Henrik Ibsen

“ Mrs. Alving. Your poor father never found any outlet for the overmastering joy of life that was in him. And I brought no holiday spirit into his home, either.
Oswald. You didn't, either?
Mrs. Alving. I had been taught about duty, and the sort of thing that I believed in so long here. Everything seemed to turn upon duty—my duty, or his duty—and I am afraid I made your poor father's home unbearable to him, Oswald.
Oswald. Why didn't you ever say anything about it to me in your letters?
Mrs. Alving. I never looked at it as a thing I could speak of to you, who were his son. ”

“ Oswald. But the people over there will have none of that. There is no one there who really believes doctrines of that kind any longer. Over there the mere fact of being alive is thought to be a matter for exultant happiness. Mother, have you noticed that everything I have painted has turned upon the joy of life?—always upon the joy of life, unfailingly. There is light there, and sunshine, and a holiday feeling—and people's faces beaming with happiness. That is why I am afraid to stay at home here with you. ”

“ Manders. Can you call it cowardice that you simply did your duty? Have you forgotten that a child should love and honour his father and mother?
Mrs. Alving. Don't let us talk in such general terms. Suppose we say: "Ought Oswald to love and honour Mr. Alving?"
Manders. You are a mother—isn't there a voice in your heart that forbids you to shatter your son's ideals? ”

“ Manders. You have been overmastered all your life by a disastrous spirit of willfulness. All your impulses have led you towards what is undisciplined and lawless. You have never been willing to submit to any restraint. Anything in life that has seemed irksome to you, you have thrown aside recklessly and unscrupulously, as if it were a burden that you were free to rid yourself of if you would. It did not please you to be a wife any longer, and so you left your husband. ”

“ Regina. No, indeed I can't. A poor girl must make some use of her youth, otherwise she may easily land herself out in the cold before she knows where she is. And I have got the joy of life in me too, Mrs. Alving!
Mrs. Alving. Yes, unfortunately; but don't throw yourself away, Regina.
Regina. Oh, what's going to happen will happen. If Oswald takes after his father, it is just as likely I take after my mother, I expect.—May I ask, Mrs. Alving, whether Mr. Manders knows this about me?
Mrs. Alving. Mr. Manders knows everything. ”

“ Oswald. Well, would you rather he should repudiate his children's mother?
Manders. Then what you are speaking of are those unprincipled conditions known as irregular unions!
Oswald. I have never noticed anything particularly unprincipled about these people's lives.
Manders. But do you mean to say that it is possible for a man of any sort of bringing up, and a young woman, to reconcile themselves to such a way of living—and to make no secret of it, either!
Oswald. What else are they to do? A poor artist, and a poor girl—it costs a good deal to get married. What else are they to do? ”

“ Manders.
Manders (staring at him) . Well! It's most extraordinary.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
Manders. I-I-no, can it possibly be—?
Oswald. Yes, it really is the prodigal son, Mr. Manders.
Manders. Oh, my dear young friend—
Oswald. Well, the son came home, then.
Mrs. Alving. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so opposed to the idea of his being a painter.
Manders. We are only fallible, and many steps seem to us hazardous at first, that afterwards— (grasps his hand) . Welcome, welcome! Really, my dear Oswald—may I still call you Oswald? ”

“ And the immorality of such a marriage! Simply for the sake of the money—! What sum was it that the girl had?
Mrs. Alving. It was seventy pounds.
Manders. Just think of it—for a paltry seventy pounds to let yourself be bound in marriage to a fallen woman!
Mrs. Alving. What about myself, then?—I let myself be bound in marriage to a fallen man.
Manders. Heaven forgive you! What are you saying? A fallen man?
Mrs. Alving. Do you suppose my husband was any purer, when I went with him to the altar, than Joanna was when Engstrand agreed to marry her?
Manders. ”

“ Engstrand. Was the poor girl to go and increase her load of shame by talking about it? Just suppose, sir, for a moment that your reverence was in the same predicament as my poor Joanna.
Manders. I!
Engstrand. Good Lord, sir, I don't mean the same predicament. I mean, suppose there were something your reverence was ashamed of in the eyes of the world, so to speak. We men ought not judge a poor woman too hardly, Mr. Manders.
Manders. But I am not doing so at all. It is you I am blaming.
Engstrand. Will your reverence grant me leave to ask you a small question?
Manders. Ask away. ”

“ Regina. Thank you, Mr. Manders, he is getting on pretty well.
Manders. He came to see me the last time he was in town.
Regina. Did he? He is always so glad when he can have a chat with you.
Manders. And I suppose you have seen him pretty regularly every day?
Regina. I? Oh, yes, I do—whenever I have time, that is to say.
Manders. Your father has not a very strong character, Miss Engstrand. He sadly needs a guiding hand.
Regina. Yes, I can quite believe that.
Manders. He needs someone with him that he can cling to, someone whose judgment he can rely on. ”

“ And Jacob Engstrand isn't the man to desert a worthy benefactor in the hour of need, as the saying is.
Manders. Yes, but, my dear fellow-how—?
Engstrand. You might say Jacob Engstrand is an angel of salvation, so to speak, your reverence.
Manders. No, no, I couldn't possibly accept that.
Engstrand. That's how it will be, all the same. I know someone who has taken the blame for someone else on his shoulders before now, I do.
Manders. Jacob! (Grasps his hand.) You are one in a thousand! You shall have assistance in the matter of your Sailors' Home, you may rely upon that. ”

“ Manders. Did it, indeed, Engstrand? Well, what then?
Engstrand. Well, then I said to her: "The American is roaming about on the high seas, he is. And you, Joanna," I said, "you have committed a sin and are a fallen woman. But here stands Jacob Engstrand," I said, "on two strong legs"—of course that was only speaking in a kind of metaphor, as it were, your reverence. ”

“ You mustn't get too heated, Oswald; you gain nothing by that.
Oswald. No, you are quite right, mother. Besides, it isn't good for me. It's because I am so infernally tired, you know. I will go out and take a turn before dinner. I beg your pardon, Mr. Manders. It is impossible for you to realise the feeling; but it takes me that way (Goes out by the farther door on the right.)
Mrs. Alving. My poor boy!
Manders. You may well say so. This is what it has brought him to! (MRS. ALVING looks at him, but does not speak.) He called himself the prodigal son. It's only too true, alas—only too true! ”

“ Manders. A coward?
Mrs. Alving. If others had known anything of what happened, they would have said: "Poor man, it is natural enough that he should go astray, when he has a wife that has run away from him."
Manders. They would have had a certain amount of justification for saying so.
Mrs. Alving (looking fixedly at him) . If I had been the woman I ought, I would have taken Oswald into my confidence and said to him: "Listen, my son, your father was a dissolute man"—
Manders. Miserable woman. ”

“ Manders. My dear Mrs. Alving, there are many occasions in life when one has to rely on the opinion of others. That is the way in this world, and it is quite right that it should be so. What would become of society, otherwise? ”

“ Regina (whistles) . You have tried that so often—but it has always proved a fool's errand.
Engstrand. Ah, but this time you will just see, Regina! Strike me dead if—
Regina (stamping her foot) . Stop swearing!
Engstrand. Sh! Sh!—you're quite right, my girl, quite right! What I wanted to say was only this, that I have put by a tidy penny out of what I have made by working at this new Orphanage up here.
Regina. Have you? All the better for you.
Engstrand. What is there for a man to spend his money on, out here in the country? ”

“ Regina. Yes, he has said something of the same sort to me. But I don't know whether Mrs. Alving could do without me—most of all just now, when we have the new Orphanage to see about. And I should be dreadfully unwilling to leave Mrs. Alving, too; she has always been so good to me.
Manders. But a daughter's duty, my good child—. Naturally we should have to get your mistress' consent first.
Regina. Still I don't know whether it would be quite the thing, at my age, to keep house for a single man.
Manders. What! My dear Miss Engstrand, it is your own father we are speaking of! ”

“ Manders. You are; you must be. And what sort of a son is it that you have got back? Think over it seriously, Mrs. Alving. You erred grievously in your husband's case—you acknowledge as much, by erecting this memorial to him. ”

“ Manders, is that, properly speaking, there is nothing at all new in these books. There is nothing more in them than what most people think and believe. The only thing is, that most people either take no account of it or won't admit it to themselves. ”

“ Oswald. There are a considerable number of them who have not the means to marry, Mr. Manders.
Manders. That is exactly my point.
Oswald. But they can have a home of their own, all the same; a good many of them have. And they are very well-regulated and very comfortable homes, too.
(MRS. ALVING, who has listened to him attentively, nods assent, but says nothing.)
Manders. Oh, but I am not talking of bachelor establishments. By a home I mean family life—the life a man lives with his wife and children. ”

“ Manders. What? Do you want me to believe that honourable men when they get away from home will—
Oswald. Have you never, when these same honourable men come home again, heard them deliver themselves on the subject of the prevalence of immorality abroad? ”

“ Manders. Of course it is.
Engstrand. And isn't a man bound to keep his word of honour?
Manders. Certainly he is; but—
Engstrand. At the time when Joanna had her misfortune with this Englishman—or maybe he was an American or a Russian, as they call 'em—well, sir, then she came to town. Poor thing, she had refused me once or twice before; she only had eyes for good-looking men in those days, and I had this crooked leg then. Your reverence will remember how I had ventured up into a dancing-saloon where seafaring men were revelling in drunkenness and intoxication, as they say. ”

“ Regina. Oh, yes, quite so!
Engstrand. But we must have some women in the house; that is as clear as daylight. Because in the evening we must make the place a little attractive—some singing and dancing, and that sort of thing. Remember they are seafolk—wayfarers on the waters of life! (Coming nearer to her.) Now don't be a fool and stand in your own way, Regina. What good are you going to do here? Will this education, that your mistress has paid for, be of any use? You are to look after the children in the new Home, I hear. ”

“ Engstrand. You wouldn't be living with me long, my girl. No such luck—not if you knew how to play your cards. Such a fine wench as you have grown this last year or two...
Regina. Well—?
Engstrand. It wouldn't be very long before some first mate came along—or perhaps a captain.
Regina. I don't mean to marry a man of that sort. Sailors have no savoir-vivre.
Engstrand. What haven't they got?
Regina. I know what sailors are, I tell you. They aren't the sort of people to marry.
Engstrand. Well, don't bother about marrying them. You can make it pay just as well. ”

“ Manders (looking sympathetically at him) . You went out into the world very young, my dear Oswald.
Oswald. I did. Sometimes I wonder if I wasn't too young.
Mrs. Alving. Not a bit of it. It is the best thing for an active boy, and especially for an only child. It's a pity when they are kept at home with their parents and get spoiled.
Manders. That is a very debatable question, Mrs. Alving. A child's own home is, and always must be, his proper place.
Oswald. There I agree entirely with Mr. Manders.
Manders. Take the case of your own son. ”

“ Manders. Ha! ha! You will have your joke! And it's natural you should be in high spirits today—first of all there is the great event tomorrow, and also you have got Oswald home.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, am I not a lucky woman! It is more than two years since he was home last, and he has promised to stay the whole winter with me. ”

“ Oh, law and order! I often think it is that that is at the bottom of all the misery in the world. ”

“ Manders. Do you mean it!
Mrs. Alving. Oh, as a matter of fact it was nothing of any consequence. Some shavings in the carpenter's shop caught fire.
Manders. Where Engstrand works?
Mrs. Alving. Yes. They say he is often so careless with matches.
Manders. He has so many things on his mind, poor fellow—so many anxieties. Heaven be thanked, I am told he is really making an effort to live a blameless life.
Mrs. Alving. Really? Who told you so?
Manders. He assured me himself that it is so. He's good workman, too. ”