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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ghosts
+
+Author: Henrik Ibsen
+
+Translator: William Archer
+
+Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8121]
+Posting Date: August 6, 2009
+[Last updated: October 2, 2017]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOSTS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Nicole Apostola
+
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+
+By Henrik Ibsen
+
+Translated, with an Introduction, by William Archer
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+The winter of 1879-80 Ibsen spent in Munich, and the greater part of the
+summer of 1880 at Berchtesgaden. November 1880 saw him back in Rome, and
+he passed the summer of 1881 at Sorrento. There, fourteen years earlier,
+he had written the last acts of _Peer Gynt_; there he now wrote, or at
+any rate completed, _Gengangere_. It was published in December 1881,
+after he had returned to Rome. On December 22 he wrote to Ludwig
+Passarge, one of his German translators, "My new play has now appeared,
+and has occasioned a terrible uproar in the Scandinavian press; every
+day I receive letters and newspaper articles decrying or praising it....
+I consider it utterly impossible that any German theatre will accept the
+play at present. I hardly believe that they will dare to play it in the
+Scandinavian countries for some time to come." How rightly he judged we
+shall see anon.
+
+In the newspapers there was far more obloquy than praise. Two men,
+however, stood by him from the first: Björnson, from whom he had been
+practically estranged ever since _The League of Youth_, and Georg
+Brandes. The latter published an article in which he declared (I quote
+from memory) that the play might or might not be Ibsen's greatest
+work, but that it was certainly his noblest deed. It was, doubtless, in
+acknowledgment of this article that Ibsen wrote to Brandes on January 3,
+1882: "Yesterday I had the great pleasure of receiving your brilliantly
+clear and so warmly appreciative review of _Ghosts_.... All who read
+your article must, it seems to me, have their eyes opened to what I
+meant by my new book--assuming, that is, that they have any _wish_ to
+see. For I cannot get rid of the impression that a very large number of
+the false interpretations which have appeared in the newspapers are
+the work of people who know better. In Norway, however, I am willing to
+believe that the stultification has in most cases been unintentional;
+and the reason is not far to seek. In that country a great many of the
+critics are theologians, more or less disguised; and these gentlemen
+are, as a rule, quite unable to write rationally about creative
+literature. That enfeeblement of judgment which, at least in the case
+of the average man, is an inevitable consequence of prolonged occupation
+with theological studies, betrays itself more especially in the judging
+of human character, human actions, and human motives. Practical business
+judgment, on the other hand, does not suffer so much from studies of
+this order. Therefore the reverend gentlemen are very often excellent
+members of local boards; but they are unquestionably our worst critics."
+This passage is interesting as showing clearly the point of view from
+which Ibsen conceived the character of Manders. In the next paragraph
+of the same letter he discusses the attitude of "the so-called Liberal
+press"; but as the paragraph contains the germ of _An Enemy of the
+People_, it may most fittingly be quoted in the introduction to that
+play.
+
+Three days later (January 6) Ibsen wrote to Schandorph, the Danish
+novelist: "I was quite prepared for the hubbub. If certain of our
+Scandinavian reviewers have no talent for anything else, they have
+an unquestionable talent for thoroughly misunderstanding and
+misinterpreting those authors whose books they undertake to judge....
+They endeavour to make me responsible for the opinions which certain of
+the personages of my drama express. And yet there is not in the whole
+book a single opinion, a single utterance, which can be laid to the
+account of the author. I took good care to avoid this. The very method,
+the order of technique which imposes its form upon the play, forbids
+the author to appear in the speeches of his characters. My object was
+to make the reader feel that he was going through a piece of real
+experience; and nothing could more effectually prevent such an
+impression than the intrusion of the author's private opinions into the
+dialogue. Do they imagine at home that I am so inexpert in the theory of
+drama as not to know this? Of course I know it, and act accordingly.
+In no other play that I have written is the author so external to the
+action, so entirely absent from it, as in this last one."
+
+"They say," he continued, "that the book preaches Nihilism. Not at all.
+It is not concerned to preach anything whatsoever. It merely points
+to the ferment of Nihilism going on under the surface, at home as
+elsewhere. A Pastor Manders will always goad one or other Mrs. Alving
+to revolt. And just because she is a woman, she will, when once she has
+begun, go to the utmost extremes."
+
+Towards the end of January Ibsen wrote from Rome to Olaf Skavlan:
+"These last weeks have brought me a wealth of experiences, lessons, and
+discoveries. I, of course, foresaw that my new play would call forth a
+howl from the camp of the stagnationists; and for this I care no more
+than for the barking of a pack of chained dogs. But the pusillanimity
+which I have observed among the so-called Liberals has given me cause
+for reflection. The very day after my play was published the _Dagblad_
+rushed out a hurriedly-written article, evidently designed to purge
+itself of all suspicion of complicity in my work. This was entirely
+unnecessary. I myself am responsible for what I write, I and no one
+else. I cannot possibly embarrass any party, for to no party do I
+belong. I stand like a solitary franc-tireur at the outposts, and
+fight for my own hand. The only man in Norway who has stood up freely,
+frankly, and courageously for me is Björnson. It is just like him. He
+has in truth a great, kingly soul, and I shall never forget his action
+in this matter."
+
+One more quotation completes the history of these stirring January
+days, as written by Ibsen himself. It occurs in a letter to a Danish
+journalist, Otto Borchsenius. "It may well be," the poet writes, "that
+the play is in several respects rather daring. But it seemed to me
+that the time had come for moving some boundary-posts. And this was an
+undertaking for which a man of the older generation, like myself, was
+better fitted than the many younger authors who might desire to do
+something of the kind. I was prepared for a storm; but such storms one
+must not shrink from encountering. That would be cowardice."
+
+It happened that, just in these days, the present writer had frequent
+opportunities of conversing with Ibsen, and of hearing from his own lips
+almost all the views expressed in the above extracts. He was especially
+emphatic, I remember, in protesting against the notion that the opinions
+expressed by Mrs. Alving or Oswald were to be attributed to himself. He
+insisted, on the contrary, that Mrs. Alving's views were merely typical
+of the moral chaos inevitably produced by re-action from the narrow
+conventionalism represented by Manders.
+
+With one consent, the leading theatres of the three Scandinavian
+capitals declined to have anything to do with the play. It was more
+than eighteen months old before it found its way to the stage at all. In
+August 1883 it was acted for the first time at Helsingborg, Sweden, by
+a travelling company under the direction of an eminent Swedish actor,
+August Lindberg, who himself played Oswald. He took it on tour round the
+principal cities of Scandinavia, playing it, among the rest, at a minor
+theatre in Christiania. It happened that the boards of the Christiania
+Theatre were at the same time occupied by a French farce; and public
+demonstrations of protest were made against the managerial policy which
+gave _Tête de Linotte_ the preference over _Gengangere_. Gradually the
+prejudice against the play broke down. Already in the autumn of 1883 it
+was produced at the Royal (Dramatiska) Theatre in Stockholm. When the
+new National Theatre was opened in Christiania in 1899, _Gengangere_
+found an early place in its repertory; and even the Royal Theatre in
+Copenhagen has since opened its doors to the tragedy.
+
+Not until April 1886 was _Gespenster_ acted in Germany, and then only at
+a private performance, at the Stadttheater, Augsburg, the poet himself
+being present. In the following winter it was acted at the famous Court
+Theatre at Meiningen, again in the presence of the poet. The first
+(private) performance in Berlin took place on January 9, 1887, at the
+Residenz Theater; and when the Freie Bühne, founded on the model of the
+Paris Theatre Libre, began its operations two years later (September 29,
+1889), _Gespenster_ was the first play that it produced. The Freie Bühne
+gave the initial impulse to the whole modern movement which has given
+Germany a new dramatic literature; and the leaders of the movement,
+whether authors or critics, were one and all ardent disciples of Ibsen,
+who regarded _Gespenster_ as his typical masterpiece. In Germany,
+then, the play certainly did, in Ibsen's own words, "move some
+boundary-posts." The Prussian censorship presently withdrew its veto,
+and on November 27, 1894, the two leading literary theatres of Berlin,
+the Deutsches Theater and the Lessing Theater, gave simultaneous
+performances of the tragedy. Everywhere in Germany and Austria it is
+now freely performed; but it is naturally one of the least popular of
+Ibsen's plays.
+
+It was with _Les Revenants_ that Ibsen made his first appearance on the
+French stage. The play was produced by the Théâtre Libre (at the
+Théâtre des Menus-Plaisirs) on May 29, 1890. Here, again, it became the
+watchword of the new school of authors and critics, and aroused a good
+deal of opposition among the old school. But the most hostile French
+criticisms were moderation itself compared with the torrents of abuse
+which were poured upon _Ghosts_ by the journalists of London when, on
+March 13, 1891, the Independent Theatre, under the direction of Mr. J.
+T. Grein, gave a private performance of the play at the Royalty Theatre,
+Soho. I have elsewhere [Note: See "The Mausoleum of Ibsen," _Fortnightly
+Review_, August 1893. See also Mr. Bernard Shaw's _Quintessence of
+Ibsenism_, p. 89, and my introduction to Ghosts in the single-volume
+edition.] placed upon record some of the amazing feats of vituperation
+achieved of the critics, and will not here recall them. It is sufficient
+to say that if the play had been a tenth part as nauseous as the
+epithets hurled at it and its author, the Censor's veto would have been
+amply justified. That veto is still (1906) in force. England enjoys the
+proud distinction of being the one country in the world where _Ghosts_
+may not be publicly acted. In the United States, the first performance
+of the play in English took place at the Berkeley Lyceum, New York City,
+on January 5, 1894. The production was described by Mr. W. D. Howells as
+"a great theatrical event--the very greatest I have ever known." Other
+leading men of letters were equally impressed by it. Five years later, a
+second production took place at the Carnegie Lyceum; and an adventurous
+manager has even taken the play on tour in the United States. The
+Italian version of the tragedy, _Gli Spettri_, has ever since 1892
+taken a prominent place in the repertory of the great actors Zaccone and
+Novelli, who have acted it, not only throughout Italy, but in Austria,
+Germany, Russia, Spain, and South America.
+
+In an interview, published immediately after Ibsen's death, Björnstjerne
+Björnson, questioned as to what he held to be his brother-poet's
+greatest work, replied, without a moment's hesitation, _Gengangere_.
+This dictum can scarcely, I think, be accepted without some
+qualification. Even confining our attention to the modern plays, and
+leaving out of comparison _The Pretenders_, _Brand_, and _Peer Gynt_,
+we can scarcely call _Ghosts_ Ibsen's richest or most human play, and
+certainly not his profoundest or most poetical. If some omnipotent
+Censorship decreed the annihilation of all his works save one, few
+people, I imagine, would vote that that one should be _Ghosts_. Even if
+half a dozen works were to be saved from the wreck, I doubt whether I,
+for my part, would include _Ghosts_ in the list. It is, in my judgment,
+a little bare, hard, austere. It is the first work in which Ibsen
+applies his new technical method--evolved, as I have suggested, during
+the composition of _A Doll's House_--and he applies it with something
+of fanaticism. He is under the sway of a prosaic ideal--confessed in the
+phrase, "My object was to make the reader feel that he was going through
+a piece of real experience"--and he is putting some constraint upon
+the poet within him. The action moves a little stiffly, and all in one
+rhythm. It lacks variety and suppleness. Moreover, the play affords some
+slight excuse for the criticism which persists in regarding Ibsen as a
+preacher rather than as a creator--an author who cares more for ideas
+and doctrines than for human beings. Though Mrs. Alving, Engstrand and
+Regina are rounded and breathing characters, it cannot be denied that
+Manders strikes one as a clerical type rather than an individual, while
+even Oswald might not quite unfairly be described as simply and solely
+his father's son, an object-lesson in heredity. We cannot be said to
+know him, individually and intimately, as we know Helmer or Stockmann,
+Hialmar Ekdal or Gregors Werle. Then, again, there are one or two
+curious flaws in the play. The question whether Oswald's "case" is one
+which actually presents itself in the medical books seems to me of very
+trifling moment. It is typically true, even if it be not true in detail.
+The suddenness of the catastrophe may possibly be exaggerated, its
+premonitions and even its essential nature may be misdescribed. On the
+other hand, I conceive it probable that the poet had documents to found
+upon, which may be unknown to his critics. I have never taken any pains
+to satisfy myself upon the point, which seems to me quite immaterial.
+There is not the slightest doubt that the life-history of a Captain
+Alving may, and often does, entail upon posterity consequences quite
+as tragic as those which ensue in Oswald's case, and far more
+wide-spreading. That being so, the artistic justification of the poet's
+presentment of the case is certainly not dependent on its absolute
+scientific accuracy. The flaws above alluded to are of another nature.
+One of them is the prominence given to the fact that the Asylum
+is uninsured. No doubt there is some symbolical purport in the
+circumstance; but I cannot think that it is either sufficiently clear or
+sufficiently important to justify the emphasis thrown upon it at the
+end of the second act. Another dubious point is Oswald's argument in
+the first act as to the expensiveness of marriage as compared with free
+union. Since the parties to free union, as he describes it, accept all
+the responsibilities of marriage, and only pretermit the ceremony, the
+difference of expense, one would suppose, must be neither more nor less
+than the actual marriage fee. I have never seen this remark of Oswald's
+adequately explained, either as a matter of economic fact, or as a
+trait of character. Another blemish, of somewhat greater moment, is the
+inconceivable facility with which, in the third act, Manders suffers
+himself to be victimised by Engstrand. All these little things, taken
+together, detract, as it seems to me, from the artistic completeness of
+the play, and impair its claim to rank as the poet's masterpiece. Even
+in prose drama, his greatest and most consummate achievements were yet
+to come.
+
+Must we, then, wholly dissent from Björnson's judgment? I think not. In
+a historical, if not in an aesthetic, sense, _Ghosts_ may well rank as
+Ibsen's greatest work. It was the play which first gave the full measure
+of his technical and spiritual originality and daring. It has done
+far more than any other of his plays to "move boundary-posts." It has
+advanced the frontiers of dramatic art and implanted new ideals, both
+technical and intellectual, in the minds of a whole generation of
+playwrights. It ranks with _Hernani_ and _La Dame aux Camélias_ among
+the epoch-making plays of the nineteenth century, while in point of
+essential originality it towers above them. We cannot, I think, get
+nearer to the truth than Georg Brandes did in the above-quoted phrase
+from his first notice of the play, describing it as not, perhaps, the
+poet's greatest work, but certainly his noblest deed. In another essay,
+Brandes has pointed to it, with equal justice, as marking Ibsen's final
+breach with his early--one might almost say his hereditary romanticism.
+He here becomes, at last, "the most modern of the moderns." "This, I am
+convinced," says the Danish critic, "is his imperishable glory, and will
+give lasting life to his works."
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+
+A FAMILY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.
+
+(1881)
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+  MRS. HELEN ALVING, widow of Captain Alving, late Chamberlain to
+  the King. [Note: Chamberlain (Kammerherre) is the only title of
+  honour now existing in Norway. It is a distinction conferred by the
+  King on men of wealth and position, and is not hereditary.]
+  OSWALD ALVING, her son, a painter.
+  PASTOR MANDERS.
+  JACOB ENGSTRAND, a carpenter.
+  REGINA ENGSTRAND, Mrs. Alving's maid.
+
+The action takes place at Mrs. Alving's country house, beside one of the
+large fjords in Western Norway.
+
+
+
+
+ACT FIRST.
+
+[A spacious garden-room, with one door to the left, and two doors to the
+right. In the middle of the room a round table, with chairs about it. On
+the table lie books, periodicals, and newspapers. In the foreground to
+the left a window, and by it a small sofa, with a worktable in front of
+it. In the background, the room is continued into a somewhat narrower
+conservatory, the walls of which are formed by large panes of glass. In
+the right-hand wall of the conservatory is a door leading down into
+the garden. Through the glass wall a gloomy fjord landscape is faintly
+visible, veiled by steady rain.]
+
+[ENGSTRAND, the carpenter, stands by the garden door. His left leg
+is somewhat bent; he has a clump of wood under the sole of his boot.
+REGINA, with an empty garden syringe in her hand, hinders him from
+advancing.]
+
+REGINA. [In a low voice.] What do you want? Stop where you are. You're
+positively dripping.
+
+ENGSTRAND. It's the Lord's own rain, my girl.
+
+REGINA. It's the devil's rain, _I_ say.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord, how you talk, Regina. [Limps a step or two forward into
+the room.] It's just this as I wanted to say--
+
+REGINA. Don't clatter so with that foot of yours, I tell you! The young
+master's asleep upstairs.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Asleep? In the middle of the day?
+
+REGINA. It's no business of yours.
+
+ENGSTRAND. I was out on the loose last night--
+
+REGINA. I can quite believe that.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, we're weak vessels, we poor mortals, my girl--
+
+REGINA. So it seems.
+
+ENGSTRAND.--and temptations are manifold in this world, you see. But all
+the same, I was hard at work, God knows, at half-past five this morning.
+
+REGINA. Very well; only be off now. I won't stop here and have
+_rendezvous's_ [Note: This and other French words by Regina are in that
+language in the original] with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you say you won't have?
+
+REGINA. I won't have any one find you here; so just you go about your
+business.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Advances a step or two.] Blest if I go before I've had
+a talk with you. This afternoon I shall have finished my work at the
+school house, and then I shall take to-night's boat and be off home to
+the town.
+
+REGINA. [Mutters.] Pleasant journey to you!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Thank you, my child. To-morrow the Orphanage is to be opened,
+and then there'll be fine doings, no doubt, and plenty of intoxicating
+drink going, you know. And nobody shall say of Jacob Engstrand that he
+can't keep out of temptation's way.
+
+REGINA. Oh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. You see, there's to be heaps of grand folks here to-morrow.
+Pastor Manders is expected from town, too.
+
+REGINA. He's coming to-day.
+
+ENGSTRAND. There, you see! And I should be cursedly sorry if he found
+out anything against me, don't you understand?
+
+REGINA. Oho! is that your game?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Is what my game?
+
+REGINA. [Looking hard at him.] What are you going to fool Pastor Manders
+into doing, this time?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Sh! sh! Are you crazy? Do _I_ want to fool Pastor Manders? Oh
+no! Pastor Manders has been far too good a friend to me for that. But I
+just wanted to say, you know--that I mean to be off home again to-night.
+
+REGINA. The sooner the better, say I.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, but I want you with me, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [Open-mouthed.] You want me--? What are you talking about?
+
+ENGSTRAND. I want you to come home with me, I say.
+
+REGINA. [Scornfully.] Never in this world shall you get me home with
+you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, we'll see about that.
+
+REGINA. Yes, you may be sure we'll see about it! Me, that have been
+brought up by a lady like Mrs. Alving! Me, that am treated almost as a
+daughter here! Is it me you want to go home with you?--to a house like
+yours? For shame!
+
+ENGSTRAND. What the devil do you mean? Do you set yourself up against
+your father, you hussy?
+
+REGINA. [Mutters without looking at him.] You've said often enough I was
+no concern of yours.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Pooh! Why should you bother about that--
+
+REGINA. Haven't you many a time sworn at me and called me a--? _Fi
+donc_!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Curse me, now, if ever I used such an ugly word.
+
+REGINA. Oh, I remember very well what word you used.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, but that was only when I was a bit on, don't you know?
+Temptations are manifold in this world, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Ugh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. And besides, it was when your mother was that aggravating--I
+had to find something to twit her with, my child. She was always setting
+up for a fine lady. [Mimics.] "Let me go, Engstrand; let me be.
+Remember I was three years in Chamberlain Alving's family at Rosenvold."
+[Laughs.] Mercy on us! She could never forget that the Captain was made
+a Chamberlain while she was in service here.
+
+REGINA. Poor mother! you very soon tormented her into her grave.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [With a twist of his shoulders.] Oh, of course! I'm to have
+the blame for everything.
+
+REGINA. [Turns away; half aloud.] Ugh--! And that leg too!
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you say, my child?
+
+REGINA. _Pied de mouton_.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Is that English, eh?
+
+REGINA. Yes.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Ay, ay; you've picked up some learning out here; and that may
+come in useful now, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [After a short silence.] What do you want with me in town?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Can you ask what a father wants with his only child? A'n't I
+a lonely, forlorn widower?
+
+REGINA. Oh, don't try on any nonsense like that with me! Why do you want
+me?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, let me tell you, I've been thinking of setting up in a
+new line of business.
+
+REGINA. [Contemptuously.] You've tried that often enough, and much good
+you've done with it.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, but this time you shall see, Regina! Devil take me--
+
+REGINA. [Stamps.] Stop your swearing!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Hush, hush; you're right enough there, my girl. What I wanted
+to say was just this--I've laid by a very tidy pile from this Orphanage
+job.
+
+REGINA. Have you? That's a good thing for you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What can a man spend his ha'pence on here in this country
+hole?
+
+REGINA. Well, what then?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why, you see, I thought of putting the money into some paying
+speculation. I thought of a sort of a sailor's tavern--
+
+REGINA. Pah!
+
+ENGSTRAND. A regular high-class affair, of course; not any sort of
+pig-sty for common sailors. No! damn it! it would be for captains and
+mates, and--and--regular swells, you know.
+
+REGINA. And I was to--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. You were to help, to be sure. Only for the look of the thing,
+you understand. Devil a bit of hard work shall you have, my girl. You
+shall do exactly what you like.
+
+REGINA. Oh, indeed!
+
+ENGSTRAND. But there must be a petticoat in the house; that's as clear
+as daylight. For I want to have it a bit lively like in the evenings,
+with singing and dancing, and so on. You must remember they're weary
+wanderers on the ocean of life. [Nearer.] Now don't be a fool and
+stand in your own light, Regina. What's to become of you out here? Your
+mistress has given you a lot of learning; but what good is that to you?
+You're to look after the children at the new Orphanage, I hear. Is that
+the sort of thing for you, eh? Are you so dead set on wearing your life
+out for a pack of dirty brats?
+
+REGINA. No; if things go as I want them to--Well there's no
+saying--there's no saying.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you mean by "there's no saying"?
+
+REGINA. Never you mind.--How much money have you saved?
+
+ENGSTRAND. What with one thing and another, a matter of seven or
+eight hundred crowns. [A "krone" is equal to one shilling and
+three-halfpence.]
+
+REGINA. That's not so bad.
+
+ENGSTRAND. It's enough to make a start with, my girl.
+
+REGINA. Aren't you thinking of giving me any?
+
+ENGSTRAND. No, I'm blest if I am!
+
+REGINA. Not even of sending me a scrap of stuff for a new dress?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Come to town with me, my lass, and you'll soon get dresses
+enough.
+
+REGINA. Pooh! I can do that on my own account, if I want to.
+
+ENGSTRAND. No, a father's guiding hand is what you want, Regina. Now,
+I've got my eye on a capital house in Little Harbour Street. They don't
+want much ready-money; and it could be a sort of a Sailors' Home, you
+know.
+
+REGINA. But I will not live with you! I have nothing whatever to do with
+you. Be off!
+
+ENGSTRAND. You wouldn't stop long with me, my girl. No such luck! If
+you knew how to play your cards, such a fine figure of a girl as you've
+grown in the last year or two--
+
+REGINA. Well?
+
+ENGSTRAND. You'd soon get hold of some mate--or maybe even a captain--
+
+REGINA. I won't marry any one of that sort. Sailors have no _savoir
+vivre_.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What's that they haven't got?
+
+REGINA. I know what sailors are, I tell you. They're not the sort of
+people to marry.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Then never mind about marrying them. You can make it pay all
+the same. [More confidentially.] He--the Englishman--the man with the
+yacht--he came down with three hundred dollars, he did; and she wasn't a
+bit handsomer than you.
+
+REGINA. [Making for him.] Out you go!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Falling back.] Come, come! You're not going to hit me, I
+hope.
+
+REGINA. Yes, if you begin talking about mother I shall hit you. Get away
+with you, I say! [Drives him back towards the garden door.] And don't
+slam the doors. Young Mr. Alving--
+
+ENGSTRAND. He's asleep; I know. You're mightily taken up about young Mr.
+Alving--[More softly.] Oho! you don't mean to say it's him as--?
+
+REGINA. Be off this minute! You're crazy, I tell you! No, not that way.
+There comes Pastor Manders. Down the kitchen stairs with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Towards the right.] Yes, yes, I'm going. But just you talk
+to him as is coming there. He's the man to tell you what a child owes
+its father. For I am your father all the same, you know. I can prove it
+from the church register.
+
+[He goes out through the second door to the right, which REGINA has
+opened, and closes again after him. REGINA glances hastily at herself in
+the mirror, dusts herself with her pocket handkerchief; and settles her
+necktie; then she busies herself with the flowers.]
+
+[PASTOR MANDERS, wearing an overcoat, carrying an umbrella, and with
+a small travelling-bag on a strap over his shoulder, comes through the
+garden door into the conservatory.]
+
+MANDERS. Good-morning, Miss Engstrand.
+
+REGINA. [Turning round, surprised and pleased.] No, really! Good
+morning, Pastor Manders. Is the steamer in already?
+
+MANDERS. It is just in. [Enters the sitting-room.] Terrible weather we
+have been having lately.
+
+REGINA. [Follows him.] It's such blessed weather for the country, sir.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt; you are quite right. We townspeople give too little
+thought to that. [He begins to take off his overcoat.]
+
+REGINA. Oh, mayn't I help you?--There! Why, how wet it is? I'll just
+hang it up in the hall. And your umbrella, too--I'll open it and let it
+dry.
+
+[She goes out with the things through the second door on the right.
+PASTOR MANDERS takes off his travelling bag and lays it and his hat on a
+chair. Meanwhile REGINA comes in again.]
+
+MANDERS. Ah, it's a comfort to get safe under cover. I hope everything
+is going on well here?
+
+REGINA. Yes, thank you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. You have your hands full, I suppose, in preparation for
+to-morrow?
+
+REGINA. Yes, there's plenty to do, of course.
+
+MANDERS. And Mrs. Alving is at home, I trust?
+
+REGINA. Oh dear, yes. She's just upstairs, looking after the young
+master's chocolate.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, by-the-bye--I heard down at the pier that Oswald had
+arrived.
+
+REGINA. Yes, he came the day before yesterday. We didn't expect him
+before to-day.
+
+MANDERS. Quite strong and well, I hope?
+
+REGINA. Yes, thank you, quite; but dreadfully tired with the journey. He
+has made one rush right through from Paris--the whole way in one train,
+I believe. He's sleeping a little now, I think; so perhaps we'd better
+talk a little quietly.
+
+MANDERS. Sh!--as quietly as you please.
+
+REGINA. [Arranging an arm-chair beside the table.] Now, do sit down,
+Pastor Manders, and make yourself comfortable. [He sits down; she places
+a footstool under his feet.] There! Are you comfortable now, sir?
+
+MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, extremely so. [Looks at her.] Do you know, Miss
+Engstrand, I positively believe you have grown since I last saw you.
+
+REGINA. Do you think so, Sir? Mrs. Alving says I've filled out too.
+
+MANDERS. Filled out? Well, perhaps a little; just enough.
+
+[Short pause.]
+
+REGINA. Shall I tell Mrs. Alving you are here?
+
+MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, there is no hurry, my dear child.--By-the-bye,
+Regina, my good girl, tell me: how is your father getting on out here?
+
+REGINA. Oh, thank you, sir, he's getting on well enough.
+
+MANDERS. He called upon me last time he was in town.
+
+REGINA. Did he, indeed? He's always so glad of a chance of talking to
+you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. And you often look in upon him at his work, I daresay?
+
+REGINA. I? Oh, of course, when I have time, I--
+
+MANDERS. Your father is not a man of strong character, Miss Engstrand.
+He stands terribly in need of a guiding hand.
+
+REGINA. Oh, yes; I daresay he does.
+
+MANDERS. He requires some one near him whom he cares for, and whose
+judgment he respects. He frankly admitted as much when he last came to
+see me.
+
+REGINA. Yes, he mentioned something of the sort to me. But I don't know
+whether Mrs. Alving can spare me; especially now that we've got the
+new Orphanage to attend to. And then I should be so sorry to leave Mrs.
+Alving; she has always been so kind to me.
+
+MANDERS. But a daughter's duty, my good girl--Of course, we should first
+have to get your mistress's consent.
+
+REGINA. But I don't know whether it would be quite proper for me, at my
+age, to keep house for a single man.
+
+MANDERS. What! My dear Miss Engstrand! When the man is your own father!
+
+REGINA. Yes, that may be; but all the same--Now, if it were in a
+thoroughly nice house, and with a real gentleman--
+
+MANDERS. Why, my dear Regina--
+
+REGINA.--one I could love and respect, and be a daughter to--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but my dear, good child--
+
+REGINA. Then I should be glad to go to town. It's very lonely out here;
+you know yourself, sir, what it is to be alone in the world. And I can
+assure you I'm both quick and willing. Don't you know of any such place
+for me, sir?
+
+MANDERS. I? No, certainly not.
+
+REGINA. But, dear, dear Sir, do remember me if--
+
+MANDERS. [Rising.] Yes, yes, certainly, Miss Engstrand.
+
+REGINA. For if I--
+
+MANDERS. Will you be so good as to tell your mistress I am here?
+
+REGINA. I will, at once, sir. [She goes out to the left.]
+
+MANDERS. [Paces the room two or three times, stands a moment in the
+background with his hands behind his back, and looks out over the
+garden. Then he returns to the table, takes up a book, and looks at the
+title-page; starts, and looks at several books.] Ha--indeed!
+
+[MRS. ALVING enters by the door on the left; she is followed by REGINA,
+who immediately goes out by the first door on the right.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Holds out her hand.] Welcome, my dear Pastor.
+
+MANDERS. How do you do, Mrs. Alving? Here I am as I promised.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Always punctual to the minute.
+
+MANDERS. You may believe it was not so easy for me to get away. With all
+the Boards and Committees I belong to--
+
+MRS. ALVING. That makes it all the kinder of you to come so early.
+Now we can get through our business before dinner. But where is your
+portmanteau?
+
+MANDERS. [Quickly.] I left it down at the inn. I shall sleep there
+to-night.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Suppressing a smile.] Are you really not to be persuaded,
+even now, to pass the night under my roof?
+
+MANDERS. No, no, Mrs. Alving; many thanks. I shall stay at the inn, as
+usual. It is so conveniently near the landing-stage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, you must have your own way. But I really should have
+thought we two old people--
+
+MANDERS. Now you are making fun of me. Ah, you're naturally in great
+spirits to-day--what with to-morrow's festival and Oswald's return.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; you can think what a delight it is to me! It's more
+than two years since he was home last. And now he has promised to stay
+with me all the winter.
+
+MANDERS. Has he really? That is very nice and dutiful of him. For I can
+well believe that life in Rome and Paris has very different attractions
+from any we can offer here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ah, but here he has his mother, you see. My own darling
+boy--he hasn't forgotten his old mother!
+
+MANDERS. It would be grievous indeed, if absence and absorption in art
+and that sort of thing were to blunt his natural feelings.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, you may well say so. But there's nothing of that sort
+to fear with him. I'm quite curious to see whether you know him again.
+He'll be down presently; he's upstairs just now, resting a little on the
+sofa. But do sit down, my dear Pastor.
+
+MANDERS. Thank you. Are you quite at liberty--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly. [She sits by the table.]
+
+MANDERS. Very well. Then let me show you--[He goes to the chair where
+his travelling-bag lies, takes out a packet of papers, sits down on
+the opposite side of the table, and tries to find a clear space for
+the papers.] Now, to begin with, here is--[Breaking off.] Tell me, Mrs.
+Alving, how do these books come to be here?
+
+MRS. ALVING. These books? They are books I am reading.
+
+MANDERS. Do you read this sort of literature?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly I do.
+
+MANDERS. Do you feel better or happier for such reading?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I feel, so to speak, more secure.
+
+MANDERS. That is strange. How do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, I seem to find explanation and confirmation of all
+sorts of things I myself have been thinking. For that is the wonderful
+part of it, Pastor Manders--there is really nothing new in these books,
+nothing but what most people think and believe. Only most people either
+don't formulate it to themselves, or else keep quiet about it.
+
+MANDERS. Great heavens! Do you really believe that most people--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I do, indeed.
+
+MANDERS. But surely not in this country? Not here among us?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly; here as elsewhere.
+
+MANDERS. Well, I really must say--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. For the rest, what do you object to in these books?
+
+MANDERS. Object to in them? You surely do not suppose that I have
+nothing better to do than to study such publications as these?
+
+MRS. ALVING. That is to say, you know nothing of what you are
+condemning?
+
+MANDERS. I have read enough about these writings to disapprove of them.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; but your own judgment--
+
+MANDERS. My dear Mrs. Alving, there are many occasions in life when one
+must rely upon others. Things are so ordered in this world; and it is
+well that they are. Otherwise, what would become of society?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, well, I daresay you're right there.
+
+MANDERS. Besides, I of course do not deny that there may be much that
+is attractive in such books. Nor can I blame you for wishing to keep
+up with the intellectual movements that are said to be going on in the
+great world-where you have let your son pass so much of his life. But--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But?
+
+MANDERS. [Lowering his voice.] But one should not talk about it, Mrs.
+Alving. One is certainly not bound to account to everybody for what one
+reads and thinks within one's own four walls.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course not; I quite agree with you.
+
+MANDERS. Only think, now, how you are bound to consider the interests
+of this Orphanage, which you decided on founding at a time when--if
+I understand you rightly--you thought very differently on spiritual
+matters.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; I quite admit that. But it was about the
+Orphanage--
+
+MANDERS. It was about the Orphanage we were to speak; yes. All I say
+is: prudence, my dear lady! And now let us get to business. [Opens the
+packet, and takes out a number of papers.] Do you see these?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The documents?
+
+MANDERS. All--and in perfect order. I can tell you it was hard work to
+get them in time. I had to put on strong pressure. The authorities are
+almost morbidly scrupulous when there is any decisive step to be taken.
+But here they are at last. [Looks through the bundle.] See! here is the
+formal deed of gift of the parcel of ground known as Solvik in the Manor
+of Rosenvold, with all the newly constructed buildings, schoolrooms,
+master's house, and chapel. And here is the legal fiat for the endowment
+and for the Bye-laws of the Institution. Will you look at them? [Reads.]
+"Bye-laws for the Children's Home to be known as 'Captain Alving's
+Foundation.'"
+
+MRS. ALVING. (Looks long at the paper.) So there it is.
+
+MANDERS. I have chosen the designation "Captain" rather than
+"Chamberlain." "Captain" looks less pretentious.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; just as you think best.
+
+MANDERS. And here you have the Bank Account of the capital lying at
+interest to cover the current expenses of the Orphanage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Thank you; but please keep it--it will be more convenient.
+
+MANDERS. With pleasure. I think we will leave the money in the Bank for
+the present. The interest is certainly not what we could wish--four per
+cent. and six months' notice of withdrawal. If a good mortgage could
+be found later on--of course it must be a first mortgage and an
+unimpeachable security--then we could consider the matter.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly, my dear Pastor Manders. You are the best judge
+in these things.
+
+MANDERS. I will keep my eyes open at any rate.--But now there is one
+thing more which I have several times been intending to ask you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And what is that?
+
+MANDERS. Shall the Orphanage buildings be insured or not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course they must be insured.
+
+MANDERS. Well, wait a moment, Mrs. Alving. Let us look into the matter a
+little more closely.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have everything insured; buildings and movables and stock
+and crops.
+
+MANDERS. Of course you have--on your own estate. And so have I--of
+course. But here, you see, it is quite another matter. The Orphanage is
+to be consecrated, as it were, to a higher purpose.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, but that's no reason--
+
+MANDERS. For my own part, I should certainly not see the smallest
+impropriety in guarding against all contingencies--
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, I should think not.
+
+MANDERS. But what is the general feeling in the neighbourhood? You, of
+course, know better than I.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well--the general feeling--
+
+MANDERS. Is there any considerable number of people--really responsible
+people--who might be scandalised?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do you mean by "really responsible people"?
+
+MANDERS. Well, I mean people in such independent and influential
+positions that one cannot help attaching some weight to their opinions.
+
+MRS. ALVING. There are several people of that sort here, who would very
+likely be shocked if--
+
+MANDERS. There, you see! In town we have many such people. Think of all
+my colleague's adherents! People would be only too ready to interpret
+our action as a sign that neither you nor I had the right faith in a
+Higher Providence.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But for your own part, my dear Pastor, you can at least
+tell yourself that--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, I know--I know; my conscience would be quite easy, that
+is true enough. But nevertheless we should not escape grave
+misinterpretation; and that might very likely react unfavourably upon
+the Orphanage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, in that case--
+
+MANDERS. Nor can I entirely lose sight of the difficult--I may even say
+painful--position in which _I_ might perhaps be placed. In the leading
+circles of the town, people take a lively interest in this Orphanage. It
+is, of course, founded partly for the benefit of the town, as well;
+and it is to be hoped it will, to a considerable extent, result in
+lightening our Poor Rates. Now, as I have been your adviser, and have
+had the business arrangements in my hands, I cannot but fear that I may
+have to bear the brunt of fanaticism--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you mustn't run the risk of that.
+
+MANDERS. To say nothing of the attacks that would assuredly be made upon
+me in certain papers and periodicals, which--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Enough, my dear Pastor Manders. That consideration is quite
+decisive.
+
+MANDERS. Then you do not wish the Orphanage to be insured?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. We will let it alone.
+
+MANDERS. [Leaning back in his chair.] But if, now, a disaster were to
+happen? One can never tell--Should you be able to make good the damage?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No; I tell you plainly I should do nothing of the kind.
+
+MANDERS. Then I must tell you, Mrs. Alving--we are taking no small
+responsibility upon ourselves.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think we can do otherwise?
+
+MANDERS. No, that is just the point; we really cannot do otherwise. We
+ought not to expose ourselves to misinterpretation; and we have no right
+whatever to give offence to the weaker brethren.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You, as a clergyman, certainly should not.
+
+MANDERS. I really think, too, we may trust that such an institution has
+fortune on its side; in fact, that it stands under a special providence.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let us hope so, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Then we will let it take its chance?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly.
+
+MANDERS. Very well. So be it. [Makes a note.] Then--no insurance.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It's odd that you should just happen to mention the matter
+to-day--
+
+MANDERS. I have often thought of asking you about it--
+
+MRS. ALVING.--for we very nearly had a fire down there yesterday.
+
+MANDERS. You don't say so!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, it was a trifling matter. A heap of shavings had caught
+fire in the carpenter's workshop.
+
+MANDERS. Where Engstrand works?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. They say he's often very careless with matches.
+
+MANDERS. He has so much on his mind, that man--so many things to fight
+against. Thank God, he is now striving to lead a decent life, I hear.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Indeed! Who says so?
+
+MANDERS. He himself assures me of it. And he is certainly a capital
+workman.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; so long as he's sober--
+
+MANDERS. Ah, that melancholy weakness! But, he is often driven to it
+by his injured leg, he says. Last time he was in town I was really
+touched by him. He came and thanked me so warmly for having got him work
+here, so that he might be near Regina.
+
+MRS. ALVING. He doesn't see much of her.
+
+MANDERS. Oh, yes; he has a talk with her every day. He told me so
+himself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, it may be so.
+
+MANDERS. He feels so acutely that he needs some one to keep a firm hold
+on him when temptation comes. That is what I cannot help liking about
+Jacob Engstrand: he comes to you so helplessly, accusing himself and
+confessing his own weakness. The last time he was talking to me--Believe
+me, Mrs. Alving, supposing it were a real necessity for him to have
+Regina home again--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising hastily.] Regina!
+
+MANDERS.--you must not set yourself against it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Indeed I shall set myself against it. And besides--Regina
+is to have a position in the Orphanage.
+
+MANDERS. But, after all, remember he is her father--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, I know very well what sort of a father he has been to
+her. No! She shall never go to him with my goodwill.
+
+MANDERS. [Rising.] My dear lady, don't take the matter so warmly. You
+sadly misjudge poor Engstrand. You seem to be quite terrified--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [More quietly.] It makes no difference. I have taken Regina
+into my house, and there she shall stay. [Listens.] Hush, my dear Mr.
+Manders; say no more about it. [Her face lights up with gladness.]
+Listen! there is Oswald coming downstairs. Now we'll think of no one but
+him.
+
+[OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand, and smoking a large
+meerschaum, enters by the door on the left; he stops in the doorway.]
+
+OSWALD. Oh, I beg your pardon; I thought you were in the study. [Comes
+forward.] Good-morning, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [Staring.] Ah--! How strange--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well now, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
+
+MANDERS. I--I--can it really be--?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, it's really the Prodigal Son, sir.
+
+MANDERS. [Protesting.] My dear young friend--
+
+OSWALD. Well, then, the Lost Sheep Found.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so much
+opposed to his becoming a painter.
+
+MANDERS. To our human eyes many a step seems dubious, which afterwards
+proves--[Wrings his hand.] But first of all, welcome, welcome home! Do
+not think, my dear Oswald--I suppose I may call you by your Christian
+name?
+
+OSWALD. What else should you call me?
+
+MANDERS. Very good. What I wanted to say was this, my dear Oswald you
+must not think that I utterly condemn the artist's calling. I have no
+doubt there are many who can keep their inner self unharmed in that
+profession, as in any other.
+
+OSWALD. Let us hope so.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Beaming with delight.] I know one who has kept both his
+inner and his outer self unharmed. Just look at him, Mr. Manders.
+
+OSWALD. [Moves restlessly about the room.] Yes, yes, my dear mother;
+let's say no more about it.
+
+MANDERS. Why, certainly--that is undeniable. And you have begun to make
+a name for yourself already. The newspapers have often spoken of you,
+most favourably. Just lately, by-the-bye, I fancy I haven't seen your
+name quite so often.
+
+OSWALD. [Up in the conservatory.] I haven't been able to paint so much
+lately.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Even a painter needs a little rest now and then.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt, no doubt. And meanwhile he can be preparing himself
+and mustering his forces for some great work.
+
+OSWALD. Yes.--Mother, will dinner soon be ready?
+
+MRS. ALVING. In less than half an hour. He has a capital appetite, thank
+God.
+
+MANDERS. And a taste for tobacco, too.
+
+OSWALD. I found my father's pipe in my room--
+
+MANDERS. Aha--then that accounts for it!
+
+MRS. ALVING. For what?
+
+MANDERS. When Oswald appeared there, in the doorway, with the pipe in
+his mouth, I could have sworn I saw his father, large as life.
+
+OSWALD. No, really?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, how can you say so? Oswald takes after me.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of the
+mouth--something about the lips--that reminds one exactly of Alving: at
+any rate, now that he is smoking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not in the least. Oswald has rather a clerical curve about
+his mouth, I think.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, yes; some of my colleagues have much the same expression.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But put your pipe away, my dear boy; I won't have smoking
+in here.
+
+OSWALD. [Does so.] By all means. I only wanted to try it; for I once
+smoked it when I was a child.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You?
+
+OSWALD. Yes. I was quite small at the time. I recollect I came up to
+father's room one evening when he was in great spirits.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you can't recollect anything of those times.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I recollect it distinctly. He took me on his knee, and gave
+me the pipe. "Smoke, boy," he said; "smoke away, boy!" And I smoked
+as hard as I could, until I felt I was growing quite pale, and the
+perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead. Then he burst out
+laughing heartily--
+
+MANDERS. That was most extraordinary.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear friend, it's only something Oswald has dreamt.
+
+OSWALD. No, mother, I assure you I didn't dream it. For--don't you
+remember this?--you came and carried me out into the nursery. Then I
+was sick, and I saw that you were crying.--Did father often play such
+practical jokes?
+
+MANDERS. In his youth he overflowed with the joy of life--
+
+OSWALD. And yet he managed to do so much in the world; so much that was
+good and useful; although he died so early.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, you have inherited the name of an energetic and admirable
+man, my dear Oswald Alving. No doubt it will be an incentive to you--
+
+OSWALD. It ought to, indeed.
+
+MANDERS. It was good of you to come home for the ceremony in his honour.
+
+OSWALD. I could do no less for my father.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And I am to keep him so long! That is the best of all.
+
+MANDERS. You are going to pass the winter at home, I hear.
+
+OSWALD. My stay is indefinite, sir. But, ah! it is good to be at home!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Beaming.] Yes, isn't it, dear?
+
+MANDERS. [Looking sympathetically at him.] You went out into the world
+early, my dear Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. I did. I sometimes wonder whether it wasn't too early.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, not at all. A healthy lad is all the better for it;
+especially when he's an only child. He oughtn't to hang on at home with
+his mother and father, and get spoilt.
+
+MANDERS. That is a very disputable point, Mrs. Alving. A child's proper
+place is, and must be, the home of his fathers.
+
+OSWALD. There I quite agree with you, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Only look at your own son--there is no reason why we should not
+say it in his presence--what has the consequence been for him? He is six
+or seven and twenty, and has never had the opportunity of learning what
+a well-ordered home really is.
+
+OSWALD. I beg your pardon, Pastor; there you're quite mistaken.
+
+MANDERS. Indeed? I thought you had lived almost exclusively in artistic
+circles.
+
+OSWALD. So I have.
+
+MANDERS. And chiefly among the younger artists?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, certainly.
+
+MANDERS. But I thought few of those young fellows could afford to set up
+house and support a family.
+
+OSWALD. There are many who cannot afford to marry, sir.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, that is just what I say.
+
+OSWALD. But they may have a home for all that. And several of them have,
+as a matter of fact; and very pleasant, well-ordered homes they are,
+too.
+
+[MRS. ALVING follows with breathless interest; nods, but says nothing.]
+
+MANDERS. But I'm not talking of bachelors' quarters. By a "home" I
+understand the home of a family, where a man lives with his wife and
+children.
+
+OSWALD. Yes; or with his children and his children's mother.
+
+MANDERS. [Starts; clasps his hands.] But, good heavens--
+
+OSWALD. Well?
+
+MANDERS. Lives with--his children's mother!
+
+OSWALD. Yes. Would you have him turn his children's mother out of doors?
+
+MANDERS. Then it is illicit relations you are talking of! Irregular
+marriages, as people call them!
+
+OSWALD. I have never noticed anything particularly irregular about the
+life these people lead.
+
+MANDERS. But how is it possible that a--a young man or young woman with
+any decency of feeling can endure to live in that way?--in the eyes of
+all the world!
+
+OSWALD. What are they to do? A poor young artist--a poor girl--marriage
+costs a great deal. What are they to do?
+
+MANDERS. What are they to do? Let me tell you, Mr. Alving, what they
+ought to do. They ought to exercise self-restraint from the first; that
+is what they ought to do.
+
+OSWALD. That doctrine will scarcely go down with warm-blooded young
+people who love each other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, scarcely!
+
+MANDERS. [Continuing.] How can the authorities tolerate such things!
+Allow them to go on in the light of day! [Confronting MRS. ALVING.] Had
+I not cause to be deeply concerned about your son? In circles where open
+immorality prevails, and has even a sort of recognised position--!
+
+OSWALD. Let me tell you, sir, that I have been in the habit of spending
+nearly all my Sundays in one or two such irregular homes--
+
+MANDERS. Sunday of all days!
+
+OSWALD. Isn't that the day to enjoy one's self? Well, never have I heard
+an offensive word, and still less have I witnessed anything that could
+be called immoral. No; do you know when and where I have come across
+immorality in artistic circles?
+
+MANDERS. No, thank heaven, I don't!
+
+OSWALD. Well, then, allow me to inform you. I have met with it when one
+or other of our pattern husbands and fathers has come to Paris to have
+a look round on his own account, and has done the artists the honour of
+visiting their humble haunts. They knew what was what. These gentlemen
+could tell us all about places and things we had never dreamt of.
+
+MANDERS. What! Do you mean to say that respectable men from home here
+would--?
+
+OSWALD. Have you never heard these respectable men, when they got home
+again, talking about the way in which immorality runs rampant abroad?
+
+MANDERS. Yes, no doubt--
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have too.
+
+OSWALD. Well, you may take their word for it. They know what they are
+talking about! [Presses his hands to his head.] Oh! that that great,
+free, glorious life out there should be defiled in such a way!
+
+MRS. ALVING. You mustn't get excited, Oswald. It's not good for you.
+
+OSWALD. Yes; you're quite right, mother. It's bad for me, I know.
+You see, I'm wretchedly worn out. I shall go for a little turn before
+dinner. Excuse me, Pastor: I know you can't take my point of view; but
+I couldn't help speaking out. [He goes out by the second door to the
+right.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. My poor boy!
+
+MANDERS. You may well say so. Then this is what he has come to!
+
+[MRS. ALVING looks at him silently.]
+
+MANDERS. [Walking up and down.] He called himself the Prodigal Son.
+Alas! alas!
+
+[MRS. ALVING continues looking at him.]
+
+MANDERS. And what do you say to all this?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I say that Oswald was right in every word.
+
+MANDERS. [Stands still.] Right? Right! In such principles?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Here, in my loneliness, I have come to the same way of
+thinking, Pastor Manders. But I have never dared to say anything. Well!
+now my boy shall speak for me.
+
+MANDERS. You are greatly to be pitied, Mrs. Alving. But now I must speak
+seriously to you. And now it is no longer your business manager and
+adviser, your own and your husband's early friend, who stands before
+you. It is the priest--the priest who stood before you in the moment of
+your life when you had gone farthest astray.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And what has the priest to say to me?
+
+MANDERS. I will first stir up your memory a little. The moment is well
+chosen. To-morrow will be the tenth anniversary of your husband's death.
+To-morrow the memorial in his honour will be unveiled. To-morrow I shall
+have to speak to the whole assembled multitude. But to-day I will speak
+to you alone.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Very well, Pastor Manders. Speak.
+
+MANDERS. Do you remember that after less than a year of married life you
+stood on the verge of an abyss? That you forsook your house and home?
+That you fled from your husband? Yes, Mrs. Alving--fled, fled, and
+refused to return to him, however much he begged and prayed you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you forgotten how infinitely miserable I was in that
+first year?
+
+MANDERS. It is the very mark of the spirit of rebellion to crave for
+happiness in this life. What right have we human beings to happiness?
+We have simply to do our duty, Mrs. Alving! And your duty was to hold
+firmly to the man you had once chosen, and to whom you were bound by the
+holiest ties.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know very well what sort of life Alving was
+leading--what excesses he was guilty of.
+
+MANDERS. I know very well what rumours there were about him; and I am
+the last to approve the life he led in his young days, if report did not
+wrong him. But a wife is not appointed to be her husband's judge. It was
+your duty to bear with humility the cross which a Higher Power had, in
+its wisdom, laid upon you. But instead of that you rebelliously throw
+away the cross, desert the backslider whom you should have supported, go
+and risk your good name and reputation, and--nearly succeed in ruining
+other people's reputation into the bargain.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Other people's? One other person's, you mean.
+
+MANDERS. It was incredibly reckless of you to seek refuge with me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. With our clergyman? With our intimate friend?
+
+MANDERS. Just on that account. Yes, you may thank God that I possessed
+the necessary firmness; that I succeeded in dissuading you from your
+wild designs; and that it was vouchsafed me to lead you back to the path
+of duty, and home to your lawful husband.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, Pastor Manders, that was certainly your work.
+
+MANDERS. I was but a poor instrument in a Higher Hand. And what a
+blessing has it not proved to you, all the days of your life, that I
+induced you to resume the yoke of duty and obedience! Did not everything
+happen as I foretold? Did not Alving turn his back on his errors, as
+a man should? Did he not live with you from that time, lovingly and
+blamelessly, all his days? Did he not become a benefactor to the whole
+district? And did he not help you to rise to his own level, so that you,
+little by little, became his assistant in all his undertakings? And a
+capital assistant, too--oh, I know, Mrs. Alving, that praise is due to
+you.--But now I come to the next great error in your life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do you mean?
+
+MANDERS. Just as you once disowned a wife's duty, so you have since
+disowned a mother's.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ah--!
+
+MANDERS. You have been all your life under the dominion of a pestilent
+spirit of self-will. The whole bias of your mind has been towards
+insubordination and lawlessness. You have never known how to endure any
+bond. Everything that has weighed upon you in life you have cast away
+without care or conscience, like a burden you were free to throw off at
+will. It did not please you to be a wife any longer, and you left your
+husband. You found it troublesome to be a mother, and you sent your
+child forth among strangers.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. I did so.
+
+MANDERS. And thus you have become a stranger to him.
+
+MRS. ALVING. No! no! I am not.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, you are; you must be. And in what state of mind has he
+returned to you? Bethink yourself well, Mrs. Alving. You sinned greatly
+against your husband;--that you recognise by raising yonder memorial to
+him. Recognise now, also, how you have sinned against your son--there
+may yet be time to lead him back from the paths of error. Turn back
+yourself, and save what may yet be saved in him. For [With uplifted
+forefinger] verily, Mrs. Alving, you are a guilt-laden mother! This I
+have thought it my duty to say to you.
+
+[Silence.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Slowly and with self-control.] You have now spoken out,
+Pastor Manders; and to-morrow you are to speak publicly in memory of my
+husband. I shall not speak to-morrow. But now I will speak frankly to
+you, as you have spoken to me.
+
+MANDERS. To be sure; you will plead excuses for your conduct--
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. I will only tell you a story.
+
+MANDERS. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. All that you have just said about my husband and me, and
+our life after you had brought me back to the path of duty--as you
+called it--about all that you know nothing from personal observation.
+From that moment you, who had been our intimate friend, never set foot
+in our house gain.
+
+MANDERS. You and your husband left the town immediately after.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; and in my husband's lifetime you never came to see
+us. It was business that forced you to visit me when you undertook the
+affairs of the Orphanage.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Helen--if that is meant as a
+reproach, I would beg you to bear in mind--
+
+MRS. ALVING.--the regard you owed to your position, yes; and that I was
+a runaway wife. One can never be too cautious with such unprincipled
+creatures.
+
+MANDERS. My dear--Mrs. Alving, you know that is an absurd exaggeration--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well well, suppose it is. My point is that your judgment
+as to my married life is founded upon nothing but common knowledge and
+report.
+
+MANDERS. I admit that. What then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, then, Pastor Manders--I will tell you the truth. I
+have sworn to myself that one day you should know it--you alone!
+
+MANDERS. What is the truth, then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The truth is that my husband died just as dissolute as he
+had lived all his days.
+
+MANDERS. [Feeling after a chair.] What do you say?
+
+MRS. ALVING. After nineteen years of marriage, as dissolute--in his
+desires at any rate--as he was before you married us.
+
+MANDERS. And those-those wild oats--those irregularities--those
+excesses, if you like--you call "a dissolute life"?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Our doctor used the expression.
+
+MANDERS. I do not understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You need not.
+
+MANDERS. It almost makes me dizzy. Your whole married life, the seeming
+union of all these years, was nothing more than a hidden abyss!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Neither more nor less. Now you know it.
+
+MANDERS. This is--this is inconceivable to me. I cannot grasp it! I
+cannot realise it! But how was it possible to--? How could such a state
+of things be kept secret?
+
+MRS. ALVING. That has been my ceaseless struggle, day after day. After
+Oswald's birth, I thought Alving seemed to be a little better. But it
+did not last long. And then I had to struggle twice as hard, fighting as
+though for life or death, so that nobody should know what sort of man
+my child's father was. And you know what power Alving had of winning
+people's hearts. Nobody seemed able to believe anything but good of
+him. He was one of those people whose life does not bite upon their
+reputation. But at last, Mr. Manders--for you must know the whole
+story--the most repulsive thing of all happened.
+
+MANDERS. More repulsive than what you have told me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had gone on bearing with him, although I knew very well
+the secrets of his life out of doors. But when he brought the scandal
+within our own walls--
+
+MANDERS. Impossible! Here!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; here in our own home. It was there [Pointing towards
+the first door on the right], in the dining-room, that I first came
+to know of it. I was busy with something in there, and the door was
+standing ajar. I heard our housemaid come up from the garden, with water
+for those flowers.
+
+MANDERS. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Soon after, I heard Alving come in too. I heard him say
+something softly to her. And then I heard--[With a short laugh]--oh! it
+still sounds in my ears, so hateful and yet so ludicrous--I heard my own
+servant-maid whisper, "Let me go, Mr. Alving! Let me be!"
+
+MANDERS. What unseemly levity on his part! But it cannot have been more
+than levity, Mrs. Alving; believe me, it cannot.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I soon knew what to believe. Mr. Alving had his way with
+the girl; and that connection had consequences, Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [As though petrified.] Such things in this house--in this
+house!
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had borne a great deal in this house. To keep him at home
+in the evenings, and at night, I had to make myself his boon companion
+in his secret orgies up in his room. There I have had to sit alone with
+him, to clink glasses and drink with him, and to listen to his ribald,
+silly talk. I have had to fight with him to get him dragged to bed--
+
+MANDERS. [Moved.] And you were able to bear all this!
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had to bear it for my little boy's sake. But when the
+last insult was added; when my own servant-maid--; then I swore to
+myself: This shall come to an end! And so I took the reins into my own
+hand--the whole control--over him and everything else. For now I had a
+weapon against him, you see; he dared not oppose me. It was then I sent
+Oswald away from home. He was nearly seven years old, and was beginning
+to observe and ask questions, as children do. That I could not bear. It
+seemed to me the child must be poisoned by merely breathing the air of
+this polluted home. That was why I sent him away. And now you can see,
+too, why he was never allowed to set foot inside his home so long as his
+father lived. No one knows what that cost me.
+
+MANDERS. You have indeed had a life of trial.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I could never have borne it if I had not had my work. For
+I may truly say that I have worked! All the additions to the estate--all
+the improvements--all the labour-saving appliances, that Alving was so
+much praised for having introduced--do you suppose he had energy for
+anything of the sort?--he, who lay all day on the sofa, reading an old
+Court Guide! No; but I may tell you this too: when he had his better
+intervals, it was I who urged him on; it was I who had to drag the
+whole load when he relapsed into his evil ways, or sank into querulous
+wretchedness.
+
+MANDERS. And it is to this man that you raise a memorial?
+
+MRS. ALVING. There you see the power of an evil conscience.
+
+MANDERS. Evil--? What do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. It always seemed to me impossible but that the truth must
+come out and be believed. So the Orphanage was to deaden all rumours and
+set every doubt at rest.
+
+MANDERS. In that you have certainly not missed your aim, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And besides, I had one other reason. I was determined that
+Oswald, my own boy, should inherit nothing whatever from his father.
+
+MANDERS. Then it is Alving's fortune that--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. The sums I have spent upon the Orphanage, year by
+year, make up the amount--I have reckoned it up precisely--the amount
+which made Lieutenant Alving "a good match" in his day.
+
+MANDERS. I don't understand--
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was my purchase-money. I do not choose that that money
+should pass into Oswald's hands. My son shall have everything from
+me--everything.
+
+[OSWALD ALVING enters through the second door to the right; he has taken
+of his hat and overcoat in the hall.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Going towards him.] Are you back again already? My dear,
+dear boy!
+
+OSWALD. Yes. What can a fellow do out of doors in this eternal rain? But
+I hear dinner is ready. That's capital!
+
+REGINA. [With a parcel, from the dining-room.] A parcel has come for
+you, Mrs. Alving. [Hands it to her.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a glance at MR. MANDERS.] No doubt copies of the ode
+for to-morrow's ceremony.
+
+MANDERS. H'm--
+
+REGINA. And dinner is ready.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Very well. We will come directly. I will just--[Begins to
+open the parcel.]
+
+REGINA. [To OSWALD.] Would Mr. Alving like red or white wine?
+
+OSWALD. Both, if you please.
+
+REGINA. _Bien_. Very well, sir. [She goes into the dining-room.]
+
+OSWALD. I may as well help to uncork it. [He also goes into the dining
+room, the door of which swings half open behind him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Who has opened the parcel.] Yes, I thought so. Here is the
+Ceremonial Ode, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [With folded hands.] With what countenance I am to deliver my
+discourse to-morrow--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you will get through it somehow.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly, so as not to be heard in the dining-room.] Yes; it
+would not do to provoke scandal.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Under her breath, but firmly.] No. But then this long,
+hateful comedy will be ended. From the day after to-morrow, I shall act
+in every way as though he who is dead had never lived in this house.
+There shall be no one here but my boy and his mother.
+
+[From the dining-room comes the noise of a chair overturned, and at the
+same moment is heard:]
+
+REGINA. [Sharply, but in a whisper.] Oswald! take care! are you mad? Let
+me go!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Starts in terror.] Ah--!
+
+[She stares wildly towards the half-open door. OSWALD is heard laughing
+and humming. A bottle is uncorked.]
+
+MANDERS. [Agitated.] What can be the matter? What is it, Mrs. Alving?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Hoarsely.] Ghosts! The couple from the conservatory--risen
+again!
+
+MANDERS. Is it possible! Regina--? Is she--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. Come. Not a word--!
+
+[She seizes PASTOR MANDERS by the arm, and walks unsteadily towards the
+dining-room.]
+
+
+
+
+ACT SECOND.
+
+[The same room. The mist still lies heavy over the landscape.]
+
+[MANDERS and MRS. ALVING enter from the dining-room.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Still in the doorway.] _Velbekomme_ [Note: A phrase
+equivalent to the German _Prosit die Mahlzeit_--May good digestion wait
+on appetite.], Mr. Manders. [Turns back towards the dining-room.] Aren't
+you coming too, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. [From within.] No, thank you. I think I shall go out a little.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, do. The weather seems a little brighter now. [She
+shuts the dining-room door, goes to the hall door, and calls:] Regina!
+
+REGINA. [Outside.] Yes, Mrs. Alving?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Go down to the laundry, and help with the garlands.
+
+REGINA. Yes, Mrs. Alving.
+
+[MRS. ALVING assures herself that REGINA goes; then shuts the door.]
+
+MANDERS. I suppose he cannot overhear us in there?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not when the door is shut. Besides, he's just going out.
+
+MANDERS. I am still quite upset. I don't know how I could swallow a
+morsel of dinner.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Controlling her nervousness, walks up and down.] Nor I.
+But what is to be done now?
+
+MANDERS. Yes; what is to be done? I am really quite at a loss. I am so
+utterly without experience in matters of this sort.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I feel sure that, so far, no mischief has been done.
+
+MANDERS. No; heaven forbid! But it is an unseemly state of things,
+nevertheless.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It is only an idle fancy on Oswald's part; you may be sure
+of that.
+
+MANDERS. Well, as I say, I am not accustomed to affairs of the kind. But
+I should certainly think--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Out of the house she must go, and that immediately. That is
+as clear as daylight--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, of course she must.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But where to? It would not be right to--
+
+MANDERS. Where to? Home to her father, of course.
+
+MRS. ALVING. To whom did you say?
+
+MANDERS. To her--But then, Engstrand is not--? Good God, Mrs. Alving,
+it's impossible! You must be mistaken after all.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately there is no possibility of mistake. Johanna
+confessed everything to me; and Alving could not deny it. So there was
+nothing to be done but to get the matter hushed up.
+
+MANDERS. No, you could do nothing else.
+
+MRS. ALVING. The girl left our service at once, and got a good sum of
+money to hold her tongue for the time. The rest she managed for herself
+when she got to town. She renewed her old acquaintance with Engstrand,
+no doubt let him see that she had money in her purse, and told him some
+tale about a foreigner who put in here with a yacht that summer. So she
+and Engstrand got married in hot haste. Why, you married them yourself.
+
+MANDERS. But then how to account for--? I recollect distinctly Engstrand
+coming to give notice of the marriage. He was quite overwhelmed with
+contrition, and bitterly reproached himself for the misbehaviour he and
+his sweetheart had been guilty of.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; of course he had to take the blame upon himself.
+
+MANDERS. But such a piece of duplicity on his part! And towards me too!
+I never could have believed it of Jacob Engstrand. I shall not fail
+to take him seriously to task; he may be sure of that.--And then the
+immorality of such a connection! For money--! How much did the girl
+receive?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Three hundred dollars.
+
+MANDERS. Just think of it--for a miserable three hundred dollars, to go
+and marry a fallen woman!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then what have you to say of me? I went and married a
+fallen man.
+
+MANDERS. Why--good heavens!--what are you talking about! A fallen man!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think Alving was any purer when I went with him to
+the altar than Johanna was when Engstrand married her?
+
+MANDERS. Well, but there is a world of difference between the two
+cases--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not so much difference after all--except in the price:--a
+miserable three hundred dollars and a whole fortune.
+
+MANDERS. How can you compare such absolutely dissimilar cases? You had
+taken counsel with your own heart and with your natural advisers.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Without looking at him.] I thought you understood where
+what you call my heart had strayed to at the time.
+
+MANDERS. [Distantly.] Had I understood anything of the kind, I should
+not have been a daily guest in your husband's house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. At any rate, the fact remains that with myself I took no
+counsel whatever.
+
+MANDERS. Well then, with your nearest relatives--as your duty bade
+you--with your mother and your two aunts.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. Those three cast up the account for me.
+Oh, it's marvellous how clearly they made out that it would be downright
+madness to refuse such an offer. If mother could only see me now, and
+know what all that grandeur has come to!
+
+MANDERS. Nobody can be held responsible for the result. This, at least,
+remains clear: your marriage was in full accordance with law and order.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] Oh, that perpetual law and order! I often
+think that is what does all the mischief in this world of ours.
+
+MANDERS. Mrs. Alving, that is a sinful way of talking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, I can't help it; I must have done with all this
+constraint and insincerity. I can endure it no longer. I must work my
+way out to freedom.
+
+MANDERS. What do you mean by that?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Drumming on the window frame.] I ought never to have
+concealed the facts of Alving's life. But at that time I dared not
+do anything else--I was afraid, partly on my own account. I was such a
+coward.
+
+MANDERS. A coward?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If people had come to know anything, they would have
+said--"Poor man! with a runaway wife, no wonder he kicks over the
+traces."
+
+MANDERS. Such remarks might have been made with a certain show of right.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looking steadily at him.] If I were what I ought to be, I
+should go to Oswald and say, "Listen, my boy: your father led a vicious
+life--"
+
+MANDERS. Merciful heavens--!
+
+MRS. ALVING.--and then I should tell him all I have told you--every word
+of it.
+
+MANDERS. You shock me unspeakably, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; I know that. I know that very well. I myself am
+shocked at the idea. [Goes away from the window.] I am such a coward.
+
+MANDERS. You call it "cowardice" to do your plain duty? Have you
+forgotten that a son ought to love and honour his father and mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do not let us talk in such general terms. Let us ask: Ought
+Oswald to love and honour Chamberlain Alving?
+
+MANDERS. Is there no voice in your mother's heart that forbids you to
+destroy your son's ideals?
+
+MRS. ALVING. But what about the truth?
+
+MANDERS. But what about the ideals?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh--ideals, ideals! If only I were not such a coward!
+
+MANDERS. Do not despise ideals, Mrs. Alving; they will avenge themselves
+cruelly. Take Oswald's case: he, unfortunately, seems to have few enough
+ideals as it is; but I can see that his father stands before him as an
+ideal.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true.
+
+MANDERS. And this habit of mind you have yourself implanted and fostered
+by your letters.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; in my superstitious awe for duty and the proprieties,
+I lied to my boy, year after year. Oh, what a coward--what a coward I
+have been!
+
+MANDERS. You have established a happy illusion in your son's heart, Mrs.
+Alving; and assuredly you ought not to undervalue it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. H'm; who knows whether it is so happy after all--? But, at
+any rate, I will not have any tampering with Regina. He shall not go and
+wreck the poor girl's life.
+
+MANDERS. No; good God--that would be terrible!
+
+MRS. ALVING. If I knew he was in earnest, and that it would be for his
+happiness--
+
+MANDERS. What? What then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. But it couldn't be; for unfortunately Regina is not the
+right sort of woman.
+
+MANDERS. Well, what then? What do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If I weren't such a pitiful coward, I should say to him,
+"Marry her, or make what arrangement you please, only let us have
+nothing underhand about it."
+
+MANDERS. Merciful heavens, would you let them marry! Anything so
+dreadful--! so unheard of--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you really mean "unheard of"? Frankly, Pastor Manders,
+do you suppose that throughout the country there are not plenty of
+married couples as closely akin as they?
+
+MANDERS. I don't in the least understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh yes, indeed you do.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, you are thinking of the possibility that--Alas! yes, family
+life is certainly not always so pure as it ought to be. But in such a
+case as you point to, one can never know--at least with any certainty.
+Here, on the other hand--that you, a mother, can think of letting your
+son--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But I cannot--I wouldn't for anything in the world; that is
+precisely what I am saying.
+
+MANDERS. No, because you are a "coward," as you put it. But if you were
+not a "coward," then--? Good God! a connection so shocking!
+
+MRS. ALVING. So far as that goes, they say we are all sprung from
+connections of that sort. And who is it that arranged the world so,
+Pastor Manders?
+
+MANDERS. Questions of that kind I must decline to discuss with you, Mrs.
+Alving; you are far from being in the right frame of mind for them. But
+that you dare to call your scruples "cowardly"--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let me tell you what I mean. I am timid and faint-hearted
+because of the ghosts that hang about me, and that I can never quite
+shake off.
+
+MANDERS. What do you say hangs about you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ghosts! When I heard Regina and Oswald in there, it was
+as though ghosts rose up before me. But I almost think we are all of us
+ghosts, Pastor Manders. It is not only what we have inherited from our
+father and mother that "walks" in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas,
+and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no vitality, but they
+cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake them off. Whenever I take
+up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts gliding between the lines. There
+must be ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sands of the sea.
+And then we are, one and all, so pitifully afraid of the light.
+
+MANDERS. Aha--here we have the fruits of your reading. And pretty fruits
+they are, upon my word! Oh, those horrible, revolutionary, free-thinking
+books!
+
+MRS. ALVING. You are mistaken, my dear Pastor. It was you yourself who
+set me thinking; and I thank you for it with all my heart.
+
+MANDERS. I!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes--when you forced me under the yoke of what you called
+duty and obligation; when you lauded as right and proper what my whole
+soul rebelled against as something loathsome. It was then that I began
+to look into the seams of your doctrines. I wanted only to pick at a
+single knot; but when I had got that undone, the whole thing ravelled
+out. And then I understood that it was all machine-sewn.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly, with emotion.] And was that the upshot of my life's
+hardest battle?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Call it rather your most pitiful defeat.
+
+MANDERS. It was my greatest victory, Helen--the victory over myself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was a crime against us both.
+
+MANDERS. When you went astray, and came to me crying, "Here I am; take
+me!" I commanded you, saying, "Woman, go home to your lawful husband."
+Was that a crime?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, I think so.
+
+MANDERS. We two do not understand each other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not now, at any rate.
+
+MANDERS. Never--never in my most secret thoughts have I regarded you
+otherwise than as another's wife.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh--indeed?
+
+MANDERS. Helen--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. People so easily forget their past selves.
+
+MANDERS. I do not. I am what I always was.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Changing the subject.] Well well well; don't let us talk
+of old times any longer. You are now over head and ears in Boards and
+Committees, and I am fighting my battle with ghosts, both within me and
+without.
+
+MANDERS. Those without I shall help you to lay. After all the terrible
+things I have heard from you today, I cannot in conscience permit an
+unprotected girl to remain in your house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Don't you think the best plan would be to get her provided
+for?--I mean, by a good marriage.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt. I think it would be desirable for her in every
+respect. Regina is now at the age when--Of course I don't know much
+about these things, but--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina matured very early.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, I thought so. I have an impression that she was remarkably
+well developed, physically, when I prepared her for confirmation. But in
+the meantime, she ought to be at home, under her father's eye--Ah! but
+Engstrand is not--That he--that he--could so hide the truth from me! [A
+knock at the door into the hall.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Who can this be? Come in!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [In his Sunday clothes, in the doorway.] I humbly beg your
+pardon, but--
+
+MANDERS. Aha! H'm--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Is that you, Engstrand?
+
+ENGSTRAND.--there was none of the servants about, so I took the great
+liberty of just knocking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, very well. Come in. Do you want to speak to me?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Comes in.] No, I'm obliged to you, ma'am; it was with his
+Reverence I wanted to have a word or two.
+
+MANDERS. [Walking up and down the room.] Ah--indeed! You want to speak
+to me, do you?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, I'd like so terrible much to--
+
+MANDERS. [Stops in front of him.] Well; may I ask what you want?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, it was just this, your Reverence: we've been paid off
+down yonder--my grateful thanks to you, ma'am,--and now everything's
+finished, I've been thinking it would be but right and proper if we,
+that have been working so honestly together all this time--well, I was
+thinking we ought to end up with a little prayer-meeting to-night.
+
+MANDERS. A prayer-meeting? Down at the Orphanage?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, if your Reverence doesn't think it proper--
+
+MANDERS. Oh yes, I do; but--h'm--
+
+ENGSTRAND. I've been in the habit of offering up a little prayer in the
+evenings, myself--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, every now and then just a little edification, in a
+manner of speaking. But I'm a poor, common man, and have little enough
+gift, God help me!--and so I thought, as the Reverend Mr. Manders
+happened to be here, I'd--
+
+MANDERS. Well, you see, Engstrand, I have a question to put to you
+first. Are you in the right frame of mind for such a meeting! Do you
+feel your conscience clear and at ease?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, God help us, your Reverence! we'd better not talk about
+conscience.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, that is just what we must talk about. What have you to
+answer?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why--a man's conscience--it can be bad enough now and then.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, you admit that. Then perhaps you will make a clean breast
+of it, and tell me--the real truth about Regina?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Quickly.] Mr. Manders!
+
+MANDERS. [Reassuringly.] Please allow me--
+
+ENGSTRAND. About Regina! Lord, what a turn you gave me! [Looks at MRS.
+ALVING.] There's nothing wrong about Regina, is there?
+
+MANDERS. We will hope not. But I mean, what is the truth about you and
+Regina? You pass for her father, eh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Uncertain.] Well--h'm--your Reverence knows all about me and
+poor Johanna.
+
+MANDERS. Come now, no more prevarication! Your wife told Mrs. Alving the
+whole story before quitting her service.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, then, may--! Now, did she really?
+
+MANDERS. You see we know you now, Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And she swore and took her Bible oath--
+
+MANDERS. Did she take her Bible oath?
+
+ENGSTRAND. No; she only swore; but she did it that solemn-like.
+
+MANDERS. And you have hidden the truth from me all these years? Hidden
+it from me, who have trusted you without reserve, in everything.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, I can't deny it.
+
+MANDERS. Have I deserved this of you, Engstrand? Have I not always been
+ready to help you in word and deed, so far as it lay in my power? Answer
+me. Have I not?
+
+ENGSTRAND. It would have been a poor look-out for me many a time but for
+the Reverend Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. And this is how you reward me! You cause me to enter falsehoods
+in the Church Register, and you withhold from me, year after year, the
+explanations you owed alike to me and to the truth. Your conduct has
+been wholly inexcusable, Engstrand; and from this time forward I have
+done with you!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [With a sigh.] Yes! I suppose there's no help for it.
+
+MANDERS. How can you possibly justify yourself?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Who could ever have thought she'd have gone and made bad
+worse by talking about it? Will your Reverence just fancy yourself in
+the same trouble as poor Johanna--
+
+MANDERS. I!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord bless you, I don't mean just exactly the same. But I
+mean, if your Reverence had anything to be ashamed of in the eyes of the
+world, as the saying goes. We menfolk oughtn't to judge a poor woman too
+hardly, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. I am not doing so. It is you I am reproaching.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Might I make so bold as to ask your Reverence a bit of a
+question?
+
+MANDERS. Yes, if you want to.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Isn't it right and proper for a man to raise up the fallen?
+
+MANDERS. Most certainly it is.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And isn't a man bound to keep his sacred word?
+
+MANDERS. Why, of course he is; but--
+
+ENGSTRAND. When Johanna had got into trouble through that Englishman--or
+it might have been an American or a Russian, as they call them--well,
+you see, she came down into the town. Poor thing, she'd sent me about
+my business once or twice before: for she couldn't bear the sight of
+anything as wasn't handsome; and I'd got this damaged leg of mine. Your
+Reverence recollects how I ventured up into a dancing saloon, where
+seafaring men was carrying on with drink and devilry, as the saying
+goes. And then, when I was for giving them a bit of an admonition to
+lead a new life--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] H'm--
+
+MANDERS. I know all about that, Engstrand; the ruffians threw you
+downstairs. You have told me of the affair already. Your infirmity is an
+honour to you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. I'm not puffed up about it, your Reverence. But what I wanted
+to say was, that when she came and confessed all to me, with weeping and
+gnashing of teeth, I can tell your Reverence I was sore at heart to hear
+it.
+
+MANDERS. Were you indeed, Engstrand? Well, go on.
+
+ENGSTRAND. So I says to her, "The American, he's sailing about on the
+boundless sea. And as for you, Johanna," says I, "you've committed a
+grievous sin, and you're a fallen creature. But Jacob Engstrand,"
+says I, "he's got two good legs to stand upon, he has--" You see, your
+Reverence, I was speaking figurative-like.
+
+MANDERS. I understand quite well. Go on.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, that was how I raised her up and made an honest woman
+of her, so as folks shouldn't get to know how as she'd gone astray with
+foreigners.
+
+MANDERS. In all that you acted very well. Only I cannot approve of your
+stooping to take money--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Money? I? Not a farthing!
+
+MANDERS. [Inquiringly to MRS. ALVING.] But--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, wait a minute!--now I recollect. Johanna did have a
+trifle of money. But I would have nothing to do with that. "No," says I,
+"that's mammon; that's the wages of sin. This dirty gold--or notes, or
+whatever it was--we'll just flint, that back in the American's face,"
+says I. But he was off and away, over the stormy sea, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. Was he really, my good fellow?
+
+ENGSTRAND. He was indeed, sir. So Johanna and I, we agreed that the
+money should go to the child's education; and so it did, and I can
+account for every blessed farthing of it.
+
+MANDERS. Why, this alters the case considerably.
+
+ENGSTRAND. That's just how it stands, your Reverence. And I make so bold
+as to say as I've been an honest father to Regina, so far as my poor
+strength went; for I'm but a weak vessel, worse luck!
+
+MANDERS. Well, well, my good fellow--
+
+ENGSTRAND. All the same, I bear myself witness as I've brought up the
+child, and lived kindly with poor Johanna, and ruled over my own house,
+as the Scripture has it. But it couldn't never enter my head to go to
+your Reverence and puff myself up and boast because even the likes of
+me had done some good in the world. No, sir; when anything of that
+sort happens to Jacob Engstrand, he holds his tongue about it. It don't
+happen so terrible often, I daresay. And when I do come to see your
+Reverence, I find a mortal deal that's wicked and weak to talk about.
+For I said it before, and I says it again--a man's conscience isn't
+always as clean as it might be.
+
+MANDERS. Give me your hand, Jacob Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, Lord! your Reverence--
+
+MANDERS. Come, no nonsense [wrings his hand]. There we are!
+
+ENGSTRAND. And if I might humbly beg your Reverence's pardon--
+
+MANDERS. You? On the contrary, it is I who ought to beg your pardon--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord, no, Sir!
+
+MANDERS. Yes, assuredly. And I do it with all my heart. Forgive me for
+misunderstanding you. I only wish I could give you some proof of my
+hearty regret, and of my good-will towards you--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Would your Reverence do it?
+
+MANDERS. With the greatest pleasure.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well then, here's the very chance. With the bit of money I've
+saved here, I was thinking I might set up a Sailors' Home down in the
+town.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes; it might be a sort of Orphanage, too, in a manner of
+speaking. There's such a many temptations for seafaring folk ashore. But
+in this Home of mine, a man might feel like as he was under a father's
+eye, I was thinking.
+
+MANDERS. What do you say to this, Mrs. Alving?
+
+ENGSTRAND. It isn't much as I've got to start with, Lord help me! But if
+I could only find a helping hand, why--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, yes; we will look into the matter more closely. I entirely
+approve of your plan. But now, go before me and make everything
+ready, and get the candles lighted, so as to give the place an air of
+festivity. And then we will pass an edifying hour together, my good
+fellow; for now I quite believe you are in the right frame of mind.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, I trust I am. And so I'll say good-bye, ma'am, and thank
+you kindly; and take good care of Regina for me--[Wipes a tear from his
+eye]--poor Johanna's child. Well, it's a queer thing, now; but it's just
+like as if she'd growd into the very apple of my eye. It is, indeed. [He
+bows and goes out through the hall.]
+
+MANDERS. Well, what do you say of that man now, Mrs. Alving? That was a
+very different account of matters, was it not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, it certainly was.
+
+MANDERS. It only shows how excessively careful one ought to be in
+judging one's fellow creatures. But what a heartfelt joy it is to
+ascertain that one has been mistaken! Don't you think so?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I think you are, and will always be, a great baby, Manders.
+
+MANDERS. I?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Laying her two hands upon his shoulders.] And I say that I
+have half a mind to put my arms round your neck, and kiss you.
+
+MANDERS. [Stepping hastily back.] No, no! God bless me! What an idea!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a smile.] Oh, you needn't be afraid of me.
+
+MANDERS. [By the table.] You have sometimes such an exaggerated way of
+expressing yourself. Now, let me just collect all the documents, and put
+them in my bag. [He does so.] There, that's all right. And now, good-bye
+for the present. Keep your eyes open when Oswald comes back. I shall
+look in again later. [He takes his hat and goes out through the hall
+door.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sighs, looks for a moment out of the window, sets the room
+in order a little, and is about to go into the dining-room, but stops at
+the door with a half-suppressed cry.] Oswald, are you still at table?
+
+OSWALD. [In the dining room.] I'm only finishing my cigar.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I thought you had gone for a little walk.
+
+OSWALD. In such weather as this?
+
+[A glass clinks. MRS. ALVING leaves the door open, and sits down with
+her knitting on the sofa by the window.]
+
+OSWALD. Wasn't that Pastor Manders that went out just now?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; he went down to the Orphanage.
+
+OSWALD. H'm. [The glass and decanter clink again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a troubled glance.] Dear Oswald, you should take care
+of that liqueur. It is strong.
+
+OSWALD. It keeps out the damp.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Wouldn't you rather come in here, to me?
+
+OSWALD. I mayn't smoke in there.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know quite well you may smoke cigars.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, all right then; I'll come in. Just a tiny drop more first.
+There! [He comes into the room with his cigar, and shuts the door after
+him. A short silence.] Where has the pastor gone to?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have just told you; he went down to the Orphanage.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, yes; so you did.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You shouldn't sit so long at table, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. [Holding his cigar behind him.] But I find it so pleasant,
+mother. [Strokes and caresses her.] Just think what it is for me to come
+home and sit at mother's own table, in mother's room, and eat mother's
+delicious dishes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear, dear boy!
+
+OSWALD. [Somewhat impatiently, walks about and smokes.] And what else
+can I do with myself here? I can't set to work at anything.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Why can't you?
+
+OSWALD. In such weather as this? Without a single ray of sunshine the
+whole day? [Walks up the room.] Oh, not to be able to work--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Perhaps it was not quite wise of you to come home?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, yes, mother; I had to.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know I would ten times rather forgo the joy of having
+you here, than let you--
+
+OSWALD. [Stops beside the table.] Now just tell me, mother: does it
+really make you so very happy to have me home again?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Does it make me happy!
+
+OSWALD. [Crumpling up a newspaper.] I should have thought it must be
+pretty much the same to you whether I was in existence or not.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you the heart to say that to your mother, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. But you've got on very well without me all this time.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; I have got on without you. That is true.
+
+[A silence. Twilight slowly begins to fall. OSWALD paces to and fro
+across the room. He has laid his cigar down.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stops beside MRS. ALVING.] Mother, may I sit on the sofa beside
+you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Makes room for him.] Yes, do, my dear boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits down.] There is something I must tell you, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Anxiously.] Well?
+
+OSWALD. [Looks fixedly before him.] For I can't go on hiding it any
+longer.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Hiding what? What is it?
+
+OSWALD. [As before.] I could never bring myself to write to you about
+it; and since I've come home--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter?
+
+OSWALD. Both yesterday and to-day I have tried to put the thoughts away
+from me--to cast them off; but it's no use.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. [Draws her down to the sofa again.] Sit still; and then I will
+try to tell you.--I complained of fatigue after my journey--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well? What then?
+
+OSWALD. But it isn't that that is the matter with me; not any ordinary
+fatigue--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. [Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly.
+I'm not downright ill, either; not what is commonly called "ill."
+[Clasps his hands above his head.] Mother, my mind is broken
+down--ruined--I shall never be able to work again! [With his hands
+before his face, he buries his head in her lap, and breaks into bitter
+sobbing.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no; it's not
+true.
+
+OSWALD. [Looks up with despair in his eyes.] Never to be able to work
+again! Never!--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine anything
+so horrible?
+
+MRS. ALVING. My poor boy! How has this horrible thing come upon you?
+
+OSWALD. [Sitting upright again.] That's just what I cannot possibly
+grasp or understand. I have never led a dissipated life--never, in any
+respect. You mustn't believe that of me, mother! I've never done that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I am sure you haven't, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. And yet this has come upon me just the same--this awful
+misfortune!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, but it will pass over, my dear, blessed boy. It's
+nothing but over-work. Trust me, I am right.
+
+OSWALD. [Sadly.] I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Tell me everything, from beginning to end.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I will.
+
+MRS. ALVING. When did you first notice it?
+
+OSWALD. It was directly after I had been home last time, and had got
+back to Paris again. I began to feel the most violent pains in my
+head--chiefly in the back of my head, they seemed to come. It was as
+though a tight iron ring was being screwed round my neck and upwards.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, and then?
+
+OSWALD. At first I thought it was nothing but the ordinary headache I
+had been so plagued with while I was growing up--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes--
+
+OSWALD. But it wasn't that. I soon found that out. I couldn't work any
+more. I wanted to begin upon a big new picture, but my powers seemed to
+fail me; all my strength was crippled; I could form no definite images;
+everything swam before me--whirling round and round. Oh, it was an awful
+state! At last I sent for a doctor--and from him I learned the truth.
+
+MRS. ALVING. How do you mean?
+
+OSWALD. He was one of the first doctors in Paris. I told him my
+symptoms; and then he set to work asking me a string of questions which
+I thought had nothing to do with the matter. I couldn't imagine what the
+man was after--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. At last he said: "There has been something worm-eaten in you
+from your birth." He used that very word--_vermoulu_.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Breathlessly.] What did he mean by that?
+
+OSWALD. I didn't understand either, and begged him to explain himself
+more clearly. And then the old cynic said--[Clenching his fist] Oh--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. What did he say?
+
+OSWALD. He said, "The sins of the fathers are visited upon the
+children."
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising slowly.] The sins of the fathers--!
+
+OSWALD. I very nearly struck him in the face--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Walks away across the room.] The sins of the fathers--
+
+OSWALD. [Smiles sadly.] Yes; what do you think of that? Of course I
+assured him that such a thing was out of the question. But do you think
+he gave in? No, he stuck to it; and it was only when I produced your
+letters and translated the passages relating to father--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But then--?
+
+OSWALD. Then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong track;
+and so I learned the truth--the incomprehensible truth! I ought not to
+have taken part with my comrades in that lighthearted, glorious life of
+theirs. It had been too much for my strength. So I had brought it upon
+myself!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald! No, no; do not believe it!
+
+OSWALD. No other explanation was possible, he said. That's the awful
+part of it. Incurably ruined for life--by my own heedlessness! All that
+I meant to have done in the world--I never dare think of it again--I'm
+not able to think of it. Oh! if I could only live over again, and undo
+all I have done! [He buries his face in the sofa.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Wrings her hands and walks, in silent struggle, backwards
+and forwards.]
+
+OSWALD. [After a while, looks up and remains resting upon his elbow.] If
+it had only been something inherited--something one wasn't responsible
+for! But this! To have thrown away so shamefully, thoughtlessly,
+recklessly, one's own happiness, one's own health, everything in the
+world--one's future, one's very life--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, no, my dear, darling boy; this is impossible! [Bends
+over him.] Things are not so desperate as you think.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, you don't know--[Springs up.] And then, mother, to cause
+you all this sorrow! Many a time I have almost wished and hoped that at
+bottom you didn't care so very much about me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I, Oswald? My only boy! You are all I have in the world!
+The only thing I care about!
+
+OSWALD. [Seizes both her hands and kisses them.] Yes, yes, I see it.
+When I'm at home, I see it, of course; and that's almost the hardest
+part for me.--But now you know the whole story and now we won't talk any
+more about it to-day. I daren't think of it for long together. [Goes up
+the room.] Get me something to drink, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. To drink? What do you want to drink now?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, anything you like. You have some cold punch in the house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, but my dear Oswald--
+
+OSWALD. Don't refuse me, mother. Do be kind, now! I must have something
+to wash down all these gnawing thoughts. [Goes into the conservatory.]
+And then--it's so dark here! [MRS. ALVING pulls a bell-rope on the
+right.] And this ceaseless rain! It may go on week after week, for
+months together. Never to get a glimpse of the sun! I can't recollect
+ever having seen the sun shine all the times I've been at home.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald--you are thinking of going away from me.
+
+OSWALD. H'm--[Drawing a heavy breath.]--I'm not thinking of anything. I
+cannot think of anything! [In a low voice.] I let thinking alone.
+
+REGINA. [From the dining-room.] Did you ring, ma'am?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; let us have the lamp in.
+
+REGINA. Yes, ma'am. It's ready lighted. [Goes out.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes across to OSWALD.] Oswald, be frank with me.
+
+OSWALD. Well, so I am, mother. [Goes to the table.] I think I have told
+you enough.
+
+[REGINA brings the lamp and sets it upon the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, you may bring us a small bottle of champagne.
+
+REGINA. Very well, ma'am. [Goes out.]
+
+OSWALD. [Puts his arm round MRS. ALVING's neck.] That's just what I
+wanted. I knew mother wouldn't let her boy go thirsty.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My own, poor, darling Oswald; how could I deny you anything
+now?
+
+OSWALD. [Eagerly.] Is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
+
+MRS. ALVING. How? What?
+
+OSWALD. That you couldn't deny me anything.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald--
+
+OSWALD. Hush!
+
+REGINA. [Brings a tray with a half-bottle of champagne and two glasses,
+which she sets on the table.] Shall I open it?
+
+OSWALD. No, thanks. I will do it myself.
+
+[REGINA goes out again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sits down by the table.] What was it you meant--that I
+mustn't deny you?
+
+OSWALD. [Busy opening the bottle.] First let us have a glass--or two.
+
+[The cork pops; he pours wine into one glass, and is about to pour it
+into the other.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Holding her hand over it.] Thanks; not for me.
+
+OSWALD. Oh! won't you? Then I will!
+
+[He empties the glass, fills, and empties it again; then he sits down by
+the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In expectancy.] Well?
+
+OSWALD. [Without looking at her.] Tell me--I thought you and Pastor
+Manders seemed so odd--so quiet--at dinner to-day.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Did you notice it?
+
+OSWALD. Yes. H'm--[After a short silence.] Tell me: what do you think of
+Regina?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do I think?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; isn't she splendid?
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald, you don't know her as I do--
+
+OSWALD. Well?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, unfortunately, was allowed to stay at home too
+long. I ought to have taken her earlier into my house.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, but isn't she splendid to look at, mother? [He fills his
+glass.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina has many serious faults--
+
+OSWALD. Oh, what does that matter? [He drinks again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. But I am fond of her, nevertheless, and I am responsible
+for her. I wouldn't for all the world have any harm happen to her.
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up.] Mother, Regina is my only salvation!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] What do you mean by that?
+
+OSWALD. I cannot go on bearing all this anguish of soul alone.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you not your mother to share it with you?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; that's what I thought; and so I came home to you. But that
+will not do. I see it won't do. I cannot endure my life here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. I must live differently, mother. That is why I must leave you. I
+will not have you looking on at it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as this--
+
+OSWALD. If it were only the illness, I should stay with you, mother, you
+may be sure; for you are the best friend I have in the world.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?
+
+OSWALD. [Wanders restlessly about.] But it's all the torment, the
+gnawing remorse--and then, the great, killing dread. Oh--that awful
+dread!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Walking after him.] Dread? What dread? What do you mean?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, you mustn't ask me any more. I don't know. I can't describe
+it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes over to the right and pulls the bell.]
+
+OSWALD. What is it you want?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I want my boy to be happy--that is what I want. He sha'n't
+go on brooding over things. [To REGINA, who appears at the door:] More
+champagne--a large bottle. [REGINA goes.]
+
+OSWALD. Mother!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think we don't know how to live here at home?
+
+OSWALD. Isn't she splendid to look at? How beautifully she's built! And
+so thoroughly healthy!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sits by the table.] Sit down, Oswald; let us talk quietly
+together.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits.] I daresay you don't know, mother, that I owe Regina some
+reparation.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You!
+
+OSWALD. For a bit of thoughtlessness, or whatever you like to call
+it--very innocent, at any rate. When I was home last time--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. She used often to ask me about Paris, and I used to tell her one
+thing and another. Then I recollect I happened to say to her one day,
+"Shouldn't you like to go there yourself?"
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. I saw her face flush, and then she said, "Yes, I should like it
+of all things." "Ah, well," I replied, "it might perhaps be managed"--or
+something like that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And then?
+
+OSWALD. Of course I had forgotten all about it; but the day before
+yesterday I happened to ask her whether she was glad I was to stay at
+home so long--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes?
+
+OSWALD. And then she gave me such a strange look, and asked, "But what's
+to become of my trip to Paris?"
+
+MRS. ALVING. Her trip!
+
+OSWALD. And so it came out that she had taken the thing seriously; that
+she had been thinking of me the whole time, and had set to work to learn
+French--
+
+MRS. ALVING. So that was why--!
+
+OSWALD. Mother--when I saw that fresh, lovely, splendid girl standing
+there before me--till then I had hardly noticed her--but when she stood
+there as though with open arms ready to receive me--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+
+OSWALD.--then it flashed upon me that in her lay my salvation; for I saw
+that she was full of the joy of life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Starts.] The joy of life? Can there be salvation in that?
+
+REGINA. [From the dining room, with a bottle of champagne.] I'm sorry to
+have been so long, but I had to go to the cellar. [Places the bottle on
+the table.]
+
+OSWALD. And now bring another glass.
+
+REGINA. [Looks at him in surprise.] There is Mrs. Alving's glass, Mr.
+Alving.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, but bring one for yourself, Regina. [REGINA starts and
+gives a lightning-like side glance at MRS. ALVING.] Why do you wait?
+
+REGINA. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Is it Mrs. Alving's wish?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Bring the glass, Regina.
+
+[REGINA goes out into the dining-room.]
+
+OSWALD. [Follows her with his eyes.] Have you noticed how she walks?--so
+firmly and lightly!
+
+MRS. ALVING. This can never be, Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. It's a settled thing. Can't you see that? It's no use saying
+anything against it.
+
+[REGINA enters with an empty glass, which she keeps in her hand.]
+
+OSWALD. Sit down, Regina.
+
+[REGINA looks inquiringly at MRS. ALVING.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Sit down. [REGINA sits on a chair by the dining room door,
+still holding the empty glass in her hand.] Oswald--what were you saying
+about the joy of life?
+
+OSWALD. Ah, the joy of life, mother--that's a thing you don't know much
+about in these parts. I have never felt it here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not when you are with me?
+
+OSWALD. Not when I'm at home. But you don't understand that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I think I almost understand it--now.
+
+OSWALD. And then, too, the joy of work! At bottom, it's the same thing.
+But that, too, you know nothing about.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Perhaps you are right. Tell me more about it, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. I only mean that here people are brought up to believe that
+work is a curse and a punishment for sin, and that life is something
+miserable, something it would be best to have done with, the sooner the
+better.
+
+MRS. ALVING. "A vale of tears," yes; and we certainly do our best to
+make it one.
+
+OSWALD. But in the great world people won't hear of such things. There,
+nobody really believes such doctrines any longer. There, you feel it a
+positive bliss and ecstasy merely to draw the breath of life. Mother,
+have you noticed that everything I have painted has turned upon the joy
+of life?--always, always upon the joy of life?--light and sunshine and
+glorious air and faces radiant with happiness. That is why I'm afraid of
+remaining at home with you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Afraid? What are you afraid of here, with me?
+
+OSWALD. I'm afraid lest all my instincts should be warped into ugliness.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looks steadily at him.] Do you think that is what would
+happen?
+
+OSWALD. I know it. You may live the same life here as there, and yet it
+won't be the same life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Who has been listening eagerly, rises, her eyes big with
+thought, and says:] Now I see the sequence of things.
+
+OSWALD. What is it you see?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I see it now for the first time. And now I can speak.
+
+OSWALD. [Rising.] Mother, I don't understand you.
+
+REGINA. [Who has also risen.] Perhaps I ought to go?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. Stay here. Now I can speak. Now, my boy, you shall know
+the whole truth. And then you can choose. Oswald! Regina!
+
+OSWALD. Hush! The Pastor--
+
+MANDERS. [Enters by the hall door.] There! We have had a most edifying
+time down there.
+
+OSWALD. So have we.
+
+MANDERS. We must stand by Engstrand and his Sailors' Home. Regina must
+go to him and help him--
+
+REGINA. No thank you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. [Noticing her for the first time.] What--? You here? And with a
+glass in your hand!
+
+REGINA. [Hastily putting the glass down.] Pardon!
+
+OSWALD. Regina is going with me, Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Going! With you!
+
+OSWALD. Yes; as my wife--if she wishes it.
+
+MANDERS. But, merciful God--!
+
+REGINA. I can't help it, sir.
+
+OSWALD. Or she'll stay here, if I stay.
+
+REGINA. [Involuntarily.] Here!
+
+MANDERS. I am thunderstruck at your conduct, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. They will do neither one thing nor the other; for now I can
+speak out plainly.
+
+MANDERS. You surely will not do that! No, no, no!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, I can speak and I will. And no ideals shall suffer
+after all.
+
+OSWALD. Mother--what is it you are hiding from me?
+
+REGINA. [Listening.] Oh, ma'am, listen! Don't you hear shouts outside.
+[She goes into the conservatory and looks out.]
+
+OSWALD. [At the window on the left.] What's going on? Where does that
+light come from?
+
+REGINA. [Cries out.] The Orphanage is on fire!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rushing to the window.] On fire!
+
+MANDERS. On fire! Impossible! I've just come from there.
+
+OSWALD. Where's my hat? Oh, never mind it--Father's Orphanage--! [He
+rushes out through the garden door.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. My shawl, Regina! The whole place is in a blaze!
+
+MANDERS. Terrible! Mrs. Alving, it is a judgment upon this abode of
+lawlessness.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, of course. Come, Regina. [She and REGINA hasten out
+through the hall.]
+
+MANDERS. [Clasps his hands together.] And we left it uninsured! [He goes
+out the same way.]
+
+
+
+
+ACT THIRD.
+
+[The room as before. All the doors stand open. The lamp is still burning
+on the table. It is dark out of doors; there is only a faint glow from
+the conflagration in the background to the left.]
+
+[MRS. ALVING, with a shawl over her head, stands in the conservatory,
+looking out. REGINA, also with a shawl on, stands a little behind her.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. The whole thing burnt!--burnt to the ground!
+
+REGINA. The basement is still burning.
+
+MRS. ALVING. How is it Oswald doesn't come home? There's nothing to be
+saved.
+
+REGINA. Should you like me to take down his hat to him?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Has he not even got his hat on?
+
+REGINA. [Pointing to the hall.] No; there it hangs.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let it be. He must come up now. I shall go and look for him
+myself. [She goes out through the garden door.]
+
+MANDERS. [Comes in from the hall.] Is not Mrs. Alving here?
+
+REGINA. She has just gone down the garden.
+
+MANDERS. This is the most terrible night I ever went through.
+
+REGINA. Yes; isn't it a dreadful misfortune, sir?
+
+MANDERS. Oh, don't talk about it! I can hardly bear to think of it.
+
+REGINA. How can it have happened--?
+
+MANDERS. Don't ask me, Miss Engstrand! How should _I_ know? Do you,
+too--? Is it not enough that your father--?
+
+REGINA. What about him?
+
+MANDERS. Oh, he has driven me distracted--
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Enters through the hall.] Your Reverence--
+
+MANDERS. [Turns round in terror.] Are you after me here, too?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, strike me dead, but I must--! Oh, Lord! what am I
+saying? But this is a terrible ugly business, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. [Walks to and fro.] Alas! alas!
+
+REGINA. What's the matter?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why, it all came of this here prayer-meeting, you see.
+[Softly.] The bird's limed, my girl. [Aloud.] And to think it should be
+my doing that such a thing should be his Reverence's doing!
+
+MANDERS. But I assure you, Engstrand--
+
+ENGSTRAND. There wasn't another soul except your Reverence as ever laid
+a finger on the candles down there.
+
+MANDERS. [Stops.] So you declare. But I certainly cannot recollect that
+I ever had a candle in my hand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And I saw as clear as daylight how your Reverence took the
+candle and snuffed it with your fingers, and threw away the snuff among
+the shavings.
+
+MANDERS. And you stood and looked on?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes; I saw it as plain as a pike-staff, I did.
+
+MANDERS. It's quite beyond my comprehension. Besides, it has never been
+my habit to snuff candles with my fingers.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And terrible risky it looked, too, that it did! But is there
+such a deal of harm done after all, your Reverence?
+
+MANDERS. [Walks restlessly to and fro.] Oh, don't ask me!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Walks with him.] And your Reverence hadn't insured it,
+neither?
+
+MANDERS. [Continuing to walk up and down.] No, no, no; I have told you
+so.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Following him.] Not insured! And then to go straight away
+down and set light to the whole thing! Lord, Lord, what a misfortune!
+
+MANDERS. [Wipes the sweat from his forehead.] Ay, you may well say that,
+Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And to think that such a thing should happen to a benevolent
+Institution, that was to have been a blessing both to town and country,
+as the saying goes! The newspapers won't be for handling your Reverence
+very gently, I expect.
+
+MANDERS. No; that is just what I am thinking of. That is almost the
+worst of the whole matter. All the malignant attacks and imputations--!
+Oh, it makes me shudder to think of it!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Comes in from the garden.] He is not to be persuaded to
+leave the fire.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, there you are, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. So you have escaped your Inaugural Address, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Oh, I should so gladly--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In an undertone.] It is all for the best. That Orphanage
+would have done no one any good.
+
+MANDERS. Do you think not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think it would?
+
+MANDERS. It is a terrible misfortune, all the same.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let us speak of it plainly, as a matter of business.--Are
+you waiting for Mr. Manders, Engstrand?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [At the hall door.] That's just what I'm a-doing of, ma'am.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then sit down meanwhile.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Thank you, ma'am; I'd as soon stand.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [To MANDERS.] I suppose you are going by the steamer?
+
+MANDERS. Yes; it starts in an hour.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then be so good as to take all the papers with you. I won't
+hear another word about this affair. I have other things to think of--
+
+MANDERS. Mrs. Alving--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Later on I shall send you a Power of Attorney to settle
+everything as you please.
+
+MANDERS. That I will very readily undertake. The original destination of
+the endowment must now be completely changed, alas!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course it must.
+
+MANDERS. I think, first of all, I shall arrange that the Solvik property
+shall pass to the parish. The land is by no means without value. It can
+always be turned to account for some purpose or other. And the interest
+of the money in the Bank I could, perhaps, best apply for the benefit of
+some undertaking of acknowledged value to the town.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do just as you please. The whole matter is now completely
+indifferent to me.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Give a thought to my Sailors' Home, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. Upon my word, that is not a bad suggestion. That must be
+considered.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, devil take considering--Lord forgive me!
+
+MANDERS. [With a sigh.] And unfortunately I cannot tell how long I shall
+be able to retain control of these things--whether public opinion may
+not compel me to retire. It entirely depends upon the result of the
+official inquiry into the fire--
+
+MRS. ALVING. What are you talking about?
+
+MANDERS. And the result can by no means be foretold.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Comes close to him.] Ay, but it can though. For here stands
+old Jacob Engstrand.
+
+MANDERS. Well well, but--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [More softy.] And Jacob Engstrand isn't the man to desert a
+noble benefactor in the hour of need, as the saying goes.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but my good fellow--how--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Jacob Engstrand may be likened to a sort of a guardian angel,
+he may, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. No, no; I really cannot accept that.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, that'll be the way of it, all the same. I know a man as
+has taken others' sins upon himself before now, I do.
+
+MANDERS. Jacob! [Wrings his hand.] Yours is a rare nature. Well,
+you shall be helped with your Sailors' Home. That you may rely upon.
+[ENGSTRAND tries to thank him, but cannot for emotion.]
+
+MANDERS. [Hangs his travelling-bag over his shoulder.] And now let us
+set out. We two will go together.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [At the dining-room door, softly to REGINA.] You come along
+too, my lass. You shall live as snug as the yolk in an egg.
+
+REGINA. [Tosses her head.] _Merci_! [She goes out into the hall and
+fetches MANDERS' overcoat.]
+
+MANDERS. Good-bye, Mrs. Alving! and may the spirit of Law and Order
+descend upon this house, and that quickly.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Good-bye, Pastor Manders. [She goes up towards the
+conservatory, as she sees OSWALD coming in through the garden door.]
+
+ENGSTRAND. [While he and REGINA help MANDERS to get his coat on.]
+Good-bye, my child. And if any trouble should come to you, you know
+where Jacob Engstrand is to be found. [Softly.] Little Harbour Street,
+h'm--! [To MRS. ALVING and OSWALD.] And the refuge for wandering
+mariners shall be called "Chamberlain Alving's Home," that it shall! And
+if so be as I'm spared to carry on that house in my own way, I make so
+bold as to promise that it shall be worthy of the Chamberlain's memory.
+
+MANDERS. [In the doorway.] H'm--h'm!--Come along, my dear Engstrand.
+Good-bye! Good-bye! [He and ENGSTRAND go out through the hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Goes towards the table.] What house was he talking about?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, a kind of Home that he and Pastor Manders want to set
+up.
+
+OSWALD. It will burn down like the other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What makes you think so?
+
+OSWALD. Everything will burn. All that recalls father's memory is
+doomed. Here am I, too, burning down. [REGINA starts and looks at him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald! You oughtn't to have remained so long down there,
+my poor boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits down by the table.] I almost think you are right.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let me dry your face, Oswald; you are quite wet. [She dries
+his face with her pocket-handkerchief.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stares indifferently in front of him.] Thanks, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Are you not tired, Oswald? Should you like to sleep?
+
+OSWALD. [Nervously.] No, no--not to sleep! I never sleep. I only pretend
+to. [Sadly.] That will come soon enough.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looking sorrowfully at him.] Yes, you really are ill, my
+blessed boy.
+
+REGINA. [Eagerly.] Is Mr. Alving ill?
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Oh, do shut all the doors! This killing dread--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Close the doors, Regina.
+
+[REGINA shuts them and remains standing by the hall door. MRS. ALVING
+takes her shawl off: REGINA does the same. MRS. ALVING draws a chair
+across to OSWALD'S, and sits by him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. There now! I am going to sit beside you--
+
+OSWALD. Yes, do. And Regina shall stay here too. Regina shall be with me
+always. You will come to the rescue, Regina, won't you?
+
+REGINA. I don't understand--
+
+MRS. ALVING. To the rescue?
+
+OSWALD. Yes--when the need comes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald, have you not your mother to come to the rescue?
+
+OSWALD. You? [Smiles.] No, mother; that rescue you will never bring me.
+[Laughs sadly.] You! ha ha! [Looks earnestly at her.] Though, after all,
+who ought to do it if not you? [Impetuously.] Why can't you say "thou"
+to me, Regina? [Note: "Sige du" = Fr. _tutoyer_] Why don't you call me
+"Oswald"?
+
+REGINA. [Softly.] I don't think Mrs. Alving would like it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You shall have leave to, presently. And meanwhile sit over
+here beside us.
+
+[REGINA seats herself demurely and hesitatingly at the other side of the
+table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. And now, my poor suffering boy, I am going to take the
+burden off your mind--
+
+OSWALD. You, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING.--all the gnawing remorse and self-reproach you speak of.
+
+OSWALD. And you think you can do that?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, now I can, Oswald. A little while ago you spoke of the
+joy of life; and at that word a new light burst for me over my life and
+everything connected with it.
+
+OSWALD. [Shakes his head.] I don't understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You ought to have known your father when he was a young
+lieutenant. He was brimming over with the joy of life!
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I know he was.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was like a breezy day only to look at him. And what
+exuberant strength and vitality there was in him!
+
+OSWALD. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well then, child of joy as he was--for he was like a child
+in those days--he had to live at home here in a half-grown town,
+which had no joys to offer him--only dissipations. He had no object
+in life--only an official position. He had no work into which he could
+throw himself heart and soul; he had only business. He had not a single
+comrade that could realise what the joy of life meant--only loungers and
+boon-companions--
+
+OSWALD. Mother--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. So the inevitable happened.
+
+OSWALD. The inevitable?
+
+MRS. ALVING. You told me yourself, this evening, what would become of
+you if you stayed at home.
+
+OSWALD. Do you mean to say that father--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Your poor father found no outlet for the overpowering joy
+of life that was in him. And I brought no brightness into his home.
+
+OSWALD. Not even you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. They had taught me a great deal about duties and so forth,
+which I went on obstinately believing in. Everything was marked out into
+duties--into my duties, and his duties, and--I am afraid I made his home
+intolerable for your poor father, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. Why have you never spoken of this in writing to me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have never before seen it in such a light that I could
+speak of it to you, his son.
+
+OSWALD. In what light did you see it, then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Slowly.] I saw only this one thing: that your father was a
+broken-down man before you were born.
+
+OSWALD. [Softly.] Ah--! [He rises and walks away to the window.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. And then; day after day, I dwelt on the one thought that by
+rights Regina should be at home in this house--just like my own boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Turning round quickly.] Regina--!
+
+REGINA. [Springs up and asks, with bated breath.] I--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, now you know it, both of you.
+
+OSWALD. Regina!
+
+REGINA. [To herself.] So mother was that kind of woman.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Your mother had many good qualities, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Yes, but she was one of that sort, all the same. Oh, I've often
+suspected it; but--And now, if you please, ma'am, may I be allowed to go
+away at once?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you really wish it, Regina?
+
+REGINA. Yes, indeed I do.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course you can do as you like; but--
+
+OSWALD. [Goes towards REGINA.] Go away now? Your place is here.
+
+REGINA. _Merci_, Mr. Alving!--or now, I suppose, I may say Oswald. But I
+can tell you this wasn't at all what I expected.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, I have not been frank with you--
+
+REGINA. No, that you haven't indeed. If I'd known that Oswald was an
+invalid, why--And now, too, that it can never come to anything serious
+between us--I really can't stop out here in the country and wear myself
+out nursing sick people.
+
+OSWALD. Not even one who is so near to you?
+
+REGINA. No, that I can't. A poor girl must make the best of her young
+days, or she'll be left out in the cold before she knows where she is.
+And I, too, have the joy of life in me, Mrs. Alving!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately, you leave. But don't throw yourself away,
+Regina.
+
+REGINA. Oh, what must be, must be. If Oswald takes after his father, I
+take after my mother, I daresay.--May I ask, ma'am, if Pastor Manders
+knows all this about me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Pastor Manders knows all about it.
+
+REGINA. [Busied in putting on her shawl.] Well then, I'd better make
+haste and get away by this steamer. The Pastor is such a nice man to
+deal with; and I certainly think I've as much right to a little of that
+money as he has--that brute of a carpenter.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You are heartily welcome to it, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [Looks hard at her.] I think you might have brought me up as a
+gentleman's daughter, ma'am; it would have suited me better. [Tosses her
+head.] But pooh--what does it matter! [With a bitter side glance at the
+corked bottle.] I may come to drink champagne with gentlefolks yet.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And if you ever need a home, Regina, come to me.
+
+REGINA. No, thank you, ma'am. Pastor Manders will look after me, I know.
+And if the worst comes to the worst, I know of one house where I've
+every right to a place.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Where is that?
+
+REGINA. "Chamberlain Alving's Home."
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina--now I see it--you are going to your ruin.
+
+REGINA. Oh, stuff! Good-bye. [She nods and goes out through the hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stands at the window and looks out.] Is she gone?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes.
+
+OSWALD. [Murmuring aside to himself.] I think it was a mistake, this.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes up behind him and lays her hands on his shoulders.]
+Oswald, my dear boy--has it shaken you very much?
+
+OSWALD. [Turns his face towards her.] All that about father, do you
+mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, about your unhappy father. I am so afraid it may have
+been too much for you.
+
+OSWALD. Why should you fancy that? Of course it came upon me as a great
+surprise; but it can make no real difference to me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Draws her hands away.] No difference! That your father was
+so infinitely unhappy!
+
+OSWALD. Of course I can pity him, as I would anybody else; but--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Nothing more! Your own father!
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.]Oh, "father,"--"father"! I never knew anything of
+father. I remember nothing about him, except that he once made me sick.
+
+MRS. ALVING. This is terrible to think of! Ought not a son to love his
+father, whatever happens?
+
+OSWALD. When a son has nothing to thank his father for? has never known
+him? Do you really cling to that old superstition?--you who are so
+enlightened in other ways?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Can it be only a superstition--?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; surely you can see that, mother. It's one of those notions
+that are current in the world, and so--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Deeply moved.] Ghosts!
+
+OSWALD. [Crossing the room.] Yes; you may call them ghosts.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Wildly.] Oswald--then you don't love me, either!
+
+OSWALD. You I know, at any rate--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, you know me; but is that all!
+
+OSWALD. And, of course, I know how fond you are of me, and I can't but
+be grateful to you. And then you can be so useful to me, now that I am
+ill.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, cannot I, Oswald? Oh, I could almost bless the illness
+that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that you are not
+mine: I have to win you.
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Yes yes yes; all these are just so many phrases.
+You must remember that I am a sick man, mother. I can't be much taken up
+with other people; I have enough to do thinking about myself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In a low voice.] I shall be patient and easily satisfied.
+
+OSWALD. And cheerful too, mother!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. [Goes towards him.]
+Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The dread?
+
+OSWALD. [Walks across the room.] Regina could have been got to do it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I don't understand you. What is this about dread--and
+Regina?
+
+OSWALD. Is it very late, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. It is early morning. [She looks out through the
+conservatory.] The day is dawning over the mountains. And the weather is
+clearing, Oswald. In a little while you shall see the sun.
+
+OSWALD. I'm glad of that. Oh, I may still have much to rejoice in and
+live for--
+
+MRS. ALVING. I should think so, indeed!
+
+OSWALD. Even if I can't work--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you'll soon be able to work again, my dear boy--now
+that you haven't got all those gnawing and depressing thoughts to brood
+over any longer.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I'm glad you were able to rid me of all those fancies. And
+when I've got over this one thing more--[Sits on the sofa.] Now we will
+have a little talk, mother--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, let us. [She pushes an arm-chair towards the sofa, and
+sits down close to him.]
+
+OSWALD. And meantime the sun will be rising. And then you will know all.
+And then I shall not feel this dread any longer.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What is it that I am to know?
+
+OSWALD. [Not listening to her.] Mother, did you not say a little while
+ago, that there was nothing in the world you would not do for me, if I
+asked you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I said so!
+
+OSWALD. And you'll stick to it, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. You may rely on that, my dear and only boy! I have nothing
+in the world to live for but you alone.
+
+OSWALD. Very well, then; now you shall hear--Mother, you have a strong,
+steadfast mind, I know. Now you're to sit quite still when you hear it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What dreadful thing can it be--?
+
+OSWALD. You're not to scream out. Do you hear? Do you promise me that?
+We will sit and talk about it quietly. Do you promise me, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I promise. Only speak!
+
+OSWALD. Well, you must know that all this fatigue--and my inability to
+think of work--all that is not the illness itself--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then what is the illness itself?
+
+OSWALD. The disease I have as my birthright--[He points to his forehead
+and adds very softly]--is seated here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Almost voiceless.] Oswald! No--no!
+
+OSWALD. Don't scream. I can't bear it. Yes, mother, it is seated here
+waiting. And it may break out any day--at any moment.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, what horror--!
+
+OSWALD. Now, quiet, quiet. That is how it stands with me--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Springs up.] It's not true, Oswald! It's impossible! It
+cannot be so!
+
+OSWALD. I have had one attack down there already. It was soon over. But
+when I came to know the state I had been in, then the dread descended
+upon me, raging and ravening; and so I set off home to you as fast as I
+could.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then this is the dread--!
+
+OSWALD. Yes--it's so indescribably loathsome, you know. Oh, if it
+had only been an ordinary mortal disease--! For I'm not so afraid of
+death--though I should like to live as long as I can.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must!
+
+OSWALD. But this is so unutterably loathsome. To become a little baby
+again! To have to be fed! To have to--Oh, it's not to be spoken of!
+
+MRS. ALVING. The child has his mother to nurse him.
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up.] No, never that! That is just what I will not have.
+I can't endure to think that perhaps I should lie in that state for many
+years--and get old and grey. And in the meantime you might die and
+leave me. [Sits in MRS. ALVING'S chair.] For the doctor said it wouldn't
+necessarily prove fatal at once. He called it a sort of softening of the
+brain--or something like that. [Smiles sadly.] I think that expression
+sounds so nice. It always sets me thinking of cherry-coloured
+velvet--something soft and delicate to stroke.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks.] Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up and paces the room.] And now you have taken Regina
+from me. If I could only have had her! She would have come to the
+rescue, I know.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] What do you mean by that, my darling boy? Is
+there any help in the world that I would not give you?
+
+OSWALD. When I got over my attack in Paris, the doctor told me that when
+it comes again--and it will come--there will be no more hope.
+
+MRS. ALVING. He was heartless enough to--
+
+OSWALD. I demanded it of him. I told him I had preparations to make--[He
+smiles cunningly.] And so I had. [He takes a little box from his inner
+breast pocket and opens it.] Mother, do you see this?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What is it?
+
+OSWALD. Morphia.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looks at him horror-struck.] Oswald--my boy!
+
+OSWALD. I've scraped together twelve pilules--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Snatches at it.] Give me the box, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. Not yet, mother. [He hides the box again in his pocket.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. I shall never survive this!
+
+OSWALD. It must be survived. Now if I'd had Regina here, I should have
+told her how things stood with me--and begged her to come to the rescue
+at the last. She would have done it. I know she would.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Never!
+
+OSWALD. When the horror had come upon me, and she saw me lying there
+helpless, like a little new-born baby, impotent, lost, hopeless--past
+all saving--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Never in all the world would Regina have done this!
+
+OSWALD. Regina would have done it. Regina was so splendidly
+light-hearted. And she would soon have wearied of nursing an invalid
+like me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then heaven be praised that Regina is not here.
+
+OSWALD. Well then, it is you that must come to the rescue, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks aloud.] I!
+
+OSWALD. Who should do it if not you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I! your mother!
+
+OSWALD. For that very reason.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I, who gave you life!
+
+OSWALD. I never asked you for life. And what sort of a life have you
+given me? I will not have it! You shall take it back again!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Help! Help! [She runs out into the hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Going after her.] Do not leave me! Where are you going?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In the hall.] To fetch the doctor, Oswald! Let me pass!
+
+OSWALD. [Also outside.] You shall not go out. And no one shall come in.
+[The locking of a door is heard.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Comes in again.] Oswald! Oswald--my child!
+
+OSWALD. [Follows her.] Have you a mother's heart for me--and yet can see
+me suffer from this unutterable dread?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [After a moment's silence, commands herself, and says:]
+Here is my hand upon it.
+
+OSWALD. Will you--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If it should ever be necessary. But it will never be
+necessary. No, no; it is impossible.
+
+OSWALD. Well, let us hope so. And let us live together as long as we
+can. Thank you, mother. [He seats himself in the arm-chair which MRS.
+ALVING has moved to the sofa. Day is breaking. The lamp is still burning
+on the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Drawing near cautiously.] Do you feel calm now?
+
+OSWALD. Yes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Bending over him.] It has been a dreadful fancy of yours,
+Oswald--nothing but a fancy. All this excitement has been too much for
+you. But now you shall have a long rest; at home with your mother, my own
+blessëd boy. Everything you point to you shall have, just as when you
+were a little child.--There now. The crisis is over. You see how easily
+it passed! Oh, I was sure it would.--And do you see, Oswald, what a
+lovely day we are going to have? Brilliant sunshine! Now you can really
+see your home. [She goes to the table and puts out the lamp. Sunrise.
+The glacier and the snow-peaks in the background glow in the morning
+light.]
+
+OSWALD. [Sits in the arm-chair with his back towards the landscape,
+without moving. Suddenly he says:] Mother, give me the sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [By the table, starts and looks at him.] What do you say?
+
+OSWALD. [Repeats, in a dull, toneless voice.] The sun. The sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] Oswald, what is the matter with you?
+
+OSWALD. [Seems to shrink together to the chair; all his muscles relax;
+his face is expressionless, his eyes have a glassy stare.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Quivering with terror.] What is this? [Shrieks.] Oswald!
+what is the matter with you? [Falls on her knees beside him and shakes
+him.] Oswald! Oswald! look at me! Don't you know me?
+
+OSWALD. [Tonelessly as before.] The sun.--The sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Springs up in despair, entwines her hands in her hair and
+shrieks.] I cannot bear it! [Whispers, as though petrified]; I cannot
+bear it! Never! [Suddenly.] Where has he got them? [Fumbles hastily
+in his breast.] Here! [Shrinks back a few steps and screams:] No! No;
+no!--Yes!--No; no!
+
+[She stands a few steps away from him with her hands twisted in her
+hair, and stares at him in speechless horror.]
+
+OSWALD. [Sits motionless as before and says.] The sun.--The sun.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ghosts
+
+Author: Henrik Ibsen
+
+Translator: William Archer
+
+Release Date: August 6, 2009 [EBook #8121]
+Last Updated: October 2, 2017
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOSTS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Nicole Apostola, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      GHOSTS
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Henrik Ibsen
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      Translated, with an Introduction, by William Archer
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      Contents
+    </h2>
+    <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto">
+      <tr>
+        <td>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </a>
+          </p>
+          <br />
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>GHOSTS</b> </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT FIRST. </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT SECOND. </a>
+          </p>
+          <p class="toc">
+            <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT THIRD. </a>
+          </p>
+        </td>
+      </tr>
+    </table>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      INTRODUCTION.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The winter of 1879-80 Ibsen spent in Munich, and the greater part of the
+      summer of 1880 at Berchtesgaden. November 1880 saw him back in Rome, and
+      he passed the summer of 1881 at Sorrento. There, fourteen years earlier,
+      he had written the last acts of <i>Peer Gynt</i>; there he now wrote, or
+      at any rate completed, <i>Gengangere</i>. It was published in December
+      1881, after he had returned to Rome. On December 22 he wrote to Ludwig
+      Passarge, one of his German translators, "My new play has now appeared,
+      and has occasioned a terrible uproar in the Scandinavian press; every day
+      I receive letters and newspaper articles decrying or praising it.... I
+      consider it utterly impossible that any German theatre will accept the
+      play at present. I hardly believe that they will dare to play it in the
+      Scandinavian countries for some time to come." How rightly he judged we
+      shall see anon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the newspapers there was far more obloquy than praise. Two men,
+      however, stood by him from the first: Björnson, from whom he had been
+      practically estranged ever since <i>The League of Youth</i>, and Georg
+      Brandes. The latter published an article in which he declared (I quote
+      from memory) that the play might or might not be Ibsen's greatest work,
+      but that it was certainly his noblest deed. It was, doubtless, in
+      acknowledgment of this article that Ibsen wrote to Brandes on January 3,
+      1882: "Yesterday I had the great pleasure of receiving your brilliantly
+      clear and so warmly appreciative review of <i>Ghosts</i>.... All who read
+      your article must, it seems to me, have their eyes opened to what I meant
+      by my new book&mdash;assuming, that is, that they have any <i>wish</i> to
+      see. For I cannot get rid of the impression that a very large number of
+      the false interpretations which have appeared in the newspapers are the
+      work of people who know better. In Norway, however, I am willing to
+      believe that the stultification has in most cases been unintentional; and
+      the reason is not far to seek. In that country a great many of the critics
+      are theologians, more or less disguised; and these gentlemen are, as a
+      rule, quite unable to write rationally about creative literature. That
+      enfeeblement of judgment which, at least in the case of the average man,
+      is an inevitable consequence of prolonged occupation with theological
+      studies, betrays itself more especially in the judging of human character,
+      human actions, and human motives. Practical business judgment, on the
+      other hand, does not suffer so much from studies of this order. Therefore
+      the reverend gentlemen are very often excellent members of local boards;
+      but they are unquestionably our worst critics." This passage is
+      interesting as showing clearly the point of view from which Ibsen
+      conceived the character of Manders. In the next paragraph of the same
+      letter he discusses the attitude of "the so-called Liberal press"; but as
+      the paragraph contains the germ of <i>An Enemy of the People</i>, it may
+      most fittingly be quoted in the introduction to that play.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three days later (January 6) Ibsen wrote to Schandorph, the Danish
+      novelist: "I was quite prepared for the hubbub. If certain of our
+      Scandinavian reviewers have no talent for anything else, they have an
+      unquestionable talent for thoroughly misunderstanding and misinterpreting
+      those authors whose books they undertake to judge.... They endeavour to
+      make me responsible for the opinions which certain of the personages of my
+      drama express. And yet there is not in the whole book a single opinion, a
+      single utterance, which can be laid to the account of the author. I took
+      good care to avoid this. The very method, the order of technique which
+      imposes its form upon the play, forbids the author to appear in the
+      speeches of his characters. My object was to make the reader feel that he
+      was going through a piece of real experience; and nothing could more
+      effectually prevent such an impression than the intrusion of the author's
+      private opinions into the dialogue. Do they imagine at home that I am so
+      inexpert in the theory of drama as not to know this? Of course I know it,
+      and act accordingly. In no other play that I have written is the author so
+      external to the action, so entirely absent from it, as in this last one."
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      "They say," he continued, "that the book preaches Nihilism. Not at all. It
+      is not concerned to preach anything whatsoever. It merely points to the
+      ferment of Nihilism going on under the surface, at home as elsewhere. A
+      Pastor Manders will always goad one or other Mrs. Alving to revolt. And
+      just because she is a woman, she will, when once she has begun, go to the
+      utmost extremes."
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards the end of January Ibsen wrote from Rome to Olaf Skavlan: "These
+      last weeks have brought me a wealth of experiences, lessons, and
+      discoveries. I, of course, foresaw that my new play would call forth a
+      howl from the camp of the stagnationists; and for this I care no more
+      than for the barking of a pack of chained dogs. But the pusillanimity
+      which I have observed among the so-called Liberals has given me cause for
+      reflection. The very day after my play was published the <i>Dagblad</i>
+      rushed out a hurriedly-written article, evidently designed to purge itself
+      of all suspicion of complicity in my work. This was entirely unnecessary.
+      I myself am responsible for what I write, I and no one else. I cannot
+      possibly embarrass any party, for to no party do I belong. I stand like a
+      solitary franc-tireur at the outposts, and fight for my own hand. The only
+      man in Norway who has stood up freely, frankly, and courageously for me is
+      Björnson. It is just like him. He has in truth a great, kingly soul, and I
+      shall never forget his action in this matter."
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One more quotation completes the history of these stirring January days,
+      as written by Ibsen himself. It occurs in a letter to a Danish journalist,
+      Otto Borchsenius. "It may well be," the poet writes, "that the play is in
+      several respects rather daring. But it seemed to me that the time had come
+      for moving some boundary-posts. And this was an undertaking for which a
+      man of the older generation, like myself, was better fitted than the many
+      younger authors who might desire to do something of the kind. I was
+      prepared for a storm; but such storms one must not shrink from
+      encountering. That would be cowardice."
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened that, just in these days, the present writer had frequent
+      opportunities of conversing with Ibsen, and of hearing from his own lips
+      almost all the views expressed in the above extracts. He was especially
+      emphatic, I remember, in protesting against the notion that the opinions
+      expressed by Mrs. Alving or Oswald were to be attributed to himself. He
+      insisted, on the contrary, that Mrs. Alving's views were merely typical of
+      the moral chaos inevitably produced by re-action from the narrow
+      conventionalism represented by Manders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With one consent, the leading theatres of the three Scandinavian capitals
+      declined to have anything to do with the play. It was more than eighteen
+      months old before it found its way to the stage at all. In August 1883 it
+      was acted for the first time at Helsingborg, Sweden, by a travelling
+      company under the direction of an eminent Swedish actor, August Lindberg,
+      who himself played Oswald. He took it on tour round the principal cities
+      of Scandinavia, playing it, among the rest, at a minor theatre in
+      Christiania. It happened that the boards of the Christiania Theatre were
+      at the same time occupied by a French farce; and public demonstrations of
+      protest were made against the managerial policy which gave <i>Tête de
+      Linotte</i> the preference over <i>Gengangere</i>. Gradually the prejudice
+      against the play broke down. Already in the autumn of 1883 it was produced
+      at the Royal (Dramatiska) Theatre in Stockholm. When the new National
+      Theatre was opened in Christiania in 1899, <i>Gengangere</i> found an
+      early place in its repertory; and even the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen has
+      since opened its doors to the tragedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not until April 1886 was <i>Gespenster</i> acted in Germany, and then only
+      at a private performance, at the Stadttheater, Augsburg, the poet himself
+      being present. In the following winter it was acted at the famous Court
+      Theatre at Meiningen, again in the presence of the poet. The first
+      (private) performance in Berlin took place on January 9, 1887, at the
+      Residenz Theater; and when the Freie Bühne, founded on the model of the
+      Paris Theatre Libre, began its operations two years later (September 29,
+      1889), <i>Gespenster</i> was the first play that it produced. The Freie
+      Bühne gave the initial impulse to the whole modern movement which has
+      given Germany a new dramatic literature; and the leaders of the movement,
+      whether authors or critics, were one and all ardent disciples of Ibsen,
+      who regarded <i>Gespenster</i> as his typical masterpiece. In Germany,
+      then, the play certainly did, in Ibsen's own words, "move some
+      boundary-posts." The Prussian censorship presently withdrew its veto, and
+      on November 27, 1894, the two leading literary theatres of Berlin, the
+      Deutsches Theater and the Lessing Theater, gave simultaneous performances
+      of the tragedy. Everywhere in Germany and Austria it is now freely
+      performed; but it is naturally one of the least popular of Ibsen's plays.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with <i>Les Revenants</i> that Ibsen made his first appearance on
+      the French stage. The play was produced by the Théâtre Libre (at the
+      Théâtre des Menus-Plaisirs) on May 29, 1890. Here, again, it became the
+      watchword of the new school of authors and critics, and aroused a good
+      deal of opposition among the old school. But the most hostile French
+      criticisms were moderation itself compared with the torrents of abuse
+      which were poured upon <i>Ghosts</i> by the journalists of London when, on
+      March 13, 1891, the Independent Theatre, under the direction of Mr. J. T.
+      Grein, gave a private performance of the play at the Royalty Theatre,
+      Soho. I have elsewhere [Note: See "The Mausoleum of Ibsen," <i>Fortnightly
+      Review</i>, August 1893. See also Mr. Bernard Shaw's <i>Quintessence of
+      Ibsenism</i>, p. 89, and my introduction to Ghosts in the single-volume
+      edition.] placed upon record some of the amazing feats of vituperation
+      achieved of the critics, and will not here recall them. It is sufficient
+      to say that if the play had been a tenth part as nauseous as the epithets
+      hurled at it and its author, the Censor's veto would have been amply
+      justified. That veto is still (1906) in force. England enjoys the proud
+      distinction of being the one country in the world where <i>Ghosts</i> may
+      not be publicly acted. In the United States, the first performance of the
+      play in English took place at the Berkeley Lyceum, New York City, on
+      January 5, 1894. The production was described by Mr. W. D. Howells as "a
+      great theatrical event&mdash;the very greatest I have ever known." Other
+      leading men of letters were equally impressed by it. Five years later, a
+      second production took place at the Carnegie Lyceum; and an adventurous
+      manager has even taken the play on tour in the United States. The Italian
+      version of the tragedy, <i>Gli Spettri</i>, has ever since 1892 taken a
+      prominent place in the repertory of the great actors Zaccone and Novelli,
+      who have acted it, not only throughout Italy, but in Austria, Germany,
+      Russia, Spain, and South America.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an interview, published immediately after Ibsen's death, Björnstjerne
+      Björnson, questioned as to what he held to be his brother-poet's greatest
+      work, replied, without a moment's hesitation, <i>Gengangere</i>. This
+      dictum can scarcely, I think, be accepted without some qualification. Even
+      confining our attention to the modern plays, and leaving out of comparison
+      <i>The Pretenders</i>, <i>Brand</i>, and <i>Peer Gynt</i>, we can scarcely
+      call <i>Ghosts</i> Ibsen's richest or most human play, and certainly not
+      his profoundest or most poetical. If some omnipotent Censorship decreed
+      the annihilation of all his works save one, few people, I imagine, would
+      vote that that one should be <i>Ghosts</i>. Even if half a dozen works
+      were to be saved from the wreck, I doubt whether I, for my part, would
+      include <i>Ghosts</i> in the list. It is, in my judgment, a little bare,
+      hard, austere. It is the first work in which Ibsen applies his new
+      technical method&mdash;evolved, as I have suggested, during the
+      composition of <i>A Doll's House</i>&mdash;and he applies it with
+      something of fanaticism. He is under the sway of a prosaic ideal&mdash;confessed
+      in the phrase, "My object was to make the reader feel that he was going
+      through a piece of real experience"&mdash;and he is putting some
+      constraint upon the poet within him. The action moves a little stiffly,
+      and all in one rhythm. It lacks variety and suppleness. Moreover, the play
+      affords some slight excuse for the criticism which persists in regarding
+      Ibsen as a preacher rather than as a creator&mdash;an author who cares
+      more for ideas and doctrines than for human beings. Though Mrs. Alving,
+      Engstrand and Regina are rounded and breathing characters, it cannot be
+      denied that Manders strikes one as a clerical type rather than an
+      individual, while even Oswald might not quite unfairly be described as
+      simply and solely his father's son, an object-lesson in heredity. We
+      cannot be said to know him, individually and intimately, as we know Helmer
+      or Stockmann, Hialmar Ekdal or Gregors Werle. Then, again, there are one
+      or two curious flaws in the play. The question whether Oswald's "case" is
+      one which actually presents itself in the medical books seems to me of
+      very trifling moment. It is typically true, even if it be not true in
+      detail. The suddenness of the catastrophe may possibly be exaggerated, its
+      premonitions and even its essential nature may be misdescribed. On the
+      other hand, I conceive it probable that the poet had documents to found
+      upon, which may be unknown to his critics. I have never taken any pains to
+      satisfy myself upon the point, which seems to me quite immaterial. There
+      is not the slightest doubt that the life-history of a Captain Alving may,
+      and often does, entail upon posterity consequences quite as tragic as
+      those which ensue in Oswald's case, and far more wide-spreading. That
+      being so, the artistic justification of the poet's presentment of the case
+      is certainly not dependent on its absolute scientific accuracy. The flaws
+      above alluded to are of another nature. One of them is the prominence
+      given to the fact that the Asylum is uninsured. No doubt there is some
+      symbolical purport in the circumstance; but I cannot think that it is
+      either sufficiently clear or sufficiently important to justify the
+      emphasis thrown upon it at the end of the second act. Another dubious
+      point is Oswald's argument in the first act as to the expensiveness of
+      marriage as compared with free union. Since the parties to free union, as
+      he describes it, accept all the responsibilities of marriage, and only
+      pretermit the ceremony, the difference of expense, one would suppose, must
+      be neither more nor less than the actual marriage fee. I have never seen
+      this remark of Oswald's adequately explained, either as a matter of
+      economic fact, or as a trait of character. Another blemish, of somewhat
+      greater moment, is the inconceivable facility with which, in the third
+      act, Manders suffers himself to be victimised by Engstrand. All these
+      little things, taken together, detract, as it seems to me, from the
+      artistic completeness of the play, and impair its claim to rank as the
+      poet's masterpiece. Even in prose drama, his greatest and most consummate
+      achievements were yet to come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Must we, then, wholly dissent from Björnson's judgment? I think not. In a
+      historical, if not in an aesthetic, sense, <i>Ghosts</i> may well rank as
+      Ibsen's greatest work. It was the play which first gave the full measure
+      of his technical and spiritual originality and daring. It has done far
+      more than any other of his plays to "move boundary-posts." It has advanced
+      the frontiers of dramatic art and implanted new ideals, both technical and
+      intellectual, in the minds of a whole generation of playwrights. It ranks
+      with <i>Hernani</i> and <i>La Dame aux Camélias</i> among the epoch-making
+      plays of the nineteenth century, while in point of essential originality
+      it towers above them. We cannot, I think, get nearer to the truth than
+      Georg Brandes did in the above-quoted phrase from his first notice of the
+      play, describing it as not, perhaps, the poet's greatest work, but
+      certainly his noblest deed. In another essay, Brandes has pointed to it,
+      with equal justice, as marking Ibsen's final breach with his early&mdash;one
+      might almost say his hereditary romanticism. He here becomes, at last,
+      "the most modern of the moderns." "This, I am convinced," says the Danish
+      critic, "is his imperishable glory, and will give lasting life to his
+      works."
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div class="play">
+      <h2>
+        GHOSTS
+      </h2>
+      <h3>
+        A FAMILY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.
+      </h3>
+      (1881) CHARACTERS.
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+  MRS. HELEN ALVING, widow of Captain Alving, late Chamberlain to
+  the King. [Note: Chamberlain (Kammerherre) is the only title of
+  honour now existing in Norway. It is a distinction conferred by the
+  King on men of wealth and position, and is not hereditary.]
+  OSWALD ALVING, her son, a painter.
+  PASTOR MANDERS.
+  JACOB ENGSTRAND, a carpenter.
+  REGINA ENGSTRAND, Mrs. Alving's maid.
+</pre>
+      <p>
+        The action takes place at Mrs. Alving's country house, beside one of the
+        large fjords in Western Norway.
+      </p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+      <div style="height: 4em;">
+        <br /><br /><br /><br />
+      </div>
+      <h2>
+        ACT FIRST.
+      </h2>
+      <p>
+        [A spacious garden-room, with one door to the left, and two doors to the
+        right. In the middle of the room a round table, with chairs about it. On
+        the table lie books, periodicals, and newspapers. In the foreground to
+        the left a window, and by it a small sofa, with a worktable in front of
+        it. In the background, the room is continued into a somewhat narrower
+        conservatory, the walls of which are formed by large panes of glass. In
+        the right-hand wall of the conservatory is a door leading down into the
+        garden. Through the glass wall a gloomy fjord landscape is faintly
+        visible, veiled by steady rain.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [ENGSTRAND, the carpenter, stands by the garden door. His left leg is
+        somewhat bent; he has a clump of wood under the sole of his boot.
+        REGINA, with an empty garden syringe in her hand, hinders him from
+        advancing.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [In a low voice.] What do you want? Stop where you are. You're
+        positively dripping.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. It's the Lord's own rain, my girl.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. It's the devil's rain, <i>I</i> say.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Lord, how you talk, Regina. [Limps a step or two forward into
+        the room.] It's just this as I wanted to say&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Don't clatter so with that foot of yours, I tell you! The young
+        master's asleep upstairs.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Asleep? In the middle of the day?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. It's no business of yours.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. I was out on the loose last night&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I can quite believe that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes, we're weak vessels, we poor mortals, my girl&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. So it seems.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND.&mdash;and temptations are manifold in this world, you see.
+        But all the same, I was hard at work, God knows, at half-past five this
+        morning.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Very well; only be off now. I won't stop here and have <i>rendezvous's</i>
+        [Note: This and other French words by Regina are in that language in the
+        original] with you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. What do you say you won't have?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I won't have any one find you here; so just you go about your
+        business.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Advances a step or two.] Blest if I go before I've had a
+        talk with you. This afternoon I shall have finished my work at the
+        school house, and then I shall take to-night's boat and be off home to
+        the town.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Mutters.] Pleasant journey to you!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Thank you, my child. To-morrow the Orphanage is to be opened,
+        and then there'll be fine doings, no doubt, and plenty of intoxicating
+        drink going, you know. And nobody shall say of Jacob Engstrand that he
+        can't keep out of temptation's way.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. You see, there's to be heaps of grand folks here to-morrow.
+        Pastor Manders is expected from town, too.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. He's coming to-day.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. There, you see! And I should be cursedly sorry if he found
+        out anything against me, don't you understand?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oho! is that your game?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Is what my game?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Looking hard at him.] What are you going to fool Pastor Manders
+        into doing, this time?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Sh! sh! Are you crazy? Do <i>I</i> want to fool Pastor
+        Manders? Oh no! Pastor Manders has been far too good a friend to me for
+        that. But I just wanted to say, you know&mdash;that I mean to be off
+        home again to-night.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. The sooner the better, say I.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes, but I want you with me, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Open-mouthed.] You want me&mdash;? What are you talking about?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. I want you to come home with me, I say.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Scornfully.] Never in this world shall you get me home with
+        you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Oh, we'll see about that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, you may be sure we'll see about it! Me, that have been
+        brought up by a lady like Mrs. Alving! Me, that am treated almost as a
+        daughter here! Is it me you want to go home with you?&mdash;to a house
+        like yours? For shame!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. What the devil do you mean? Do you set yourself up against
+        your father, you hussy?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Mutters without looking at him.] You've said often enough I was
+        no concern of yours.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Pooh! Why should you bother about that&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Haven't you many a time sworn at me and called me a&mdash;? <i>Fi
+        donc</i>!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Curse me, now, if ever I used such an ugly word.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, I remember very well what word you used.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Well, but that was only when I was a bit on, don't you know?
+        Temptations are manifold in this world, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Ugh!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. And besides, it was when your mother was that aggravating&mdash;I
+        had to find something to twit her with, my child. She was always setting
+        up for a fine lady. [Mimics.] "Let me go, Engstrand; let me be. Remember
+        I was three years in Chamberlain Alving's family at Rosenvold."
+        [Laughs.] Mercy on us! She could never forget that the Captain was made
+        a Chamberlain while she was in service here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Poor mother! you very soon tormented her into her grave.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [With a twist of his shoulders.] Oh, of course! I'm to have
+        the blame for everything.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Turns away; half aloud.] Ugh&mdash;! And that leg too!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. What do you say, my child?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. <i>Pied de mouton</i>.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Is that English, eh?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Ay, ay; you've picked up some learning out here; and that may
+        come in useful now, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [After a short silence.] What do you want with me in town?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Can you ask what a father wants with his only child? A'n't I
+        a lonely, forlorn widower?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, don't try on any nonsense like that with me! Why do you want
+        me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Well, let me tell you, I've been thinking of setting up in a
+        new line of business.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Contemptuously.] You've tried that often enough, and much good
+        you've done with it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes, but this time you shall see, Regina! Devil take me&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Stamps.] Stop your swearing!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Hush, hush; you're right enough there, my girl. What I wanted
+        to say was just this&mdash;I've laid by a very tidy pile from this
+        Orphanage job.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Have you? That's a good thing for you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. What can a man spend his ha'pence on here in this country
+        hole?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Well, what then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Why, you see, I thought of putting the money into some paying
+        speculation. I thought of a sort of a sailor's tavern&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Pah!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. A regular high-class affair, of course; not any sort of
+        pig-sty for common sailors. No! damn it! it would be for captains and
+        mates, and&mdash;and&mdash;regular swells, you know.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. And I was to&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. You were to help, to be sure. Only for the look of the thing,
+        you understand. Devil a bit of hard work shall you have, my girl. You
+        shall do exactly what you like.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, indeed!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. But there must be a petticoat in the house; that's as clear
+        as daylight. For I want to have it a bit lively like in the evenings,
+        with singing and dancing, and so on. You must remember they're weary
+        wanderers on the ocean of life. [Nearer.] Now don't be a fool and stand
+        in your own light, Regina. What's to become of you out here? Your
+        mistress has given you a lot of learning; but what good is that to you?
+        You're to look after the children at the new Orphanage, I hear. Is that
+        the sort of thing for you, eh? Are you so dead set on wearing your life
+        out for a pack of dirty brats?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. No; if things go as I want them to&mdash;Well there's no saying&mdash;there's
+        no saying.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. What do you mean by "there's no saying"?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Never you mind.&mdash;How much money have you saved?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. What with one thing and another, a matter of seven or eight
+        hundred crowns. [A "krone" is equal to one shilling and
+        three-halfpence.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. That's not so bad.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. It's enough to make a start with, my girl.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Aren't you thinking of giving me any?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. No, I'm blest if I am!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Not even of sending me a scrap of stuff for a new dress?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Come to town with me, my lass, and you'll soon get dresses
+        enough.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Pooh! I can do that on my own account, if I want to.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. No, a father's guiding hand is what you want, Regina. Now,
+        I've got my eye on a capital house in Little Harbour Street. They don't
+        want much ready-money; and it could be a sort of a Sailors' Home, you
+        know.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. But I will not live with you! I have nothing whatever to do with
+        you. Be off!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. You wouldn't stop long with me, my girl. No such luck! If you
+        knew how to play your cards, such a fine figure of a girl as you've
+        grown in the last year or two&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. You'd soon get hold of some mate&mdash;or maybe even a
+        captain&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I won't marry any one of that sort. Sailors have no <i>savoir
+        vivre</i>.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. What's that they haven't got?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I know what sailors are, I tell you. They're not the sort of
+        people to marry.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Then never mind about marrying them. You can make it pay all
+        the same. [More confidentially.] He&mdash;the Englishman&mdash;the man
+        with the yacht&mdash;he came down with three hundred dollars, he did;
+        and she wasn't a bit handsomer than you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Making for him.] Out you go!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Falling back.] Come, come! You're not going to hit me, I
+        hope.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, if you begin talking about mother I shall hit you. Get away
+        with you, I say! [Drives him back towards the garden door.] And don't
+        slam the doors. Young Mr. Alving&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. He's asleep; I know. You're mightily taken up about young Mr.
+        Alving&mdash;[More softly.] Oho! you don't mean to say it's him as&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Be off this minute! You're crazy, I tell you! No, not that way.
+        There comes Pastor Manders. Down the kitchen stairs with you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Towards the right.] Yes, yes, I'm going. But just you talk
+        to him as is coming there. He's the man to tell you what a child owes
+        its father. For I am your father all the same, you know. I can prove it
+        from the church register.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [He goes out through the second door to the right, which REGINA has
+        opened, and closes again after him. REGINA glances hastily at herself in
+        the mirror, dusts herself with her pocket handkerchief; and settles her
+        necktie; then she busies herself with the flowers.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [PASTOR MANDERS, wearing an overcoat, carrying an umbrella, and with a
+        small travelling-bag on a strap over his shoulder, comes through the
+        garden door into the conservatory.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Good-morning, Miss Engstrand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Turning round, surprised and pleased.] No, really! Good
+        morning, Pastor Manders. Is the steamer in already?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It is just in. [Enters the sitting-room.] Terrible weather we
+        have been having lately.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Follows him.] It's such blessed weather for the country, sir.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No doubt; you are quite right. We townspeople give too little
+        thought to that. [He begins to take off his overcoat.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, mayn't I help you?&mdash;There! Why, how wet it is? I'll
+        just hang it up in the hall. And your umbrella, too&mdash;I'll open it
+        and let it dry.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [She goes out with the things through the second door on the right.
+        PASTOR MANDERS takes off his travelling bag and lays it and his hat on a
+        chair. Meanwhile REGINA comes in again.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Ah, it's a comfort to get safe under cover. I hope everything
+        is going on well here?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, thank you, sir.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You have your hands full, I suppose, in preparation for
+        to-morrow?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, there's plenty to do, of course.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And Mrs. Alving is at home, I trust?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh dear, yes. She's just upstairs, looking after the young
+        master's chocolate.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, by-the-bye&mdash;I heard down at the pier that Oswald had
+        arrived.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, he came the day before yesterday. We didn't expect him
+        before to-day.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Quite strong and well, I hope?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, thank you, quite; but dreadfully tired with the journey. He
+        has made one rush right through from Paris&mdash;the whole way in one
+        train, I believe. He's sleeping a little now, I think; so perhaps we'd
+        better talk a little quietly.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Sh!&mdash;as quietly as you please.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Arranging an arm-chair beside the table.] Now, do sit down,
+        Pastor Manders, and make yourself comfortable. [He sits down; she places
+        a footstool under his feet.] There! Are you comfortable now, sir?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, extremely so. [Looks at her.] Do you know, Miss
+        Engstrand, I positively believe you have grown since I last saw you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Do you think so, Sir? Mrs. Alving says I've filled out too.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Filled out? Well, perhaps a little; just enough.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [Short pause.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Shall I tell Mrs. Alving you are here?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, there is no hurry, my dear child.&mdash;By-the-bye,
+        Regina, my good girl, tell me: how is your father getting on out here?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, thank you, sir, he's getting on well enough.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. He called upon me last time he was in town.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Did he, indeed? He's always so glad of a chance of talking to
+        you, sir.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And you often look in upon him at his work, I daresay?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I? Oh, of course, when I have time, I&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Your father is not a man of strong character, Miss Engstrand.
+        He stands terribly in need of a guiding hand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, yes; I daresay he does.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. He requires some one near him whom he cares for, and whose
+        judgment he respects. He frankly admitted as much when he last came to
+        see me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, he mentioned something of the sort to me. But I don't know
+        whether Mrs. Alving can spare me; especially now that we've got the new
+        Orphanage to attend to. And then I should be so sorry to leave Mrs.
+        Alving; she has always been so kind to me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But a daughter's duty, my good girl&mdash;Of course, we should
+        first have to get your mistress's consent.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. But I don't know whether it would be quite proper for me, at my
+        age, to keep house for a single man.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What! My dear Miss Engstrand! When the man is your own father!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, that may be; but all the same&mdash;Now, if it were in a
+        thoroughly nice house, and with a real gentleman&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Why, my dear Regina&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA.&mdash;one I could love and respect, and be a daughter to&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, but my dear, good child&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Then I should be glad to go to town. It's very lonely out here;
+        you know yourself, sir, what it is to be alone in the world. And I can
+        assure you I'm both quick and willing. Don't you know of any such place
+        for me, sir?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I? No, certainly not.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. But, dear, dear Sir, do remember me if&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Rising.] Yes, yes, certainly, Miss Engstrand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. For if I&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Will you be so good as to tell your mistress I am here?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I will, at once, sir. [She goes out to the left.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Paces the room two or three times, stands a moment in the
+        background with his hands behind his back, and looks out over the
+        garden. Then he returns to the table, takes up a book, and looks at the
+        title-page; starts, and looks at several books.] Ha&mdash;indeed!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [MRS. ALVING enters by the door on the left; she is followed by REGINA,
+        who immediately goes out by the first door on the right.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Holds out her hand.] Welcome, my dear Pastor.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. How do you do, Mrs. Alving? Here I am as I promised.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Always punctual to the minute.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You may believe it was not so easy for me to get away. With all
+        the Boards and Committees I belong to&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. That makes it all the kinder of you to come so early. Now
+        we can get through our business before dinner. But where is your
+        portmanteau?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Quickly.] I left it down at the inn. I shall sleep there
+        to-night.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Suppressing a smile.] Are you really not to be persuaded,
+        even now, to pass the night under my roof?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No, no, Mrs. Alving; many thanks. I shall stay at the inn, as
+        usual. It is so conveniently near the landing-stage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, you must have your own way. But I really should have
+        thought we two old people&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Now you are making fun of me. Ah, you're naturally in great
+        spirits to-day&mdash;what with to-morrow's festival and Oswald's return.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; you can think what a delight it is to me! It's more
+        than two years since he was home last. And now he has promised to stay
+        with me all the winter.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Has he really? That is very nice and dutiful of him. For I can
+        well believe that life in Rome and Paris has very different attractions
+        from any we can offer here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Ah, but here he has his mother, you see. My own darling boy&mdash;he
+        hasn't forgotten his old mother!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It would be grievous indeed, if absence and absorption in art
+        and that sort of thing were to blunt his natural feelings.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, you may well say so. But there's nothing of that sort
+        to fear with him. I'm quite curious to see whether you know him again.
+        He'll be down presently; he's upstairs just now, resting a little on the
+        sofa. But do sit down, my dear Pastor.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Thank you. Are you quite at liberty&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Certainly. [She sits by the table.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Very well. Then let me show you&mdash;[He goes to the chair
+        where his travelling-bag lies, takes out a packet of papers, sits down
+        on the opposite side of the table, and tries to find a clear space for
+        the papers.] Now, to begin with, here is&mdash;[Breaking off.] Tell me,
+        Mrs. Alving, how do these books come to be here?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. These books? They are books I am reading.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Do you read this sort of literature?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Certainly I do.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Do you feel better or happier for such reading?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I feel, so to speak, more secure.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. That is strange. How do you mean?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, I seem to find explanation and confirmation of all
+        sorts of things I myself have been thinking. For that is the wonderful
+        part of it, Pastor Manders&mdash;there is really nothing new in these
+        books, nothing but what most people think and believe. Only most people
+        either don't formulate it to themselves, or else keep quiet about it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Great heavens! Do you really believe that most people&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I do, indeed.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But surely not in this country? Not here among us?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly; here as elsewhere.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, I really must say&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. For the rest, what do you object to in these books?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Object to in them? You surely do not suppose that I have
+        nothing better to do than to study such publications as these?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. That is to say, you know nothing of what you are
+        condemning?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I have read enough about these writings to disapprove of them.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; but your own judgment&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. My dear Mrs. Alving, there are many occasions in life when one
+        must rely upon others. Things are so ordered in this world; and it is
+        well that they are. Otherwise, what would become of society?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, well, I daresay you're right there.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Besides, I of course do not deny that there may be much that is
+        attractive in such books. Nor can I blame you for wishing to keep up
+        with the intellectual movements that are said to be going on in the
+        great world-where you have let your son pass so much of his life. But&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Lowering his voice.] But one should not talk about it, Mrs.
+        Alving. One is certainly not bound to account to everybody for what one
+        reads and thinks within one's own four walls.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Of course not; I quite agree with you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Only think, now, how you are bound to consider the interests of
+        this Orphanage, which you decided on founding at a time when&mdash;if I
+        understand you rightly&mdash;you thought very differently on spiritual
+        matters.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; I quite admit that. But it was about the Orphanage&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It was about the Orphanage we were to speak; yes. All I say is:
+        prudence, my dear lady! And now let us get to business. [Opens the
+        packet, and takes out a number of papers.] Do you see these?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. The documents?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. All&mdash;and in perfect order. I can tell you it was hard work
+        to get them in time. I had to put on strong pressure. The authorities
+        are almost morbidly scrupulous when there is any decisive step to be
+        taken. But here they are at last. [Looks through the bundle.] See! here
+        is the formal deed of gift of the parcel of ground known as Solvik in
+        the Manor of Rosenvold, with all the newly constructed buildings,
+        schoolrooms, master's house, and chapel. And here is the legal fiat for
+        the endowment and for the Bye-laws of the Institution. Will you look at
+        them? [Reads.] "Bye-laws for the Children's Home to be known as 'Captain
+        Alving's Foundation.'"
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. (Looks long at the paper.) So there it is.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I have chosen the designation "Captain" rather than
+        "Chamberlain." "Captain" looks less pretentious.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; just as you think best.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And here you have the Bank Account of the capital lying at
+        interest to cover the current expenses of the Orphanage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Thank you; but please keep it&mdash;it will be more
+        convenient.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. With pleasure. I think we will leave the money in the Bank for
+        the present. The interest is certainly not what we could wish&mdash;four
+        per cent. and six months' notice of withdrawal. If a good mortgage could
+        be found later on&mdash;of course it must be a first mortgage and an
+        unimpeachable security&mdash;then we could consider the matter.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Certainly, my dear Pastor Manders. You are the best judge
+        in these things.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I will keep my eyes open at any rate.&mdash;But now there is
+        one thing more which I have several times been intending to ask you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And what is that?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Shall the Orphanage buildings be insured or not?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Of course they must be insured.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, wait a moment, Mrs. Alving. Let us look into the matter a
+        little more closely.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I have everything insured; buildings and movables and stock
+        and crops.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Of course you have&mdash;on your own estate. And so have I&mdash;of
+        course. But here, you see, it is quite another matter. The Orphanage is
+        to be consecrated, as it were, to a higher purpose.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, but that's no reason&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. For my own part, I should certainly not see the smallest
+        impropriety in guarding against all contingencies&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No, I should think not.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But what is the general feeling in the neighbourhood? You, of
+        course, know better than I.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well&mdash;the general feeling&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Is there any considerable number of people&mdash;really
+        responsible people&mdash;who might be scandalised?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What do you mean by "really responsible people"?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, I mean people in such independent and influential
+        positions that one cannot help attaching some weight to their opinions.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. There are several people of that sort here, who would very
+        likely be shocked if&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. There, you see! In town we have many such people. Think of all
+        my colleague's adherents! People would be only too ready to interpret
+        our action as a sign that neither you nor I had the right faith in a
+        Higher Providence.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But for your own part, my dear Pastor, you can at least
+        tell yourself that&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, I know&mdash;I know; my conscience would be quite easy,
+        that is true enough. But nevertheless we should not escape grave
+        misinterpretation; and that might very likely react unfavourably upon
+        the Orphanage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, in that case&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Nor can I entirely lose sight of the difficult&mdash;I may even
+        say painful&mdash;position in which <i>I</i> might perhaps be placed. In
+        the leading circles of the town, people take a lively interest in this
+        Orphanage. It is, of course, founded partly for the benefit of the town,
+        as well; and it is to be hoped it will, to a considerable extent, result
+        in lightening our Poor Rates. Now, as I have been your adviser, and have
+        had the business arrangements in my hands, I cannot but fear that I may
+        have to bear the brunt of fanaticism&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, you mustn't run the risk of that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. To say nothing of the attacks that would assuredly be made upon
+        me in certain papers and periodicals, which&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Enough, my dear Pastor Manders. That consideration is quite
+        decisive.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Then you do not wish the Orphanage to be insured?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No. We will let it alone.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Leaning back in his chair.] But if, now, a disaster were to
+        happen? One can never tell&mdash;Should you be able to make good the
+        damage?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No; I tell you plainly I should do nothing of the kind.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Then I must tell you, Mrs. Alving&mdash;we are taking no small
+        responsibility upon ourselves.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do you think we can do otherwise?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No, that is just the point; we really cannot do otherwise. We
+        ought not to expose ourselves to misinterpretation; and we have no right
+        whatever to give offence to the weaker brethren.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You, as a clergyman, certainly should not.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I really think, too, we may trust that such an institution has
+        fortune on its side; in fact, that it stands under a special providence.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Let us hope so, Pastor Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Then we will let it take its chance?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Very well. So be it. [Makes a note.] Then&mdash;no insurance.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. It's odd that you should just happen to mention the matter
+        to-day&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I have often thought of asking you about it&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING.&mdash;for we very nearly had a fire down there yesterday.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You don't say so!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, it was a trifling matter. A heap of shavings had caught
+        fire in the carpenter's workshop.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Where Engstrand works?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes. They say he's often very careless with matches.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. He has so much on his mind, that man&mdash;so many things to
+        fight against. Thank God, he is now striving to lead a decent life, I
+        hear.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Indeed! Who says so?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. He himself assures me of it. And he is certainly a capital
+        workman.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; so long as he's sober&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Ah, that melancholy weakness! But, he is often driven to it by
+        his injured leg, he says. Last time he was in town I was really
+        touched by him. He came and thanked me so warmly for having got him work
+        here, so that he might be near Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. He doesn't see much of her.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Oh, yes; he has a talk with her every day. He told me so
+        himself.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, it may be so.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. He feels so acutely that he needs some one to keep a firm hold
+        on him when temptation comes. That is what I cannot help liking about
+        Jacob Engstrand: he comes to you so helplessly, accusing himself and
+        confessing his own weakness. The last time he was talking to me&mdash;Believe
+        me, Mrs. Alving, supposing it were a real necessity for him to have
+        Regina home again&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Rising hastily.] Regina!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS.&mdash;you must not set yourself against it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Indeed I shall set myself against it. And besides&mdash;Regina
+        is to have a position in the Orphanage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But, after all, remember he is her father&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, I know very well what sort of a father he has been to
+        her. No! She shall never go to him with my goodwill.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Rising.] My dear lady, don't take the matter so warmly. You
+        sadly misjudge poor Engstrand. You seem to be quite terrified&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [More quietly.] It makes no difference. I have taken Regina
+        into my house, and there she shall stay. [Listens.] Hush, my dear Mr.
+        Manders; say no more about it. [Her face lights up with gladness.]
+        Listen! there is Oswald coming downstairs. Now we'll think of no one but
+        him.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand, and smoking a large
+        meerschaum, enters by the door on the left; he stops in the doorway.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, I beg your pardon; I thought you were in the study. [Comes
+        forward.] Good-morning, Pastor Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Staring.] Ah&mdash;! How strange&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well now, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I&mdash;I&mdash;can it really be&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, it's really the Prodigal Son, sir.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Protesting.] My dear young friend&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well, then, the Lost Sheep Found.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so much
+        opposed to his becoming a painter.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. To our human eyes many a step seems dubious, which afterwards
+        proves&mdash;[Wrings his hand.] But first of all, welcome, welcome home!
+        Do not think, my dear Oswald&mdash;I suppose I may call you by your
+        Christian name?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. What else should you call me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Very good. What I wanted to say was this, my dear Oswald--you
+        must not think that I utterly condemn the artist's calling. I have no
+        doubt there are many who can keep their inner self unharmed in that
+        profession, as in any other.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Let us hope so.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Beaming with delight.] I know one who has kept both his
+        inner and his outer self unharmed. Just look at him, Mr. Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Moves restlessly about the room.] Yes, yes, my dear mother;
+        let's say no more about it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Why, certainly&mdash;that is undeniable. And you have begun to
+        make a name for yourself already. The newspapers have often spoken of
+        you, most favourably. Just lately, by-the-bye, I fancy I haven't seen
+        your name quite so often.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Up in the conservatory.] I haven't been able to paint so much
+        lately.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Even a painter needs a little rest now and then.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No doubt, no doubt. And meanwhile he can be preparing himself
+        and mustering his forces for some great work.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes.&mdash;Mother, will dinner soon be ready?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. In less than half an hour. He has a capital appetite, thank
+        God.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And a taste for tobacco, too.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I found my father's pipe in my room&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Aha&mdash;then that accounts for it!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. For what?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. When Oswald appeared there, in the doorway, with the pipe in
+        his mouth, I could have sworn I saw his father, large as life.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. No, really?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, how can you say so? Oswald takes after me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of the mouth&mdash;something
+        about the lips&mdash;that reminds one exactly of Alving: at any rate,
+        now that he is smoking.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Not in the least. Oswald has rather a clerical curve about
+        his mouth, I think.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, yes; some of my colleagues have much the same expression.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But put your pipe away, my dear boy; I won't have smoking
+        in here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Does so.] By all means. I only wanted to try it; for I once
+        smoked it when I was a child.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes. I was quite small at the time. I recollect I came up to
+        father's room one evening when he was in great spirits.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, you can't recollect anything of those times.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, I recollect it distinctly. He took me on his knee, and gave
+        me the pipe. "Smoke, boy," he said; "smoke away, boy!" And I smoked as
+        hard as I could, until I felt I was growing quite pale, and the
+        perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead. Then he burst out
+        laughing heartily&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. That was most extraordinary.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My dear friend, it's only something Oswald has dreamt.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. No, mother, I assure you I didn't dream it. For&mdash;don't you
+        remember this?&mdash;you came and carried me out into the nursery. Then
+        I was sick, and I saw that you were crying.&mdash;Did father often play
+        such practical jokes?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. In his youth he overflowed with the joy of life&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And yet he managed to do so much in the world; so much that was
+        good and useful; although he died so early.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, you have inherited the name of an energetic and admirable
+        man, my dear Oswald Alving. No doubt it will be an incentive to you&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. It ought to, indeed.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It was good of you to come home for the ceremony in his honour.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I could do no less for my father.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And I am to keep him so long! That is the best of all.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You are going to pass the winter at home, I hear.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. My stay is indefinite, sir. But, ah! it is good to be at home!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Beaming.] Yes, isn't it, dear?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Looking sympathetically at him.] You went out into the world
+        early, my dear Oswald.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I did. I sometimes wonder whether it wasn't too early.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, not at all. A healthy lad is all the better for it;
+        especially when he's an only child. He oughtn't to hang on at home with
+        his mother and father, and get spoilt.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. That is a very disputable point, Mrs. Alving. A child's proper
+        place is, and must be, the home of his fathers.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. There I quite agree with you, Pastor Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Only look at your own son&mdash;there is no reason why we
+        should not say it in his presence&mdash;what has the consequence been
+        for him? He is six or seven and twenty, and has never had the
+        opportunity of learning what a well-ordered home really is.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I beg your pardon, Pastor; there you're quite mistaken.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Indeed? I thought you had lived almost exclusively in artistic
+        circles.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. So I have.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And chiefly among the younger artists?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, certainly.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But I thought few of those young fellows could afford to set up
+        house and support a family.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. There are many who cannot afford to marry, sir.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, that is just what I say.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. But they may have a home for all that. And several of them have,
+        as a matter of fact; and very pleasant, well-ordered homes they are,
+        too.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [MRS. ALVING follows with breathless interest; nods, but says nothing.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But I'm not talking of bachelors' quarters. By a "home" I
+        understand the home of a family, where a man lives with his wife and
+        children.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes; or with his children and his children's mother.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Starts; clasps his hands.] But, good heavens&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Lives with&mdash;his children's mother!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes. Would you have him turn his children's mother out of doors?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Then it is illicit relations you are talking of! Irregular
+        marriages, as people call them!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I have never noticed anything particularly irregular about the
+        life these people lead.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But how is it possible that a&mdash;a young man or young woman
+        with any decency of feeling can endure to live in that way?&mdash;in the
+        eyes of all the world!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. What are they to do? A poor young artist&mdash;a poor girl&mdash;marriage
+        costs a great deal. What are they to do?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What are they to do? Let me tell you, Mr. Alving, what they
+        ought to do. They ought to exercise self-restraint from the first; that
+        is what they ought to do.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. That doctrine will scarcely go down with warm-blooded young
+        people who love each other.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No, scarcely!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Continuing.] How can the authorities tolerate such things!
+        Allow them to go on in the light of day! [Confronting MRS. ALVING.] Had
+        I not cause to be deeply concerned about your son? In circles where open
+        immorality prevails, and has even a sort of recognised position&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Let me tell you, sir, that I have been in the habit of spending
+        nearly all my Sundays in one or two such irregular homes&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Sunday of all days!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Isn't that the day to enjoy one's self? Well, never have I heard
+        an offensive word, and still less have I witnessed anything that could
+        be called immoral. No; do you know when and where I have come across
+        immorality in artistic circles?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No, thank heaven, I don't!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well, then, allow me to inform you. I have met with it when one
+        or other of our pattern husbands and fathers has come to Paris to have a
+        look round on his own account, and has done the artists the honour of
+        visiting their humble haunts. They knew what was what. These gentlemen
+        could tell us all about places and things we had never dreamt of.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What! Do you mean to say that respectable men from home here
+        would&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Have you never heard these respectable men, when they got home
+        again, talking about the way in which immorality runs rampant abroad?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, no doubt&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I have too.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well, you may take their word for it. They know what they are
+        talking about! [Presses his hands to his head.] Oh! that that great,
+        free, glorious life out there should be defiled in such a way!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You mustn't get excited, Oswald. It's not good for you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes; you're quite right, mother. It's bad for me, I know. You
+        see, I'm wretchedly worn out. I shall go for a little turn before
+        dinner. Excuse me, Pastor: I know you can't take my point of view; but I
+        couldn't help speaking out. [He goes out by the second door to the
+        right.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My poor boy!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You may well say so. Then this is what he has come to!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [MRS. ALVING looks at him silently.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Walking up and down.] He called himself the Prodigal Son.
+        Alas! alas!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [MRS. ALVING continues looking at him.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And what do you say to all this?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I say that Oswald was right in every word.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Stands still.] Right? Right! In such principles?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Here, in my loneliness, I have come to the same way of
+        thinking, Pastor Manders. But I have never dared to say anything. Well!
+        now my boy shall speak for me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You are greatly to be pitied, Mrs. Alving. But now I must speak
+        seriously to you. And now it is no longer your business manager and
+        adviser, your own and your husband's early friend, who stands before
+        you. It is the priest&mdash;the priest who stood before you in the
+        moment of your life when you had gone farthest astray.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And what has the priest to say to me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I will first stir up your memory a little. The moment is well
+        chosen. To-morrow will be the tenth anniversary of your husband's death.
+        To-morrow the memorial in his honour will be unveiled. To-morrow I shall
+        have to speak to the whole assembled multitude. But to-day I will speak
+        to you alone.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Very well, Pastor Manders. Speak.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Do you remember that after less than a year of married life you
+        stood on the verge of an abyss? That you forsook your house and home?
+        That you fled from your husband? Yes, Mrs. Alving&mdash;fled, fled, and
+        refused to return to him, however much he begged and prayed you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Have you forgotten how infinitely miserable I was in that
+        first year?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It is the very mark of the spirit of rebellion to crave for
+        happiness in this life. What right have we human beings to happiness? We
+        have simply to do our duty, Mrs. Alving! And your duty was to hold
+        firmly to the man you had once chosen, and to whom you were bound by the
+        holiest ties.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You know very well what sort of life Alving was leading&mdash;what
+        excesses he was guilty of.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I know very well what rumours there were about him; and I am
+        the last to approve the life he led in his young days, if report did not
+        wrong him. But a wife is not appointed to be her husband's judge. It was
+        your duty to bear with humility the cross which a Higher Power had, in
+        its wisdom, laid upon you. But instead of that you rebelliously throw
+        away the cross, desert the backslider whom you should have supported, go
+        and risk your good name and reputation, and&mdash;nearly succeed in
+        ruining other people's reputation into the bargain.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Other people's? One other person's, you mean.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It was incredibly reckless of you to seek refuge with me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. With our clergyman? With our intimate friend?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Just on that account. Yes, you may thank God that I possessed
+        the necessary firmness; that I succeeded in dissuading you from your
+        wild designs; and that it was vouchsafed me to lead you back to the path
+        of duty, and home to your lawful husband.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, Pastor Manders, that was certainly your work.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I was but a poor instrument in a Higher Hand. And what a
+        blessing has it not proved to you, all the days of your life, that I
+        induced you to resume the yoke of duty and obedience! Did not everything
+        happen as I foretold? Did not Alving turn his back on his errors, as a
+        man should? Did he not live with you from that time, lovingly and
+        blamelessly, all his days? Did he not become a benefactor to the whole
+        district? And did he not help you to rise to his own level, so that you,
+        little by little, became his assistant in all his undertakings? And a
+        capital assistant, too&mdash;oh, I know, Mrs. Alving, that praise is due
+        to you.&mdash;But now I come to the next great error in your life.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What do you mean?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Just as you once disowned a wife's duty, so you have since
+        disowned a mother's.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Ah&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You have been all your life under the dominion of a pestilent
+        spirit of self-will. The whole bias of your mind has been towards
+        insubordination and lawlessness. You have never known how to endure any
+        bond. Everything that has weighed upon you in life you have cast away
+        without care or conscience, like a burden you were free to throw off at
+        will. It did not please you to be a wife any longer, and you left your
+        husband. You found it troublesome to be a mother, and you sent your
+        child forth among strangers.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. I did so.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And thus you have become a stranger to him.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No! no! I am not.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, you are; you must be. And in what state of mind has he
+        returned to you? Bethink yourself well, Mrs. Alving. You sinned greatly
+        against your husband;&mdash;that you recognise by raising yonder
+        memorial to him. Recognise now, also, how you have sinned against your
+        son&mdash;there may yet be time to lead him back from the paths of
+        error. Turn back yourself, and save what may yet be saved in him. For
+        [With uplifted forefinger] verily, Mrs. Alving, you are a guilt-laden
+        mother! This I have thought it my duty to say to you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [Silence.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Slowly and with self-control.] You have now spoken out,
+        Pastor Manders; and to-morrow you are to speak publicly in memory of my
+        husband. I shall not speak to-morrow. But now I will speak frankly to
+        you, as you have spoken to me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. To be sure; you will plead excuses for your conduct&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No. I will only tell you a story.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. All that you have just said about my husband and me, and
+        our life after you had brought me back to the path of duty&mdash;as you
+        called it&mdash;about all that you know nothing from personal
+        observation. From that moment you, who had been our intimate friend,
+        never set foot in our house gain.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You and your husband left the town immediately after.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; and in my husband's lifetime you never came to see us.
+        It was business that forced you to visit me when you undertook the
+        affairs of the Orphanage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Helen&mdash;if that is meant as a
+        reproach, I would beg you to bear in mind&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING.&mdash;the regard you owed to your position, yes; and that I
+        was a runaway wife. One can never be too cautious with such unprincipled
+        creatures.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. My dear&mdash;Mrs. Alving, you know that is an absurd
+        exaggeration&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well well, suppose it is. My point is that your judgment as
+        to my married life is founded upon nothing but common knowledge and
+        report.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I admit that. What then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, then, Pastor Manders&mdash;I will tell you the truth.
+        I have sworn to myself that one day you should know it&mdash;you alone!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What is the truth, then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. The truth is that my husband died just as dissolute as he
+        had lived all his days.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Feeling after a chair.] What do you say?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. After nineteen years of marriage, as dissolute&mdash;in his
+        desires at any rate&mdash;as he was before you married us.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And those-those wild oats&mdash;those irregularities&mdash;those
+        excesses, if you like&mdash;you call "a dissolute life"?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Our doctor used the expression.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I do not understand you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You need not.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It almost makes me dizzy. Your whole married life, the seeming
+        union of all these years, was nothing more than a hidden abyss!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Neither more nor less. Now you know it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. This is&mdash;this is inconceivable to me. I cannot grasp it! I
+        cannot realise it! But how was it possible to&mdash;? How could such a
+        state of things be kept secret?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. That has been my ceaseless struggle, day after day. After
+        Oswald's birth, I thought Alving seemed to be a little better. But it
+        did not last long. And then I had to struggle twice as hard, fighting as
+        though for life or death, so that nobody should know what sort of man my
+        child's father was. And you know what power Alving had of winning
+        people's hearts. Nobody seemed able to believe anything but good of him.
+        He was one of those people whose life does not bite upon their
+        reputation. But at last, Mr. Manders&mdash;for you must know the whole
+        story&mdash;the most repulsive thing of all happened.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. More repulsive than what you have told me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I had gone on bearing with him, although I knew very well
+        the secrets of his life out of doors. But when he brought the scandal
+        within our own walls&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Impossible! Here!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; here in our own home. It was there [Pointing towards
+        the first door on the right], in the dining-room, that I first came to
+        know of it. I was busy with something in there, and the door was
+        standing ajar. I heard our housemaid come up from the garden, with water
+        for those flowers.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Soon after, I heard Alving come in too. I heard him say
+        something softly to her. And then I heard&mdash;[With a short laugh]&mdash;oh!
+        it still sounds in my ears, so hateful and yet so ludicrous&mdash;I
+        heard my own servant-maid whisper, "Let me go, Mr. Alving! Let me be!"
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What unseemly levity on his part! But it cannot have been more
+        than levity, Mrs. Alving; believe me, it cannot.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I soon knew what to believe. Mr. Alving had his way with
+        the girl; and that connection had consequences, Mr. Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [As though petrified.] Such things in this house&mdash;in this
+        house!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I had borne a great deal in this house. To keep him at home
+        in the evenings, and at night, I had to make myself his boon companion
+        in his secret orgies up in his room. There I have had to sit alone with
+        him, to clink glasses and drink with him, and to listen to his ribald,
+        silly talk. I have had to fight with him to get him dragged to bed&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Moved.] And you were able to bear all this!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I had to bear it for my little boy's sake. But when the
+        last insult was added; when my own servant-maid&mdash;; then I swore to
+        myself: This shall come to an end! And so I took the reins into my own
+        hand&mdash;the whole control&mdash;over him and everything else. For now
+        I had a weapon against him, you see; he dared not oppose me. It was then
+        I sent Oswald away from home. He was nearly seven years old, and was
+        beginning to observe and ask questions, as children do. That I could not
+        bear. It seemed to me the child must be poisoned by merely breathing the
+        air of this polluted home. That was why I sent him away. And now you can
+        see, too, why he was never allowed to set foot inside his home so long
+        as his father lived. No one knows what that cost me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You have indeed had a life of trial.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I could never have borne it if I had not had my work. For I
+        may truly say that I have worked! All the additions to the estate&mdash;all
+        the improvements&mdash;all the labour-saving appliances, that Alving was
+        so much praised for having introduced&mdash;do you suppose he had energy
+        for anything of the sort?&mdash;he, who lay all day on the sofa, reading
+        an old Court Guide! No; but I may tell you this too: when he had his
+        better intervals, it was I who urged him on; it was I who had to drag
+        the whole load when he relapsed into his evil ways, or sank into
+        querulous wretchedness.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And it is to this man that you raise a memorial?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. There you see the power of an evil conscience.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Evil&mdash;? What do you mean?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. It always seemed to me impossible but that the truth must
+        come out and be believed. So the Orphanage was to deaden all rumours and
+        set every doubt at rest.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. In that you have certainly not missed your aim, Mrs. Alving.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And besides, I had one other reason. I was determined that
+        Oswald, my own boy, should inherit nothing whatever from his father.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Then it is Alving's fortune that&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes. The sums I have spent upon the Orphanage, year by
+        year, make up the amount&mdash;I have reckoned it up precisely&mdash;the
+        amount which made Lieutenant Alving "a good match" in his day.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I don't understand&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. It was my purchase-money. I do not choose that that money
+        should pass into Oswald's hands. My son shall have everything from me&mdash;everything.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [OSWALD ALVING enters through the second door to the right; he has taken
+        of his hat and overcoat in the hall.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Going towards him.] Are you back again already? My dear,
+        dear boy!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes. What can a fellow do out of doors in this eternal rain? But
+        I hear dinner is ready. That's capital!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [With a parcel, from the dining-room.] A parcel has come for
+        you, Mrs. Alving. [Hands it to her.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [With a glance at MR. MANDERS.] No doubt copies of the ode
+        for to-morrow's ceremony.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. H'm&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. And dinner is ready.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Very well. We will come directly. I will just&mdash;[Begins
+        to open the parcel.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [To OSWALD.] Would Mr. Alving like red or white wine?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Both, if you please.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. <i>Bien</i>. Very well, sir. [She goes into the dining-room.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I may as well help to uncork it. [He also goes into the dining
+        room, the door of which swings half open behind him.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Who has opened the parcel.] Yes, I thought so. Here is the
+        Ceremonial Ode, Pastor Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [With folded hands.] With what countenance I am to deliver my
+        discourse to-morrow&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, you will get through it somehow.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Softly, so as not to be heard in the dining-room.] Yes; it
+        would not do to provoke scandal.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Under her breath, but firmly.] No. But then this long,
+        hateful comedy will be ended. From the day after to-morrow, I shall act
+        in every way as though he who is dead had never lived in this house.
+        There shall be no one here but my boy and his mother.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [From the dining-room comes the noise of a chair overturned, and at the
+        same moment is heard:]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Sharply, but in a whisper.] Oswald! take care! are you mad? Let
+        me go!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Starts in terror.] Ah&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [She stares wildly towards the half-open door. OSWALD is heard laughing
+        and humming. A bottle is uncorked.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Agitated.] What can be the matter? What is it, Mrs. Alving?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Hoarsely.] Ghosts! The couple from the conservatory&mdash;risen
+        again!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Is it possible! Regina&mdash;? Is she&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes. Come. Not a word&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [She seizes PASTOR MANDERS by the arm, and walks unsteadily towards the
+        dining-room.]
+      </p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+      <div style="height: 4em;">
+        <br /><br /><br /><br />
+      </div>
+      <h2>
+        ACT SECOND.
+      </h2>
+      <h3>
+        [The same room. The mist still lies heavy over the landscape.]
+      </h3>
+      <p>
+        [MANDERS and MRS. ALVING enter from the dining-room.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Still in the doorway.] <i>Velbekomme</i> [Note: A phrase
+        equivalent to the German <i>Prosit die Mahlzeit</i>&mdash;May good
+        digestion wait on appetite.], Mr. Manders. [Turns back towards the
+        dining-room.] Aren't you coming too, Oswald?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [From within.] No, thank you. I think I shall go out a little.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, do. The weather seems a little brighter now. [She
+        shuts the dining-room door, goes to the hall door, and calls:] Regina!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Outside.] Yes, Mrs. Alving?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Go down to the laundry, and help with the garlands.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, Mrs. Alving.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [MRS. ALVING assures herself that REGINA goes; then shuts the door.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I suppose he cannot overhear us in there?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Not when the door is shut. Besides, he's just going out.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I am still quite upset. I don't know how I could swallow a
+        morsel of dinner.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Controlling her nervousness, walks up and down.] Nor I.
+        But what is to be done now?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes; what is to be done? I am really quite at a loss. I am so
+        utterly without experience in matters of this sort.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I feel sure that, so far, no mischief has been done.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No; heaven forbid! But it is an unseemly state of things,
+        nevertheless.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. It is only an idle fancy on Oswald's part; you may be sure
+        of that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, as I say, I am not accustomed to affairs of the kind. But
+        I should certainly think&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Out of the house she must go, and that immediately. That is
+        as clear as daylight&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, of course she must.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But where to? It would not be right to&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Where to? Home to her father, of course.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. To whom did you say?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. To her&mdash;But then, Engstrand is not&mdash;? Good God, Mrs.
+        Alving, it's impossible! You must be mistaken after all.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately there is no possibility of mistake. Johanna
+        confessed everything to me; and Alving could not deny it. So there was
+        nothing to be done but to get the matter hushed up.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No, you could do nothing else.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. The girl left our service at once, and got a good sum of
+        money to hold her tongue for the time. The rest she managed for herself
+        when she got to town. She renewed her old acquaintance with Engstrand,
+        no doubt let him see that she had money in her purse, and told him some
+        tale about a foreigner who put in here with a yacht that summer. So she
+        and Engstrand got married in hot haste. Why, you married them yourself.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But then how to account for&mdash;? I recollect distinctly
+        Engstrand coming to give notice of the marriage. He was quite
+        overwhelmed with contrition, and bitterly reproached himself for the
+        misbehaviour he and his sweetheart had been guilty of.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; of course he had to take the blame upon himself.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But such a piece of duplicity on his part! And towards me too!
+        I never could have believed it of Jacob Engstrand. I shall not fail to
+        take him seriously to task; he may be sure of that.&mdash;And then the
+        immorality of such a connection! For money&mdash;! How much did the girl
+        receive?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Three hundred dollars.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Just think of it&mdash;for a miserable three hundred dollars,
+        to go and marry a fallen woman!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Then what have you to say of me? I went and married a
+        fallen man.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Why&mdash;good heavens!&mdash;what are you talking about! A
+        fallen man!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do you think Alving was any purer when I went with him to
+        the altar than Johanna was when Engstrand married her?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, but there is a world of difference between the two cases&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Not so much difference after all&mdash;except in the price:&mdash;a
+        miserable three hundred dollars and a whole fortune.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. How can you compare such absolutely dissimilar cases? You had
+        taken counsel with your own heart and with your natural advisers.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Without looking at him.] I thought you understood where
+        what you call my heart had strayed to at the time.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Distantly.] Had I understood anything of the kind, I should
+        not have been a daily guest in your husband's house.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. At any rate, the fact remains that with myself I took no
+        counsel whatever.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well then, with your nearest relatives&mdash;as your duty bade
+        you&mdash;with your mother and your two aunts.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. Those three cast up the account for me.
+        Oh, it's marvellous how clearly they made out that it would be downright
+        madness to refuse such an offer. If mother could only see me now, and
+        know what all that grandeur has come to!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Nobody can be held responsible for the result. This, at least,
+        remains clear: your marriage was in full accordance with law and order.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] Oh, that perpetual law and order! I often
+        think that is what does all the mischief in this world of ours.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Mrs. Alving, that is a sinful way of talking.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, I can't help it; I must have done with all this
+        constraint and insincerity. I can endure it no longer. I must work my
+        way out to freedom.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What do you mean by that?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Drumming on the window frame.] I ought never to have
+        concealed the facts of Alving's life. But at that time I dared not do
+        anything else&mdash;I was afraid, partly on my own account. I was such a
+        coward.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. A coward?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. If people had come to know anything, they would have said&mdash;"Poor
+        man! with a runaway wife, no wonder he kicks over the traces."
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Such remarks might have been made with a certain show of right.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Looking steadily at him.] If I were what I ought to be, I
+        should go to Oswald and say, "Listen, my boy: your father led a vicious
+        life&mdash;"
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Merciful heavens&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING.&mdash;and then I should tell him all I have told you&mdash;every
+        word of it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You shock me unspeakably, Mrs. Alving.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; I know that. I know that very well. I myself am
+        shocked at the idea. [Goes away from the window.] I am such a coward.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You call it "cowardice" to do your plain duty? Have you
+        forgotten that a son ought to love and honour his father and mother?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do not let us talk in such general terms. Let us ask: Ought
+        Oswald to love and honour Chamberlain Alving?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Is there no voice in your mother's heart that forbids you to
+        destroy your son's ideals?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But what about the truth?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But what about the ideals?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh&mdash;ideals, ideals! If only I were not such a coward!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Do not despise ideals, Mrs. Alving; they will avenge themselves
+        cruelly. Take Oswald's case: he, unfortunately, seems to have few enough
+        ideals as it is; but I can see that his father stands before him as an
+        ideal.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And this habit of mind you have yourself implanted and fostered
+        by your letters.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; in my superstitious awe for duty and the proprieties,
+        I lied to my boy, year after year. Oh, what a coward&mdash;what a coward
+        I have been!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You have established a happy illusion in your son's heart, Mrs.
+        Alving; and assuredly you ought not to undervalue it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. H'm; who knows whether it is so happy after all&mdash;?
+        But, at any rate, I will not have any tampering with Regina. He shall
+        not go and wreck the poor girl's life.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No; good God&mdash;that would be terrible!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. If I knew he was in earnest, and that it would be for his
+        happiness&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What? What then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But it couldn't be; for unfortunately Regina is not the
+        right sort of woman.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, what then? What do you mean?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. If I weren't such a pitiful coward, I should say to him,
+        "Marry her, or make what arrangement you please, only let us have
+        nothing underhand about it."
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Merciful heavens, would you let them marry! Anything so
+        dreadful&mdash;! so unheard of&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do you really mean "unheard of"? Frankly, Pastor Manders,
+        do you suppose that throughout the country there are not plenty of
+        married couples as closely akin as they?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I don't in the least understand you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh yes, indeed you do.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Ah, you are thinking of the possibility that&mdash;Alas! yes,
+        family life is certainly not always so pure as it ought to be. But in
+        such a case as you point to, one can never know&mdash;at least with any
+        certainty. Here, on the other hand&mdash;that you, a mother, can think
+        of letting your son&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But I cannot&mdash;I wouldn't for anything in the world;
+        that is precisely what I am saying.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No, because you are a "coward," as you put it. But if you were
+        not a "coward," then&mdash;? Good God! a connection so shocking!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. So far as that goes, they say we are all sprung from
+        connections of that sort. And who is it that arranged the world so,
+        Pastor Manders?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Questions of that kind I must decline to discuss with you, Mrs.
+        Alving; you are far from being in the right frame of mind for them. But
+        that you dare to call your scruples "cowardly"&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Let me tell you what I mean. I am timid and faint-hearted
+        because of the ghosts that hang about me, and that I can never quite
+        shake off.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What do you say hangs about you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Ghosts! When I heard Regina and Oswald in there, it was as
+        though ghosts rose up before me. But I almost think we are all of us
+        ghosts, Pastor Manders. It is not only what we have inherited from our
+        father and mother that "walks" in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas, and
+        lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no vitality, but they
+        cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake them off. Whenever I take
+        up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts gliding between the lines. There
+        must be ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sands of the sea.
+        And then we are, one and all, so pitifully afraid of the light.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Aha&mdash;here we have the fruits of your reading. And pretty
+        fruits they are, upon my word! Oh, those horrible, revolutionary,
+        free-thinking books!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You are mistaken, my dear Pastor. It was you yourself who
+        set me thinking; and I thank you for it with all my heart.
+      </p>
+      MANDERS. I!
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes&mdash;when you forced me under the yoke of what you
+        called duty and obligation; when you lauded as right and proper what my
+        whole soul rebelled against as something loathsome. It was then that I
+        began to look into the seams of your doctrines. I wanted only to pick at
+        a single knot; but when I had got that undone, the whole thing ravelled
+        out. And then I understood that it was all machine-sewn.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Softly, with emotion.] And was that the upshot of my life's
+        hardest battle?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Call it rather your most pitiful defeat.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It was my greatest victory, Helen&mdash;the victory over
+        myself.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. It was a crime against us both.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. When you went astray, and came to me crying, "Here I am; take
+        me!" I commanded you, saying, "Woman, go home to your lawful husband."
+        Was that a crime?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, I think so.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. We two do not understand each other.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Not now, at any rate.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Never&mdash;never in my most secret thoughts have I regarded
+        you otherwise than as another's wife.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh&mdash;indeed?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Helen&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. People so easily forget their past selves.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I do not. I am what I always was.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Changing the subject.] Well well well; don't let us talk
+        of old times any longer. You are now over head and ears in Boards and
+        Committees, and I am fighting my battle with ghosts, both within me and
+        without.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Those without I shall help you to lay. After all the terrible
+        things I have heard from you today, I cannot in conscience permit an
+        unprotected girl to remain in your house.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Don't you think the best plan would be to get her provided
+        for?&mdash;I mean, by a good marriage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No doubt. I think it would be desirable for her in every
+        respect. Regina is now at the age when&mdash;Of course I don't know much
+        about these things, but&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Regina matured very early.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, I thought so. I have an impression that she was remarkably
+        well developed, physically, when I prepared her for confirmation. But in
+        the meantime, she ought to be at home, under her father's eye&mdash;Ah!
+        but Engstrand is not&mdash;That he&mdash;that he&mdash;could so hide the
+        truth from me! [A knock at the door into the hall.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Who can this be? Come in!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [In his Sunday clothes, in the doorway.] I humbly beg your
+        pardon, but&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Aha! H'm&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Is that you, Engstrand?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND.&mdash;there was none of the servants about, so I took the
+        great liberty of just knocking.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, very well. Come in. Do you want to speak to me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Comes in.] No, I'm obliged to you, ma'am; it was with his
+        Reverence I wanted to have a word or two.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Walking up and down the room.] Ah&mdash;indeed! You want to
+        speak to me, do you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes, I'd like so terrible much to&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Stops in front of him.] Well; may I ask what you want?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Well, it was just this, your Reverence: we've been paid off
+        down yonder&mdash;my grateful thanks to you, ma'am,&mdash;and now
+        everything's finished, I've been thinking it would be but right and
+        proper if we, that have been working so honestly together all this time&mdash;well,
+        I was thinking we ought to end up with a little prayer-meeting to-night.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. A prayer-meeting? Down at the Orphanage?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Oh, if your Reverence doesn't think it proper&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Oh yes, I do; but&mdash;h'm&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. I've been in the habit of offering up a little prayer in the
+        evenings, myself&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Have you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes, every now and then just a little edification, in a
+        manner of speaking. But I'm a poor, common man, and have little enough
+        gift, God help me!&mdash;and so I thought, as the Reverend Mr. Manders
+        happened to be here, I'd&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, you see, Engstrand, I have a question to put to you
+        first. Are you in the right frame of mind for such a meeting! Do you
+        feel your conscience clear and at ease?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Oh, God help us, your Reverence! we'd better not talk about
+        conscience.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, that is just what we must talk about. What have you to
+        answer?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Why&mdash;a man's conscience&mdash;it can be bad enough now
+        and then.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Ah, you admit that. Then perhaps you will make a clean breast
+        of it, and tell me&mdash;the real truth about Regina?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Quickly.] Mr. Manders!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Reassuringly.] Please allow me&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. About Regina! Lord, what a turn you gave me! [Looks at MRS.
+        ALVING.] There's nothing wrong about Regina, is there?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. We will hope not. But I mean, what is the truth about you and
+        Regina? You pass for her father, eh!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Uncertain.] Well&mdash;h'm&mdash;your Reverence knows all
+        about me and poor Johanna.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Come now, no more prevarication! Your wife told Mrs. Alving the
+        whole story before quitting her service.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Well, then, may&mdash;! Now, did she really?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You see we know you now, Engstrand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. And she swore and took her Bible oath&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Did she take her Bible oath?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. No; she only swore; but she did it that solemn-like.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And you have hidden the truth from me all these years? Hidden
+        it from me, who have trusted you without reserve, in everything.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Well, I can't deny it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Have I deserved this of you, Engstrand? Have I not always been
+        ready to help you in word and deed, so far as it lay in my power? Answer
+        me. Have I not?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. It would have been a poor look-out for me many a time but for
+        the Reverend Mr. Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And this is how you reward me! You cause me to enter falsehoods
+        in the Church Register, and you withhold from me, year after year, the
+        explanations you owed alike to me and to the truth. Your conduct has
+        been wholly inexcusable, Engstrand; and from this time forward I have
+        done with you!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [With a sigh.] Yes! I suppose there's no help for it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. How can you possibly justify yourself?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Who could ever have thought she'd have gone and made bad
+        worse by talking about it? Will your Reverence just fancy yourself in
+        the same trouble as poor Johanna&mdash;
+      </p>
+      MANDERS. I!
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Lord bless you, I don't mean just exactly the same. But I
+        mean, if your Reverence had anything to be ashamed of in the eyes of the
+        world, as the saying goes. We menfolk oughtn't to judge a poor woman too
+        hardly, your Reverence.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I am not doing so. It is you I am reproaching.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Might I make so bold as to ask your Reverence a bit of a
+        question?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, if you want to.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Isn't it right and proper for a man to raise up the fallen?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Most certainly it is.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. And isn't a man bound to keep his sacred word?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Why, of course he is; but&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. When Johanna had got into trouble through that Englishman&mdash;or
+        it might have been an American or a Russian, as they call them&mdash;well,
+        you see, she came down into the town. Poor thing, she'd sent me about my
+        business once or twice before: for she couldn't bear the sight of
+        anything as wasn't handsome; and I'd got this damaged leg of mine. Your
+        Reverence recollects how I ventured up into a dancing saloon, where
+        seafaring men was carrying on with drink and devilry, as the saying
+        goes. And then, when I was for giving them a bit of an admonition to
+        lead a new life&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] H'm&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I know all about that, Engstrand; the ruffians threw you
+        downstairs. You have told me of the affair already. Your infirmity is an
+        honour to you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. I'm not puffed up about it, your Reverence. But what I wanted
+        to say was, that when she came and confessed all to me, with weeping and
+        gnashing of teeth, I can tell your Reverence I was sore at heart to hear
+        it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Were you indeed, Engstrand? Well, go on.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. So I says to her, "The American, he's sailing about on the
+        boundless sea. And as for you, Johanna," says I, "you've committed a
+        grievous sin, and you're a fallen creature. But Jacob Engstrand," says
+        I, "he's got two good legs to stand upon, he has&mdash;" You see, your
+        Reverence, I was speaking figurative-like.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I understand quite well. Go on.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Well, that was how I raised her up and made an honest woman
+        of her, so as folks shouldn't get to know how as she'd gone astray with
+        foreigners.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. In all that you acted very well. Only I cannot approve of your
+        stooping to take money&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Money? I? Not a farthing!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Inquiringly to MRS. ALVING.] But&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Oh, wait a minute!&mdash;now I recollect. Johanna did have a
+        trifle of money. But I would have nothing to do with that. "No," says I,
+        "that's mammon; that's the wages of sin. This dirty gold&mdash;or notes,
+        or whatever it was&mdash;we'll just flint, that back in the American's
+        face," says I. But he was off and away, over the stormy sea, your
+        Reverence.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Was he really, my good fellow?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. He was indeed, sir. So Johanna and I, we agreed that the
+        money should go to the child's education; and so it did, and I can
+        account for every blessed farthing of it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Why, this alters the case considerably.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. That's just how it stands, your Reverence. And I make so bold
+        as to say as I've been an honest father to Regina, so far as my poor
+        strength went; for I'm but a weak vessel, worse luck!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, well, my good fellow&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. All the same, I bear myself witness as I've brought up the
+        child, and lived kindly with poor Johanna, and ruled over my own house,
+        as the Scripture has it. But it couldn't never enter my head to go to
+        your Reverence and puff myself up and boast because even the likes of me
+        had done some good in the world. No, sir; when anything of that sort
+        happens to Jacob Engstrand, he holds his tongue about it. It don't
+        happen so terrible often, I daresay. And when I do come to see your
+        Reverence, I find a mortal deal that's wicked and weak to talk about.
+        For I said it before, and I says it again&mdash;a man's conscience isn't
+        always as clean as it might be.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Give me your hand, Jacob Engstrand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Oh, Lord! your Reverence&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Come, no nonsense [wrings his hand]. There we are!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. And if I might humbly beg your Reverence's pardon&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You? On the contrary, it is I who ought to beg your pardon&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Lord, no, Sir!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, assuredly. And I do it with all my heart. Forgive me for
+        misunderstanding you. I only wish I could give you some proof of my
+        hearty regret, and of my good-will towards you&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Would your Reverence do it?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. With the greatest pleasure.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Well then, here's the very chance. With the bit of money I've
+        saved here, I was thinking I might set up a Sailors' Home down in the
+        town.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes; it might be a sort of Orphanage, too, in a manner of
+        speaking. There's such a many temptations for seafaring folk ashore. But
+        in this Home of mine, a man might feel like as he was under a father's
+        eye, I was thinking.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. What do you say to this, Mrs. Alving?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. It isn't much as I've got to start with, Lord help me! But if
+        I could only find a helping hand, why&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, yes; we will look into the matter more closely. I entirely
+        approve of your plan. But now, go before me and make everything ready,
+        and get the candles lighted, so as to give the place an air of
+        festivity. And then we will pass an edifying hour together, my good
+        fellow; for now I quite believe you are in the right frame of mind.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes, I trust I am. And so I'll say good-bye, ma'am, and thank
+        you kindly; and take good care of Regina for me&mdash;[Wipes a tear from
+        his eye]&mdash;poor Johanna's child. Well, it's a queer thing, now; but
+        it's just like as if she'd growd into the very apple of my eye. It is,
+        indeed. [He bows and goes out through the hall.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well, what do you say of that man now, Mrs. Alving? That was a
+        very different account of matters, was it not?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, it certainly was.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It only shows how excessively careful one ought to be in
+        judging one's fellow creatures. But what a heartfelt joy it is to
+        ascertain that one has been mistaken! Don't you think so?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I think you are, and will always be, a great baby, Manders.
+      </p>
+      MANDERS. I?
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Laying her two hands upon his shoulders.] And I say that I
+        have half a mind to put my arms round your neck, and kiss you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Stepping hastily back.] No, no! God bless me! What an idea!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [With a smile.] Oh, you needn't be afraid of me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [By the table.] You have sometimes such an exaggerated way of
+        expressing yourself. Now, let me just collect all the documents, and put
+        them in my bag. [He does so.] There, that's all right. And now, good-bye
+        for the present. Keep your eyes open when Oswald comes back. I shall
+        look in again later. [He takes his hat and goes out through the hall
+        door.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Sighs, looks for a moment out of the window, sets the room
+        in order a little, and is about to go into the dining-room, but stops at
+        the door with a half-suppressed cry.] Oswald, are you still at table?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [In the dining room.] I'm only finishing my cigar.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I thought you had gone for a little walk.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. In such weather as this?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [A glass clinks. MRS. ALVING leaves the door open, and sits down with
+        her knitting on the sofa by the window.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Wasn't that Pastor Manders that went out just now?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; he went down to the Orphanage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. H'm. [The glass and decanter clink again.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [With a troubled glance.] Dear Oswald, you should take care
+        of that liqueur. It is strong.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. It keeps out the damp.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Wouldn't you rather come in here, to me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I mayn't smoke in there.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You know quite well you may smoke cigars.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, all right then; I'll come in. Just a tiny drop more first.
+        There! [He comes into the room with his cigar, and shuts the door after
+        him. A short silence.] Where has the pastor gone to?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I have just told you; he went down to the Orphanage.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, yes; so you did.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You shouldn't sit so long at table, Oswald.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Holding his cigar behind him.] But I find it so pleasant,
+        mother. [Strokes and caresses her.] Just think what it is for me to come
+        home and sit at mother's own table, in mother's room, and eat mother's
+        delicious dishes.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My dear, dear boy!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Somewhat impatiently, walks about and smokes.] And what else
+        can I do with myself here? I can't set to work at anything.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Why can't you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. In such weather as this? Without a single ray of sunshine the
+        whole day? [Walks up the room.] Oh, not to be able to work&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Perhaps it was not quite wise of you to come home?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, yes, mother; I had to.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You know I would ten times rather forgo the joy of having
+        you here, than let you&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Stops beside the table.] Now just tell me, mother: does it
+        really make you so very happy to have me home again?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Does it make me happy!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Crumpling up a newspaper.] I should have thought it must be
+        pretty much the same to you whether I was in existence or not.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Have you the heart to say that to your mother, Oswald?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. But you've got on very well without me all this time.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; I have got on without you. That is true.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [A silence. Twilight slowly begins to fall. OSWALD paces to and fro
+        across the room. He has laid his cigar down.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Stops beside MRS. ALVING.] Mother, may I sit on the sofa beside
+        you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Makes room for him.] Yes, do, my dear boy.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Sits down.] There is something I must tell you, mother.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Anxiously.] Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Looks fixedly before him.] For I can't go on hiding it any
+        longer.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Hiding what? What is it?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [As before.] I could never bring myself to write to you about
+        it; and since I've come home&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Both yesterday and to-day I have tried to put the thoughts away
+        from me&mdash;to cast them off; but it's no use.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Draws her down to the sofa again.] Sit still; and then I will
+        try to tell you.&mdash;I complained of fatigue after my journey&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well? What then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. But it isn't that that is the matter with me; not any ordinary
+        fatigue&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly.
+        I'm not downright ill, either; not what is commonly called "ill."
+        [Clasps his hands above his head.] Mother, my mind is broken down&mdash;ruined&mdash;I
+        shall never be able to work again! [With his hands before his face, he
+        buries his head in her lap, and breaks into bitter sobbing.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no; it's not
+        true.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Looks up with despair in his eyes.] Never to be able to work
+        again! Never!&mdash;never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine
+        anything so horrible?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My poor boy! How has this horrible thing come upon you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Sitting upright again.] That's just what I cannot possibly
+        grasp or understand. I have never led a dissipated life&mdash;never, in any
+        respect. You mustn't believe that of me, mother! I've never done that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I am sure you haven't, Oswald.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And yet this has come upon me just the same&mdash;this awful
+        misfortune!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, but it will pass over, my dear, blessed boy. It's
+        nothing but over-work. Trust me, I am right.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Sadly.] I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Tell me everything, from beginning to end.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, I will.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. When did you first notice it?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. It was directly after I had been home last time, and had got
+        back to Paris again. I began to feel the most violent pains in my head&mdash;chiefly
+        in the back of my head, they seemed to come. It was as though a tight
+        iron ring was being screwed round my neck and upwards.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well, and then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. At first I thought it was nothing but the ordinary headache I
+        had been so plagued with while I was growing up&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. But it wasn't that. I soon found that out. I couldn't work any
+        more. I wanted to begin upon a big new picture, but my powers seemed to
+        fail me; all my strength was crippled; I could form no definite images;
+        everything swam before me&mdash;whirling round and round. Oh, it was an
+        awful state! At last I sent for a doctor&mdash;and from him I learned
+        the truth.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. How do you mean?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. He was one of the first doctors in Paris. I told him my
+        symptoms; and then he set to work asking me a string of questions which
+        I thought had nothing to do with the matter. I couldn't imagine what the
+        man was after&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. At last he said: "There has been something worm-eaten in you
+        from your birth." He used that very word&mdash;<i>vermoulu</i>.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Breathlessly.] What did he mean by that?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I didn't understand either, and begged him to explain himself
+        more clearly. And then the old cynic said&mdash;[Clenching his fist] Oh&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What did he say?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. He said, "The sins of the fathers are visited upon the
+        children."
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Rising slowly.] The sins of the fathers&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I very nearly struck him in the face&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Walks away across the room.] The sins of the fathers&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Smiles sadly.] Yes; what do you think of that? Of course I
+        assured him that such a thing was out of the question. But do you think
+        he gave in? No, he stuck to it; and it was only when I produced your
+        letters and translated the passages relating to father&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But then&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong track;
+        and so I learned the truth&mdash;the incomprehensible truth! I ought not
+        to have taken part with my comrades in that lighthearted, glorious life
+        of theirs. It had been too much for my strength. So I had brought it
+        upon myself!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oswald! No, no; do not believe it!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. No other explanation was possible, he said. That's the awful
+        part of it. Incurably ruined for life&mdash;by my own heedlessness! All
+        that I meant to have done in the world&mdash;I never dare think of it
+        again&mdash;I'm not able to think of it. Oh! if I could only live over
+        again, and undo all I have done! [He buries his face in the sofa.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Wrings her hands and walks, in silent struggle, backwards
+        and forwards.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [After a while, looks up and remains resting upon his elbow.] If
+        it had only been something inherited&mdash;something one wasn't
+        responsible for! But this! To have thrown away so shamefully,
+        thoughtlessly, recklessly, one's own happiness, one's own health,
+        everything in the world&mdash;one's future, one's very life&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No, no, my dear, darling boy; this is impossible! [Bends
+        over him.] Things are not so desperate as you think.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, you don't know&mdash;[Springs up.] And then, mother, to
+        cause you all this sorrow! Many a time I have almost wished and hoped
+        that at bottom you didn't care so very much about me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I, Oswald? My only boy! You are all I have in the world!
+        The only thing I care about!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Seizes both her hands and kisses them.] Yes, yes, I see it.
+        When I'm at home, I see it, of course; and that's almost the hardest
+        part for me.&mdash;But now you know the whole story and now we won't
+        talk any more about it to-day. I daren't think of it for long together.
+        [Goes up the room.] Get me something to drink, mother.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. To drink? What do you want to drink now?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, anything you like. You have some cold punch in the house.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, but my dear Oswald&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Don't refuse me, mother. Do be kind, now! I must have something
+        to wash down all these gnawing thoughts. [Goes into the conservatory.]
+        And then&mdash;it's so dark here! [MRS. ALVING pulls a bell-rope on the
+        right.] And this ceaseless rain! It may go on week after week, for
+        months together. Never to get a glimpse of the sun! I can't recollect
+        ever having seen the sun shine all the times I've been at home.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oswald&mdash;you are thinking of going away from me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. H'm&mdash;[Drawing a heavy breath.]&mdash;I'm not thinking of
+        anything. I cannot think of anything! [In a low voice.] I let thinking
+        alone.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [From the dining-room.] Did you ring, ma'am?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes; let us have the lamp in.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, ma'am. It's ready lighted. [Goes out.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Goes across to OSWALD.] Oswald, be frank with me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well, so I am, mother. [Goes to the table.] I think I have told
+        you enough.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [REGINA brings the lamp and sets it upon the table.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Regina, you may bring us a small bottle of champagne.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Very well, ma'am. [Goes out.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Puts his arm round MRS. ALVING's neck.] That's just what I
+        wanted. I knew mother wouldn't let her boy go thirsty.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My own, poor, darling Oswald; how could I deny you anything
+        now?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Eagerly.] Is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. How? What?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. That you couldn't deny me anything.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Hush!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Brings a tray with a half-bottle of champagne and two glasses,
+        which she sets on the table.] Shall I open it?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. No, thanks. I will do it myself.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [REGINA goes out again.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Sits down by the table.] What was it you meant&mdash;that
+        I mustn't deny you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Busy opening the bottle.] First let us have a glass&mdash;or
+        two.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [The cork pops; he pours wine into one glass, and is about to pour it
+        into the other.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Holding her hand over it.] Thanks; not for me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh! won't you? Then I will!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [He empties the glass, fills, and empties it again; then he sits down by
+        the table.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [In expectancy.] Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Without looking at her.] Tell me&mdash;I thought you and Pastor
+        Manders seemed so odd&mdash;so quiet&mdash;at dinner to-day.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Did you notice it?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes. H'm&mdash;[After a short silence.] Tell me: what do you
+        think of Regina?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What do I think?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes; isn't she splendid?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald, you don't know her as I do&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Regina, unfortunately, was allowed to stay at home too
+        long. I ought to have taken her earlier into my house.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, but isn't she splendid to look at, mother? [He fills his
+        glass.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Regina has many serious faults&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, what does that matter? [He drinks again.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. But I am fond of her, nevertheless, and I am responsible
+        for her. I wouldn't for all the world have any harm happen to her.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Springs up.] Mother, Regina is my only salvation!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] What do you mean by that?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I cannot go on bearing all this anguish of soul alone.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Have you not your mother to share it with you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes; that's what I thought; and so I came home to you. But that
+        will not do. I see it won't do. I cannot endure my life here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I must live differently, mother. That is why I must leave you. I
+        will not have you looking on at it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as this&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. If it were only the illness, I should stay with you, mother, you
+        may be sure; for you are the best friend I have in the world.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Wanders restlessly about.] But it's all the torment, the
+        gnawing remorse&mdash;and then, the great, killing dread. Oh&mdash;that
+        awful dread!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Walking after him.] Dread? What dread? What do you mean?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Oh, you mustn't ask me any more. I don't know. I can't describe
+        it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Goes over to the right and pulls the bell.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. What is it you want?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I want my boy to be happy&mdash;that is what I want. He
+        sha'n't go on brooding over things. [To REGINA, who appears at the door:]
+        More champagne&mdash;a large bottle. [REGINA goes.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Mother!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do you think we don't know how to live here at home?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Isn't she splendid to look at? How beautifully she's built! And
+        so thoroughly healthy!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Sits by the table.] Sit down, Oswald; let us talk quietly
+        together.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Sits.] I daresay you don't know, mother, that I owe Regina some
+        reparation.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. For a bit of thoughtlessness, or whatever you like to call it&mdash;very
+        innocent, at any rate. When I was home last time&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. She used often to ask me about Paris, and I used to tell her one
+        thing and another. Then I recollect I happened to say to her one day,
+        "Shouldn't you like to go there yourself?"
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I saw her face flush, and then she said, "Yes, I should like it
+        of all things." "Ah, well," I replied, "it might perhaps be managed"&mdash;or
+        something like that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Of course I had forgotten all about it; but the day before
+        yesterday I happened to ask her whether she was glad I was to stay at
+        home so long&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And then she gave me such a strange look, and asked, "But what's
+        to become of my trip to Paris?"
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Her trip!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And so it came out that she had taken the thing seriously; that
+        she had been thinking of me the whole time, and had set to work to learn
+        French&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. So that was why&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Mother&mdash;when I saw that fresh, lovely, splendid girl
+        standing there before me&mdash;till then I had hardly noticed her&mdash;but
+        when she stood there as though with open arms ready to receive me&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD.&mdash;then it flashed upon me that in her lay my salvation; for
+        I saw that she was full of the joy of life.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Starts.] The joy of life? Can there be salvation in that?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [From the dining room, with a bottle of champagne.] I'm sorry to
+        have been so long, but I had to go to the cellar. [Places the bottle on
+        the table.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And now bring another glass.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Looks at him in surprise.] There is Mrs. Alving's glass, Mr.
+        Alving.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, but bring one for yourself, Regina. [REGINA starts and
+        gives a lightning-like side glance at MRS. ALVING.] Why do you wait?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Is it Mrs. Alving's wish?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Bring the glass, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [REGINA goes out into the dining-room.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Follows her with his eyes.] Have you noticed how she walks?&mdash;so
+        firmly and lightly!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. This can never be, Oswald!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. It's a settled thing. Can't you see that? It's no use saying
+        anything against it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [REGINA enters with an empty glass, which she keeps in her hand.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Sit down, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [REGINA looks inquiringly at MRS. ALVING.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Sit down. [REGINA sits on a chair by the dining room door,
+        still holding the empty glass in her hand.] Oswald&mdash;what were you
+        saying about the joy of life?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Ah, the joy of life, mother&mdash;that's a thing you don't know
+        much about in these parts. I have never felt it here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Not when you are with me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Not when I'm at home. But you don't understand that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I think I almost understand it&mdash;now.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And then, too, the joy of work! At bottom, it's the same thing.
+        But that, too, you know nothing about.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Perhaps you are right. Tell me more about it, Oswald.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I only mean that here people are brought up to believe that work
+        is a curse and a punishment for sin, and that life is something
+        miserable, something it would be best to have done with, the sooner the
+        better.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. "A vale of tears," yes; and we certainly do our best to
+        make it one.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. But in the great world people won't hear of such things. There,
+        nobody really believes such doctrines any longer. There, you feel it a
+        positive bliss and ecstasy merely to draw the breath of life. Mother,
+        have you noticed that everything I have painted has turned upon the joy
+        of life?&mdash;always, always upon the joy of life?&mdash;light and
+        sunshine and glorious air and faces radiant with happiness. That is why
+        I'm afraid of remaining at home with you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Afraid? What are you afraid of here, with me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I'm afraid lest all my instincts should be warped into ugliness.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Looks steadily at him.] Do you think that is what would
+        happen?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I know it. You may live the same life here as there, and yet it
+        won't be the same life.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Who has been listening eagerly, rises, her eyes big with
+        thought, and says:] Now I see the sequence of things.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. What is it you see?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I see it now for the first time. And now I can speak.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Rising.] Mother, I don't understand you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Who has also risen.] Perhaps I ought to go?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. No. Stay here. Now I can speak. Now, my boy, you shall know
+        the whole truth. And then you can choose. Oswald! Regina!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Hush! The Pastor&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Enters by the hall door.] There! We have had a most edifying
+        time down there.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. So have we.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. We must stand by Engstrand and his Sailors' Home. Regina must
+        go to him and help him&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. No thank you, sir.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Noticing her for the first time.] What&mdash;? You here? And
+        with a glass in your hand!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Hastily putting the glass down.] Pardon!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Regina is going with me, Mr. Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Going! With you!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes; as my wife&mdash;if she wishes it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But, merciful God&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I can't help it, sir.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Or she'll stay here, if I stay.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Involuntarily.] Here!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I am thunderstruck at your conduct, Mrs. Alving.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. They will do neither one thing nor the other; for now I can
+        speak out plainly.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. You surely will not do that! No, no, no!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, I can speak and I will. And no ideals shall suffer
+        after all.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Mother&mdash;what is it you are hiding from me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Listening.] Oh, ma'am, listen! Don't you hear shouts outside.
+        [She goes into the conservatory and looks out.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [At the window on the left.] What's going on? Where does that
+        light come from?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Cries out.] The Orphanage is on fire!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Rushing to the window.] On fire!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. On fire! Impossible! I've just come from there.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Where's my hat? Oh, never mind it&mdash;Father's Orphanage&mdash;!
+        [He rushes out through the garden door.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. My shawl, Regina! The whole place is in a blaze!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Terrible! Mrs. Alving, it is a judgment upon this abode of
+        lawlessness.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, of course. Come, Regina. [She and REGINA hasten out
+        through the hall.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Clasps his hands together.] And we left it uninsured! [He goes
+        out the same way.]
+      </p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+      <div style="height: 4em;">
+        <br /><br /><br /><br />
+      </div>
+      <h2>
+        ACT THIRD.
+      </h2>
+      <p>
+        [The room as before. All the doors stand open. The lamp is still burning
+        on the table. It is dark out of doors; there is only a faint glow from
+        the conflagration in the background to the left.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [MRS. ALVING, with a shawl over her head, stands in the conservatory,
+        looking out. REGINA, also with a shawl on, stands a little behind her.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. The whole thing burnt!&mdash;burnt to the ground!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. The basement is still burning.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. How is it Oswald doesn't come home? There's nothing to be
+        saved.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Should you like me to take down his hat to him?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Has he not even got his hat on?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Pointing to the hall.] No; there it hangs.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Let it be. He must come up now. I shall go and look for him
+        myself. [She goes out through the garden door.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Comes in from the hall.] Is not Mrs. Alving here?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. She has just gone down the garden.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. This is the most terrible night I ever went through.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes; isn't it a dreadful misfortune, sir?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Oh, don't talk about it! I can hardly bear to think of it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. How can it have happened&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Don't ask me, Miss Engstrand! How should <i>I</i> know? Do you,
+        too&mdash;? Is it not enough that your father&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. What about him?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Oh, he has driven me distracted&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Enters through the hall.] Your Reverence&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Turns round in terror.] Are you after me here, too?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes, strike me dead, but I must&mdash;! Oh, Lord! what am I
+        saying? But this is a terrible ugly business, your Reverence.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Walks to and fro.] Alas! alas!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. What's the matter?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Why, it all came of this here prayer-meeting, you see.
+        [Softly.] The bird's limed, my girl. [Aloud.] And to think it should be
+        my doing that such a thing should be his Reverence's doing!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. But I assure you, Engstrand&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. There wasn't another soul except your Reverence as ever laid
+        a finger on the candles down there.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Stops.] So you declare. But I certainly cannot recollect that
+        I ever had a candle in my hand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. And I saw as clear as daylight how your Reverence took the
+        candle and snuffed it with your fingers, and threw away the snuff among
+        the shavings.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And you stood and looked on?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Yes; I saw it as plain as a pike-staff, I did.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It's quite beyond my comprehension. Besides, it has never been
+        my habit to snuff candles with my fingers.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. And terrible risky it looked, too, that it did! But is there
+        such a deal of harm done after all, your Reverence?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Walks restlessly to and fro.] Oh, don't ask me!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Walks with him.] And your Reverence hadn't insured it,
+        neither?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Continuing to walk up and down.] No, no, no; I have told you
+        so.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Following him.] Not insured! And then to go straight away
+        down and set light to the whole thing! Lord, Lord, what a misfortune!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Wipes the sweat from his forehead.] Ay, you may well say that,
+        Engstrand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. And to think that such a thing should happen to a benevolent
+        Institution, that was to have been a blessing both to town and country,
+        as the saying goes! The newspapers won't be for handling your Reverence
+        very gently, I expect.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No; that is just what I am thinking of. That is almost the
+        worst of the whole matter. All the malignant attacks and imputations&mdash;!
+        Oh, it makes me shudder to think of it!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Comes in from the garden.] He is not to be persuaded to
+        leave the fire.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Ah, there you are, Mrs. Alving.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. So you have escaped your Inaugural Address, Pastor Manders.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Oh, I should so gladly&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [In an undertone.] It is all for the best. That Orphanage
+        would have done no one any good.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Do you think not?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do you think it would?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. It is a terrible misfortune, all the same.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Let us speak of it plainly, as a matter of business.&mdash;Are
+        you waiting for Mr. Manders, Engstrand?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [At the hall door.] That's just what I'm a-doing of, ma'am.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Then sit down meanwhile.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Thank you, ma'am; I'd as soon stand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [To MANDERS.] I suppose you are going by the steamer?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes; it starts in an hour.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Then be so good as to take all the papers with you. I won't
+        hear another word about this affair. I have other things to think of&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Mrs. Alving&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Later on I shall send you a Power of Attorney to settle
+        everything as you please.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. That I will very readily undertake. The original destination of
+        the endowment must now be completely changed, alas!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Of course it must.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. I think, first of all, I shall arrange that the Solvik property
+        shall pass to the parish. The land is by no means without value. It can
+        always be turned to account for some purpose or other. And the interest
+        of the money in the Bank I could, perhaps, best apply for the benefit of
+        some undertaking of acknowledged value to the town.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do just as you please. The whole matter is now completely
+        indifferent to me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Give a thought to my Sailors' Home, your Reverence.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Upon my word, that is not a bad suggestion. That must be
+        considered.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Oh, devil take considering&mdash;Lord forgive me!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [With a sigh.] And unfortunately I cannot tell how long I shall
+        be able to retain control of these things&mdash;whether public opinion
+        may not compel me to retire. It entirely depends upon the result of the
+        official inquiry into the fire&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What are you talking about?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. And the result can by no means be foretold.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [Comes close to him.] Ay, but it can though. For here stands
+        old Jacob Engstrand.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Well well, but&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [More softy.] And Jacob Engstrand isn't the man to desert a
+        noble benefactor in the hour of need, as the saying goes.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Yes, but my good fellow&mdash;how&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Jacob Engstrand may be likened to a sort of a guardian angel,
+        he may, your Reverence.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. No, no; I really cannot accept that.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. Oh, that'll be the way of it, all the same. I know a man as
+        has taken others' sins upon himself before now, I do.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Jacob! [Wrings his hand.] Yours is a rare nature. Well, you
+        shall be helped with your Sailors' Home. That you may rely upon.
+        [ENGSTRAND tries to thank him, but cannot for emotion.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [Hangs his travelling-bag over his shoulder.] And now let us
+        set out. We two will go together.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [At the dining-room door, softly to REGINA.] You come along
+        too, my lass. You shall live as snug as the yolk in an egg.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Tosses her head.] <i>Merci</i>! [She goes out into the hall and
+        fetches MANDERS' overcoat.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. Good-bye, Mrs. Alving! and may the spirit of Law and Order
+        descend upon this house, and that quickly.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Good-bye, Pastor Manders. [She goes up towards the
+        conservatory, as she sees OSWALD coming in through the garden door.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        ENGSTRAND. [While he and REGINA help MANDERS to get his coat on.]
+        Good-bye, my child. And if any trouble should come to you, you know
+        where Jacob Engstrand is to be found. [Softly.] Little Harbour Street,
+        h'm&mdash;! [To MRS. ALVING and OSWALD.] And the refuge for wandering
+        mariners shall be called "Chamberlain Alving's Home," that it shall! And
+        if so be as I'm spared to carry on that house in my own way, I make so
+        bold as to promise that it shall be worthy of the Chamberlain's memory.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MANDERS. [In the doorway.] H'm&mdash;h'm!&mdash;Come along, my dear
+        Engstrand. Good-bye! Good-bye! [He and ENGSTRAND go out through the
+        hall.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Goes towards the table.] What house was he talking about?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, a kind of Home that he and Pastor Manders want to set
+        up.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. It will burn down like the other.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What makes you think so?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Everything will burn. All that recalls father's memory is
+        doomed. Here am I, too, burning down. [REGINA starts and looks at him.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oswald! You oughtn't to have remained so long down there,
+        my poor boy.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Sits down by the table.] I almost think you are right.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Let me dry your face, Oswald; you are quite wet. [She dries
+        his face with her pocket-handkerchief.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Stares indifferently in front of him.] Thanks, mother.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Are you not tired, Oswald? Should you like to sleep?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Nervously.] No, no&mdash;not to sleep! I never sleep. I only
+        pretend to. [Sadly.] That will come soon enough.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Looking sorrowfully at him.] Yes, you really are ill, my
+        blessed boy.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Eagerly.] Is Mr. Alving ill?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Oh, do shut all the doors! This killing dread&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Close the doors, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [REGINA shuts them and remains standing by the hall door. MRS. ALVING
+        takes her shawl off: REGINA does the same. MRS. ALVING draws a chair
+        across to OSWALD'S, and sits by him.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. There now! I am going to sit beside you&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, do. And Regina shall stay here too. Regina shall be with me
+        always. You will come to the rescue, Regina, won't you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. I don't understand&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. To the rescue?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes&mdash;when the need comes.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oswald, have you not your mother to come to the rescue?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. You? [Smiles.] No, mother; that rescue you will never bring me.
+        [Laughs sadly.] You! ha ha! [Looks earnestly at her.] Though, after all,
+        who ought to do it if not you? [Impetuously.] Why can't you say "thou"
+        to me, Regina? [Note: "Sige du" = Fr. <i>tutoyer</i>] Why don't you
+        call me "Oswald"?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Softly.] I don't think Mrs. Alving would like it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You shall have leave to, presently. And meanwhile sit over
+        here beside us.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [REGINA seats herself demurely and hesitatingly at the other side of the
+        table.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And now, my poor suffering boy, I am going to take the
+        burden off your mind&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. You, mother?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING.&mdash;all the gnawing remorse and self-reproach you speak
+        of.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And you think you can do that?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, now I can, Oswald. A little while ago you spoke of the
+        joy of life; and at that word a new light burst for me over my life and
+        everything connected with it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Shakes his head.] I don't understand you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You ought to have known your father when he was a young
+        lieutenant. He was brimming over with the joy of life!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, I know he was.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. It was like a breezy day only to look at him. And what
+        exuberant strength and vitality there was in him!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Well then, child of joy as he was&mdash;for he was like a
+        child in those days&mdash;he had to live at home here in a half-grown
+        town, which had no joys to offer him&mdash;only dissipations. He had no
+        object in life&mdash;only an official position. He had no work into
+        which he could throw himself heart and soul; he had only business. He
+        had not a single comrade that could realise what the joy of life meant&mdash;only
+        loungers and boon-companions&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Mother&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. So the inevitable happened.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. The inevitable?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You told me yourself, this evening, what would become of
+        you if you stayed at home.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Do you mean to say that father&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Your poor father found no outlet for the overpowering joy
+        of life that was in him. And I brought no brightness into his home.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Not even you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. They had taught me a great deal about duties and so forth,
+        which I went on obstinately believing in. Everything was marked out into
+        duties&mdash;into my duties, and his duties, and&mdash;I am afraid I
+        made his home intolerable for your poor father, Oswald.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Why have you never spoken of this in writing to me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I have never before seen it in such a light that I could
+        speak of it to you, his son.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. In what light did you see it, then?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Slowly.] I saw only this one thing: that your father was a
+        broken-down man before you were born.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Softly.] Ah&mdash;! [He rises and walks away to the window.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And then; day after day, I dwelt on the one thought that by
+        rights Regina should be at home in this house&mdash;just like my own
+        boy.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Turning round quickly.] Regina&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Springs up and asks, with bated breath.] I&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, now you know it, both of you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Regina!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [To herself.] So mother was that kind of woman.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Your mother had many good qualities, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, but she was one of that sort, all the same. Oh, I've often
+        suspected it; but&mdash;And now, if you please, ma'am, may I be allowed
+        to go away at once?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Do you really wish it, Regina?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Yes, indeed I do.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Of course you can do as you like; but&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Goes towards REGINA.] Go away now? Your place is here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. <i>Merci</i>, Mr. Alving!&mdash;or now, I suppose, I may say
+        Oswald. But I can tell you this wasn't at all what I expected.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Regina, I have not been frank with you&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. No, that you haven't indeed. If I'd known that Oswald was an
+        invalid, why&mdash;And now, too, that it can never come to anything
+        serious between us&mdash;I really can't stop out here in the country and
+        wear myself out nursing sick people.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Not even one who is so near to you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. No, that I can't. A poor girl must make the best of her young
+        days, or she'll be left out in the cold before she knows where she is.
+        And I, too, have the joy of life in me, Mrs. Alving!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately, you leave. But don't throw yourself away,
+        Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, what must be, must be. If Oswald takes after his father, I
+        take after my mother, I daresay.&mdash;May I ask, ma'am, if Pastor
+        Manders knows all this about me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Pastor Manders knows all about it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Busied in putting on her shawl.] Well then, I'd better make
+        haste and get away by this steamer. The Pastor is such a nice man to
+        deal with; and I certainly think I've as much right to a little of that
+        money as he has&mdash;that brute of a carpenter.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You are heartily welcome to it, Regina.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. [Looks hard at her.] I think you might have brought me up as a
+        gentleman's daughter, ma'am; it would have suited me better. [Tosses her
+        head.] But pooh&mdash;what does it matter! [With a bitter side glance at
+        the corked bottle.] I may come to drink champagne with gentlefolks yet.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. And if you ever need a home, Regina, come to me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. No, thank you, ma'am. Pastor Manders will look after me, I know.
+        And if the worst comes to the worst, I know of one house where I've
+        every right to a place.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Where is that?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. "Chamberlain Alving's Home."
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Regina&mdash;now I see it&mdash;you are going to your ruin.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        REGINA. Oh, stuff! Good-bye. [She nods and goes out through the hall.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Stands at the window and looks out.] Is she gone?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Murmuring aside to himself.] I think it was a mistake, this.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Goes up behind him and lays her hands on his shoulders.]
+        Oswald, my dear boy&mdash;has it shaken you very much?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Turns his face towards her.] All that about father, do you
+        mean?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, about your unhappy father. I am so afraid it may have
+        been too much for you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Why should you fancy that? Of course it came upon me as a great
+        surprise; but it can make no real difference to me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Draws her hands away.] No difference! That your father was
+        so infinitely unhappy!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Of course I can pity him, as I would anybody else; but&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Nothing more! Your own father!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Impatiently.]Oh, "father,"&mdash;"father"! I never knew
+        anything of father. I remember nothing about him, except that he once
+        made me sick.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. This is terrible to think of! Ought not a son to love his
+        father, whatever happens?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. When a son has nothing to thank his father for? has never known
+        him? Do you really cling to that old superstition?&mdash;you who are so
+        enlightened in other ways?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Can it be only a superstition&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes; surely you can see that, mother. It's one of those notions
+        that are current in the world, and so&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Deeply moved.] Ghosts!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Crossing the room.] Yes; you may call them ghosts.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Wildly.] Oswald&mdash;then you don't love me, either!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. You I know, at any rate&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, you know me; but is that all!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And, of course, I know how fond you are of me, and I can't but
+        be grateful to you. And then you can be so useful to me, now that I am
+        ill.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, cannot I, Oswald? Oh, I could almost bless the illness
+        that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that you are not
+        mine: I have to win you.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Yes yes yes; all these are just so many phrases.
+        You must remember that I am a sick man, mother. I can't be much taken up
+        with other people; I have enough to do thinking about myself.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [In a low voice.] I shall be patient and easily satisfied.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And cheerful too, mother!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. [Goes towards him.]
+        Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. The dread?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Walks across the room.] Regina could have been got to do it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I don't understand you. What is this about dread&mdash;and
+        Regina?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Is it very late, mother?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. It is early morning. [She looks out through the
+        conservatory.] The day is dawning over the mountains. And the weather is
+        clearing, Oswald. In a little while you shall see the sun.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I'm glad of that. Oh, I may still have much to rejoice in and
+        live for&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I should think so, indeed!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Even if I can't work&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, you'll soon be able to work again, my dear boy&mdash;now
+        that you haven't got all those gnawing and depressing thoughts to brood
+        over any longer.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes, I'm glad you were able to rid me of all those fancies. And
+        when I've got over this one thing more&mdash;[Sits on the sofa.] Now we
+        will have a little talk, mother&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, let us. [She pushes an arm-chair towards the sofa, and
+        sits down close to him.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And meantime the sun will be rising. And then you will know all.
+        And then I shall not feel this dread any longer.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What is it that I am to know?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Not listening to her.] Mother, did you not say a little while
+        ago, that there was nothing in the world you would not do for me, if I
+        asked you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I said so!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. And you'll stick to it, mother?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. You may rely on that, my dear and only boy! I have nothing
+        in the world to live for but you alone.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Very well, then; now you shall hear&mdash;Mother, you have a
+        strong, steadfast mind, I know. Now you're to sit quite still when you
+        hear it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What dreadful thing can it be&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. You're not to scream out. Do you hear? Do you promise me that?
+        We will sit and talk about it quietly. Do you promise me, mother?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I promise. Only speak!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well, you must know that all this fatigue&mdash;and my inability
+        to think of work&mdash;all that is not the illness itself&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Then what is the illness itself?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. The disease I have as my birthright&mdash;[He points to his
+        forehead and adds very softly]&mdash;is seated here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Almost voiceless.] Oswald! No&mdash;no!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Don't scream. I can't bear it. Yes, mother, it is seated here
+        waiting. And it may break out any day&mdash;at any moment.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Oh, what horror&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Now, quiet, quiet. That is how it stands with me&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Springs up.] It's not true, Oswald! It's impossible! It
+        cannot be so!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I have had one attack down there already. It was soon over. But
+        when I came to know the state I had been in, then the dread descended
+        upon me, raging and ravening; and so I set off home to you as fast as I
+        could.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Then this is the dread&mdash;!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes&mdash;it's so indescribably loathsome, you know. Oh, if it
+        had only been an ordinary mortal disease&mdash;! For I'm not so afraid
+        of death&mdash;though I should like to live as long as I can.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. But this is so unutterably loathsome. To become a little baby
+        again! To have to be fed! To have to&mdash;Oh, it's not to be spoken of!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. The child has his mother to nurse him.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Springs up.] No, never that! That is just what I will not have.
+        I can't endure to think that perhaps I should lie in that state for many
+        years&mdash;and get old and grey. And in the meantime you might die and
+        leave me. [Sits in MRS. ALVING'S chair.] For the doctor said it wouldn't
+        necessarily prove fatal at once. He called it a sort of softening of the
+        brain&mdash;or something like that. [Smiles sadly.] I think that
+        expression sounds so nice. It always sets me thinking of cherry-coloured
+        velvet&mdash;something soft and delicate to stroke.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks.] Oswald!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Springs up and paces the room.] And now you have taken Regina
+        from me. If I could only have had her! She would have come to the
+        rescue, I know.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] What do you mean by that, my darling boy? Is
+        there any help in the world that I would not give you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. When I got over my attack in Paris, the doctor told me that when
+        it comes again&mdash;and it will come&mdash;there will be no more hope.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. He was heartless enough to&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I demanded it of him. I told him I had preparations to make&mdash;[He
+        smiles cunningly.] And so I had. [He takes a little box from his inner
+        breast pocket and opens it.] Mother, do you see this?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. What is it?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Morphia.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Looks at him horror-struck.] Oswald&mdash;my boy!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I've scraped together twelve pilules&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Snatches at it.] Give me the box, Oswald.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Not yet, mother. [He hides the box again in his pocket.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I shall never survive this!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. It must be survived. Now if I'd had Regina here, I should have
+        told her how things stood with me&mdash;and begged her to come to the
+        rescue at the last. She would have done it. I know she would.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Never!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. When the horror had come upon me, and she saw me lying there
+        helpless, like a little new-born baby, impotent, lost, hopeless&mdash;past
+        all saving&mdash;
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Never in all the world would Regina have done this!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Regina would have done it. Regina was so splendidly
+        light-hearted. And she would soon have wearied of nursing an invalid
+        like me.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Then heaven be praised that Regina is not here.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well then, it is you that must come to the rescue, mother.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks aloud.] I!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Who should do it if not you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I! your mother!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. For that very reason.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. I, who gave you life!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. I never asked you for life. And what sort of a life have you
+        given me? I will not have it! You shall take it back again!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. Help! Help! [She runs out into the hall.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Going after her.] Do not leave me! Where are you going?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [In the hall.] To fetch the doctor, Oswald! Let me pass!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Also outside.] You shall not go out. And no one shall come in.
+        [The locking of a door is heard.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Comes in again.] Oswald! Oswald&mdash;my child!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Follows her.] Have you a mother's heart for me&mdash;and yet
+        can see me suffer from this unutterable dread?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [After a moment's silence, commands herself, and says:]
+        Here is my hand upon it.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Will you&mdash;?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. If it should ever be necessary. But it will never be
+        necessary. No, no; it is impossible.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Well, let us hope so. And let us live together as long as we
+        can. Thank you, mother. [He seats himself in the arm-chair which MRS.
+        ALVING has moved to the sofa. Day is breaking. The lamp is still burning
+        on the table.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Drawing near cautiously.] Do you feel calm now?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. Yes.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Bending over him.] It has been a dreadful fancy of yours,
+        Oswald&mdash;nothing but a fancy. All this excitement has been too much
+        for you. But now you shall have a long rest; at home with your mother, my
+        own blessëd boy. Everything you point to you shall have, just as when
+        you were a little child.&mdash;There now. The crisis is over. You see
+        how easily it passed! Oh, I was sure it would.&mdash;And do you see,
+        Oswald, what a lovely day we are going to have? Brilliant sunshine! Now
+        you can really see your home. [She goes to the table and puts out the
+        lamp. Sunrise. The glacier and the snow-peaks in the background glow in
+        the morning light.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Sits in the arm-chair with his back towards the landscape,
+        without moving. Suddenly he says:] Mother, give me the sun.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [By the table, starts and looks at him.] What do you say?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Repeats, in a dull, toneless voice.] The sun. The sun.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] Oswald, what is the matter with you?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Seems to shrink together to the chair; all his muscles relax;
+        his face is expressionless, his eyes have a glassy stare.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Quivering with terror.] What is this? [Shrieks.] Oswald!
+        what is the matter with you? [Falls on her knees beside him and shakes
+        him.] Oswald! Oswald! look at me! Don't you know me?
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Tonelessly as before.] The sun.&mdash;The sun.
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        MRS. ALVING. [Springs up in despair, entwines her hands in her hair and
+        shrieks.] I cannot bear it! [Whispers, as though petrified]; I cannot
+        bear it! Never! [Suddenly.] Where has he got them? [Fumbles hastily in
+        his breast.] Here! [Shrinks back a few steps and screams:] No! No; no!&mdash;Yes!&mdash;No;
+        no!
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        [She stands a few steps away from him with her hands twisted in her
+        hair, and stares at him in speechless horror.]
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        OSWALD. [Sits motionless as before and says.] The sun.&mdash;The sun.
+      </p>
+      THE END <br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+#13 in our series by Henrik Ibsen
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+Title: Ghosts
+
+Author: Henrik Ibsen
+
+Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8121]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
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+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOSTS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Nicole Apostola
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+by Henrik Ibsen
+
+Translated, with an Introduction, by William Archer
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+The winter of 1879-80 Ibsen spent in Munich, and the greater part
+of the summer of 1880 at Berchtesgaden. November 1880 saw him back
+in Rome, and he passed the summer of 1881 at Sorrento. There,
+fourteen years earlier, he had written the last acts of _Peer
+Gynt_; there he now wrote, or at any rate completed, _Gengangere_.
+It was published in December 1881, after he had returned to Rome.
+On December 22 he wrote to Ludwig Passarge, one of his German
+translators, "My new play has now appeared, and has occasioned a
+terrible uproar in the Scandinavian press; every day I receive
+letters and newspaper articles decrying or praising it. ... I
+consider it utterly impossible that any German theatre will accept
+the play at present. I hardly believe that they will dare to play
+it in the Scandinavian countries for some time to come." How
+rightly he judged we shall see anon.
+
+In the newspapers there was far more obloquy than praise. Two men,
+however, stood by him from the first: Bjornson, from whom he had
+been practically estranged ever since _The League of Youth_, and
+Georg Brandes. The latter published an article in which he declared
+(I quote from memory) that the play might or might not be Ibsen's
+greatest work, but that it was certainly his noblest deed. It was,
+doubtless, in acknowledgment of this article that Ibsen wrote to
+Brandes on January 3, 1882: "Yesterday I had the great pleasure of
+receiving your brilliantly clear and so warmly appreciative review
+of _Ghosts_. ... All who read your article must, it seems to me,
+have their eyes opened to what I meant by my new book--assuming,
+that is, that they have any _wish_ to see. For I cannot get rid of
+the impression that a very large number of the false interpretations
+which have appeared in the newspapers are the work of people who
+know better. In Norway, however, I am willing to believe that the
+stultification has in most cases been unintentional; and the reason
+is not far to seek. In that country a great many of the critics are
+theologians, more or less disguised; and these gentlemen are, as a
+rule, quite unable to write rationally about creative literature.
+That enfeeblement of judgment which, at least in the case of the
+average man, is an inevitable consequence of prolonged occupation
+with theological studies, betrays itself more especially in the
+judging of human character, human actions, and human motives.
+Practical business judgment, on the other hand, does not suffer
+so much from studies of this order. Therefore the reverend
+gentlemen are very often excellent members of local boards;
+but they are unquestionably our worst critics." This passage is
+interesting as showing clearly the point of view from which
+Ibsen conceived the character of Manders. In the next paragraph
+of the same letter he discusses the attitude of "the so-called
+Liberal press"; but as the paragraph contains the germ of _An
+Enemy of the People_, it may most fittingly be quoted in the
+introduction to that play.
+
+Three days later (January 6) Ibsen wrote to Schandorph, the Danish
+novelist: "I was quite prepared for the hubbub. If certain of our
+Scandinavian reviewers have no talent for anything else, they have
+an unquestionable talent for thoroughly misunderstanding and
+misinterpreting those authors whose books they undertake to judge. ...
+They endeavour to make me responsible for the opinions which
+certain of the personages of my drama express. And yet there is not
+in the whole book a single opinion, a single utterance, which can
+be laid to the account of the author. I took good care to avoid
+this. The very method, the order of technique which imposes its
+form upon the play, forbids the author to appear in the speeches of
+his characters. My object was to make the reader feel that he was
+going through a piece of real experience; and nothing could more
+effectually prevent such an impression than the intrusion of the
+author's private opinions into the dialogue. Do they imagine at
+home that I am so inexpert in the theory of drama as not to know
+this? Of course I know it, and act accordingly. In no other play
+that I have written is the author so external to the action, so
+entirely absent from it, as in this last one."
+
+"They say," he continued, "that the book preaches Nihilism. Not at
+all. It is not concerned to preach anything whatsoever. It merely
+points to the ferment of Nihilism going on under the surface, at
+home as elsewhere. A Pastor Manders will always goad one or other
+Mrs. Alving to revolt. And just because she is a woman, she will,
+when once she has begun, go to the utmost extremes."
+
+Towards the end of January Ibsen wrote from Rome to Olaf Skavlan:
+"These last weeks have brought me a wealth of experiences, lessons,
+and discoveries. I, of course, foresaw that my new play would call
+forth a howl from the camp of the stagnationists; and for; this I
+care no more than for the barking of a pack of chained dogs. But
+the pusillanimity which I have observed among the so-called
+Liberals has given me cause for reflection. The very day after my
+play was published the _Dagblad_ rushed out a hurriedly-written
+article, evidently designed to purge itself of all suspicion of
+complicity in my work. This was entirely unnecessary. I myself am
+responsible for what I write, I and no one else. I cannot possibly
+embarrass any party, for to no party do I belong. I stand like a
+solitary franc-tireur at the outposts, and fight for my own hand.
+The only man in Norway who has stood up freely, frankly, and
+courageously for me is Bjornson. It is just like him. He has in
+truth a great, kingly soul, and I shall never forget his action in
+this matter."
+
+One more quotation completes the history of these stirring January
+days, as written by Ibsen himself. It occurs in a letter to a
+Danish journalist, Otto Borchsenius. "It may well be," the poet
+writes, "that the play is in several respects rather daring. But it
+seemed to me that the time had come for moving some boundary-posts.
+And this was an undertaking for which a man of the older generation,
+like myself, was better fitted than the many younger authors who
+might desire to do something of the kind. I was prepared for a
+storm; but such storms one must not shrink from encountering. That
+would be cowardice."
+
+It happened that, just in these days, the present writer had
+frequent opportunities of conversing with Ibsen, and of hearing
+from his own lips almost all the views expressed in the above
+extracts. He was especially emphatic, I remember, in protesting
+against the notion that the opinions expressed by Mrs. Alving or
+Oswald were to be attributed to himself. He insisted, on the
+contrary, that Mrs. Alving's views were merely typical of the moral
+chaos inevitably produced by re-action from the narrow conventionalism
+represented by Manders.
+
+With one consent, the leading theatres of the three Scandinavian
+capitals declined to have anything to do with the play. It was more
+than eighteen months old before it found its way to the stage at
+all. In August 1883 it was acted for the first time at Helsingborg,
+Sweden, by a travelling company under the direction of an eminent
+Swedish actor, August Lindberg, who himself played Oswald. He took
+it on tour round the principal cities of Scandinavia, playing it,
+among the rest, at a minor theatre in Christiania. It happened that
+the boards of the Christiania Theatre were at the same time
+occupied by a French farce; and public demonstrations of protest
+were made against the managerial policy which gave _Tete de
+Linotte_ the preference over _Gengangere_. Gradually the prejudice
+against the play broke down. Already in the autumn of 1883 it was
+produced at the Royal (Dramatiska) Theatre in Stockholm. When the
+new National Theatre was opened in Christiania in 1899, _Gengangere_
+found an early place in its repertory; and even the Royal Theatre
+in Copenhagen has since opened its doors to the tragedy.
+
+Not until April 1886 was _Gespenster_ acted in Germany, and then
+only at a private performance, at the Stadttheater, Augsburg, the
+poet himself being present. In the following winter it was acted
+at the famous Court Theatre at Meiningen, again in the presence of
+the poet. The first (private) performance in Berlin took place on
+January 9, 1887, at the Residenz Theater; and when the Freie Buhne,
+founded on the model of the Paris Theatre Libre, began its
+operations two years later (September 29, 1889), _Gespenster_ was
+the first play that it produced. The Freie Buhne gave the initial
+impulse to the whole modern movement which has given Germany a new
+dramatic literature; and the leaders of the movement, whether
+authors or critics, were one and all ardent disciples of Ibsen, who
+regarded _Gespenster_ as his typical masterpiece. In Germany, then,
+the play certainly did, in Ibsen's own words, "move some boundary-posts."
+The Prussian censorship presently withdrew its veto, and on,
+November 27, 1894, the two leading literary theatres of Berlin, the
+Deutsches Theater and the Lessing Theater, gave simultaneous
+performances of the tragedy. Everywhere in Germany and Austria it
+is now freely performed; but it is naturally one of the least
+popular of Ibsen's plays.
+
+It was with _Les Revenants_ that Ibsen made his first appearance on
+the French stage. The play was produced by the Theatre Libre (at
+the Theatre des Menus-Plaisirs) on May 29, 1890. Here, again, it
+became the watchword of the new school of authors and critics, and
+aroused a good deal of opposition among the old school. But the
+most hostile French criticisms were moderation itself compared with
+the torrents of abuse which were poured upon _Ghosts_ by the
+journalists of London when, on March 13, 1891, the Independent
+Theatre, under the direction of Mr. J. T. Grein, gave a private
+performance of the play at the Royalty Theatre, Soho. I have
+elsewhere [Note: See "The Mausoleum of Ibsen," _Fortnightly
+Review_, August 1893. See also Mr. Bernard Shaw's _Quintessence of
+Ibsenism_, p. 89, and my introduction to Ghosts in the single-volume
+edition.] placed upon record some of the amazing feats of
+vituperation achieved of the critics, and will not here recall
+them. It is sufficient to say that if the play had been a tenth
+part as nauseous as the epithets hurled at it and its author, the
+Censor's veto would have been amply justified. That veto is still
+(1906) in force. England enjoys the proud distinction of being the
+one country in the world where _Ghosts_ may not be publicly acted.
+In the United States, the first performance of the play in English
+took place at the Berkeley Lyceum, New York City, on January 5,
+1894. The production was described by Mr. W. D. Howells as "a great
+theatrical event--the very greatest I have ever known." Other
+leading men of letters were equally impressed by it. Five years
+later, a second production took place at the Carnegie Lyceum; and
+an adventurous manager has even taken the play on tour in the
+United States. The Italian version of the tragedy, _Gli Spettri_,
+has ever since 1892 taken a prominent place in the repertory of the
+great actors Zaccone and Novelli, who have acted it, not only
+throughout Italy, but in Austria, Germany, Russia, Spain, and South
+America.
+
+In an interview, published immediately after Ibsen's death,
+Bjornstjerne Bjornson, questioned as to what he held to be his
+brother-poet's greatest work, replied, without a moment's
+hesitation, _Gengangere_. This dictum can scarcely, I think, be
+accepted without some qualification. Even confining our attention
+to the modern plays, and leaving out of comparison _The Pretenders_,
+_Brand_, and _Peer Gynt_, we can scarcely call _Ghosts_ Ibsen's
+richest or most human play, and certainly not his profoundest or
+most poetical. If some omnipotent Censorship decreed the
+annihilation of all his works save one, few people, I imagine,
+would vote that that one should be _Ghosts_. Even if half a dozen
+works were to be saved from the wreck, I doubt whether I, for my
+part, would include _Ghosts_ in the list. It is, in my judgment, a
+little bare, hard, austere. It is the first work in which Ibsen
+applies his new technical method--evolved, as I have suggested,
+during the composition of _A Doll's House_--and he applies it with
+something of fanaticism. He is under the sway of a prosaic ideal--
+confessed in the phrase, "My object was to make the reader feel
+that he was going through a piece of real experience"--and he is
+putting some constraint upon the poet within him. The action moves
+a little stiffly, and all in one rhythm. It lacks variety and
+suppleness. Moreover, the play affords some slight excuse for the
+criticism which persists in regarding Ibsen as a preacher rather
+than as a creator--an author who cares more for ideas and doctrines
+than for human beings. Though Mrs. Alving, Engstrand and Regina are
+rounded and breathing characters, it cannot be denied that Manders
+strikes one as a clerical type rather than an individual, while
+even Oswald might not quite unfairly be described as simply and
+solely his father's son, an object-lesson in heredity. We cannot be
+said to know him, individually and intimately, as we know Helmer or
+Stockmann, Hialmar Ekdal or Gregors Werle. Then, again, there are
+one or two curious flaws in the play. The question whether Oswald's
+"case" is one which actually presents itself in the medical books
+seems to me of very trifling moment. It is typically true, even if
+it be not true in detail. The suddenness of the catastrophe may
+possibly be exaggerated, its premonitions and even its essential
+nature may be misdescribed. On the other hand, I conceive it,
+probable that the poet had documents to found upon, which may be
+unknown to his critics. I have never taken any pains to satisfy
+myself upon the point, which seems to me quite immaterial. There is
+not the slightest doubt that the life-history of a Captain Alving
+may, and often does, entail upon posterity consequences quite as
+tragic as those which ensue in Oswald's case, and far more
+wide-spreading. That being so, the artistic justification of the
+poet's presentment of the case is certainly not dependent on its
+absolute scientific accuracy. The flaws above alluded to are of
+another nature. One of them is the prominence given to the fact
+that the Asylum is uninsured. No doubt there is some symbolical
+purport in the circumstance; but I cannot think that it is either
+sufficiently clear or sufficiently important to justify the
+emphasis thrown upon it at the end of the second act. Another
+dubious point is Oswald's argument in the first act as to the
+expensiveness of marriage as compared with free union. Since the
+parties to free union, as he describes it, accept all the
+responsibilities of marriage, and only pretermit the ceremony, the
+difference of expense, one would suppose, must be neither more nor
+less than the actual marriage fee. I have never seen this remark of
+Oswald's adequately explained, either as a matter of economic fact,
+or as a trait of character. Another blemish, of somewhat greater
+moment, is the inconceivable facility with which, in the third act,
+Manders suffers himself to be victimised by Engstrand. All these
+little things, taken together, detract, as it seems to me, from the
+artistic completeness of the play, and impair its claim to rank as
+the poet's masterpiece. Even in prose drama, his greatest and most
+consummate achievements were yet to come.
+
+Must we, then, wholly dissent from Bjornson's judgment? I think
+not. In a historical, if not in an aesthetic, sense, _Ghosts_ may
+well rank as Ibsen's greatest work. It was the play which first
+gave the full measure of his technical and spiritual originality
+and daring. It has done far more than any other of his plays to
+"move boundary-posts." It has advanced the frontiers of dramatic
+art and implanted new ideals, both technical and intellectual, in
+the minds of a whole generation of playwrights. It ranks with
+_Hernani_ and _La Dame aux Camelias_ among the epoch-making plays
+of the nineteenth century, while in point of essential originality
+it towers above them. We cannot, I think, get nearer to the truth
+than Georg Brandes did in the above-quoted phrase from his first
+notice of the play, describing it as not, perhaps, the poet's
+greatest work, but certainly his noblest deed. In another essay,
+Brandes has pointed to it, with equal justice, as marking Ibsen's
+final breach with his early-one might almost say his hereditary
+romanticism. He here becomes, at last, "the most modern of the
+moderns." "This, I am convinced," says the Danish critic, "is his
+imperishable glory, and will give lasting life to his works."
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+(1881)
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+MRS. HELEN ALVING, widow of Captain Alving, late Chamberlain to
+the King. [Note: Chamberlain (Kammerherre) is the only title of
+honour now existing in Norway. It is a distinction conferred by the
+King on men of wealth and position, and is not hereditary.]
+OSWALD ALVING, her son, a painter.
+PASTOR MANDERS.
+JACOB ENGSTRAND, a carpenter.
+REGINA ENGSTRAND, Mrs. Alving's maid.
+
+The action takes place at Mrs. Alving's country house, beside one
+of the large fjords in Western Norway.
+
+
+GHOSTS
+
+A FAMILY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.
+
+
+ACT FIRST.
+
+[A spacious garden-room, with one door to the left, and two doors
+to the right. In the middle of the room a round table, with chairs
+about it. On the table lie books, periodicals, and newspapers. In
+the foreground to the left a window, and by it a small sofa, with a
+worktable in front of it. In the background, the room is continued
+into a somewhat narrower conservatory, the walls of which are
+formed by large panes of glass. In the right-hand wall of the
+conservatory is a door leading down into the garden. Through the
+glass wall a gloomy fjord landscape is faintly visible, veiled by
+steady rain.]
+
+[ENGSTRAND, the carpenter, stands by the garden door. His left leg
+is somewhat bent; he has a clump of wood under the sole of his
+boot. REGINA, with an empty garden syringe in her hand, hinders him
+from advancing.]
+
+REGINA. [In a low voice.] What do you want? Stop where you are.
+You're positively dripping.
+
+ENGSTRAND. It's the Lord's own rain, my girl.
+
+REGINA. It's the devil's rain, _I_ say.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord, how you talk, Regina. [Limps a step or two forward
+into the room.] It's just this as I wanted to say--
+
+REGINA. Don't clatter so with that foot of yours, I tell you! The
+young master's asleep upstairs.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Asleep? In the middle of the day?
+
+REGINA. It's no business of yours.
+
+ENGSTRAND. I was out on the loose last night--
+
+REGINA. I can quite believe that.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, we're weak vessels, we poor mortals, my girl--
+
+REGINA. So it seems.
+
+ENGSTRAND. --and temptations are manifold in this world, you see.
+But all the same, I was hard at work, God knows, at half-past five
+this morning.
+
+REGINA. Very well; only be off now. I won't stop here and have
+_rendezvous's_ [Note: This and other French words by Regina are in
+that language in the original] with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you say you won't have?
+
+REGINA. I won't have any one find you here; so just you go about
+your business.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Advances a step or two.] Blest if I go before I've had
+a talk with you. This afternoon I shall have finished my work at
+the school house, and then I shall take to-night's boat and be off
+home to the town.
+
+REGINA. [Mutters.] Pleasant journey to you!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Thank you, my child. To-morrow the Orphanage is to be
+opened, and then there'll be fine doings, no doubt, and plenty of
+intoxicating drink going, you know. And nobody shall say of Jacob
+Engstrand that he can't keep out of temptation's way.
+
+REGINA. Oh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. You see, there's to be heaps of grand folks here
+to-morrow. Pastor Manders is expected from town, too.
+
+REGINA. He's coming to-day.
+
+ENGSTRAND. There, you see! And I should be cursedly sorry if he
+found out anything against me, don't you understand?
+
+REGINA. Oho! is that your game?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Is what my game?
+
+REGINA. [Looking hard at him.] What are you going to fool Pastor
+Manders into doing, this time?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Sh! sh! Are you crazy? Do _I_ want to fool Pastor
+Manders? Oh no! Pastor Manders has been far too good a friend to me
+for that. But I just wanted to say, you know--that I mean to be off
+home again to-night.
+
+REGINA. The sooner the better, say I.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, but I want you with me, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [Open-mouthed.] You want me--? What are you talking about?
+
+ENGSTRAND. I want you to come home with me, I say.
+
+REGINA. [Scornfully.] Never in this world shall you get me home
+with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, we'll see about that.
+
+REGINA. Yes, you may be sure we'll see about it! Me, that have been
+brought up by a lady like Mrs Alving! Me, that am treated almost as
+a daughter here! Is it me you want to go home with you?--to a house
+like yours? For shame!
+
+ENGSTRAND. What the devil do you mean? Do you set yourself up
+against your father, you hussy?
+
+REGINA. [Mutters without looking at him.] You've sail often enough
+I was no concern of yours.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Pooh! Why should you bother about that--
+
+REGINA. Haven't you many a time sworn at me and called me a--? _Fi
+donc_!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Curse me, now, if ever I used such an ugly word.
+
+REGINA. Oh, I remember very well what word you used.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, but that was only when I was a bit on, don't you
+know? Temptations are manifold in this world, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Ugh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. And besides, it was when your mother was that
+aggravating--I had to find something to twit her with, my child.
+She was always setting up for a fine lady. [Mimics.] "Let me go,
+Engstrand; let me be. Remember I was three years in Chamberlain
+Alving's family at Rosenvold." [Laughs.] Mercy on us! She could
+never forget that the Captain was made a Chamberlain while she was
+in service here.
+
+REGINA. Poor mother! you very soon tormented her into her grave.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [With a twist of his shoulders.] Oh, of course! I'm to
+have the blame for everything.
+
+REGINA. [Turns away; half aloud.] Ugh--! And that leg too!
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you say, my child?
+
+REGINA. _Pied de mouton_.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Is that English, eh?
+
+REGINA. Yes.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Ay, ay; you've picked up some learning out here; and
+that may come in useful now, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [After a short silence.] What do you want with me in town?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Can you ask what a father wants with his only child?
+A'n't I a lonely, forlorn widower?
+
+REGINA. Oh, don't try on any nonsense like that with me! Why do you
+want me?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, let me tell you, I've been thinking of setting up
+in a new line of business.
+
+REGINA. [Contemptuously.] You've tried that often enough, and much
+good you've done with it.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, but this time you shall see, Regina! Devil take me--
+
+REGINA. [Stamps.] Stop your swearing!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Hush, hush; you're right enough there, my girl. What I
+wanted to say was just this--I've laid by a very tidy pile from
+this Orphanage job.
+
+REGINA. Have you? That's a good thing for you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What can a man spend his ha'pence on here in this
+country hole?
+
+REGINA. Well, what then?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why, you see, I thought of putting the money into some
+paying speculation. I thought of a sort of a sailor's tavern--
+
+REGINA. Pah!
+
+ENGSTRAND. A regular high-class affair, of course; not any sort of
+pig-sty for common sailors. No! damn it! it would be for captains
+and mates, and--and--regular swells, you know.
+
+REGINA. And I was to--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. You were to help, to be sure. Only for the look of the
+thing, you understand. Devil a bit of hard work shall you have, my
+girl. You shall do exactly what you like.
+
+REGINA. Oh, indeed!
+
+ENGSTRAND. But there must be a petticoat in the house; that's as
+clear as daylight. For I want to have it a bit lively like in the
+evenings, with singing and dancing, and so on. You must remember
+they're weary wanderers on the ocean of life. [Nearer.] Now don't
+be a fool and stand in your own light, Regina. What's to become of
+you out here? Your mistress has given you a lot of learning; but
+what good is that to you? You're to look after the children at the
+new Orphanage, I hear. Is that the sort of thing for you, eh? Are
+you so dead set on wearing your life out for a pack of dirty brats?
+
+REGINA. No; if things go as I want them to--Well there's no saying--
+there's no saying.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you mean by "there's no saying"?
+
+REGINA. Never you mind.--How much money have you saved?
+
+ENGSTRAND. What with one thing and another, a matter of seven or
+eight hundred crowns. [A "krone" is equal to one shilling and
+three-halfpence.]
+
+REGINA. That's not so bad.
+
+ENGSTRAND. It's enough to make a start with, my girl.
+
+REGINA. Aren't you thinking of giving me any?
+
+ENGSTRAND. No, I'm blest if I am!
+
+REGINA. Not even of sending me a scrap of stuff for a new dress?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Come to town with me, my lass, and you'll soon get
+dresses enough.
+
+REGINA. Pooh! I can do that on my own account, if I want to.
+
+ENGSTRAND. No, a father's guiding hand is what you want, Regina.
+Now, I've got my eye on a capital house in Little Harbour Street.
+They don't want much ready-money; and it could be a sort of a
+Sailors' Home, you know.
+
+REGINA. But I will not live with you! I have nothing whatever to do
+with you. Be off!
+
+ENGSTRAND. You wouldn't stop long with me, my girl. No such luck!
+If you knew how to play your cards, such a fine figure of a girl as
+you've grown in the last year or two--
+
+REGINA. Well?
+
+ENGSTRAND. You'd soon get hold of some mate--or maybe even a
+captain--
+
+REGINA. I won't marry any one of that sort. Sailors have no _savoir
+vivre_.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What's that they haven't got?
+
+REGINA. I know what sailors are, I tell you. They're not the sort
+of people to marry.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Then never mind about marrying them. You can make it pay
+all the same. [More confidentially.] He--the Englishman--the man
+with the yacht--he came down with three hundred dollars, he did;
+and she wasn't a bit handsomer than you.
+
+REGINA. [Making for him.] Out you go!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Falling back.] Come, come! You're not going to hit me,
+I hope.
+
+REGINA. Yes, if you begin talking about mother I shall hit you. Get
+away with you, I say! [Drives him back towards the garden door.]
+And don't slam the doors. Young Mr. Alving--
+
+ENGSTRAND. He's asleep; I know. You're mightily taken up about
+young Mr. Alving--[More softly.] Oho! you don't mean to say it's
+him as--?
+
+REGINA. Be off this minute! You're crazy, I tell you! No, not that
+way. There comes Pastor Manders. Down the kitchen stairs with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Towards the right.] Yes, yes, I'm going. But just you
+talk to him as is coming there. He's the man to tell you what a
+child owes its father. For I am your father all the same, you know.
+I can prove it from the church register.
+
+[He goes out through the second door to the right, which REGINA
+has opened, and closes again after him. REGINA glances hastily at
+herself in the mirror, dusts herself with her pocket handkerchief;
+and settles her necktie; then she busies herself with the flowers.]
+
+[PASTOR MANDERS, wearing an overcoat, carrying an umbrella, and
+with a small travelling-bag on a strap over his shoulder, comes
+through the garden door into the conservatory.]
+
+MANDERS. Good-morning, Miss Engstrand.
+
+REGINA. [Turning round, surprised and pleased.] No, really! Good
+morning, Pastor Manders. Is the steamer in already?
+
+MANDERS. It is just in. [Enters the sitting-room.] Terrible weather
+we have been having lately.
+
+REGINA. [Follows him.] It's such blessed weather for the country,
+sir.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt; you are quite right. We townspeople give too
+little thought to that. [He begins to take of his overcoat.]
+
+REGINA. Oh, mayn't I help you?--There! Why, how wet it is? I'll
+just hang it up in the hall. And your umbrella, too--I'll open it
+and let it dry.
+
+[She goes out with the things through the second door on the right.
+PASTOR MANDERS takes off his travelling bag and lays it and his hat
+on a chair. Meanwhile REGINA comes in again.]
+
+MANDERS. Ah, it's a comfort to get safe under cover. I hope
+everything is going on well here?
+
+REGINA. Yes, thank you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. You have your hands full, I suppose, in preparation for
+to-morrow?
+
+REGINA. Yes, there's plenty to do, of course.
+
+MANDERS. And Mrs. Alving is at home, I trust?
+
+REGINA. Oh dear, yes. She's just upstairs, looking after the young
+master's chocolate.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, by-the-bye--I heard down at the pier that Oswald had
+arrived.
+
+REGINA. Yes, he came the day before yesterday. We didn't expect him
+before to-day.
+
+MANDERS. Quite strong and well, I hope?
+
+REGINA. Yes, thank you, quite; but dreadfully tired with the
+journey. He has made one rush right through from Paris--the whole
+way in one train, I believe. He's sleeping a little now, I think;
+so perhaps we'd better talk a little quietly.
+
+MANDERS. Sh!--as quietly as you please.
+
+REGINA. [Arranging an arm-chair beside the table.] Now, do sit
+down, Pastor Manders, and make yourself comfortable. [He sits down;
+she places a footstool under his feet.] There! Are you comfortable
+now, sir?
+
+MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, extremely so. [Looks at her.] Do you know,
+Miss Engstrand, I positively believe you have grown since I last
+saw you.
+
+REGINA. Do you think so, Sir? Mrs. Alving says I've filled out too.
+
+MANDERS. Filled out? Well, perhaps a little; just enough.
+
+[Short pause.]
+
+REGINA. Shall I tell Mrs. Alving you are here?
+
+MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, there is no hurry, my dear child.--
+By-the-bye, Regina, my good girl, tell me: how is your father
+getting on out here?
+
+REGINA. Oh, thank you, sir, he's getting on well enough.
+
+MANDERS. He called upon me last time he was in town.
+
+REGINA. Did he, indeed? He's always so glad of a chance of talking
+to you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. And you often look in upon him at his work, I daresay?
+
+REGINA. I? Oh, of course, when I have time, I--
+
+MANDERS. Your father is not a man of strong character, Miss
+Engstrand. He stands terribly in need of a guiding hand.
+
+REGINA. Oh, yes; I daresay he does.
+
+MANDERS. He requires some one near him whom he cares for, and whose
+judgment he respects. He frankly admitted as much when he last came
+to see me.
+
+REGINA. Yes, he mentioned something of the sort to me. But I don't
+know whether Mrs. Alving can spare me; especially now that we've
+got the new Orphanage to attend to. And then I should be so sorry
+to leave Mrs. Alving; she has always been so kind to me.
+
+MANDERS. But a daughter's duty, my good girl--Of course, we should
+first have to get your mistress's consent.
+
+REGINA. But I don't know whether it would be quite proper for me,
+at my age, to keep house for a single man.
+
+MANDERS. What! My dear Miss Engstrand! When the man is your own
+father!
+
+REGINA. Yes, that may be; but all the same--Now, if it were in a
+thoroughly nice house, and with a real gentleman--
+
+MANDERS. Why, my dear Regina--
+
+REGINA. --one I could love and respect, and be a daughter to--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but my dear, good child--
+
+REGINA. Then I should be glad to go to town. It's very lonely out
+here; you know yourself, sir, what it is to be alone in the world.
+And I can assure you I'm both quick and willing. Don't you know of
+any such place for me, sir?
+
+MANDERS. I? No, certainly not.
+
+REGINA. But, dear, dear Sir, do remember me if--
+
+MANDERS. [Rising.] Yes, yes, certainly, Miss Engstrand.
+
+REGINA. For if I--
+
+MANDERS. Will you be so good as to tell your mistress I am here?
+
+REGINA. I will, at once, sir. [She goes out to the left.]
+
+MANDERS. [Paces the room two or three times, stands a moment in the
+background with his hands behind his back, and looks out over the
+garden. Then he returns to the table, takes up a book, and looks at
+the title-page; starts, and looks at several books.] Ha--indeed!
+
+[MRS. ALVING enters by the door on the left; she is followed by
+REGINA, who immediately goes out by the first door on the right.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Holds out her hand.] Welcome, my dear Pastor.
+
+MANDERS. How do you do, Mrs. Alving? Here I am as I promised.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Always punctual to the minute.
+
+MANDERS. You may believe it was not so easy for me to get away.
+With all the Boards and Committees I belong to--
+
+MRS. ALVING. That makes it all the kinder of you to come so early.
+Now we can get through our business before dinner. But where is
+your portmanteau?
+
+MANDERS. [Quickly.] I left it down at the inn. I shall sleep there
+to-night.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Suppressing a smile.] Are you really not to be
+persuaded, even now, to pass the night under my roof?
+
+MANDERS. No, no, Mrs. Alving; many thanks. I shall stay at the inn,
+as usual. It is so conveniently near the landing-stage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, you must have your own way. But I really should
+have thought we two old people--
+
+MANDERS. Now you are making fun of me. Ah, you're naturally in
+great spirits to-day--what with to-morrow's festival and Oswald's
+return.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; you can think what a delight it is to me! It's
+more than two years since he was home last. And now he has promised
+to stay with me all the winter.
+
+MANDERS. Has he really? That is very nice and dutiful of him. For I
+can well believe that life in Rome and Paris has very different
+attractions from any we can offer here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ah, but here he has his mother, you see. My own
+darling boy--he hasn't forgotten his old mother!
+
+MANDERS. It would be grievous indeed, if absence and absorption in
+art and that sort of thing were to blunt his natural feelings.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, you may well say so. But there's nothing of that
+sort to fear with him. I'm quite curious to see whether you know
+him again. He'll be down presently; he's upstairs just now, resting
+a little on the sofa. But do sit down, my dear Pastor.
+
+MANDERS. Thank you. Are you quite at liberty--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly. [She sits by the table.]
+
+MANDERS. Very well. Then let me show you--[He goes to the chair
+where his travelling-bag lies, takes out a packet of papers, sits
+down on the opposite side of the table, and tries to find a clear
+space for the papers.] Now, to begin with, here is--[Breaking off.]
+Tell me, Mrs. Alving, how do these books come to be here?
+
+MRS. ALVING. These books? They are books I am reading.
+
+MANDERS. Do you read this sort of literature?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly I do.
+
+MANDERS. Do you feel better or happier for such reading?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I feel, so to speak, more secure.
+
+MANDERS. That is strange. How do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, I seem to find explanation and confirmation of
+all sorts of things I myself have been thinking. For that is the
+wonderful part of it, Pastor Minders--there is really nothing new
+in these books, nothing but what most people think and believe.
+Only most people either don't formulate it to themselves, or else
+keep quiet about it.
+
+MANDERS. Great heavens! Do you really believe that most people--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I do, indeed.
+
+MANDERS. But surely not in this country? Not here among us?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly; here as elsewhere.
+
+MANDERS. Well, I really must say--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. For the rest, what do you object to in these books?
+
+MANDERS. Object to in them? You surely do not suppose that I have
+nothing better to do than to study such publications as these?
+
+MRS. ALVING. That is to say, you know nothing of what you are
+condemning?
+
+MANDERS. I have read enough about these writings to disapprove of
+them.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; but your own judgment--
+
+MANDERS. My dear Mrs. Alving, there are many occasions in life when
+one must rely upon others. Things are so ordered in this world; and
+it is well that they are. Otherwise, what would become of society?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, well, I daresay you're right there.
+
+MANDERS. Besides, I of course do not deny that there may be much
+that is attractive in such books. Nor can I blame you for wishing
+to keep up with the intellectual movements that are said to be
+going on in the great world-where you have let your son pass so
+much of his life. But--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But?
+
+MANDERS. [Lowering his voice.] But one should not talk about it,
+Mrs. Alving. One is certainly not bound to account to everybody for
+what one reads and thinks within one's own four walls.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course not; I quite agree with you.
+
+MANDERS. Only think, now, how you are bound to consider the
+interests of this Orphanage, which you decided on founding at a
+time when--if I understand you rightly--you thought very
+differently on spiritual matters.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; I quite admit that. But it was about the
+Orphanage--
+
+MANDERS. It was about the Orphanage we were to speak; yes. All I
+say is: prudence, my dear lady! And now let us get to business.
+[Opens the packet, and takes out a number of papers.] Do you see
+these?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The documents?
+
+MANDERS. All--and in perfect order. I can tell you it was hard work
+to get them in time. I had to put on strong pressure. The
+authorities are almost morbidly scrupulous when there is any
+decisive step to be taken. But here they are at last. [Looks
+through the bundle.] See! here is the formal deed of gift of the
+parcel of ground known as Solvik in the Manor of Rosenvold, with
+all the newly constructed buildings, schoolrooms, master's house,
+and chapel. And here is the legal fiat for the endowment and for
+the Bye-laws of the Institution. Will you look at them? [Reads.]
+"Bye-laws for the Children's Home to be known as 'Captain Alving's
+Foundation.'"
+
+MRS. ALVING. (Looks long at the paper.) So there it is.
+
+MANDERS. I have chosen the designation "Captain" rather than
+"Chamberlain." "Captain" looks less pretentious.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; just as you think best.
+
+MANDERS. And here you have the Bank Account of the capital lying at
+interest to cover the current expenses of the Orphanage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Thank you; but please keep it--it will be more
+convenient.
+
+MANDERS. With pleasure. I think we will leave the money in the Bank
+for the present. The interest is certainly not what we could wish--
+four per cent. and six months' notice of withdrawal. If a good
+mortgage could be found later on--of course it must be a first
+mortgage and an unimpeachable security--then we could consider the
+matter.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly, my dear Pastor Manders. You are the best
+judge in these things.
+
+MANDERS. I will keep my eyes open at any rate.--But now there is
+one thing more which I have several times been intending to ask
+you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And what is that?
+
+MANDERS. Shall the Orphanage buildings be insured or not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course they must be insured.
+
+MANDERS. Well, wait a moment, Mrs. Alving. Let us look into the
+matter a little more closely.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have everything insured; buildings and movables and
+stock and crops.
+
+MANDERS. Of course you have--on your own estate. And so have I--of
+course. But here, you see, it is quite another matter. The
+Orphanage is to be consecrated, as it were, to a higher purpose.
+
+MRS. ALVING.
+Yes, but that's no reason--
+
+MANDERS. For my own part, I should certainly not see the smallest
+impropriety in guarding against all contingencies--
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, I should think not.
+
+MANDERS. But what is the general feeling in the neighbourhood? You,
+of course, know better than I.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well--the general feeling--
+
+MANDERS. Is there any considerable number of people--really
+responsible people--who might be scandalised?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do you mean by "really responsible people"?
+
+MANDERS. Well, I mean people in such independent and influential
+positions that one cannot help attaching some weight to their
+opinions.
+
+MRS. ALVING. There are several people of that sort here, who would
+very likely be shocked if--
+
+MANDERS. There, you see! In town we have many such people. Think
+of all my colleague's adherents! People would be only too ready to
+interpret our action as a sign that neither you nor I had the right
+faith in a Higher Providence.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But for your own part, my dear Pastor, you can at
+least tell yourself that--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, I know--I know; my conscience would be quite easy,
+that is true enough. But nevertheless we should not escape grave
+misinterpretation; and that might very likely react unfavourably
+upon the Orphanage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, in that case--
+
+MANDERS. Nor can I entirely lose sight of the difficult--I may even
+say painful--position in which _I_ might perhaps be placed. In the
+leading circles of the town, people take a lively interest in this
+Orphanage. It is, of course, founded partly for the benefit of the
+town, as well; and it is to be hoped it will, to a considerable
+extent, result in lightening our Poor Rates. Now, as I have been
+your adviser, and have had the business arrangements in my hands, I
+cannot but fear that I may have to bear the brunt of fanaticism--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you mustn't run the risk of that.
+
+MANDERS. To say nothing of the attacks that would assuredly be made
+upon me in certain papers and periodicals, which--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Enough, my dear Pastor Manders. That consideration is
+quite decisive.
+
+MANDERS. Then you do not wish the Orphanage to be insured?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. We will let it alone.
+
+MANDERS. [Leaning hack in his chair.] But if, now, a disaster were
+to happen? One can never tell--Should you be able to make good the
+damage?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No; I tell you plainly I should do nothing of the
+kind.
+
+MANDERS. Then I must tell you, Mrs. Alving--we are taking no small
+responsibility upon ourselves.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think we can do otherwise?
+
+MANDERS. No, that is just the point; we really cannot do otherwise.
+We ought not to expose ourselves to misinterpretation; and we have
+no right whatever to give offence to the weaker brethren.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You, as a clergyman, certainly should not.
+
+MANDERS. I really think, too, we may trust that such an institution
+has fortune on its side; in fact, that it stands under a special
+providence.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let us hope so, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Then we will let it take its chance?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly.
+
+MANDERS. Very well. So be it. [Makes a note.] Then--no insurance.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It's odd that you should just happen to mention the
+matter to-day--
+
+MANDERS. I have often thought of asking you about it--
+
+MRS. ALVING. --for we very nearly had a fire down there yesterday.
+
+MANDERS. You don't say so!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, it was a trifling matter. A heap of shavings had
+caught fire in the carpenter's workshop.
+
+MANDERS. Where Engstrand works?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. They say he's often very careless with matches.
+
+MANDERS. He has so much on his mind, that man--so many things to
+fight against. Thank God, he is now striving to lead a decent life,
+I hear.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Indeed! Who says so?
+
+MANDERS. He himself assures me of it. And he is certainly a capital
+workman.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; so long as he's sober--
+
+MANDERS. Ah, that melancholy weakness! But, a is often driven to it
+by his injured leg, lie says,' Last time he was in town I was
+really touched by him. He came and thanked me so warmly for having
+got him work here, so that he might be near Regina.
+
+MRS. ALVING. He doesn't see much of her.
+
+MANDERS. Oh, yes; he has a talk with her every day. He told me so
+himself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, it may be so.
+
+MANDERS. He feels so acutely that he needs some one to keep a firm
+hold on him when temptation comes. That is what I cannot help
+liking about Jacob Engstrand: he comes to you so helplessly,
+accusing himself and confessing his own weakness. The last time he
+was talking to me--Believe me, Mrs. Alving, supposing it were a
+real necessity for him to have Regina home again--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising hastily.] Regina!
+
+MANDERS. --you must not set yourself against it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Indeed I shall set myself against it. And besides--
+Regina is to have a position in the Orphanage.
+
+MANDERS. But, after all, remember he is her father--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, I know very well what sort of a father he has been
+to her. No! She shall never go to him with my goodwill.
+
+MANDERS. [Rising.] My dear lady, don't take the matter so warmly.
+You sadly misjudge poor Engstrand. You seem to be quite terrified--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [More quietly.] It makes no difference. I have taken
+Regina into my house, and there she shall stay. [Listens.] Hush, my
+dear Mr. Manders; say no more about it. [Her face lights up with
+gladness.] Listen! there is Oswald coming downstairs. Now we'll
+think of no one but him.
+
+[OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand, and smoking a
+large meerschaum, enters by the door on the left; he stops in the
+doorway.]
+
+OSWALD. Oh, I beg your pardon; I thought you were in the study.
+[Comes forward.] Good-morning, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [Staring.] Ah--! How strange--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well now, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
+
+MANDERS. I--I--can it really be--?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, it's really the Prodigal Son, sir.
+
+MANDERS. [Protesting.] My dear young friend--
+
+OSWALD. Well, then, the Lost Sheep Found.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so much
+opposed to his becoming a painter.
+
+MANDERS. To our human eyes many a step seems dubious, which
+afterwards proves--[Wrings his hand.] But first of all, welcome,
+welcome home! Do not think, my dear Oswald--I suppose I may call
+you by your Christian name?
+
+OSWALD. What else should you call me?
+
+MANDERS. Very good. What I wanted to say was this, my dear Oswald
+you must not think that I utterly condemn the artist's calling. I
+have no doubt there are many who can keep their inner self unharmed
+in that profession, as in any other.
+
+OSWALD. Let us hope so.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Beaming with delight.] I know one who has kept both
+his inner and his outer self unharmed. Just look at him, Mr.
+Manders.
+
+OSWALD. [Moves restlessly about the room.] Yes, yes, my dear
+mother; let's say no more about it.
+
+MANDERS. Why, certainly--that is undeniable. And you have begun to
+make a name for yourself already. The newspapers have often spoken
+of you, most favourably. Just lately, by-the-bye, I fancy I haven't
+seen your name quite so often.
+
+OSWALD. [Up in the conservatory.] I haven't been able to paint so
+much lately.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Even a painter needs a little rest now and then.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt, no doubt. And meanwhile he can be preparing
+himself and mustering his forces for some great work.
+
+OSWALD. Yes.--Mother, will dinner soon be ready?
+
+MRS. ALVING. In less than half an hour. He has a capital appetite,
+thank God.
+
+MANDERS. And a taste for tobacco, too.
+
+OSWALD. I found my father's pipe in my room--
+
+MANDERS. Aha--then that accounts for it!
+
+MRS. ALVING. For what?
+
+MANDERS. When Oswald appeared there, in the doorway, with the pipe
+in his mouth, I could have sworn I saw his father, large as life.
+
+OSWALD. No, really?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, how can you say so? Oswald takes after me.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of the
+mouth--something about the lips--that reminds one exactly of
+Alving: at any rate, now that he is smoking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not in the least. Oswald has rather a clerical curve
+about his mouth, I think.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, yes; some of my colleagues have much the same
+expression.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But put your pipe away, my dear boy; I won't have
+smoking in here.
+
+OSWALD. [Does so.] By all means. I only wanted to try it; for I
+once smoked it when I was a child.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You?
+
+OSWALD. Yes. I was quite small at the time. I recollect I came up
+to father's room one evening when he was in great spirits.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you can't recollect anything of those times.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I recollect it distinctly. He took me on his knee, and
+gave me the pipe. "Smoke, boy," he said; "smoke away, boy!" And I
+smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was growing quite pale,
+and the perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead. Then he
+burst out laughing heartily--
+
+MANDERS. That was most extraordinary.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear friend, it's only something Oswald has dreamt.
+
+OSWALD. No, mother, I assure you I didn't dream it. For--don't you
+remember this?--you came and carried me out into the nursery. Then
+I was sick, and I saw that you were crying.--Did father often play
+such practical jokes?
+
+MANDERS. In his youth he overflowed with the joy of life--
+
+OSWALD. And yet he managed to do so much in the world; so much that
+was good and useful; although he died so early.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, you have inherited the name of an energetic and
+admirable man, my dear Oswald Alving. No doubt it will be an
+incentive to you--
+
+OSWALD. It ought to, indeed.
+
+MANDERS. It was good of you to come home for the ceremony in his
+honour.
+
+OSWALD. I could do no less for my father.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And I am to keep him so long! That is the best of all.
+
+MANDERS. You are going to pass the winter at home, I hear.
+
+OSWALD. My stay is indefinite, sir.-But, ah! it is good to be at
+home!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Beaming.] Yes, isn't it, dear?
+
+MANDERS. [Looking sympathetically at him.] You went out into the
+world early, my dear Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. I did. I sometimes wonder whether it wasn't too early.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, not at all. A healthy lad is all the better for
+it; especially when he's an only child. He oughtn't to hang on at
+home with his mother and father, and get spoilt.
+
+MANDERS. That is a very disputable point, Mrs. Alving. A child's
+proper place is, and must be, the home of his fathers.
+
+OSWALD. There I quite agree with you, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Only look at your own son--there is no reason why we
+should not say it in his presence--what has the consequence been
+for him? He is six or seven and twenty, and has never had the
+opportunity of learning what a well-ordered home really is.
+
+OSWALD. I beg your pardon, Pastor; there you're quite mistaken.
+
+MANDERS. Indeed? I thought you had lived almost exclusively in
+artistic circles.
+
+OSWALD. So I have.
+
+MANDERS. And chiefly among the younger artists?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, certainly.
+
+MANDERS. But I thought few of those young fellows could afford to
+set up house and support a family.
+
+OSWALD. There are many who cannot afford to marry, sir.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, that is just what I say.
+
+OSWALD. But they may have a home for all that. And several of them
+have, as a matter of fact; and very pleasant, well-ordered homes
+they are, too.
+
+[MRS. ALVING follows with breathless interest; nods, but says
+nothing.]
+
+MANDERS. But I'm not talking of bachelors' quarters. By a "home" I
+understand the home of a family, where a man lives with his wife and
+children.
+
+OSWALD. Yes; or with his children and his children's mother.
+
+MANDERS. [Starts; clasps his hands.] But, good heavens--
+
+OSWALD. Well?
+
+MANDERS. Lives with--his children's mother!
+
+OSWALD. Yes. Would you have him turn his children's mother out of
+doors?
+
+MANDERS. Then it is illicit relations you are talking of! Irregular
+marriages, as people call them!
+
+OSWALD. I have never noticed anything particularly irregular about
+the life these people lead.
+
+MANDERS. But how is it possible that a--a young man or young woman
+with any decency of feeling can endure to live in that way?--in the
+eyes of all the world!
+
+OSWALD. What are they to do? A poor young artist--a poor girl--
+marriage costs a great deal. What are they to do?
+
+MANDERS. What are they to do? Let me tell you, Mr. Alving, what they
+ought to do. They ought to exercise self-restraint from the first;
+that is what they ought to do.
+
+OSWALD. That doctrine will scarcely go down with warm-blooded young
+people who love each other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, scarcely!
+
+MANDERS. [Continuing.] How can the authorities tolerate such things!
+Allow them to go on in the light of day! [Confronting MRS. ALVING.]
+Had I not cause to be deeply concerned about your son? In circles
+where open immorality prevails, and has even a sort of recognised
+position--!
+
+OSWALD. Let me tell you, sir, that I have been in the habit of
+spending nearly all my Sundays in one or two such irregular homes--
+
+MANDERS. Sunday of all days!
+
+OSWALD. Isn't that the day to enjoy one's self? Well, never have I
+heard an offensive word, and still less have I witnessed anything
+that could be called immoral. No; do you know when and where I have
+come across immorality in artistic circles?
+
+MANDERS. No, thank heaven, I don't!
+
+OSWALD. Well, then, allow me to inform you. I have met with it when
+one or other of our pattern husbands and fathers has come to Paris
+to have a look round on his own account, and has done the artists
+the honour of visiting their humble haunts. They knew what was what.
+These gentlemen could tell us all about places and things we had
+never dreamt of.
+
+MANDERS. What! Do you mean to say that respectable men from home
+here would--?
+
+OSWALD. Have you never heard these respectable men, when they got
+home again, talking about the way in which immorality runs rampant
+abroad?
+
+MANDERS. Yes, no doubt--
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have too.
+
+OSWALD. Well, you may take their word for it. They know what they
+are talking about! [Presses has hands to his head.] Oh! that that
+great, free, glorious life out there should be defiled in such a way!
+
+MRS. ALVING. You mustn't get excited, Oswald. It's not good for you.
+
+OSWALD. Yes; you're quite right, mother. It's bad for me, I know.
+You see, I'm wretchedly worn out. I shall go for a little turn
+before dinner. Excuse me, Pastor: I know you can't take my point of
+view; but I couldn't help speaking out. [He goes out by the second
+door to the right.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. My poor boy!
+
+MANDERS. You may well say so. Then this is what he has come to!
+
+[MRS. ALVING looks at him silently.]
+
+MANDERS. [Walking up and down.] He called himself the Prodigal Son.
+Alas! alas!
+
+[MRS. ALVING continues looking at him.]
+
+MANDERS. And what do you say to all this?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I say that Oswald was right in every word.
+
+MANDERS. [Stands still.] Right? Right! In such principles?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Here, in my loneliness, I have come to the same way of
+thinking, Pastor Manders. But I have never dared to say anything.
+Well! now my boy shall speak for me.
+
+MANDERS. You are greatly to be pitied, Mrs. Alving. But now I must
+speak seriously to you. And now it is no longer your business
+manager and adviser, your own and your husband's early friend, who
+stands before you. It is the priest--the priest who stood before you
+in the moment of your life when you had gone farthest astray.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And what has the priest to say to me?
+
+MANDERS. I will first stir up your memory a little. The moment is
+well chosen. To-morrow will be the tenth anniversary of your
+husband's death. To-morrow the memorial in his honour will be
+unveiled. To-morrow I shall have to speak to the whole assembled
+multitude. But to-day I will speak to you alone.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Very well, Pastor Manders. Speak.
+
+MANDERS. Do you remember that after less than a year of married life
+you stood on the verge of an abyss? That you forsook your house and
+home? That you fled from your husband? Yes, Mrs. Alving--fled, fled,
+and refused to return to him, however much he begged and prayed you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you forgotten how infinitely miserable I was in
+that first year?
+
+MANDERS. It is the very mark of the spirit of rebellion to crave for
+happiness in this life. What right have we human beings to
+happiness? We have simply to do our duty, Mrs. Alving! And your duty
+was to hold firmly to the man you had once chosen, and to whom you
+were bound by the holiest ties.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know very well what sort of life Alving was
+leading--what excesses he was guilty of.
+
+MANDERS. I know very well what rumours there were about him; and I
+am the last to approve the life he led in his young days, if report
+did not wrong him. But a wife is not appointed to be her husband's
+judge. It was your duty to bear with humility the cross which a
+Higher Power had, in its wisdom, laid upon you. But instead of that
+you rebelliously throw away the cross, desert the backslider whom
+you should have supported, go and risk your good name and
+reputation, and--nearly succeed in ruining other people's reputation
+into the bargain.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Other people's? One other person's, you mean.
+
+MANDERS. It was incredibly reckless of you to seek refuge with me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. With our clergyman? With our intimate friend?
+
+MANDERS. Just on that account. Yes, you may thank God that I
+possessed the necessary firmness; that I succeeded in dissuading you
+from your wild designs; and that it was vouchsafed me to lead you
+back to the path of duty, and home to your lawful husband.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, Pastor Manders, that was certainly your work.
+
+MANDERS. I was but a poor instrument in a Higher Hand. And what a
+blessing has it not proved to you, all the days of your life, that I
+induced you to resume the yoke of duty and obedience! Did not
+everything happen as I foretold? Did not Alving turn his back on his
+errors, as a man should? Did he not live with you from that time,
+lovingly and blamelessly, all his days? Did he not become a
+benefactor to the whole district? And did he not help you to rise to
+his own level, so that you, little by little, became his assistant
+in all his undertakings? And a capital assistant, too--oh, I know,
+Mrs. Alving, that praise is due to you.--But now I come to the next
+great error in your life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do you mean?
+
+MANDERS. Just as you once disowned a wife's duty, so you have since
+disowned a mother's.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ah--!
+
+MANDERS. You have been all your life under the dominion of a
+pestilent spirit of self-will. The whole bias of your mind has been
+towards insubordination and lawlessness. You have never known how to
+endure any bond. Everything that has weighed upon you in life you
+have cast away without care or conscience, like a burden you were
+free to throw off at will. It did not please you to be a wife any
+longer, and you left your husband. You found it troublesome to be a
+mother, and you sent your child forth among strangers.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. I did so.
+
+MANDERS. And thus you have become a stranger to him.
+
+MRS. ALVING. No! no! I am not.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, you are; you must be. And in what state of mind has he
+returned to you? Bethink yourself well, Mrs. Alving. You sinned
+greatly against your husband;--that you recognise by raising yonder
+memorial to him. Recognise now, also, how you have sinned against
+your son--there may yet be time to lead him back from the paths of
+error. Turn back yourself, and save what may yet be saved in him.
+For [With uplifted forefinger] verily, Mrs. Alving, you are a
+guilt-laden mother! This I have thought it my duty to say to you.
+
+[Silence.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Slowly and with self-control.] You have now spoken
+out, Pastor Manders; and to-morrow you are to speak publicly in
+memory of my husband. I shall not speak to-morrow. But now I will
+speak frankly to you, as you have spoken to me.
+
+MANDERS. To be sure; you will plead excuses for your conduct--
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. I will only tell you a story.
+
+MANDERS. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. All that you have just said about my husband and me,
+and our life after you had brought me back to the path of duty--as
+you called it--about all that you know nothing from personal
+observation. From that moment you, who had been our intimate friend,
+never set foot in our house gain.
+
+MANDERS. You and your husband left the town immediately after.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; and in my husband's lifetime you never came to see
+us. It was business that forced you to visit me when you undertook
+the affairs of the Orphanage.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Helen--if that is meant as a
+reproach, I would beg you to bear in mind--
+
+MRS. ALVING. --the regard you owed to your position, yes; and that I
+was a runaway wife. One can never be too cautious with such
+unprincipled creatures.
+
+MANDERS. My dear--Mrs. Alving, you know that is an absurd exaggeration--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well well, suppose it is. My point is that your
+judgment as to my married life is founded upon nothing but common
+knowledge and report.
+
+MANDERS. I admit that. What then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, then, Pastor Manders--I will tell you the truth.
+I have sworn to myself that one day you should know it--you alone!
+
+MANDERS. What is the truth, then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The truth is that my husband died just as dissolute as
+he had lived all his days.
+
+MANDERS. [Feeling after a chair.] What do you say?
+
+MRS. ALVING. After nineteen years of marriage, as dissolute--in his
+desires at any rate--as he was before you married us.
+
+MANDERS. And those-those wild oats--those irregularities--those
+excesses, if you like--you call "a dissolute life"?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Our doctor used the expression.
+
+MANDERS. I do not understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You need not.
+
+MANDERS. It almost makes me dizzy. Your whole married life, the
+seeming union of all these years, was nothing more than a hidden
+abyss!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Neither more nor less. Now you know it.
+
+MANDERS. This is--this is inconceivable to me. I cannot grasp it! I
+cannot realise it! But how was it possible to--? How could such a
+state of things be kept secret?
+
+MRS. ALVING. That has been my ceaseless struggle, day after day.
+After Oswald's birth, I thought Alving seemed to be a little better.
+But it did not last long. And then I had to struggle twice as hard,
+fighting as though for life or death, so that nobody should know
+what sort of man my child's father was. And you know what power
+Alving had of winning people's hearts. Nobody seemed able to believe
+anything but good of him. He was one of those people whose life does
+not bite upon their reputation. But at last, Mr. Manders--for you
+must know the whole story--the most repulsive thing of all happened.
+
+MANDERS. More repulsive than what you have told me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had gone on bearing with him, although I knew very
+well the secrets of his life out of doors. But when he brought the
+scandal within our own walls--
+
+MANDERS. Impossible! Here!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; here in our own home. It was there [Pointing
+towards the first door on the right], in the dining-room, that I
+first came to know of it. I was busy with something in there, and
+the door was standing ajar. I heard our housemaid come up from the
+garden, with water for those flowers.
+
+MANDERS. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Soon after, I heard Alving come in too. I heard him say
+something softly to her. And then I heard--[With a short laugh]--oh!
+it still sounds in my ears, so hateful and yet so ludicrous--I heard
+my own servant-maid whisper, "Let me go, Mr. Alving! Let me be!"
+
+MANDERS. What unseemly levity on his part'! But it cannot have been
+more than levity, Mrs. Alving; believe me, it cannot.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I soon knew what to believe. Mr. Alving had his way
+with the girl; and that connection had consequences, Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [As though petrified.] Such things in this house--in this
+house!
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had borne a great deal in this house. To keep him at
+home in the evenings, and at night, I had to make myself his boon
+companion in his secret orgies up in his room. There I have had to
+sit alone with him, to clink glasses and drink with him, and to
+listen to his ribald, silly talk. I have had to fight with him to
+get him dragged to bed--
+
+MANDERS. [Moved.] And you were able to bear all this!
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had to bear it for my little boy's sake. But when the
+last insult was added; when my own servant-maid--; then I swore to
+myself: This shall come to an end! And so I took the reins into my
+own hand--the whole control--over him and everything else. For now I
+had a weapon against him, you see; he dared not oppose me. It was
+then I sent Oswald away from home. He was nearly seven years old,
+and was beginning to observe and ask questions, as children do. That
+I could not bear. It seemed to me the child must be poisoned by
+merely breathing the air of this polluted home. That was why I sent
+him away. And now you can see, too, why he was never allowed to set
+foot inside his home so long as his father lived. No one knows what
+that cost me.
+
+MANDERS. You have indeed had a life of trial.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I could never have borne it if I had not had my work.
+For I may truly say that I have worked! All the additions to the
+estate--all the improvements--all the labour-saving appliances, that
+Alving was so much praised for having introduced--do you suppose he
+had energy for anything of the sort?--he, who lay all day on the
+sofa, reading an old Court Guide! No; but I may tell you this too:
+when he had his better intervals, it was I who urged him on; it was
+I who had to drag the whole load when he relapsed into his evil
+ways, or sank into querulous wretchedness.
+
+MANDERS. And it is to this man that you raise a memorial?
+
+MRS. ALVING. There you see the power of an evil conscience.
+
+MANDERS. Evil--? What do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. It always seemed to me impossible but that the truth
+must come out and be believed. So the Orphanage was to deaden all
+rumours and set every doubt at rest.
+
+MANDERS. In that you have certainly not missed your aim, Mrs.
+Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And besides, I had one other reason. I was determined
+that Oswald, my own boy, should inherit nothing whatever from his
+father.
+
+MANDERS. Then it is Alving's fortune that--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. The sums I have spent upon the Orphanage, year by
+year, make up the amount--I have reckoned it up precisely--the
+amount which made Lieutenant Alving "a good match" in his day.
+
+MANDERS. I don't understand--
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was my purchase-money. I do not choose that that
+money should pass into Oswald's hands. My son shall have everything
+from me--everything.
+
+[OSWALD ALVING enters through the second door to the right; he has
+taken of his hat and overcoat in the hall.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Going towards him.] Are you back again already? My
+dear, dear boy!
+
+OSWALD. Yes. What can a fellow do out of doors in this eternal rain?
+But I hear dinner is ready. That's capital!
+
+REGINA. [With a parcel, from the dining-room.] A parcel has come for
+you, Mrs. Alving. [Hands it to her.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a glance at MR. MANDERS.] No doubt copies of the
+ode for to-morrow's ceremony.
+
+MANDERS. H'm--
+
+REGINA. And dinner is ready.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Very well. We will come directly. I will just--[Begins
+to open the parcel.]
+
+REGINA. [To OSWALD.] Would Mr. Alving like red or white wine?
+
+OSWALD. Both, if you please.
+
+REGINA. _Bien_. Very well, sir. [She goes into the dining-room.]
+
+OSWALD. I may as well help to uncork it. [He also goes into the
+dining room, the door of which swings half open behind him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Who has opened the parcel.] Yes, I thought so. Here is
+the Ceremonial Ode, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [With folded hands.] With what countenance I am to deliver
+my discourse to-morrow--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you will get through it somehow.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly, so as not to be heard in the dining-room.] Yes; it
+would not do to provoke scandal.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Under her breath, but firmly.] No. But then this long,
+hateful comedy will be ended. From the day after to-morrow, I shall
+act in every way as though he who is dead had never lived in this
+house. There shall be no one here but my boy and his mother.
+
+[From the dining-room comes the noise of a chair overturned, and at
+the same moment is heard:]
+
+REGINA. [Sharply, but in a whisper.] Oswald! take care! are you mad?
+Let me go!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Starts in terror.] Ah--!
+
+[She stares wildly towards the half-open door. OSWALD is heard
+laughing and humming. A bottle is uncorked.]
+
+MANDERS. [Agitated.] What can be the matter? What is it, Mrs.
+Alving?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Hoarsely.] Ghosts! The couple from the conservatory--
+risen again!
+
+MANDERS. Is it possible! Regina--? Is she--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. Come. Not a word--!
+
+[She seizes PASTOR MANDERS by the arm, and walks unsteadily towards
+the dining-room.]
+
+
+ACT SECOND.
+
+[The same room. The mist still lies heavy over the landscape.]
+
+[MANDERS and MRS. ALVING enter from the dining-room.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Still in the doorway.] _Velbekomme_ [Note: A phrase
+equivalent to the German _Prosit die Mahlzeit_--May good digestion
+wait on appetite.], Mr. Manders. [Turns back towards the
+dining-room.] Aren't you coming too, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. [From within.] No, thank you. I think I shall go out a
+little.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, do. The weather seems a little brighter now. [She
+shuts the dining-room door, goes to the hall door, and calls:]
+Regina!
+
+REGINA. [Outside.] Yes, Mrs. Alving?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Go down to the laundry, and help with the garlands.
+
+REGINA. Yes, Mrs. Alving.
+
+[MRS. ALVING assures herself that REGINA goes; then shuts the door.]
+
+MANDERS. I suppose he cannot overhear us in there?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not when the door is shut. Besides, he's just going
+out.
+
+MANDERS. I am still quite upset. I don't know how I could swallow a
+morsel of dinner.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Controlling her nervousness, walks up and down.] Nor
+I. But what is to be done now?
+
+MANDERS. Yes; what is to be done? I am really quite at a loss. I am
+so utterly without experience in matters of this sort.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I feel sure that, so far, no mischief has been done.
+
+MANDERS. No; heaven forbid! But it is an unseemly state of things,
+nevertheless.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It is only an idle fancy on Oswald's part; you may be
+sure of that.
+
+MANDERS. Well, as I say, I am not accustomed to affairs of the kind.
+But I should certainly think--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Out of the house she must go, and that immediately.
+That is as clear as daylight--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, of course she must.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But where to? It would not be right to--
+
+MANDERS. Where to? Home to her father, of course.
+
+MRS. ALVING. To whom did you say?
+
+MANDERS. To her--But then, Engstrand is not--? Good God, Mrs.
+Alving, it's impossible! You must be mistaken after all.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately there is no possibility of mistake.
+Johanna confessed everything to me; and Alving could not deny it. So
+there was nothing to be done but to get the matter hushed up.
+
+MANDERS. No, you could do nothing else.
+
+MRS. ALVING. The girl left our service at once, and got a good sum
+of money to hold her tongue for the time. The rest she managed for
+herself when she got to town. She renewed her old acquaintance with
+Engstrand, no doubt let him see that she had money in her purse, and
+told him some tale about a foreigner who put in here with a yacht
+that summer. So she and Engstrand got married in hot haste. Why, you
+married them yourself.
+
+MANDERS. But then how to account for--? I recollect distinctly
+Engstrand coming to give notice of the marriage. He was quite
+overwhelmed with contrition, and bitterly reproached himself for the
+misbehaviour he and his sweetheart had been guilty of.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; of course he had to take the blame upon himself.
+
+MANDERS. But such a piece of duplicity on his part! And towards me
+too! I never could have believed it of Jacob Engstrand. I shall not
+fail to take him seriously to task; he may be sure of that.--And
+then the immorality of such a connection! For money--! How much did
+the girl receive?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Three hundred dollars.
+
+MANDERS. Just think of it--for a miserable three hundred dollars, to
+go and marry a fallen woman!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then what have you to say of me? I went and married a
+fallen man.
+
+MANDERS. Why--good heavens!--what are you talking about! A fallen
+man!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think Alving was any purer when I went with him
+to the altar than Johanna was when Engstrand married her?
+
+MANDERS. Well, but there is a world of difference between the two
+cases--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not so much difference after all--except in the price:--
+a miserable three hundred dollars and a whole fortune.
+
+MANDERS. How can you compare such absolutely dissimilar cases? You
+had taken counsel with your own heart and with your natural
+advisers.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Without looking at him.] I thought you understood
+where what you call my heart had strayed to at the time.
+
+MANDERS. [Distantly.] Had I understood anything of the kind, I
+should not have been a daily guest in your husband's house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. At any rate, the fact remains that with myself I took
+no counsel whatever.
+
+MANDERS. Well then, with your nearest relatives--as your duty bade
+you--with your mother and your two aunts.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. Those three cast up the account for
+me. Oh, it's marvellous how clearly they made out that it would be
+downright madness to refuse such an offer. If mother could only see
+me now, and know what all that grandeur has come to!
+
+MANDERS. Nobody can be held responsible for the result. This, at
+least, remains clear: your marriage was in full accordance with law
+and order.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] Oh, that perpetual law and order! I
+often think that is what does all the mischief in this world of
+ours.
+
+MANDERS. Mrs. Alving, that is a sinful way of talking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, I can't help it; I must have done with all this
+constraint and insincerity. I can endure it no longer. I must work
+my way out to freedom.
+
+MANDERS. What do you mean by that?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Drumming on the window frame.] I ought never to have
+concealed the facts of Alving's life. But at that time I dared not
+do anything else-I was afraid, partly on my own account. I was such
+a coward.
+
+MANDERS. A coward?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If people had come to know anything, they would have
+said--"Poor man! with a runaway wife, no wonder he kicks over the
+traces."
+
+MANDERS. Such remarks might have been made with a certain show of
+right.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looking steadily at him.] If I were what I ought to
+be, I should go to Oswald and say, "Listen, my boy: your father led
+a vicious life--"
+
+MANDERS. Merciful heavens--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. --and then I should tell him all I have told you--every
+word of it.
+
+MANDERS. You shock me unspeakably, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; I know that. I know that very well. I myself am
+shocked at the idea. [Goes away from the window.] I am such a coward.
+
+MANDERS. You call it "cowardice" to do your plain duty? Have you
+forgotten that a son ought to love and honour his father and mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do not let us talk in such general terms. Let us ask:
+Ought Oswald to love and honour Chamberlain Alving?
+
+MANDERS. Is there no voice in your mother's heart that forbids you
+to destroy your son's ideals?
+
+MRS. ALVING. But what about the truth?
+
+MANDERS. But what about the ideals?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh--ideals, ideals! If only I were not such a coward!
+
+MANDERS. Do not despise ideals, Mrs. Alving; they will avenge
+themselves cruelly. Take Oswald's case: he, unfortunately, seems to
+have few enough ideals as it is; but I can see that his father
+stands before him as an ideal.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true.
+
+MANDERS. And this habit of mind you have yourself implanted and
+fostered by your letters.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; in my superstitious awe for duty and the
+proprieties, I lied to my boy, year after year. Oh, what a coward--
+what a coward I have been!
+
+MANDERS. You have established a happy illusion in your son's heart,
+Mrs. Alving; and assuredly you ought not to undervalue it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. H'm; who knows whether it is so happy after all--? But,
+at any rate, I will not have any tampering wide Regina. He shall not
+go and wreck the poor girl's life.
+
+MANDERS. No; good God--that would be terrible!
+
+MRS. ALVING. If I knew he was in earnest, and that it would be for
+his happiness--
+
+MANDERS. What? What then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. But it couldn't be; for unfortunately Regina is not the
+right sort of woman.
+
+MANDERS. Well, what then? What do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If I weren't such a pitiful coward, I should say to
+him, "Marry her, or make what arrangement you please, only let us
+have nothing underhand about it."
+
+MANDERS. Merciful heavens, would you let them marry! Anything so
+dreadful--! so unheard of--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you really mean "unheard of"? Frankly, Pastor
+Manders, do you suppose that throughout the country there are not
+plenty of married couples as closely akin as they?
+
+MANDERS. I don't in the least understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh yes, indeed you do.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, you are thinking of the possibility that--Alas! yes,
+family life is certainly not always so pure as it ought to be. But
+in such a case as you point to, one can never know--at least with
+any certainty. Here, on the other hand--that you, a mother, can
+think of letting your son--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But I cannot--I wouldn't for anything in the world;
+that is precisely what I am saying.
+
+MANDERS. No, because you are a "coward," as you put it. But if you
+were not a "coward," then--? Good God! a connection so shocking!
+
+MRS. ALVING. So far as that goes, they say we are all sprung from
+connections of that sort. And who is it that arranged the world so,
+Pastor Manders?
+
+MANDERS. Questions of that kind I must decline to discuss with you,
+Mrs. Alving; you are far from being in the right frame of mind for
+them. But that you dare to call your scruples "cowardly"--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let me tell you what I mean. I am timid and
+faint-hearted because of the ghosts that hang about me, and that I
+can never quite shake off.
+
+MANDERS. What do you say hangs about you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ghosts! When I heard Regina and Oswald in there, it was
+as though ghosts rose up before me. But I almost think we are all of
+us ghosts, Pastor Manders. It is not only what we have inherited
+from our father and mother that "walks" in us. It is all sorts of
+dead ideas, and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no
+vitality, but they cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake
+them off. Whenever I take up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts
+gliding between the lines. There must be ghosts all the country
+over, as thick as the sands of the sea. And then we are, one and
+all, so pitifully afraid of the light.
+
+MANDERS. Aha--here we have the fruits of your reading. And pretty
+fruits they are, upon my word! Oh, those horrible, revolutionary,
+free-thinking books!
+
+MRS. ALVING. You are mistaken, my dear Pastor. It was you yourself
+who set me thinking; and I thank you for it with all my heart.
+
+MANDERS. I!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes--when you forced me under the yoke of what you
+called duty and obligation; when you lauded as right and proper what
+my whole soul rebelled against as something loathsome. It was then
+that I began to look into the seams of your doctrines. I wanted only
+to pick at a single knot; but when I had got that undone, the whole
+thing ravelled out. And then I understood that it was all machine-sewn.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly, with emotion.] And was that the upshot of my
+life's hardest battle?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Call it rather your most pitiful defeat.
+
+MANDERS. It was my greatest victory, Helen--the victory over myself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was a crime against us both.
+
+MANDERS. When you went astray, and came to me crying, "Here I am;
+take me!" I commanded you, saying, "Woman, go home to your lawful
+husband." Was that a crime?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, I think so.
+
+MANDERS. We two do not understand each other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not now, at any rate.
+
+MANDERS. Never--never in my most secret thoughts have I regarded you
+otherwise than as another's wife.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh--indeed?
+
+MANDERS. Helen--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. People so easily forget their past selves.
+
+MANDERS. I do not. I am what I always was.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Changing the subject.] Well well well; don't let us
+talk of old times any longer. You are now over head and ears in
+Boards and Committees, and I am fighting my battle with ghosts, both
+within me and without.
+
+MANDERS. Those without I shall help you to lay. After all the
+terrible things I have heard from you today, I cannot in conscience
+permit an unprotected girl to remain in your house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Don't you think the best plan would be to get her
+provided for?--I mean, by a good marriage.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt. I think it would be desirable for her in every
+respect. Regina is now at the age when--Of course I don't know much
+about these things, but--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina matured very early.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, I thought so. I have an impression that she was
+remarkably well developed, physically, when I prepared her for
+confirmation. But in the meantime, she ought to be at home, under
+her father's eye--Ah! but Engstrand is not--That he--that he--could
+so hide the truth from me! [A knock at the door into the hall.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Who can this be? Come in!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [In his Sunday clothes, in the doorway.] I humbly beg
+your pardon, but--
+
+MANDERS. Aha! H'm--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Is that you, Engstrand?
+
+ENGSTRAND. --there was none of the servants about, so I took the
+great liberty of just knocking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, very well. Come in. Do you want to speak to me?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Comes in.] No, I'm obliged to you, ma'am; it was with
+his Reverence I wanted to have a word or two.
+
+MANDERS. [Walking up and down the room.] Ah--indeed! You want to
+speak to me, do you?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, I'd like so terrible much to--
+
+MANDERS. [Stops in front of him.] Well; may I ask what you want?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, it was just this, your Reverence: we've been paid
+off down yonder--my grateful thanks to you, ma'am,--and now
+everything's finished, I've been thinking it would be but right and
+proper if we, that have been working so honestly together all this
+time--well, I was thinking we ought to end up with a little
+prayer-meeting to-night.
+
+MANDERS. A prayer-meeting? Down at the Orphanage?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, if your Reverence doesn't think it proper--
+
+MANDERS. Oh yes, I do; but--h'm--
+
+ENGSTRAND. I've been in the habit of offering up a little prayer in
+the evenings, myself--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, every now and then just a little edification, in a
+manner of speaking. But I'm a poor, common man, and have little
+enough gift, God help me!--and so I thought, as the Reverend Mr.
+Manders happened to be here, I'd--
+
+MANDERS. Well, you see, Engstrand, I have a question to put to you
+first. Are you in the right frame of mind for such a meeting! Do you
+feel your conscience clear and at ease?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, God help us, your Reverence! we'd better not talk
+about conscience.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, that is just what we must talk about. What have you to
+answer?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why--a man's conscience--it can be bad enough now and
+then.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, you admit that. Then perhaps you will make a clean
+breast of it, and tell me--the real truth about Regina?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Quickly.] Mr. Manders!
+
+MANDERS. [Reassuringly.] Please allow me--
+
+ENGSTRAND. About Regina! Lord, what a turn you gave me! [Looks at
+MRS. ALVING.] There's nothing wrong about Regina, is there?
+
+MANDERS. We will hope not. But I mean, what is the truth about you
+and Regina? You pass for her father, eh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Uncertain.] Well--h'm--your Reverence knows all about me
+and poor Johanna.
+
+MANDERS. Come now, no more prevarication! Your wife told Mrs. Alving
+the whole story before quitting her service.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, then, may--! Now, did she really?
+
+MANDERS. You see we know you now, Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And she swore and took her Bible oath--
+
+MANDERS. Did she take her Bible oath?
+
+ENGSTRAND. No; she only swore; but she did it that solemn-like.
+
+MANDERS. And you have hidden the truth from me all these years?
+Hidden it from me, who have trusted you without reserve, in
+everything.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, I can't deny it.
+
+MANDERS. Have I deserved this of you, Engstrand? Have I not always
+been ready to help you in word and deed, so far as it lay in my
+power? Answer me. Have I not?
+
+ENGSTRAND. It would have been a poor look-out for me many a time
+but for the Reverend Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. And this is how you reward me! You cause me to enter
+falsehoods in the Church Register, and you withhold from me, year
+after year, the explanations you owed alike to me and to the truth.
+Your conduct has been wholly inexcusable, Engstrand; and from this
+time forward I have done with you!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [With a sigh.] Yes! I suppose there's no help for it.
+
+MANDERS. How can you possibly justify yourself?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Who could ever have thought she'd have gone and made bad
+worse by talking about it? Will your Reverence just fancy yourself
+in the same trouble as poor Johanna--
+
+MANDERS. I!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord bless you, I don't mean just exactly the same. But
+I mean, if your Reverence had anything to be ashamed of in the eyes
+of the world, as the saying goes. We menfolk oughtn't to judge a
+poor woman too hardly, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. I am not doing so. It is you I am reproaching.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Might I make so bold as to ask your Reverence a bit of a
+question?
+
+MANDERS. Yes, if you want to.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Isn't it right and proper for a man to raise up the
+fallen?
+
+MANDERS. Most certainly it is.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And isn't a man bound to keep his sacred word?
+
+MANDERS. Why, of course he is; but--
+
+ENGSTRAND. When Johanna had got into trouble through that
+Englishman--or it might have been an American or a Russian, as they
+call them--well, you see, she came down into the town. Poor thing,
+she'd sent me about my business once or twice before: for she
+couldn't bear the sight of anything as wasn't handsome; and I'd got
+this damaged leg of mine. Your Reverence recollects how I ventured
+up into a dancing saloon, where seafaring men was carrying on with
+drink and devilry, as the saying goes. And then, when I was for
+giving them a bit of an admonition to lead a new life--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] H'm--
+
+MANDERS. I know all about that, Engstrand; the ruffians threw you
+downstairs. You have told me of the affair already. Your infirmity
+is an honour to you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. I'm not puffed up about it, your Reverence. But what I
+wanted to say was, that when she cane and confessed all to me, with
+weeping and gnashing of teeth, I can tell your Reverence I was sore
+at heart to hear it.
+
+MANDERS. Were you indeed, Engstrand? Well, go on.
+
+ENGSTRAND. So I says to her, "The American, he's sailing about on
+the boundless sea. And as for you, Johanna," says I, "you've
+committed a grievous sin, and you're a fallen creature. But Jacob
+Engstrand," says I, "he's got two good legs to stand upon, he has--"
+You see, your Reverence, I was speaking figurative-like.
+
+MANDERS. I understand quite well. Go on.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, that was how I raised her up and made an honest
+woman of her, so as folks shouldn't get to know how as she'd gone
+astray with foreigners.
+
+MANDERS. In all that you acted very well. Only I cannot approve of
+your stooping to take money--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Money? I? Not a farthing!
+
+MANDERS. [Inquiringly to MRS. ALVING.] But--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, wait a minute!--now I recollect. Johanna did have a
+trifle of money. But I would have nothing to do with that. "No,"
+says I, "that's mammon; that's the wages of sin. This dirty gold--
+or notes, or whatever it was--we'll just flint, that back in the
+American's face," says I. But he was off and away, over the stormy
+sea, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. Was he really, my good fellow?
+
+ENGSTRAND. He was indeed, sir. So Johanna and I, we agreed that the
+money should go to the child's education; and so it did, and I can
+account for every blessed farthing of it.
+
+MANDERS. Why, this alters the case considerably.
+
+ENGSTRAND. That's just how it stands, your Reverence. And I make so
+bold as to say as I've been an honest father to Regina, so far as
+my poor strength went; for I'm but a weak vessel, worse luck!
+
+MANDERS. Well, well, my good fellow--
+
+ENGSTRAND. All the same, I bear myself witness as I've brought up
+the child, and lived kindly with poor Johanna, and ruled over my
+own house, as the Scripture has it. But it couldn't never enter my
+head to go to your Reverence and puff myself up and boast because
+even the likes of me had done some good in the world. No, sir; when
+anything of that sort happens to Jacob Engstrand, he holds his
+tongue about it. It don't happen so terrible often, I daresay. And
+when I do come to see your Reverence, I find a mortal deal that's
+wicked and weak to talk about. For I said it before, and I says it
+again--a man's conscience isn't always as clean as it might be.
+
+MANDERS. Give me your hand, Jacob Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, Lord! your Reverence--
+
+MANDERS. Come, no nonsense [wrings his hand]. There we are!
+
+ENGSTRAND. And if I might humbly beg your Reverence's pardon--
+
+MANDERS. You? On the contrary, it is I who ought to beg your pardon--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord, no, Sir!
+
+MANDERS. Yes, assuredly. And I do it with all my heart. Forgive me
+for misunderstanding you. I only wish I could give you some proof
+of my hearty regret, and of my good-will towards you--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Would your Reverence do it?
+
+MANDERS. With the greatest pleasure.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well then, here's the very chance. With the bit of money
+I've saved here, I was thinking I might set up a Sailors' Home down
+in the town.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes; it might be a sort of Orphanage, too, in a manner
+of speaking. There's such a many temptations for seafaring folk
+ashore. But in this Home of mine, a man might feel like as he was
+under a father's eye, I was thinking.
+
+MANDERS. What do you say to this, Mrs. Alving?
+
+ENGSTRAND. It isn't much as I've got to start with, Lord help me!
+But if I could only find a helping hand, why--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, yes; we will look into the matter more closely. I
+entirely approve of your plan. But now, go before me and make
+everything ready, and get the candles lighted, so as to give the
+place an air of festivity. And then we will pass an edifying hour
+together, my good fellow; for now I quite believe you are in the
+right frame of mind.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, I trust I am. And so I'll say good-bye, ma'am, and
+thank you kindly; and take good care of Regina for me--[Wipes a
+tear from his eye]--poor Johanna's child. Well, it's a queer thing,
+now; but it's just like as if she'd growd into the very apple of my
+eye. It is, indeed. [He bows and goes out through the hall.]
+
+MANDERS. Well, what do you say of that man now, Mrs. Alving? That
+was a very different account of matters, was it not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, it certainly was.
+
+MANDERS. It only shows how excessively careful one ought to be in
+judging one's fellow creatures. But what a heartfelt joy it is to
+ascertain that one has been mistaken! Don't you think so?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I think you are, and will always be, a great baby,
+Manders.
+
+MANDERS. I?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Laying her two hands upon his shoulders.] And I say
+that I have half a mind to put my arms round your neck, and kiss
+you.
+
+MANDERS. [Stepping hastily back.] No, no! God bless me! What an
+idea!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a smile.] Oh, you needn't be afraid of me.
+
+MANDERS. [By the table.] You have sometimes such an exaggerated way
+of expressing yourself. Now, let me just collect all the documents,
+and put them in my bag. [He does so.] There, that's all right. And
+now, good-bye for the present. Keep your eyes open when Oswald
+comes back. I shall look in again later. [He takes his hat and goes
+out through the hall door.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sighs, looks for a moment out of the window, sets the
+room in order a little, and is about to go into the dining-room,
+but stops at the door with a half-suppressed cry.] Oswald, are you
+still at table?
+
+OSWALD. [In the dining room.] I'm only finishing my cigar.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I thought you had gone for a little walk.
+
+OSWALD. In such weather as this?
+
+[A glass clinks. MRS. ALVING leaves the door open, and sits down
+with her knitting on the sofa by the window.]
+
+OSWALD. Wasn't that Pastor Manders that went out just now?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; he went down to the Orphanage.
+
+OSWALD. H'm. [The glass and decanter clink again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a troubled glance.] Dear Oswald, you should take
+care of that liqueur. It is strong.
+
+OSWALD. It keeps out the damp.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Wouldn't you rather come in here, to me?
+
+OSWALD. I mayn't smoke in there.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know quite well you may smoke cigars.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, all right then; I'll come in. Just a tiny drop more
+first. There! [He comes into the room with his cigar, and shuts
+the door after him. A short silence.] Where has the pastor gone to?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have just told you; he went down to the Orphanage.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, yes; so you did.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You shouldn't sit so long at table, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. [Holding his cigar behind him.] But I find it so pleasant,
+mother. [Strokes and caresses her.] Just think what it is for me to
+come home and sit at mother's own table, in mother's room, and eat
+mother's delicious dishes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear, dear boy!
+
+OSWALD. [Somewhat impatiently, walks about and smokes.] And what
+else can I do with myself here? I can't set to work at anything.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Why can't you?
+
+OSWALD. In such weather as this? Without a single ray of sunshine
+the whole day? [Walks up the room.] Oh, not to be able to work--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Perhaps it was not quite wise of you to come home?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, yes, mother; I had to.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know I would ten times rather forgo the joy of
+having you here, than let you--
+
+OSWALD. [Stops beside the table.] Now just tell me, mother: does it
+really make you so very happy to have me home again?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Does it make me happy!
+
+OSWALD. [Crumpling up a newspaper.] I should have thought it must
+be pretty much the same to you whether I was in existence or not.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you the heart to say that to your mother, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. But you've got on very well without me all this time.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; I have got on without you. That is true.
+
+[A silence. Twilight slowly begins to fall. OSWALD paces to and fro
+across the room. He has laid his cigar down.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stops beside MRS. ALVING.] Mother, may I sit on the sofa
+beside you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Makes room for him.] Yes, do, my dear boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits down.] There is something I must tell you, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Anxiously.] Well?
+
+OSWALD. [Looks fixedly before him.] For I can't go on hiding it any
+longer.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Hiding what? What is it?
+
+OSWALD. [As before.] I could never bring myself to write to you
+about it; and since I've come home--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter?
+
+OSWALD. Both yesterday and to-day I have tried to put the thoughts
+away from me--to cast them off; but it's no use.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. [Draws her down to the sofa again.] Sit still; and then I
+will try to tell you.--I complained of fatigue after my journey--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well? What then?
+
+OSWALD. But it isn't that that is the matter with me; not any
+ordinary fatigue--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. [Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do take it
+quietly. I'm not downright ill, either; not what is commonly called
+"ill." [Clasps his hands above his head.] Mother, my mind is broken
+down--ruined--I shall never be able to work again! [With his hands
+before his face, he buries his head in her lap, and breaks into
+bitter sobbing.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no;
+it's not true.
+
+OSWALD. [Looks up with despair in his eyes.] Never to be able to
+work again! Never!--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine
+anything so horrible?
+
+MRS. ALVING. My poor boy! How has this horrible thing come upon you?
+
+OSWALD. [Sitting upright again.] That's just what I cannot possibly
+grasp or understand. I have never led a dissipated life never, in
+any respect. You mustn't believe that of me, mother! I've never
+done that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I am sure you haven't, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. And yet this has come upon me just the same--this awful
+misfortune!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, but it will pass over, my dear, blessed boy.
+It's nothing but over-work. Trust me, I am right.
+
+OSWALD. [Sadly.] I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Tell me everything, from beginning to end.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I will.
+
+MRS. ALVING. When did you first notice it?
+
+OSWALD. It was directly after I had been home last time, and had
+got back to Paris again. I began to feel the most violent pains in
+my head--chiefly in the back of my head, they seemed to come. It
+was as though a tight iron ring was being screwed round my neck and
+upwards.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, and then?
+
+OSWALD. At first I thought it was nothing but the ordinary headache
+I had been so plagued with while I was growing up--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes--
+
+OSWALD. But it wasn't that. I soon found that out. I couldn't work
+any more. I wanted to begin upon a big new picture, but my powers
+seemed to fail me; all my strength was crippled; I could form no
+definite images; everything swam before me--whirling round and
+round. Oh, it was an awful state! At last I sent for a doctor--and
+from him I learned the truth.
+
+MRS. ALVING. How do you mean?
+
+OSWALD. He was one of the first doctors in Paris. I told him my
+symptoms; and then he set to work asking me a string of questions
+which I thought had nothing to do with the matter. I couldn't
+imagine what the man was after--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. At last he said: "There has been something worm-eaten in
+you from your birth." He used that very word--_vermoulu_.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Breathlessly.] What did he mean by that?
+
+OSWALD. I didn't understand either, and begged him to explain
+himself more clearly. And then the old cynic said--[Clenching his
+fist] Oh--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. What did he say?
+
+OSWALD. He said, "The sins of the fathers are visited upon the
+children."
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising slowly.] The sins of the fathers--!
+
+OSWALD. I very nearly struck him in the face--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Walks away across the room.] The sins of the fathers--
+
+OSWALD. [Smiles sadly.] Yes; what do you think of that? Of course I
+assured him that such a thing was out of the question. But do you
+think he gave in? No, he stuck to it; and it was only when I
+produced your letters and translated the passages relating to
+father--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But then--?
+
+OSWALD. Then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong
+track; and so I learned the truth--the incomprehensible truth! I
+ought not to have taken part with my comrades in that lighthearted,
+glorious life of theirs. It had been too much for my strength. So I
+had brought it upon myself!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald! No, no; do not believe it!
+
+OSWALD. No other explanation was possible, he said. That's the
+awful part of it. Incurably ruined for life--by my own heedlessness!
+All that I meant to have done in the world--I never dare think of
+it again--I'm not able to think of it. Oh! if I could only live over
+again, and undo all I have done! [He buries his face in the sofa.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Wrings her hands and walks, in silent struggle,
+backwards and forwards.]
+
+OSWALD. [After a while, looks up and remains resting upon his
+elbow.] If it had only been something inherited--something one
+wasn't responsible for! But this! To have thrown away so
+shamefully, thoughtlessly, recklessly, one's own happiness,
+one's own health, everything in the world--one's future,
+one's very life--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, no, my dear, darling boy; this is impossible!
+[Bends over him.] Things are not so desperate as you think.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, you don't know--[Springs up.] And then, mother, to
+cause you all this sorrow! Many a time I have almost wished and
+hoped that at bottom you didn't care so very much about me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I, Oswald? My only boy! You are all I have in the
+world! The only thing I care about!
+
+OSWALD. [Seizes both her hands and kisses them.] Yes, yes, I see
+it. When I'm at home, I see it, of course; and that's almost the
+hardest part for me.--But now you know the whole story and now we
+won't talk any more about it to-day. I daren't think of it for long
+together. [Goes up the room.] Get me something to drink, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. To drink? What do you want to drink now?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, anything you like. You have some cold punch in the
+house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, but my dear Oswald--
+
+OSWALD. Don't refuse me, mother. Do be kind, now! I must have
+something to wash down all these gnawing thoughts. [Goes into the
+conservatory.] And then--it's so dark here! [MRS. ALVING pulls a
+bell-rope on the right.] And this ceaseless rain! It may go on week
+after week, for months together. Never to get a glimpse of the sun!
+I can't recollect ever having seen the sun shine all the times I've
+been at home.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald--you are thinking of going away from me.
+
+OSWALD. H'm--[Drawing a heavy breath.]--I'm not thinking of
+anything. I cannot think of anything! [In a low voice.] I let
+thinking alone.
+
+REGINA. [From the dining-room.] Did you ring, ma'am?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; let us have the lamp in.
+
+REGINA. Yes, ma'am. It's ready lighted. [Goes out.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes across to OSWALD.] Oswald, be frank with me.
+
+OSWALD. Well, so I am, mother. [Goes to the table.] I think I have
+told you enough.
+
+[REGINA brings the lamp and sets it upon the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, you may bring us a small bottle of champagne.
+
+REGINA. Very well, ma'am. [Goes out.]
+
+OSWALD. [Puts his arm round MRS. ALVING's neck.] That's just what I
+wanted. I knew mother wouldn't let her boy go thirsty.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My own, poor, darling Oswald; how could I deny you
+anything now?
+
+OSWALD. [Eagerly.] Is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
+
+MRS. ALVING. How? What?
+
+OSWALD. That you couldn't deny me anything.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald--
+
+OSWALD. Hush!
+
+REGINA. [Brings a tray with a half-bottle of champagne and two
+glasses, which she sets on the table.] Shall I open it?
+
+OSWALD. No, thanks. I will do it myself.
+
+[REGINA goes out again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sits down by the table.] What was it you meant--that
+I musn't deny you?
+
+OSWALD. [Busy opening the bottle.] First let us have a glass--or
+two.
+
+[The cork pops; he pours wine into one glass, and is about
+to pour it into the other.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Holding her hand over it.] Thanks; not for me.
+
+OSWALD. Oh! won't you? Then I will!
+
+[He empties the glass, fells, and empties it again; then he
+sits down by the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In expectancy.] Well?
+
+OSWALD. [Without looking at her.] Tell me--I thought you and Pastor
+Manders seemed so odd--so quiet--at dinner to-day.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Did you notice it?
+
+OSWALD. Yes. H'm--[After a short silence.] Tell me: what do you
+think of Regina?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do I think?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; isn't she splendid?
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald, you don't know her as I do--
+
+OSWALD. Well?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, unfortunately, was allowed to stay at home
+too long. I ought to have taken her earlier into my house.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, but isn't she splendid to look at, mother?
+[He fills his glass.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina has many serious faults--
+
+OSWALD. Oh, what does that matter? [He drinks again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. But I am fond of her, nevertheless, and I am
+responsible for her. I wouldn't for all the world have any harm
+happen to her.
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up.] Mother, Regina is my only salvation!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] What do you mean by that?
+
+OSWALD. I cannot go on bearing all this anguish of soul alone.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you not your mother to share it with you?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; that's what I thought; and so I came home to you. But
+that will not do. I see it won't do. I cannot endure my life here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. I must live differently, mother. That is why I must leave
+you. I will not have you looking on at it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as
+this--
+
+OSWALD. If it were only the illness, I should stay with you,
+mother, you may be sure; for you are the best friend I have in the
+world.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?
+
+OSWALD. [Wanders restlessly about.] But it's all the torment, the
+gnawing remorse--and then, the great, killing dread. Oh--that awful
+dread!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Walking after him.] Dread? What dread? What do you
+mean?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, you mustn't ask me any more. I don't know. I can't
+describe it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes over to the right and pulls the bell.]
+
+OSWALD. What is it you want?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I want my boy to be happy--that is what I want. He
+sha'n't go on brooding over things [To REGINA, who appears at the
+door:] More champagne--a large bottle. [REGINA goes.]
+
+OSWALD. Mother!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think we don't know how to live here at home?
+
+OSWALD. Isn't she splendid to look at? How beautifully she's built!
+And so thoroughly healthy!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sits by the table.] Sit down, Oswald; let us talk
+quietly together.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits.] I daresay you don't know, mother, that I owe Regina
+some reparation.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You!
+
+OSWALD. For a bit of thoughtlessness, or whatever you like to call
+it--very innocent, at any rate. When I was home last time--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. She used often to ask me about Paris, and I used to tell
+her one thing and another. Then I recollect I happened to say to
+her one day, "Shouldn't you like to go there yourself?"
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. I saw her face flush, and then she said, "Yes, I should
+like it of all things." "Ah, well," I replied, "it might perhaps be
+managed"--or something like that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And then?
+
+OSWALD. Of course I had forgotten all about it; but the day before
+yesterday I happened to ask her whether she was glad I was to stay
+at home so long--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes?
+
+OSWALD. And then she gave me such a strange look, and asked, "But
+what's to become of my trip to Paris?"
+
+MRS. ALVING. Her trip!
+
+OSWALD. And so it came out that she had taken the thing seriously;
+that she had been thinking of me the whole time, and had set to
+work to learn French--
+
+MRS. ALVING. So that was why--!
+
+OSWALD. Mother--when I saw that fresh, lovely, splendid girl
+standing there before me--till then I had hardly noticed her--but
+when she stood there as though with open arms ready to receive me--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. --then it flashed upon me that in her lay my salvation; for
+I saw that she was full of the joy of life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Starts.] The joy of life? Can there be salvation in
+that?
+
+REGINA. [From the dining room, with a bottle of champagne.] I'm
+sorry to have been so long, but I had to go to the cellar. [Places
+the bottle on the table.]
+
+OSWALD. And now bring another glass.
+
+REGINA. [Looks at him in surprise.] There is Mrs. Alving's glass,
+Mr. Alving.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, but bring one for yourself, Regina. [REGINA starts and
+gives a lightning-like side glance at MRS. ALVING.] Why do you
+wait?
+
+REGINA. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Is it Mrs. Alving's wish?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Bring the glass, Regina.
+
+[REGINA goes out into the dining-room.]
+
+OSWALD. [Follows her with his eyes.] Have you noticed how she
+walks?--so firmly and lightly!
+
+MRS. ALVING. This can never be, Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. It's a settled thing. Can't you see that? It's no use
+saying anything against it.
+
+[REGINA enters with an empty glass, which she keeps in her hand.]
+
+OSWALD. Sit down, Regina.
+
+[REGINA looks inquiringly at MRS. ALVING.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Sit down. [REGINA sits on a chair by the dining room
+door, still holding the empty glass in her hand.] Oswald--what were
+you saying about the joy of life?
+
+OSWALD. Ah, the joy of life, mother--that's a thing you don't know
+much about in these parts. I have never felt it here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not when you are with me?
+
+OSWALD. Not when I'm at home. But you don't understand that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I think I almost understand it--now.
+
+OSWALD. And then, too, the joy of work! At bottom, it's the same
+thing. But that, too, you know nothing about.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Perhaps you are right. Tell me more about it, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. I only mean that here people are brought up to believe that
+work is a curse and a punishment for sin, and that life is
+something miserable, something; it would be best to have done with,
+the sooner the better.
+
+MRS. ALVING. "A vale of tears," yes; and we certainly do our best
+to make it one.
+
+OSWALD. But in the great world people won't hear of such things.
+There, nobody really believes such doctrines any longer. There, you
+feel it a positive bliss and ecstasy merely to draw the breath of
+life. Mother, have you noticed that everything I have painted has
+turned upon the joy of life?--always, always upon the joy of life?--
+light and sunshine and glorious air-and faces radiant with
+happiness. That is why I'm afraid of remaining at home with you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Afraid? What are you afraid of here, with me?
+
+OSWALD. I'm afraid lest all my instincts should be warped into
+ugliness.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looks steadily at him.] Do you think that is what
+would happen?
+
+OSWALD. I know it. You may live the same life here as there, and
+yet it won't be the same life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Who has been listening eagerly, rises, her eyes big
+with thought, and says:] Now I see the sequence of things.
+
+OSWALD. What is it you see?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I see it now for the first time. And now I can speak.
+
+OSWALD. [Rising.] Mother, I don't understand you.
+
+REGINA. [Who has also risen.] Perhaps I ought to go?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. Stay here. Now I can speak. Now, my boy, you shall
+know the whole truth. And then you can choose. Oswald! Regina!
+
+OSWALD. Hush! The Pastor--
+
+MANDERS. [Enters by the hall door.] There! We have had a most
+edifying time down there.
+
+OSWALD. So have we.
+
+MANDERS. We must stand by Engstrand and his Sailors' Home. Regina
+must go to him and help him--
+
+REGINA. No thank you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. [Noticing her for the first tine.] What--? You here? And
+with a glass in your hand!
+
+REGINA. [Hastily putting the glass down.] Pardon!
+
+OSWALD. Regina is going with me, Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Going! With you!
+
+OSWALD. Yes; as my wife--if she wishes it.
+
+MANDERS. But, merciful God--!
+
+REGINA. I can't help it, sir.
+
+OSWALD. Or she'll stay here, if I stay.
+
+REGINA. [Involuntarily.] Here!
+
+MANDERS. I am thunderstruck at your conduct, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. They will do neither one thing nor the other; for now
+I can speak out plainly.
+
+MANDERS. You surely will not do that! No, no, no!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, I can speak and I will. And no ideals shall
+suffer after all.
+
+OSWALD. Mother--what is it you are hiding from me?
+
+REGINA. [Listening.] Oh, ma'am, listen! Don't you hear shouts
+outside. [She goes into the conservatory and looks out.]
+
+OSWALD. [At the window on the left.] What's going on? Where does
+that light come from?
+
+REGINA. [Cries out.] The Orphanage is on fire!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rushing to the window.] On fire!
+
+MANDERS. On fire! Impossible! I've just come from there.
+
+OSWALD. Where's my hat? Oh, never mind it--Father's Orphanage--!
+[He rushes out through the garden door.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. My shawl, Regina! The whole place is in a blaze!
+
+MANDERS. Terrible! Mrs. Alving, it is a judgment upon this abode of
+lawlessness.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, of course. Come, Regina. [She and REGINA hasten
+out through the hall.]
+
+MANDERS. [Clasps his hands together.] And we left it uninsured! [He
+goes out the same way.]
+
+
+
+ACT THIRD.
+
+[The room as before. All the doors stand open. The lamp is still
+burning on the table. It is dark out of doors; there is only a
+faint glow from the conflagration in the background to the left.]
+
+[MRS. ALVING, with a shawl over her head, stands in the conservatory,
+looking out. REGINA, also with a shawl on, stands a little behind her.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. The whole thing burnt!--burnt to the ground!
+
+REGINA. The basement is still burning.
+
+MRS. ALVING. How is it Oswald doesn't come home? There's nothing to
+be saved.
+
+REGINA. Should you like me to take down his hat to him?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Has he not even got his hat on?
+
+REGINA. [Pointing to the hall.] No; there it hangs.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let it be. He must come up now. I shall go and look
+for him myself. [She goes out through the garden door.]
+
+MANDERS. [Comes in from the hall.] Is not Mrs. Alving here?
+
+REGINA. She has just gone down the garden.
+
+MANDERS. This is the most terrible night I ever went through.
+
+REGINA. Yes; isn't it a dreadful misfortune, sir?
+
+MANDERS. Oh, don't talk about it! I can hardly bear to think of it.
+
+REGINA. How can it have happened--?
+
+MANDERS. Don't ask me, Miss Engstrand! How should _I_ know? Do you,
+too--? Is it not enough that your father--?
+
+REGINA. What about him?
+
+MANDERS. Oh, he has driven me distracted--
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Enters through the hall.] Your Reverence--
+
+MANDERS. [Turns round in terror.] Are you after me here, too?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, strike me dead, but I must--! Oh, Lord! what am I
+saying? But this is a terrible ugly business, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. [Walks to and fro.] Alas! alas!
+
+REGINA. What's the matter?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why, it all came of this here prayer-meeting, you see.
+[Softly.] The bird's limed, my girl. [Aloud.] And to think it
+should be my doing that such a thing should be his Reverence's
+doing!
+
+MANDERS. But I assure you, Engstrand--
+
+ENGSTRAND. There wasn't another soul except your Reverence as ever
+laid a finger on the candles down there.
+
+MANDERS. [Stops.] So you declare. But I certainly cannot recollect
+that I ever had a candle in my hand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And I saw as clear as daylight how your Reverence took
+the candle and snuffed it with your fingers, and threw away the
+snuff among the shavings.
+
+MANDERS. And you stood and looked on?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes; I saw it as plain as a pike-staff, I did.
+
+MANDERS. It's quite beyond my comprehension. Besides, it has never
+been my habit to snuff candles with my fingers.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And terrible risky it looked, too, that it did! But is
+there such a deal of harm done after all, your Reverence?
+
+MANDERS. [Walks restlessly to and fro.] Oh, don't ask me!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Walks with him.] And your Reverence hadn't insured it,
+neither?
+
+MANDERS. [Continuing to walk up and down.] No, no, no; I have told
+you so.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Following him.] Not insured! And then to go straight
+away down and set light to the whole thing! Lord, Lord, what a
+misfortune!
+
+MANDERS. [Wipes the sweat from his forehead.] Ay, you may well say
+that, Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And to think that such a thing should happen to a
+benevolent Institution, that was to have been a blessing both to
+town and country, as the saying goes! The newspapers won't be for
+handling your Reverence very gently, I expect.
+
+MANDERS. No; that is just what I am thinking of. That is almost the
+worst of the whole matter. All the malignant attacks and
+imputations--! Oh, it makes me shudder to think of it!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Comes in from the garden.] He is not to be persuaded
+to leave the fire.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, there you are, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. So you have escaped your Inaugural Address, Pastor
+Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Oh, I should so gladly--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In an undertone.] It is all for the best. That
+Orphanage would have done no one any good.
+
+MANDERS. Do you think not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think it would?
+
+MANDERS. It is a terrible misfortune, all the same.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let us speak of it plainly, as a matter of business.--
+Are you waiting for Mr. Manders, Engstrand?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [At the hall door.] That's just what I'm a-doing of,
+ma'am.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then sit down meanwhile.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Thank you, ma'am; I'd as soon stand.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [To MANDERS.] I suppose you are going by the steamer?
+
+MANDERS. Yes; it starts in an hour.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then be so good as to take all the papers with you. I
+won't hear another word about this affair. I have other things to
+think of--
+
+MANDERS. Mrs. Alving--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Later on I shall send you a Power of Attorney to
+settle everything as you please.
+
+MANDERS. That I will very readily undertake. The original
+destination of the endowment must now be completely changed, alas!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course it must.
+
+MANDERS. I think, first of all, I shall arrange that the Solvik
+property shall pass to the parish. The land is by no means without
+value. It can always be turned to account for some purpose or
+other. And the interest of the money in the Bank I could, perhaps,
+best apply for the benefit of some undertaking of acknowledged
+value to the town.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do just as you please. The whole matter is now
+completely indifferent to me.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Give a thought to my Sailors' Home, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. Upon my word, that is not a bad suggestion. That must be
+considered.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, devil take considering--Lord forgive me!
+
+MANDERS. [With a sigh.] And unfortunately I cannot tell how long I
+shall be able to retain control of these things--whether public
+opinion may not compel me to retire. It entirely depends upon the
+result of the official inquiry into the fire--
+
+MRS. ALVING. What are you talking about?
+
+MANDERS. And the result can by no means be foretold.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Comes close to him.] Ay, but it can though. For here
+stands old Jacob Engstrand.
+
+MANDERS. Well well, but--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [More softy.] And Jacob Engstrand isn't the man to
+desert a noble benefactor in the hour of need, as the saying goes.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but my good fellow--how--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Jacob Engstrand may be likened to a sort of a guardian
+angel, he may, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. No, no; I really cannot accept that.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, that'll be the way of it, all the same. I know a man
+as has taken others' sins upon himself before now, I do.
+
+MANDERS. Jacob! [Wrings his hand.] Yours is a rare nature. Well,
+you shall be helped with your Sailors' Home. That you may rely
+upon. [ENGSTRAND tries to thank him, but cannot for emotion.]
+
+MANDERS. [Hangs his travelling-bag over his shoulder.] And now let
+us set out. We two will go together.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [At the dining-room door, softly to REGINA.] You come
+along too, my lass. You shall live as snug as the yolk in an egg.
+
+REGINA. [Tosses her head.] _Merci_! [She goes out into the hall and
+fetches MANDERS' overcoat.]
+
+MANDERS. Good-bye, Mrs. Alving! and may the spirit of Law and Order
+descend upon this house, and that quickly.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Good-bye, Pastor Manders. [She goes up towards the
+conservatory, as she sees OSWALD coming in through the garden door.]
+
+ENGSTRAND. [While he and REGINA help MANGERS to get his coat on.]
+Good-bye, my child. And if any trouble should come to you, you know
+where Jacob Engstrand is to be found. [Softly.] Little Harbour
+Street, h'm--! [To MRS. ALVING and OSWALD.] And the refuge for
+wandering mariners shall be called "Chamberlain Alving's Home,"
+that it shall! And if so be as I'm spared to carry on that house in
+my own way, I make so bold as to promise that it shall be worthy of
+the Chamberlain's memory.
+
+MANDERS. [In the doorway.] H'm--h'm!--Come along, my dear Enstrand.
+Good-bye! Good-bye! [He and ENGSTRAND go out through the hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Goes towards the table.] What house was he talking about?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, a kind of Home that he and Pastor Manders want to
+set up.
+
+OSWALD. It will burn down like the other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What makes you think so?
+
+OSWALD. Everything will burn. All that recalls father's memory is
+doomed. Here am I, too, burning down. [REGINA starts and looks at
+him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald! You oughtn't to have remained so long down
+there, my poor boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits down by the table.] I almost think you are right.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let me dry your face, Oswald; you are quite wet.
+[She dries his face with her pocket-handkerchief.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stares indifferently in front of him.] Thanks, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Are you not tired, Oswald? Should you like to sleep?
+
+OSWALD. [Nervously.] No, no--not to sleep! I never sleep. I only
+pretend to. [Sadly.] That will come soon enough.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looking sorrowfully at him.] Yes, you really are ill,
+my blessed boy.
+
+REGINA. [Eagerly.] Is Mr. Alving ill?
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Oh, do shut all the doors! This killing
+dread--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Close the doors, Regina.
+
+[REGINA shuts them and remains standing by the hall door. MRS.
+ALVING takes her shawl off: REGINA does the same. MRS. ALVING draws
+a chair across to OSWALD'S, and sits by him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. There now! I am going to sit beside you--
+
+OSWALD. Yes, do. And Regina shall stay here too. Regina shall be
+with me always. You will come to the rescue, Regina, won't you?
+
+REGINA. I don't understand--
+
+MRS. ALVING. To the rescue?
+
+OSWALD. Yes--when the need comes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald, have you not your mother to come to the
+rescue?
+
+OSWALD. You? [Smiles.] No, mother; that rescue you will never bring
+me. [Laughs sadly.] You! ha ha! [Looks earnestly at her.] Though,
+after all, who ought to do it if not you? [Impetuously.] Why can't
+you say "thou" to me, Regina? [Note: "Sige du" = Fr. _tutoyer_] Why
+do'n't you call me "Oswald"?
+
+REGINA. [Softly.] I don't think Mrs. Alving would like it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You shall have leave to, presently. And meanwhile sit
+over here beside us.
+
+[REGINA seats herself demurely and hesitatingly at the other side
+of the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. And now, my poor suffering boy, I am going to take the
+burden off your mind--
+
+OSWALD. You, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. --all the gnawing remorse and self-reproach you speak of.
+
+OSWALD. And you think you can do that?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, now I can, Oswald. A little while ago you spoke
+of the joy of life; and at that word a new light burst for me over
+my life and everything connected with it.
+
+OSWALD. [Shakes his head.] I don't understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You ought to have known your father when he was a
+young lieutenant. He was brimming over with the joy of life!
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I know he was.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was like a breezy day only to look at him. And what
+exuberant strength and vitality there was in him!
+
+OSWALD. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well then, child of joy as he was--for he was like a
+child in those days--he had to live at home here in a half-grown
+town, which had no joys to offer him--only dissipations. He had no
+object in life--only an official position. He had no work into
+which he could throw himself heart and soul; he had only business.
+He had not a single comrade that could realise what the joy of life
+meant--only loungers and boon-companions--
+
+OSWALD. Mother--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. So the inevitable happened.
+
+OSWALD. The inevitable?
+
+MRS. ALVING. You told me yourself, this evening, what would become
+of you if you stayed at home.
+
+OSWALD. Do you mean to say that father--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Your poor father found no outlet for the overpowering
+joy of life that was in him. And I brought no brightness into his
+home.
+
+OSWALD. Not even you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. They had taught me a great deal about duties and so
+forth, which I went on obstinately believing in. Everything was
+marked out into duties--into my duties, and his duties, and--I
+am afraid I made his home intolerable for your poor father, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. Why have you never spoken of this in writing to me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have never before seen it in such a light that I
+could speak of it to you, his son.
+
+OSWALD. In what light did you see it, then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Slowly.] I saw only this one thing: that your father
+was a broken-down man before you were born.
+
+OSWALD. [Softly.] Ah--! [He rises and walks away to the window.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. And then; day after day, I dwelt on the one thought
+that by rights Regina should be at home in this house--just like my
+own boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Turning round quickly.] Regina--!
+
+REGINA. [Springs up and asks, with bated breath.] I--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, now you know it, both of you.
+
+OSWALD. Regina!
+
+REGINA. [To herself.] So mother was that kind of woman.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Your mother had many good qualities, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Yes, but she was one of that sort, all the same. Oh, I've
+often suspected it; but--And now, if you please, ma'am, may I be
+allowed to go away at once?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you really wish it, Regina?
+
+REGINA. Yes, indeed I do.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course you can do as you like; but--
+
+OSWALD. [Goes towards REGINA.] Go away now? Your place is here.
+
+REGINA. _Merci_, Mr. Alving!--or now, I suppose, I may say Oswald.
+But I can tell you this wasn't at all what I expected.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, I have not been frank with you--
+
+REGINA. No, that you haven't indeed. If I'd known that Oswald was
+an invalid, why--And now, too, that it can never come to anything
+serious between us--I really can't stop out here in the country and
+wear myself out nursing sick people.
+
+OSWALD. Not even one who is so near to you?
+
+REGINA. No, that I can't. A poor girl must make the best of her
+young days, or she'll be left out in the cold before she knows
+where she is. And I, too, have the joy of life in me, Mrs. Alving!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately, you leave. But don't throw yourself
+away, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Oh, what must be, must be. If Oswald takes after his
+father, I take after my mother, I daresay.--May I ask, ma'am, if
+Pastor Manders knows all this about me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Pastor Manders knows all about it.
+
+REGINA. [Busied in putting on her shawl.] Well then, I'd better
+make haste and get away by this steamer. The Pastor is such a nice
+man to deal with; and I certainly think I've as much right to a
+little of that money as he has--that brute of a carpenter.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You are heartily welcome to it, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [Looks hard at her.] I think you might have brought me up
+as a gentleman's daughter, ma'am; it would have suited me better.
+[Tosses her head.] But pooh--what does it matter! [With a bitter
+side glance at the corked bottle.] I may come to drink champagne
+with gentlefolks yet.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And if you ever need a home, Regina, come to me.
+
+REGINA. No, thank you, ma'am. Pastor Manders will look after me, I
+know. And if the worst comes to the worst, I know of one house
+where I've every right to a place.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Where is that?
+
+REGINA. "Chamberlain Alving's Home."
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina--now I see it--you are going to your ruin.
+
+REGINA. Oh, stuff! Good-bye. [She nods and goes out through the
+hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stands at the window and looks out.] Is she gone?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes.
+
+OSWALD. [Murmuring aside to himself.] I think it was a mistake,
+this.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes up behind him and lays her hands on his
+shoulders.] Oswald, my dear boy--has it shaken you very much?
+
+OSWALD. [Turns his face towards her.] All that about father, do you
+mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, about your unhappy father. I am so afraid it may
+have been too much for you.
+
+OSWALD. Why should you fancy that? Of course it came upon me as a
+great surprise; but it can make no real difference to me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Draws her hands away.] No difference! That your
+father was so infinitely unhappy!
+
+OSWALD. Of course I can pity him, as I would anybody else; but--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Nothing more! Your own father!
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.]Oh, "father,"--"father"! I never knew
+anything of father. I remember nothing about him, except that he
+once made me sick.
+
+MRS. ALVING. This is terrible to think of! Ought not a son to love
+his father, whatever happens?
+
+OSWALD. When a son has nothing to thank his father for? has never
+known him? Do you really cling to that old superstition?--you who
+are so enlightened in other ways?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Can it be only a superstition--?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; surely you can see that, mother. It's one of those
+notions that are current in the world, and so--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Deeply moved.] Ghosts!
+
+OSWALD. [Crossing the room.] Yes; you may call them ghosts.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Wildly.] Oswald--then you don't love me, either!
+
+OSWALD. You I know, at any rate--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, you know me; but is that all!
+
+OSWALD. And, of course, I know how fond you are of me, and I can't
+but be grateful to you. And then you can be so useful to me, now
+that I am ill.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, cannot I, Oswald? Oh, I could almost bless the
+illness that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that
+you are not mine: I have to win you.
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Yes yes yes; all these are just so many
+phrases. You must remember that I am a sick man, mother. I can't be
+much taken up with other people; I have enough to do thinking about
+myself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In a low voice.] I shall be patient and easily
+satisfied.
+
+OSWALD. And cheerful too, mother!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. [Goes towards
+him.] Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The dread?
+
+OSWALD. [Walks across the room.] Regina could have been got to do
+it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I don't understand you. What is this about dread--and
+Regina?
+
+OSWALD. Is it very late, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. It is early morning. [She looks out through the
+conservatory.] The day is dawning over the mountains. And the
+weather is clearing, Oswald. In a little while you shall see the
+sun.
+
+OSWALD. I'm glad of that. Oh, I may still have much to rejoice in
+and live for--
+
+MRS. ALVING. I should think so, indeed!
+
+OSWALD. Even if I can't work--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you'll soon be able to work again, my dear boy--
+now that you haven't got all those gnawing and depressing thoughts
+to brood over any longer.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I'm glad you were able to rid me of all those fancies.
+And when I've got over this one thing more--[Sits on the sofa.] Now
+we will have a little talk, mother--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, let us. [She pushes an arm-chair towards the
+sofa, and sits down close to him.]
+
+OSWALD. And meantime the sun will be rising. And then you will
+know all. And then I shall not feel this dread any longer.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What is it that I am to know?
+
+OSWALD. [Not listening to her.] Mother, did you not say a little
+while ago, that there was nothing in the world you would not do
+for me, if I asked you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I said so!
+
+OSWALD. And you'll stick to it, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. You may rely on that, my dear and only boy! I have
+nothing in the world to live for but you alone.
+
+OSWALD. Very well, then; now you shall hear--Mother, you have a
+strong, steadfast mind, I know. Now you're to sit quite still when
+you hear it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What dreadful thing can it be--?
+
+OSWALD. You're not to scream out. Do you hear? Do you promise me
+that? We will sit and talk about it quietly. Do you promise me,
+mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I promise. Only speak!
+
+OSWALD. Well, you must know that all this fatigue--and my inability
+to think of work--all that is not the illness itself--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then what is the illness itself?
+
+OSWALD. The disease I have as my birthright--[He points to his
+forehead and adds very softly]--is seated here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Almost voiceless.] Oswald! No--no!
+
+OSWALD. Don't scream. I can't bear it. Yes, mother, it is seated
+here waiting. And it may break out any day--at any moment.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, what horror--!
+
+OSWALD. Now, quiet, quiet. That is how it stands with me--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Springs up.] It's not true, Oswald! It's impossible!
+It cannot be so!
+
+OSWALD. I have had one attack down there already. It was soon over.
+But when I came to know the state I had been in, then the dread
+descended upon me, raging and ravening; and so I set off home to
+you as fast as I could.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then this is the dread--!
+
+OSWALD. Yes--it's so indescribably loathsome, you know. Oh, if it
+had only been an ordinary mortal disease--! For I'm not so afraid
+of death--though I should like to live as long as I can.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must!
+
+OSWALD. But this is so unutterably loathsome. To become a little
+baby again! To hive to be fed! To have to--Oh, it's not to be
+spoken of!
+
+MRS. ALVING. The child has his mother to nurse him.
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up.] No, never that! That is just what I will not
+have. I can't endure to think that perhaps I should lie in that
+state for many years--and get old and grey. And in the meantime you
+might die and leave me. [Sits in MRS. ALVING'S chair.] For the
+doctor said it wouldn't necessarily prove fatal at once. He called
+it a sort of softening of the brain--or something like that.
+[Smiles sadly.] I think that expression sounds so nice. It always
+sets me thinking of cherry-coloured velvet--something soft and
+delicate to stroke.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks.] Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up and paces the room.] And now you have taken
+Regina from me. If I could only have had her! She would have come
+to the rescue, I know.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] What do you mean by that, my darling
+boy? Is there any help in the world that I would not give you?
+
+OSWALD. When I got over my attack in Paris, the doctor told me that
+when it comes again--and it will come--there will be no more hope.
+
+MRS. ALVING. He was heartless enough to--
+
+OSWALD. I demanded it of him. I told him I had preparations to make--
+[He smiles cunningly.] And so I had. [He takes a little box from
+his inner breast pocket and opens it.] Mother, do you see this?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What is it?
+
+OSWALD. Morphia.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looks at him horror-struck.] Oswald--my boy!
+
+OSWALD. I've scraped together twelve pilules--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Snatches at it.] Give me the box, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. Not yet, mother. [He hides the box again in his pocket.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. I shall never survive this!
+
+OSWALD. It must be survived. Now if I'd had Regina here, I should
+have told her how things stood with me--and begged her to come to
+the rescue at the last. She would have done it. I know she would.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Never!
+
+OSWALD. When the horror had come upon me, and she saw me lying
+there helpless, like a little new-born baby, impotent, lost,
+hopeless--past all saving--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Never in all the world would Regina have done this!
+
+OSWALD. Regina would have done it. Regina was so splendidly
+light-hearted. And she would soon have wearied of nursing an
+invalid like me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then heaven be praised that Regina is not here.
+
+OSWALD. Well then, it is you that must come to the rescue, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks aloud.] I!
+
+OSWALD. Who should do it if not you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I! your mother!
+
+OSWALD. For that very reason.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I, who gave you life!
+
+OSWALD. I never asked you for life. And what sort of a life have
+you given me? I will not have it! You shall take it back again!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Help! Help! [She runs out into the hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Going after her.] Do not leave me! Where are you going?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In the hall.] To fetch the doctor, Oswald! Let me
+pass!
+
+OSWALD. [Also outside.] You shall not go out. And no one shall come
+in. [The locking of a door is heard.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Comes in again.] Oswald! Oswald--my child!
+
+OSWALD. [Follows her.] Have you a mother's heart for me--and yet
+can see me suffer from this unutterable dread?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [After a moment's silence, commands herself, and
+says:] Here is my hand upon it.
+
+OSWALD. Will you--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If it should ever be necessary. But it will never be
+necessary. No, no; it is impossible.
+
+OSWALD. Well, let us hope so. And let us live together as long as
+we can. Thank you, mother. [He seats himself in the arm-chair which
+MRS. ALVING has moved to the sofa. Day is breaking. The lamp is
+still burning on the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Drawing near cautiously.] Do you feel calm now?
+
+OSWALD. Yes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Bending over him.] It has been a dreadful fancy of
+yours, Oswald--nothing but a fancy. All this excitement has been
+too much for you. But now you shall have along rest; at home with
+your mother, my own blessed boy. Everything you point to you shall
+have, just as when you were a little child.--There now. The crisis
+is over. You see how easily it passed! Oh, I was sure it would.--
+And do you see, Oswald, what a lovely day we are going to have?
+Brilliant sunshine! Now you can really see your home. [She goes to
+the table and puts out the lamp. Sunrise. The glacier and the
+snow-peaks in the background glow in the morning light.]
+
+OSWALD. [Sits in the arm-chair with his back towards the landscape,
+without moving. Suddenly he says:] Mother, give me the sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [By the table, starts and looks at him.] What do you
+say?
+
+OSWALD. [Repeats, in a dull, toneless voice.] The sun. The sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] Oswald, what is the matter with you?
+
+OSWALD. [Seems to shrink together to the chair; all his muscles
+relax; his face is expressionless, his eyes have a glassy stare.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Quivering with terror.] What is this? [Shrieks.]
+Oswald! what is the matter with you? [Falls on her knees beside him
+and shakes him.] Oswald! Oswald! look at me! Don't you know me?
+
+OSWALD. [Tonelessly as before.] The sun.--The sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Springs up in despair, entwines her hands in her
+hair and shrieks.] I cannot bear it! [Whispers, as though
+petrified]; I cannot bear it! Never! [Suddenly.] Where has he got
+them? [Fumbles hastily in his breast.] Here! [Shrinks back a few
+steps and screams:] No. no; no!--Yes!--No; no!
+
+[She stands a few steps away from him with her hands twisted in her
+hair, and stares at him in speechless horror.]
+
+OSWALD. [Sits motionless as before and says.] The sun.--The sun.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOSTS ***
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+#13 in our series by Henrik Ibsen
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+
+Title: Ghosts
+
+Author: Henrik Ibsen
+
+Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8121]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on June 16, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOSTS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Nicole Apostola
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+by Henrik Ibsen
+
+Translated, with an Introduction, by William Archer
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+The winter of 1879-80 Ibsen spent in Munich, and the greater part
+of the summer of 1880 at Berchtesgaden. November 1880 saw him back
+in Rome, and he passed the summer of 1881 at Sorrento. There,
+fourteen years earlier, he had written the last acts of _Peer
+Gynt_; there he now wrote, or at any rate completed, _Gengangere_.
+It was published in December 1881, after he had returned to Rome.
+On December 22 he wrote to Ludwig Passarge, one of his German
+translators, "My new play has now appeared, and has occasioned a
+terrible uproar in the Scandinavian press; every day I receive
+letters and newspaper articles decrying or praising it. ... I
+consider it utterly impossible that any German theatre will accept
+the play at present. I hardly believe that they will dare to play
+it in the Scandinavian countries for some time to come." How
+rightly he judged we shall see anon.
+
+In the newspapers there was far more obloquy than praise. Two men,
+however, stood by him from the first: Björnson, from whom he had
+been practically estranged ever since _The League of Youth_, and
+Georg Brandes. The latter published an article in which he declared
+(I quote from memory) that the play might or might not be Ibsen's
+greatest work, but that it was certainly his noblest deed. It was,
+doubtless, in acknowledgment of this article that Ibsen wrote to
+Brandes on January 3, 1882: "Yesterday I had the great pleasure of
+receiving your brilliantly clear and so warmly appreciative review
+of _Ghosts_. ... All who read your article must, it seems to me,
+have their eyes opened to what I meant by my new book--assuming,
+that is, that they have any _wish_ to see. For I cannot get rid of
+the impression that a very large number of the false interpretations
+which have appeared in the newspapers are the work of people who
+know better. In Norway, however, I am willing to believe that the
+stultification has in most cases been unintentional; and the reason
+is not far to seek. In that country a great many of the critics are
+theologians, more or less disguised; and these gentlemen are, as a
+rule, quite unable to write rationally about creative literature.
+That enfeeblement of judgment which, at least in the case of the
+average man, is an inevitable consequence of prolonged occupation
+with theological studies, betrays itself more especially in the
+judging of human character, human actions, and human motives.
+Practical business judgment, on the other hand, does not suffer
+so much from studies of this order. Therefore the reverend
+gentlemen are very often excellent members of local boards;
+but they are unquestionably our worst critics." This passage is
+interesting as showing clearly the point of view from which
+Ibsen conceived the character of Manders. In the next paragraph
+of the same letter he discusses the attitude of "the so-called
+Liberal press"; but as the paragraph contains the germ of _An
+Enemy of the People_, it may most fittingly be quoted in the
+introduction to that play.
+
+Three days later (January 6) Ibsen wrote to Schandorph, the Danish
+novelist: "I was quite prepared for the hubbub. If certain of our
+Scandinavian reviewers have no talent for anything else, they have
+an unquestionable talent for thoroughly misunderstanding and
+misinterpreting those authors whose books they undertake to judge. ...
+They endeavour to make me responsible for the opinions which
+certain of the personages of my drama express. And yet there is not
+in the whole book a single opinion, a single utterance, which can
+be laid to the account of the author. I took good care to avoid
+this. The very method, the order of technique which imposes its
+form upon the play, forbids the author to appear in the speeches of
+his characters. My object was to make the reader feel that he was
+going through a piece of real experience; and nothing could more
+effectually prevent such an impression than the intrusion of the
+author's private opinions into the dialogue. Do they imagine at
+home that I am so inexpert in the theory of drama as not to know
+this? Of course I know it, and act accordingly. In no other play
+that I have written is the author so external to the action, so
+entirely absent from it, as in this last one."
+
+"They say," he continued, "that the book preaches Nihilism. Not at
+all. It is not concerned to preach anything whatsoever. It merely
+points to the ferment of Nihilism going on under the surface, at
+home as elsewhere. A Pastor Manders will always goad one or other
+Mrs. Alving to revolt. And just because she is a woman, she will,
+when once she has begun, go to the utmost extremes."
+
+Towards the end of January Ibsen wrote from Rome to Olaf Skavlan:
+"These last weeks have brought me a wealth of experiences, lessons,
+and discoveries. I, of course, foresaw that my new play would call
+forth a howl from the camp of the stagnationists; and for; this I
+care no more than for the barking of a pack of chained dogs. But
+the pusillanimity which I have observed among the so-called
+Liberals has given me cause for reflection. The very day after my
+play was published the _Dagblad_ rushed out a hurriedly-written
+article, evidently designed to purge itself of all suspicion of
+complicity in my work. This was entirely unnecessary. I myself am
+responsible for what I write, I and no one else. I cannot possibly
+embarrass any party, for to no party do I belong. I stand like a
+solitary franc-tireur at the outposts, and fight for my own hand.
+The only man in Norway who has stood up freely, frankly, and
+courageously for me is Björnson. It is just like him. He has in
+truth a great, kingly soul, and I shall never forget his action in
+this matter."
+
+One more quotation completes the history of these stirring January
+days, as written by Ibsen himself. It occurs in a letter to a
+Danish journalist, Otto Borchsenius. "It may well be," the poet
+writes, "that the play is in several respects rather daring. But it
+seemed to me that the time had come for moving some boundary-posts.
+And this was an undertaking for which a man of the older generation,
+like myself, was better fitted than the many younger authors who
+might desire to do something of the kind. I was prepared for a
+storm; but such storms one must not shrink from encountering. That
+would be cowardice."
+
+It happened that, just in these days, the present writer had
+frequent opportunities of conversing with Ibsen, and of hearing
+from his own lips almost all the views expressed in the above
+extracts. He was especially emphatic, I remember, in protesting
+against the notion that the opinions expressed by Mrs. Alving or
+Oswald were to be attributed to himself. He insisted, on the
+contrary, that Mrs. Alving's views were merely typical of the moral
+chaos inevitably produced by re-action from the narrow conventionalism
+represented by Manders.
+
+With one consent, the leading theatres of the three Scandinavian
+capitals declined to have anything to do with the play. It was more
+than eighteen months old before it found its way to the stage at
+all. In August 1883 it was acted for the first time at Helsingborg,
+Sweden, by a travelling company under the direction of an eminent
+Swedish actor, August Lindberg, who himself played Oswald. He took
+it on tour round the principal cities of Scandinavia, playing it,
+among the rest, at a minor theatre in Christiania. It happened that
+the boards of the Christiania Theatre were at the same time
+occupied by a French farce; and public demonstrations of protest
+were made against the managerial policy which gave _Tête de
+Linotte_ the preference over _Gengangere_. Gradually the prejudice
+against the play broke down. Already in the autumn of 1883 it was
+produced at the Royal (Dramatiska) Theatre in Stockholm. When the
+new National Theatre was opened in Christiania in 1899, _Gengangere_
+found an early place in its repertory; and even the Royal Theatre
+in Copenhagen has since opened its doors to the tragedy.
+
+Not until April 1886 was _Gespenster_ acted in Germany, and then
+only at a private performance, at the Stadttheater, Augsburg, the
+poet himself being present. In the following winter it was acted
+at the famous Court Theatre at Meiningen, again in the presence of
+the poet. The first (private) performance in Berlin took place on
+January 9, 1887, at the Residenz Theater; and when the Freie Bühne,
+founded on the model of the Paris Theatre Libre, began its
+operations two years later (September 29, 1889), _Gespenster_ was
+the first play that it produced. The Freie Bühne gave the initial
+impulse to the whole modern movement which has given Germany a new
+dramatic literature; and the leaders of the movement, whether
+authors or critics, were one and all ardent disciples of Ibsen, who
+regarded _Gespenster_ as his typical masterpiece. In Germany, then,
+the play certainly did, in Ibsen's own words, "move some boundary-posts."
+The Prussian censorship presently withdrew its veto, and on,
+November 27, 1894, the two leading literary theatres of Berlin, the
+Deutsches Theater and the Lessing Theater, gave simultaneous
+performances of the tragedy. Everywhere in Germany and Austria it
+is now freely performed; but it is naturally one of the least
+popular of Ibsen's plays.
+
+It was with _Les Revenants_ that Ibsen made his first appearance on
+the French stage. The play was produced by the Théâtre Libre (at
+the Théâtre des Menus-Plaisirs) on May 29, 1890. Here, again, it
+became the watchword of the new school of authors and critics, and
+aroused a good deal of opposition among the old school. But the
+most hostile French criticisms were moderation itself compared with
+the torrents of abuse which were poured upon _Ghosts_ by the
+journalists of London when, on March 13, 1891, the Independent
+Theatre, under the direction of Mr. J. T. Grein, gave a private
+performance of the play at the Royalty Theatre, Soho. I have
+elsewhere [Note: See "The Mausoleum of Ibsen," _Fortnightly
+Review_, August 1893. See also Mr. Bernard Shaw's _Quintessence of
+Ibsenism_, p. 89, and my introduction to Ghosts in the single-volume
+edition.] placed upon record some of the amazing feats of
+vituperation achieved of the critics, and will not here recall
+them. It is sufficient to say that if the play had been a tenth
+part as nauseous as the epithets hurled at it and its author, the
+Censor's veto would have been amply justified. That veto is still
+(1906) in force. England enjoys the proud distinction of being the
+one country in the world where _Ghosts_ may not be publicly acted.
+In the United States, the first performance of the play in English
+took place at the Berkeley Lyceum, New York City, on January 5,
+1894. The production was described by Mr. W. D. Howells as "a great
+theatrical event--the very greatest I have ever known." Other
+leading men of letters were equally impressed by it. Five years
+later, a second production took place at the Carnegie Lyceum; and
+an adventurous manager has even taken the play on tour in the
+United States. The Italian version of the tragedy, _Gli Spettri_,
+has ever since 1892 taken a prominent place in the repertory of the
+great actors Zaccone and Novelli, who have acted it, not only
+throughout Italy, but in Austria, Germany, Russia, Spain, and South
+America.
+
+In an interview, published immediately after Ibsen's death,
+Björnstjerne Björnson, questioned as to what he held to be his
+brother-poet's greatest work, replied, without a moment's
+hesitation, _Gengangere_. This dictum can scarcely, I think, be
+accepted without some qualification. Even confining our attention
+to the modern plays, and leaving out of comparison _The Pretenders_,
+_Brand_, and _Peer Gynt_, we can scarcely call _Ghosts_ Ibsen's
+richest or most human play, and certainly not his profoundest or
+most poetical. If some omnipotent Censorship decreed the
+annihilation of all his works save one, few people, I imagine,
+would vote that that one should be _Ghosts_. Even if half a dozen
+works were to be saved from the wreck, I doubt whether I, for my
+part, would include _Ghosts_ in the list. It is, in my judgment, a
+little bare, hard, austere. It is the first work in which Ibsen
+applies his new technical method--evolved, as I have suggested,
+during the composition of _A Doll's House_--and he applies it with
+something of fanaticism. He is under the sway of a prosaic ideal--
+confessed in the phrase, "My object was to make the reader feel
+that he was going through a piece of real experience"--and he is
+putting some constraint upon the poet within him. The action moves
+a little stiffly, and all in one rhythm. It lacks variety and
+suppleness. Moreover, the play affords some slight excuse for the
+criticism which persists in regarding Ibsen as a preacher rather
+than as a creator--an author who cares more for ideas and doctrines
+than for human beings. Though Mrs. Alving, Engstrand and Regina are
+rounded and breathing characters, it cannot be denied that Manders
+strikes one as a clerical type rather than an individual, while
+even Oswald might not quite unfairly be described as simply and
+solely his father's son, an object-lesson in heredity. We cannot be
+said to know him, individually and intimately, as we know Helmer or
+Stockmann, Hialmar Ekdal or Gregors Werle. Then, again, there are
+one or two curious flaws in the play. The question whether Oswald's
+"case" is one which actually presents itself in the medical books
+seems to me of very trifling moment. It is typically true, even if
+it be not true in detail. The suddenness of the catastrophe may
+possibly be exaggerated, its premonitions and even its essential
+nature may be misdescribed. On the other hand, I conceive it,
+probable that the poet had documents to found upon, which may be
+unknown to his critics. I have never taken any pains to satisfy
+myself upon the point, which seems to me quite immaterial. There is
+not the slightest doubt that the life-history of a Captain Alving
+may, and often does, entail upon posterity consequences quite as
+tragic as those which ensue in Oswald's case, and far more
+wide-spreading. That being so, the artistic justification of the
+poet's presentment of the case is certainly not dependent on its
+absolute scientific accuracy. The flaws above alluded to are of
+another nature. One of them is the prominence given to the fact
+that the Asylum is uninsured. No doubt there is some symbolical
+purport in the circumstance; but I cannot think that it is either
+sufficiently clear or sufficiently important to justify the
+emphasis thrown upon it at the end of the second act. Another
+dubious point is Oswald's argument in the first act as to the
+expensiveness of marriage as compared with free union. Since the
+parties to free union, as he describes it, accept all the
+responsibilities of marriage, and only pretermit the ceremony, the
+difference of expense, one would suppose, must be neither more nor
+less than the actual marriage fee. I have never seen this remark of
+Oswald's adequately explained, either as a matter of economic fact,
+or as a trait of character. Another blemish, of somewhat greater
+moment, is the inconceivable facility with which, in the third act,
+Manders suffers himself to be victimised by Engstrand. All these
+little things, taken together, detract, as it seems to me, from the
+artistic completeness of the play, and impair its claim to rank as
+the poet's masterpiece. Even in prose drama, his greatest and most
+consummate achievements were yet to come.
+
+Must we, then, wholly dissent from Björnson's judgment? I think
+not. In a historical, if not in an aesthetic, sense, _Ghosts_ may
+well rank as Ibsen's greatest work. It was the play which first
+gave the full measure of his technical and spiritual originality
+and daring. It has done far more than any other of his plays to
+"move boundary-posts." It has advanced the frontiers of dramatic
+art and implanted new ideals, both technical and intellectual, in
+the minds of a whole generation of playwrights. It ranks with
+_Hernani_ and _La Dame aux Camélias_ among the epoch-making plays
+of the nineteenth century, while in point of essential originality
+it towers above them. We cannot, I think, get nearer to the truth
+than Georg Brandes did in the above-quoted phrase from his first
+notice of the play, describing it as not, perhaps, the poet's
+greatest work, but certainly his noblest deed. In another essay,
+Brandes has pointed to it, with equal justice, as marking Ibsen's
+final breach with his early-one might almost say his hereditary
+romanticism. He here becomes, at last, "the most modern of the
+moderns." "This, I am convinced," says the Danish critic, "is his
+imperishable glory, and will give lasting life to his works."
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+(1881)
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+MRS. HELEN ALVING, widow of Captain Alving, late Chamberlain to
+the King. [Note: Chamberlain (Kammerherre) is the only title of
+honour now existing in Norway. It is a distinction conferred by the
+King on men of wealth and position, and is not hereditary.]
+OSWALD ALVING, her son, a painter.
+PASTOR MANDERS.
+JACOB ENGSTRAND, a carpenter.
+REGINA ENGSTRAND, Mrs. Alving's maid.
+
+The action takes place at Mrs. Alving's country house, beside one
+of the large fjords in Western Norway.
+
+
+GHOSTS
+
+A FAMILY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.
+
+
+ACT FIRST.
+
+[A spacious garden-room, with one door to the left, and two doors
+to the right. In the middle of the room a round table, with chairs
+about it. On the table lie books, periodicals, and newspapers. In
+the foreground to the left a window, and by it a small sofa, with a
+worktable in front of it. In the background, the room is continued
+into a somewhat narrower conservatory, the walls of which are
+formed by large panes of glass. In the right-hand wall of the
+conservatory is a door leading down into the garden. Through the
+glass wall a gloomy fjord landscape is faintly visible, veiled by
+steady rain.]
+
+[ENGSTRAND, the carpenter, stands by the garden door. His left leg
+is somewhat bent; he has a clump of wood under the sole of his
+boot. REGINA, with an empty garden syringe in her hand, hinders him
+from advancing.]
+
+REGINA. [In a low voice.] What do you want? Stop where you are.
+You're positively dripping.
+
+ENGSTRAND. It's the Lord's own rain, my girl.
+
+REGINA. It's the devil's rain, _I_ say.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord, how you talk, Regina. [Limps a step or two forward
+into the room.] It's just this as I wanted to say--
+
+REGINA. Don't clatter so with that foot of yours, I tell you! The
+young master's asleep upstairs.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Asleep? In the middle of the day?
+
+REGINA. It's no business of yours.
+
+ENGSTRAND. I was out on the loose last night--
+
+REGINA. I can quite believe that.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, we're weak vessels, we poor mortals, my girl--
+
+REGINA. So it seems.
+
+ENGSTRAND. --and temptations are manifold in this world, you see.
+But all the same, I was hard at work, God knows, at half-past five
+this morning.
+
+REGINA. Very well; only be off now. I won't stop here and have
+_rendezvous's_ [Note: This and other French words by Regina are in
+that language in the original] with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you say you won't have?
+
+REGINA. I won't have any one find you here; so just you go about
+your business.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Advances a step or two.] Blest if I go before I've had
+a talk with you. This afternoon I shall have finished my work at
+the school house, and then I shall take to-night's boat and be off
+home to the town.
+
+REGINA. [Mutters.] Pleasant journey to you!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Thank you, my child. To-morrow the Orphanage is to be
+opened, and then there'll be fine doings, no doubt, and plenty of
+intoxicating drink going, you know. And nobody shall say of Jacob
+Engstrand that he can't keep out of temptation's way.
+
+REGINA. Oh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. You see, there's to be heaps of grand folks here
+to-morrow. Pastor Manders is expected from town, too.
+
+REGINA. He's coming to-day.
+
+ENGSTRAND. There, you see! And I should be cursedly sorry if he
+found out anything against me, don't you understand?
+
+REGINA. Oho! is that your game?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Is what my game?
+
+REGINA. [Looking hard at him.] What are you going to fool Pastor
+Manders into doing, this time?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Sh! sh! Are you crazy? Do _I_ want to fool Pastor
+Manders? Oh no! Pastor Manders has been far too good a friend to me
+for that. But I just wanted to say, you know--that I mean to be off
+home again to-night.
+
+REGINA. The sooner the better, say I.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, but I want you with me, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [Open-mouthed.] You want me--? What are you talking about?
+
+ENGSTRAND. I want you to come home with me, I say.
+
+REGINA. [Scornfully.] Never in this world shall you get me home
+with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, we'll see about that.
+
+REGINA. Yes, you may be sure we'll see about it! Me, that have been
+brought up by a lady like Mrs Alving! Me, that am treated almost as
+a daughter here! Is it me you want to go home with you?--to a house
+like yours? For shame!
+
+ENGSTRAND. What the devil do you mean? Do you set yourself up
+against your father, you hussy?
+
+REGINA. [Mutters without looking at him.] You've sail often enough
+I was no concern of yours.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Pooh! Why should you bother about that--
+
+REGINA. Haven't you many a time sworn at me and called me a--? _Fi
+donc_!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Curse me, now, if ever I used such an ugly word.
+
+REGINA. Oh, I remember very well what word you used.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, but that was only when I was a bit on, don't you
+know? Temptations are manifold in this world, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Ugh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. And besides, it was when your mother was that
+aggravating--I had to find something to twit her with, my child.
+She was always setting up for a fine lady. [Mimics.] "Let me go,
+Engstrand; let me be. Remember I was three years in Chamberlain
+Alving's family at Rosenvold." [Laughs.] Mercy on us! She could
+never forget that the Captain was made a Chamberlain while she was
+in service here.
+
+REGINA. Poor mother! you very soon tormented her into her grave.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [With a twist of his shoulders.] Oh, of course! I'm to
+have the blame for everything.
+
+REGINA. [Turns away; half aloud.] Ugh--! And that leg too!
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you say, my child?
+
+REGINA. _Pied de mouton_.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Is that English, eh?
+
+REGINA. Yes.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Ay, ay; you've picked up some learning out here; and
+that may come in useful now, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [After a short silence.] What do you want with me in town?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Can you ask what a father wants with his only child?
+A'n't I a lonely, forlorn widower?
+
+REGINA. Oh, don't try on any nonsense like that with me! Why do you
+want me?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, let me tell you, I've been thinking of setting up
+in a new line of business.
+
+REGINA. [Contemptuously.] You've tried that often enough, and much
+good you've done with it.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, but this time you shall see, Regina! Devil take me--
+
+REGINA. [Stamps.] Stop your swearing!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Hush, hush; you're right enough there, my girl. What I
+wanted to say was just this--I've laid by a very tidy pile from
+this Orphanage job.
+
+REGINA. Have you? That's a good thing for you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What can a man spend his ha'pence on here in this
+country hole?
+
+REGINA. Well, what then?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why, you see, I thought of putting the money into some
+paying speculation. I thought of a sort of a sailor's tavern--
+
+REGINA. Pah!
+
+ENGSTRAND. A regular high-class affair, of course; not any sort of
+pig-sty for common sailors. No! damn it! it would be for captains
+and mates, and--and--regular swells, you know.
+
+REGINA. And I was to--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. You were to help, to be sure. Only for the look of the
+thing, you understand. Devil a bit of hard work shall you have, my
+girl. You shall do exactly what you like.
+
+REGINA. Oh, indeed!
+
+ENGSTRAND. But there must be a petticoat in the house; that's as
+clear as daylight. For I want to have it a bit lively like in the
+evenings, with singing and dancing, and so on. You must remember
+they're weary wanderers on the ocean of life. [Nearer.] Now don't
+be a fool and stand in your own light, Regina. What's to become of
+you out here? Your mistress has given you a lot of learning; but
+what good is that to you? You're to look after the children at the
+new Orphanage, I hear. Is that the sort of thing for you, eh? Are
+you so dead set on wearing your life out for a pack of dirty brats?
+
+REGINA. No; if things go as I want them to--Well there's no saying--
+there's no saying.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What do you mean by "there's no saying"?
+
+REGINA. Never you mind.--How much money have you saved?
+
+ENGSTRAND. What with one thing and another, a matter of seven or
+eight hundred crowns. [A "krone" is equal to one shilling and
+three-halfpence.]
+
+REGINA. That's not so bad.
+
+ENGSTRAND. It's enough to make a start with, my girl.
+
+REGINA. Aren't you thinking of giving me any?
+
+ENGSTRAND. No, I'm blest if I am!
+
+REGINA. Not even of sending me a scrap of stuff for a new dress?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Come to town with me, my lass, and you'll soon get
+dresses enough.
+
+REGINA. Pooh! I can do that on my own account, if I want to.
+
+ENGSTRAND. No, a father's guiding hand is what you want, Regina.
+Now, I've got my eye on a capital house in Little Harbour Street.
+They don't want much ready-money; and it could be a sort of a
+Sailors' Home, you know.
+
+REGINA. But I will not live with you! I have nothing whatever to do
+with you. Be off!
+
+ENGSTRAND. You wouldn't stop long with me, my girl. No such luck!
+If you knew how to play your cards, such a fine figure of a girl as
+you've grown in the last year or two--
+
+REGINA. Well?
+
+ENGSTRAND. You'd soon get hold of some mate--or maybe even a
+captain--
+
+REGINA. I won't marry any one of that sort. Sailors have no _savoir
+vivre_.
+
+ENGSTRAND. What's that they haven't got?
+
+REGINA. I know what sailors are, I tell you. They're not the sort
+of people to marry.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Then never mind about marrying them. You can make it pay
+all the same. [More confidentially.] He--the Englishman--the man
+with the yacht--he came down with three hundred dollars, he did;
+and she wasn't a bit handsomer than you.
+
+REGINA. [Making for him.] Out you go!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Falling back.] Come, come! You're not going to hit me,
+I hope.
+
+REGINA. Yes, if you begin talking about mother I shall hit you. Get
+away with you, I say! [Drives him back towards the garden door.]
+And don't slam the doors. Young Mr. Alving--
+
+ENGSTRAND. He's asleep; I know. You're mightily taken up about
+young Mr. Alving--[More softly.] Oho! you don't mean to say it's
+him as--?
+
+REGINA. Be off this minute! You're crazy, I tell you! No, not that
+way. There comes Pastor Manders. Down the kitchen stairs with you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Towards the right.] Yes, yes, I'm going. But just you
+talk to him as is coming there. He's the man to tell you what a
+child owes its father. For I am your father all the same, you know.
+I can prove it from the church register.
+
+[He goes out through the second door to the right, which REGINA
+has opened, and closes again after him. REGINA glances hastily at
+herself in the mirror, dusts herself with her pocket handkerchief;
+and settles her necktie; then she busies herself with the flowers.]
+
+[PASTOR MANDERS, wearing an overcoat, carrying an umbrella, and
+with a small travelling-bag on a strap over his shoulder, comes
+through the garden door into the conservatory.]
+
+MANDERS. Good-morning, Miss Engstrand.
+
+REGINA. [Turning round, surprised and pleased.] No, really! Good
+morning, Pastor Manders. Is the steamer in already?
+
+MANDERS. It is just in. [Enters the sitting-room.] Terrible weather
+we have been having lately.
+
+REGINA. [Follows him.] It's such blessed weather for the country,
+sir.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt; you are quite right. We townspeople give too
+little thought to that. [He begins to take of his overcoat.]
+
+REGINA. Oh, mayn't I help you?--There! Why, how wet it is? I'll
+just hang it up in the hall. And your umbrella, too--I'll open it
+and let it dry.
+
+[She goes out with the things through the second door on the right.
+PASTOR MANDERS takes off his travelling bag and lays it and his hat
+on a chair. Meanwhile REGINA comes in again.]
+
+MANDERS. Ah, it's a comfort to get safe under cover. I hope
+everything is going on well here?
+
+REGINA. Yes, thank you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. You have your hands full, I suppose, in preparation for
+to-morrow?
+
+REGINA. Yes, there's plenty to do, of course.
+
+MANDERS. And Mrs. Alving is at home, I trust?
+
+REGINA. Oh dear, yes. She's just upstairs, looking after the young
+master's chocolate.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, by-the-bye--I heard down at the pier that Oswald had
+arrived.
+
+REGINA. Yes, he came the day before yesterday. We didn't expect him
+before to-day.
+
+MANDERS. Quite strong and well, I hope?
+
+REGINA. Yes, thank you, quite; but dreadfully tired with the
+journey. He has made one rush right through from Paris--the whole
+way in one train, I believe. He's sleeping a little now, I think;
+so perhaps we'd better talk a little quietly.
+
+MANDERS. Sh!--as quietly as you please.
+
+REGINA. [Arranging an arm-chair beside the table.] Now, do sit
+down, Pastor Manders, and make yourself comfortable. [He sits down;
+she places a footstool under his feet.] There! Are you comfortable
+now, sir?
+
+MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, extremely so. [Looks at her.] Do you know,
+Miss Engstrand, I positively believe you have grown since I last
+saw you.
+
+REGINA. Do you think so, Sir? Mrs. Alving says I've filled out too.
+
+MANDERS. Filled out? Well, perhaps a little; just enough.
+
+[Short pause.]
+
+REGINA. Shall I tell Mrs. Alving you are here?
+
+MANDERS. Thanks, thanks, there is no hurry, my dear child.--
+By-the-bye, Regina, my good girl, tell me: how is your father
+getting on out here?
+
+REGINA. Oh, thank you, sir, he's getting on well enough.
+
+MANDERS. He called upon me last time he was in town.
+
+REGINA. Did he, indeed? He's always so glad of a chance of talking
+to you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. And you often look in upon him at his work, I daresay?
+
+REGINA. I? Oh, of course, when I have time, I--
+
+MANDERS. Your father is not a man of strong character, Miss
+Engstrand. He stands terribly in need of a guiding hand.
+
+REGINA. Oh, yes; I daresay he does.
+
+MANDERS. He requires some one near him whom he cares for, and whose
+judgment he respects. He frankly admitted as much when he last came
+to see me.
+
+REGINA. Yes, he mentioned something of the sort to me. But I don't
+know whether Mrs. Alving can spare me; especially now that we've
+got the new Orphanage to attend to. And then I should be so sorry
+to leave Mrs. Alving; she has always been so kind to me.
+
+MANDERS. But a daughter's duty, my good girl--Of course, we should
+first have to get your mistress's consent.
+
+REGINA. But I don't know whether it would be quite proper for me,
+at my age, to keep house for a single man.
+
+MANDERS. What! My dear Miss Engstrand! When the man is your own
+father!
+
+REGINA. Yes, that may be; but all the same--Now, if it were in a
+thoroughly nice house, and with a real gentleman--
+
+MANDERS. Why, my dear Regina--
+
+REGINA. --one I could love and respect, and be a daughter to--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but my dear, good child--
+
+REGINA. Then I should be glad to go to town. It's very lonely out
+here; you know yourself, sir, what it is to be alone in the world.
+And I can assure you I'm both quick and willing. Don't you know of
+any such place for me, sir?
+
+MANDERS. I? No, certainly not.
+
+REGINA. But, dear, dear Sir, do remember me if--
+
+MANDERS. [Rising.] Yes, yes, certainly, Miss Engstrand.
+
+REGINA. For if I--
+
+MANDERS. Will you be so good as to tell your mistress I am here?
+
+REGINA. I will, at once, sir. [She goes out to the left.]
+
+MANDERS. [Paces the room two or three times, stands a moment in the
+background with his hands behind his back, and looks out over the
+garden. Then he returns to the table, takes up a book, and looks at
+the title-page; starts, and looks at several books.] Ha--indeed!
+
+[MRS. ALVING enters by the door on the left; she is followed by
+REGINA, who immediately goes out by the first door on the right.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Holds out her hand.] Welcome, my dear Pastor.
+
+MANDERS. How do you do, Mrs. Alving? Here I am as I promised.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Always punctual to the minute.
+
+MANDERS. You may believe it was not so easy for me to get away.
+With all the Boards and Committees I belong to--
+
+MRS. ALVING. That makes it all the kinder of you to come so early.
+Now we can get through our business before dinner. But where is
+your portmanteau?
+
+MANDERS. [Quickly.] I left it down at the inn. I shall sleep there
+to-night.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Suppressing a smile.] Are you really not to be
+persuaded, even now, to pass the night under my roof?
+
+MANDERS. No, no, Mrs. Alving; many thanks. I shall stay at the inn,
+as usual. It is so conveniently near the landing-stage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, you must have your own way. But I really should
+have thought we two old people--
+
+MANDERS. Now you are making fun of me. Ah, you're naturally in
+great spirits to-day--what with to-morrow's festival and Oswald's
+return.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; you can think what a delight it is to me! It's
+more than two years since he was home last. And now he has promised
+to stay with me all the winter.
+
+MANDERS. Has he really? That is very nice and dutiful of him. For I
+can well believe that life in Rome and Paris has very different
+attractions from any we can offer here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ah, but here he has his mother, you see. My own
+darling boy--he hasn't forgotten his old mother!
+
+MANDERS. It would be grievous indeed, if absence and absorption in
+art and that sort of thing were to blunt his natural feelings.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, you may well say so. But there's nothing of that
+sort to fear with him. I'm quite curious to see whether you know
+him again. He'll be down presently; he's upstairs just now, resting
+a little on the sofa. But do sit down, my dear Pastor.
+
+MANDERS. Thank you. Are you quite at liberty--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly. [She sits by the table.]
+
+MANDERS. Very well. Then let me show you--[He goes to the chair
+where his travelling-bag lies, takes out a packet of papers, sits
+down on the opposite side of the table, and tries to find a clear
+space for the papers.] Now, to begin with, here is--[Breaking off.]
+Tell me, Mrs. Alving, how do these books come to be here?
+
+MRS. ALVING. These books? They are books I am reading.
+
+MANDERS. Do you read this sort of literature?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly I do.
+
+MANDERS. Do you feel better or happier for such reading?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I feel, so to speak, more secure.
+
+MANDERS. That is strange. How do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, I seem to find explanation and confirmation of
+all sorts of things I myself have been thinking. For that is the
+wonderful part of it, Pastor Minders--there is really nothing new
+in these books, nothing but what most people think and believe.
+Only most people either don't formulate it to themselves, or else
+keep quiet about it.
+
+MANDERS. Great heavens! Do you really believe that most people--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I do, indeed.
+
+MANDERS. But surely not in this country? Not here among us?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly; here as elsewhere.
+
+MANDERS. Well, I really must say--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. For the rest, what do you object to in these books?
+
+MANDERS. Object to in them? You surely do not suppose that I have
+nothing better to do than to study such publications as these?
+
+MRS. ALVING. That is to say, you know nothing of what you are
+condemning?
+
+MANDERS. I have read enough about these writings to disapprove of
+them.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; but your own judgment--
+
+MANDERS. My dear Mrs. Alving, there are many occasions in life when
+one must rely upon others. Things are so ordered in this world; and
+it is well that they are. Otherwise, what would become of society?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, well, I daresay you're right there.
+
+MANDERS. Besides, I of course do not deny that there may be much
+that is attractive in such books. Nor can I blame you for wishing
+to keep up with the intellectual movements that are said to be
+going on in the great world-where you have let your son pass so
+much of his life. But--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But?
+
+MANDERS. [Lowering his voice.] But one should not talk about it,
+Mrs. Alving. One is certainly not bound to account to everybody for
+what one reads and thinks within one's own four walls.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course not; I quite agree with you.
+
+MANDERS. Only think, now, how you are bound to consider the
+interests of this Orphanage, which you decided on founding at a
+time when--if I understand you rightly--you thought very
+differently on spiritual matters.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; I quite admit that. But it was about the
+Orphanage--
+
+MANDERS. It was about the Orphanage we were to speak; yes. All I
+say is: prudence, my dear lady! And now let us get to business.
+[Opens the packet, and takes out a number of papers.] Do you see
+these?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The documents?
+
+MANDERS. All--and in perfect order. I can tell you it was hard work
+to get them in time. I had to put on strong pressure. The
+authorities are almost morbidly scrupulous when there is any
+decisive step to be taken. But here they are at last. [Looks
+through the bundle.] See! here is the formal deed of gift of the
+parcel of ground known as Solvik in the Manor of Rosenvold, with
+all the newly constructed buildings, schoolrooms, master's house,
+and chapel. And here is the legal fiat for the endowment and for
+the Bye-laws of the Institution. Will you look at them? [Reads.]
+"Bye-laws for the Children's Home to be known as 'Captain Alving's
+Foundation.'"
+
+MRS. ALVING. (Looks long at the paper.) So there it is.
+
+MANDERS. I have chosen the designation "Captain" rather than
+"Chamberlain." "Captain" looks less pretentious.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; just as you think best.
+
+MANDERS. And here you have the Bank Account of the capital lying at
+interest to cover the current expenses of the Orphanage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Thank you; but please keep it--it will be more
+convenient.
+
+MANDERS. With pleasure. I think we will leave the money in the Bank
+for the present. The interest is certainly not what we could wish--
+four per cent. and six months' notice of withdrawal. If a good
+mortgage could be found later on--of course it must be a first
+mortgage and an unimpeachable security--then we could consider the
+matter.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Certainly, my dear Pastor Manders. You are the best
+judge in these things.
+
+MANDERS. I will keep my eyes open at any rate.--But now there is
+one thing more which I have several times been intending to ask
+you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And what is that?
+
+MANDERS. Shall the Orphanage buildings be insured or not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course they must be insured.
+
+MANDERS. Well, wait a moment, Mrs. Alving. Let us look into the
+matter a little more closely.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have everything insured; buildings and movables and
+stock and crops.
+
+MANDERS. Of course you have--on your own estate. And so have I--of
+course. But here, you see, it is quite another matter. The
+Orphanage is to be consecrated, as it were, to a higher purpose.
+
+MRS. ALVING.
+Yes, but that's no reason--
+
+MANDERS. For my own part, I should certainly not see the smallest
+impropriety in guarding against all contingencies--
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, I should think not.
+
+MANDERS. But what is the general feeling in the neighbourhood? You,
+of course, know better than I.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well--the general feeling--
+
+MANDERS. Is there any considerable number of people--really
+responsible people--who might be scandalised?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do you mean by "really responsible people"?
+
+MANDERS. Well, I mean people in such independent and influential
+positions that one cannot help attaching some weight to their
+opinions.
+
+MRS. ALVING. There are several people of that sort here, who would
+very likely be shocked if--
+
+MANDERS. There, you see! In town we have many such people. Think
+of all my colleague's adherents! People would be only too ready to
+interpret our action as a sign that neither you nor I had the right
+faith in a Higher Providence.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But for your own part, my dear Pastor, you can at
+least tell yourself that--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, I know--I know; my conscience would be quite easy,
+that is true enough. But nevertheless we should not escape grave
+misinterpretation; and that might very likely react unfavourably
+upon the Orphanage.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, in that case--
+
+MANDERS. Nor can I entirely lose sight of the difficult--I may even
+say painful--position in which _I_ might perhaps be placed. In the
+leading circles of the town, people take a lively interest in this
+Orphanage. It is, of course, founded partly for the benefit of the
+town, as well; and it is to be hoped it will, to a considerable
+extent, result in lightening our Poor Rates. Now, as I have been
+your adviser, and have had the business arrangements in my hands, I
+cannot but fear that I may have to bear the brunt of fanaticism--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you mustn't run the risk of that.
+
+MANDERS. To say nothing of the attacks that would assuredly be made
+upon me in certain papers and periodicals, which--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Enough, my dear Pastor Manders. That consideration is
+quite decisive.
+
+MANDERS. Then you do not wish the Orphanage to be insured?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. We will let it alone.
+
+MANDERS. [Leaning hack in his chair.] But if, now, a disaster were
+to happen? One can never tell--Should you be able to make good the
+damage?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No; I tell you plainly I should do nothing of the
+kind.
+
+MANDERS. Then I must tell you, Mrs. Alving--we are taking no small
+responsibility upon ourselves.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think we can do otherwise?
+
+MANDERS. No, that is just the point; we really cannot do otherwise.
+We ought not to expose ourselves to misinterpretation; and we have
+no right whatever to give offence to the weaker brethren.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You, as a clergyman, certainly should not.
+
+MANDERS. I really think, too, we may trust that such an institution
+has fortune on its side; in fact, that it stands under a special
+providence.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let us hope so, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Then we will let it take its chance?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, certainly.
+
+MANDERS. Very well. So be it. [Makes a note.] Then--no insurance.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It's odd that you should just happen to mention the
+matter to-day--
+
+MANDERS. I have often thought of asking you about it--
+
+MRS. ALVING. --for we very nearly had a fire down there yesterday.
+
+MANDERS. You don't say so!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, it was a trifling matter. A heap of shavings had
+caught fire in the carpenter's workshop.
+
+MANDERS. Where Engstrand works?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. They say he's often very careless with matches.
+
+MANDERS. He has so much on his mind, that man--so many things to
+fight against. Thank God, he is now striving to lead a decent life,
+I hear.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Indeed! Who says so?
+
+MANDERS. He himself assures me of it. And he is certainly a capital
+workman.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, yes; so long as he's sober--
+
+MANDERS. Ah, that melancholy weakness! But, a is often driven to it
+by his injured leg, lie says,' Last time he was in town I was
+really touched by him. He came and thanked me so warmly for having
+got him work here, so that he might be near Regina.
+
+MRS. ALVING. He doesn't see much of her.
+
+MANDERS. Oh, yes; he has a talk with her every day. He told me so
+himself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, it may be so.
+
+MANDERS. He feels so acutely that he needs some one to keep a firm
+hold on him when temptation comes. That is what I cannot help
+liking about Jacob Engstrand: he comes to you so helplessly,
+accusing himself and confessing his own weakness. The last time he
+was talking to me--Believe me, Mrs. Alving, supposing it were a
+real necessity for him to have Regina home again--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising hastily.] Regina!
+
+MANDERS. --you must not set yourself against it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Indeed I shall set myself against it. And besides--
+Regina is to have a position in the Orphanage.
+
+MANDERS. But, after all, remember he is her father--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, I know very well what sort of a father he has been
+to her. No! She shall never go to him with my goodwill.
+
+MANDERS. [Rising.] My dear lady, don't take the matter so warmly.
+You sadly misjudge poor Engstrand. You seem to be quite terrified--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [More quietly.] It makes no difference. I have taken
+Regina into my house, and there she shall stay. [Listens.] Hush, my
+dear Mr. Manders; say no more about it. [Her face lights up with
+gladness.] Listen! there is Oswald coming downstairs. Now we'll
+think of no one but him.
+
+[OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand, and smoking a
+large meerschaum, enters by the door on the left; he stops in the
+doorway.]
+
+OSWALD. Oh, I beg your pardon; I thought you were in the study.
+[Comes forward.] Good-morning, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [Staring.] Ah--! How strange--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well now, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
+
+MANDERS. I--I--can it really be--?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, it's really the Prodigal Son, sir.
+
+MANDERS. [Protesting.] My dear young friend--
+
+OSWALD. Well, then, the Lost Sheep Found.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so much
+opposed to his becoming a painter.
+
+MANDERS. To our human eyes many a step seems dubious, which
+afterwards proves--[Wrings his hand.] But first of all, welcome,
+welcome home! Do not think, my dear Oswald--I suppose I may call
+you by your Christian name?
+
+OSWALD. What else should you call me?
+
+MANDERS. Very good. What I wanted to say was this, my dear Oswald
+you must not think that I utterly condemn the artist's calling. I
+have no doubt there are many who can keep their inner self unharmed
+in that profession, as in any other.
+
+OSWALD. Let us hope so.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Beaming with delight.] I know one who has kept both
+his inner and his outer self unharmed. Just look at him, Mr.
+Manders.
+
+OSWALD. [Moves restlessly about the room.] Yes, yes, my dear
+mother; let's say no more about it.
+
+MANDERS. Why, certainly--that is undeniable. And you have begun to
+make a name for yourself already. The newspapers have often spoken
+of you, most favourably. Just lately, by-the-bye, I fancy I haven't
+seen your name quite so often.
+
+OSWALD. [Up in the conservatory.] I haven't been able to paint so
+much lately.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Even a painter needs a little rest now and then.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt, no doubt. And meanwhile he can be preparing
+himself and mustering his forces for some great work.
+
+OSWALD. Yes.--Mother, will dinner soon be ready?
+
+MRS. ALVING. In less than half an hour. He has a capital appetite,
+thank God.
+
+MANDERS. And a taste for tobacco, too.
+
+OSWALD. I found my father's pipe in my room--
+
+MANDERS. Aha--then that accounts for it!
+
+MRS. ALVING. For what?
+
+MANDERS. When Oswald appeared there, in the doorway, with the pipe
+in his mouth, I could have sworn I saw his father, large as life.
+
+OSWALD. No, really?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, how can you say so? Oswald takes after me.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of the
+mouth--something about the lips--that reminds one exactly of
+Alving: at any rate, now that he is smoking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not in the least. Oswald has rather a clerical curve
+about his mouth, I think.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, yes; some of my colleagues have much the same
+expression.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But put your pipe away, my dear boy; I won't have
+smoking in here.
+
+OSWALD. [Does so.] By all means. I only wanted to try it; for I
+once smoked it when I was a child.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You?
+
+OSWALD. Yes. I was quite small at the time. I recollect I came up
+to father's room one evening when he was in great spirits.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you can't recollect anything of those times.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I recollect it distinctly. He took me on his knee, and
+gave me the pipe. "Smoke, boy," he said; "smoke away, boy!" And I
+smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was growing quite pale,
+and the perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead. Then he
+burst out laughing heartily--
+
+MANDERS. That was most extraordinary.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear friend, it's only something Oswald has dreamt.
+
+OSWALD. No, mother, I assure you I didn't dream it. For--don't you
+remember this?--you came and carried me out into the nursery. Then
+I was sick, and I saw that you were crying.--Did father often play
+such practical jokes?
+
+MANDERS. In his youth he overflowed with the joy of life--
+
+OSWALD. And yet he managed to do so much in the world; so much that
+was good and useful; although he died so early.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, you have inherited the name of an energetic and
+admirable man, my dear Oswald Alving. No doubt it will be an
+incentive to you--
+
+OSWALD. It ought to, indeed.
+
+MANDERS. It was good of you to come home for the ceremony in his
+honour.
+
+OSWALD. I could do no less for my father.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And I am to keep him so long! That is the best of all.
+
+MANDERS. You are going to pass the winter at home, I hear.
+
+OSWALD. My stay is indefinite, sir.-But, ah! it is good to be at
+home!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Beaming.] Yes, isn't it, dear?
+
+MANDERS. [Looking sympathetically at him.] You went out into the
+world early, my dear Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. I did. I sometimes wonder whether it wasn't too early.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, not at all. A healthy lad is all the better for
+it; especially when he's an only child. He oughtn't to hang on at
+home with his mother and father, and get spoilt.
+
+MANDERS. That is a very disputable point, Mrs. Alving. A child's
+proper place is, and must be, the home of his fathers.
+
+OSWALD. There I quite agree with you, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Only look at your own son--there is no reason why we
+should not say it in his presence--what has the consequence been
+for him? He is six or seven and twenty, and has never had the
+opportunity of learning what a well-ordered home really is.
+
+OSWALD. I beg your pardon, Pastor; there you're quite mistaken.
+
+MANDERS. Indeed? I thought you had lived almost exclusively in
+artistic circles.
+
+OSWALD. So I have.
+
+MANDERS. And chiefly among the younger artists?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, certainly.
+
+MANDERS. But I thought few of those young fellows could afford to
+set up house and support a family.
+
+OSWALD. There are many who cannot afford to marry, sir.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, that is just what I say.
+
+OSWALD. But they may have a home for all that. And several of them
+have, as a matter of fact; and very pleasant, well-ordered homes
+they are, too.
+
+[MRS. ALVING follows with breathless interest; nods, but says
+nothing.]
+
+MANDERS. But I'm not talking of bachelors' quarters. By a "home" I
+understand the home of a family, where a man lives with his wife and
+children.
+
+OSWALD. Yes; or with his children and his children's mother.
+
+MANDERS. [Starts; clasps his hands.] But, good heavens--
+
+OSWALD. Well?
+
+MANDERS. Lives with--his children's mother!
+
+OSWALD. Yes. Would you have him turn his children's mother out of
+doors?
+
+MANDERS. Then it is illicit relations you are talking of! Irregular
+marriages, as people call them!
+
+OSWALD. I have never noticed anything particularly irregular about
+the life these people lead.
+
+MANDERS. But how is it possible that a--a young man or young woman
+with any decency of feeling can endure to live in that way?--in the
+eyes of all the world!
+
+OSWALD. What are they to do? A poor young artist--a poor girl--
+marriage costs a great deal. What are they to do?
+
+MANDERS. What are they to do? Let me tell you, Mr. Alving, what they
+ought to do. They ought to exercise self-restraint from the first;
+that is what they ought to do.
+
+OSWALD. That doctrine will scarcely go down with warm-blooded young
+people who love each other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, scarcely!
+
+MANDERS. [Continuing.] How can the authorities tolerate such things!
+Allow them to go on in the light of day! [Confronting MRS. ALVING.]
+Had I not cause to be deeply concerned about your son? In circles
+where open immorality prevails, and has even a sort of recognised
+position--!
+
+OSWALD. Let me tell you, sir, that I have been in the habit of
+spending nearly all my Sundays in one or two such irregular homes--
+
+MANDERS. Sunday of all days!
+
+OSWALD. Isn't that the day to enjoy one's self? Well, never have I
+heard an offensive word, and still less have I witnessed anything
+that could be called immoral. No; do you know when and where I have
+come across immorality in artistic circles?
+
+MANDERS. No, thank heaven, I don't!
+
+OSWALD. Well, then, allow me to inform you. I have met with it when
+one or other of our pattern husbands and fathers has come to Paris
+to have a look round on his own account, and has done the artists
+the honour of visiting their humble haunts. They knew what was what.
+These gentlemen could tell us all about places and things we had
+never dreamt of.
+
+MANDERS. What! Do you mean to say that respectable men from home
+here would--?
+
+OSWALD. Have you never heard these respectable men, when they got
+home again, talking about the way in which immorality runs rampant
+abroad?
+
+MANDERS. Yes, no doubt--
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have too.
+
+OSWALD. Well, you may take their word for it. They know what they
+are talking about! [Presses has hands to his head.] Oh! that that
+great, free, glorious life out there should be defiled in such a way!
+
+MRS. ALVING. You mustn't get excited, Oswald. It's not good for you.
+
+OSWALD. Yes; you're quite right, mother. It's bad for me, I know.
+You see, I'm wretchedly worn out. I shall go for a little turn
+before dinner. Excuse me, Pastor: I know you can't take my point of
+view; but I couldn't help speaking out. [He goes out by the second
+door to the right.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. My poor boy!
+
+MANDERS. You may well say so. Then this is what he has come to!
+
+[MRS. ALVING looks at him silently.]
+
+MANDERS. [Walking up and down.] He called himself the Prodigal Son.
+Alas! alas!
+
+[MRS. ALVING continues looking at him.]
+
+MANDERS. And what do you say to all this?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I say that Oswald was right in every word.
+
+MANDERS. [Stands still.] Right? Right! In such principles?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Here, in my loneliness, I have come to the same way of
+thinking, Pastor Manders. But I have never dared to say anything.
+Well! now my boy shall speak for me.
+
+MANDERS. You are greatly to be pitied, Mrs. Alving. But now I must
+speak seriously to you. And now it is no longer your business
+manager and adviser, your own and your husband's early friend, who
+stands before you. It is the priest--the priest who stood before you
+in the moment of your life when you had gone farthest astray.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And what has the priest to say to me?
+
+MANDERS. I will first stir up your memory a little. The moment is
+well chosen. To-morrow will be the tenth anniversary of your
+husband's death. To-morrow the memorial in his honour will be
+unveiled. To-morrow I shall have to speak to the whole assembled
+multitude. But to-day I will speak to you alone.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Very well, Pastor Manders. Speak.
+
+MANDERS. Do you remember that after less than a year of married life
+you stood on the verge of an abyss? That you forsook your house and
+home? That you fled from your husband? Yes, Mrs. Alving--fled, fled,
+and refused to return to him, however much he begged and prayed you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you forgotten how infinitely miserable I was in
+that first year?
+
+MANDERS. It is the very mark of the spirit of rebellion to crave for
+happiness in this life. What right have we human beings to
+happiness? We have simply to do our duty, Mrs. Alving! And your duty
+was to hold firmly to the man you had once chosen, and to whom you
+were bound by the holiest ties.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know very well what sort of life Alving was
+leading--what excesses he was guilty of.
+
+MANDERS. I know very well what rumours there were about him; and I
+am the last to approve the life he led in his young days, if report
+did not wrong him. But a wife is not appointed to be her husband's
+judge. It was your duty to bear with humility the cross which a
+Higher Power had, in its wisdom, laid upon you. But instead of that
+you rebelliously throw away the cross, desert the backslider whom
+you should have supported, go and risk your good name and
+reputation, and--nearly succeed in ruining other people's reputation
+into the bargain.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Other people's? One other person's, you mean.
+
+MANDERS. It was incredibly reckless of you to seek refuge with me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. With our clergyman? With our intimate friend?
+
+MANDERS. Just on that account. Yes, you may thank God that I
+possessed the necessary firmness; that I succeeded in dissuading you
+from your wild designs; and that it was vouchsafed me to lead you
+back to the path of duty, and home to your lawful husband.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, Pastor Manders, that was certainly your work.
+
+MANDERS. I was but a poor instrument in a Higher Hand. And what a
+blessing has it not proved to you, all the days of your life, that I
+induced you to resume the yoke of duty and obedience! Did not
+everything happen as I foretold? Did not Alving turn his back on his
+errors, as a man should? Did he not live with you from that time,
+lovingly and blamelessly, all his days? Did he not become a
+benefactor to the whole district? And did he not help you to rise to
+his own level, so that you, little by little, became his assistant
+in all his undertakings? And a capital assistant, too--oh, I know,
+Mrs. Alving, that praise is due to you.--But now I come to the next
+great error in your life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do you mean?
+
+MANDERS. Just as you once disowned a wife's duty, so you have since
+disowned a mother's.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ah--!
+
+MANDERS. You have been all your life under the dominion of a
+pestilent spirit of self-will. The whole bias of your mind has been
+towards insubordination and lawlessness. You have never known how to
+endure any bond. Everything that has weighed upon you in life you
+have cast away without care or conscience, like a burden you were
+free to throw off at will. It did not please you to be a wife any
+longer, and you left your husband. You found it troublesome to be a
+mother, and you sent your child forth among strangers.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. I did so.
+
+MANDERS. And thus you have become a stranger to him.
+
+MRS. ALVING. No! no! I am not.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, you are; you must be. And in what state of mind has he
+returned to you? Bethink yourself well, Mrs. Alving. You sinned
+greatly against your husband;--that you recognise by raising yonder
+memorial to him. Recognise now, also, how you have sinned against
+your son--there may yet be time to lead him back from the paths of
+error. Turn back yourself, and save what may yet be saved in him.
+For [With uplifted forefinger] verily, Mrs. Alving, you are a
+guilt-laden mother! This I have thought it my duty to say to you.
+
+[Silence.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Slowly and with self-control.] You have now spoken
+out, Pastor Manders; and to-morrow you are to speak publicly in
+memory of my husband. I shall not speak to-morrow. But now I will
+speak frankly to you, as you have spoken to me.
+
+MANDERS. To be sure; you will plead excuses for your conduct--
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. I will only tell you a story.
+
+MANDERS. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. All that you have just said about my husband and me,
+and our life after you had brought me back to the path of duty--as
+you called it--about all that you know nothing from personal
+observation. From that moment you, who had been our intimate friend,
+never set foot in our house gain.
+
+MANDERS. You and your husband left the town immediately after.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; and in my husband's lifetime you never came to see
+us. It was business that forced you to visit me when you undertook
+the affairs of the Orphanage.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Helen--if that is meant as a
+reproach, I would beg you to bear in mind--
+
+MRS. ALVING. --the regard you owed to your position, yes; and that I
+was a runaway wife. One can never be too cautious with such
+unprincipled creatures.
+
+MANDERS. My dear--Mrs. Alving, you know that is an absurd exaggeration--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well well, suppose it is. My point is that your
+judgment as to my married life is founded upon nothing but common
+knowledge and report.
+
+MANDERS. I admit that. What then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, then, Pastor Manders--I will tell you the truth.
+I have sworn to myself that one day you should know it--you alone!
+
+MANDERS. What is the truth, then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The truth is that my husband died just as dissolute as
+he had lived all his days.
+
+MANDERS. [Feeling after a chair.] What do you say?
+
+MRS. ALVING. After nineteen years of marriage, as dissolute--in his
+desires at any rate--as he was before you married us.
+
+MANDERS. And those-those wild oats--those irregularities--those
+excesses, if you like--you call "a dissolute life"?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Our doctor used the expression.
+
+MANDERS. I do not understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You need not.
+
+MANDERS. It almost makes me dizzy. Your whole married life, the
+seeming union of all these years, was nothing more than a hidden
+abyss!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Neither more nor less. Now you know it.
+
+MANDERS. This is--this is inconceivable to me. I cannot grasp it! I
+cannot realise it! But how was it possible to--? How could such a
+state of things be kept secret?
+
+MRS. ALVING. That has been my ceaseless struggle, day after day.
+After Oswald's birth, I thought Alving seemed to be a little better.
+But it did not last long. And then I had to struggle twice as hard,
+fighting as though for life or death, so that nobody should know
+what sort of man my child's father was. And you know what power
+Alving had of winning people's hearts. Nobody seemed able to believe
+anything but good of him. He was one of those people whose life does
+not bite upon their reputation. But at last, Mr. Manders--for you
+must know the whole story--the most repulsive thing of all happened.
+
+MANDERS. More repulsive than what you have told me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had gone on bearing with him, although I knew very
+well the secrets of his life out of doors. But when he brought the
+scandal within our own walls--
+
+MANDERS. Impossible! Here!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; here in our own home. It was there [Pointing
+towards the first door on the right], in the dining-room, that I
+first came to know of it. I was busy with something in there, and
+the door was standing ajar. I heard our housemaid come up from the
+garden, with water for those flowers.
+
+MANDERS. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Soon after, I heard Alving come in too. I heard him say
+something softly to her. And then I heard--[With a short laugh]--oh!
+it still sounds in my ears, so hateful and yet so ludicrous--I heard
+my own servant-maid whisper, "Let me go, Mr. Alving! Let me be!"
+
+MANDERS. What unseemly levity on his part'! But it cannot have been
+more than levity, Mrs. Alving; believe me, it cannot.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I soon knew what to believe. Mr. Alving had his way
+with the girl; and that connection had consequences, Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [As though petrified.] Such things in this house--in this
+house!
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had borne a great deal in this house. To keep him at
+home in the evenings, and at night, I had to make myself his boon
+companion in his secret orgies up in his room. There I have had to
+sit alone with him, to clink glasses and drink with him, and to
+listen to his ribald, silly talk. I have had to fight with him to
+get him dragged to bed--
+
+MANDERS. [Moved.] And you were able to bear all this!
+
+MRS. ALVING. I had to bear it for my little boy's sake. But when the
+last insult was added; when my own servant-maid--; then I swore to
+myself: This shall come to an end! And so I took the reins into my
+own hand--the whole control--over him and everything else. For now I
+had a weapon against him, you see; he dared not oppose me. It was
+then I sent Oswald away from home. He was nearly seven years old,
+and was beginning to observe and ask questions, as children do. That
+I could not bear. It seemed to me the child must be poisoned by
+merely breathing the air of this polluted home. That was why I sent
+him away. And now you can see, too, why he was never allowed to set
+foot inside his home so long as his father lived. No one knows what
+that cost me.
+
+MANDERS. You have indeed had a life of trial.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I could never have borne it if I had not had my work.
+For I may truly say that I have worked! All the additions to the
+estate--all the improvements--all the labour-saving appliances, that
+Alving was so much praised for having introduced--do you suppose he
+had energy for anything of the sort?--he, who lay all day on the
+sofa, reading an old Court Guide! No; but I may tell you this too:
+when he had his better intervals, it was I who urged him on; it was
+I who had to drag the whole load when he relapsed into his evil
+ways, or sank into querulous wretchedness.
+
+MANDERS. And it is to this man that you raise a memorial?
+
+MRS. ALVING. There you see the power of an evil conscience.
+
+MANDERS. Evil--? What do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. It always seemed to me impossible but that the truth
+must come out and be believed. So the Orphanage was to deaden all
+rumours and set every doubt at rest.
+
+MANDERS. In that you have certainly not missed your aim, Mrs.
+Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And besides, I had one other reason. I was determined
+that Oswald, my own boy, should inherit nothing whatever from his
+father.
+
+MANDERS. Then it is Alving's fortune that--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. The sums I have spent upon the Orphanage, year by
+year, make up the amount--I have reckoned it up precisely--the
+amount which made Lieutenant Alving "a good match" in his day.
+
+MANDERS. I don't understand--
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was my purchase-money. I do not choose that that
+money should pass into Oswald's hands. My son shall have everything
+from me--everything.
+
+[OSWALD ALVING enters through the second door to the right; he has
+taken of his hat and overcoat in the hall.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Going towards him.] Are you back again already? My
+dear, dear boy!
+
+OSWALD. Yes. What can a fellow do out of doors in this eternal rain?
+But I hear dinner is ready. That's capital!
+
+REGINA. [With a parcel, from the dining-room.] A parcel has come for
+you, Mrs. Alving. [Hands it to her.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a glance at MR. MANDERS.] No doubt copies of the
+ode for to-morrow's ceremony.
+
+MANDERS. H'm--
+
+REGINA. And dinner is ready.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Very well. We will come directly. I will just--[Begins
+to open the parcel.]
+
+REGINA. [To OSWALD.] Would Mr. Alving like red or white wine?
+
+OSWALD. Both, if you please.
+
+REGINA. _Bien_. Very well, sir. [She goes into the dining-room.]
+
+OSWALD. I may as well help to uncork it. [He also goes into the
+dining room, the door of which swings half open behind him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Who has opened the parcel.] Yes, I thought so. Here is
+the Ceremonial Ode, Pastor Manders.
+
+MANDERS. [With folded hands.] With what countenance I am to deliver
+my discourse to-morrow--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you will get through it somehow.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly, so as not to be heard in the dining-room.] Yes; it
+would not do to provoke scandal.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Under her breath, but firmly.] No. But then this long,
+hateful comedy will be ended. From the day after to-morrow, I shall
+act in every way as though he who is dead had never lived in this
+house. There shall be no one here but my boy and his mother.
+
+[From the dining-room comes the noise of a chair overturned, and at
+the same moment is heard:]
+
+REGINA. [Sharply, but in a whisper.] Oswald! take care! are you mad?
+Let me go!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Starts in terror.] Ah--!
+
+[She stares wildly towards the half-open door. OSWALD is heard
+laughing and humming. A bottle is uncorked.]
+
+MANDERS. [Agitated.] What can be the matter? What is it, Mrs.
+Alving?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Hoarsely.] Ghosts! The couple from the conservatory--
+risen again!
+
+MANDERS. Is it possible! Regina--? Is she--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes. Come. Not a word--!
+
+[She seizes PASTOR MANDERS by the arm, and walks unsteadily towards
+the dining-room.]
+
+
+ACT SECOND.
+
+[The same room. The mist still lies heavy over the landscape.]
+
+[MANDERS and MRS. ALVING enter from the dining-room.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Still in the doorway.] _Velbekomme_ [Note: A phrase
+equivalent to the German _Prosit die Mahlzeit_--May good digestion
+wait on appetite.], Mr. Manders. [Turns back towards the
+dining-room.] Aren't you coming too, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. [From within.] No, thank you. I think I shall go out a
+little.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, do. The weather seems a little brighter now. [She
+shuts the dining-room door, goes to the hall door, and calls:]
+Regina!
+
+REGINA. [Outside.] Yes, Mrs. Alving?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Go down to the laundry, and help with the garlands.
+
+REGINA. Yes, Mrs. Alving.
+
+[MRS. ALVING assures herself that REGINA goes; then shuts the door.]
+
+MANDERS. I suppose he cannot overhear us in there?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not when the door is shut. Besides, he's just going
+out.
+
+MANDERS. I am still quite upset. I don't know how I could swallow a
+morsel of dinner.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Controlling her nervousness, walks up and down.] Nor
+I. But what is to be done now?
+
+MANDERS. Yes; what is to be done? I am really quite at a loss. I am
+so utterly without experience in matters of this sort.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I feel sure that, so far, no mischief has been done.
+
+MANDERS. No; heaven forbid! But it is an unseemly state of things,
+nevertheless.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It is only an idle fancy on Oswald's part; you may be
+sure of that.
+
+MANDERS. Well, as I say, I am not accustomed to affairs of the kind.
+But I should certainly think--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Out of the house she must go, and that immediately.
+That is as clear as daylight--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, of course she must.
+
+MRS. ALVING. But where to? It would not be right to--
+
+MANDERS. Where to? Home to her father, of course.
+
+MRS. ALVING. To whom did you say?
+
+MANDERS. To her--But then, Engstrand is not--? Good God, Mrs.
+Alving, it's impossible! You must be mistaken after all.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately there is no possibility of mistake.
+Johanna confessed everything to me; and Alving could not deny it. So
+there was nothing to be done but to get the matter hushed up.
+
+MANDERS. No, you could do nothing else.
+
+MRS. ALVING. The girl left our service at once, and got a good sum
+of money to hold her tongue for the time. The rest she managed for
+herself when she got to town. She renewed her old acquaintance with
+Engstrand, no doubt let him see that she had money in her purse, and
+told him some tale about a foreigner who put in here with a yacht
+that summer. So she and Engstrand got married in hot haste. Why, you
+married them yourself.
+
+MANDERS. But then how to account for--? I recollect distinctly
+Engstrand coming to give notice of the marriage. He was quite
+overwhelmed with contrition, and bitterly reproached himself for the
+misbehaviour he and his sweetheart had been guilty of.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; of course he had to take the blame upon himself.
+
+MANDERS. But such a piece of duplicity on his part! And towards me
+too! I never could have believed it of Jacob Engstrand. I shall not
+fail to take him seriously to task; he may be sure of that.--And
+then the immorality of such a connection! For money--! How much did
+the girl receive?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Three hundred dollars.
+
+MANDERS. Just think of it--for a miserable three hundred dollars, to
+go and marry a fallen woman!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then what have you to say of me? I went and married a
+fallen man.
+
+MANDERS. Why--good heavens!--what are you talking about! A fallen
+man!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think Alving was any purer when I went with him
+to the altar than Johanna was when Engstrand married her?
+
+MANDERS. Well, but there is a world of difference between the two
+cases--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not so much difference after all--except in the price:--
+a miserable three hundred dollars and a whole fortune.
+
+MANDERS. How can you compare such absolutely dissimilar cases? You
+had taken counsel with your own heart and with your natural
+advisers.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Without looking at him.] I thought you understood
+where what you call my heart had strayed to at the time.
+
+MANDERS. [Distantly.] Had I understood anything of the kind, I
+should not have been a daily guest in your husband's house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. At any rate, the fact remains that with myself I took
+no counsel whatever.
+
+MANDERS. Well then, with your nearest relatives--as your duty bade
+you--with your mother and your two aunts.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true. Those three cast up the account for
+me. Oh, it's marvellous how clearly they made out that it would be
+downright madness to refuse such an offer. If mother could only see
+me now, and know what all that grandeur has come to!
+
+MANDERS. Nobody can be held responsible for the result. This, at
+least, remains clear: your marriage was in full accordance with law
+and order.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] Oh, that perpetual law and order! I
+often think that is what does all the mischief in this world of
+ours.
+
+MANDERS. Mrs. Alving, that is a sinful way of talking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, I can't help it; I must have done with all this
+constraint and insincerity. I can endure it no longer. I must work
+my way out to freedom.
+
+MANDERS. What do you mean by that?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Drumming on the window frame.] I ought never to have
+concealed the facts of Alving's life. But at that time I dared not
+do anything else-I was afraid, partly on my own account. I was such
+a coward.
+
+MANDERS. A coward?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If people had come to know anything, they would have
+said--"Poor man! with a runaway wife, no wonder he kicks over the
+traces."
+
+MANDERS. Such remarks might have been made with a certain show of
+right.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looking steadily at him.] If I were what I ought to
+be, I should go to Oswald and say, "Listen, my boy: your father led
+a vicious life--"
+
+MANDERS. Merciful heavens--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. --and then I should tell him all I have told you--every
+word of it.
+
+MANDERS. You shock me unspeakably, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; I know that. I know that very well. I myself am
+shocked at the idea. [Goes away from the window.] I am such a coward.
+
+MANDERS. You call it "cowardice" to do your plain duty? Have you
+forgotten that a son ought to love and honour his father and mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do not let us talk in such general terms. Let us ask:
+Ought Oswald to love and honour Chamberlain Alving?
+
+MANDERS. Is there no voice in your mother's heart that forbids you
+to destroy your son's ideals?
+
+MRS. ALVING. But what about the truth?
+
+MANDERS. But what about the ideals?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh--ideals, ideals! If only I were not such a coward!
+
+MANDERS. Do not despise ideals, Mrs. Alving; they will avenge
+themselves cruelly. Take Oswald's case: he, unfortunately, seems to
+have few enough ideals as it is; but I can see that his father
+stands before him as an ideal.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, that is true.
+
+MANDERS. And this habit of mind you have yourself implanted and
+fostered by your letters.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; in my superstitious awe for duty and the
+proprieties, I lied to my boy, year after year. Oh, what a coward--
+what a coward I have been!
+
+MANDERS. You have established a happy illusion in your son's heart,
+Mrs. Alving; and assuredly you ought not to undervalue it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. H'm; who knows whether it is so happy after all--? But,
+at any rate, I will not have any tampering wide Regina. He shall not
+go and wreck the poor girl's life.
+
+MANDERS. No; good God--that would be terrible!
+
+MRS. ALVING. If I knew he was in earnest, and that it would be for
+his happiness--
+
+MANDERS. What? What then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. But it couldn't be; for unfortunately Regina is not the
+right sort of woman.
+
+MANDERS. Well, what then? What do you mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If I weren't such a pitiful coward, I should say to
+him, "Marry her, or make what arrangement you please, only let us
+have nothing underhand about it."
+
+MANDERS. Merciful heavens, would you let them marry! Anything so
+dreadful--! so unheard of--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you really mean "unheard of"? Frankly, Pastor
+Manders, do you suppose that throughout the country there are not
+plenty of married couples as closely akin as they?
+
+MANDERS. I don't in the least understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh yes, indeed you do.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, you are thinking of the possibility that--Alas! yes,
+family life is certainly not always so pure as it ought to be. But
+in such a case as you point to, one can never know--at least with
+any certainty. Here, on the other hand--that you, a mother, can
+think of letting your son--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But I cannot--I wouldn't for anything in the world;
+that is precisely what I am saying.
+
+MANDERS. No, because you are a "coward," as you put it. But if you
+were not a "coward," then--? Good God! a connection so shocking!
+
+MRS. ALVING. So far as that goes, they say we are all sprung from
+connections of that sort. And who is it that arranged the world so,
+Pastor Manders?
+
+MANDERS. Questions of that kind I must decline to discuss with you,
+Mrs. Alving; you are far from being in the right frame of mind for
+them. But that you dare to call your scruples "cowardly"--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let me tell you what I mean. I am timid and
+faint-hearted because of the ghosts that hang about me, and that I
+can never quite shake off.
+
+MANDERS. What do you say hangs about you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Ghosts! When I heard Regina and Oswald in there, it was
+as though ghosts rose up before me. But I almost think we are all of
+us ghosts, Pastor Manders. It is not only what we have inherited
+from our father and mother that "walks" in us. It is all sorts of
+dead ideas, and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no
+vitality, but they cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake
+them off. Whenever I take up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts
+gliding between the lines. There must be ghosts all the country
+over, as thick as the sands of the sea. And then we are, one and
+all, so pitifully afraid of the light.
+
+MANDERS. Aha--here we have the fruits of your reading. And pretty
+fruits they are, upon my word! Oh, those horrible, revolutionary,
+free-thinking books!
+
+MRS. ALVING. You are mistaken, my dear Pastor. It was you yourself
+who set me thinking; and I thank you for it with all my heart.
+
+MANDERS. I!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes--when you forced me under the yoke of what you
+called duty and obligation; when you lauded as right and proper what
+my whole soul rebelled against as something loathsome. It was then
+that I began to look into the seams of your doctrines. I wanted only
+to pick at a single knot; but when I had got that undone, the whole
+thing ravelled out. And then I understood that it was all machine-sewn.
+
+MANDERS. [Softly, with emotion.] And was that the upshot of my
+life's hardest battle?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Call it rather your most pitiful defeat.
+
+MANDERS. It was my greatest victory, Helen--the victory over myself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was a crime against us both.
+
+MANDERS. When you went astray, and came to me crying, "Here I am;
+take me!" I commanded you, saying, "Woman, go home to your lawful
+husband." Was that a crime?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, I think so.
+
+MANDERS. We two do not understand each other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not now, at any rate.
+
+MANDERS. Never--never in my most secret thoughts have I regarded you
+otherwise than as another's wife.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh--indeed?
+
+MANDERS. Helen--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. People so easily forget their past selves.
+
+MANDERS. I do not. I am what I always was.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Changing the subject.] Well well well; don't let us
+talk of old times any longer. You are now over head and ears in
+Boards and Committees, and I am fighting my battle with ghosts, both
+within me and without.
+
+MANDERS. Those without I shall help you to lay. After all the
+terrible things I have heard from you today, I cannot in conscience
+permit an unprotected girl to remain in your house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Don't you think the best plan would be to get her
+provided for?--I mean, by a good marriage.
+
+MANDERS. No doubt. I think it would be desirable for her in every
+respect. Regina is now at the age when--Of course I don't know much
+about these things, but--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina matured very early.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, I thought so. I have an impression that she was
+remarkably well developed, physically, when I prepared her for
+confirmation. But in the meantime, she ought to be at home, under
+her father's eye--Ah! but Engstrand is not--That he--that he--could
+so hide the truth from me! [A knock at the door into the hall.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Who can this be? Come in!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [In his Sunday clothes, in the doorway.] I humbly beg
+your pardon, but--
+
+MANDERS. Aha! H'm--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Is that you, Engstrand?
+
+ENGSTRAND. --there was none of the servants about, so I took the
+great liberty of just knocking.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, very well. Come in. Do you want to speak to me?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Comes in.] No, I'm obliged to you, ma'am; it was with
+his Reverence I wanted to have a word or two.
+
+MANDERS. [Walking up and down the room.] Ah--indeed! You want to
+speak to me, do you?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, I'd like so terrible much to--
+
+MANDERS. [Stops in front of him.] Well; may I ask what you want?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, it was just this, your Reverence: we've been paid
+off down yonder--my grateful thanks to you, ma'am,--and now
+everything's finished, I've been thinking it would be but right and
+proper if we, that have been working so honestly together all this
+time--well, I was thinking we ought to end up with a little
+prayer-meeting to-night.
+
+MANDERS. A prayer-meeting? Down at the Orphanage?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, if your Reverence doesn't think it proper--
+
+MANDERS. Oh yes, I do; but--h'm--
+
+ENGSTRAND. I've been in the habit of offering up a little prayer in
+the evenings, myself--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, every now and then just a little edification, in a
+manner of speaking. But I'm a poor, common man, and have little
+enough gift, God help me!--and so I thought, as the Reverend Mr.
+Manders happened to be here, I'd--
+
+MANDERS. Well, you see, Engstrand, I have a question to put to you
+first. Are you in the right frame of mind for such a meeting! Do you
+feel your conscience clear and at ease?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, God help us, your Reverence! we'd better not talk
+about conscience.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, that is just what we must talk about. What have you to
+answer?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why--a man's conscience--it can be bad enough now and
+then.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, you admit that. Then perhaps you will make a clean
+breast of it, and tell me--the real truth about Regina?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Quickly.] Mr. Manders!
+
+MANDERS. [Reassuringly.] Please allow me--
+
+ENGSTRAND. About Regina! Lord, what a turn you gave me! [Looks at
+MRS. ALVING.] There's nothing wrong about Regina, is there?
+
+MANDERS. We will hope not. But I mean, what is the truth about you
+and Regina? You pass for her father, eh!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Uncertain.] Well--h'm--your Reverence knows all about me
+and poor Johanna.
+
+MANDERS. Come now, no more prevarication! Your wife told Mrs. Alving
+the whole story before quitting her service.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, then, may--! Now, did she really?
+
+MANDERS. You see we know you now, Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And she swore and took her Bible oath--
+
+MANDERS. Did she take her Bible oath?
+
+ENGSTRAND. No; she only swore; but she did it that solemn-like.
+
+MANDERS. And you have hidden the truth from me all these years?
+Hidden it from me, who have trusted you without reserve, in
+everything.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, I can't deny it.
+
+MANDERS. Have I deserved this of you, Engstrand? Have I not always
+been ready to help you in word and deed, so far as it lay in my
+power? Answer me. Have I not?
+
+ENGSTRAND. It would have been a poor look-out for me many a time
+but for the Reverend Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. And this is how you reward me! You cause me to enter
+falsehoods in the Church Register, and you withhold from me, year
+after year, the explanations you owed alike to me and to the truth.
+Your conduct has been wholly inexcusable, Engstrand; and from this
+time forward I have done with you!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [With a sigh.] Yes! I suppose there's no help for it.
+
+MANDERS. How can you possibly justify yourself?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Who could ever have thought she'd have gone and made bad
+worse by talking about it? Will your Reverence just fancy yourself
+in the same trouble as poor Johanna--
+
+MANDERS. I!
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord bless you, I don't mean just exactly the same. But
+I mean, if your Reverence had anything to be ashamed of in the eyes
+of the world, as the saying goes. We menfolk oughtn't to judge a
+poor woman too hardly, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. I am not doing so. It is you I am reproaching.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Might I make so bold as to ask your Reverence a bit of a
+question?
+
+MANDERS. Yes, if you want to.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Isn't it right and proper for a man to raise up the
+fallen?
+
+MANDERS. Most certainly it is.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And isn't a man bound to keep his sacred word?
+
+MANDERS. Why, of course he is; but--
+
+ENGSTRAND. When Johanna had got into trouble through that
+Englishman--or it might have been an American or a Russian, as they
+call them--well, you see, she came down into the town. Poor thing,
+she'd sent me about my business once or twice before: for she
+couldn't bear the sight of anything as wasn't handsome; and I'd got
+this damaged leg of mine. Your Reverence recollects how I ventured
+up into a dancing saloon, where seafaring men was carrying on with
+drink and devilry, as the saying goes. And then, when I was for
+giving them a bit of an admonition to lead a new life--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [At the window.] H'm--
+
+MANDERS. I know all about that, Engstrand; the ruffians threw you
+downstairs. You have told me of the affair already. Your infirmity
+is an honour to you.
+
+ENGSTRAND. I'm not puffed up about it, your Reverence. But what I
+wanted to say was, that when she cane and confessed all to me, with
+weeping and gnashing of teeth, I can tell your Reverence I was sore
+at heart to hear it.
+
+MANDERS. Were you indeed, Engstrand? Well, go on.
+
+ENGSTRAND. So I says to her, "The American, he's sailing about on
+the boundless sea. And as for you, Johanna," says I, "you've
+committed a grievous sin, and you're a fallen creature. But Jacob
+Engstrand," says I, "he's got two good legs to stand upon, he has--"
+You see, your Reverence, I was speaking figurative-like.
+
+MANDERS. I understand quite well. Go on.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well, that was how I raised her up and made an honest
+woman of her, so as folks shouldn't get to know how as she'd gone
+astray with foreigners.
+
+MANDERS. In all that you acted very well. Only I cannot approve of
+your stooping to take money--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Money? I? Not a farthing!
+
+MANDERS. [Inquiringly to MRS. ALVING.] But--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, wait a minute!--now I recollect. Johanna did have a
+trifle of money. But I would have nothing to do with that. "No,"
+says I, "that's mammon; that's the wages of sin. This dirty gold--
+or notes, or whatever it was--we'll just flint, that back in the
+American's face," says I. But he was off and away, over the stormy
+sea, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. Was he really, my good fellow?
+
+ENGSTRAND. He was indeed, sir. So Johanna and I, we agreed that the
+money should go to the child's education; and so it did, and I can
+account for every blessed farthing of it.
+
+MANDERS. Why, this alters the case considerably.
+
+ENGSTRAND. That's just how it stands, your Reverence. And I make so
+bold as to say as I've been an honest father to Regina, so far as
+my poor strength went; for I'm but a weak vessel, worse luck!
+
+MANDERS. Well, well, my good fellow--
+
+ENGSTRAND. All the same, I bear myself witness as I've brought up
+the child, and lived kindly with poor Johanna, and ruled over my
+own house, as the Scripture has it. But it couldn't never enter my
+head to go to your Reverence and puff myself up and boast because
+even the likes of me had done some good in the world. No, sir; when
+anything of that sort happens to Jacob Engstrand, he holds his
+tongue about it. It don't happen so terrible often, I daresay. And
+when I do come to see your Reverence, I find a mortal deal that's
+wicked and weak to talk about. For I said it before, and I says it
+again--a man's conscience isn't always as clean as it might be.
+
+MANDERS. Give me your hand, Jacob Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, Lord! your Reverence--
+
+MANDERS. Come, no nonsense [wrings his hand]. There we are!
+
+ENGSTRAND. And if I might humbly beg your Reverence's pardon--
+
+MANDERS. You? On the contrary, it is I who ought to beg your pardon--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Lord, no, Sir!
+
+MANDERS. Yes, assuredly. And I do it with all my heart. Forgive me
+for misunderstanding you. I only wish I could give you some proof
+of my hearty regret, and of my good-will towards you--
+
+ENGSTRAND. Would your Reverence do it?
+
+MANDERS. With the greatest pleasure.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Well then, here's the very chance. With the bit of money
+I've saved here, I was thinking I might set up a Sailors' Home down
+in the town.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes; it might be a sort of Orphanage, too, in a manner
+of speaking. There's such a many temptations for seafaring folk
+ashore. But in this Home of mine, a man might feel like as he was
+under a father's eye, I was thinking.
+
+MANDERS. What do you say to this, Mrs. Alving?
+
+ENGSTRAND. It isn't much as I've got to start with, Lord help me!
+But if I could only find a helping hand, why--
+
+MANDERS. Yes, yes; we will look into the matter more closely. I
+entirely approve of your plan. But now, go before me and make
+everything ready, and get the candles lighted, so as to give the
+place an air of festivity. And then we will pass an edifying hour
+together, my good fellow; for now I quite believe you are in the
+right frame of mind.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, I trust I am. And so I'll say good-bye, ma'am, and
+thank you kindly; and take good care of Regina for me--[Wipes a
+tear from his eye]--poor Johanna's child. Well, it's a queer thing,
+now; but it's just like as if she'd growd into the very apple of my
+eye. It is, indeed. [He bows and goes out through the hall.]
+
+MANDERS. Well, what do you say of that man now, Mrs. Alving? That
+was a very different account of matters, was it not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, it certainly was.
+
+MANDERS. It only shows how excessively careful one ought to be in
+judging one's fellow creatures. But what a heartfelt joy it is to
+ascertain that one has been mistaken! Don't you think so?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I think you are, and will always be, a great baby,
+Manders.
+
+MANDERS. I?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Laying her two hands upon his shoulders.] And I say
+that I have half a mind to put my arms round your neck, and kiss
+you.
+
+MANDERS. [Stepping hastily back.] No, no! God bless me! What an
+idea!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a smile.] Oh, you needn't be afraid of me.
+
+MANDERS. [By the table.] You have sometimes such an exaggerated way
+of expressing yourself. Now, let me just collect all the documents,
+and put them in my bag. [He does so.] There, that's all right. And
+now, good-bye for the present. Keep your eyes open when Oswald
+comes back. I shall look in again later. [He takes his hat and goes
+out through the hall door.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sighs, looks for a moment out of the window, sets the
+room in order a little, and is about to go into the dining-room,
+but stops at the door with a half-suppressed cry.] Oswald, are you
+still at table?
+
+OSWALD. [In the dining room.] I'm only finishing my cigar.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I thought you had gone for a little walk.
+
+OSWALD. In such weather as this?
+
+[A glass clinks. MRS. ALVING leaves the door open, and sits down
+with her knitting on the sofa by the window.]
+
+OSWALD. Wasn't that Pastor Manders that went out just now?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; he went down to the Orphanage.
+
+OSWALD. H'm. [The glass and decanter clink again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [With a troubled glance.] Dear Oswald, you should take
+care of that liqueur. It is strong.
+
+OSWALD. It keeps out the damp.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Wouldn't you rather come in here, to me?
+
+OSWALD. I mayn't smoke in there.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know quite well you may smoke cigars.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, all right then; I'll come in. Just a tiny drop more
+first. There! [He comes into the room with his cigar, and shuts
+the door after him. A short silence.] Where has the pastor gone to?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have just told you; he went down to the Orphanage.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, yes; so you did.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You shouldn't sit so long at table, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. [Holding his cigar behind him.] But I find it so pleasant,
+mother. [Strokes and caresses her.] Just think what it is for me to
+come home and sit at mother's own table, in mother's room, and eat
+mother's delicious dishes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear, dear boy!
+
+OSWALD. [Somewhat impatiently, walks about and smokes.] And what
+else can I do with myself here? I can't set to work at anything.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Why can't you?
+
+OSWALD. In such weather as this? Without a single ray of sunshine
+the whole day? [Walks up the room.] Oh, not to be able to work--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Perhaps it was not quite wise of you to come home?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, yes, mother; I had to.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You know I would ten times rather forgo the joy of
+having you here, than let you--
+
+OSWALD. [Stops beside the table.] Now just tell me, mother: does it
+really make you so very happy to have me home again?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Does it make me happy!
+
+OSWALD. [Crumpling up a newspaper.] I should have thought it must
+be pretty much the same to you whether I was in existence or not.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you the heart to say that to your mother, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. But you've got on very well without me all this time.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; I have got on without you. That is true.
+
+[A silence. Twilight slowly begins to fall. OSWALD paces to and fro
+across the room. He has laid his cigar down.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stops beside MRS. ALVING.] Mother, may I sit on the sofa
+beside you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Makes room for him.] Yes, do, my dear boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits down.] There is something I must tell you, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Anxiously.] Well?
+
+OSWALD. [Looks fixedly before him.] For I can't go on hiding it any
+longer.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Hiding what? What is it?
+
+OSWALD. [As before.] I could never bring myself to write to you
+about it; and since I've come home--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter?
+
+OSWALD. Both yesterday and to-day I have tried to put the thoughts
+away from me--to cast them off; but it's no use.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. [Draws her down to the sofa again.] Sit still; and then I
+will try to tell you.--I complained of fatigue after my journey--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well? What then?
+
+OSWALD. But it isn't that that is the matter with me; not any
+ordinary fatigue--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?
+
+OSWALD. [Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Do take it
+quietly. I'm not downright ill, either; not what is commonly called
+"ill." [Clasps his hands above his head.] Mother, my mind is broken
+down--ruined--I shall never be able to work again! [With his hands
+before his face, he buries his head in her lap, and breaks into
+bitter sobbing.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no;
+it's not true.
+
+OSWALD. [Looks up with despair in his eyes.] Never to be able to
+work again! Never!--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine
+anything so horrible?
+
+MRS. ALVING. My poor boy! How has this horrible thing come upon you?
+
+OSWALD. [Sitting upright again.] That's just what I cannot possibly
+grasp or understand. I have never led a dissipated life never, in
+any respect. You mustn't believe that of me, mother! I've never
+done that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I am sure you haven't, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. And yet this has come upon me just the same--this awful
+misfortune!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, but it will pass over, my dear, blessed boy.
+It's nothing but over-work. Trust me, I am right.
+
+OSWALD. [Sadly.] I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Tell me everything, from beginning to end.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I will.
+
+MRS. ALVING. When did you first notice it?
+
+OSWALD. It was directly after I had been home last time, and had
+got back to Paris again. I began to feel the most violent pains in
+my head--chiefly in the back of my head, they seemed to come. It
+was as though a tight iron ring was being screwed round my neck and
+upwards.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well, and then?
+
+OSWALD. At first I thought it was nothing but the ordinary headache
+I had been so plagued with while I was growing up--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes--
+
+OSWALD. But it wasn't that. I soon found that out. I couldn't work
+any more. I wanted to begin upon a big new picture, but my powers
+seemed to fail me; all my strength was crippled; I could form no
+definite images; everything swam before me--whirling round and
+round. Oh, it was an awful state! At last I sent for a doctor--and
+from him I learned the truth.
+
+MRS. ALVING. How do you mean?
+
+OSWALD. He was one of the first doctors in Paris. I told him my
+symptoms; and then he set to work asking me a string of questions
+which I thought had nothing to do with the matter. I couldn't
+imagine what the man was after--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. At last he said: "There has been something worm-eaten in
+you from your birth." He used that very word--_vermoulu_.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Breathlessly.] What did he mean by that?
+
+OSWALD. I didn't understand either, and begged him to explain
+himself more clearly. And then the old cynic said--[Clenching his
+fist] Oh--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. What did he say?
+
+OSWALD. He said, "The sins of the fathers are visited upon the
+children."
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising slowly.] The sins of the fathers--!
+
+OSWALD. I very nearly struck him in the face--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Walks away across the room.] The sins of the fathers--
+
+OSWALD. [Smiles sadly.] Yes; what do you think of that? Of course I
+assured him that such a thing was out of the question. But do you
+think he gave in? No, he stuck to it; and it was only when I
+produced your letters and translated the passages relating to
+father--
+
+MRS. ALVING. But then--?
+
+OSWALD. Then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong
+track; and so I learned the truth--the incomprehensible truth! I
+ought not to have taken part with my comrades in that lighthearted,
+glorious life of theirs. It had been too much for my strength. So I
+had brought it upon myself!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald! No, no; do not believe it!
+
+OSWALD. No other explanation was possible, he said. That's the
+awful part of it. Incurably ruined for life--by my own heedlessness!
+All that I meant to have done in the world--I never dare think of
+it again--I'm not able to think of it. Oh! if I could only live over
+again, and undo all I have done! [He buries his face in the sofa.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Wrings her hands and walks, in silent struggle,
+backwards and forwards.]
+
+OSWALD. [After a while, looks up and remains resting upon his
+elbow.] If it had only been something inherited--something one
+wasn't responsible for! But this! To have thrown away so
+shamefully, thoughtlessly, recklessly, one's own happiness,
+one's own health, everything in the world--one's future,
+one's very life--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. No, no, my dear, darling boy; this is impossible!
+[Bends over him.] Things are not so desperate as you think.
+
+OSWALD. Oh, you don't know--[Springs up.] And then, mother, to
+cause you all this sorrow! Many a time I have almost wished and
+hoped that at bottom you didn't care so very much about me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I, Oswald? My only boy! You are all I have in the
+world! The only thing I care about!
+
+OSWALD. [Seizes both her hands and kisses them.] Yes, yes, I see
+it. When I'm at home, I see it, of course; and that's almost the
+hardest part for me.--But now you know the whole story and now we
+won't talk any more about it to-day. I daren't think of it for long
+together. [Goes up the room.] Get me something to drink, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. To drink? What do you want to drink now?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, anything you like. You have some cold punch in the
+house.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, but my dear Oswald--
+
+OSWALD. Don't refuse me, mother. Do be kind, now! I must have
+something to wash down all these gnawing thoughts. [Goes into the
+conservatory.] And then--it's so dark here! [MRS. ALVING pulls a
+bell-rope on the right.] And this ceaseless rain! It may go on week
+after week, for months together. Never to get a glimpse of the sun!
+I can't recollect ever having seen the sun shine all the times I've
+been at home.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald--you are thinking of going away from me.
+
+OSWALD. H'm--[Drawing a heavy breath.]--I'm not thinking of
+anything. I cannot think of anything! [In a low voice.] I let
+thinking alone.
+
+REGINA. [From the dining-room.] Did you ring, ma'am?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes; let us have the lamp in.
+
+REGINA. Yes, ma'am. It's ready lighted. [Goes out.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes across to OSWALD.] Oswald, be frank with me.
+
+OSWALD. Well, so I am, mother. [Goes to the table.] I think I have
+told you enough.
+
+[REGINA brings the lamp and sets it upon the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, you may bring us a small bottle of champagne.
+
+REGINA. Very well, ma'am. [Goes out.]
+
+OSWALD. [Puts his arm round MRS. ALVING's neck.] That's just what I
+wanted. I knew mother wouldn't let her boy go thirsty.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My own, poor, darling Oswald; how could I deny you
+anything now?
+
+OSWALD. [Eagerly.] Is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
+
+MRS. ALVING. How? What?
+
+OSWALD. That you couldn't deny me anything.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald--
+
+OSWALD. Hush!
+
+REGINA. [Brings a tray with a half-bottle of champagne and two
+glasses, which she sets on the table.] Shall I open it?
+
+OSWALD. No, thanks. I will do it myself.
+
+[REGINA goes out again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sits down by the table.] What was it you meant--that
+I musn't deny you?
+
+OSWALD. [Busy opening the bottle.] First let us have a glass--or
+two.
+
+[The cork pops; he pours wine into one glass, and is about
+to pour it into the other.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Holding her hand over it.] Thanks; not for me.
+
+OSWALD. Oh! won't you? Then I will!
+
+[He empties the glass, fells, and empties it again; then he
+sits down by the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In expectancy.] Well?
+
+OSWALD. [Without looking at her.] Tell me--I thought you and Pastor
+Manders seemed so odd--so quiet--at dinner to-day.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Did you notice it?
+
+OSWALD. Yes. H'm--[After a short silence.] Tell me: what do you
+think of Regina?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What do I think?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; isn't she splendid?
+
+MRS. ALVING. My dear Oswald, you don't know her as I do--
+
+OSWALD. Well?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, unfortunately, was allowed to stay at home
+too long. I ought to have taken her earlier into my house.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, but isn't she splendid to look at, mother?
+[He fills his glass.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina has many serious faults--
+
+OSWALD. Oh, what does that matter? [He drinks again.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. But I am fond of her, nevertheless, and I am
+responsible for her. I wouldn't for all the world have any harm
+happen to her.
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up.] Mother, Regina is my only salvation!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rising.] What do you mean by that?
+
+OSWALD. I cannot go on bearing all this anguish of soul alone.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Have you not your mother to share it with you?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; that's what I thought; and so I came home to you. But
+that will not do. I see it won't do. I cannot endure my life here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. I must live differently, mother. That is why I must leave
+you. I will not have you looking on at it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as
+this--
+
+OSWALD. If it were only the illness, I should stay with you,
+mother, you may be sure; for you are the best friend I have in the
+world.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?
+
+OSWALD. [Wanders restlessly about.] But it's all the torment, the
+gnawing remorse--and then, the great, killing dread. Oh--that awful
+dread!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Walking after him.] Dread? What dread? What do you
+mean?
+
+OSWALD. Oh, you mustn't ask me any more. I don't know. I can't
+describe it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes over to the right and pulls the bell.]
+
+OSWALD. What is it you want?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I want my boy to be happy--that is what I want. He
+sha'n't go on brooding over things [To REGINA, who appears at the
+door:] More champagne--a large bottle. [REGINA goes.]
+
+OSWALD. Mother!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think we don't know how to live here at home?
+
+OSWALD. Isn't she splendid to look at? How beautifully she's built!
+And so thoroughly healthy!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Sits by the table.] Sit down, Oswald; let us talk
+quietly together.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits.] I daresay you don't know, mother, that I owe Regina
+some reparation.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You!
+
+OSWALD. For a bit of thoughtlessness, or whatever you like to call
+it--very innocent, at any rate. When I was home last time--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. She used often to ask me about Paris, and I used to tell
+her one thing and another. Then I recollect I happened to say to
+her one day, "Shouldn't you like to go there yourself?"
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well?
+
+OSWALD. I saw her face flush, and then she said, "Yes, I should
+like it of all things." "Ah, well," I replied, "it might perhaps be
+managed"--or something like that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And then?
+
+OSWALD. Of course I had forgotten all about it; but the day before
+yesterday I happened to ask her whether she was glad I was to stay
+at home so long--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes?
+
+OSWALD. And then she gave me such a strange look, and asked, "But
+what's to become of my trip to Paris?"
+
+MRS. ALVING. Her trip!
+
+OSWALD. And so it came out that she had taken the thing seriously;
+that she had been thinking of me the whole time, and had set to
+work to learn French--
+
+MRS. ALVING. So that was why--!
+
+OSWALD. Mother--when I saw that fresh, lovely, splendid girl
+standing there before me--till then I had hardly noticed her--but
+when she stood there as though with open arms ready to receive me--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. --then it flashed upon me that in her lay my salvation; for
+I saw that she was full of the joy of life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Starts.] The joy of life? Can there be salvation in
+that?
+
+REGINA. [From the dining room, with a bottle of champagne.] I'm
+sorry to have been so long, but I had to go to the cellar. [Places
+the bottle on the table.]
+
+OSWALD. And now bring another glass.
+
+REGINA. [Looks at him in surprise.] There is Mrs. Alving's glass,
+Mr. Alving.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, but bring one for yourself, Regina. [REGINA starts and
+gives a lightning-like side glance at MRS. ALVING.] Why do you
+wait?
+
+REGINA. [Softly and hesitatingly.] Is it Mrs. Alving's wish?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Bring the glass, Regina.
+
+[REGINA goes out into the dining-room.]
+
+OSWALD. [Follows her with his eyes.] Have you noticed how she
+walks?--so firmly and lightly!
+
+MRS. ALVING. This can never be, Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. It's a settled thing. Can't you see that? It's no use
+saying anything against it.
+
+[REGINA enters with an empty glass, which she keeps in her hand.]
+
+OSWALD. Sit down, Regina.
+
+[REGINA looks inquiringly at MRS. ALVING.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Sit down. [REGINA sits on a chair by the dining room
+door, still holding the empty glass in her hand.] Oswald--what were
+you saying about the joy of life?
+
+OSWALD. Ah, the joy of life, mother--that's a thing you don't know
+much about in these parts. I have never felt it here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Not when you are with me?
+
+OSWALD. Not when I'm at home. But you don't understand that.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I think I almost understand it--now.
+
+OSWALD. And then, too, the joy of work! At bottom, it's the same
+thing. But that, too, you know nothing about.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Perhaps you are right. Tell me more about it, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. I only mean that here people are brought up to believe that
+work is a curse and a punishment for sin, and that life is
+something miserable, something; it would be best to have done with,
+the sooner the better.
+
+MRS. ALVING. "A vale of tears," yes; and we certainly do our best
+to make it one.
+
+OSWALD. But in the great world people won't hear of such things.
+There, nobody really believes such doctrines any longer. There, you
+feel it a positive bliss and ecstasy merely to draw the breath of
+life. Mother, have you noticed that everything I have painted has
+turned upon the joy of life?--always, always upon the joy of life?--
+light and sunshine and glorious air-and faces radiant with
+happiness. That is why I'm afraid of remaining at home with you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Afraid? What are you afraid of here, with me?
+
+OSWALD. I'm afraid lest all my instincts should be warped into
+ugliness.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looks steadily at him.] Do you think that is what
+would happen?
+
+OSWALD. I know it. You may live the same life here as there, and
+yet it won't be the same life.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Who has been listening eagerly, rises, her eyes big
+with thought, and says:] Now I see the sequence of things.
+
+OSWALD. What is it you see?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I see it now for the first time. And now I can speak.
+
+OSWALD. [Rising.] Mother, I don't understand you.
+
+REGINA. [Who has also risen.] Perhaps I ought to go?
+
+MRS. ALVING. No. Stay here. Now I can speak. Now, my boy, you shall
+know the whole truth. And then you can choose. Oswald! Regina!
+
+OSWALD. Hush! The Pastor--
+
+MANDERS. [Enters by the hall door.] There! We have had a most
+edifying time down there.
+
+OSWALD. So have we.
+
+MANDERS. We must stand by Engstrand and his Sailors' Home. Regina
+must go to him and help him--
+
+REGINA. No thank you, sir.
+
+MANDERS. [Noticing her for the first tine.] What--? You here? And
+with a glass in your hand!
+
+REGINA. [Hastily putting the glass down.] Pardon!
+
+OSWALD. Regina is going with me, Mr. Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Going! With you!
+
+OSWALD. Yes; as my wife--if she wishes it.
+
+MANDERS. But, merciful God--!
+
+REGINA. I can't help it, sir.
+
+OSWALD. Or she'll stay here, if I stay.
+
+REGINA. [Involuntarily.] Here!
+
+MANDERS. I am thunderstruck at your conduct, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. They will do neither one thing nor the other; for now
+I can speak out plainly.
+
+MANDERS. You surely will not do that! No, no, no!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, I can speak and I will. And no ideals shall
+suffer after all.
+
+OSWALD. Mother--what is it you are hiding from me?
+
+REGINA. [Listening.] Oh, ma'am, listen! Don't you hear shouts
+outside. [She goes into the conservatory and looks out.]
+
+OSWALD. [At the window on the left.] What's going on? Where does
+that light come from?
+
+REGINA. [Cries out.] The Orphanage is on fire!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Rushing to the window.] On fire!
+
+MANDERS. On fire! Impossible! I've just come from there.
+
+OSWALD. Where's my hat? Oh, never mind it--Father's Orphanage--!
+[He rushes out through the garden door.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. My shawl, Regina! The whole place is in a blaze!
+
+MANDERS. Terrible! Mrs. Alving, it is a judgment upon this abode of
+lawlessness.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, of course. Come, Regina. [She and REGINA hasten
+out through the hall.]
+
+MANDERS. [Clasps his hands together.] And we left it uninsured! [He
+goes out the same way.]
+
+
+
+ACT THIRD.
+
+[The room as before. All the doors stand open. The lamp is still
+burning on the table. It is dark out of doors; there is only a
+faint glow from the conflagration in the background to the left.]
+
+[MRS. ALVING, with a shawl over her head, stands in the conservatory,
+looking out. REGINA, also with a shawl on, stands a little behind her.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. The whole thing burnt!--burnt to the ground!
+
+REGINA. The basement is still burning.
+
+MRS. ALVING. How is it Oswald doesn't come home? There's nothing to
+be saved.
+
+REGINA. Should you like me to take down his hat to him?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Has he not even got his hat on?
+
+REGINA. [Pointing to the hall.] No; there it hangs.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let it be. He must come up now. I shall go and look
+for him myself. [She goes out through the garden door.]
+
+MANDERS. [Comes in from the hall.] Is not Mrs. Alving here?
+
+REGINA. She has just gone down the garden.
+
+MANDERS. This is the most terrible night I ever went through.
+
+REGINA. Yes; isn't it a dreadful misfortune, sir?
+
+MANDERS. Oh, don't talk about it! I can hardly bear to think of it.
+
+REGINA. How can it have happened--?
+
+MANDERS. Don't ask me, Miss Engstrand! How should _I_ know? Do you,
+too--? Is it not enough that your father--?
+
+REGINA. What about him?
+
+MANDERS. Oh, he has driven me distracted--
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Enters through the hall.] Your Reverence--
+
+MANDERS. [Turns round in terror.] Are you after me here, too?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes, strike me dead, but I must--! Oh, Lord! what am I
+saying? But this is a terrible ugly business, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. [Walks to and fro.] Alas! alas!
+
+REGINA. What's the matter?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Why, it all came of this here prayer-meeting, you see.
+[Softly.] The bird's limed, my girl. [Aloud.] And to think it
+should be my doing that such a thing should be his Reverence's
+doing!
+
+MANDERS. But I assure you, Engstrand--
+
+ENGSTRAND. There wasn't another soul except your Reverence as ever
+laid a finger on the candles down there.
+
+MANDERS. [Stops.] So you declare. But I certainly cannot recollect
+that I ever had a candle in my hand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And I saw as clear as daylight how your Reverence took
+the candle and snuffed it with your fingers, and threw away the
+snuff among the shavings.
+
+MANDERS. And you stood and looked on?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Yes; I saw it as plain as a pike-staff, I did.
+
+MANDERS. It's quite beyond my comprehension. Besides, it has never
+been my habit to snuff candles with my fingers.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And terrible risky it looked, too, that it did! But is
+there such a deal of harm done after all, your Reverence?
+
+MANDERS. [Walks restlessly to and fro.] Oh, don't ask me!
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Walks with him.] And your Reverence hadn't insured it,
+neither?
+
+MANDERS. [Continuing to walk up and down.] No, no, no; I have told
+you so.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Following him.] Not insured! And then to go straight
+away down and set light to the whole thing! Lord, Lord, what a
+misfortune!
+
+MANDERS. [Wipes the sweat from his forehead.] Ay, you may well say
+that, Engstrand.
+
+ENGSTRAND. And to think that such a thing should happen to a
+benevolent Institution, that was to have been a blessing both to
+town and country, as the saying goes! The newspapers won't be for
+handling your Reverence very gently, I expect.
+
+MANDERS. No; that is just what I am thinking of. That is almost the
+worst of the whole matter. All the malignant attacks and
+imputations--! Oh, it makes me shudder to think of it!
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Comes in from the garden.] He is not to be persuaded
+to leave the fire.
+
+MANDERS. Ah, there you are, Mrs. Alving.
+
+MRS. ALVING. So you have escaped your Inaugural Address, Pastor
+Manders.
+
+MANDERS. Oh, I should so gladly--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In an undertone.] It is all for the best. That
+Orphanage would have done no one any good.
+
+MANDERS. Do you think not?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you think it would?
+
+MANDERS. It is a terrible misfortune, all the same.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let us speak of it plainly, as a matter of business.--
+Are you waiting for Mr. Manders, Engstrand?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [At the hall door.] That's just what I'm a-doing of,
+ma'am.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then sit down meanwhile.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Thank you, ma'am; I'd as soon stand.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [To MANDERS.] I suppose you are going by the steamer?
+
+MANDERS. Yes; it starts in an hour.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then be so good as to take all the papers with you. I
+won't hear another word about this affair. I have other things to
+think of--
+
+MANDERS. Mrs. Alving--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Later on I shall send you a Power of Attorney to
+settle everything as you please.
+
+MANDERS. That I will very readily undertake. The original
+destination of the endowment must now be completely changed, alas!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course it must.
+
+MANDERS. I think, first of all, I shall arrange that the Solvik
+property shall pass to the parish. The land is by no means without
+value. It can always be turned to account for some purpose or
+other. And the interest of the money in the Bank I could, perhaps,
+best apply for the benefit of some undertaking of acknowledged
+value to the town.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do just as you please. The whole matter is now
+completely indifferent to me.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Give a thought to my Sailors' Home, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. Upon my word, that is not a bad suggestion. That must be
+considered.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, devil take considering--Lord forgive me!
+
+MANDERS. [With a sigh.] And unfortunately I cannot tell how long I
+shall be able to retain control of these things--whether public
+opinion may not compel me to retire. It entirely depends upon the
+result of the official inquiry into the fire--
+
+MRS. ALVING. What are you talking about?
+
+MANDERS. And the result can by no means be foretold.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [Comes close to him.] Ay, but it can though. For here
+stands old Jacob Engstrand.
+
+MANDERS. Well well, but--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. [More softy.] And Jacob Engstrand isn't the man to
+desert a noble benefactor in the hour of need, as the saying goes.
+
+MANDERS. Yes, but my good fellow--how--?
+
+ENGSTRAND. Jacob Engstrand may be likened to a sort of a guardian
+angel, he may, your Reverence.
+
+MANDERS. No, no; I really cannot accept that.
+
+ENGSTRAND. Oh, that'll be the way of it, all the same. I know a man
+as has taken others' sins upon himself before now, I do.
+
+MANDERS. Jacob! [Wrings his hand.] Yours is a rare nature. Well,
+you shall be helped with your Sailors' Home. That you may rely
+upon. [ENGSTRAND tries to thank him, but cannot for emotion.]
+
+MANDERS. [Hangs his travelling-bag over his shoulder.] And now let
+us set out. We two will go together.
+
+ENGSTRAND. [At the dining-room door, softly to REGINA.] You come
+along too, my lass. You shall live as snug as the yolk in an egg.
+
+REGINA. [Tosses her head.] _Merci_! [She goes out into the hall and
+fetches MANDERS' overcoat.]
+
+MANDERS. Good-bye, Mrs. Alving! and may the spirit of Law and Order
+descend upon this house, and that quickly.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Good-bye, Pastor Manders. [She goes up towards the
+conservatory, as she sees OSWALD coming in through the garden door.]
+
+ENGSTRAND. [While he and REGINA help MANGERS to get his coat on.]
+Good-bye, my child. And if any trouble should come to you, you know
+where Jacob Engstrand is to be found. [Softly.] Little Harbour
+Street, h'm--! [To MRS. ALVING and OSWALD.] And the refuge for
+wandering mariners shall be called "Chamberlain Alving's Home,"
+that it shall! And if so be as I'm spared to carry on that house in
+my own way, I make so bold as to promise that it shall be worthy of
+the Chamberlain's memory.
+
+MANDERS. [In the doorway.] H'm--h'm!--Come along, my dear Enstrand.
+Good-bye! Good-bye! [He and ENGSTRAND go out through the hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Goes towards the table.] What house was he talking about?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, a kind of Home that he and Pastor Manders want to
+set up.
+
+OSWALD. It will burn down like the other.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What makes you think so?
+
+OSWALD. Everything will burn. All that recalls father's memory is
+doomed. Here am I, too, burning down. [REGINA starts and looks at
+him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald! You oughtn't to have remained so long down
+there, my poor boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Sits down by the table.] I almost think you are right.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Let me dry your face, Oswald; you are quite wet.
+[She dries his face with her pocket-handkerchief.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stares indifferently in front of him.] Thanks, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Are you not tired, Oswald? Should you like to sleep?
+
+OSWALD. [Nervously.] No, no--not to sleep! I never sleep. I only
+pretend to. [Sadly.] That will come soon enough.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looking sorrowfully at him.] Yes, you really are ill,
+my blessed boy.
+
+REGINA. [Eagerly.] Is Mr. Alving ill?
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Oh, do shut all the doors! This killing
+dread--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Close the doors, Regina.
+
+[REGINA shuts them and remains standing by the hall door. MRS.
+ALVING takes her shawl off: REGINA does the same. MRS. ALVING draws
+a chair across to OSWALD'S, and sits by him.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. There now! I am going to sit beside you--
+
+OSWALD. Yes, do. And Regina shall stay here too. Regina shall be
+with me always. You will come to the rescue, Regina, won't you?
+
+REGINA. I don't understand--
+
+MRS. ALVING. To the rescue?
+
+OSWALD. Yes--when the need comes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oswald, have you not your mother to come to the
+rescue?
+
+OSWALD. You? [Smiles.] No, mother; that rescue you will never bring
+me. [Laughs sadly.] You! ha ha! [Looks earnestly at her.] Though,
+after all, who ought to do it if not you? [Impetuously.] Why can't
+you say "thou" to me, Regina? [Note: "Sige du" = Fr. _tutoyer_] Why
+do'n't you call me "Oswald"?
+
+REGINA. [Softly.] I don't think Mrs. Alving would like it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You shall have leave to, presently. And meanwhile sit
+over here beside us.
+
+[REGINA seats herself demurely and hesitatingly at the other side
+of the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. And now, my poor suffering boy, I am going to take the
+burden off your mind--
+
+OSWALD. You, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. --all the gnawing remorse and self-reproach you speak of.
+
+OSWALD. And you think you can do that?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, now I can, Oswald. A little while ago you spoke
+of the joy of life; and at that word a new light burst for me over
+my life and everything connected with it.
+
+OSWALD. [Shakes his head.] I don't understand you.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You ought to have known your father when he was a
+young lieutenant. He was brimming over with the joy of life!
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I know he was.
+
+MRS. ALVING. It was like a breezy day only to look at him. And what
+exuberant strength and vitality there was in him!
+
+OSWALD. Well--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Well then, child of joy as he was--for he was like a
+child in those days--he had to live at home here in a half-grown
+town, which had no joys to offer him--only dissipations. He had no
+object in life--only an official position. He had no work into
+which he could throw himself heart and soul; he had only business.
+He had not a single comrade that could realise what the joy of life
+meant--only loungers and boon-companions--
+
+OSWALD. Mother--!
+
+MRS. ALVING. So the inevitable happened.
+
+OSWALD. The inevitable?
+
+MRS. ALVING. You told me yourself, this evening, what would become
+of you if you stayed at home.
+
+OSWALD. Do you mean to say that father--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Your poor father found no outlet for the overpowering
+joy of life that was in him. And I brought no brightness into his
+home.
+
+OSWALD. Not even you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. They had taught me a great deal about duties and so
+forth, which I went on obstinately believing in. Everything was
+marked out into duties--into my duties, and his duties, and--I
+am afraid I made his home intolerable for your poor father, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. Why have you never spoken of this in writing to me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I have never before seen it in such a light that I
+could speak of it to you, his son.
+
+OSWALD. In what light did you see it, then?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Slowly.] I saw only this one thing: that your father
+was a broken-down man before you were born.
+
+OSWALD. [Softly.] Ah--! [He rises and walks away to the window.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. And then; day after day, I dwelt on the one thought
+that by rights Regina should be at home in this house--just like my
+own boy.
+
+OSWALD. [Turning round quickly.] Regina--!
+
+REGINA. [Springs up and asks, with bated breath.] I--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, now you know it, both of you.
+
+OSWALD. Regina!
+
+REGINA. [To herself.] So mother was that kind of woman.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Your mother had many good qualities, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Yes, but she was one of that sort, all the same. Oh, I've
+often suspected it; but--And now, if you please, ma'am, may I be
+allowed to go away at once?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Do you really wish it, Regina?
+
+REGINA. Yes, indeed I do.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Of course you can do as you like; but--
+
+OSWALD. [Goes towards REGINA.] Go away now? Your place is here.
+
+REGINA. _Merci_, Mr. Alving!--or now, I suppose, I may say Oswald.
+But I can tell you this wasn't at all what I expected.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina, I have not been frank with you--
+
+REGINA. No, that you haven't indeed. If I'd known that Oswald was
+an invalid, why--And now, too, that it can never come to anything
+serious between us--I really can't stop out here in the country and
+wear myself out nursing sick people.
+
+OSWALD. Not even one who is so near to you?
+
+REGINA. No, that I can't. A poor girl must make the best of her
+young days, or she'll be left out in the cold before she knows
+where she is. And I, too, have the joy of life in me, Mrs. Alving!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Unfortunately, you leave. But don't throw yourself
+away, Regina.
+
+REGINA. Oh, what must be, must be. If Oswald takes after his
+father, I take after my mother, I daresay.--May I ask, ma'am, if
+Pastor Manders knows all this about me?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Pastor Manders knows all about it.
+
+REGINA. [Busied in putting on her shawl.] Well then, I'd better
+make haste and get away by this steamer. The Pastor is such a nice
+man to deal with; and I certainly think I've as much right to a
+little of that money as he has--that brute of a carpenter.
+
+MRS. ALVING. You are heartily welcome to it, Regina.
+
+REGINA. [Looks hard at her.] I think you might have brought me up
+as a gentleman's daughter, ma'am; it would have suited me better.
+[Tosses her head.] But pooh--what does it matter! [With a bitter
+side glance at the corked bottle.] I may come to drink champagne
+with gentlefolks yet.
+
+MRS. ALVING. And if you ever need a home, Regina, come to me.
+
+REGINA. No, thank you, ma'am. Pastor Manders will look after me, I
+know. And if the worst comes to the worst, I know of one house
+where I've every right to a place.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Where is that?
+
+REGINA. "Chamberlain Alving's Home."
+
+MRS. ALVING. Regina--now I see it--you are going to your ruin.
+
+REGINA. Oh, stuff! Good-bye. [She nods and goes out through the
+hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Stands at the window and looks out.] Is she gone?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes.
+
+OSWALD. [Murmuring aside to himself.] I think it was a mistake,
+this.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes up behind him and lays her hands on his
+shoulders.] Oswald, my dear boy--has it shaken you very much?
+
+OSWALD. [Turns his face towards her.] All that about father, do you
+mean?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, about your unhappy father. I am so afraid it may
+have been too much for you.
+
+OSWALD. Why should you fancy that? Of course it came upon me as a
+great surprise; but it can make no real difference to me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Draws her hands away.] No difference! That your
+father was so infinitely unhappy!
+
+OSWALD. Of course I can pity him, as I would anybody else; but--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Nothing more! Your own father!
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.]Oh, "father,"--"father"! I never knew
+anything of father. I remember nothing about him, except that he
+once made me sick.
+
+MRS. ALVING. This is terrible to think of! Ought not a son to love
+his father, whatever happens?
+
+OSWALD. When a son has nothing to thank his father for? has never
+known him? Do you really cling to that old superstition?--you who
+are so enlightened in other ways?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Can it be only a superstition--?
+
+OSWALD. Yes; surely you can see that, mother. It's one of those
+notions that are current in the world, and so--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Deeply moved.] Ghosts!
+
+OSWALD. [Crossing the room.] Yes; you may call them ghosts.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Wildly.] Oswald--then you don't love me, either!
+
+OSWALD. You I know, at any rate--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, you know me; but is that all!
+
+OSWALD. And, of course, I know how fond you are of me, and I can't
+but be grateful to you. And then you can be so useful to me, now
+that I am ill.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, cannot I, Oswald? Oh, I could almost bless the
+illness that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that
+you are not mine: I have to win you.
+
+OSWALD. [Impatiently.] Yes yes yes; all these are just so many
+phrases. You must remember that I am a sick man, mother. I can't be
+much taken up with other people; I have enough to do thinking about
+myself.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In a low voice.] I shall be patient and easily
+satisfied.
+
+OSWALD. And cheerful too, mother!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. [Goes towards
+him.] Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now?
+
+OSWALD. Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread?
+
+MRS. ALVING. The dread?
+
+OSWALD. [Walks across the room.] Regina could have been got to do
+it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I don't understand you. What is this about dread--and
+Regina?
+
+OSWALD. Is it very late, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. It is early morning. [She looks out through the
+conservatory.] The day is dawning over the mountains. And the
+weather is clearing, Oswald. In a little while you shall see the
+sun.
+
+OSWALD. I'm glad of that. Oh, I may still have much to rejoice in
+and live for--
+
+MRS. ALVING. I should think so, indeed!
+
+OSWALD. Even if I can't work--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, you'll soon be able to work again, my dear boy--
+now that you haven't got all those gnawing and depressing thoughts
+to brood over any longer.
+
+OSWALD. Yes, I'm glad you were able to rid me of all those fancies.
+And when I've got over this one thing more--[Sits on the sofa.] Now
+we will have a little talk, mother--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, let us. [She pushes an arm-chair towards the
+sofa, and sits down close to him.]
+
+OSWALD. And meantime the sun will be rising. And then you will
+know all. And then I shall not feel this dread any longer.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What is it that I am to know?
+
+OSWALD. [Not listening to her.] Mother, did you not say a little
+while ago, that there was nothing in the world you would not do
+for me, if I asked you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, indeed I said so!
+
+OSWALD. And you'll stick to it, mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. You may rely on that, my dear and only boy! I have
+nothing in the world to live for but you alone.
+
+OSWALD. Very well, then; now you shall hear--Mother, you have a
+strong, steadfast mind, I know. Now you're to sit quite still when
+you hear it.
+
+MRS. ALVING. What dreadful thing can it be--?
+
+OSWALD. You're not to scream out. Do you hear? Do you promise me
+that? We will sit and talk about it quietly. Do you promise me,
+mother?
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes; I promise. Only speak!
+
+OSWALD. Well, you must know that all this fatigue--and my inability
+to think of work--all that is not the illness itself--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then what is the illness itself?
+
+OSWALD. The disease I have as my birthright--[He points to his
+forehead and adds very softly]--is seated here.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Almost voiceless.] Oswald! No--no!
+
+OSWALD. Don't scream. I can't bear it. Yes, mother, it is seated
+here waiting. And it may break out any day--at any moment.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Oh, what horror--!
+
+OSWALD. Now, quiet, quiet. That is how it stands with me--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Springs up.] It's not true, Oswald! It's impossible!
+It cannot be so!
+
+OSWALD. I have had one attack down there already. It was soon over.
+But when I came to know the state I had been in, then the dread
+descended upon me, raging and ravening; and so I set off home to
+you as fast as I could.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then this is the dread--!
+
+OSWALD. Yes--it's so indescribably loathsome, you know. Oh, if it
+had only been an ordinary mortal disease--! For I'm not so afraid
+of death--though I should like to live as long as I can.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must!
+
+OSWALD. But this is so unutterably loathsome. To become a little
+baby again! To hive to be fed! To have to--Oh, it's not to be
+spoken of!
+
+MRS. ALVING. The child has his mother to nurse him.
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up.] No, never that! That is just what I will not
+have. I can't endure to think that perhaps I should lie in that
+state for many years--and get old and grey. And in the meantime you
+might die and leave me. [Sits in MRS. ALVING'S chair.] For the
+doctor said it wouldn't necessarily prove fatal at once. He called
+it a sort of softening of the brain--or something like that.
+[Smiles sadly.] I think that expression sounds so nice. It always
+sets me thinking of cherry-coloured velvet--something soft and
+delicate to stroke.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks.] Oswald!
+
+OSWALD. [Springs up and paces the room.] And now you have taken
+Regina from me. If I could only have had her! She would have come
+to the rescue, I know.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] What do you mean by that, my darling
+boy? Is there any help in the world that I would not give you?
+
+OSWALD. When I got over my attack in Paris, the doctor told me that
+when it comes again--and it will come--there will be no more hope.
+
+MRS. ALVING. He was heartless enough to--
+
+OSWALD. I demanded it of him. I told him I had preparations to make--
+[He smiles cunningly.] And so I had. [He takes a little box from
+his inner breast pocket and opens it.] Mother, do you see this?
+
+MRS. ALVING. What is it?
+
+OSWALD. Morphia.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Looks at him horror-struck.] Oswald--my boy!
+
+OSWALD. I've scraped together twelve pilules--
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Snatches at it.] Give me the box, Oswald.
+
+OSWALD. Not yet, mother. [He hides the box again in his pocket.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. I shall never survive this!
+
+OSWALD. It must be survived. Now if I'd had Regina here, I should
+have told her how things stood with me--and begged her to come to
+the rescue at the last. She would have done it. I know she would.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Never!
+
+OSWALD. When the horror had come upon me, and she saw me lying
+there helpless, like a little new-born baby, impotent, lost,
+hopeless--past all saving--
+
+MRS. ALVING. Never in all the world would Regina have done this!
+
+OSWALD. Regina would have done it. Regina was so splendidly
+light-hearted. And she would soon have wearied of nursing an
+invalid like me.
+
+MRS. ALVING. Then heaven be praised that Regina is not here.
+
+OSWALD. Well then, it is you that must come to the rescue, mother.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Shrieks aloud.] I!
+
+OSWALD. Who should do it if not you?
+
+MRS. ALVING. I! your mother!
+
+OSWALD. For that very reason.
+
+MRS. ALVING. I, who gave you life!
+
+OSWALD. I never asked you for life. And what sort of a life have
+you given me? I will not have it! You shall take it back again!
+
+MRS. ALVING. Help! Help! [She runs out into the hall.]
+
+OSWALD. [Going after her.] Do not leave me! Where are you going?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [In the hall.] To fetch the doctor, Oswald! Let me
+pass!
+
+OSWALD. [Also outside.] You shall not go out. And no one shall come
+in. [The locking of a door is heard.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Comes in again.] Oswald! Oswald--my child!
+
+OSWALD. [Follows her.] Have you a mother's heart for me--and yet
+can see me suffer from this unutterable dread?
+
+MRS. ALVING. [After a moment's silence, commands herself, and
+says:] Here is my hand upon it.
+
+OSWALD. Will you--?
+
+MRS. ALVING. If it should ever be necessary. But it will never be
+necessary. No, no; it is impossible.
+
+OSWALD. Well, let us hope so. And let us live together as long as
+we can. Thank you, mother. [He seats himself in the arm-chair which
+MRS. ALVING has moved to the sofa. Day is breaking. The lamp is
+still burning on the table.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Drawing near cautiously.] Do you feel calm now?
+
+OSWALD. Yes.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Bending over him.] It has been a dreadful fancy of
+yours, Oswald--nothing but a fancy. All this excitement has been
+too much for you. But now you shall have along rest; at home with
+your mother, my own blessëd boy. Everything you point to you shall
+have, just as when you were a little child.--There now. The crisis
+is over. You see how easily it passed! Oh, I was sure it would.--
+And do you see, Oswald, what a lovely day we are going to have?
+Brilliant sunshine! Now you can really see your home. [She goes to
+the table and puts out the lamp. Sunrise. The glacier and the
+snow-peaks in the background glow in the morning light.]
+
+OSWALD. [Sits in the arm-chair with his back towards the landscape,
+without moving. Suddenly he says:] Mother, give me the sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [By the table, starts and looks at him.] What do you
+say?
+
+OSWALD. [Repeats, in a dull, toneless voice.] The sun. The sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Goes to him.] Oswald, what is the matter with you?
+
+OSWALD. [Seems to shrink together to the chair; all his muscles
+relax; his face is expressionless, his eyes have a glassy stare.]
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Quivering with terror.] What is this? [Shrieks.]
+Oswald! what is the matter with you? [Falls on her knees beside him
+and shakes him.] Oswald! Oswald! look at me! Don't you know me?
+
+OSWALD. [Tonelessly as before.] The sun.--The sun.
+
+MRS. ALVING. [Springs up in despair, entwines her hands in her
+hair and shrieks.] I cannot bear it! [Whispers, as though
+petrified]; I cannot bear it! Never! [Suddenly.] Where has he got
+them? [Fumbles hastily in his breast.] Here! [Shrinks back a few
+steps and screams:] No. no; no!--Yes!--No; no!
+
+[She stands a few steps away from him with her hands twisted in her
+hair, and stares at him in speechless horror.]
+
+OSWALD. [Sits motionless as before and says.] The sun.--The sun.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOSTS ***
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