Borkman.
[Uneasily.] Yes. But why is it? [With an outburst.] Oh Ella, I begin to wonder which is in the right—you or I!
Ella Rentheim.
It is you who have sinned. You have done to death all the gladness of life in me.
Borkman.
[Anxiously.] Do not say that, Ella!
Ella Rentheim.
All a woman's gladness at any rate. From the day when your image began to dwindle in my mind, I have lived my life as though under an eclipse. During all these years it has grown harder and harder for me—and at last utterly impossible—to love any living creature. Human beings, animals, plants: I shrank from all—from all but one
Borkman.
What one?
Ella Rentheim.
Erhart, of course.
Borkman.
Erhart?
Ella Rentheim.
Erhart—your son, Borkman.
Borkman.
Has he really been so close to your heart?
