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diff --git a/8121-8.txt b/8121-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b89bb72 --- /dev/null +++ b/8121-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4043 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GHOSTS *** + +***** This file should be named 8121-8.txt or 8121-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/2/8121/ + +Produced by Nicole Apostola + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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