Ghosts
H >>
Henrik Ibsen >> Ghosts
*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
E-text scanned by Martin Adamson
martin@grassmarket.freeserve.co.uk
GHOSTS
A Domestic Tragedy in Three Acts
by Henrik Ibsen
Translated by R. Farquharson Sharp
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Mrs. Alving (a widow).
Oswald Alving (her son, an artist).
Manders (the Pastor of the parish).
Engstrand (a carpenter).
Regina Engstrand (his daughter, in Mrs Alving's service).
The action takes place at Mrs Alving's house on one of the larger
fjords of Western Norway.)
GHOSTS
ACT I
(SCENE.--A large room looking upon a garden door in the left-hand
wall, and two in the right. In the middle of the room, a round
table with chairs set about it, and books, magazines and
newspapers upon it. In the foreground on the left, a window, by
which is a small sofa with a work-table in front of it. At the
back the room opens into a conservatory rather smaller than the
room. From the right-hand side of this, a door leads to the
garden. Through the large panes of glass that form the outer wall
of the conservatory, a gloomy fjord landscape can be discerned,
half-obscured by steady rain.
ENGSTRAND is standing close to the garden door. His left leg
is slightly deformed, and he wears a boot with a clump of wood
under the sole. REGINA, with an empty garden-syringe in her hand,
is trying to prevent his coming in.)
Regina (below her breath). What is it you want? Stay where you
are. The rain is dripping off you,
Engstrand. God's good rain, my girl.
Regina. The Devil's own rain, that's what it is!
Engstrand. Lord, how you talk, Regina. (Takes a few limping steps
forward.) What I wanted to tell you was this--
Regina. Don't clump about like that, stupid! The young master is
lying asleep upstairs.
Engstrand. Asleep still? In the middle of the day?
Regina. Well, it's no business of yours.
Engstrand. I was out on a spree last night--
Regina. I don't doubt it.
Engstrand. Yes, we are poor weak mortals, my girl--
Regina. We are indeed.
Engstrand. --and the temptations of the world are manifold, you
know--but, for all that, here I was at my work at half-past five
this morning.
Regina. Yes, yes, but make yourself scarce now. I am not going to
stand here as if I had a rendezvous with you.
Engstrand. As if you had a what?
Regina. I am not going to have anyone find you here; so now you
know, and you can go.
Engstrand (coming a few steps nearer). Not a bit of it! Not
before we have had a little chat. This afternoon I shall have
finished my job down at the school house, and I shall be off home
to town by tonight's boat.
Regina (mutters). Pleasant journey to you!
Engstrand. Thanks, my girl. Tomorrow is the opening of the
Orphanage, and I expect there will be a fine kick-up here and
plenty of good strong drink, don't you know. And no one shall say
of Jacob Engstrand that be can't hold off when temptation comes
in his way.
Regina. Oho!
Engstrand. Yes, because there will be a lot of fine folk here
tomorrow. Parson Manders is expected from town, too.
Regina: What's more, he's coming today.
Engstrand. There you are! And I'm going to be precious careful he
doesn't have anything to say against me, do you see?
Regina. Oh, that's your game, is it?
Engstrand. What do you mean?
Regina (with a significant look at him). What is it you want to
humbug Mr. Manders out of this time?
Engstrand. Sh! Sh! Are you crazy? Do you suppose I would want to
humbug Mr. Manders? No, no--Mr. Manders has always been too kind
a friend for me to do that. But what I wanted to talk to you
about, was my going back home tonight.
Regina. The sooner you go, the better I shall be pleased.
Engstrand. Yes, only I want to take you with me, Regina.
Regina (open-mouthed). You want to take me--? What did you say?
Engstrand. I want to take you home with me, I said.
Regina (contemptuously). You will never get me home with you.
Engstrand. Ah, we shall see about that.
Regina. Yes, you can be quite certain we shall see about that. I,
who have been brought up by a lady like Mrs. Alving?--I, who have
been treated almost as if I were her own child?--do you suppose I
am going home with you?--to such a house as yours? Not likely!
Engstrand. What the devil do you mean? Are you setting yourself
up against your father, you hussy?
Regina (mutters, without looking at him). You have often told me
I was none of yours.
Engstrand. Bah!--why do you want to pay any attention to that?
Regina. Haven't you many and many a time abused me and called me
a --? For shame?
Engstrand. I'll swear I never used such an ugly word.
Regina. Oh, it doesn't matter what word you used.
Engstrand. Besides, that was only when I was a bit fuddled...hm!
Temptations are manifold in this world, Regina.
Regina. Ugh!
Engstrand. And it was when your mother was in a nasty temper. I
had to find some way of getting my knife into her, my girl. She
was always so precious gentile. (Mimicking her.) "Let go, Jacob!
Let me be! Please to remember that I was three years with the
Alvings at Rosenvold, and they were people who went to Court!
(Laughs.) Bless my soul, she never could forget that Captain
Alving got a Court appointment while she was in service here.
Regina. Poor mother--you worried her into her grave pretty soon.
Engstrand (shrugging his shoulders). Of course, of course; I have
got to take the blame for everything.
Regina (beneath her breath, as she turns away). Ugh--that leg,
too!
Engstrand. What are you saying, my girl?
Regina. Pied de mouton.
Engstrand. Is that English?
Regina. Yes.
Engstrand. You have had a good education out here, and no
mistake; and it may stand you in good stead now, Regina.
Regina (after a short silence). And what was it you wanted me to
come to town for?
Engstrand. Need you ask why a father wants his only child? Ain't
I a poor lonely widower?
Regina. Oh, don't come to me with that tale. Why do you want me to
go?
Engstrand. Well, I must tell you I am thinking of taking up a new
line now.
Regina (whistles). You have tried that so often--but it has
always proved a fool's errand.
Engstrand. Ah, but this time you will just see, Regina! Strike me
dead if--
Regina (stamping her foot). Stop swearing!
Engstrand. Sh! Sh!--you're quite right, my girl, quite right!
What I wanted to say was only this, that I have put by a tidy
penny out of what I have made by working at this new Orphanage up
here.
Regina. Have you? All the better for you.
Engstrand. What is there for a man to spend his money on, out
here in the country?
Regina. Well, what then?
Engstrand. Well, you see, I thought of putting the money into
something that would pay. I thought of some kind of an eating-
house for seafaring folk--
Regina. Heavens!
Engstrand. Oh, a high-class eating-house, of course--not a
pigsty for common sailors. Damn it, no; it would be a place
ships' captains and first mates would come to; really good sort
of people, you know.
Regina. And what should I--?
Engstrand. You would help there: But only to make show, you know.
You wouldn't find it hard work, I can promise you, my girl. You
should do exactly as you liked.
Regina. Oh, yes, quite so!
Engstrand. But we must have some women in the house; that is as
clear as daylight. Because in the evening we must make the place
a little attractive-- some singing and dancing, and that sort of
thing. Remember they are seafolk-- wayfarers on the waters of
life! (Coming nearer to her.) Now don't be a fool and stand in
your own way, Regina. What good are you going to do here? Will
this education, that your mistress has paid for, be of any use?
You are to look after the children in the new Home, I hear. Is
that the sort of work for you? Are you so frightfully anxious to
go and wear out your health and strength for the sake of these
dirty brats?
Regina. No, if things were to go as I want them to, then--. Well,
it may happen; who knows? It may happen!
Engstrand. What may happen?
Regina. Never you mind. Is it much that you have put by, up here?
Engstrand. Taking it all round, I should say about forty or fifty
pounds.
Regina. That's not so bad.
Engstrand. It's enough to make a start with, my girl.
Regina. Don't you mean to give me any of the money?
Engstrand. No, I'm hanged if I do.
Regina. Don't you mean to send me as much as a dress-length of
stuff, just for once?
Engstrand. Come and live in the town with me and you shall have
plenty of dresses.
Regina: Pooh!--I can get that much for myself, if I have a mind
to.
Engstrand. But it's far better to have a father's guiding hand,
Regina. Just now I can get a nice house in Little Harbour Street.
They don't want much money down for it-- and we could make it like
a sort of seamen's home, don't you know.
Regina. But I have no intention of living with you! I'll have
nothing whatever to do with you: So now, be off!
Engstrand. You wouldn't be living with me long, my girl. No such
luck-- not if you knew how to play your cards. Such a fine wench
as you have grown this last year or two...
Regina. Well--?
Engstrand. It wouldn't be very long before some first mate came
along-- or perhaps a captain.
Regina. I don't mean to marry a man of that sort. Sailors have no
savoir-vivre.
Engstrand. What haven't they got?
Regina. I know what sailors are, I tell you. They aren't the sort
of people to marry.
Engstrand. Well, don't bother about marrying them. You can make
it pay just as well. (More confidentially.) That fellow--the
Englishman--the one with the yacht--he gave seventy pounds, he
did; and she wasn't a bit prettier than you.
Regina (advancing towards him). Get out!
Engstrand (stepping back). Here! here!--you're not going to hit
me, I suppose?
Regina. Yes! If you talk like that of mother, I will hit you. Get
out, I tell. You! (Pushes him up to the garden door.) And don't
bang the doors. Young Mr. Alving--
Engstrand. Is asleep--I know. It's funny how anxious you are
about young Mr. Alving. (In a lower tone.) Oho! is it possible
that it is he that--?
Regina. Get out, and be quick about it! Your wits are wandering,
my good man. No, don't go that way; Mr. Manders is just coming
along. Be off down the kitchen stairs.
Engstrand (moving towards the right). Yes, yes--all right. But
have a bit of a chat with him that's coming along. He's the chap
to tell you what a child owes to its father. For I am your
father, anyway, you know, I can prove it by the Register. (He
goes out through the farther door which REGINA has opened. She
shuts it after him, looks hastily at herself in the mirror, fans
herself with her handkerchief and sets her collar straight; then
busies herself with the flowers. MANDERS enters the conservatory
through the garden door. He wears an overcoat, carries an
umbrella, and has a small travelling-bag slung over his shoulder
on a strap.)
Manders. Good morning, Miss Engstrand.
Regina (turning round with a look of pleased surprise), Oh, Mr.
Manders, good morning. The boat is in, then?
Manders. Just in. (Comes into the room.) It is most tiresome,
this rain every day.
Regina (following him in). It's a splendid rain for the farmers,
Mr. Manders.
Manders. Yes, you are quite right. We townfolk think so little
about that. (Begins to take off his overcoat.)
Regina. Oh, let me help you. That's it. Why, how wet it is! I
will hang it up in the hall. Give me your umbrella, too; I will
leave it open, so that it will dry.
(She goes out with the things by the farther door on the right.
MANDERS lays his bag and his hat down on a chair. REGINA re-
enters.)
Manders. Ah, it's very pleasant to get indoors. Well, is
everything going on well here?
Regina. Yes, thanks.
Manders. Properly busy, though, I expect, getting ready for
tomorrow?
Regina. Oh, yes, there is plenty to do.
Manders. And Mrs. Alving is at home, I hope?
Regina. Yes, she is. She has just gone upstairs to take the young
master his chocolate.
Manders. Tell me--I heard down at the pier that Oswald had come
back.
Regina. Yes, he came the day before yesterday. We didn't expect
him until today.
Manders. Strong and well, I hope?
Regina. Yes, thank you, well enough. But dreadfully tired after
his journey. He came straight from Paris without a stop--I mean,
he came all the way without breaking his journey. I fancy he is
having a sleep now, so we must talk a little bit more quietly, if
you don't mind.
Manders. All right, we will be very quiet.
Regina (while she moves an armchair up to the table), Please sit
down, Mr. Manders, and make yourself at home. (He sits down; she
puts a footstool under his feet.) There! Is that comfortable?
Manders. Thank you, thank you. That is most comfortable; (Looks
at her.) I'll tell you what, Miss Engstrand, I certainly think
you have grown since I saw you last.
Regina. Do you think so? Mrs. Alving says, too-- that I have
developed.
Manders. Developed? Well, perhaps a little--just suitably. (A
short pause.)
Regina. Shall I tell Mrs. Alving you are here?
Manders. Thanks, there is no hurry, my dear child. Now tell me,
Regina my dear, how has your father been getting on here?
Regina. Thank you, Mr. Manders, he is getting on pretty well.
Manders. He came to see me the last time he was in town.
Regina. Did he? He is always so glad when he can have a chat with
you.
Manders. And I suppose you have seen him pretty regularly every
day?
Regina. I? Oh, yes, I do--whenever I have time, that is to say.
Manders. Your father has not a very strong character, Miss
Engstrand. He sadly needs a guiding hand.
Regina. Yes, I can quite believe that.
Manders. He needs someone with him that he can cling to, someone
whose judgment he can rely on. He acknowledged that freely
himself, the last time he came up to see me.
Regina. Yes, he has said something of the same sort to me. But I
don't know whether Mrs. Alving could do without me--most of all
just now, when we have the new Orphanage to see about. And I
should be dreadfully unwilling to leave Mrs. Alving, too; she has
always been so good to me.
Manders. But a daughter's duty, my good child--. Naturally we
should have to get your mistress' consent first.
Regina. Still I don't know whether it would be quite the thing,
at my age, to keep house for a single man.
Manders. What! My dear Miss Engstrand, it is your own father we
are speaking of!
Regina. Yes, I dare say, but still--. Now, if it were in a good
house and with a real gentleman--
Manders. But, my dear Regina!
Regina. --one whom I could feel an affection for, and really feel
in the position of a daughter to...
Manders. Come, come--my dear good child--
Regina. I should like very much to live in town. Out here it is
terribly lonely; and you know yourself, Mr. Manders, what it is
to be alone in the world. And, though I say it, I really am both
capable and willing. Don't you know any place that would be
suitable for me, Mr. Manders?
Manders. I? No, indeed I don't.
Regina. But, dear Mr. Manders--at any rate don't forget me, in
case--
Manders (getting up). No, I won't forget you, Miss Engstrand.
Regina. Because, if I--
Manders. Perhaps you will be so kind as to let Mrs, Alving know I
am here?
Regina. I will fetch her at once, Mr. Manders. (Goes out to the
left. MANDERS walks up and down the room once or twice, stands
for a moment at the farther end of the room with his hands behind
his back and looks out into the garden. Then he comes back to the
table, takes up a book and looks at the title page, gives a
start, and looks at some of the others.)
Manders. Hm!--Really!
(MRS. ALVING comes in by the door on the left. She is followed by
REGINA, who goes out again at once through the nearer door on the
right.)
Mrs. Alving (holding out her hand). I am very glad to see you,
Mr. Manders.
Manders. How do you do, Mrs. Alving. Here I am, as I promised.
Mrs. Alving. Always punctual!
Manders. Indeed, I was hard put to it to get away. What with
vestry meetings and committees.
Mrs. Alving. It was all the kinder of you to come in such good
time; we can settle our business before dinner. But where is your
luggage?
Manders (quickly). My things are down at the village shop. I am
going to sleep there tonight.
Mrs. Alving (repressing a smile). Can't I really persuade you to
stay the night here this time?
Manders. No, no; many thanks all the same; I will put up there,
as usual. It is so handy for getting on board the boat again.
Mrs. Alving. Of course, you shall do as you please. But it seems
to me quite another thing, now we are two old people--
Manders. Ha! ha! You will have your joke! And it's natural you
should be in high spirits today--first of all there is the great
event tomorrow, and also you have got Oswald home.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, am I not a lucky woman! It is more than two
years since he was home last, and he has promised to stay the
whole winter with me.
Manders, Has he, really? That is very nice and filial of him;
because there must be many more attractions in his life in Rome
or in Paris, I should think.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, but he has his mother here, you see. Bless the
dear boy, he has got a corner in his heart for his mother still.
Manders. Oh, it would be very sad if absence and preoccupation
with such a thing as Art were to dull the natural affections.
Mrs. Alving. It would, indeed. But there is no fear of that with
him, I am glad to say. I am quite curious to see if you recognise
him again. He will be down directly; he is just lying down for a
little on the sofa upstairs. But do sit down, my dear friend.
Manders. Thank you. You are sure I am not disturbing you?
Mrs. Alving. Of course not. (She sits down at the table.)
Manders. Good. Then I will show you--. (He goes to the chair
where his bag is lying and takes a packet of papers from it; then
sits down at the opposite side of the table and looks for a clear
space to put the papers down.) Now first of all, here is--(breaks
off). Tell me, Mrs. Alving, what are these books doing here?
Mrs. Alving. These books? I am reading them,
Manders. Do you read this sort of thing?
Mrs, Alving. Certainly I do.
Manders. Do you feel any the better or the happier for reading
books of this kind?
Mrs. Alving. I think it makes me, as it were, more self-reliant.
Manders. That is remarkable. But why?
Mrs. Alving. Well, they give me an explanation or a confirmation
of lots of different ideas that have come into my own mind. But
what surprises me, Mr. Manders, is that, properly speaking, there
is nothing at all new in these books. There is nothing more in
them than what most people think and believe. The only thing is,
that most people either take no account of it or won't admit it
to themselves.
Manders. But, good heavens, do you seriously think that most
people--?
Mrs. Alving. Yes, indeed, I do.
Manders. But not here in the country at any rate? Not here
amongst people like ourselves?
Mrs. Alving. Yes, amongst people like ourselves too.
Manders. Well, really, I must say--!
Mrs. Alving. But what is the particular objection that you have
to these books?
Manders. What objection? You surely don't suppose that I take any
particular interest in such productions?
Mrs. Alving. In fact, you don't know anything about what you are
denouncing?
Manders. I have read quite enough about these books to disapprove
of them:
Mrs. Alving. Yes, but your own opinion--
Manders. My dear Mrs. Alving, there are many occasions in life
when one has to rely on the opinion of others. That is the way in
this world, and it is quite right that it should be so. What
would become of society, otherwise?
Mrs. Alving. Well, you may be right.
Manders. Apart from that, naturally I don't deny that literature
of this kind may have a considerable attraction. And I cannot
blame you, either, for wishing to make yourself acquainted with
the intellectual tendencies which I am told are at work in the
wider world in which you have allowed your son to wander for so
long but--
Mrs. Alving. But--?
Manders (lowering his voice). But one doesn't talk about it, Mrs.
Alving. One certainly is not called upon to account to everyone
for what one reads or thinks in the privacy of one's own room.
Mrs. Alving. Certainly not. I quite agree with you.
Manders. Just think of the consideration you owe to this
Orphanage, which you decided to build at a time when your
thoughts on such subjects were very different from what they are
now--as far as I am able to judge.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, I freely admit that. But it was about the
Orphanage...
Manders. It was about the Orphanage we were going to talk; quite
so. Well--walk warily, dear Mrs. Alving! And now let us turn to
the business in hand. (Opens an envelope and takes out some
papers.) You see these?
Mrs. Alving. The deeds?
Manders. Yes, the whole lot--and everything in order; I can tell
you it has been no easy matter to get them in time. I had
positively to put pressure on the authorities; they are almost
painfully conscientious when it is a question of settling
property. But here they are at last. (Turns over the papers.)
Here is the deed of conveyance of that part of the Rosenvold
estate known as the Solvik property, together with the buildings
newly erected thereon-- the school, the masters' houses and the
chapel. And here is the legal sanction for the statutes of the
institution. Here, you see--(reads) "Statutes for the Captain
Alving Orphanage."
Mrs. Alving (after a long look at the papers). That seems all in
order.
Manders. I thought "Captain" was the better title to use, rather
than your husband's Court title of "Chamberlain." "Captain"
seems less ostentatious.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes; just as you think best.
Manders. And here is the certificate for the investment of the
capital in the bank, the interest being earmarked for the current
expenses of the Orphanage.
Mrs. Alving. Many thanks; but I think it will be most convenient
if you will kindly take charge of them.
Manders. With pleasure. I think it will be best to leave the
money in the bank for the present. The interest is not very high,
it is true; four per cent at six months' call; later on, if we
can find some good mortgage--of course it must be a first mortgage
and on unexceptionable security--we can consider the matter
further.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, yes, my dear Mr. Manders, you know best about
all that.
Manders. I will keep my eye on it, anyway. But there is one thing
in connection with it that I have often meant to ask you about.
Mrs. Alving. What is that?
Manders. Shall we insure the buildings, or not?
Mrs. Alving. Of course we must insure them.
Manders. Ah, but wait a moment, dear lady. Let us look into the
matter a little more closely.
Mrs. Alving. Everything of mine is insured--the house and its
contents, my livestock--everything.
Manders. Naturally. They are your own property. I do exactly the
same, of course. But this, you see, is quite a different case.
The Orphanage is, so to speak, dedicated to higher uses.
Mrs. Alving. Certainly, but--
Manders. As far as I am personally concerned, I can
conscientiously say that I don't see the smallest objection to
our insuring ourselves against all risks.
Mrs. Alving. That is exactly what I think.
Manders. But what about the opinion of the people hereabouts?
Mrs. Alving. Their opinion--?
Manders. Is there any considerable body of opinion here--opinion
of some account, I mean--that might take exception to it?
Mrs. Alving. What, exactly, do you mean by opinion of some
account?
Manders. Well, I was thinking particularly of persons of such
independent and influential position that one could hardly refuse
to attach weight to their opinion.
Mrs. Alving. There are a certain number of such people here, who
might perhaps take exception to it if we--
Manders. That's just it, you see. In town there are lots of them.
All my fellow-clergymen's congregations, for instance! It would
be so extremely easy for them to interpret it as meaning that
neither you nor I had a proper reliance on Divine protection.
Mrs. Alving. But as far as you are concerned, my dear friend, you
have at all events the consciousness that--
Manders. Yes I know I know; my own mind is quite easy about it,
it is true. But we should not be able to prevent a wrong and
injurious interpretation of our action. And that sort of thing,
moreover, might very easily end in exercising a hampering
influence on the work of the Orphanage.
Mrs. Alving. Oh, well, if that is likely to be the effect of it--
Manders. Nor can I entirely overlook the difficult--indeed, I may
say, painful--position I might possibly be placed in. In the best
circles in town the matter of this Orphanage is attracting a
great deal of attention. Indeed the Orphanage is to some extent
built for the benefit of the town too, and it is to be hoped that
it may result in the lowering of our poor-rate by a considerable
amount. But as I have been your adviser in the matter and have
taken charge of the business side of it, I should be afraid that
it would be I that spiteful persons would attack first of all.