in which immorality runs rampant abroad? 
MANDERS. Yes, no doubt-- 
MRS. ALVING. I have too. 
OSWALD. Well, you may take their word for it. They know what they are talking about! [Presses his hands to his head.] Oh! that that great, free, glorious life out there should be defiled in such a way! 
MRS. ALVING. You mustn't get excited, Oswald. It's not good for you. 
OSWALD. Yes; you're quite right, mother. It's bad for me, I know. You see, I'm wretchedly worn out. I shall go for a little turn before dinner. Excuse me, Pastor: I know you can't take my point of view; but I couldn't help speaking out. [He goes out by the second door to the right.] 
MRS. ALVING. My poor boy! 
MANDERS. You may well say so. Then this is what he has come to! 
[MRS. ALVING looks at him silently.] 
MANDERS. [Walking up and down.] He called himself the Prodigal Son. Alas! alas! 
[MRS. ALVING continues looking at him.] 
MANDERS. And what do you say to all this? 
MRS. ALVING. I say that Oswald was right in every word. 
MANDERS. [Stands still.] Right? Right! In such principles? 
MRS. ALVING. Here, in my loneliness, I have come to the same way of thinking, Pastor Manders. But I have never dared to say anything. Well! now my boy shall speak for me. 
MANDERS. You are greatly to be pitied, Mrs. Alving. But now I must speak seriously to you. And now it is no longer your business manager and adviser, your own and your husband's early friend, who stands before you. It is the priest--the priest who stood before you in the moment of your life when you had gone farthest astray. 
MRS. ALVING. And what has the priest to say to me? 
MANDERS. I will first stir up your memory a little. The moment is well chosen. To-morrow will be the tenth anniversary of your husband's death. To-morrow the memorial in his honour will be unveiled. To-morrow I shall have to speak to the whole assembled multitude. But to-day I will speak to you alone. 
MRS. ALVING. Very well, Pastor Manders. Speak. 
MANDERS. Do you remember that after less than a year of married life you stood on the verge of an abyss? That you forsook your house and home? That you fled from your husband? Yes, Mrs. Alving--fled, fled, and refused to return to him, however much he begged and prayed you? 
MRS. ALVING. Have you forgotten how infinitely miserable I was in that first year? 
MANDERS. It is the very mark of the spirit of rebellion to crave for happiness in this life. What right have we human beings to happiness? We have simply to do our duty, Mrs. Alving! And your duty was to hold firmly to the man you had once chosen, and to whom you were bound by the holiest ties. 
MRS. ALVING. You know very well what sort of life Alving was leading--what excesses he was guilty of. 
MANDERS. I know very well what rumours there were about him; and I am the 

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