Mrs. Alving. I soon knew what to believe. My husband had his will of the girl--and that intimacy had consequences, Mr. Manders.
Manders (as if turned to stone). And all that in this house! In this house!
Mrs. Alving. I have suffered a good deal in this house. To keep him at home in the evening--and at night--I have had to play the part of boon companion in his secret drinking-bouts in his room up there. I have had to sit there alone with him, have had to hobnob and drink with him, have had to listen to his ribald senseless talk, have had to fight with brute force to get him to bed--Manders (trembling). And you were able to endure all this!
Mrs. Alving. I had my little boy, and endured it for his sake.
But when the crowning insult came--when my own servant--then Imade up my mind that there should be an end of it. I took the upper hand in the house, absolutely--both with him and all the others. I had a weapon to use against him, you see; he didn't dare to speak. It was then that Oswald was sent away. He was about seven then, and was beginning to notice things and ask questions as children will. I could endure all that, my friend.
It seemed to me that the child would be poisoned if he breathed the air of this polluted house. That was why I sent him away. And now you understand, too, why he never set foot here as long as his father was alive. No one knows what it meant to me.
Manders. You have indeed had a pitiable experience.
Mrs. Alving. I could never have gone through with it, if I had not had my work. Indeed, I can boast that I have worked. All the increase in the value of the property, all the improvements, all the useful arrangements that my husband got the honour and glory of--do you suppose that he troubled himself about any of them?
He, who used to lie the whole day on the sofa reading old official lists! No, you may as well know that too. It was I that kept him up to the mark when he had his lucid intervals; it was Ithat had to bear the whole burden of it when he began his excesses again or took to whining about his miserable condition.
Manders. And this is the man you are building a memorial to!
Mrs. Alving. There you see the power of an uneasy conscience.
Manders. An uneasy conscience? What do you mean?
Mrs. Alving. I had always before me the fear that it was impossible that the truth should not come out and be believed.
That is why the Orphanage is to exist, to silence all rumours and clear away all doubt.
Manders. You certainly have not fallen short of the mark in that, Mrs. Alving.
Mrs. Alving. I had another very good reason. I did not wish Oswald, my own son, to inherit a penny that belonged to his father.
Manders. Then it is with Mr. Alving's property.
Mrs. Alving. Yes. The sums of money that, year after year, I have given towards this Orphanage, make up the amount of property--Ihave reckoned it carefully--which in the old days made Lieutenant Alving a catch.
Manders. I understand.
Mrs. Alving. That was my purchase money. I don't wish it to pass into Oswald's hands. My son shall have everything from me, I am determined.
(OSWALD comes in by the farther door on the right. He has left his hat and coat outside.)Mrs. Alving. Back again, my own dear boy?
Oswald. Yes, what can one do outside in this everlasting rain? Ihear dinner is nearly ready. That's good!
(REGINA comes in front the dining-room, carrying a parcel.)Regina. This parcel has come for you, ma'am. (Gives it to her.)Mrs. Alving (glancing at MANDERS). The ode to be sung tomorrow, Iexpect.
Manders. Hm--!
Regina. And dinner is ready.
Mrs. Alving. Good. We will come in a moment. I will just--(begins to open the parcel).
Regina (to OSWALD). Will you drink white or red wine, sir?
Oswald. Both, Miss Engstrand.
Regina. Bien--very good, Mr. Alving. (Goes into the dining-room.)Oswald. I may as well help you to uncork it--. (Follows her into the dining-room, leaving the door ajar after him.)Mrs. Alving. Yes, I thought so. Here is the ode, Mr Manders.
Manders (clasping his hands). How shall I ever have the courage tomorrow to speak the address that--Mrs. Alving. Oh, you will get through it.
Manders (in a low voice, fearing to be heard in the dining room).
Yes, we must raise no suspicions.
Mrs. Alving (quietly but firmly). No; and then this long dreadful comedy will be at an end. After tomorrow, I shall feel as if my dead husband had never lived in this house. There will be no one else here then but my boy and his mother.
(From the dining-room is heard the noise of a chair falling;then REGINA'S voice is heard in a loud whisper: Oswald! Are you mad? Let me go!)Mrs. Alving (starting in horror). Oh--!
(She stares wildly at the half-open door. OSWALD is heard coughing and humming, then the sound of a bottle being uncorked.)Manders (in an agitated manner). What's the matter? What is it, Mrs. Alving?
Mrs. Alving (hoarsely). Ghosts. The couple in the conservatory--over again.
Manders. What are you saying! Regina--? Is SHE--!
Mrs. Alving. Yes, Come. Not a word--!
(Grips MANDERS by the arm and walks unsteadily with him into the dining-room.)
