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.