Chapter V: Part 5

[_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 the first glance.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

There are no dark curls on my neck now—the curls you once loved so 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’s. 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?

BORKMAN.

I seem to remember something of the sort.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

And yet years and years had passed since you had deserted me—and married—married another!

BORKMAN.

Deserted you, you say? You must know very well that it was higher motives—well then, _other_ motives that compelled me. Without _his_ support I could not have done anything.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Controlling herself._] So you deserted me from—higher motives.

BORKMAN.

I could not get on without his help. And he made you the price of helping me.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

And you paid the price. Paid it in full—without haggling.

BORKMAN.

I had no choice. I had to conquer or fall.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_In a trembling voice, looking at him._] Can what you tell me be true—that I was then the dearest thing in the world to you?

BORKMAN.

Both then and afterwards—long, long after.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

But you bartered me away none the less; drove a bargain with another man for your love. Sold my love for a—for a directorship.

BORKMAN.

[_Gloomily and bowed down._] I was driven by inexorable necessity, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Rises from the sofa, quivering with passion._] Criminal!

BORKMAN.

[_Starts, but controls himself._] I have heard that word before.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, don’t imagine I’m thinking of anything you may have done against the law of the land! The use you made of all those vouchers and securities, or whatever you call them—do you think I care a straw about that! If I could have stood at your side when the crash came——

BORKMAN.

[_Eagerly._] What then, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Trust me, I should have borne it all so gladly along with you. The shame, the ruin—I would have helped you to bear it all—all!

BORKMAN.

Would you have had the will—the strength?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Both the will and the strength. For then I did not know of your great, your terrible crime.

BORKMAN.

What crime? What are you speaking of?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I am speaking of that crime for which there is no forgiveness.

BORKMAN.

[_Staring at her._] You must be out of your mind.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Approaching him._] You are a murderer! You have committed the one mortal sin!

BORKMAN.

[_Falling back towards the piano._] You are raving, Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

You have killed the love-life in me. [_Still nearer him._] Do you understand what that means? The Bible speaks of a mysterious sin for which there is no forgiveness. I have never understood what it could be; but now I understand. The great, unpardonable sin is to murder the love-life in a human soul.

BORKMAN.

And you say I have done that?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

You _have_ done that. I have never rightly understood until this evening what had really happened to me. That you deserted me and turned to Gunhild instead—I took that to be mere common fickleness on your part, and the result of heartless scheming on hers. I almost think I despised you a little, in spite of everything. But now I see it! You deserted the woman you _loved_! Me, me, me! What you held dearest in the world you were ready to barter away for gain. _That_ is the double murder you have committed! The murder of your own soul and of mine!

BORKMAN.

[_With cold self-control._] How well I recognise your passionate, ungovernable spirit, Ella. No doubt it is natural enough that you should look at the thing in this light. Of course, you are a woman, and therefore it would seem that your own heart is the one thing you know or care about in the world.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, yes it is.

BORKMAN.

Your own heart is the only thing that exists for you.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

The only thing! The only thing! You are right there.

BORKMAN.

But you must remember that I am a man. As a woman, you were the dearest thing in the world to me. But if the worst comes to the worst, one woman can always take the place of another.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looks at him with a smile._] Was that your experience when you had made Gunhild your wife?

BORKMAN.

No. But the great aims I had in life helped me to bear even that. I wanted to have at my command all the sources of power in this country. All the wealth that lay hidden in the soil, and the rocks, and the forests, and the sea—I wanted to gather it all into my hands, to make myself master of it all, and so to promote the well-being of many, many thousands.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Lost in recollection._] I know it. Think of all the evenings we spent in talking over your projects.

BORKMAN.

Yes, I could talk to _you_, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I jested with your plans, and asked whether you wanted to awaken all the sleeping spirits of the mine.

BORKMAN.

[_Nodding._] I remember that phrase. [_Slowly._] All the sleeping spirits of the mine.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

But you did not take it as a jest. You said: “Yes, yes, Ella, that is just what I want to do.”

BORKMAN.

And so it was. If only I could get my foot into the stirrup——And _that_ depended on that one man. He could and would secure me the control of the bank—if I on my side——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, just so! If you on your side would renounce the woman you loved—and who loved you beyond words in return.

BORKMAN.

I knew his consuming passion for you. I knew that on no other condition would he——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

And so you struck the bargain.

BORKMAN.

[_Vehemently._] Yes, I did, Ella! For the love of power is uncontrollable in me, you see! So I struck the bargain; I _had_ to. And he helped me half-way up towards the beckoning heights that I was bent on reaching. And I mounted and mounted; year by year I mounted——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

And I was as though wiped out of your life.

BORKMAN.

And after all he hurled me into the abyss again. On account of you, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_After a short thoughtful silence._] Borkman, does it not seem to you as if there had been a sort of curse on our whole relation?

BORKMAN.

[_Looking at her._] A curse?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes. Don’t you think so?

BORKMAN.

[_Uneasily._] Yes. But why is it? [_With an outburst._] Oh Ella, I begin to wonder which is in the right—you or I!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

It is you who have sinned. You have done to death all the gladness of life in me.

BORKMAN.

[_Anxiously._] Do not say that, Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

All a woman’s gladness at any rate. From the day when your image began to dwindle in my mind, I have lived my life as though under an eclipse. During all these years it has grown harder and harder for me—and at last utterly impossible—to love any living creature. Human beings, animals, plants: I shrank from all—from all but one——

BORKMAN.

What one?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Erhart, of course.

BORKMAN.

Erhart?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Erhart—your son, Borkman.

BORKMAN.

Has he really been so close to your heart?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Why else should I have taken him to me, and kept him as long as ever I could? Why?

BORKMAN.

I thought it was out of pity, like all the rest that you did.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_In strong inward emotion._] Pity! Ha, ha! I have never known pity, since you deserted me. I was incapable of feeling it. If a poor starved child came into my kitchen, shivering, and crying, and begging for a morsel of food, I let the servants look to it. I never felt any desire to take the child to myself, to warm it at my own hearth, to have the pleasure of seeing it eat and be satisfied. And yet I was not like that when I was young; that I remember clearly! It is you that have created an empty, barren desert within me—and without me too!

BORKMAN.

Except only for Erhart.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, except for your son. But I am hardened to every other living thing. You have cheated me of a mother’s joy and happiness in life—and of a mother’s sorrows and tears as well. And perhaps that is the heaviest part of the loss to me.

BORKMAN.

Do you say that, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Who knows? It may be that a mother’s sorrows and tears were what I needed most. [_With still deeper emotion._] But at that time I _could not_ resign myself to my loss; and that was why I took Erhart to me. I won him entirely. Won his whole warm, trustful childish heart—until——Oh!

BORKMAN.

Until what?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Until his mother—his mother in the flesh, I mean—took him from me again.

BORKMAN.

He had to leave you in any case; he had to come to town.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Wringing her hands._] Yes, but I cannot bear the solitude—the emptiness! I cannot bear the loss of your son’s heart!

BORKMAN.

[_With an evil expression in his eyes._] H’m—I doubt whether you have lost it, Ella. Hearts are not so easily lost to a certain person—in the room below.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I _have_ lost Erhart here, and she has won him back again. Or if not she, some one else. That is plain enough in the letters he writes me from time to time.

BORKMAN.

Then it is to take him back with you that you have come here?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, if only it were possible——!

BORKMAN.

It is possible enough, if you have set your heart upon it. For you have the first and strongest claims upon him.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, claims, claims! What is the use of claims? If he is not mine of his own free will, he is not mine at all. And have him I must! I must have my boy’s heart, whole and undivided—now!

BORKMAN.

You must remember that Erhart is well into his twenties. You could scarcely reckon on keeping his heart very long undivided, as you express it.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_With a melancholy smile._] It would not need to be for so very long.

BORKMAN.

Indeed? I should have thought that when _you_ want a thing, you want it to the end of your days.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

So I do. But that need not mean for very long.

BORKMAN.

[_Taken aback._] What do you mean by that?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I suppose you know I have been in bad health for many years past?

BORKMAN.

Have _you_?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Do you not know that?

BORKMAN.

No, I cannot say I did——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looking at him in surprise._] Has Erhart not told you so?

BORKMAN.

I really don’t remember at the moment.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Perhaps he has not spoken of me at all?

BORKMAN.

Oh, yes, I believe he has spoken of you. But the fact is, I so seldom see anything of him—scarcely ever. There is a certain person below that keeps him away from me. Keeps him away, you understand?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Are you quite sure of that, Borkman?

BORKMAN.

Yes, absolutely sure. [_Changing his tone._] And so you have been in bad health, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, I have. And this autumn I grew so much worse that I had to come to town and take better medical advice.

BORKMAN.

And you have seen the doctors already?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, this morning.

BORKMAN.

And what did they say to you?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

They gave me full assurance of what I had long suspected.

BORKMAN.

Well?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Calmly and quietly._] My illness will never be cured, Borkman.

BORKMAN.

Oh, you must not believe that, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

It is a disease that there is no help or cure for. The doctors can do nothing with it. They must just let it take its course. They cannot possibly check it; at most, they can allay the suffering. And that is always something.

BORKMAN.

Oh, but it will take a long time to run its course. I am sure it will.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I may perhaps last out the winter, they told me.

BORKMAN.

[_Without thinking._] Oh, well, the winter is long.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Quietly._] Long enough for me, at any rate.

BORKMAN.

[_Eagerly, changing the subject._] But what in all the world can have brought on this illness? You, who have always lived such a healthy and regular life? What can have brought it on?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looking at him._] The doctors thought that perhaps at one time in my life I had had to go through some great stress of emotion.

BORKMAN.

[_Firing up._] Emotion! Aha, I understand! You mean that it is my fault?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_With increasing inward agitation._] It is too late to go into that matter now! But I must have my heart’s own child again before I go! It is so unspeakably sad for me to think that I must go away from all that is called life—away from sun, and light, and air—and not leave behind me one single human being who will think of me—who will remember me lovingly and mournfully—as a son remembers and thinks of the mother he has lost.

BORKMAN.

[_After a short pause._] Take him, Ella, if you can win him.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_With animation._] Do you give your consent? _Can_ you?

BORKMAN.

[_Gloomily._] Yes. And it is no great sacrifice either. For in any case he is not mine.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Thank you, thank you all the same for the sacrifice! But I have one thing more to beg of you—a great thing for me, Borkman.

BORKMAN.

Well, what is it?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I daresay you will think it childish of me—you will not understand——

BORKMAN.

Go on—tell me what it is.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

When I die—as I must soon—I shall have a fair amount to leave behind me.

BORKMAN.

Yes, I suppose so.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

And I intend to leave it all to Erhart.

BORKMAN.

Well, you have really no one nearer to you than he.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Warmly._] No indeed, I have no one nearer me than he.

BORKMAN.

No one of your own family. You are the last.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Nodding slowly._] Yes, that is just it. When I die, the name of Rentheim dies with me. And that is such a torturing thought to me. To be wiped out of existence—even to your very name——

BORKMAN.

[_Firing up._] Ah, I see what you are driving at!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Passionately._] Do not let it be so! Let Erhart bear my name after me!

BORKMAN.

[_Looking harshly at her._] I understand you well enough. You want to save my son from having to bear his father’s name. That is your idea.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

No, no, not that! I myself would have borne it proudly and gladly along with you! But a mother who is at the point of death——There is more binding force in a name than you think or believe, Borkman.

BORKMAN.

[_Coldly and proudly._] Well and good, Ella. I am man enough to bear my own name alone.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Seizing and pressing his hand._] Thank you, thank you! Now there has been a full settlement between us! Yes, yes, let it be so! You have made all the atonement in your power. For when I have gone from the world, I shall leave Erhart Rentheim behind me!

[_The tapestry door is thrown open. MRS. BORKMAN, with the large
shawl over her head, stands in the doorway._

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_In violent agitation._] Never to his dying day shall Erhart be called by that name!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Shrinking back._] Gunhild!

BORKMAN.

[_Harshly and threateningly._] I allow no one to come up to my room!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Advancing a step._] I do not ask your permission.

BORKMAN.

[_Going towards her._] What do you want with me?

MRS. BORKMAN.

I will fight with all my might for you. I will protect you from the powers of evil.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

The worst “powers of evil” are in yourself, Gunhild!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Harshly._] So be it then. [_Menacingly, with upstretched arm._] But this I tell you—he shall bear his father’s name! And bear it aloft in honour again. And I will be his mother! I alone! My son’s heart shall be mine—mine, and no other’s.

[_She goes out by the tapestry door and shuts it behind her._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Shaken and shattered._] Borkman, Erhart’s life will be wrecked in this storm. There must be an understanding between you and Gunhild. We must go down to her at once.

BORKMAN.

[_Looking at her._] We? I too, do you mean?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Both you and I.

BORKMAN.

[_Shaking his head._] She is hard, I tell you. Hard as the metal I once dreamed of hewing out of the rocks.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Then try it now!

[_BORKMAN does not answer, but stands looking doubtfully at her._

ACT THIRD

_MRS. BORKMAN’S Drawing-room. The lamp is still burning on the table
beside the sofa in front. The garden-room at the back is quite
dark._

_MRS. BORKMAN, with the shawl still over her head, enters, in violent
agitation, by the hall door, goes up to the window, draws the
curtain a little aside, and looks out; then she seats herself
beside the stove, but immediately springs up again, goes to the
bell-pull and rings. Stands beside the sofa, and waits a moment.
No one comes. Then she rings again, this time more violently._

_THE MAID presently enters from the hall. She looks sleepy and out of
temper, and appears to have dressed in great haste._

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Impatiently._] What has become of you, Malena? I have rung for you twice!

THE MAID.

Yes, ma’am, I heard you.

MRS. BORKMAN.

And yet you didn’t come?

THE MAID.

[_Sulkily._] I had to put some clothes on first, I suppose.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, you must dress yourself properly, and then you must run at once and fetch my son.

THE MAID.

[_Looking at her in astonishment._] You want me to fetch Mr. Erhart?

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes; tell him he must come home to me at once; I want to speak to him.

THE MAID.

[_Grumbling._] Then I’d better go to the bailiff’s and call up the coachman.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Why?

THE MAID.

To get him to harness the sledge. The snow’s dreadful to-night.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Oh, that doesn’t matter; only make haste and go. It’s just round the corner.

THE MAID.

Why ma’am, you can’t call that just round the corner!

MRS. BORKMAN.

Of course it is. Don’t you know Mr. Hinkel’s villa?

THE MAID.

[_With malice._] Oh, indeed! It’s there Mr. Erhart is this evening?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Taken aback._] Why, where else should he be?

THE MAID.

[_With a slight smile._] Well, I only thought he might be where he usually is.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Where do you mean?

THE MAID.

At that Mrs. Wilton’s, as they call her.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Mrs. Wilton’s? My son isn’t so often there.

THE MAID.

[_Half muttering._] I’ve heard say as he’s there every day of his life.

MRS. BORKMAN.

That’s all nonsense, Malena. Go straight to Mr. Hinkel’s and try to get hold of him.

THE MAID.

[_With a toss of her head._] Oh, very well; I’m going.

[_She is on the point of going out by the hall, but just at that
moment the hall door is opened, and ELLA RENTHEIM and BORKMAN
appear on the threshold._

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Staggers a step backwards._] What does this mean?

THE MAID.

[_Terrified, instinctively folding her hands._] Lord save us!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Whispers to THE MAID._] Tell him he must come this instant.

THE MAID.

[_Softly._] Yes, ma’am.

[_ELLA RENTHEIM and, after her, BORKMAN enter the room. THE MAID
sidles behind them to the door, goes out, and closes it after
her._

[_A short silence._]

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Having recovered her self-control, turns to ELLA._] What does he want down here in my room?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

He wants to come to an understanding with you, Gunhild.

MRS. BORKMAN.

He has never tried that before.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

He is going to, this evening.

MRS. BORKMAN.

The last time we stood face to face—it was in the Court, when I was summoned to give an account——

BORKMAN.

[_Approaching._] And this evening it is _I_ who will give an account of myself.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking at him._] You?

BORKMAN.

Not of what I have done amiss. All the world knows that.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a bitter sigh._] Yes, that is true; all the world knows that.

BORKMAN.

But it does not know _why_ I did it; why I _had_ to do it. People do not understand that I had to, because I was myself—because I was John Gabriel Borkman—myself, and not another. And that is what I will try to explain to you.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Shaking her head._] It is of no use. Temptations and promptings acquit no one.

BORKMAN.

They may acquit one in one’s own eyes.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a gesture of repulsion._] Oh, let all that alone! I have thought over that black business of yours enough and to spare.

BORKMAN.

I too. During those five endless years in my cell—and elsewhere—I had time to think it over. And during the eight years up there in the gallery I have had still more ample time. I have re-tried the whole case—by myself. Time after time I have re-tried it. I have been my own accuser, my own defender, and my own judge. I have been more impartial than any one else could be—that I venture to say. I have paced up and down the gallery there, turning every one of my actions upside down and inside out. I have examined them from all sides as unsparingly, as pitilessly, as any lawyer of them all. And the final judgment I have always come to is this: the one person I have sinned against is—myself.

MRS. BORKMAN.

And what about me? What about your son?

BORKMAN.

You and he are included in what I mean when I say myself.

MRS. BORKMAN.

And what about the hundreds of others, then—the people you are said to have ruined?

BORKMAN.

[_More vehemently._] I had power in my hands! And then I felt the irresistible vocation within me! The prisoned millions lay all over the country, deep in the bowels of the earth, calling aloud to me! They shrieked to me to free them! But no one else heard their cry—I alone had ears for it.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, to the branding of the name of Borkman.

BORKMAN.

If the others had had the power, do you think they would not have acted exactly as I did?

MRS. BORKMAN.

No one, no one but you would have done it!

BORKMAN.

Perhaps not. But that would have been because they had not my brains. And if they _had_ done it, it would not have been with _my_ aims in view. The act would have been a different act. In short, I have acquitted myself.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Softly and appealingly._] Oh, can you say that so confidently, Borkman?

BORKMAN.

[_Nodding._] Acquitted myself on _that_ score. But then comes the great, crushing self-accusation.

MRS. BORKMAN.

What is that?

BORKMAN.

I have skulked up there and wasted eight precious years of my life! The very day I was set free, I should have gone forth into the world—out into the steel-hard, dreamless world of reality! I should have begun at the bottom and swung myself up to the heights anew—higher than ever before—in spite of all that lay between.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Oh, it would only have been the same thing over again; take my word for that.

BORKMAN.

[_Shakes his head, and looks at her with a sententious air._] It is true that nothing new happens; but what _has_ happened does not repeat itself either. It is the eye that transforms the action. The eye, born anew, transforms the old action. [_Breaking off._] But you do not understand this.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Curtly._] No, I do not understand it.

BORKMAN.

Ah, that is just the curse—I have never found one single soul to understand me.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looking at him._] Never, Borkman?

BORKMAN.

Except one—perhaps. Long, long ago. In the days when I did not think I needed understanding. Since then, at any rate, no one has understood me! There has been no one alive enough to my needs to be afoot and rouse me—to ring the morning bell for me—to call me up to manful work anew. And to impress upon me that I had done nothing inexpiable.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a scornful laugh._] So, after all, you require to have _that_ impressed on you from without?

BORKMAN.

[_With increasing indignation._] Yes, when the whole world hisses in chorus that I have sunk never to rise again, there come moments when I almost believe it myself. [_Raising his head._] But then my inmost assurance rises again triumphant; and _that_ acquits me.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking harshly at him._] Why have you never come and asked me for what you call understanding?

BORKMAN.

What use would it have been to come to you?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a gesture of repulsion._] You have never loved anything outside yourself; _that_ is the secret of the whole matter.

BORKMAN.

[_Proudly._] I have loved power.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, power!

BORKMAN.

The power to create human happiness in wide, wide circles around me!

MRS. BORKMAN.

You had once the power to make me happy. Have you used it to that end?

BORKMAN.

[_Without looking at her._] Some one must generally go down in a shipwreck.

MRS. BORKMAN.

And your own son! Have you used your power—have you lived and laboured—to make _him_ happy?

BORKMAN.

I do not know him.

MRS. BORKMAN.

No, that is true. You do not even know him.

BORKMAN.

[_Harshly._] You, his mother, have taken care of that!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking at him with a lofty air._] Oh, you do not know what I have taken care of!

BORKMAN.

You?

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, I. I alone.

BORKMAN.

Then tell me.

MRS. BORKMAN.

I have taken care of your memory.

BORKMAN.

[_With a short dry laugh._] My memory? Oh, indeed! It sounds almost as if I were dead already.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With emphasis._] And so you are.

BORKMAN.

[_Slowly._] Yes, perhaps you are right. [_Firing up._] But no, no! Not yet! I have been close to the verge of death. But now I have awakened. I have come to myself. A whole life lies before me yet. I can see it awaiting me, radiant and quickening. And you—you shall see it too.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Raising her hand._] Never dream of life again! Lie quiet where you are.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Shocked._] Gunhild! Gunhild, how can you——!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Not listening to her._] I will raise the monument over your grave.

BORKMAN.

The pillar of shame, I suppose you mean?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With increasing excitement._] Oh, no, it shall be no pillar of metal or stone. And no one shall be suffered to carve any scornful legend on the monument I shall raise. There shall be, as it were, a quickset hedge of trees and bushes, close, close around your tomb. They shall hide away all the darkness that has been. The eyes of men and the thoughts of men shall no longer dwell on John Gabriel Borkman!

BORKMAN.

[_Hoarsely and cuttingly._] And this labour of love you will perform?

MRS. BORKMAN.

Not by my own strength. I cannot think of that. But I have brought up one to help me, who shall live for this alone. His life shall be so pure and high and bright, that your burrowing in the dark shall be as though it had never been!

BORKMAN.

[_Darkly and threateningly._] If it is Erhart you mean, say so at once!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking him straight in the eyes._] Yes, it is Erhart; my son; he whom you are ready to renounce in atonement for your own acts.

BORKMAN.

[_With a look towards ELLA._] In atonement for my blackest sin.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Repelling the idea._] A sin towards a stranger only. Remember the sin towards me! [_Looking triumphantly at them both._] But he will not obey you! When I cry out to him in my need, he will come to me! It is with me that he will remain! With me, and never with any one else. [_Suddenly listens, and cries._] I hear him! He is here, he is here! Erhart!

[_ERHART BORKMAN hastily tears open the hall door, and enters the
room. He is wearing an overcoat and has his hat on._

ERHART.

[_Pale and anxious._] Mother! What in Heaven’s name——! [_Seeing BORKMAN, who is standing beside the doorway leading into the garden-room, he starts and takes off his hat. After a moment’s silence, he asks_:] What do you want with me, mother? What has happened?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Stretching out her arms towards him._] I want to see you, Erhart! I want to have you with me, always!

ERHART.

[_Stammering._] Have me——? Always? What do you mean by that?

MRS. BORKMAN.

I _will_ have you, I say! There is some one who wants to take you from me!

ERHART.

[_Recoiling a step._] Ah—so you know?

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes. Do you know it, too?

ERHART.

[_Surprised, looking at her._] Do _I_ know it? Yes, of course.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Aha, so you have planned it all out! Behind my back! Erhart! Erhart!

ERHART.

[_Quickly._] Mother, tell me what it is you know!

MRS. BORKMAN.

I know everything. I know that your aunt has come here to take you from me.

ERHART.

Aunt Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, listen to me a moment, Erhart!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Continuing._] She wants me to give you up to her. She wants to stand in your mother’s place to you, Erhart! She wants you to be her son, and not mine, from this time forward. She wants you to inherit everything from her; to renounce your own name and take hers instead!

ERHART.

Aunt Ella, is this true?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, it is true.

ERHART.

I knew nothing of this. Why do you want to have me with you again?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Because I feel that I am losing you here.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Hardly._] You are losing him to me—yes. And that is just as it should be.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looking beseechingly at him._] Erhart, I cannot afford to lose you. For, I must tell you, I am a lonely—dying woman.

ERHART.

Dying——?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, dying. Will you come and be with me to the end? Attach yourself wholly to me? Be to me, as though you were my own child——?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Interrupting._] And forsake your mother, and perhaps your mission in life as well? Will you, Erhart?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I am condemned to death. Answer me, Erhart.

ERHART.

[_Warmly, with emotion._] Aunt Ella, you have been unspeakably good to me. With you I grew up in as perfect happiness as any boy can ever have known——

MRS. BORKMAN.

Erhart, Erhart!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, how glad I am that you can still say that!

ERHART.

But I cannot sacrifice myself to you now. It is not possible for me to devote myself wholly to taking a son’s place towards you.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Triumphing._] Ah, I knew it! You shall not have him! You shall not have him, Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Sadly._] I see it. You have won him back.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, yes! Mine he is, and mine he shall remain! Erhart, say it is so, dear; we two have still a long way to go together, have we not?

ERHART.

[_Struggling with himself._] Mother, I may as well tell you plainly——

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Eagerly._] What?

ERHART.

I am afraid it is only a very little way you and I can go together.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Stands as though thunderstruck._] What do you mean by that?

ERHART.

[_Plucking up spirit._] Good heavens, mother, I am young, after all! I feel as if the close air of this room must stifle me in the end.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Close air? Here—with me?

ERHART.

Yes, here with you, mother.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Then come with me, Erhart.

ERHART.

Oh, Aunt Ella, it’s not a whit better with you. It’s different, but no better—no better for me. It smells of rose-leaves and lavender there too; it is as airless there as here.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Shaken, but having recovered her composure with an effort._] Airless in your mother’s room, you say!

ERHART.

[_In growing impatience._] Yes, I don’t know how else to express it. All this morbid watchfulness and—and idolisation, or whatever you like to call it——I can’t endure it any longer!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking at him with deep solemnity._] Have you forgotten what you have consecrated your life to, Erhart?

ERHART.

[_With an outburst._] Oh, say rather what _you_ have consecrated my life to. You, you have been my will. You have never given me leave to have any of my own. But now I cannot bear this yoke any longer. I am young; remember that, mother. [_With a polite, considerate glance towards BORKMAN._] I cannot consecrate my life to making atonement for another—whoever that other may be.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Seized with a growing anxiety._] Who is it that has transformed you, Erhart?

ERHART.

[_Struck._] Who? Can you not conceive that it is I myself?

MRS. BORKMAN.

No, no, no! You have come under some strange power. You are not in your mother’s power any longer; nor in your—your foster-mother’s either.

ERHART.

[_With laboured defiance._] I am in my own power, mother! And working my own will!

BORKMAN.

[_Advancing towards ERHART._] Then perhaps my hour has come at last.

ERHART.

[_Distantly and with measured politeness._] How so? How do you mean, sir?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Scornfully._] Yes, you may well ask that.

BORKMAN.

[_Continuing undisturbed._] Listen, Erhart—will you not cast in your lot with your father? It is not through any other man’s life that a man who has fallen can be raised up again. These are only empty fables that have been told to you down here in the airless room. If you were to set yourself to live your life like all the saints together, it would be of no use whatever to me.

ERHART.

[_With measured respectfulness._] That is very true indeed.

BORKMAN.

Yes, it is. And it would be of no use either if I should resign myself to wither away in abject penitence. I have tried to feed myself upon hopes and dreams, all through these years. But I am not the man to be content with that; and now I mean to have done with dreaming.

ERHART.

[_With a slight bow._] And what will—what will you do, sir?

BORKMAN.

I will work out my own redemption, that is what I will do. I will begin at the bottom again. It is only through his present and his future that a man can atone for his past. Through work, indefatigable work, for all that, in my youth, seemed to give life its meaning—and that now seems a thousand times greater than it did then. Erhart, will you join with me and help me in this new life?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Raising her hand warningly._] Do not do it, Erhart!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Warmly._] Yes, yes, do it! Oh, help him, Erhart!

MRS. BORKMAN.

And you advise him to do that? You, the lonely, dying woman.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I don’t care about myself.

MRS. BORKMAN.

No, so long as it is not I that take him from you.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Precisely so, Gunhild.

BORKMAN.

Will you, Erhart?

ERHART.

[_Wrung with pain._] Father, I cannot now. It is utterly impossible!

BORKMAN.

What do you want to do then?

ERHART.

[_With a sudden glow._] I am young! I want to live, for once in a way, as well as other people! I want to live my own life!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

You cannot give up two or three little months to brighten the close of a poor waning life?

ERHART.

I _cannot_, Aunt, however much I may wish to.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Not for the sake of one who loves you so dearly?

ERHART.

I solemnly assure you, Aunt Ella, I cannot.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking sharply at him._] And your mother has no power over you either, any more?

ERHART.

I will always love you, mother; but I cannot go on living for you alone. This is no life for me.

BORKMAN.

Then come and join with me, after all! For life, life means work, Erhart. Come, we two will go forth into life and work together!

ERHART.

[_Passionately._] Yes, but I don’t _want_ to work now! For I am _young_! That’s what I never realised before; but now the knowledge is tingling through every vein in my body. I will not work! I will only live, live, live!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a cry of divination._] Erhart, what will you live for?

ERHART.

[_With sparkling eyes._] For happiness, mother!

MRS. BORKMAN.

And where do you think you can find that?

ERHART.

I _have_ found it, already!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Shrieks._] Erhart! [_ERHART goes quickly to the hall door and throws it open._]

ERHART.

[_Calls out._] Fanny, you can come in now!

[_MRS. WILTON, in outdoor wraps, appears on the threshold._

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With uplifted hands._] Mrs. Wilton!

MRS. WILTON.

[_Hesitating a little, with an enquiring glance at ERHART._] Do you want me to——?

ERHART.

Yes, now you can come in. I have told them everything.

[_MRS. WILTON comes forward into the room. ERHART closes the door
behind her. She bows formally to BORKMAN, who returns her bow in
silence. A short pause._

MRS. WILTON.

[_In a subdued but firm voice._] So the word has been spoken—and I suppose you all think I have brought a great calamity upon this house?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Slowly, looking hard at her._] You have crushed the last remnant of interest in life for me. [_With an outburst._] But all this—all this is utterly impossible!

MRS. WILTON.

I can quite understand that it must appear impossible to you, Mrs. Borkman.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, you can surely see for yourself that it is impossible. Or what——?

MRS. WILTON.

I should rather say that it seems highly improbable. But it’s so, none the less.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Turning._] Are you really in earnest about this, Erhart?

ERHART.

This means happiness for me, mother—all the beauty and happiness of life. That is all I can say to you.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Clenching her hands together; to MRS. WILTON._] Oh, how you have cajoled and deluded my unhappy son!

MRS. WILTON.

[_Raising her head proudly._] I have done nothing of the sort.

MRS. BORKMAN.

You have not, you say!

MRS. WILTON.

No. I have neither cajoled nor deluded him. Erhart came to me of his own free will. And of my own free will I went out half-way to meet him.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Measuring her scornfully with her eye._] Yes, indeed! That I can easily believe.

MRS. WILTON.

[_With self-control._] Mrs. Borkman, there are forces in human life that you seem to know very little about.

MRS. BORKMAN.

What forces, may I ask?

MRS. WILTON.

The forces which ordain that two people shall join their lives together, indissolubly—and fearlessly.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a smile._] I thought you were already indissolubly bound—to another.

MRS. WILTON.

[_Shortly._] That other has deserted me.

MRS. BORKMAN.

But he is still living, they say.

MRS. WILTON.

He’s dead to me.

ERHART.

[_Insistently._] Yes, mother, he is dead to Fanny. And besides, this other makes no difference to me!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking sternly at him._] So you know all this—about the other.

ERHART.

Yes, mother, I know quite well—all about it!

MRS. BORKMAN.

And yet you can say that it makes no difference to you?

ERHART.

[_With defiant petulance._] I can only tell you that it is happiness I must have! I am young! I want to live, live, live!

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, you are young, Erhart. Too young for this.

MRS. WILTON.

[_Firmly and earnestly._] You must not think, Mrs. Borkman, that I haven’t said the same to him. I have laid my whole life before him. Again and again I have reminded him that I am seven years older than he——

ERHART.

[_Interrupting._] Oh nonsense, Fanny—I knew that all the time.

MRS. WILTON.

But nothing—nothing was of any use.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Indeed? Nothing? Then why did you not dismiss him without more ado? Close your door to him? You should have done that, and done it in time!

MRS. WILTON.

[_Looks at her, and says in a low voice._] I could not do that, Mrs. Borkman.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Why could you not?

MRS. WILTON.

Because for me too this meant happiness.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Scornfully._] H’m, happiness, happiness——

MRS. WILTON.

I have never before known happiness in life. And I cannot possibly drive happiness away from me, merely because it comes so late.

MRS. BORKMAN.

And how long do you think this happiness will last?

ERHART.

[_Interrupting._] Whether it lasts or does not last, mother, it doesn’t matter now!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_In anger._] Blind boy that you are! Do you not see where all this is leading you?

ERHART.

I don’t want to look into the future. I don’t want to look around me in any direction; I am only determined to live my own life—at last!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With deep pain._] And you call this life, Erhart!

ERHART.

Don’t you see how lovely she is!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Wringing her hands._] And I have to bear this load of shame as well!

BORKMAN.

[_At the back, harshly and cuttingly._] Ho—you are used to bearing things of that sort, Gunhild!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Imploringly._] Borkman!

ERHART.

[_Similarly._] Father!

MRS. BORKMAN.

Day after day I shall have to see my own son linked to a—a——

ERHART.

[_Interrupting her harshly._] You shall see nothing of the kind, mother! You may make your mind easy on that point. I shall not remain here.

MRS. WILTON.

[_Quickly and with decision._] We are going away, Mrs. Borkman.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Turning pale._] Are _you_ going away, too? Together, no doubt?

MRS. WILTON.

[_Nodding._] Yes, I am going abroad, to the South. I am taking a young girl with me. And Erhart is going along with us.

MRS. BORKMAN.

_With_ you—and a young girl?

MRS. WILTON.

Yes. It is little Frida Foldal, whom I have had living with me. I want her to go abroad and get more instruction in music.

MRS. BORKMAN.

So you are taking her with you?

MRS. WILTON.

Yes; I can’t well send her out into the world alone.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Suppressing a smile._] What do _you_ say to this, Erhart?

ERHART.

[_With some embarrassment, shrugging his shoulders._] Well, mother, since Fanny will have it so——

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Coldly._] And when does this distinguished party set out, if one may ask?

MRS. WILTON.

We are going at once—to-night. My covered sledge is waiting on the road, outside the Hinkels’.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looking her from head to foot._] Aha! so _that_ was what the party meant?

MRS. WILTON.

[_Smiling_.] Yes, Erhart and I were the whole party. And little Frida, of course.

MRS. BORKMAN.

And where is she now?

MRS. WILTON.

She is sitting in the sledge waiting for us.

ERHART.

[_In painful embarrassment._] Mother, surely you can understand? I would have spared you all this—you and every one.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Looks at him, deeply pained._] You would have gone away from me without saying goodbye?

ERHART.

Yes, I thought that would be best; best for all of us. Our boxes were packed and everything settled. But of course when you sent for me, I——[_Holding out his hands to her._] Goodbye, mother.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a gesture of repulsion._] Don’t touch me!

ERHART.

[_Gently._] Is _that_ your last word?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Sternly._] Yes.

ERHART.

[_Turning._] Good-bye to you, then, Aunt Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Pressing his hands._] Good-bye, Erhart! And live your life—and be as happy—as happy as ever you can.

ERHART.

Thanks, Aunt. [_Bowing to BORKMAN._] Goodbye, father. [_Whispers to_ MRS. WILTON.] Let us get away, the sooner the better.

MRS. WILTON.

[_In a low voice._] Yes, let us.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a malignant smile._] Mrs. Wilton, do you think you are acting quite wisely in taking that girl with you?

MRS. WILTON.

[_Returning the smile, half ironically, half seriously._] Men are so unstable, Mrs. Borkman. And women too. When Erhart is done with _me_—and I with him—then it will be well for us both that he, poor fellow, should have some one to fall back upon.

MRS. BORKMAN.

But you yourself?

MRS. WILTON.

Oh, I shall know what to do, I assure you. Good-bye to you all!

[_She bows and goes out by the hall door. ERHART stands for a moment
as though wavering; then he turns and follows her._

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Dropping her folded hands._] Childless.

BORKMAN.

[_As though awakening to a resolution._] Then out into the storm alone! My hat! My cloak!

[_He goes hastily towards the door._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_In terror, stopping him._] John Gabriel, where are you going?

BORKMAN.

Out into the storm of life, I tell you. Let me go, Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Holding him back._] No, no, I won’t let you out! You are ill. I can see it in your face!

BORKMAN.

Let me go, I tell you!

[_He tears himself away from her, and goes out by the hall._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_In the doorway._] Help me to hold him, Gunhild!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Coldly and sharply, standing in the middle of the room._] I will not try to hold any one in all the world. Let them go away from me—both the one and the other! As far—as far as ever they please. [_Suddenly, with a piercing shriek._] Erhart, don’t leave me!

[_She rushes with outstretched arms towards the door. ELLA RENTHEIM
stops her._

ACT FOURTH

_An open space outside the main building, which lies to the right. A
projecting corner of it is visible, with a door approached by a
flight of low stone steps. The background consists of steep
fir-clad slopes, quite close at hand. On the left are small
scattered trees, forming the margin of a wood. The snowstorm has
ceased; but the newly fallen snow lies deep around. The
fir-branches droop under heavy loads of snow. The night is dark,
with drifting clouds. Now and then the moon gleams out faintly.
Only a dim light is reflected from the snow._