Ghosts [29]
I am going to tell you,
Mrs. Alving. But what is this dreadful thing--?
Oswald. You mustn't scream. Do you hear? Will you promise me that? We are going to sit and talk it over quite quietly. Will you promise me that, mother?
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes, I promise--only tell me what it is.
Oswald. Well, then, you must know that this fatigue of mine--and my mot being able to think about my work--all that is not really the illness itself--
Mrs. Alving. What is the illness itself?
Oswald. What I am suffering from is hereditary; it--(touches his forehead, and speaks very quietly)--it lies here.
Mrs. Alving (almost speechless). Oswald! No--no!
Oswald. Don't scream; I can't stand it. Yes, I tell you, it lies here, waiting. And any time, any moment, it may break out.
Mrs. Alving. How horrible--!
Oswald. Do keep quiet. That is the state I am in--
Mrs. Alving (springing up). It isn't true, Oswald! It is impossible! It can't be that!
Oswald. I had one attack while I was abroad. It passed off quickly. But when I learned the condition I had been in, then this dreadful haunting fear took possession of me.
Mrs. Alving. That was the fear, then--
Oswald. Yes, it is so indescribably horrible, you know If only it had been an ordinary mortal disease--. I am not so much afraid of dying; though, of course, I should like to live as long as I can.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must!
Oswald. But this is so appallingly horrible. To become like a helpless child again--to have to be fed, to have to be--. Oh, it's unspeakable!
Mrs. Alving. My child has his mother to tend him.
Oswald (jumping up). No, never; that is just what I won't endure! I dare not think what it would mean to linger on like that for years--to get old and grey like that. And you might die before I did. (Sits down in MRS. ALVING'S chair.) Because it doesn't necessarily have a fatal end quickly, the doctor said; he called it a kind of softening of the brain--or something of that sort. (Smiles mournfully.) I think that expression sounds so nice. It always makes me think of cherry-coloured velvet curtains-- something that is soft to stroke.
Mrs. Alving (with a scream). Oswald!
Oswald (jumps up and walks about the room). And now you have taken Regina from me! If I had only had her, she would have given me a helping hand, I know.
Mrs. Alving (going up to him). What do you mean, my darling boy? Is there any help in the world I would not be willing to give you?
Oswald. When I had recovered from the attack I had abroad, the doctor told me that when it recurred--and it will recur--there would be no more hope.
Mrs. Alving. And he was heartless enough to--
Oswald. I insisted on knowing. I told him I had arrangements to make--. (Smiles cunningly.) And so I had. (Takes a small box from his inner breast-pocket.) Mother, do you see this?
Mrs. Alving. What is it?
Oswald. Morphia powders.
Mrs. Alving (looking at him in terror). Oswald--my boy!
Oswald. I have twelve of them saved up--
Mrs. Alving (snatching at it). Give me the box, Oswald!
Oswald. Not yet, mother. (Puts it lack in his pocket.)
Mrs. Alving. I shall never get over this!
Oswald, You must. If I had had Regina here now, I would have told her quietly how things stand with me--and asked her to give me this last helping hand. She would have helped me, I am certain.
Mrs. Alving. Never!
Oswald. If this horrible thing had come upon me and she had seen me lying helpless, like a baby, past help, past saving, past hope--with no chance of recovering--
Mrs. Alving. Never in the world would Regina have done it.
Oswald. Regina would have done it. Regina was so splendidly light-hearted. And she would very soon have tired of looking after an invalid like me.
Mrs. Alving. Then thank heaven Regina is not here!
Oswald. Well, now you have got to give me that helping hand, mother.
Mrs. Alving (with a loud scream). I!
Oswald. Who has a better right than you?
Mrs. Alving. I! Your mother!
Oswald. Just for that reason.
Mrs. Alving. I,
Mrs. Alving. But what is this dreadful thing--?
Oswald. You mustn't scream. Do you hear? Will you promise me that? We are going to sit and talk it over quite quietly. Will you promise me that, mother?
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes, I promise--only tell me what it is.
Oswald. Well, then, you must know that this fatigue of mine--and my mot being able to think about my work--all that is not really the illness itself--
Mrs. Alving. What is the illness itself?
Oswald. What I am suffering from is hereditary; it--(touches his forehead, and speaks very quietly)--it lies here.
Mrs. Alving (almost speechless). Oswald! No--no!
Oswald. Don't scream; I can't stand it. Yes, I tell you, it lies here, waiting. And any time, any moment, it may break out.
Mrs. Alving. How horrible--!
Oswald. Do keep quiet. That is the state I am in--
Mrs. Alving (springing up). It isn't true, Oswald! It is impossible! It can't be that!
Oswald. I had one attack while I was abroad. It passed off quickly. But when I learned the condition I had been in, then this dreadful haunting fear took possession of me.
Mrs. Alving. That was the fear, then--
Oswald. Yes, it is so indescribably horrible, you know If only it had been an ordinary mortal disease--. I am not so much afraid of dying; though, of course, I should like to live as long as I can.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes, Oswald, you must!
Oswald. But this is so appallingly horrible. To become like a helpless child again--to have to be fed, to have to be--. Oh, it's unspeakable!
Mrs. Alving. My child has his mother to tend him.
Oswald (jumping up). No, never; that is just what I won't endure! I dare not think what it would mean to linger on like that for years--to get old and grey like that. And you might die before I did. (Sits down in MRS. ALVING'S chair.) Because it doesn't necessarily have a fatal end quickly, the doctor said; he called it a kind of softening of the brain--or something of that sort. (Smiles mournfully.) I think that expression sounds so nice. It always makes me think of cherry-coloured velvet curtains-- something that is soft to stroke.
Mrs. Alving (with a scream). Oswald!
Oswald (jumps up and walks about the room). And now you have taken Regina from me! If I had only had her, she would have given me a helping hand, I know.
Mrs. Alving (going up to him). What do you mean, my darling boy? Is there any help in the world I would not be willing to give you?
Oswald. When I had recovered from the attack I had abroad, the doctor told me that when it recurred--and it will recur--there would be no more hope.
Mrs. Alving. And he was heartless enough to--
Oswald. I insisted on knowing. I told him I had arrangements to make--. (Smiles cunningly.) And so I had. (Takes a small box from his inner breast-pocket.) Mother, do you see this?
Mrs. Alving. What is it?
Oswald. Morphia powders.
Mrs. Alving (looking at him in terror). Oswald--my boy!
Oswald. I have twelve of them saved up--
Mrs. Alving (snatching at it). Give me the box, Oswald!
Oswald. Not yet, mother. (Puts it lack in his pocket.)
Mrs. Alving. I shall never get over this!
Oswald, You must. If I had had Regina here now, I would have told her quietly how things stand with me--and asked her to give me this last helping hand. She would have helped me, I am certain.
Mrs. Alving. Never!
Oswald. If this horrible thing had come upon me and she had seen me lying helpless, like a baby, past help, past saving, past hope--with no chance of recovering--
Mrs. Alving. Never in the world would Regina have done it.
Oswald. Regina would have done it. Regina was so splendidly light-hearted. And she would very soon have tired of looking after an invalid like me.
Mrs. Alving. Then thank heaven Regina is not here!
Oswald. Well, now you have got to give me that helping hand, mother.
Mrs. Alving (with a loud scream). I!
Oswald. Who has a better right than you?
Mrs. Alving. I! Your mother!
Oswald. Just for that reason.
Mrs. Alving. I,