Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (319 page)

FOLDAL. How can I believe in the teeth of all reason? You would have to be legally rehabilitated ——

BORKMAN.
Go on! go on!

FOLDAL. It’s true I never passed my examination; but I have read enough law to know that ——

BORKMAN.
[Quickly.]
It is impossible, you mean?

FOLDAL.
There is no precedent for such a thing.

BORKMAN.
Exceptional men are above precedents.

FOLDAL.
The law knows nothing of such distinctions.

BORKMAN.
[Harshly and decisively.]
You are no poet, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.
[Unconsciously folding his hands.]
Do you say that in sober earnest?

BORKMAN.
[Dismissing the subject, without answering.]
We are only wasting each other’s time. You had better not come here again.

FOLDAL.
Then you really want me to leave you?

BORKMAN.
[Without looking at him.]
I have no longer any use for you.

FOLDAL.
[Softly, taking his portfolio.]
No, no, no; I daresay not.

BORKMAN.
Here you have been lying to me all the time.

FOLDAL.
[Shaking his head.]
Never lying, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN. Have you not sat here feeding me with hope, and trust, and confidence — that was all a lie?

FOLDAL. It wasn’t a lie so long as you believed in my vocation. So long as you believed in me, I believed in you.

BORKMAN. Then we have been all the time deceiving each other. And perhaps deceiving ourselves — both of us.

FOLDAL.
But isn’t that just the essence of friendship, John Gabriel?

BORKMAN.
[Smiling bitterly.]
Yes, you are right there. Friendship means — deception. I have learnt that once before.

FOLDAL.
[Looking at him.]
I have no poetic vocation! And you could actually say it to me so bluntly.

BORKMAN.
[In a gentler tone.]
Well, you know, I don’t pretend to know much about these matters.

FOLDAL.
Perhaps you know more than you think.

BORKMAN. I?

FOLDAL.
[Softly.]
Yes, you. For I myself have had my doubts, now and then, I may tell you. The horrible doubt that I may have bungled my life for the sake of a delusion.

BORKMAN. If you have no faith in yourself, you are on the downward path indeed.

FOLDAL. That was why I found such comfort in coming here to lean upon your faith in me.
[Taking his hat.]
But now you have become a stranger to me.

BORKMAN.
And you to me.

FOLDAL.
Good night, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN.
Good night, Vilhelm.
  [Foldal goes out to the left.

[BORKMAN stands for a moment gazing at the closed door; makes a movement as though to call FOLDAL back, but changes his mind, and begins to pace the floor with his hands behind his back. Then he stops at the table beside the sofa and puts out the lamp. The room becomes half dark. After a short pause, there comes a knock at the tapestry door.

BORKMAN.
[At the table, starts, turns, and asks in a loud voice:]
Who is
that knocking?
  [No answer, another knock.

BORKMAN.
[Without moving.]
Who is it? Come in!

 [ELLA RENTHEIM, with a lighted candle in her hand, appears in
      the doorway. She wears her black dress, as before, with
      her cloak thrown loosely round her shoulders.

BORKMAN.
[Staring at her.]
Who are you? What do you want with me?

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Closes the door and advances.]
It is I, Borkman.

  [She puts down the candle on the piano and remains standing
       beside it.

BORKMAN.
[Stands as though thunderstruck, stares fixedly at her, and says in a half-whisper.]
Is it — is it Ella? Is it Ella Rentheim?

ELLA RENTHEIM. Yes, it’s “your” Ella, as you used to call me in the old days; many, many years ago.

BORKMAN.
[As before.]
Yes, it is you Ella, I can see you now.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Can you recognise me?

BORKMAN.
Yes, now I begin to ——

ELLA RENTHEIM.
The years have told on me, and brought winter with them, Borkman.
Do you not think so?

BORKMAN.
[In a forced voice.]
You are a good deal changed — just at first glance.

ELLA RENTHEIM. There are no dark curls on my neck now — the curls you once loved to twist round your fingers.

BORKMAN.
[Quickly.]
True! I can see now, Ella, you have done your hair differently.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[With a sad smile.]
Precisely; it is the way I do my hair that makes the difference.

BORKMAN.
[Changing the subject.]
I had no idea that you were in this part of the world.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
I have only just arrived.

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

ELLA RENTHEIM.
That you shall hear.

BORKMAN.
Is it me you have come to see?

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

BORKMAN.
You look tired.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, I am tired.

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

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, thank you; I need rest.

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

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

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

ELLA RENTHEIM.
A whole lifetime has passed — a wasted lifetime.

BORKMAN.
[Looking keenly at her.]
Wasted!

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, I say wasted — for both of us.

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

ELLA RENTHEIM.
And what about mine?

BORKMAN.
There you have yourself to blame, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[With a start.]
And you can say that?

BORKMAN.
You could quite well have been happy without me.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Do you believe that?

BORKMAN.
If you had made up your mind to.

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

BORKMAN.
But you rejected him.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, I did.

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

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

BORKMAN. You might perfectly well have been happy with him. And then I should have been saved.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
You?

BORKMAN.
Yes, you would have saved me, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
How do you mean?

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

ELLA RENTHEIM. Oh indeed, Borkman. If we look into the matter, it appears that it is I who owe you reparation.

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

ELLA RENTHEIM.
As long as I was allowed to ——

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

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

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

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Smiling.]
H’m! In my power ——

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

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

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

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

BORKMAN.
My reason?

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, your reason. Tell me.

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

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

BORKMAN.
Never! I was so absolutely certain of victory.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
Well then, why was it that —— ?

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

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

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

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

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

ELLA RENTHEIM. You had risked what was dearest to you on that voyage. Your whole future life ——

BORKMAN.
Life is not always what one holds dearest.

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

BORKMAN.
I fancy it was.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
I was the dearest thing in the world to you?