Chapter III: Part 3

Yes, that. And now, what we now call sorrow and heartache—is really the gnawing of conscience, Rita. Nothing else.

RITA.

[_Gazing helplessly at him._] I feel as if all this must end in despair—in madness for both of us. For we can never—never make it good again.

ALLMERS.

[_Passing into a calmer mood._] I dreamed about Eyolf last night. I thought I saw him coming up from the pier. He could run like other boys. So nothing had happened to him—neither the one thing nor the other. And the torturing reality was nothing but a dream, I thought. Oh, how I thanked and blessed——[_Checking himself._] H’m!

RITA.

[_Looking at him._] Whom?

ALLMERS.

[_Evasively._] Whom——?

RITA.

Yes; whom did you thank and bless?

ALLMERS.

[_Putting aside the question._] I was only dreaming, you know——

RITA.

One whom you yourself do not believe in?

ALLMERS.

That was how I felt, all the same. Of course, I was sleeping——

RITA.

[_Reproachfully._] You should not have taught me to doubt, Alfred.

ALLMERS.

Would it have been right of me to let you go through life with your mind full of empty fictions? RITA.

It would have been better for me; for then I should have had something to take refuge in. Now I am utterly at sea.

ALLMERS.

[_Observing her closely._] If you had the choice now——. If you could follow Eyolf to where he is——?

RITA.

Yes? What then?

ALLMERS.

If you were fully assured that you would find him again—know him—understand him——?

RITA.

Yes, yes; what then?

ALLMERS.

Would you, of your own free will, take the leap over to him? Of your own free will leave everything behind you? Renounce your whole earthly life? Would you, Rita?

RITA.

[_Softly._] Now, at once?

ALLMERS.

Yes; to-day. This very hour. Answer me—would you?

RITA.

[_Hesitating._] Oh, I don’t know, Alfred. No! I think I should have to stay here with you, a little while.

ALLMERS.

For my sake?

RITA.

Yes, only for your sake.

ALLMERS.

But afterwards? Would you then——? Answer!

RITA.

Oh, what can I answer? I _could_ not go away from you. Never! Never!

ALLMERS.

But suppose now _I_ went to Eyolf? And you had the fullest assurance that you would meet both him and me there. Then would you come over to us?

RITA.

I should want to—so much! so much! But——

ALLMERS.

Well?

RITA.

[_Moaning softly._] I could not—I feel it. No, no, I never could! Not for all the glory of heaven!

ALLMERS.

Nor I.

RITA.

No, you feel it so, too, don’t you, Alfred! You could not either, could you?

ALLMERS.

No. For it is here, in the life of earth, that we living beings are at home.

RITA.

Yes, here lies the kind of happiness that we can understand.

ALLMERS.

[_Darkly._] Oh, happiness—happiness——

RITA.

You mean that happiness—that we can never find it again? [_Looks inquiringly at him._] But if——? [_Vehemently._] No, no; I dare not say it! Nor even think it!

ALLMERS.

Yes, say it—say it, Rita.

RITA.

[_Hesitatingly._] Could we not try to——? Would it not be possible to forget him?

ALLMERS.

Forget Eyolf?

RITA.

Forget the anguish and remorse, I mean.

ALLMERS.

Can you wish it?

RITA.

Yes,—if it were possible. [_With an outburst._] For this—I cannot bear this for ever! Oh, can we not think of something that will bring us forgetfulness!

ALLMERS.

[_Shakes his head._] What could that be?

RITA.

Could we not see what travelling would do—far away from here?

ALLMERS.

From home? When you know you are never really well anywhere but here.

RITA.

Well, then, let us have crowds of people about us! Keep open house! Plunge into something that can deaden and dull our thoughts.

ALLMERS.

Such a life would be impossible for me.—No,—rather than that, I would try to take up my work again.

RITA.

[_Bitingly._] Your work—the work that has always stood like a dead wall between us!

ALLMERS.

[_Slowly, looking fixedly at her._] There must always be a dead wall between us two, from this time forth.

RITA.

Why must there——?

ALLMERS.

Who knows but that a child’s great, open eyes are watching us day and night.

RITA.

[_Softly, shuddering._] Alfred—how terrible to think of!

ALLMERS.

Our love has been like a consuming fire. Now it must be quenched——

RITA.

[_With a movement towards him._] Quenched!

ALLMERS.

[_Hardly._] It is quenched—in one of us.

RITA.

[_As if petrified._] And you dare say that to me!

ALLMERS.

[_More gently._] It is dead, Rita. But in what I now feel for you—in our common guilt and need of atonement—I seem to foresee a sort of resurrection——

RITA.

[_Vehemently._] I don’t care a bit about any resurrection!

ALLMERS.

Rita!

RITA.

I am a warm-blooded being! I don’t go drowsing about—with fishes’ blood in my veins. [_Wringing her hands._] And now to be imprisoned for life—in anguish and remorse! Imprisoned with one who is no longer mine, mine, mine!

ALLMERS.

It must have ended so, sometime, Rita.

RITA.

Must have ended so! The love that in the beginning rushed forth so eagerly to meet with love!

ALLMERS.

My love did not rush forth to you in the beginning.

RITA.

What did you feel for me, first of all?

ALLMERS.

Dread.

RITA.

That I can understand. How was it, then, that I won you after all?

ALLMERS.

[_In a low voice._] You were so entrancingly beautiful, Rita.

RITA.

[_Looks searchingly at him._] Then that was the only reason? Say it, Alfred! The only reason?

ALLMERS.

[_Conquering himself._] No, there was another as well.

RITA.

[_With an outburst._] I can guess what that was! It was “my gold, and my green forests,” as you call it. Was it not so, Alfred?

ALLMERS.

Yes.

RITA.

[_Looks at him with deep reproach._] How could you—how could you!

ALLMERS.

I had Asta to think of.

RITA.

[_Angrily._] Yes, Asta! [_Bitterly._] Then it was really Asta that brought us two together?

ALLMERS.

She knew nothing about it. She has no suspicion of it, even to this day.

RITA.

[_Rejecting the plea._] It was Asta, nevertheless! [_Smiling, with a sidelong glance of_ _scorn._] Or, no—it was little Eyolf. Little Eyolf, my dear!

ALLMERS.

Eyolf——?

RITA.

Yes, you used to call her Eyolf, did you not? I seem to remember your telling me so—once, in a moment of confidence. [_Coming up to him._] Do you remember it—that entrancingly beautiful hour, Alfred?

ALLMERS.

[_Recoiling, as if in horror._] I remember nothing! I _will_ not remember!

RITA.

[_Following him._] It was in that hour—when your other little Eyolf was crippled for life!

ALLMERS.

[_In a hollow voice, supporting himself against the table._] Retribution!

RITA.

[_Menacingly._] Yes, retribution!

[_ASTA and BORGHEIM return by way of the boat-shed. She is carrying some water-lilies in her hand._

RITA.

[_With self-control._] Well, Asta, have you and Mr. Borgheim talked things thoroughly over?

ASTA.

Oh, yes—pretty well.

[_She puts down her umbrella and lays the flowers upon a chair._

BORGHEIM.

Miss Allmers has been very silent during our walk.

RITA.

Indeed, has she? Well, Alfred and I have talked things out thoroughly enough——

ASTA.

[_Looking eagerly at both of them._] What is this——?

RITA.

Enough to last all our lifetime, I say. [_Breaking off._] Come now, let us go up to the house, all four of us. We must have company about us in future. It will never do for Alfred and me to be alone.

ALLMERS.

Yes, do you go ahead, you two. [_Turning._] I must speak a word to you before we go, Asta.

RITA.

[_Looking at him._] Indeed? Well then, you come with me, Mr. Borgheim.

[_RITA and BORGHEIM go up the wood-path._

ASTA.

[_Anxiously._] Alfred, what is the matter?

ALLMERS.

[_Darkly._] Only that I cannot endure to be here any more.

ASTA.

Here! With Rita, do you mean?

ALLMERS.

Yes. Rita and I cannot go on living together.

ASTA.

[_Seizes his arm and shakes it._] Oh, Alfred—don’t say anything so terrible!

ALLMERS.

It is the truth I am telling you. We are making each other wicked and hateful.

ASTA.

[_With painful emotion._] I had never—never dreamt of anything like this!

ALLMERS.

I did not realise it either, till to-day.

ASTA.

And now you want to——! What is it you really want, Alfred?

ALLMERS.

I want to get away from everything here—far, far away from it all.

ASTA.

And to stand quite alone in the world?

ALLMERS.

[_Nods._] As I used to, before, yes.

ASTA.

But you are not fitted for living alone!

ALLMERS.

Oh, yes. I was so in the old days, at any rate.

ASTA.

In the old days, yes; for then you had me with you.

ALLMERS.

[_Trying to take her hand._] Yes. And it is to you, Asta, that I now want to come home again.

ASTA.

[_Eluding him._] To me! No, no, Alfred! That is quite impossible.

ALLMERS.

[_Lookes sadly at her._] Then Borgheim stands in the way after all?

ASTA.

[_Earnestly._] No, no; he does not! That is quite a mistake!

ALLMERS.

Good. Then I will come to you—my dear, dear sister. I must come to you again—home to you, to be purified and ennobled after my life with——

ASTA.

[_Shocked._] Alfred,—you are doing Rita a great wrong!

ALLMERS.

I have done her a great wrong. But not in this. Oh, think of it, Asta—think of our life together, yours and mine. Was it not like one long holy-day from first to last?

ASTA.

Yes, it was, Alfred. But we can never live it over again.

ALLMERS.

[_Bitterly._] Do you mean that marriage has so irreparably ruined me?

ASTA.

[_Quietly_] No, that is not what I mean.

ALLMERS.

Well, then we two will live our old life over again.

ASTA.

[_With decision._] We cannot, Alfred.

ALLMERS.

Yes, we can. For the love of a brother and sister——

ASTA.

[_Eagerly._] What of it?

ALLMERS.

That is the only relation in life that is not subject to the law of change.

ASTA.

[_Softly and tremblingly._] But if that relation were not——

ALLMERS.

Not——?

ASTA.

——not our relation?

ALLMERS.

[_Stares at her in astonishment._] Not ours? Why, what can you mean by that?

ASTA.

It is best I should tell you at once, Alfred.

ALLMERS.

Yes, yes; tell me!

ASTA.

The letters to mother——. Those in my portfolio——

ALLMERS.

Well?

ASTA.

You must read them—when I am gone.

ALLMERS.

Why must I?

ASTA.

[_Struggling with herself._] For then you will see that——

ALLMERS.

Well?

ASTA.

—that I have no right to bear your father’s name.

ALLMERS.

[_Staggering backwards._] Asta! What is this you say!

ASTA.

Read the letters. Then you will see—and understand. And perhaps have some forgiveness—for mother, too.

ALLMERS.

[_Clutching at his forehead._] I cannot grasp this—I cannot realise the thought. You, Asta—you are not——

ASTA.

You are not my brother, Alfred.

ALLMERS.

[_Quickly, half defiantly, looking at her._] Well, but what difference does that really make in our relation? Practically none at all.

ASTA.

[_Shaking her head._] It makes all the difference, Alfred. Our relation is not that of brother and sister.

ALLMERS.

No, no. But it is none the less sacred for that—it will always be equally sacred.

ASTA.

Do not forget—that it is subject to the law of change, as you said just now.

ALLMERS.

[_Looks inquiringly at her._] Do you mean that——

ASTA.

[_Quietly, but with warm emotion._] Not a word more—my dear, dear Alfred. [_Takes up the flowers from the chair._] Do you see these water-lilies?

ALLMERS.

[_Nodding slowly._] They are the sort that shoot up—from the very depth.

ASTA.

I pulled them in the tarn—where it flows out into the fiord. [_Holds them out to him._] Will you take them, Alfred?

ALLMERS.

[_Taking them._] Thanks.

ASTA.

[_With tears in her eyes._] They are a last greeting to you, from—from little Eyolf.

ALLMERS.

[_Looking at her._] From Eyolf out yonder? Or from you?

ASTA.

[_Softly._] From both of us. [_Taking up her umbrella._] Now come with me to Rita.

[_She goes up the wood-path._

ALLMERS.

[_Takes up his hat from the table, and whispers sadly._] Asta. Eyolf. Little Eyolf——!

[_He follows her up the path._

ACT THIRD

_An elevation, overgrown with shrubs, in ALLMERS’S garden. At the back a
sheer cliff, with a railing along its edge, and with steps on the
left leading downwards. An extensive view over the fiord, which
lies deep below. A flagstaff with lines, but no flag, stands by
the railing. In front, on the right, a summer-house, covered with
creepers and wild vines. Outside it, a bench. It is a late summer
evening, with clear sky. Deepening twilight._

_ASTA is sitting on the bench, with her hands in her lap. She is wearing
her outdoor dress and a hat, has her parasol at her side, and a
little travelling-bag on a strap over her shoulder._

_BORGHEIM comes up from the back on the left. He, too, has a
travelling-bag over his shoulder. He is carrying a rolled-up
flag._

BORGHEIM.

[_Catching sight of ASTA._] Oh, so you are up here!

ASTA.

Yes, I am taking my last look out over the fiord.

BORGHEIM.

Then I am glad I happened to come up.

ASTA.

Have you been searching for me?

BORGHEIM.

Yes, I have. I wanted to say good-bye to you—for the present. Not for good and all, I hope.

ASTA.

[_With a faint smile._] You are persevering.

BORGHEIM.

A road-maker has got to be.

ASTA.

Have you seen anything of Alfred? Or of Rita?

BORGHEIM.

Yes, I saw them both.

ASTA.

Together?

BORGHEIM.

No—apart.

ASTA.

What are you going to do with that flag?

BORGHEIM.

Mrs. Allmers asked me to come up and hoist it.

ASTA.

Hoist a flag just now?

BORGHEIM.

Half-mast high. She wants it to fly both night and day, she says.

ASTA.

[_Sighing._] Poor Rita! And poor Alfred!

BORGHEIM.

[_Busied with the flag._] Have you the heart to leave them? I ask, because I see you are in travelling-dress.

ASTA.

[_In a low voice._] I _must_ go.

BORGHEIM.

Well, if you must, then——

ASTA.

And you are going, too, to-night?

BORGHEIM.

I must, too. I am going by the train. Are you going that way?

ASTA.

No. I shall take the steamer.

BORGHEIM.

[_Glancing at her._] We each take our own way, then?

ASTA.

Yes.

[_She sits and looks on while he hoists the flag half-mast high.
When he has done he goes up to her._

BORGHEIM.

Miss Asta——you can’t think how grieved I am about little Eyolf.

ASTA.

[_Looks up at him._] Yes, I am sure you feel it deeply.

BORGHEIM.

And the feeling tortures me. For the fact is, grief is not much in my way.

ASTA.

[_Raising her eyes to the flag._] It will pass over in time—all of it. All our sorrow.

BORGHEIM.

All? Do you believe that?

ASTA.

Like a squall at sea. When once you have got far away from here, then——

BORGHEIM.

It will have to be very far away indeed.

ASTA.

And then you have this great new road-work, too.

BORGHEIM.

But no one to help me in it.

ASTA.

Oh yes, surely you have.

BORGHEIM.

[_Shaking his head._] No one. No one to share the gladness with. For it is gladness that most needs sharing.

ASTA.

Not the labour and trouble?

BORGHEIM.

Pooh—that sort of thing one can always get through alone.

ASTA.

But the gladness—that must be shared with some one, you think?

BORGHEIM.

Yes; for if not, where would be the pleasure in being glad?

ASTA.

Ah yes—perhaps there is something in that.

BORGHEIM.

Oh, of course, for a certain time you can go on feeling glad in your own heart. But it won’t do in the long run. No, it takes two to be glad.

ASTA.

Always two? Never more? Never many?

BORGHEIM.

Well, you see—then it becomes a quite different matter. Miss Asta—are you sure you can never make up your mind to share gladness and success and—and labour and trouble, with one—with one alone in all the world?

ASTA.

I have tried it—once.

BORGHEIM.

Have you?

ASTA.

Yes, all the time that my brother—that Alfred and I lived together.

BORGHEIM.

Oh, with your brother, yes. But that is altogether different. That ought rather to be called peace than happiness, I should say.

ASTA.

It was delightful, all the same.

BORGHEIM.

There now—you see even that seemed to you delightful. But just think now—if he had not been your brother!

ASTA.

[_Makes a movement to rise, but remains sitting._] Then we should never have been together. For I was a child then—and he wasn’t much more.

BORGHEIM.

[_After a pause._] _Was_ it so delightful—that time?

ASTA.

Oh yes, indeed it was.

BORGHEIM.

Was there much that was really bright and happy in your life then?

ASTA.

Oh yes, so much. You cannot think how much.

BORGHEIM.

Tell me a little about it, Miss Asta.

ASTA.

Oh, there are only trifles to tell.

BORGHEIM.

Such as——? Well?

ASTA.

Such as the time when Alfred had passed his examination—and had distinguished himself. And then, from time to time, when he got a post in some school or other. Or when he would sit at home working at an article—and would read it aloud to me. And then when it would appear in some magazine.

BORGHEIM.

Yes, I can quite see that it must have been a peaceful, delightful life—a brother and sister sharing all their joys. [_Shaking his head._] What I cannot understand is that your brother could ever give you up, Asta.

ASTA.

[_With suppressed emotion._] Alfred married, you know.

BORGHEIM.

Was not that very hard for you?

ASTA.

Yes, at first. It seemed as though I had utterly lost him all at once.

BORGHEIM.

Well, luckily it was not so bad as that.

ASTA.

No.

BORGHEIM.

But, all the same—how could he! Go and marry, I mean—when he could have kept you with him, alone!

ASTA.

[_Looking straight in front of her._] He was subject to the law of change, I suppose.

BORGHEIM.

The law of change?

ASTA.

So Alfred calls it.

BORGHEIM.

Pooh—what a stupid law that must be! I don’t believe a bit in that law.

ASTA.

[_Rising._] You may come to believe in it, in time.

BORGHEIM.

Never in all my life! [_Insistently._] But listen now, Miss Asta! Do be reasonable—for once in a way—in this matter, I mean——

ASTA.

[_Interrupting him._] Oh, no, no—don’t let us begin upon _that_ again!

BORGHEIM.

[_Continuing as before._] Yes, Asta—I can’t possibly give you up so easily. Now your brother has everything as he wishes it. He can live his life quite contentedly without you. He doesn’t require you at all. Then this—this—that at one blow has changed your whole position here——

ASTA.

[_With a start._] What do you mean by that?

BORGHEIM.

The loss of the child. What else should I mean?

ASTA.

[_Recovering her self-control._] Little Eyolf is gone, yes.

BORGHEIM.

And what more does that leave you to do here? You have not the poor little boy to take care of now. You have no duties—no claims upon you of any sort.

ASTA.

Oh, please, Mr. Borgheim—don’t make it so hard for me.

BORGHEIM.

I must; I should be mad if I did not try my uttermost. I shall be leaving town before very long, and perhaps I shall have no opportunity of meeting you there. Perhaps I shall not see you again for a long, long time. And who knows what may happen in the meanwhile?

ASTA.

[_With a grave smile._] So you are afraid of the law of change, after all?

BORGHEIM.

No, not in the least. [_Laughing bitterly._] And there is nothing to be changed, either—not in you, I mean. For I can see you don’t care much about me.

ASTA.

You know very well that I do.

BORGHEIM.

Perhaps, but not nearly enough. Not as I want you to. [_More forcibly._] By Heaven, Asta—Miss Asta—I cannot tell you how strongly I feel that you are wrong in this! A little onward, perhaps, from to-day and tomorrow, all life’s happiness may be awaiting us. And we must needs pass it by! Do you think we will not come to repent of it, Asta?

ASTA.

[_Quietly._] I don’t know. I only know that they are not for us—all these bright possibilities.

BORGHEIM.

[_Looks at her with self-control._] Then I must make my roads alone?

ASTA.

[_Warmly._] Oh, how I wish I could stand by you in it all! Help you in the labour—share the gladness with you——

BORGHEIM.

Would you—if you could?

ASTA.

Yes, that I would.

BORGHEIM.

But you cannot?

ASTA.

[_Looking down._] Would you be content to have only half of me?

BORGHEIM.

No. You must be utterly and entirely mine.

ASTA.

[_Looks at him, and says quietly._] Then I cannot.

BORGHEIM.

Good-bye then, Miss Asta.

[_He is on the point of going. ALLMERS comes up from the left at the
back. BORGHEIM stops._

ALLMERS.

[_The moment he has reached the top of the steps, points, and says in a low voice._] Is Rita in there—in the summer-house?

BORGHEIM.

No; there is no one here but Miss Asta.

[_ALLMERS comes forward._

ASTA.

[_Going towards him._] Shall I go down and look for her? Shall I get her to come up here?

ALLMERS.

[_With a negative gesture._] No, no, no—let it alone. [_To BORGHEIM._] Is it you that have hoisted the flag?

BORGHEIM.

Yes. Mrs. Allmers asked me to. That was what brought me up here.

ALLMERS.

And you are going to start to-night?

BORGHEIM.

Yes. To-night I go away in good earnest.

ALLMERS.

[_With a glance at ASTA._] And you have made sure of pleasant company, I daresay.

BORGHEIM.

[_Shaking his head._] I am going alone.

ALLMERS.

[_With surprise._] Alone!

BORGHEIM.

Utterly alone.

ALLMERS.

[_Absently._] Indeed?

BORGHEIM.

And I shall have to remain alone, too.

ALLMERS.

There is something horrible in being alone. The thought of it runs like ice through my blood——

ASTA.

Oh, but, Alfred, you are not alone.

ALLMERS.

There may be something horrible in that too, Asta.

ASTA.

[_Oppressed._] Oh, don’t talk like that! Don’t think like that!

ALLMERS.

[_Not listening to her._] But since you are not going with him——? Since there is nothing to bind you——? Why will you not remain out here with me—and with Rita?

ASTA.

[_Uneasily._] No, no, I cannot. I must go back to town now.

ALLMERS.

But only in to town, Asta. Do you hear!

ASTA.

Yes.

ALLMERS.

And you must promise me that you will soon come out again.

ASTA.

[_Quickly._] No, no, I dare not promise you that, for the present.

ALLMERS.

Well—as you will. We shall soon meet in town, then.

ASTA.

[_Imploringly._] But, Alfred, you must stay at home here with Rita now.

ALLMERS.

[_Without answering, turns to BORGHEIM._] You may find it a good thing, after all, that you have to take your journey alone.

BORGHEIM.

[_Annoyed._] Oh, how can you say such a thing?

ALLMERS.

You see, you can never tell whom you might happen to meet afterwards—on the way.

ASTA.

[_Involuntarily._] Alfred!

ALLMERS.

The right fellow-traveller—when it is too late—too late.

ASTA.

[_Softly, quivering._] Alfred! Alfred!

BORGHEIM.

[_Looking from one to the other._] What is the meaning of this? I don’t understand——

[_RITA comes up from the left at the back._

RITA.

[_Plaintively._] Oh, don’t go away from me, all of you!

ASTA.

[_Going towards her._] You said you preferred to be alone.

RITA.

Yes, but I dare not. It is getting so horribly dark. I seem to see great, open eyes fixed upon me!

ASTA.

[_Tenderly and sympathetically._] What if it were so, Rita? You ought not to be afraid of those eyes.

RITA.

How can you say so! Not afraid!

ALLMERS.

[_Insistently._] Asta, I beg you—for Heaven’s sake—remain here with Rita!

RITA.

Yes! And with Alfred, too. Do! Do, Asta!

ASTA.

[_Struggling with herself._] Oh, I want to so much——

RITA.

Well, then, do it! For Alfred and I cannot go alone through the sorrow and heartache.

ALLMERS.

[_Darkly._] Say, rather—through the ranklings of remorse.

RITA.

Oh, whatever you like to call it—we cannot bear it alone, we two. Oh, Asta, I beg and implore you! Stay here and help us! Take Eyolf’s place for us——

ASTA.

[_Shrinking._] Eyolf’s——

RITA.

Yes, would you not have it so, Alfred?

ALLMERS.

If she can and will.

RITA.

You used to call her your little Eyolf. [_Seizes her hand._] Henceforth you shall be _our_ Eyolf, Asta! Eyolf, as you were before.

ALLMERS.

[_With concealed emotion._] Remain—and share our life with us, Asta. With Rita. With me. With me—your brother!

ASTA.

[_With decision, snatches her hand away._] No. I cannot. [_Turning._] Mr. Borgheim—what time does the steamer start?

BORGHEIM.

Now—at once.

ASTA.

Then I must go on board. Will you go with me?

BORGHEIM.

[_With a suppressed outburst of joy._] Will I? Yes, yes!

ASTA.

Then come!

RITA.

[_Slowly._] Ah! That is how it is. Well, then, you cannot stay with us.

ASTA.

[_Throwing her arms round her neck._] Thanks for everything, Rita! [_Goes up to ALLMERS and grasps his hand._] Alfred—good-bye! A thousand times, good-bye!

ALLMERS.

[_Softly and eagerly._] What is this, Asta? It seems as though you were taking flight.

ASTA.

[_In subdued anguish._] Yes, Alfred—I _am_ taking flight.

ALLMERS.

Flight—from me!

ASTA.

[_Whispering._] From you—and from myself.

ALLMERS.

[_Shrinking back._] Ah——!

[_ASTA rushes down the steps at the back. BORGHEIM waves his hat and
follows her. RITA leans against the entrance to the
summer-house. ALLMERS goes, in strong inward emotion, up to the
railing, and stands there gazing downwards. A pause._

ALLMERS.

[_Turns, and says with hard-won composure._] There comes the steamer. Look, Rita.

RITA.

I dare not look at it.

ALLMERS.

You dare not?

RITA.

No. For it has a red eye—and a green one, too. Great, glowing eyes.

ALLMERS.

Oh, those are only the lights, you know.

RITA.

Henceforth they are eyes—for me. They stare and stare out of the darkness—and into the darkness.

ALLMERS.

Now she is putting in to shore.

RITA.

Where are they mooring her this evening, then?

ALLMERS.

[_Coming forward._] At the pier, as usual——

RITA.

[_Drawing herself up._] How can they moor her there!

ALLMERS.

They must.

RITA.

But it was there that Eyolf——! How _can_ they moor her there!

ALLMERS.

Yes, life is pitiless, Rita.

RITA.

Men are heartless. They take no thought—either for the living or for the dead.

ALLMERS.

There you are right. Life goes its own way—just as if nothing in the world had happened.

RITA.

[_Gazing straight before her._] And nothing has happened, either. Not to others. Only to us two.

ALLMERS.

[_The pain re-awakening._] Yes, Rita—so it was to no purpose that you bore him in sorrow and anguish. For now he is gone again—and has left no trace behind him.

RITA.

Only the crutch was saved.

ALLMERS.

[_Angrily._] Be silent! Do not let me hear that word!

RITA.

[_Plaintively._] Oh, I cannot bear the thought that he is gone from us.

ALLMERS.

[_Coldly and bitterly._] You could very well do without him while he was with us. Half the day would often pass without your setting eyes on him.

RITA.

Yes, for I knew that I could see him whenever I wanted to.

ALLMERS.

Yes, that is how we have gone and squandered the short time we had with Little Eyolf.

RITA.

[_Listening, in dread._] Do you hear, Alfred! Now it is ringing again!

ALLMERS.

[_Looking over the fiord._] It is the steamer’s bell that is ringing. She is just starting.

RITA.

Oh, it’s not that bell I mean. All day I have heard it ringing in my ears.—Now it is ringing again!

ALLMERS.

[_Going up to her._] You are mistaken, Rita.

RITA.

No, I hear it so plainly. It sounds like a knell. Slow. Slow. And always the same words.

ALLMERS.

Words? What words?

RITA.

[_Nodding her head in the rhythm._] “The crútch is—flóating. The crútch is—flóating.” Oh, surely you must hear it, too!

ALLMERS.

[_Shaking his head._] I hear nothing. And there is nothing to hear.

RITA.

Oh, you may say what you will—I hear it so plainly.

ALLMERS.

[_Looking out over the railing._] Now they are on board, Rita. Now the steamer is on her way to the town.

RITA.

Is it possible you do not hear it? “The crútch is—flóating. The crútch is— ——”

ALLMERS.

[_Coming forward._] You shall not stand there listening to a sound that does not exist. I tell you, Asta and Borgheim are on board. They have started already. Asta is gone.

RITA.

[_Looks timidly at him._] Then I suppose you will soon be gone, too, Alfred?

ALLMERS.

[_Quickly._] What do you mean by that?

RITA.

That you will follow your sister.

ALLMERS.

Has Asta told you anything?

RITA.

No. But you said yourself it was for Asta’s sake that—that we came together.

ALLMERS.

Yes, but you, you yourself, have bound me to you—by our life together.

RITA.

Oh, in your eyes I am not—I am not—entrancingly beautiful any more.

ALLMERS.

The law of change may perhaps keep us together, none the less.

RITA.

[_Nodding slowly._] There _is_ a change in me now—I feel the anguish of it.

ALLMERS.

Anguish?

RITA.

Yes, for change, too, is a sort of birth.

ALLMERS.

It is—or a resurrection. Transition to a higher life.

RITA.

[_Gazing sadly before her._] Yes—with the loss of all, all life’s happiness.

ALLMERS.

That loss is just the gain.

RITA.

[_Vehemently._] Oh, phrases! Good God, we are creatures of earth after all.

ALLMERS.

But something akin to the sea and the heavens too, Rita.

RITA.

You perhaps. Not I.

ALLMERS.

Oh, yes—you too, more than you yourself suspect.

RITA.

[_Advancing a pace towards him._] Tell me, Alfred—could you think of taking up your work again?

ALLMERS.

The work that you have hated so?

RITA.

I am easier to please now. I am willing to share you with the book.

ALLMERS.

Why?

RITA.

Only to keep you here with me—to have you near me.

ALLMERS.

Oh, it is so little I can do to help you, Rita.

RITA.

But perhaps I could help you.

ALLMERS.

With my book, do you mean?

RITA.

No; but to live your life.

ALLMERS.

[_Shaking his head._] I seem to have no life to live.

RITA.

Well then, to endure your life.

ALLMERS.

[_Darkly, looking away from her._] I think it would be best for both of us that we should part.

RITA.

[_Looking curiously at him._] Then where would you go? Perhaps to Asta, after all?

ALLMERS.

No—never again to Asta.

RITA.

Where then?

ALLMERS.

Up into the solitudes.

RITA.

Up among the mountains? Is that what you mean?

ALLMERS.

Yes.

RITA.

But all that is mere dreaming, Alfred! You could not live up there.

ALLMERS.

And yet I feel myself drawn to them.

RITA.

Why? Tell me!

ALLMERS.

Sit down—and I will tell you something.

RITA.

Something that happened to you up there?

ALLMERS.

Yes.

RITA.

And that you never told Asta and me?

ALLMERS.

Yes.

RITA.

Oh, you are so silent about everything. You ought not to be.

ALLMERS.

Sit down there—and I will tell you about it.

RITA.

Yes, yes—tell me!

[_She sits on the bench beside the summer-house._

ALLMERS.

I was alone up there, in the heart of the great mountains. I came to a wide, dreary mountain lake; and that lake I had to cross. But I could not—for there was neither a boat nor any one there.

RITA.

Well? And then?

ALLMERS.

Then I went without any guidance into a side valley. I thought that by that way I could push on over the heights and between the peaks—and then down again on the other side of the lake.

RITA.

Oh, and you lost yourself, Alfred!

ALLMERS.

Yes; I mistook the direction—for there was no path or track. And all day I went on—and all the next night. And at last I thought I should never see the face of man again.

RITA.

Not come home to us? Oh, then, I am sure your thoughts were with us here.

ALLMERS.

No—they were not.

RITA.

Not?

ALLMERS.

No. It was so strange. Both you and Eyolf seemed to have drifted far, far away from me—and Asta, too.

RITA.

Then what did you think of?

ALLMERS.

I did not think. I dragged myself along among the precipices—and rejoiced in the peace and luxury of death.

RITA.

[_Springing up._] Oh, don’t use such words of that horror!

ALLMERS.

I did not feel it so. I had no fear. Here went death and I, it seemed to me, like two good fellow-travellers. It all seemed so natural—so simple, I thought. In my family, we don’t live to be old——

RITA.

Oh, don’t say such things, Alfred! You see you came safely out of it, after all.

ALLMERS.

Yes; all of a sudden, I found myself where I wanted to be—on the other side of the lake.

RITA.

It must have been a night of terror for you, Alfred. But now that it is over, you will not admit it to yourself.

ALLMERS.

That night sealed my resolution. And it was then that I turned about and came straight homewards. To Eyolf.

RITA.

[_Softly._] Too late.

ALLMERS.

Yes. And then when—my fellow-traveller came and took him—then I felt the horror of it; of it all; of all that, in spite of everything, we dare not tear ourselves away from. So earth-bound are we, both of us, Rita.

RITA.

[_With a gleam of joy._] Yes, you are, too, are you not! [_Coming close to him._] Oh, let us live our life together as long as we can!

ALLMERS.

[_Shrugging his shoulders._] Live our life, yes! And have nothing to fill life with. An empty void on all sides—wherever I look.

RITA.

[_In fear._] Oh, sooner or later you will go away from me, Alfred! I feel it! I can see it in your face! You will go away from me.

ALLMERS.

With my fellow-traveller, do you mean?

RITA.

No, I mean worse than that. Of your own free will you will leave me—for you think it’s only here, with me, that you have nothing to live for. Is not that what is in your thoughts?

ALLMERS.

[_Looking steadfastly at her._] What if it were——?

[_A disturbance, and the noise of angry, quarrelling voices is heard
from down below, in the distance. ALLMERS goes to the railing._

RITA.

What is that? [_With an outburst._] Oh, you’ll see, they have found him!

ALLMERS.

He will never be found.

RITA.

But what is it then?

ALLMERS.

[_Coming forward._] Only fighting—as usual.

RITA.

Down on the beach?

ALLMERS.

Yes. The whole village down there ought to be swept away. Now the men have come home—drunk, as they always are. They are beating the children—do you hear the boys crying! The women are shrieking for help for them——

RITA.

Should we not get some one to go down and help them?

ALLMERS.

[_Harshly and angrily._] Help them, who did not help Eyolf! Let them go—as they let Eyolf go.

RITA.

Oh, you must not talk like that, Alfred! Nor think like that!

ALLMERS.

I cannot think otherwise. All the old hovels ought to be torn down.

RITA.

And then what is to become of all the poor people?

ALLMERS.

They must go somewhere else.

RITA.

And the children, too?

ALLMERS.

Does it make much difference where they go to the dogs?

RITA.

[_Quietly and reproachfully._] You are forcing yourself into this harshness, Alfred.

ALLMERS.

[_Vehemently._] I have a right to be harsh now! It is my duty.

RITA.

Your duty?

ALLMERS.

My duty to Eyolf. He must not lie unavenged. Once for all, Rita—it is as I tell you! Think it over! Have the whole place down there razed to the ground—when I am gone.

RITA.

[_Looks intently at him._] When you are gone?

ALLMERS.

Yes. For that will at least give you something to fill your life with—and something you must have.

RITA.

[_Firmly and decidedly._] There you are right—I must. But can you guess what I will set about—when you are gone?

ALLMERS.

Well, what?

RITA.

[_Slowly and with resolution._] As soon as you are gone from me, I will go down to the beach, and bring all the poor neglected children home with me. All the mischievous boys——

ALLMERS.

What will you do with them here?

RITA.

I will take them to my heart.

ALLMERS.

You!

RITA.

Yes, I will. From the day you leave me, they shall all be here, all of them, as if they were mine.

ALLMERS.

[_Shocked._] In our little Eyolf’s place!

RITA.

Yes, in our little Eyolf’s place. They shall live in Eyolf’s rooms. They shall read his books. They shall play with his toys. They shall take it in turns to sit in his chair at table.

ALLMERS.

But this is sheer madness in you! I do not know a creature in the world that is less fitted than you for anything of that sort.

RITA.

Then I shall have to educate myself for it; to train myself; to discipline myself.

ALLMERS.

If you are really in earnest about this—about all you say—then there must indeed be a change in you.

RITA.

Yes, there is, Alfred—and for that I have you to thank. You have made an empty place within me; and I must try to fill it up with something—with something that is a little like love.

ALLMERS.

[_Stands for a moment lost in thought; then looks at her._] The truth is, we have not done much for the poor people down there.

RITA.

We have done nothing for them.

ALLMERS.

Scarcely even thought of them.

RITA.

Never thought of them in sympathy.

ALLMERS.

We, who had "the gold, and the green forests"——

RITA.

Our hands were closed to them. And our hearts too.

ALLMERS.

[_Nods._] Then it was perhaps natural enough, after all, that they should not risk their lives to save little Eyolf.

RITA.

[_Softly._] Think, Alfred! Are you so certain that—that we would have risked ours?

ALLMERS.

[_With an uneasy gesture of repulsion._] You must never doubt that.

RITA.

Oh, we are children of earth.

ALLMERS.

What do you really think you can do with all these neglected children?

RITA.

I suppose I must try if I cannot lighten and—and ennoble their lot in life.

ALLMERS.

If you can do that—then Eyolf was not born in vain.

RITA.

Nor taken from us in vain, either.

ALLMERS.

[_Looking steadfastly at her._] Be quite clear about _one_ thing, Rita—it is not love that is driving you to this.

RITA.

No, it is not—at any rate, not yet.

ALLMERS.

Well, then what is it?

RITA.

[_Half-evasively._] You have so often talked to Asta of human responsibility——

ALLMERS.

Of the book that you hated.

RITA.

I hate that book still. But I used to sit and listen to what you told her. And now I will try to continue it—in my own way.

ALLMERS.

[_Shaking his head._] It is not for the sake of that unfinished book——

RITA.

No, I have another reason as well.

ALLMERS.

What is that?

RITA.

[_Softly, with a melancholy smile._] I want to make my peace with the great, open eyes, you see.

ALLMERS.

[_Struck, fixing his eyes upon her._] Perhaps, I could join you in that? And help you, Rita?

RITA.

Would you?

ALLMERS.

Yes—if I were only sure I could.

RITA.

[_Hesitatingly._] But then you would have to remain here.

ALLMERS.

[_Softly._] Let us try if it could not be so.

RITA.

[_Almost inaudibly._] Yes, let us, Alfred.

[_Both are silent. Then ALLMERS goes up to the flagstaff and hoists
the flag to the top. RITA stands beside the summer-house and
looks at him in silence._

ALLMERS.

[_Coming forward again._] We have a heavy day of work before us, Rita.

RITA.

You will see—that now and then a Sabbath peace will descend on us.

ALLMERS.

[_Quietly, with emotion._] Then, perhaps, we shall know that the spirits are with us.

RITA.

[_Whispering._] The spirits?

ALLMERS.

[_As before._] Yes, they will perhaps be around us—those whom we have lost.

RITA.

[_Nods slowly._] Our little Eyolf. And your big Eyolf, too.

ALLMERS.

[_Gazing straight before him._] Now and then, perhaps, we may still—on the way through life—have a little, passing glimpse of them.

RITA.

Where shall we look for them, Alfred?

ALLMERS.

[_Fixing his eyes upon her._] Upwards.

RITA.

[_Nods in approval._] Yes, yes—upwards.

ALLMERS.

Upwards—towards the peaks. Towards the stars. And towards the great silence.

RITA.

[_Giving him her hand._] Thanks!

JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN

(1896)

PERSONS.

JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN, _formerly Managing Director of a Bank_. MRS. GUNHILD BORKMAN, _his wife_. ERHART BORKMAN, _their son, a student_. MISS ELLA RENTHEIM, _Mrs. Borkman’s twin sister_. MRS. FANNY WILTON. VILHELM FOLDAL, _subordinate clerk in a Government office_. FRIDA FOLDAL, _his daughter_. MRS. BORKMAN’S MAID.

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

JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN

PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

ACT FIRST

_MRS. BORKMAN’S drawing-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 BORKMAN sits 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 heavy dark 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. Presently THE MAID enters 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 MAID opens the door for the strange lady and goes out._ Miss
_ELLA RENTHEIM enters. 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._

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 we _spoke_ to 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 be _our_ family! So old a family as ours! Think of its choosing us out!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, Gunhild—there were many, many families besides ours that _that_ blow fell upon.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Oh yes; but those others don’t trouble me very much. For in their case it was only a matter of 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 about _that_?

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 her_ _hands._] 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.

Towards _him_, 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 that _he_ has 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 not _manage_ anything 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, is _this_ what Erhart himself demands of his life?

MRS. BORKMAN.

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

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Is it not rather what _you_ demand 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.