Act III

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 pikestaff, 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	Goodbye, Mrs. Alving! and may the spirit of Law and Order descend upon this house, and that quickly.
Mrs. Alving	Goodbye, 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.* Goodbye, 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. Goodbye! Goodbye! 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”5 to me, Regina? 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 have. 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! Goodbye. 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 armchair 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 newborn 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 lighthearted. 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 armchair 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 armchair 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.

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