Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (311 page)

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 revelled in the peace and luxury of death.

RITA.
[Springing up.]
Oh, don’t speak in that way 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 earthbound 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. When, 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!

Translated by William Archer

John Gabriel Borkman
,
Ibsen’s penultimate play, was written in Christiania in 1896 and is partly based on material he had discovered many years before. In the Christiania of the 1850s there was a court-case against a senior officer, who was found guilty of fraud and committed to hard labour in prison for four years. After years in prison he cut himself off completely from the outside world and is said not to have even spoken to his wife. Ibsen heard of the case during his first stay in Christiania (1850-51) and followed up the officer’s subsequent fate during his second period in Christiania (1857-64).

Ibsen was also inspired by Georg Brandes’ monumental work on Shakespeare, of which he read at least parts in the summer of 1896. Brandes’ view on Shakespeare was strongly influenced by some of Nietzsche’s ideas. Two central concepts in his philosophy, those of the superman and the will to achieve power, play a large part in Ibsen’s second last play.

On October 20th, Ibsen sent the final copy of the manuscript to his publisher, Jacob Hegel and the play was published on December 15, 1896, at Gyldendalske Boghandels Forlag in Copenhagen, Christiania and Stockholm, consisting of 12,000 copies - the largest run of any of Ibsen’s works to date. This was not enough, however, and on account of a large number of advance orders, the book had to be reprinted in a further 3,000 copies, even before it was on sale. Therefore the first and the second issues were released simultaneously. The play was generally well received by critics.

The first public performances of
John Gabriel Borkman
were in the form of readings. The first one took place at the Avenue Theatre in London on December 14, 1896, and was arranged by William Heinemann in order to secure his copyright in England. The following day, December 15, 1896, there is said to have been a reading at the Copenhagen Municipal Teachers’ Association, led by the theatre director P. A. Rosenberg. The first professional performances of
John Gabriel Borkman
took place in Helsinki on January 10, 1897 at two theatres: Svenska Teatern and Suomalainen Teaatteri (the Finnish theatre). Both these productions seem to have been well received by their audiences and the critics.

The plot relates how the Borkman family fortunes have been brought low by the imprisonment of John Gabriel, who used his position as a bank manager to illegally speculate with his investors’ money. The action of the play takes place eight years after Borkman’s release, when John Gabriel Borkman, Mrs. Borkman and her twin sister, Ella Rentheim, battle over the future of young Erhart Borkman. Though the play continues the line of naturalism and social commentary that marks Ibsen’s middle period, the final act suggests a new symbolic phase for the playwright, which he brought to fruition in his final play
When We Dead Awaken
.