John Gabriel Borkman

by Henrik Ibsen

MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes, I. I alone.

BORKMAN.
Then tell me.

MRS. BORKMAN.
I have taken care of your memory.

BORKMAN. [With a short dry laugh.] My memory? Oh, indeed! It sounds almost as if I were dead already.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[With emphasis.] And so you are.

BORKMAN. [Slowly.] Yes, perhaps you are right. [Firing up.] But no, no! Not yet! I have been close to the verge of death. But now I have awakened. I have come to myself. A whole life lies before me yet. I can see it awaiting me, radiant and quickening. And you—you shall see it too.

MRS. BORKMAN. [Raising her hand.] Never dream of life again! Lie quiet where you are.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Shocked.] Gunhild! Gunhild, how can you——!

MRS. BORKMAN. [Not listening to her.] I will raise the monument over your grave.

BORKMAN.
The pillar of shame, I suppose you mean?