Ghosts [20]
tried to push my thoughts away from me--to free myself from them. But I can't.
Mrs. Alving (getting up). You must speak plainly, Oswald!
Oswald (drawing her down to her seat again). Sit still, and I will try and tell you. I have made a great deal of the fatigue I felt after my journey--
Mrs. Alving. Well, what of that?
Oswald. But that isn't what is the matter. It is no ordinary fatigue--
Mrs. Alving (trying to get up). You are not ill, Oswald!
Oswald (pulling her down again). Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly. I am not exactly ill--not ill in the usual sense. (Takes his head in his hands.) Mother, it's my mind that has broken down--gone to pieces--I shall never be able to work anymore! (Buries his face in his hands and throws himself at her knees in an outburst of sobs.)
Mrs. Alving (pale and trembling). Oswald! Look at me! No, no, it isn't true!
Oswald (looking up with a distracted expression). Never to be able to work anymore! Never--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine anything so horrible!
Mrs. Alving. My poor unhappy boy? How has this terrible thing happened?
Oswald (sitting up again). That is just what I cannot possibly understand. I have never lived recklessly, in any sense. You must believe that of me, mother, I have never done that.
Mrs. Alving. I haven't a doubt of it, Oswald.
Oswald. And yet this comes upon me all the same; this terrible disaster!
Mrs. Alving. Oh, but it will all come right again, my dear precious boy. It is nothing but overwork. Believe me, that is so.
Oswald (dully). I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.
Mrs. Alving. Tell me all about it.
Oswald. Yes, I will.
Mrs. Alving. When did you first feel anything?
Oswald. It was just after I had been home last time and had got back to Paris. I began to feel the most violent pains in my head- -mostly at the back, I think. It was as if a tight band of iron was pressing on me from my neck upwards.
Mrs. Alving. And then?
Oswald. At first I thought it was nothing but the headaches I always used to be so much troubled with while I was growing.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes.
Oswald. But it wasn't; I soon saw that. I couldn't work any longer. I would try and start some big new picture; but it seemed as if all my faculties had forsaken me, as if all my strengths were paralysed. I couldn't manage to collect my thoughts; my head seemed to swim--everything went round and round. It was a horrible feeling! At last I sent for a doctor--and from him I learned the truth.
Mrs. Alving. In what way, do you mean?
Oswald. He was one of the best doctors there. He made me describe what I felt, and then he began to ask me a whole heap of questions which seemed to me to have nothing to do with the matter. I couldn't see what he was driving at--
Mrs. Alving. Well?
Oswald. At last he said: "You have had the canker of disease in you practically from your birth"--the actual word he used was "vermoulu"...
Mrs. Alving (anxiously). What did he mean by that? Oswald. I couldn't understand, either--and I asked him for a clearer explanation, 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 on the children."
Mrs. Alving (getting up slowly). The sins of the fathers--!
Oswald. I nearly struck him in the face.
Mrs. Alving (walking across the room). The sins of the fathers--!
Oswald (smiling sadly). Yes, just imagine! Naturally I assured him that what he thought was impossible. But do you think he paid any heed to me? No, he persisted in his opinion; and it was only when I got out your letters and translated to him all the passages that referred to my father--
Mrs. Alving. Well, and then?
Oswald. Well, then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong track; and then I learned the truth-- the incomprehensible truth! I ought to have had nothing to do with the joyous happy life I had lived with my comrades. It had been too much for my strength. So it was my own fault!
Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving (getting up). You must speak plainly, Oswald!
Oswald (drawing her down to her seat again). Sit still, and I will try and tell you. I have made a great deal of the fatigue I felt after my journey--
Mrs. Alving. Well, what of that?
Oswald. But that isn't what is the matter. It is no ordinary fatigue--
Mrs. Alving (trying to get up). You are not ill, Oswald!
Oswald (pulling her down again). Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly. I am not exactly ill--not ill in the usual sense. (Takes his head in his hands.) Mother, it's my mind that has broken down--gone to pieces--I shall never be able to work anymore! (Buries his face in his hands and throws himself at her knees in an outburst of sobs.)
Mrs. Alving (pale and trembling). Oswald! Look at me! No, no, it isn't true!
Oswald (looking up with a distracted expression). Never to be able to work anymore! Never--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine anything so horrible!
Mrs. Alving. My poor unhappy boy? How has this terrible thing happened?
Oswald (sitting up again). That is just what I cannot possibly understand. I have never lived recklessly, in any sense. You must believe that of me, mother, I have never done that.
Mrs. Alving. I haven't a doubt of it, Oswald.
Oswald. And yet this comes upon me all the same; this terrible disaster!
Mrs. Alving. Oh, but it will all come right again, my dear precious boy. It is nothing but overwork. Believe me, that is so.
Oswald (dully). I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.
Mrs. Alving. Tell me all about it.
Oswald. Yes, I will.
Mrs. Alving. When did you first feel anything?
Oswald. It was just after I had been home last time and had got back to Paris. I began to feel the most violent pains in my head- -mostly at the back, I think. It was as if a tight band of iron was pressing on me from my neck upwards.
Mrs. Alving. And then?
Oswald. At first I thought it was nothing but the headaches I always used to be so much troubled with while I was growing.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes.
Oswald. But it wasn't; I soon saw that. I couldn't work any longer. I would try and start some big new picture; but it seemed as if all my faculties had forsaken me, as if all my strengths were paralysed. I couldn't manage to collect my thoughts; my head seemed to swim--everything went round and round. It was a horrible feeling! At last I sent for a doctor--and from him I learned the truth.
Mrs. Alving. In what way, do you mean?
Oswald. He was one of the best doctors there. He made me describe what I felt, and then he began to ask me a whole heap of questions which seemed to me to have nothing to do with the matter. I couldn't see what he was driving at--
Mrs. Alving. Well?
Oswald. At last he said: "You have had the canker of disease in you practically from your birth"--the actual word he used was "vermoulu"...
Mrs. Alving (anxiously). What did he mean by that? Oswald. I couldn't understand, either--and I asked him for a clearer explanation, 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 on the children."
Mrs. Alving (getting up slowly). The sins of the fathers--!
Oswald. I nearly struck him in the face.
Mrs. Alving (walking across the room). The sins of the fathers--!
Oswald (smiling sadly). Yes, just imagine! Naturally I assured him that what he thought was impossible. But do you think he paid any heed to me? No, he persisted in his opinion; and it was only when I got out your letters and translated to him all the passages that referred to my father--
Mrs. Alving. Well, and then?
Oswald. Well, then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong track; and then I learned the truth-- the incomprehensible truth! I ought to have had nothing to do with the joyous happy life I had lived with my comrades. It had been too much for my strength. So it was my own fault!
Mrs. Alving.