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?"
Prev.
Back
Top