John Gabriel Borkman Part 15

BORKMAN.

Oh, by all means; take whatever stair you please, so far as I am concerned. Good-night to you!

FRIDA.

Good-night, Mr. Borkman.

[She goes out by the little tapestry door in the back on the left.

[BORKMAN, lost in thought, goes up to the piano, and is about to close it, but changes his mind. Looks round the great empty room, and sets to pacing up and down it from the corner at the back on the right--pacing backward and forward uneasily and incessantly. At last he goes up to the writing-table, listens in the direction of the folding door, hastily s.n.a.t.c.hes up a hand-gla.s.s, looks at himself in it, and straightens his necktie.

[A knock at the folding door. BORKMAN hears it, looks rapidly towards the door, but says nothing.

[In a little there comes another knock, this time louder.

BORKMAN.

[Standing beside the writing-table with his left hand resting upon it, and his right thrust in the breast of his coat.] Come in!

[VILHELM FOLDAL comes softly into the room. He is a bent and worn man with mild blue eyes and long, thin grey hair straggling down over his coat collar. He has a portfolio under his arm, a soft felt hat, and large horn spectacles, which he pushes up over his forehead.

BORKMAN.

[Changes his att.i.tude 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.

FOLDAL.

Well, you know, it's a good bit of a way, especially when you have to trudge it on foot.

BORKMAN.

But why do you always walk, Vilhelm? The tramway pa.s.ses your door.

FOLDAL.

It's better for you to walk--and then you always save twopence.

Well, has Frida been playing to you lately?

BORKMAN.

She has just this moment gone. Did you not meet her outside?

FOLDAL.

No, I have seen nothing of her for a long time; not since she went to live with this Mrs. Wilton.

BORKMAN.

[Seating himself on the sofa and waving his hand toward a chair.]

You may sit down, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.

[Seating himself on the edge of a chair.] Many thanks. [Looks mournfully at him.] You can't think how lonely I feel since Frida left home.

BORKMAN.

Oh, come--you have plenty left.

FOLDAL.

Yes, G.o.d knows I have--five of them. But Frida was the only one who at all understood me. [Shaking his head sadly.] The others don't understand me a bit.

BORKMAN.

[Gloomily, gazing straight before him, and drumming on the table with his fingers.] No, that's just it. That is the curse we exceptional, chosen people have to bear. The common herd-- the average man and woman--they do not understand us, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.

[With resignation.] If it were only the lack of understanding-- with a little patience, one could manage to wait for that awhile yet. [His voice choked with tears.] But there is something still bitterer.

BORKMAN.

[Vehemently.] There is nothing bitterer than that.

FOLDAL.

Yes, there is, John Gabriel. I have gone through a domestic scene to-night--just before I started.

BORKMAN.

Indeed? What about?

FOLDAL.

[With an outburst.] My people at home--they despise me.

BORKMAN.

[Indignantly.] Despise----?

FOLDAL.

[Wiping his eyes.] I have long known it; but to-day it came out unmistakably.

BORKMAN.

[After a short silence.] You made an unwise choice, I fear, when you married.

FOLDAL.

I had practically no choice in the matter. And, you see, one feels a need for companionship as one begins to get on in years.

And so crushed as I then was--so utterly broken down----

BORKMAN.

[Jumping up in anger.] Is this meant for me? A reproach----!

FOLDAL.

[Alarmed.] No, no, for Heaven's sake, John Gabriel----!

BORKMAN.

Yes, you are thinking of the disaster to the bank, I can see you are.

FOLDAL.

[Soothingly.] But I don't blame you for that! Heaven forbid!