Ghosts by Henrik Ibsen (best novels of all time .TXT) 📕

in other ways? Mrs. Alving Can it be only a superstition⁠—? Oswald Yes; surely you can see that, Mother. It’s one of those notions that are current in the world, and so⁠— Mrs. Alving Deeply moved. Ghosts! Oswald Crossing the room. Yes; you may call them ghosts. Mrs. Alving Wildly. Oswald⁠—then you don’t love me, either! Oswald You I know, at any rate⁠— Mrs. Alving Yes, you know me; but is that all! Oswald And, of course, I know how fond you are of me, and I can’t but be grateful to you. And then you can be so useful to me, now that I am ill. Mrs. Alving Yes, cannot I, Oswald? Oh, I could almost bless the illness that has driven you home to me. For I see very plainly that you are not mine: I have to win you. Oswald Impatiently. Yes yes yes; all these are just so many phrases. You must remember that I am a sick man, Mother. I can’t be much taken up with other people; I have enough to do thinking about myself. Mrs. Alving In a low voice. I shall be patient and easily satisfied. Oswald And cheerful too, Mother! Mrs. Alving Yes, my dear boy, you are quite right. Goes towards him. Have I relieved you of all remorse and self-reproach now? Oswald Yes, you have. But now who will relieve me of the dread? Mrs. Alving The dread? Oswald Walks across the room. Regina could have been got to do it. Mrs. Alving I don’t understand you. What is this about dread⁠—and Regina? Oswald Is it very late, Mother? Mrs. Alving It is early morning. She looks out through the conservatory. The day is dawning over the mountains. And the weather is clearing, Oswald. In a little while you shall see the sun. Oswald I’m glad of that. Oh, I may still have much to rejoice in and live for⁠— Mrs. Alving I should think so, indeed! Oswald Even if I can’t work⁠— Mrs. Alving Oh, you’ll soon be able to work again, my dear boy⁠—now that you haven’t got all those gnawing and depressing thoughts to brood over any longer. Oswald Yes, I’m glad you were able to rid me of all those fancies. And when I’ve got over this one thing more⁠—Sits on the sofa. Now we will have a little talk, Mother⁠— Mrs. Alving Yes, let us. She pushes an armchair towards the sofa, and sits down close to him. Oswald And meantime the sun will be rising. And then you will know all. And then I shall not feel this dread any longer. Mrs. Alving What is it that I am to know? Oswald Not listening to her. Mother, did you not say a little while ago, that there was nothing in the world you would not do for me, if I asked you? Mrs. Alving Yes, indeed I said so! Oswald And you’ll stick to it, Mother? Mrs. Alving You may rely on that, my dear and only boy! I have nothing in the world to live for but you alone. Oswald Very well, then; now you shall hear⁠—Mother, you have a strong, steadfast mind, I know. Now you’re to sit quite still when you hear it. Mrs. Alving What dreadful thing can it be⁠—? Oswald You’re not to scream out. Do you hear? Do you promise me that? We will sit and talk about it quietly. Do you promise me, Mother? Mrs. Alving Yes, yes; I promise. Only speak! Oswald Well, you must know that all this fatigue⁠—and my inability to think of work⁠—all that is not the illness itself⁠— Mrs. Alving Then what is the illness itself? Oswald The disease I have as my birthright⁠—He points to his forehead and adds very softly⁠—is seated here. Mrs. Alving Almost voiceless. Oswald! No⁠—no! Oswald Don’t scream. I can’t bear it. Yes, Mother, it is seated here waiting. And it may break out any day⁠—at any moment. Mrs. Alving Oh, what horror⁠—! Oswald Now, quiet, quiet. That is how it stands with me⁠— Mrs. Alving Springs up. It’s not true, Oswald! It’s impossible! It cannot be so! Oswald I have had one attack down there already. It was soon over. But when I came to know the state I had been in, then the dread descended upon me, raging and ravening; and so I set off home to you as fast as I could. Mrs. Alving Then this is the dread⁠—! Oswald Yes⁠—it’s so indescribably loathsome, you know. Oh, if it had only been an ordinary mortal disease⁠—! For I’m not so afraid of death⁠—though I should like to live as long as I can. Mrs. Alving Yes, yes, Oswald, you must! Oswald But this is so unutterably loathsome. To become a little baby again! To have to be fed! To have to⁠—Oh, it’s not to be spoken of! Mrs. Alving The child has his mother to nurse him. Oswald Springs up. No, never that! That is just what I will not have. I can’t endure to think that perhaps I should lie in that state for many years⁠—and get old and grey. And in the meantime you might die and leave me. Sits in Mrs. Alving’s chair. For the doctor said it wouldn’t necessarily prove fatal at once. He called it a sort of softening of the brain⁠—or something like that. Smiles sadly. I think that expression sounds so nice. It always sets me thinking of cherry-coloured velvet⁠—something soft and delicate to stroke. Mrs. Alving Shrieks. Oswald! Oswald Springs up and paces the room. And now you have taken Regina from me. If I could only have had her! She would have come to the rescue, I know. Mrs. Alving Goes to him. What do you mean by that, my darling boy? Is there any help in the world that I would not give you? Oswald When I got over my attack in Paris, the doctor told me that when it comes again⁠—and it will come⁠—there will be no more hope. Mrs. Alving He was heartless enough to⁠— Oswald I demanded it of him. I told him I had preparations to make⁠—He smiles cunningly. And so I had. He takes a little box from his inner breast pocket and opens it. Mother, do you see this? Mrs. Alving What is it? Oswald Morphia. Mrs. Alving Looks at him horror-struck. Oswald⁠—my