newspaper). I should have thought it would have
been pretty much the same to you whether I were here or away.

Mrs. Alving. Have you the heart to say that to your mother, Oswald?

Oswald. But you have been quite happy living without me so far.

Mrs. Alving. Yes, I have lived without you--that is true.

(A silence. The dusk falls by degrees. OSWALD walks restlessly up and
down. He has laid aside his cigar.) Oswald (stopping beside MRS.
ALVING). Mother, may I sit on the couch beside you?

Mrs. Alving. Of course, my dear boy.

Oswald (sitting down). Now I must tell you something mother.

Mrs. Alving (anxiously). What?

Oswald (staring in front of him). I can't bear it any longer.

Mrs. Alving. Bear what? What do you mean?

Oswald (as before). I couldn't bring myself to write to you about it;
and since I have been at home--

Mrs. Alving (catching him by the arm). Oswald, what is it?

Oswald. Both yesterday and today I have tried to push my thoughts away
from me--to free myself from them. But I can't.

Mrs. Alving (getting up). You must speak plainly, Oswald!

Oswald (drawing her down to her seat again). Sit still, and I will try
and tell you. I have made a great deal of the fatigue I felt after my
journey--

Mrs. Alving. Well, what of that?

Oswald. But that isn't what is the matter. It is no ordinary fatigue--

Mrs. Alving (trying to get up). You are not ill, Oswald!

Oswald (pulling her down again). Sit still, mother. Do take it quietly.
I am not exactly ill--not ill in the usual sense. (Takes his head in
his hands.) Mother, it's my mind that has broken down--gone to
pieces--I shall never be able to work anymore! (Buries his face in his
hands and throws himself at her knees in an outburst of sobs.)

Mrs. Alving (pale and trembling). Oswald! Look at me! No, no, it isn't
true!

Oswald (looking up with a distracted expression). Never to be able to
work anymore! Never--never! A living death! Mother, can you imagine
anything so horrible!

Mrs. Alving. My poor unhappy boy? How has this terrible thing happened?

Oswald (sitting up again). That is just what I cannot possibly
understand. I have never lived recklessly, in any sense. You must
believe that of me, mother, I have never done that.

Mrs. Alving. I haven't a doubt of it, Oswald.

Oswald. And yet this comes upon me all the same; this terrible disaster!

Mrs. Alving. Oh, but it will all come right again, my dear precious
boy. It is nothing but