Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
You?
Engstrand.
Engstrand.
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.
Manders.
Manders.
What do you say to this, Mrs. Alving?
Engstrand.
Engstrand.
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.
Manders.
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.
Engstrand.
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.
Manders.
Manders.
Well, what do you say of that man now, Mrs. Alving?Thatwas a very different account of matters, was it not?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes, it certainly was.
Manders.
Manders.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
I think you are, and will always be, a great baby, Manders.
Manders.
Manders.
Manders.
I?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
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.
Manders.
Manders.
[Stepping hastily back.] No, no! God bless me! What an idea!
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[With a smile.] Oh, you needn’t be afraid of me.
Manders.
Manders.
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.
[He takes his hat and goes out through the hall door.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
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.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[In the dining room.] I’m only finishing my cigar.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
I thought you had gone for a little walk.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
In such weather as this?
[A glass clinks.Mrs. Alvingleaves the door open, and sits down with her knitting on the sofa by the window.
[A glass clinks.Mrs. Alvingleaves the door open, and sits down with her knitting on the sofa by the window.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Wasn’t that Pastor Manders that went out just now?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes; he went down to the Orphanage.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
H’m.[The glass and decanter clink again.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[With a troubled glance.] Dear Oswald, you should take care of that liqueur. It is strong.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
It keeps out the damp.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Wouldn’t you rather come in here, to me?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
I mayn’t smoke in there.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
You know quite well you may smoke cigars.
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
I have just told you; he went down to the Orphanage.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oh, yes; so you did.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
You shouldn’t sit so long at table, Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Holding his cigar behind him.] But I find it sopleasant, 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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
My dear, dear boy!
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Why can’t you?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Perhaps it was not quite wise of you to come home?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oh, yes, mother; I had to.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
You know I would ten times rather forgo the joy of having you here, than let you——
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Doesit make me happy!
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Have you the heart to say that to your mother, Oswald?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
But you’ve got on very well without me all this time.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes; I have got on without you. That is true.
[A silence. Twilight slowly begins to fall.Oswaldpaces to and fro across the room. He has laid his cigar down.
[A silence. Twilight slowly begins to fall.Oswaldpaces to and fro across the room. He has laid his cigar down.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Stops beside Mrs. Alving.] Mother, may I sit on the sofa beside you?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Makes room for him.] Yes, do, my dear boy.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Sits down.] There is something I must tell you, mother.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Anxiously.] Well?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Looks fixedly before him.] For I can’t go on hiding it any longer.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Hiding what? What is it?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[As before.] I could never bring myself to write to you about it; and since I’ve come home——
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Seizes him by the arm.] Oswald, what is the matter?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Rising.] Now you must tell me everything, Oswald!
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Well? What then?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
But it isn’t that that is the matter with me; not any ordinary fatigue——
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Tries to jump up.] You are not ill, Oswald?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Draws her down again.] Sit still, mother. Dotake 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.
[With his hands before his face, he buries his head in her lap, and breaks into bitter sobbing.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[White and trembling.] Oswald! Look at me! No, no; it’s not true.
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
My poor boy! How has this horrible thing come upon you?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
I am sure you haven’t, Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
And yet this has come upon me just the same—this awful misfortune!
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Oh, but it will pass over, my dear, blessëd boy.It’s nothing but over-work. Trust me, I am right.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Sadly.] I thought so too, at first; but it isn’t so.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Tell me everything, from beginning to end.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Yes, I will.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
When did you first notice it?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Well, and then?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes, yes——
Oswald.
Oswald.
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 formno 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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
How do you mean?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Well?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
At last he said: “There has been something worm-eaten in you from your birth.†He used that very word—vermoulu.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Breathlessly.] What did he mean by that?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
What did he say?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
He said, “The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children.â€
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Rising slowly.] The sins of the fathers——!
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
I very nearly struck him in the face——
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Walks away across the room.] The sins of the fathers——
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Butthen——?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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 light-hearted, glorious life of theirs. It had been too much for my strength. So I had brought it upon myself!
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Oswald! No, no; do not believe it!
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
No other explanation was possible, he said.That’sthe awful part of it. Incurably ruined for life—by my own heedlessness! All that I meantto have done in the world—I never dare think of it again—I’m notableto 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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Wrings her hands and walks, in silent struggle, backwards and forwards.]
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
No, no, my dear, darling boy; this is impossible! [Bends over him.] Things are not so desperate as you think.
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
I, Oswald? My only boy! You are all I have in the world! The only thing I care about!
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
To drink? What do you want to drink now?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oh, anything you like. You have some cold punch in the house.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes, but my dear Oswald——
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Don’t refuse me, mother. Do be kind, now! Imusthave something to wash down all these gnawing thoughts. [Goes into the conservatory.] And then——it’s so dark here! [Mrs. Alvingpulls 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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Oswald—you are thinking of going away from me.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
H’m—[Drawing a heavy breath.]—I’m not thinking of anything. Icannotthink of anything! [In a low voice.] I let thinking alone.
Regina.
Regina.
Regina.
[From the dining-room.] Did you ring, ma’am?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes; let us have the lamp in.
Regina.
Regina.
Regina.
Yes, ma’am. It’s ready lighted. [Goes out.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Goes across toOswald.] Oswald, be frank with me.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Well, so I am, mother. [Goes to the table.] I think I have told you enough.
[Reginabrings the lamp and sets it upon the table.
[Reginabrings the lamp and sets it upon the table.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Regina, you may bring us a small bottle of champagne.
Regina.
Regina.
Regina.
Very well, ma’am. [Goes out.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Puts his arm roundMrs. Alving’sneck.] That’s just what I wanted. I knew mother wouldn’t let her boy go thirsty.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
My own, poor, darling Oswald; how could I deny you anything now?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Eagerly.] Is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
How? What?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
That you couldn’t deny me anything.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
My dear Oswald——
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Hush!
Regina.
Regina.
Regina.
[Brings a tray with a half-bottle of champagne and two glasses, which she sets on the table.] Shall I open it?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
No, thanks. I will do it myself.
[Reginagoes out again.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Sits down by the table.] What was it you meant—that I musn’t deny you?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
[The cork pops; he pours wine into one glass, and is about to pour it into the other.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Holding her hand over it.] Thanks; not for me.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oh! won’t you? Then I will!
[He empties the glass, fills, and empties it again; then he sits down by the table.
[He empties the glass, fills, and empties it again; then he sits down by the table.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[In expectancy.] Well?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Without looking at her.] Tell me—I thought you and Pastor Manders seemed so odd—so quiet—at dinner to-day.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Did you notice it?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Yes. H’m——[After a short silence.] Tell me: what do you think of Regina?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
What do I think?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Yes; isn’t she splendid?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
My dear Oswald, you don’t know her as I do——
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Well?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Regina, unfortunately, was allowed to stay at home too long. I ought to have taken her earlier into my house.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Yes, but isn’t she splendid to look at, mother?
[He fills his glass.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Regina has many serious faults——
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oh, what does that matter?
[He drinks again.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
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.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Springs up.] Mother, Regina is my only salvation!
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Rising.] What do you mean by that?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
I cannot go on bearing all this anguish of soul alone.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Have you not your mother to share it with you?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Oswald!
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as this——
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Walking after him.] Dread? What dread? What do you mean?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oh, you mustn’t ask me any more. I don’t know. I can’t describe it.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Goes over to the right and pulls the bell.]
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
What is it you want?
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
I want my boy to be happy—that is what I want. He sha’n’t go on brooding over things. [ToRegina, who appears at the door:] More champagne—a large bottle.[Reginagoes.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Mother!
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Do you think we don’t know how to live here at home?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Isn’t she splendid to look at? How beautifully she’s built! And so thoroughly healthy!
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
[Sits by the table.] Sit down, Oswald; let us talk quietly together.
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
[Sits.] I daresay you don’t know, mother, that I owe Regina some reparation.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
You!
Oswald.
Oswald.
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.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Well?
Oswald.
Oswald.
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?â€
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving.
Well?
Oswald.
Oswald.
Oswald.
I saw her face flush, and then she said, “Yes, Ishould like it of all things.†“Ah, well,†I replied, “it might perhaps be managedâ€â€”or something like that.