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!