understand. I have never led a dissipated life—never, in any respect.
You mustn’t believe that of me, mother! I’ve never done that.
MRS. ALVING.
I am sure you haven’t, Oswald.
OSWALD.
And yet this has come upon me just the same—this awful misfortune!
MRS. ALVING.
Oh, but it will pass over, my dear, blessëd boy. It’s nothing but
over-work. Trust me, I am right.
OSWALD.
[_Sadly._] I thought so too, at first; but it isn’t so.
MRS. ALVING.
Tell me everything, from beginning to end.
OSWALD.
Yes, I will.
MRS. ALVING.
When did you first notice it?
OSWALD.
It was directly after I had been home last time, and had got back to
Paris again. I began to feel the most violent pains in my head—chiefly
in the back of my head, they seemed to come. It was as though a tight
iron ring was being screwed round my neck and upwards.
MRS. ALVING.
Well, and then?
OSWALD.
At first I thought it was nothing but the ordinary headache I had been
so plagued with while I was growing up——
MRS. ALVING.
Yes, yes——
OSWALD.
But it wasn’t that. I soon found that out. I couldn’t work any more. I
wanted to begin upon a big new picture, but my powers seemed to fail me;
all my strength was crippled; I could form no definite images;
everything swam before me—whirling round and round. Oh, it was an awful
state! At last I sent for a doctor—and from him I learned the truth.
MRS. ALVING.
How do you mean?
OSWALD.
He was one of the first doctors in Paris. I told him my symptoms; and
then he set to work asking me a string of questions which I thought had
nothing to do with the matter. I couldn’t imagine what the man was
after——
MRS. ALVING.
Well?
OSWALD.
At last he said: “There has been something worm-eaten in you from your
birth.” He used that very word—_vermoulu_.
MRS. ALVING.
[_Breathlessly._] What did he mean by that?
OSWALD.
I didn’t understand either, and begged him to explain himself more
clearly. 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 upon the children.”
MRS. ALVING.
[_Rising slowly._] The sins of the fathers——!
OSWALD.
I very nearly struck him in the face——
MRS. ALVING.
[_Walks away across the room._] The sins of the fathers——
OSWALD.
[_Smiles sadly._] Yes; what do you think of that? Of course I assured
him that such a thing was out of the question. But do you think he gave
in? No, he stuck to it; and it was only when I produced your letters and
translated the passages relating to father——
MRS. ALVING.
But _then_——?
OSWALD.
Then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong track; and so I
learned the truth—the incomprehensible truth! I ought not to have taken
part with my comrades in that light-hearted, glorious life of theirs. It
had been too much for my strength. So I had brought it upon myself!
MRS. ALVING.
Oswald! No, no; do not believe it!
OSWALD.
No other explanation was possible, he said. _That’s_ the awful part of
it. Incurably ruined for life—by my own heedlessness! All that I meant
to have done in the world—I never dare think of it again—I’m not _able_
to think of it. Oh! if I could only live over again, and undo all I have
done! [_He buries his face in the sofa._
MRS. ALVING.
[_Wrings her hands and walks, in silent struggle, backwards and
forwards._]
OSWALD.
[_After a while, looks up and remains resting upon his elbow._] If it
had only been something inherited—something one wasn’t responsible for!
But this! To have thrown away so shamefully, thoughtlessly, recklessly,
one’s own happiness, one’s own health, everything in the world—one’s
future, one’s very life——!
MRS. ALVING.
No, no, my dear, darling boy; this is impossible! [_Bends over him._]
Things are not so desperate as you think.
OSWALD.
Oh, you don’t know——[_Springs up._] And then, mother, to cause you all
this sorrow! Many a time I have almost wished and hoped that at bottom
you didn’t care so very much about me.
MRS. ALVING.
I, Oswald? My only boy! You are all I have in the world! The only thing
I care about!
OSWALD.
[_Seizes both her hands and kisses them._] Yes, yes, I see it. When I’m
at home, I see it, of course; and that’s almost the hardest part for
me.—But now you know the whole story; and now we won’t talk any more
about it to-day. I daren’t think of it for long together. [_Goes up the
room._] Get me something to drink, mother.
MRS. ALVING.
To drink? What do you want to drink now?
OSWALD.
Oh, anything you like. You have some cold punch in the house.
MRS. ALVING.
Yes, but my dear Oswald——
OSWALD.
Don’t refuse me, mother. Do be kind, now! I _must_ have something to
wash down all these gnawing thoughts. [_Goes into the conservatory._]
And then——it’s so dark here! [_MRS. ALVING pulls a bell-rope on the
right._] And this ceaseless rain! It may go on week after week, for
months together. Never to get a glimpse of the sun! I can’t recollect
ever having seen the sun shine all the times I’ve been at home.
MRS. ALVING.
Oswald—you are thinking of going away from me.
OSWALD.
H’m—[_Drawing a heavy breath._]—I’m not thinking of anything. I _cannot_
think of anything! [_In a low voice._] I let thinking alone.
REGINA.
[_From the dining-room._] Did you ring, ma’am?
MRS. ALVING.
Yes; let us have the lamp in.
REGINA.
Yes, ma’am. It’s ready lighted. [_Goes out._
MRS. ALVING.
[_Goes across to OSWALD._] Oswald, be frank with me.
OSWALD.
Well, so I am, mother. [_Goes to the table._] I think I have told you
enough.
[_REGINA brings the lamp and sets it upon the table._
MRS. ALVING.
Regina, you may bring us a small bottle of champagne.
REGINA.
Very well, ma’am. [_Goes out._
OSWALD.
[_Puts his arm round MRS. ALVING’S neck._] That’s just what I wanted. I
knew mother wouldn’t let her boy go thirsty.
MRS. ALVING.
My own, poor, darling Oswald; how could I deny you anything now?
OSWALD.
[_Eagerly._] Is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
MRS. ALVING.
How? What?
OSWALD.
That you couldn’t deny me anything.
MRS. ALVING.
My dear Oswald——
OSWALD.
Hush!
REGINA.
[_Brings a tray with a half-bottle of champagne and two glasses, which
she sets on the table._] Shall I open it?
OSWALD.
No, thanks. I will do it myself.
[_REGINA goes out again._
MRS. ALVING.
[_Sits down by the table._] What was it you meant—that I musn’t deny
you?
OSWALD.
[_Busy opening the bottle._] First let us have a glass—or two.
[_The cork pops; he pours wine into one glass, and is about to
pour it into the other._
MRS. ALVING.
[_Holding her hand over it._] Thanks; not for me.
OSWALD.
Oh! won’t you? Then I will!
[_He empties the glass, fills, and empties it again; then he
sits down by the table._
MRS. ALVING.
[_In expectancy._] Well?
OSWALD.
[_Without looking at her._] Tell me—I thought you and Pastor Manders
seemed so odd—so quiet—at dinner to-day.
MRS. ALVING.
Did you notice it?
OSWALD.
Yes. H’m——[_After a short silence._] Tell me: what do you think of
Regina?
MRS. ALVING.
What do I think?
OSWALD.
Yes; isn’t she splendid?
MRS. ALVING.
My dear Oswald, you don’t know her as I do——
OSWALD.
Well?
MRS. ALVING.
Regina, unfortunately, was allowed to stay at home too long. I ought to
have taken her earlier into my house.
OSWALD.
Yes, but isn’t she splendid to look at, mother?
[_He fills his glass._
MRS. ALVING.
Regina has many serious faults——
OSWALD.
Oh, what does that matter?
[_He drinks again._
MRS. ALVING.
But I am fond of her, nevertheless, and I am responsible for her. I
wouldn’t for all the world have any harm happen to her.
OSWALD.
[_Springs up._] Mother, Regina is my only salvation!
MRS. ALVING.
[_Rising._] What do you mean by that?
OSWALD.
I cannot go on bearing all this anguish of soul alone.
MRS. ALVING.
Have you not your mother to share it with you?
OSWALD.
Yes; that’s what I thought; and so I came home to you. But that will not
do. I see it won’t do. I cannot endure my life here.
MRS. ALVING.
Oswald!
OSWALD.
I must live differently, mother. That is why I must leave you. I will
not have you looking on at it.
MRS. ALVING.
My unhappy boy! But, Oswald, while you are so ill as this——
OSWALD.
If it were only the illness, I should stay with you, mother, you may be
sure; for you are the best friend I have in the world.
MRS. ALVING.
Yes, indeed I am, Oswald; am I not?
OSWALD.
[_Wanders restlessly about._] But it’s all the torment, the gnawing
remorse—and then, the great, killing dread. Oh—that awful dread!
MRS. ALVING.
[_Walking after him._] Dread? What dread? What do you mean?
OSWALD.
Oh, you mustn’t ask me any more. I don’t know. I can’t describe it.
MRS. ALVING.
[_Goes over to the right and pulls the bell._]
OSWALD.
What is it you want?
MRS. ALVING.
I want my boy to be happy—that is what I want. He sha’n’t go on brooding
over things. [_To REGINA, who appears at the door:_] More champagne—a
large bottle. [_REGINA goes._
OSWALD.
Mother!
MRS. ALVING.
Do you think we don’t know how to live here at home?
OSWALD.
Isn’t she splendid to look at? How beautifully she’s built! And so
thoroughly healthy!
MRS. ALVING.
[_Sits by the table._] Sit down, Oswald; let us talk quietly together.
OSWALD.
[_Sits._] I daresay you don’t know, mother, that I owe Regina some
reparation.
MRS. ALVING.
You!
OSWALD.
For a bit of thoughtlessness, or whatever you like to call it—very
innocent, at any rate. When I was home last time——
MRS. ALVING.
Well?
OSWALD.
She used often to ask me about Paris, and I used to tell her one thing
and another. Then I recollect I happened to say to her one day,
“Shouldn’t you like to go there yourself?”
MRS. ALVING.
Well?
OSWALD.
I saw her face flush, and then she said, “Yes, I should like it of all
things.” “Ah, well,” I replied, “it might perhaps be managed”—or
something like that.
MRS. ALVING.
And then?
OSWALD.
Of course I had forgotten all about it; but the day before yesterday I
happened to ask her whether she was glad I was to stay at home so long——
MRS. ALVING.
Yes?
OSWALD.
And then she gave me such a strange look, and asked, “But what’s to
become of my trip to Paris?”
MRS. ALVING.
Her trip!
OSWALD.
And so it came out that she had taken the thing seriously; that she had
been thinking of me the whole time, and had set to work to learn
French——
MRS. ALVING.
So _that_ was why——!
OSWALD.
Mother—when I saw that fresh, lovely, splendid girl standing there
before me—till then I had hardly noticed her—but when she stood there as
though with open arms ready to receive me——
MRS. ALVING.
Oswald!
OSWALD.
——then it flashed upon me that in her lay my salvation; for I saw that
she was full of the joy of life.
MRS. ALVING.
[_Starts._] The joy of life——? Can there be salvation in _that_?
REGINA.
[_From the dining-room, with a bottle of champagne._] I’m sorry to have
been so long, but I had to go to the cellar. [_Places the bottle on
the table._
OSWALD.
And now bring another glass.
REGINA.
[_Looks at him in surprise._] There is Mrs. Alving’s glass, Mr. Alving.
OSWALD.
Yes, but bring one for yourself, Regina. [_REGINA starts and gives a
lightning-like side glance at MRS. ALVING._] Why do you wait?
REGINA.
[_Softly and hesitatingly._] Is it Mrs. Alving’s wish?
MRS. ALVING.
Bring the glass, Regina.
[_REGINA goes out into the dining-room._
OSWALD.
[_Follows her with his eyes._] Have you noticed how she walks?—so firmly
and lightly!
MRS. ALVING.
This can never be, Oswald!
OSWALD.
It’s a settled thing. Can’t you see that? It’s no use saying anything
against it.
[_REGINA enters with an empty glass, which she keeps in her
hand._
OSWALD.
Sit down, Regina.
[_REGINA looks inquiringly at Mrs. Alving._
MRS. ALVING.
Sit down. [_REGINA sits on a chair by the dining-room door, still
holding the empty glass in her hand._] Oswald—what were you saying about
the joy of life?
OSWALD.
Ah, the joy of life, mother—that’s a thing you don’t know much about in
these parts. I have never felt it here.
MRS. ALVING.
Not when you are with me?
OSWALD.
Not when I’m at home. But you don’t understand that.
MRS. ALVING.
Yes, yes; I think I almost understand it—now.
OSWALD.
And then, too, the joy of work! At bottom, it’s the same thing. But
that, too, you know nothing about.
MRS. ALVING.
Perhaps you are right. Tell me more about it, Oswald.
OSWALD.
I only mean that here people are brought up to believe that work is a
curse and a punishment for sin, and that life is something miserable,
something it would be best to have done with, the sooner the better.
MRS. ALVING.
“A vale of tears,” yes; and we certainly do our best to make it one.
OSWALD.
But in the great world people won’t hear of such things. There, nobody
really believes such doctrines any longer. There, you feel it a positive
bliss and ecstasy merely to draw the breath of life. Mother, have you
noticed that everything I have painted has turned upon the joy of
life?—always, always upon the joy of life?—light and sunshine and
glorious air—and faces radiant with happiness. That is why I’m afraid of
remaining at home with you.
MRS. ALVING.
Afraid? What are you afraid of here, with me?
OSWALD.
I’m afraid lest all my instincts should be warped into ugliness.
MRS. ALVING.
[_Looks steadily at him._] Do you think _that_ is what would happen?
OSWALD.
I know it. You may live the same life here as there, and yet it won’t be
the same life.
MRS. ALVING.
[_Who has been listening eagerly, rises, her eyes big with thought, and
says:_] Now I see the sequence of things.
OSWALD.
What is it you see?
MRS. ALVING.
I see it now for the first time. And now I can speak.
OSWALD.
[_Rising._] Mother, I don’t understand you.
REGINA.
[_Who has also risen._] Perhaps I ought to go?
MRS. ALVING.
No. Stay here. Now I can speak. Now, my boy, you shall know the whole
truth. And then you can choose. Oswald! Regina!
OSWALD.
Hush! The Pastor——
MANDERS.
[_Enters by the hall door._] There! We have had a most edifying time
down there.
OSWALD.
So have we.
MANDERS.
We must stand by Engstrand and his Sailors’ Home. Regina must go to him
and help him——
REGINA.
No thank you, sir.
MANDERS.
[_Noticing her for the first time._] What——? You here? And with a glass
in your hand!
REGINA.
[_Hastily putting the glass down._] _Pardon!_
OSWALD.
Regina is going with _me_, Mr. Manders.
MANDERS.
Going! With you!
OSWALD.
Yes; as my wife—if she wishes it.
MANDERS.
But, merciful God——!
REGINA.
I can’t help it, sir.
OSWALD.
Or she’ll stay here, if I stay.
REGINA.
[_Involuntarily._] Here!
MANDERS.
I am thunderstruck at your conduct, Mrs. Alving.
MRS. ALVING.
They will do neither one thing nor the other; for now I can speak out
plainly.
MANDERS.
You surely will not do that! No, no, no!
MRS. ALVING.
Yes, I can speak and I will. And no ideals shall suffer after all.
OSWALD.
Mother—what is it you are hiding from me?
REGINA.
[_Listening._] Oh, ma’am, listen! Don’t you hear shouts outside.
[_She goes into the conservatory and looks out._
OSWALD.
[_At the window on the left._] What’s going on? Where does that light
come from?
REGINA.
[_Cries out._] The Orphanage is on fire!
MRS. ALVING.
[_Rushing to the window._] On fire!
MANDERS.
On fire! Impossible! I’ve just come from there.
OSWALD.
Where’s my hat? Oh, never mind it—Father’s Orphanage——!
[_He rushes out through the garden door._
MRS. ALVING.
My shawl, Regina! The whole place is in a blaze!
MANDERS.
Terrible! Mrs. Alving, it is a judgment upon this abode of lawlessness.
MRS. ALVING.
Yes, of course. Come, Regina.
[_She and REGINA hasten out through the hall._
MANDERS.
[_Clasps his hands together._] And we left it uninsured!
[_He goes out the same way._
-----
Footnote 13:
A phrase equivalent to the German _Prosit die Mahlzeit_—“May good
digestion wait on appetite.”
ACT THIRD.
_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 pike-staff, 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’S overcoat._
MANDERS.
Good-bye, Mrs. Alving! and may the spirit of Law and Order descend upon
this house, and that quickly.
MRS. ALVING.
Good-bye, 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._] Good-bye, 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. Good-bye!
Good-bye!
[_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 blessëd 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.