[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 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.
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 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 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 away 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 came 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 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?
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 of 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, say you!
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 is 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 a good-bye?
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.]
Good-bye, 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.] Good-bye, 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!