Mark André ’s Reviews > John Gabriel Borkman > Status Update

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----

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.

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----

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With a gesture of repulsion.] You have never loved anything
outside yourself; that is the secret of the whole matter.

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...

BORKMAN.
Life is not always what one holds dearest.

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

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

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

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

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

BORKMAN.
[Seating himself again on the sofa.] I firmly believe it. I
am immovably convinced--I know that they will come. If I had not
been certain of that I would have put a bullet through my head
long ago.

BORKMAN.
[Changes his attitude and looks at FOLDAL with a half
disappointed, half pleased expression.] Oh, is it only you?

FOLDAL.
Good evening, John Gabriel. Yes, you see it is me.

BORKMAN.
[With a stern glance.] I must say you are rather a late visitor.

BORKMAN.
[Nodding.] When it is loosened. The hammer-strokes that loosen
it are the midnight bell clanging to set it free; and that is why
the metal sings--in its own way--for gladness.

FRIDA.
Why does it do that, Mr. Borkman?

BORKMAN.
It wants to come up into the light of day and serve mankind.
[He paces up and down the gallery, always with his hands
behind his back.