John Gabriel Borkman | Page 9

herself.] Very well, Ella; the house is yours----
ELLA RENTHEIM. Oh, nonsense----
MRS. BORKMAN. Everything is yours. The chair I am sitting in is yours. The bed I lie and toss in at night belongs to you. The food we eat comes to us from you.
ELLA RENTHEIM. It can't be arranged otherwise, you know. Borkman can hold no property of his own; for some one would at once come and take it from him.
MRS. BORKMAN. Yes, I know. We must be content to live upon your pity and charity.
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Coldly.] I cannot prevent you from looking at it in that light, Gunhild.
MRS. BORKMAN. No, you cannot. When do you want us to move out?
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Looking at her.] Move out?
MRS. BORKMAN. [In great excitement.] Yes; you don't imagine that I will go on living under the same roof with you! I tell you, I would rather go to the workhouse or tramp the roads!
ELLA RENTHEIM. Good. Then let me take Erhart with me----
MRS. BORKMAN. Erhart? My own son? My child?
ELLA RENTHEIM. Yes; for then I would go straight home again.
MRS. BORKMAN. [After reflecting a moment, firmly.] Erhart himself shall choose between us.
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Looking doubtfully and hesitatingly at her.] He choose? Dare you risk that, Gunhild?
MRS. BORKMAN. [With a hard laugh.] Dare I? Let my boy choose between his mother and you? Yes, indeed I dare!
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Listening.] Is there some one coming? I thought I heard----
MRS. BORKMAN. Then it must be Erhart.
[There is a sharp knock at the door leading in from the hall, which is immediately opened. MRS. WILTON enters, in evening dress, and with outer wraps. She is followed by THE MAID, who has not had time to announce her, and looks bewildered. The door remains half open. MRS. WILTON is a strikingly handsome, well-developed woman in the thirties. Broad, red, smiling lips, sparkling eyes. Luxuriant dark hair.
MRS. WILTON. Good evening, my dearest Mrs. Borkman!
MRS. BORKMAN. [Rather drily.] Good evening, Mrs. Wilton. [To THE MAID, pointing toward the garden-room.] Take the lamp that is in there and light it.
[THE MAID takes the lamp and goes out with it.
MRS. WILTON. [Observing ELLA RENTHEIM.] Oh, I beg your pardon--you have a visitor.
MRS. BORKMAN. Only my sister, who has just arrived from----
[ERHART BORKMAN flings the half-open door wide open and rushes in. He is a young man with bright cheerful eyes. He is well dressed; his moustache is beginning to grow.
ERHART. [Radiant with joy; on the threshold.] What is this! Is Aunt Ella here? [Rushing up to her and seizing her hands.] Aunt, aunt! Is it possible? Are you here?
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Throws her arms round his neck.] Erhart! My dear, dear boy! Why, how big you have grown! Oh, how good it is to see you again!
MRS. BORKMAN. [Sharply.] What does this mean, Erhart? Were you hiding out in the hallway?
MRS. WILTON. [Quickly.] Erhart--Mr. Borkman came in with me.
MRS. BORKMAN. [Looking hard at him.] Indeed, Erhart! You don't come to your mother first?
ERHART. I had just to look in at Mrs. Wilton's for a moment--to call for little Frida.
MRS. BORKMAN. Is that Miss Foldal with you too?
MRS. WILTON. Yes, we have left her in the hall.
ERHART. [Addressing some one through the open door.] You can go right upstairs, Frida.
[Pause. ELLA RENTHEIM observes ERHART. He seems embarrassed and a little impatient; his face has assumed a nervous and colder expression.
[THE MAID brings the lighted lamp into the garden-room, goes out again and closes the door behind her.
MRS. BORKMAN. [With forced politeness.] Well, Mrs. Wilton, if you will give us the pleasure of your company this evening, won't you----
MRS. WILTON. Many thanks, my dear lady, but I really can't. We have another invitation. We're going down to the Hinkels'.
MRS. BORKMAN. [Looking at her.] We? Whom do you mean by we?
MRS. WILTON. [Laughing.] Oh, I ought really to have said I. But I was commissioned by the ladies of the house to bring Mr. Borkman with me--if I happened to see him.
MRS. BORKMAN. And you did happen to see him, it appears.
MRS. WILTON. Yes, fortunately. He was good enough to look in at my house-- to call for Frida.
MRS. BORKMAN. [Drily.] But, Erhart, I did not know that you knew that family-- those Hinkels?
ERHART. [Irritated.] No, I don't exactly know them. [Adds rather impatiently.] You know better than anybody, mother, what people I know and don't know.
MRS. WILTON. Oh, it doesn't matter! They soon put you at your ease in that house! They are such cheerful, hospitable people--the house swarms with young ladies.
MRS. BORKMAN. [With emphasis.] If I know my son rightly, Mrs. Wilton, they are no fit company for him.
MRS. WILTON. Why, good gracious, dear lady, he is young, too, you know!
MRS. BORKMAN. Yes, fortunately he's young. He would need to be young.
ERHART. [Concealing his impatience.] Well, well, well, mother, it's quite clear