Written in 1881, when melodrama and farce were still at their peak of popularity, Ibsen’sGhosts is a three-act tragedy that explores uncomfortable, even forbidden themes. It is also a highly critical commentary on the morality of the day. The play centers around the widow of a prominent Norwegian sea captain whose son returns home and, with tragic consequences, revives the ghosts of the past that she has long labored to put to rest.
Ghosts immediately became a source of controversy for its inclusion of topics like venereal disease, incest, and euthanasia, and it was banned from being performed in England for many years. Its arrival signals a shift in the nature of theatre and, despite negative criticism, it was translated into other languages and performed in Sweden, Germany, and New York within a few years of its debut. It stands now as one of the works considered to have ushered in the era of modern drama.
epub:type="z3998:persona">Oswald
At last he said: “There has been something worm-eaten in you from your birth.” He used that very word—vermoulu.
Mrs. Alving
Breathlessly. What did he mean by that?
Oswald
I didn’t understand either, and begged him to explain himself more clearly. And then the old cynic said—Clenching his fist. Oh—!
Mrs. Alving
What did he say?
Oswald
He said, “The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children.”
Mrs. Alving
Rising slowly. The sins of the fathers—!
Oswald
I very nearly struck him in the face—
Mrs. Alving
Walks away across the room. The sins of the fathers—
Oswald
Smiles sadly. Yes; what do you think of that? Of course I assured him that such a thing was out of the question. But do you think he gave in? No, he stuck to it; and it was only when I produced your letters and translated the passages relating to father—
Mrs. Alving
But then—?
Oswald
Then of course he had to admit that he was on the wrong track; and so I learned the truth—the incomprehensible truth! I ought not to have taken part with my comrades in that lighthearted, glorious life of theirs. It had been too much for my strength. So I had brought it upon myself!
Mrs. Alving
Oswald! No, no; do not believe it!
Oswald
No other explanation was possible, he said. That’s the awful part of it. Incurably ruined for life—by my own heedlessness! All that I meant to have done in the world—I never dare think of it again—I’m not able to think of it. Oh! if I could only live over again, and undo all I have done! He buries his face in the sofa.
Mrs. Alving
Wrings her hands and walks, in silent struggle, backwards and forwards.
Oswald
After a while, looks up and remains resting upon his elbow. If it had only been something inherited—something one wasn’t responsible for! But this! To have thrown away so shamefully, thoughtlessly, recklessly, one’s own happiness, one’s own health, everything in the world—one’s future, one’s very life—!
Mrs. Alving
No, no, my dear, darling boy; this is impossible! Bends over him. Things are not so desperate as you think.
Oswald
Oh, you don’t know—Springs up. And then, Mother, to cause you all this sorrow! Many a time I have almost wished and hoped that at bottom you didn’t care so very much about me.
Mrs. Alving
I, Oswald? My only boy! You are all I have in the world! The only thing I care about!
Oswald
Seizes both her hands and kisses them. Yes, yes, I see it. When I’m at home, I see it, of course; and that’s almost the hardest part for me.—But now you know the whole story and now we won’t talk any more about it today. I daren’t think of it for long together. Goes up the room. Get me something to drink, Mother.
Mrs. Alving
To drink? What do you want to drink now?
Oswald
Oh, anything you like. You have some cold punch in the house.
Mrs. Alving
Yes, but my dear Oswald—
Oswald
Don’t refuse me, Mother. Do be kind, now! I must have something to wash down all these gnawing thoughts. Goes into the conservatory. And then—it’s so dark here! Mrs. Alving pulls a bell-rope on the right. And this ceaseless rain! It may go on week after week, for months together. Never to get a glimpse of the sun! I can’t recollect ever having seen the sun shine all the times I’ve been at home.
Mrs. Alving
Oswald—you are thinking of going away from me.
Oswald
H’m—Drawing a heavy breath.—I’m not thinking of anything. I cannot think of anything! In a low voice. I let thinking alone.
Regina
From the dining room. Did you ring, ma’am?
Mrs. Alving
Yes; let us have the lamp in.
Regina
Yes, ma’am. It’s ready lighted. Goes out.
Mrs. Alving
Goes across to Oswald. Oswald, be frank with me.
Oswald
Well, so I am, Mother. Goes to the table. I think I have told you enough.
Regina brings the lamp and sets it upon the table.
Mrs. Alving
Regina, you may bring us a small bottle of champagne.
Regina
Very well, ma’am. Goes out.
Oswald
Puts his arm round Mrs. Alving’s neck. That’s just what I wanted. I knew mother wouldn’t let her boy go thirsty.
Mrs. Alving
My own, poor, darling Oswald; how could I deny you anything now?
Oswald
Eagerly. Is that true, Mother? Do you mean it?
Mrs. Alving
How? What?
Oswald
That you couldn’t deny me anything.
Mrs. Alving
My dear Oswald—
Oswald
Hush!
Regina
Brings a tray with a half-bottle of champagne and two glasses, which she sets on the table. Shall I open it?
Oswald
No, thanks. I will do it myself.
Regina goes out again.
Mrs. Alving
Sits down by the table. What was it you meant—that I mustn’t deny you?
Oswald
Busy opening the bottle. First let us have a glass—or two.
The cork pops; he pours wine into one glass, and is about to pour it into the other.
Mrs. Alving
Holding her hand over it. Thanks; not for me.
Oswald
Oh! won’t you? Then I will!
He empties the glass, fills, and empties it again; then he sits down by the table.
Mrs. Alving
In expectancy. Well?
Oswald
Without looking at her. Tell me—I thought you and Pastor Manders seemed so odd—so quiet—at dinner today.
Mrs. Alving
Did you notice it?
Oswald
Yes. H’m—After a short silence. Tell me: what do you think of Regina?
Mrs. Alving
What do I think?
Oswald
Yes; isn’t she splendid?
Mrs. Alving
My dear Oswald, you don’t know her as I do—
Oswald
Well?
Mrs. Alving
Regina, unfortunately, was allowed to stay at home too long. I ought to have taken her earlier into my house.
Oswald
Yes, but isn’t she splendid to look at, Mother? He fills his glass.
Mrs. Alving
Regina has many serious faults—
Oswald
Oh, what does that matter? He drinks again.
Mrs. Alving
But I am fond of her, nevertheless, and I am responsible for her. I wouldn’t for all the world have any harm happen to her.
Oswald
Springs up. Mother, Regina is my only salvation!
Mrs. Alving
Rising. What do you mean by that?
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