by Henrik Ibsen
OSVALD: So how did you see it then?
MRS ALVING [slowly]: I saw only one thing; that your father was a broken man before you were born.
OSVALD [quietly]: Ah –!
He gets up and goes over to the window.
MRS ALVING: And day in and day out I thought about this one thing; that Regine actually belonged here in this house – as much as my own son.
OSVALD [turning suddenly]: Regine –?
REGINE [leaps up and asks quietly]: Me –?
MRS ALVING: Yes, now you know it, both of you.
OSVALD: Regine!
REGINE [to herself]: So Mother was that sort.
MRS ALVING: Your mother was good in many ways, Regine.
REGINE: Yes, but she was still that sort. Well, I’ve thought as much sometimes, but –. Well, Mrs Alving, may I have permission to leave at once?
MRS ALVING: Do you really want that, Regine?
REGINE: Yes, indeed I do.
MRS ALVING: You’re naturally free to do as you wish, but –
OSVALD [moves towards REGINE]: Leave now? But this is where you belong.
REGINE: Merci, Mr Alving – well, I suppose I can say Osvald now.71 But it really wasn’t in that way I’d thought it.
MRS ALVING: Regine, I haven’t been open with you –
REGINE: No, shame to say, you haven’t. If I’d known Osvald was sickly –. And now that there can’t ever be anything serious between us –. No, I really can’t be staying out here in the country wearing myself out on invalids.
OSVALD: Not even for somebody who’s so close to you?
REGINE: Not likely. A poor girl has to take advantage of her youth; otherwise she might end up with nothing72 before she knows it. And I have the joy of life in me too, ma’am!
MRS ALVING: Yes, unfortunately; but just don’t throw yourself away, Regine.
REGINE: Oh, whatever will be will be. If Osvald takes after his father, I probably take after my mother, I reckon. – May I ask, ma’am, if Pastor Manders knows all this about me?
MRS ALVING: Pastor Manders knows everything.
REGINE [busies herself with her shawl]: Right, then I’d better make sure to get on that steamboat as quick as I can. Pastor Manders is so nice, so easy to deal with, and I certainly think I’ve as much right to a bit of that money as him – that vile carpenter.
MRS ALVING: Indeed you have, Regine.
REGINE [staring straight at MRS ALVING]: Madam might have done better to raise me as a gentleman’s daughter; that would have suited me better. [Tossing her head] But hell – makes no difference! [With a bitter glance at the unopened bottle] I might get to drink champagne with gentlefolk yet.
MRS ALVING: And if you ever need a home, Regine, then come to me.
REGINE: No thank you, ma’am. I’m sure Pastor Manders will look after me. And if things go really wrong, then I know a house where I do belong.
MRS ALVING: Where?
REGINE: Chamberlain Alving’s Home.
MRS ALVING: Regine – I see it now – you’re going to your ruin!
REGINE: Pah! Adieu.
She curtseys and goes out through the hall.
OSVALD [looking out of the window]: Has she gone?
MRS ALVING: Yes.
OSVALD [mumbles to himself]: I think it was wrong, all this.
MRS ALVING [goes behind him and lays her hands on his shoulders]: Osvald, my dearest boy – has it shaken you badly?
OSVALD [turns to face her]: All this about Father you mean?
MRS ALVING: Yes, about your unhappy father. I’m frightened it might have affected you badly.
OSVALD: How can you think that? It came as a huge surprise, of course; but it doesn’t basically make any difference.
MRS ALVING [pulls her hands away]: No difference! That your father was desperately unhappy!
OSVALD: Of course I can feel sympathy for him, as for any other person, but –
MRS ALVING: Nothing more? For your own father!
OSVALD [impatiently]: Oh Father – Father! I’ve never known anything about Father. The only thing I remember about him is that he made me throw up once.
MRS ALVING: That’s a dreadful thought! Shouldn’t a child feel love for his father even then?
OSVALD: When a child has nothing to thank his father for? Has never known him? Are you really holding so tight to that old superstition, when you’re so enlightened otherwise?
MRS ALVING: And for you it’s just a superstition –?
OSVALD: Yes, you must surely see that, Mother. It’s one of those opinions put in circulation in the world, and then –
MRS ALVING [shaken]: Ghosts!
OSVALD [walking across the floor]: Yes, you may well call them ghosts.
MRS ALVING [agitated]: Osvald – so you don’t love me either!
OSVALD: I know you at least –
MRS ALVING: Yes, you know me; but that’s all!
OSVALD: And I know how fond you are of me; and I have to be grateful for that. And you can be so tremendously helpful to me, now that I’m ill.
MRS ALVING: Yes, I can, can’t I, Osvald? Oh, I could almost bless the illness that drove you home to me. Because I can see that now, I don’t have you – I must win you.
OSVALD [impatiently]: Yes, yes; these are just so many empty phrases. You’ve got to remember that I’m a sick man, Mother. I can’t concern myself much with others; I’ve enough to do thinking about myself.
MRS ALVING [in a soft voice]: I’ll be patient and undemanding.
OSVALD: And cheerful too, Mother!
MRS ALVING: Yes, my dearest boy, you’re quite right. [Walks over to him.] Have I taken away all the regret and self-reproach now?
OSVALD: Yes, you have. But who’ll remove this anguish?
MRS ALVING: Anguish?
OSVALD [walks across the floor]: Regine would have done it, without hesitation.
MRS ALVING: I don’t understand. What is all this about anguish – and Regine?
OSVALD: Is it very late in the night, Mother?
MRS ALVING: It’s almost morning. [Looking out into the conservatory] Dawn’s beginning to break over the mountaintops. And it’s going to be a clear day, Osvald! Soon you’ll see the sun.
OSVALD: I look forward to that. Oh, there may be many things for me to be joyful about and live for –
MRS ALVING: I should think so!
OSVALD: Even if perhaps I can’t work, then –
MRS ALVING: Oh, you’ll soon be able to work again now, my dearest boy. Now you no longer have all those nagging, oppressive thoughts to brood over.
OSVALD: Yes, it was good that you managed to lift all those illusions from me. And now that I’ve come through that – [Sits on the sofa.] We’re going to talk now, Mother –
MRS ALVING: Yes, let’s.
She pushes an armchair towards the sofa and sits close to him.
OSVALD: – and the sun will rise as we do so. And then you will know. And then I’ll no longer have this anguish.
MRS ALVING: What will I know?
OSVALD [without listening to her]: Mother, didn’t you say earlier this evening that there wasn’t a thing in the world that you wouldn’t do for me if I asked?
MRS ALVING: Yes, I did say that!
OSVALD: And you stand by that, Mother?
MRS ALVING: You can depend on it, my darling only boy! I live for nothing else, just for you alone.
OSVALD: Yes, all right, let me tell you –. Listen, Mother, you have a strong powerful mind, I know you do. Now, you’re going to sit very calmly as you listen to this.
MRS ALVING: But what terrible thing is it –?
OSVALD: You’re not to scream. You hear? Do you promise me? We’ll sit and talk very calmly about this. Do you promise me, Mother?
MRS ALVING: Yes, yes, I promise; just tell me!
OSVALD: Well, the fact is that my being tired – and my inability to think about work – that’s not the illness itself –
MRS ALVING: What is the illness then?
MRS ALVING [almost speechless]: Osvald! No – no!
OSVALD: Don’t scream. I can’t bear it. Oh, yes, it sits lurking in here. And it can break loose at any moment, any hour.
MRS ALVING: Oh, what horror –!
OSVALD: Stay calm now. That’s the way things are –
MRS ALVING [leaps to her feet]: This isn’t true, Osvald! It’s not possible! It can’t be!
OSVALD: I had one attack down there.75 It soon passed. But when I got to know what a state I’d been in, that was when the anguish came raging over me, hounding me; and so I came home to you as quickly as I could.
MRS ALVING: So that’s the anguish –!
OSVALD: Yes, because this thing is so indescribably hideous, you see. If only it had been some ordinary mortal illness –. Because I’m not afraid of dying; although, of course, I’d like to live as long as possible.
MRS ALVING: Yes, yes, Osvald, you must!
OSVALD: But this is so dreadfully hideous! Like being turned back into a baby again; having to be fed, having to be –. Oh – it can’t be described!
MRS ALVING: A child has its mother to nurse it.
OSVALD [leaps up]: No, never; that’s exactly what I don’t want! I can’t bear the idea that I might live like that for years on end – getting old and grey. And then you might die and leave me. [Sits down in MRS ALVING’s chair.] Because it wouldn’t necessarily prove fatal straight away, the doctor said. He called it a kind of softening of the brain – or something similar. [Smiles tiredly.] I think that phrase sounds so lovely. I’ll always think of cherry-coloured, velvety drapes – something that’s delicate to stroke.
MRS ALVING [screams]: Osvald!
OSVALD [leaps up again and walks across the room]: And now you have taken Regine from me! If only I had her! She’d have given me that helping hand, I’m sure.
MRS ALVING [goes over to him]: What do you mean, my darling boy? Could there possibly be any kind of helping hand I wouldn’t want to give you?
OSVALD: When I got over my attack in Paris, my doctor told me that when it comes again – and it will come again – there will be no more hope.
MRS ALVING: How could he be so heartless as to say –
OSVALD: I forced him to it. I told him I had arrangements to make –. [Smiles slyly.] And I had too. [Takes a little box from his breast pocket.] Mother, you see this?
MRS ALVING: What is it?
OSVALD: Morphine powder.
MRS ALVING [looks at him in shock]: Osvald – my boy?
OSVALD: I’ve managed to save up twelve capsules –.
MRS ALVING [snatching at it]: Give me the box, Osvald!
OSVALD: Not yet, Mother.
He hides the box away in his pocket again.
MRS ALVING: I am not going to survive this!
OSVALD: It must be survived. If I’d had Regine here now, I would have told her how things were with me – and asked her for that last helping hand. She would have helped me; I’m certain of it.
MRS ALVING: Never!
OSVALD: As soon as this dreadful thing had overtaken me, and she saw me lying there as helpless as a little baby, incurable, lost, hopeless – beyond salvation –
MRS ALVING: Regine would never have done this!
OSVALD: Regine would have done it. Regine was so admirably light-hearted. And she’d soon get bored of looking after an invalid like me.
MRS ALVING: Then thank goodness Regine’s not here!
OSVALD: So, now you must give me that helping hand, Mother.
MRS ALVING [screams loudly]: Me!
OSVALD: Who more appropriate than you?
MRS ALVING: Me? Your mother!
OSVALD: That’s precisely why.
MRS ALVING: Me, who gave you life!
OSVALD: I didn’t ask you for life. And what kind of life is it you’ve given me? I don’t want it! You’ll take it back!
MRS ALVING: Help! Help!
She runs out into the hall.
OSVALD [chasing after her]: Don’t leave me! Where are you going?
MRS ALVING [in the hall]: To fetch the doctor for you, Osvald! Let me get out!
OSVALD [in the hall]: You’re not getting out of here. And nobody’s coming in.
A key is turned.
MRS ALVING [comes back in]: Osvald! Osvald – my child!
OSVALD [following her]: Do you have a mother’s heart – when you can watch me suffering this unspeakable anguish!
MRS ALVING [after a moment’s silence, says in a controlled voice]: Here is my hand on it.
OSVALD: Will you –?
MRS ALVING: If it is necessary. But it won’t be necessary. No, never, it’s impossible!
OSVALD: Well, let’s hope so. And let’s live together as long as we can. Thank you, Mother.
He sits in the armchair that MRS ALVING has moved over to the sofa. Day is breaking; the lamp is still burning on the table.
MRS ALVING [approaches him cautiously]: Do you feel calm now?
OSVALD: Yes.
MRS ALVING [leaning over him]: This has all been a terrible figment of your imagination, Osvald. All of it a figment. All this turmoil has been too much for you. But now you’ll be able to rest. At home with your own mother, my blessed boy. Whatever you point at will be yours, just as when you were a little child. – You see. Now the attack is over. You see how easily it went! Oh, I knew it. – And do you see, Osvald, what a beautiful day we’re going to have? Bright sunshine! Now you can really get to see your home.
She goes over to the table and puts out the lamp. Sunrise. The glacier and peaks in the background are bathed in gleaming morning light.
OSVALD [sits in the armchair with his back towards the landscape, without moving; suddenly he says]: Mother, give me the sun.
MRS ALVING [by the table, looks at him, puzzled]: What did you say?
OSVALD [repeats dully and tonelessly]: The sun. The sun.
MRS ALVING [goes across to him]: Osvald, how are you feeling?
OSVALD seems to shrink in his chair; all his muscles go limp; his face is expressionless; his eyes stare vacantly.
MRS ALVING [trembling with fear]: What is this? [Screams loudly] Osvald! What’s the matter with you? [She gets on her knees and shakes him.] Osvald! Osvald! Look at me! Don’t you know me?
OSVALD [toneless as before]: The sun. – The sun.
MRS ALVING [jumps to her feet in despair, tears at her hair with both hands and screams]: This is unbearable! [Whispers as though paralysed] This is unbearable! Never! [Abruptly] Where does he keep them? [Searching his chest urgently] Here! [Shrinks back a step or two and screams] No; no; no! – Yes! – No; no!
She stands a few steps away from him with her hands twisted in her hair and stares at him in speechless horror.
OSVALD [sits motionless as before and says]: The sun. – The sun.
AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE1
* * *
A Play2 in Five Acts
Characters
DOCTOR TOMAS STOCKMANN, the spa’s medical officer3
MRS4 STOCKMANN, his wife
PETRA, their daughter, a teacher5
EILIF6 and MORTEN, their sons, aged thirteen and ten
PETER STOCKMANN, the doctor’s elder brother, mayor of the town and local police chief,7 chairman of the spa’s board, etc.
MORTEN KIIL, a master tanner, Mrs Stockmann’s guardian
HOVSTAD, editor of The People’s Messenger8
BILLING, assistant on The People’s Messenger
HORSTER, a ship’s captain
ASLAKSEN, a printer
PEOPLE AT A PUBLIC MEETING, MEN OF VARIOUS CLASSES AND OCCUPATIONS,9 A FEW WOMEN, AND A GROUP OF SCHOOLBOYS
The action takes place in a coastal town in southern Norway.
Act One
Evening in the doctor’s living room; it is modestly but pleasantly furnished. In the right-hand wall there are two d
oors; the door further back leads out to the hall, the nearer one leads into the doctor’s study. In the facing wall, opposite the hall door, is a door leading to the other rooms occupied by the family. In the middle of this wall is the wood-burner, and closer to the foreground a couch with a mirror over it, and an oval table with a table covering10 in front of it. On the table is a lit lamp with a lampshade. An open door in the background leads to the dining room. Inside, a dining table laid out for an evening meal, also with a lamp on it.
BILLING is sitting at the dining table with a napkin under his chin. MRS STOCKMANN is standing by the table, handing him a plate with a large slice of roast beef on it. The other places at the table are abandoned, and the table is in disarray, as at the end of a meal.
MRS STOCKMANN: Well, when you come an hour late, Mr Billing,11 you have to make do with cold food.
BILLING [eating]: It’s marvellous – absolutely perfect.
MRS STOCKMANN: You know how precise Stockmann is about keeping to his meal times –
BILLING: It doesn’t bother me in the least. I almost think it tastes better when I can sit and eat like this alone and undisturbed.
MRS STOCKMANN: Well, as long as you’re enjoying it –. [Turns to the hall door, listening] I expect that’ll be Mr Hovstad.
BILLING: Yes, perhaps.
The MAYOR comes in. He is wearing an overcoat and his official hat and carries a stick.
THE MAYOR: A very good evening, Katrine.
MRS STOCKMANN [coming into the living room]: Well I never – so it’s you? Good evening. How nice of you to come up and see us!
THE MAYOR: I was just passing, so – [Glances towards the dining room.] Ah, but you’re entertaining, it seems.
MRS STOCKMANN [a little embarrassed]: No, absolutely not; it’s just a chance visit. [Hurriedly] Wouldn’t you like to go in and have a bite too?
THE MAYOR: Me! No, thank you. Heavens above, hot food in the evening; not with my digestion.
MRS STOCKMANN: Oh, but just for once –.
THE MAYOR: No, no, bless you; I’ll stick to my tea and buttered bread. It’s healthier in the long run – and rather more economical too.
MRS STOCKMANN [smiling]: You really mustn’t go thinking that Tomas and I are complete spendthrifts.
