRS WILTON] Let’s get away – the sooner the better.
MRS WILTON [softly]: Yes, let’s.
MRS BORKMAN [with a malicious smile]: Mrs Wilton, do you think it’s wise to take that young girl along?
MRS WILTON [returning the smile, half ironic, half serious]: Men are so fickle, Mrs Borkman. Women too. When Erhart has finished with me – and I with him – it will be good for both of us if, poor thing, he has someone to fall back on.
MRS BORKMAN: But what about you?
MRS WILTON: Oh, I’ll take care of myself, don’t you worry. Goodbye everyone!
She bows and leaves through the hall door. ERHART stands for a moment as though hesitating; then turns and follows her.
MRS BORKMAN [lowers her clasped hands]: Childless.
BORKMAN [as if awakening into a decision]: So! Out into the storm alone then! My hat! My cloak!
He hurries towards the door.
ELLA RENTHEIM [in terror, stopping him]: John Gabriel, where are you going?
BORKMAN: Out into the storm of life, I said. Let me go, Ella!
ELLA RENTHEIM [holds him firmly]: No, no, I’m not letting you outside! You’re ill. I can see it in your face!
BORKMAN: Let me go, I tell you!
He tears himself loose and goes out into the hall.
ELLA RENTHEIM [in the doorway]: Help me hold him back, Gunhild!
MRS BORKMAN [cold and hard, standing in the middle of the room]: I hold no one back, no one in the whole world. Let them all leave me – all of them. Both the one and the other. Go as far – as far away as they want. [Suddenly, with a piercing scream] Erhart, don’t go!
She rushes with outstretched arms towards the door. ELLA RENTHEIM stops her.
Act Four
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.
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.