It is not murder. It is not robbery or house-breaking. It is not even perjury. For all these things people do to those they hate, or who are indifferent to them, and do not matter. (FOLDAL: What is the worst of all then, John Gabriel?) (With emphasis.) The most infamous of crimes is a friend's betrayal of his friend's confidence. (FOLDAL: Yes, but you know----) (Firing up.) What are you going to say? I see it in your face. But it is of no use. The people who had their securities in the bank should have got them all back again--every farthing. No; I tell you the most infamous crime a man can commit is to misuse a friend's letters; to publish to all the world what has been confided to him alone, in the closest secrecy, like a whisper in an empty, dark, double-locked room. The man who can do such things is infected and poisoned in every fibre with the morals of the higher rascality. And such a friend was mine--and it was he who crushed me.

Borkman Monologue from John Gabriel Borkman

Rehearse Borkman's monologue