Ghosts | Page 9

Then we will leave it alone?
Mrs. Alving. Certainly.
Manders. Very good. As you wish. (Makes a note.) No insurance, then.
Mrs. Alving. It's a funny thing that you should just have happened to speak about that today--
Manders. I have often meant to ask you about it.
Mrs. Alving. --because yesterday we very nearly had a fire up there.
Manders. Do you mean it!
Mrs. Alving. Oh, as a matter of fact it was nothing of any consequence. Some shavings in the carpenter's shop caught fire.
Manders. Where Engstrand works?
Mrs. Alving. Yes. They say he is often so careless with matches.
Manders. He has so many things on his mind, poor fellow--so many anxieties. Heaven be thanked, I am told he is really making an effort to live a blameless life,
Mrs. Alving. Really? Who told you so?
Manders. He assured me himself that it is so. He's good workman, too.
Mrs. Alving. Oh, yes, when he is sober.
Manders. Ah, that sad weakness of his! But the pain in his poor leg often drives him to it, he tells me. The last time he was in town, I was really quite touched by him. He came to my house and thanked me so gratefully for getting him work here, where he could have the chance of being with Regina.
Mrs. Alving. He doesn't see very much of her.
Manders. But he assured me that he saw her every day.
Mrs. Alving. Oh well, perhaps he does.
Manders. He feels so strongly that he needs someone who can keep a hold on him when temptations assail him. That is the most winning thing about Jacob Engstrand; he comes to one like a helpless child and accuses himself and confesses his frailty. The last time he came and had a talk with me... Suppose now, Mrs. Alving, that it were really a necessity of his existence to have Regina at home with him again--
Mrs. Alving (standing up suddenly). Regina!
Manders. --you ought not to set yourself against him.
Mrs. Alving. Indeed, I set myself very definitely against that. And, besides, you know Regina is to have a post in the Orphanage.
Manders. But consider, after all he is her father--
Mrs. Alving. I know best what sort of a father he has been to her. No, she shall never go to him with my consent.
Manders (getting up). My dear lady, don't judge so hastily. It is very sad how you misjudge poor Engstrand. One would really think you were afraid...
Mrs. Alving (more calmly). That is not the question. I have taken Regina into my charge, and in my charge she remains. (Listens.) Hush, dear Mr. Manders, don't say any more about it. (Her face brightens with pleasure.) Listen! Oswald is coming downstairs. We will only think about him now.
(OSWALD ALVING, in a light overcoat, hat in hand and smoking a big meerschaum pipe, comes in by the door on the left.)
Oswald (standing in the doorway). Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were in the office. (Comes in.) Good morning, Mr. Manders.
Manders (staring at him). Well! It's most extraordinary.
Mrs. Alving. Yes, what do you think of him, Mr. Manders?
Manders. I-I-no, can it possibly be--?
Oswald. Yes, it really is the prodigal son, Mr. Manders.
Manders. Oh, my dear young friend--
Oswald. Well, the son came home, then.
Mrs. Alving. Oswald is thinking of the time when you were so opposed to the idea of his being a painter.
Manders. We are only fallible, and many steps seem to us hazardous at first, that afterwards--(grasps his hand). Welcome, welcome! Really, my dear Oswald--may I still call you Oswald?
Oswald. What else would you think of calling me?
Manders. Thank you. What I mean, my dear Oswald, is that you must not imagine that I have any unqualified disapproval of the artist's life. I admit that there are many who, even in that career, can keep the inner man free from harm.
Oswald. Let us hope so.
Mrs. Alving (beaming with pleasure). I know one who has kept both the inner and the outer man free from harm. Just take a look at him, Mr. Manders.
Oswald (walks across the room). Yes, yes, mother dear, of course.
Manders. Undoubtedly--no one can deny it. And I hear you have begun to make a name for yourself. I have often seen mention of you in the papers--and extremely favourable mention, too. Although, I must admit, lately I have not seen your name so often.
Oswald (going towards the conservatory). I haven't done so much painting just lately.
Mrs. Alving. An artist must take a rest sometimes, like other people.
Manders. Of course, of course. At those times the artist is preparing and strengthening himself for a greater effort.
Oswald. Yes. Mother, will dinner soon be ready?
Mrs. Alving. In half an hour. He has a fine appetite, thank goodness.
Manders. And a liking for tobacco too.
Oswald. I found father's pipe in the room upstairs, and--
Manders. Ah, that is what it was!
Mrs.