Ghosts

show of right. Mrs. Alving Looking steadily at him. If I were what I ought to be, I should go to Oswald and say, “Listen, my boy: your father led a vicious life⁠—” Manders Merciful heavens⁠—! Mrs. Alving —and then I should tell him all I have told you⁠—every word of it. Manders You shock me unspeakably, Mrs. Alving. Mrs. Alving Yes; I know that. I know that very well. I myself am shocked at the idea. Goes away from the window. I am such a coward. Manders You call it “cowardice” to do your plain duty? Have you forgotten that a son ought to love and honour his father and mother? Mrs. Alving Do not let us talk in such general terms. Let us ask: Ought Oswald to love and honour Chamberlain Alving? Manders Is there no voice in your mother’s heart that forbids you to destroy your son’s ideals? Mrs. Alving But what about the truth? Manders But what about the ideals? Mrs. Alving Oh⁠—ideals, ideals! If only I were not such a coward! Manders Do not despise ideals, Mrs. Alving; they will avenge themselves cruelly. Take Oswald’s case: he, unfortunately, seems to have few enough ideals as it is; but I can see that his father stands before him as an ideal. Mrs. Alving Yes, that is true. Manders And this habit of mind you have yourself implanted and fostered by your letters. Mrs. Alving Yes; in my superstitious awe for duty and the proprieties, I lied to my boy, year after year. Oh, what a coward⁠—what a coward I have been! Manders You have established a happy illusion in your son’s heart, Mrs. Alving; and assuredly you ought not to undervalue it. Mrs. Alving H’m; who knows whether it is so happy after all⁠—? But, at any rate, I will not have any tampering with Regina. He shall not go and wreck the poor girl’s life. Manders No; good God⁠—that would be terrible! Mrs. Alving If I knew he was in earnest, and that it would be for his happiness⁠— Manders What? What then? Mrs. Alving But it couldn’t be; for unfortunately Regina is not the right sort of woman. Manders Well, what then? What do you mean? Mrs. Alving If I weren’t such a pitiful coward, I should say to him, “Marry her, or make what arrangement you please, only let us have nothing underhand about it.” Manders Merciful heavens, would you let them marry! Anything so dreadful⁠—! so unheard of⁠— Mrs. Alving Do you really mean “unheard of”? Frankly, Pastor Manders, do you suppose that throughout the country there are not plenty of married couples as closely akin as they? Manders I don’t in the least understand you. Mrs. Alving Oh yes, indeed you do. Manders Ah, you are thinking of the possibility that⁠—Alas! yes, family life is certainly not always so pure as it ought to be. But in such a case as you point to, one can never know⁠—at least with any certainty. Here, on the other hand⁠—that you, a mother, can think of letting your son⁠— Mrs. Alving But I cannot⁠—I wouldn’t for anything in the world; that is precisely what I am saying. Manders No, because you are a “coward,” as you put it. But if you were not a “coward,” then⁠—? Good God! a connection so shocking! Mrs. Alving So far as that goes, they say we are all sprung from connections of that sort. And who is it that arranged the world so, Pastor Manders? Manders Questions of that kind I must decline to discuss with you, Mrs. Alving; you are far from being in the right frame of mind for them. But that you dare to call your scruples “cowardly”⁠—! Mrs. Alving Let me tell you what I mean. I am timid and fainthearted because of the ghosts that hang about me, and that I can never quite shake off. Manders What do you say hangs about you? Mrs. Alving Ghosts! When I heard Regina and Oswald in there, it was as though ghosts rose up before me. But I almost think we are all of us ghosts, Pastor Manders. It is not only what we have inherited from our father and mother that “walks” in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas, and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no vitality, but they cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake them off. Whenever I take up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts gliding between the lines. There must be ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sands of the sea. And then we are, one and all, so pitifully afraid of the light. Manders Aha⁠—here we have the fruits of your reading. And pretty fruits they are, upon my word! Oh, those horrible, revolutionary, freethinking books! Mrs. Alving You are mistaken, my dear Pastor. It was you yourself who set me thinking; and I thank you for it with all my heart. Manders I! Mrs. Alving Yes⁠—when you forced me under the yoke of what you called duty and obligation; when you lauded as right and proper what my whole soul rebelled against as something loathsome. It was then that I began to look into the seams of your doctrines. I wanted only to pick at a single knot; but when I had got that undone, the whole thing ravelled out. And then I understood that it was all machine-sewn. Manders Softly, with emotion. And was that the upshot of my life’s hardest battle? Mrs. Alving Call it rather your most pitiful defeat. Manders It was my greatest victory, Helen⁠—the victory over myself. Mrs. Alving It was a crime against us both. Manders When you went astray, and came to me crying, “Here I am; take me!” I commanded you, saying, “Woman, go home to your lawful husband.” Was that a crime? Mrs. Alving Yes, I think so. Manders We two do not understand each other. Mrs. Alving Not now, at any rate. Manders Never⁠—never in my most secret thoughts have I regarded you otherwise than as another’s wife. Mrs. Alving Oh⁠—indeed? Manders Helen⁠—! Mrs. Alving People so easily forget their past selves. Manders I do not. I am what I always was. Mrs. Alving Changing the subject. Well well well; don’t let us talk of old times any longer. You are now over head and ears in Boards and Committees, and I am fighting my battle