BORKMAN.
I feel like a Napoleon who has been maimed in his first battle.
FOLDAL.
[Placing his hand upon his portfolio.] I have that feeling too.
BORKMAN.
Oh, well, that is on a smaller scale, of course.
FOLDAL.
[Quietly.] My little world of poetry is very precious to me,
John Gabriel.
BORKMAN. [Vehemently.] Yes, but think of me, who could have created millions! All the mines I should have controlled! New veins innumerable! And the water-falls! And the quarries! And the trade routes, and the steamship-lines all the wide world over! I would have organised it all—I alone!
FOLDAL. Yes, I know, I know. There was nothing in the world you would have shrunk from.
BORKMAN. [Clenching his hands together.] And now I have to sit here, like a wounded eagle, and look on while others pass me in the race, and take everything away from me, piece by piece!
FOLDAL.
That is my fate too.
BORKMAN. [Not noticing him.] Only to think of it; so near to the goal as I was! If I had only had another week to look about me! All the deposits would have been covered. All the securities I had dealt with so daringly should have been in their places again as before. Vast companies were within a hair's-breadth of being floated. Not a soul should have lost a half-penny.
FOLDAL.
Yes, yes; you were on the very verge of success.