Ghosts [7]
father--
Mrs. Alving. I know best what sort of a father he has been to her. No, she shall never go to him with my consent.
Manders (getting up). My dear lady, don't judge so hastily. It is very sad how you misjudge poor Engstrand. One would really think you were afraid...
Mrs. Alving (more calmly). That is not the question. I have taken Regina into my charge, and in my charge she remains. (Listens.) Hush, dear Mr. Manders, don't say any more about it. (Her face brightens with pleasure.) Listen! Oswald is coming downstairs. We will only think about him now.
(OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand and smoking a big meerschaum pipe, comes in by the door on the left.)
Oswald (standing in the doorway). Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were in the office. (Comes in.) Good morning, Mr. Manders.
Manders (staring at him). Well! It's most extraordinary.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
Manders. I-I-no, can it possibly be--?
Oswald. Yes, it really is the prodigal son, Mr. Manders.
Manders. Oh, my dear young friend--
Oswald. Well, the son came home, then.
Mrs. Alving. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so opposed to the idea of his being a painter.
Manders. We are only fallible, and many steps seem to us hazardous at first, that afterwards--(grasps his hand). Welcome, welcome! Really, my dear Oswald--may I still call you Oswald?
Oswald. What else would you think of calling me?
Manders. Thank you. What I mean, my dear Oswald, is that you must not imagine that I have any unqualified disapproval of the artist's life. I admit that there are many who, even in that career, can keep the inner man free from harm.
Oswald. Let us hope so.
Mrs. Alving (beaming with pleasure). I know one who has kept both the inner and the outer man free from harm. Just take a look at him, Mr. Manders.
Oswald (walks across the room). Yes, yes, mother dear, of course.
Manders. Undoubtedly--no one can deny it. And I hear you have begun to make a name for yourself. I have often seen mention of you in the papers--and extremely favourable mention, too. Although, I must admit, lately I have not seen your name so often.
Oswald (going towards the conservatory). I haven't done so much painting just lately.
Mrs. Alving. An artist must take a rest sometimes, like other people.
Manders. Of course, of course. At those times the artist is preparing and strengthening himself for a greater effort.
Oswald. Yes. Mother, will dinner soon be ready?
Mrs. Alving. In half an hour. He has a fine appetite, thank goodness.
Manders. And a liking for tobacco too.
Oswald. I found father's pipe in the room upstairs, and--
Manders. Ah, that is what it was!
Mrs. Alving. What?
Manders. When Oswald came in at that door with the pipe in his mouth, I thought for the moment it was his father in the flesh.
Oswald. Really?
Mrs. Alving. How can you say so! Oswald takes after me.
Manders. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of his mouth--something about the lips--that reminds me so exactly of Mr. Alving--especially when he smokes.
Mrs. Alving. I don't think so at all. To my mind, Oswald has much more of a clergyman's mouth.
Menders. Well, yes--a good many of my colleagues in the church have a similar expression.
Mrs. Alving. But put your pipe down, my dear boy. I don't allow any smoking in here.
Oswald (puts down his pipe). All right, I only wanted to try it, because I smoked it once when I was a child.
Mrs. Alving. You?
Oswald. Yes; it was when I was quite a little chap. And I can remember going upstairs to father's room one evening when he was in very good spirits.
Mrs. Alving. Oh, you can't remember anything about those days.
Oswald. Yes, I remember plainly that he took me on his knee and let me smoke his pipe. "Smoke, my boy," he said, "have a good smoke, boy!" And I smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was turning quite pale and the perspiration was standing in great drops on my forehead. Then he laughed--such a hearty
Mrs. Alving. I know best what sort of a father he has been to her. No, she shall never go to him with my consent.
Manders (getting up). My dear lady, don't judge so hastily. It is very sad how you misjudge poor Engstrand. One would really think you were afraid...
Mrs. Alving (more calmly). That is not the question. I have taken Regina into my charge, and in my charge she remains. (Listens.) Hush, dear Mr. Manders, don't say any more about it. (Her face brightens with pleasure.) Listen! Oswald is coming downstairs. We will only think about him now.
(OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand and smoking a big meerschaum pipe, comes in by the door on the left.)
Oswald (standing in the doorway). Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were in the office. (Comes in.) Good morning, Mr. Manders.
Manders (staring at him). Well! It's most extraordinary.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
Manders. I-I-no, can it possibly be--?
Oswald. Yes, it really is the prodigal son, Mr. Manders.
Manders. Oh, my dear young friend--
Oswald. Well, the son came home, then.
Mrs. Alving. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so opposed to the idea of his being a painter.
Manders. We are only fallible, and many steps seem to us hazardous at first, that afterwards--(grasps his hand). Welcome, welcome! Really, my dear Oswald--may I still call you Oswald?
Oswald. What else would you think of calling me?
Manders. Thank you. What I mean, my dear Oswald, is that you must not imagine that I have any unqualified disapproval of the artist's life. I admit that there are many who, even in that career, can keep the inner man free from harm.
Oswald. Let us hope so.
Mrs. Alving (beaming with pleasure). I know one who has kept both the inner and the outer man free from harm. Just take a look at him, Mr. Manders.
Oswald (walks across the room). Yes, yes, mother dear, of course.
Manders. Undoubtedly--no one can deny it. And I hear you have begun to make a name for yourself. I have often seen mention of you in the papers--and extremely favourable mention, too. Although, I must admit, lately I have not seen your name so often.
Oswald (going towards the conservatory). I haven't done so much painting just lately.
Mrs. Alving. An artist must take a rest sometimes, like other people.
Manders. Of course, of course. At those times the artist is preparing and strengthening himself for a greater effort.
Oswald. Yes. Mother, will dinner soon be ready?
Mrs. Alving. In half an hour. He has a fine appetite, thank goodness.
Manders. And a liking for tobacco too.
Oswald. I found father's pipe in the room upstairs, and--
Manders. Ah, that is what it was!
Mrs. Alving. What?
Manders. When Oswald came in at that door with the pipe in his mouth, I thought for the moment it was his father in the flesh.
Oswald. Really?
Mrs. Alving. How can you say so! Oswald takes after me.
Manders. Yes, but there is an expression about the corners of his mouth--something about the lips--that reminds me so exactly of Mr. Alving--especially when he smokes.
Mrs. Alving. I don't think so at all. To my mind, Oswald has much more of a clergyman's mouth.
Menders. Well, yes--a good many of my colleagues in the church have a similar expression.
Mrs. Alving. But put your pipe down, my dear boy. I don't allow any smoking in here.
Oswald (puts down his pipe). All right, I only wanted to try it, because I smoked it once when I was a child.
Mrs. Alving. You?
Oswald. Yes; it was when I was quite a little chap. And I can remember going upstairs to father's room one evening when he was in very good spirits.
Mrs. Alving. Oh, you can't remember anything about those days.
Oswald. Yes, I remember plainly that he took me on his knee and let me smoke his pipe. "Smoke, my boy," he said, "have a good smoke, boy!" And I smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was turning quite pale and the perspiration was standing in great drops on my forehead. Then he laughed--such a hearty