Henrik Ibsen

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.] ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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—! ”

“ 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. ”