Ghosts [28]
my dear boy--has it been a great shock to you?
Oswald (turning his face towards her). All this 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. What makes you think that? Naturally it has taken me entirely by surprise; but, after all, I don't know that it matters much to me.
Mrs. Alving (drawing back her hands). Doesn't matter!--that your father's life was such a terrible failure!
Oswald. Of course I can feel sympathy for him, just as I would for anyone else, but--
Mrs. Alving. No more than that! For your own father!
Oswald (impatiently). Father--father! I never knew anything of my father. I don't remember anything else about him except that he once made me sick.
Mrs. Alving. It is dreadful to think of!--But surely a child should feel some affection for his father, whatever happens?
Oswald. When the child has nothing to thank his father for? When he has never known him? Do you really cling to that antiquated superstition--you, who are so broad-minded in other things?
Mrs. Alving. You call it nothing but a superstition!
Oswald. Yes, and you can see that for yourself quite well, mother. It is one of those beliefs that are put into circulation in the world, and--
Mrs. Alving. Ghosts of beliefs!
Oswald (walking across the room). Yes, you might call them ghosts.
Mrs. Alving (with an outburst of feeling). Oswald! then you don't love me either!
Oswald. You I know, at any rate--
Mrs. Alving. You know me, yes; but is that all?
Oswald. And I know how fond you are of me, and I ought to be grateful to you for that. Besides, you can be so tremendously useful to me, now that I am ill.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, can't I, Oswald! I could almost bless your illness, as it has driven you home to me. For I see quite well that you are not my very own yet; you must be won.
Oswald (impatiently). Yes, yes, yes; all that is just a way of talking. You must remember I am a sick man, mother. I can't concern myself much with anyone else; I have enough to do, thinking about myself.
Mrs. Alving (gently). I will be very good and patient.
Oswald. And cheerful too, mother!
Mrs. Alving. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. (Goes up to him.) Now have I taken away all your remorse and self-reproach?
Oswald. Yes, you have done that. But who will take away the fear?
Mrs. Alving. The fear?
Oswald (crossing the room). Regina would have done it for one kind word.
Mrs. Alving. I don't understand you. What fear do you mean--and what has Regina to do with it?
Oswald. Is it very late, mother?
Mrs. Alving. It is early morning. (Looks out through the conservatory windows.) The dawn is breaking already on the heights. And the sky is clear, Oswald. In a little while you will see the sun.
Oswald. I am glad of that. After all, there may be many things yet for me to be glad of and to live for--
Mrs. Alving. I should hope so!
Oswald. Even if I am not able to work--
Mrs. Alving. You will soon find you are able to work again now, my dear boy. You have no longer all those painful depressing thoughts to brood over.
Oswald. No, it is a good thing that you have been able to rid me of those fancies; if only, now, I could overcome this one thing-- (Sits down on the couch.) Let us have a little chat, mother.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, let us. (Pushes an armchair near to the couch and sits down beside him.)
Oswald. The sun is rising--and you know all about it; so I don't feel the fear any longer.
Mrs. Alving. I know all about what?
Oswald (without listening to her). Mother, isn't it the case that you said this evening there was nothing in the world you would not do for me if I asked you?
Mrs. Alving. Yes, certainly I said so.
Oswald. And will you be as good as your word, mother?
Mrs. Alving. You may rely upon that, my own dear boy. I have nothing else to live for, but you.
Oswald. Yes, yes; well, listen to me, mother, You are very strong-minded, I know. I want you to sit quite quiet when you hear what
Oswald (turning his face towards her). All this 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. What makes you think that? Naturally it has taken me entirely by surprise; but, after all, I don't know that it matters much to me.
Mrs. Alving (drawing back her hands). Doesn't matter!--that your father's life was such a terrible failure!
Oswald. Of course I can feel sympathy for him, just as I would for anyone else, but--
Mrs. Alving. No more than that! For your own father!
Oswald (impatiently). Father--father! I never knew anything of my father. I don't remember anything else about him except that he once made me sick.
Mrs. Alving. It is dreadful to think of!--But surely a child should feel some affection for his father, whatever happens?
Oswald. When the child has nothing to thank his father for? When he has never known him? Do you really cling to that antiquated superstition--you, who are so broad-minded in other things?
Mrs. Alving. You call it nothing but a superstition!
Oswald. Yes, and you can see that for yourself quite well, mother. It is one of those beliefs that are put into circulation in the world, and--
Mrs. Alving. Ghosts of beliefs!
Oswald (walking across the room). Yes, you might call them ghosts.
Mrs. Alving (with an outburst of feeling). Oswald! then you don't love me either!
Oswald. You I know, at any rate--
Mrs. Alving. You know me, yes; but is that all?
Oswald. And I know how fond you are of me, and I ought to be grateful to you for that. Besides, you can be so tremendously useful to me, now that I am ill.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, can't I, Oswald! I could almost bless your illness, as it has driven you home to me. For I see quite well that you are not my very own yet; you must be won.
Oswald (impatiently). Yes, yes, yes; all that is just a way of talking. You must remember I am a sick man, mother. I can't concern myself much with anyone else; I have enough to do, thinking about myself.
Mrs. Alving (gently). I will be very good and patient.
Oswald. And cheerful too, mother!
Mrs. Alving. Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. (Goes up to him.) Now have I taken away all your remorse and self-reproach?
Oswald. Yes, you have done that. But who will take away the fear?
Mrs. Alving. The fear?
Oswald (crossing the room). Regina would have done it for one kind word.
Mrs. Alving. I don't understand you. What fear do you mean--and what has Regina to do with it?
Oswald. Is it very late, mother?
Mrs. Alving. It is early morning. (Looks out through the conservatory windows.) The dawn is breaking already on the heights. And the sky is clear, Oswald. In a little while you will see the sun.
Oswald. I am glad of that. After all, there may be many things yet for me to be glad of and to live for--
Mrs. Alving. I should hope so!
Oswald. Even if I am not able to work--
Mrs. Alving. You will soon find you are able to work again now, my dear boy. You have no longer all those painful depressing thoughts to brood over.
Oswald. No, it is a good thing that you have been able to rid me of those fancies; if only, now, I could overcome this one thing-- (Sits down on the couch.) Let us have a little chat, mother.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, let us. (Pushes an armchair near to the couch and sits down beside him.)
Oswald. The sun is rising--and you know all about it; so I don't feel the fear any longer.
Mrs. Alving. I know all about what?
Oswald (without listening to her). Mother, isn't it the case that you said this evening there was nothing in the world you would not do for me if I asked you?
Mrs. Alving. Yes, certainly I said so.
Oswald. And will you be as good as your word, mother?
Mrs. Alving. You may rely upon that, my own dear boy. I have nothing else to live for, but you.
Oswald. Yes, yes; well, listen to me, mother, You are very strong-minded, I know. I want you to sit quite quiet when you hear what