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FOLDAL.
No.
BORKMAN.
At this moment, as we sit here, she is playing waltzes for the guests of the man who betrayed and ruined me.
FOLDAL.
I hadn't the least idea of that.
BORKMAN.
Yes, she took her music, and went straight from me to--to the great house.
FOLDAL.
[Apologetically.] Well, you see, poor child----
BORKMAN.
And can you guess for whom she is playing--among the rest?
FOLDAL.
No.
BORKMAN.
For my son.
FOLDAL.
What?
BORKMAN.
What do you think of that, Vilhelm? My son is down there in the whirl of the dance this evening. Am I not right in calling it a comedy?
FOLDAL.
But in that case you may be sure he knows nothing about it.
BORKMAN.
What does he know?
FOLDAL.
You may be sure he doesn't know how he--that man----
BORKMAN.
Do not shrink from his name. I can quite well bear it now.
FOLDAL.
I'm certain your son doesn't know the circ.u.mstances, John Gabriel.
BORKMAN.
[Gloomily, sitting and beating the table.] Yes, he knows, as surely as I am sitting here.
FOLDAL.
Then how can he possibly be a guest in that house?
BORKMAN.
[Shaking his head.] My son probably does not see things with my eyes. I'll take my oath he is on my enemies' side! No doubt he thinks, as they do, that Hinkel only did his confounded duty when he went and betrayed me.
FOLDAL.
But, my dear friend, who can have got him to see things in that light?
BORKMAN.
Who? Do you forget who has brought him up? First his aunt, from the time he was six or seven years old; and now, of late years, his mother!
FOLDAL.
I believe you are doing them an injustice.
BORKMAN.
[Firing up.] I never do any one injustice! Both of them have gone and poisoned his mind against me, I tell you!
FOLDAL.
[Soothingly.] Well, well, well, I suppose they have.
BORKMAN.
[Indignantly.] Oh these women! They wreck and ruin life for us! Play the devil with our whole destiny--our triumphal progress.
FOLDAL.
Not all of them!
BORKMAN.
Indeed? Can you tell me of a single one that is good for anything?
FOLDAL.
No, that is the trouble. The few that I know are good for nothing.
BORKMAN.
[With a snort of scorn.] Well then, what is the good of it?
What is the good of such women existing--if you never know them?
FOLDAL.
[Warmly.] Yes, John Gabriel, there is good in it, I a.s.sure you.
It is such a blessed, beneficial thought that here or there in the world, somewhere, far away--the true woman exists after all.
BORKMAN.
[Moving impatiently on the sofa.] Oh, do spare me that poetical nonsense.
FOLDAL.
[Looks at him, deeply wounded.] Do you call my holiest faith poetical nonsense?
BORKMAN.
[Harshly.] Yes I do! That is what has always prevented you from getting on in the world. If you would get all that out of your head, I could still help you on in life--help you to rise.
FOLDAL.
