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._
_BORKMAN, MRS. BORKMAN and ELLA RENTHEIM are standing upon the steps,
BORKMAN leaning wearily against the wall of the house. He has an
old-fashioned cape thrown over his shoulders, holds a soft grey
felt hat in one hand and a thick knotted stick in the other. ELLA
RENTHEIM carries her cloak over her arm. MRS. BORKMAN’S great
shawl has slipped down over her shoulders, so that her hair is
uncovered._
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Barring the way for Mrs. BORKMAN._] Don’t go after him, Gunhild!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_In fear and agitation._] Let me pass, I say! He _must_ not go away
from me!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
It is utterly useless, I tell you! You will never overtake him.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Let me go, Ella! I will cry aloud after him all down the road. And he
must hear his mother’s cry!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
He _cannot_ hear you. You may be sure he is in the sledge already.
MRS. BORKMAN.
No, no; he can’t be in the sledge yet!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
The doors are closed upon him long ago, believe me.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_In despair._] If he is in the sledge, then he is there with her, with
her—her!
BORKMAN.
[_Laughing gloomily._] Then he probably won’t hear his mother’s cry.
MRS. BORKMAN.
No, he will not hear it. [_Listening._] Hark! what is that?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Also listening._] It sounds like sledge-bells.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With a suppressed scream._] It is _her_ sledge!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Perhaps it’s another.
MRS. BORKMAN.
No, no, it is Mrs. Wilton’s covered sledge! I know the silver bells!
Hark! Now they are driving right past here, at the foot of the hill!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Quickly._] Gunhild, if you want to cry out to him, now is the time!
Perhaps after all——! [_The tinkle of the bells sounds close at hand, in
the wood._] Make haste, Gunhild! Now they are right under us!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Stands for a moment undecided, then she stiffens and says sternly and
coldly._] No. I will not cry out to him. Let Erhart Borkman pass away
from me—far, far away—to what he calls life and happiness.
[_The sound dies away in the distance._
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_After a moment._] Now the bells are out of hearing.
MRS. BORKMAN.
They sounded like funeral bells.
BORKMAN.
[_With a dry suppressed laugh._] Oho—it is not for me they are ringing
to-night!
MRS. BORKMAN.
No, but for me—and for him who has gone from me.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Nodding thoughtfully._] Who knows if, after all, they may not be
ringing in life and happiness for him, Gunhild.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_With sudden animation, looking hard at her._] Life and happiness, you
say!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
For a little while at any rate.
MRS. BORKMAN.
Could you endure to let him know life and happiness, with _her_?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_With warmth and feeling._] Indeed I could, with all my heart and soul!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Coldly._] Then you must be richer than I am in the power of love.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Looking far away._] Perhaps it is the _lack_ of love that keeps that
power alive.
MRS. BORKMAN.
[_Fixing her eyes on her._] If that is so, then I shall soon be as rich
as you, Ella.
[_She turns and goes into the house._
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Stands for a time looking with a troubled expression at BORKMAN; then
lays her hand cautiously upon his shoulder._] Come, John—you must come
in, too.
BORKMAN.
[_As if awakening._] I?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, this winter air is too keen for you; I can see that, John. So
come—come in with me—into the house, into the warmth.
BORKMAN.
[_Angrily._] Up to the gallery again, I suppose.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
No, rather into the room below.
BORKMAN.
[_His anger-flaming forth._] Never will I set foot under that roof
again!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Where will you go then? So late, and in the dark, John?
BORKMAN.
[_Putting on his hat._] First of all, I will go out and see to all my
buried treasures.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Looking anxiously at him._] John—I don’t understand you.
BORKMAN.
[_With laughter, interrupted by coughing._] Oh, it is not hidden plunder
I mean; don’t be afraid of that, Ella. [_Stopping, and pointing
outwards._] Do you see that man there? Who is it?
[_VILHELM FOLDAL, in an old cape, covered with snow, with his
hat-brim turned down, and a large umbrella in his hand, advances
towards the corner of the house, laboriously stumbling through
the snow. He is noticeably lame in his left foot._
BORKMAN.
Vilhelm! What do you want with me again?
FOLDAL.
[_Looking up._] Good heavens, are you out on the steps, John Gabriel?
[_Bowing._] And Mrs. Borkman, too, I see.
BORKMAN.
[_Shortly._] This is not Mrs. Borkman.
FOLDAL.
Oh, I beg pardon. You see, I have lost my spectacles in the snow. But
how is it that you, who never put your foot out of doors——?
BORKMAN.
[_Carelessly and gaily._] It is high time I should come out into the
open air again, don’t you see? Nearly three years in detention—five
years in prison—eight years in the gallery up there——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Distressed._] Borkman, I beg you——
FOLDAL.
Ah yes, yes, yes!
BORKMAN.
But I want to know what has brought you here.
FOLDAL.
[_Still standing at the foot of the steps._] I wanted to come up to you,
John Gabriel. I felt I must come to you, in the gallery. Ah me, that
gallery——!
BORKMAN.
Did you want to come up to me after I had shown you the door?
FOLDAL.
Oh, I couldn’t let _that_ stand in the way.
BORKMAN.
What have you done to your foot? I see you are limping?
FOLDAL.
Yes, what do you think—I have been run over.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Run over!
FOLDAL.
Yes, by a covered sledge.
BORKMAN.
Oho!
FOLDAL.
With two horses. They came down the hill at a tearing gallop. I couldn’t
get out of the way quick enough; and so——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
And so they ran over you?
FOLDAL.
They came right down upon me, madam—or miss. They came right upon me and
sent me rolling over and over in the snow—so that I lost my spectacles
and got my umbrella broken. [_Rubbing his leg._] And my ankle a little
hurt too.
BORKMAN.
[_Laughing inwardly._] Do you know who were in that sledge, Vilhelm?
FOLDAL.
No, how could I see? It was a covered sledge, and the curtains were
down. And the driver didn’t stop a moment after he had sent me spinning.
But it doesn’t matter a bit, for——[_With an outburst._] Oh, I am so
happy, so happy!
BORKMAN.
Happy?
FOLDAL.
Well, I don’t exactly know what to call it. But I think happy is the
nearest word. For something so wonderful has happened! And that is why I
couldn’t help—I _had_ to come out and share my happiness with you, John
Gabriel.
BORKMAN.
[_Harshly._] Well, share away then!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Oh, but first take your friend indoors with you, Borkman.
BORKMAN.
[_Sternly._] I have told you I will not go into the house.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
But don’t you hear, he has been run over!
BORKMAN.
Oh, we are all of us run over, sometime or other in life. The thing is
to jump up again, and let no one see you are hurt.
FOLDAL.
That is a profound saying, John Gabriel. But I can easily tell you my
story out here, in a few words.
BORKMAN.
[_More mildly._] Yes, please do, Vilhelm.
FOLDAL.
Well, now you shall hear! Only think, when I got home this evening after
I had been with you, what did I find but a letter. Can you guess who it
was from?
BORKMAN.
Possibly from your little Frida?
FOLDAL.
Precisely! Think of your hitting on it at once! Yes, it was a long—a
pretty long letter from Frida. A footman had brought it. And can you
imagine what was in it?
BORKMAN.
Perhaps it was to say good-bye to her mother and you?
FOLDAL.
Exactly! How good you are at guessing, John Gabriel! Yes, she tells me
that Mrs. Wilton has taken such a fancy to her, and she is to go abroad
with her and study music. And Mrs. Wilton has engaged a first-rate
teacher who is to accompany them on the journey—and to read with Frida
too. For unfortunately she has been a good deal neglected in some
branches, you see.
BORKMAN.
[_Shaken with inward laughter._] Of course, of course—I see it all quite
clearly, Vilhelm.
FOLDAL.
[_Eagerly continuing._] And only think, she knew nothing about the
arrangement until this evening; at that party, you know, h’m! And yet
she found time to write to me. And the letter is such a beautiful one—so
warm and affectionate, I assure you. There is not a trace of contempt
for her father in it. And then what a delicate thought it was to say
good-bye to us by letter—before she started. [_Laughing._] But of course
I can’t let her go like that.
BORKMAN.
[_Looks inquiringly at him._] How so?
FOLDAL.
She tells me that they start early to-morrow morning; quite early.
BORKMAN.
Oh indeed—to-morrow? Does she tell you that?
FOLDAL.
[_Laughing and rubbing his hands._] Yes; but I know a trick worth two of
that, you see! I am going straight up to Mrs. Wilton’s——
BORKMAN.
This evening?
FOLDAL.
Oh, it’s not so very late yet. And even if the house is shut up, I shall
ring; without hesitation. For I must and will see Frida before she
starts. Good-night, good-night!
[_Makes a movement to go._
BORKMAN.
Stop a moment, my poor Vilhelm; you may spare yourself that heavy bit of
road.
FOLDAL.
Oh, you are thinking of my ankle——
BORKMAN.
Yes; and in any case you won’t get in at Mrs. Wilton’s.
FOLDAL.
Yes, indeed I will. I’ll go on ringing and knocking till some one comes
and lets me in. For I must and will see Frida.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Your daughter has gone already, Mr. Foldal.
FOLDAL.
[_Stands as though thunderstruck._] Has Frida gone already! Are you
quite sure? Who told you?
BORKMAN.
We had it from her future teacher.
FOLDAL.
Indeed? And who is he?
BORKMAN.
A certain Mr. Erhart Borkman.
FOLDAL.
[_Beaming with joy._] Your son, John Gabriel! Is he going with them?
BORKMAN.
Yes; it is he that is to help Mrs. Wilton with little Frida’s education.
FOLDAL.
Oh, Heaven be praised! Then the child is in the best of hands. But is it
quite certain that they have started with her already?
BORKMAN.
They took her away in that sledge which ran over you on the road.
FOLDAL.
[_Clasping his hands._] To think that my little Frida was in that
magnificent sledge!
BORKMAN.
[_Nodding._] Yes, yes, Vilhelm, your daughter has come to drive in her
carriage. And Master Erhart, too. Tell me, did you notice the silver
bells?
FOLDAL.
Yes, indeed. Silver bells did you say? Were they silver? Real, genuine
silver bells?
BORKMAN.
You may be quite sure of that. Everything was genuine—both outside and
in.
FOLDAL.
[_In quiet emotion._] Isn’t it strange how fortune can sometimes
befriend one? It is my—my little gift of song that has transmuted itself
into music in Frida. So after all, it is not for nothing that I was born
a poet. For now she is going forth into the great wide world, that I
once yearned so passionately to see. Little Frida sets out in a splendid
covered sledge with silver bells on the harness——
BORKMAN.
And runs over her father.
FOLDAL.
[_Happily._] Oh, pooh! What does it matter about me, if only the
child——! Well, so I am too late, then, after all. I must just go home
again and comfort her mother. I left her crying in the kitchen.
BORKMAN.
Crying?
FOLDAL.
[_Smiling._] Yes, would you believe it, she was crying her eyes out when
I came away.
BORKMAN.
And you are laughing, Vilhelm?
FOLDAL.
Yes, _I_ am, of course. But she, poor thing, she doesn’t know any
better, you see. Well, good-bye! It’s a good thing I have the tramway so
handy. Good-bye, good-bye, John Gabriel. Good-bye, Madam.
[_He bows and limps laboriously out by the way he came._
BORKMAN.
[_Stands silent for a moment, gazing before him._] Good-bye, Vilhelm! It
is not the first time in your life that you’ve been run over, old
friend.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Looking at him with suppressed anxiety._] You are so pale, John, so
very pale.
BORKMAN.
That is the effect of the prison air up yonder.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I have never seen you like this before.
BORKMAN.
No, for I suppose you have never seen an escaped convict before.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Oh, do come into the house with me, John!
BORKMAN.
It is no use trying to lure me in. I have told you——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
But when I beg and implore you——? For your own sake——
[_THE MAID opens the door, and stands in the doorway._
THE MAID.
I beg pardon. Mrs. Borkman told me to lock the front door now.
BORKMAN.
[_In a low voice, to ELLA._] You see, they want to lock me up again!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_To the MAID._] Mr. Borkman is not quite well. He wants to have a
little fresh air before coming in.
THE MAID.
But Mrs. Borkman told me to——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I shall lock the door. Just leave the key in the lock.
THE MAID.
Oh, very well; I’ll leave it.
[_She goes into the house again._
BORKMAN.
[_Stands silent for a moment, and listens; then goes hastily down the
steps and out into the open space._] Now I am outside the walls, Ella!
Now they will never get hold of me again!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Who has gone down to him._] But you are a free man in there, too,
John. You can come and go just as you please.
BORKMAN.
[_Softly, as though in terror._] Never under a roof again! It is so good
to be out here in the night. If I went up into the gallery now, ceiling
and walls would shrink together and crush me—crush me flat as a fly.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
But where will you go, then?
BORKMAN.
I will simply go on, and on, and on. I will try if I cannot make my way
to freedom, and life, and human beings again. Will you go with me, Ella?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I? Now?
BORKMAN.
Yes, at once!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
But how far?
BORKMAN.
As far as ever I can.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Oh, but think what you are doing! Out in this raw, cold winter night——
BORKMAN.
[_Speaking very hoarsely._] Oho—my lady is concerned about her health?
Yes, yes—I know it is delicate.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
It is your health I am concerned about.
BORKMAN.
Hohoho! A dead man’s health! I can’t help laughing at you, Ella!
[_He moves onwards._
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Following him: holding him back._] What did you call yourself?
BORKMAN.
A dead man, I said. Don’t you remember, Gunhild told me to lie quiet
where I was?
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_With resolution, throwing her cloak around her._] I will go with you,
John.
BORKMAN.
Yes, we two belong to each other, Ella. [_Advancing._] So come!
[_They have gradually passed into the low wood on the left. It
conceals them little by little, until they are quite lost to
sight. The house and the open space disappear. The landscape,
consisting of wooded slopes and ridges, slowly changes and grows
wilder and wilder._
ELLA RENTHEIM’S VOICE.
[_Is heard in the wood to the right._] Where are we going, John? I don’t
recognise this place.
BORKMAN’S VOICE.
[_Higher up._] Just follow my footprints in the snow!
ELLA RENTHEIM’S VOICE.
But why need we climb so high?
BORKMAN’S VOICE.
[_Nearer at hand._] We must go up the winding path.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Still hidden._] Oh, but I can’t go much further.
BORKMAN.
[_On the verge of the wood to the right._] Come, come! We are not far
from the view now. There used to be a seat there.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[_Appearing among the trees._] Do you remember it?
BORKMAN.
You can rest there.