Henrik Ibsen's 1881 play 'Ghosts' explores how hereditary venereal disease and social hypocrisy destroy families, as Mrs. Alving's secret marriage to a dissolute man leads to her son Osvald's mental illness, demonstrating that social conventions often mask moral corruption and that truth-telling, though painful, is essential for human dignity.
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Ghosts - ITV Playhouse - 1977Added:
Heat. Heat.
Good morning.
>> The steamer is in already. Justin, such terrible weather we've been having lately.
>> Oh, blessed weather for ths.
>> We towns people think too little about that.
>> Oh, I'll help you. May I not?
>> Thank you.
>> My, how wet?
>> Thank you. Such a comfort to be safe undercover.
Everything going on well here?
>> Oh, yes. Quite well enough. Thank you, sir.
>> You have your hands full, I expect, in preparation for tomorrow.
>> Well, there is plenty to do, certainly.
>> Mrs. Alving is at home, I trust.
>> Yes, sir. She's upstairs seeing to the young master's chocolate.
>> Yes, I heard down at the pierool had arrived.
>> Yes, he arrived the day before yesterday.
>> Quite well and strong, I hope.
>> Oh, yes. Quite dreadfully tired after the journey from Paris. He's sleeping now, I think. Perhaps we should talk a little quieter.
>> Quietly, you >> sit down, Pastor Munders. Make yourself comfortable.
>> Thank you.
there. Now, is that more comfortable?
>> Most comfortable. Thank you.
Do you know, Mr. England, I believe you've positively grown since I last saw you.
>> Mrs. Alving says that my figure has developed, too.
>> Developed?
Well, perhaps? Yes. Just a little. Just enough.
>> I'll tell Mrs. deserving you're here.
>> Oh, there's no hurry, my dear child.
>> Barewell.
>> By the by Regina, my good girl. Just tell me your father. How is he getting on out here?
>> Oh, quite well enough, thank you, sir.
>> He called upon me last time he was in town. Oh, >> did he indeed?
>> Not a man of strong character, Miss Angstrand. He needs to have someone near him whom he cares for and whose judgment he respects. He frankly admitted as much to me.
>> Well, yes, he mentioned something of the kind to me, too, sir. But I don't think that it would be right for for a girl of my age to keep house for a single man.
>> Oh, when the man is your own father.
>> Welcome, my dear pastor.
>> Here I am, as promised.
>> Always punctual. And now it means we can get through our business before dinner.
But where is your luggage?
>> I left it down at the gate. Are you really not to be persuaded even now to pass one night under my roof?
>> No, no, Mrs. Aling. Many thanks. I shall stay the inn as usual. It's convenient for the steamer.
>> I really should have thought that we two old people.
>> Now, now you're making fun of me. But naturally, you're in great spirits today. Tomorrow's festival and Oswald's return.
>> You can't imagine how happy it makes me.
It's nearly 2 years since he was home last, and he's promised to spend all winter here.
>> Has he really? I mean, life in Rome and Paris must have many more attractions.
>> True, but here he has his mother. My blessed boy. There is still room in his heart for his mother. And there's nothing the matter with him. Nothing.
I'll be curious to know whether you recognize him again. But do sit down, Pastor Manders.
>> Thank you.
>> Now to business. the orphanage. Here we are all signed and sealed. Here is the formal deed of gift of the parcel of ground known as Sulvvic with all the newly constructed buildings, school rooms and chapel.
And here is the legal settlement for the endowment with the regulations of the institution.
Or will you look at them?
regulations of the children's home to be known as Captain Alving's Foundation.
>> So that is it.
>> I chose the designation captain rather than Chamberlain.
>> Stay where you are. You're positively dripping.
>> It's the Lord's reign, my guard.
>> Devil's rain. More like big.
>> Look, I haven't time for a rendeoo with you.
>> What? I don't want anyone to find me.
>> Go on. Go off about your business.
>> Lest if I go before I've had a word, will you?
>> Come on.
>> This afternoon, I shall finish my work at the schoolhouse. Then I'll take tonight's boat and be back off home to the town.
>> The sooner the better say they are.
>> Yes, but I want you to come with me, Mcina.
>> Never in this world. I when treated as a daughter in this house, go home with you to a house like yours.
>> Shame. Do you set yourself up against your own father? Girl, >> haven't you said open enough child of yours? Haven't you sworn at me and called me a >> Well, that was only when I was a bit and your mother rode a high horse. I had to do something. She's always setting up as a fine lady. Let me go instream. Let me be. Remember, I spent three years with Chamberlain Coing's family.
>> Poor mother. You soon worried her into her grave.
>> Oh, yeah. Of course, of course. I am to be blamed for everything that >> you said.
>> So, what do you want with me in town?
>> Do you ask a father what he wants with his only child?
>> Don't start that nonsense with me.
>> Go on. What do you want before?
>> Well, I was thinking of starting out on something new.
>> Well, you've done that often enough and not done any good.
>> Well, it's like this. You see, I've made a very tiny pile from this orphanage job. And I thought of putting the money into some sort of paying speculation. A sailor's hostel, so to speak. A regular highass affair, you understand? Don't be a pigsty common sailor. No. No. Damn it.
Captains and mates, officers only, you know.
>> Oh, I see. And uh what do you want me for?
>> Well, you'll have to help, of course.
But >> Oh, >> only for appearanc's sake, you understand?
>> You can do exactly what you like.
>> Oh, indeed.
>> But there must be a pedicote in the house that's as fair as daylight, for I've got it in mind. Uh a bit lively in the evenings with singing and dancing and so forth. Darling, I've got my eye on a capital property in Little Harbor Street. It won't need much reading money and uh it could be just right for what I have in mind.
>> How come I not live with you? I'll have absolutely nothing to do with you. You might as well be.
>> You wouldn't be with me for long, my girl. No such luck. Fine girl you've grown into the last two years. Nah, you'd soon get hold of some mate.
Perhaps even a captain.
>> I'll have nothing to do with them.
>> No.
>> Sailors have no savvoir.
>> There's no future marrying men. Well, never mind the marrying bit. I mean, you could still make it pay.
>> Get out.
>> That Englishman with the yacht, I mean, he paid £100.
>> She was no prettier than you. All right.
All right. All right. I'm going. I'm going. All right. I'm going.
But past Manders will tell you what a child owes its old father.
>> And he's certainly a capital workman.
>> So long as he's sober.
>> He's driven to drink by his bad leg. He told me so himself. That's what I can't help liking about Jacob Angstrand. He comes to you helplessly accusing himself and confessing his own weakness. Mrs. Alving, supposing it but a real necessity for him to have Regina home again.
>> But he hardly ever sees the girl.
>> You must not set yourself against it.
>> I most certainly will set myself against it. Apart from anything else, Regina is to help here in the orphanage.
>> But after all, he is her father.
I know best what sort of father he's been to her. No, she shall never go to him with my goodwill. I have taken Regina into my house, and here she shall stay.
>> Oswald.
>> Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were in the study.
>> Morning, Pastor Manders.
>> How strange. Mother.
>> Well, what do you think of him, Pastor Manders? I I But can it really be?
>> Yes, it is really the prodigal son, my dear young friend.
>> Oh, Oswald remembers just how much opposed you were to his becoming a painter.
>> To our human eyes, many a step seems dubious, which afterwards proves.
Welcome, welcome home. And you mustn't believe that I utterly condemn the artist's calling. I have no doubt there are many who can keep their inner self unharmed in that profession, as in any other.
>> Well, let us hope so. And you've begun to make a name for yourself already. The newspapers have often spoken of you most favorably. But lately, they haven't mentioned your name quite so often, I fancy.
>> I haven't been able to paint so much lately.
>> Even an artist needs to rest a little now and then.
>> To gather his forces for some great work, I can quite believe it.
>> Mother will dinner be ready soon?
>> Yes, he has a healthy appetite, I'm glad to say.
>> And a taste for tobacco, too.
>> Well, I found my father's pipe in my room. And so, >> couch for it. What? Oh, when Oswwell stood there in the doorway with the pipe in his mouth, I could have sworn it was his father. Large as life.
>> But how can you say that? Oswwell takes after me.
>> There's an expression about the corners of his mouth. There's something about the lips that reminds one exactly of Alvi. At any rate, now that he's smoky, >> not in the least. Oswald has a rather clerical curve to his lips. I think >> some of my colleagues do have much of the same expression. Yes. Put the pipe away, Oswald. I don't allow smoking in here.
>> Well, I only wanted to try it.
>> I once smoked it when I was a child. You >> I was quite small at the time. I remember. I came up to father's room one evening when he was in great spirits.
>> Oh, well, you don't remember anything of the kind.
>> I remember distinctly.
He took me on his knee and gave me the pipe. Smoke, boy, he said. Smoke away, boy. And I smoked as hard as I could until I felt myself growing pale and the perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead. Then he burst out laughing.
How >> extraordinary.
>> Oh, my dear friend, it's simply something Oswwell dreamt.
>> No, I didn't dream it, mother. Well, don't you remember? You came and carried me into the nursery. Then I was sick.
You were crying. I saw you.
Did my father often play tricks like that on people?
>> He positively overflowed with the joy of life in his youth.
>> As he managed to do so much in the world, and I so young.
>> You have inherited the name of a worthy man, Oswald. No doubt it will serve as an incentive. I it ought to indeed.
>> It was very good of you to come home for the ceremony in his honor.
>> And he has to stay with me for so long.
That is the best thing of all.
>> You went out into the world early, my dear Oswwell.
>> I sometimes wonder whether it wasn't too early.
>> Nonsense. An only child should not hang about at home with his mother and father and get spoiled.
>> That's a difficult question, Mrs. Arving. A child's proper place is and must be the home of his father.
>> Although I quite agree with you, Pastor Manders.
>> Let me look at your own son. What has the consequence been for him? He's never had the opportunity of learning what home life really is.
>> I'm sorry, Pastor Manders. There you're quite mistaken.
>> Indeed. I thought you'd lived almost exclusively in artistic circles.
>> So I have.
>> But I thought few of these young fellows could afford to set up house and support a family.
>> There are many who can't afford to marry. That's true.
>> Exactly.
>> But they can have a home for all that.
>> A very pleasant, comfortable home. Some of them are too.
>> I wasn't talking of bachelor's quarters.
By a home I mean a family home where a man lives with his wife and children >> or with his children and his children's mother.
>> With his children's mother >> or would you rather he turned his children's mother out of doors?
>> You're talking of an illicit relationship?
>> I've never noticed anything particularly illicit in the life these people lead.
>> How could a young man or young woman with any decent principles endure to live in that way?
>> Oh, what else can they do? A poor young artist, a poor girl. It costs a great deal to get married. What are they to do?
>> THEY OUGHT TO exercise self-restraint from the first. That's what they ought to do.
>> Such talk won't go very far with warm, bloody young people head over heels in love. Indeed, >> it won't.
>> Had I not caused to be concerned about your son, moving in circles where open immorality prevails. Now, >> let me tell you, sir, I have been a constant guest in one or two such homes, and I have never heard an offensive word, nor witnessed anything that might be called immoral.
But do you know where I have come across immorality in artistic circles?
>> No, thank heaven I don't.
>> Then allow me to inform you.
>> I have met with it when one or other of our patent husbands and fathers has come to Paris to have a look around on his own account and has done the artist the honor of visiting their humble haunts.
Oh, they knew what was what. These gentlemen could tell us all about places and things that we had never dreamt of.
>> Do you mean to say that respectable MEN FROM HOME? HAVE YOU EVER HEARD these respectable men when they get home again talking about the way in which immorality abroad was running rampant?
>> Oh, yes, of course.
>> Well, then you may take their word for it, for they know what they're talking about.
>> Oh, that that great, FREE, GLORIOUS LIFE OUT THERE SHOULD BE DEFILED IN SUCH A WAY.
>> OSWALD, you mustn't get so excited.
It's not good for you. No, >> you're quite right, mother. It's not good for me.
I'm so wretchedly worn out.
Oh, I think I'll go for a little walk before dinner.
>> I'm sorry, Pastor Manders.
>> And what have you to say to all this?
that I agree with every word Oswald has said.
>> Agree?
Agree?
>> Yes.
Here, in my loneliness, I have come to much the same way of thinking. But I've never dared say anything.
Now, my son can speak for me.
>> I see. I must talk to you seriously, Mrs. Not as your own and late husband's friend, but as a priest.
the priest who stood before you in the moment of your life when you had most gone astray.
>> And what has the priest to say to me?
>> I will first stir up your memory a little.
Tomorrow will be the third anniversary of your husband's death. Tomorrow the memorial in his honor will be unveiled.
Tomorrow I shall have to speak to the people.
Today I will speak to you alone.
speak.
>> Have you forgotten that after less than a year of married life, you stood on the verge of an abyss?
That you forsook your house and home, fled from your husband, and refused to return to him, however much he begged and prayed you.
>> Have you forgotten how hopelessly unhappy I was in that first year? It >> is only the spirit of rebellion that craves for happiness in this life. It was your duty to stand by the man you had chosen. You knew the sort of life Alving was leading at that time.
>> A wife is not to be her husband's judge.
It was your duty to bear with humility the cross which a higher power had for your own good laid upon you. But rebelliously you threw away the cross, deserted the backslider you should have supported, risked your good name and reputation, and nearly succeeded in ruining the reputation of other people into the bargain.
>> Other people?
One other person, you know.
>> It was incredibly reckless of you to seek refuge with me, >> with our minister, our family friend.
>> Just on that account, I thank God that I possess the necessary firmness that I dissuaded you from your wild designs and led you back to the path of duty and home to your lawful husband.
>> Yes, there is no doubt, Pastor Manders, you did do that.
>> And did not everything happen as I foretold?
Did Alving not live with you from that time? lovingly and blamelessly all his life.
Now I come to the next great error in your life. Just as you once disowned a wife's duty, so you have disowned a mother's.
>> You have been all your life under the dominion of a pestilent spirit of self-will. It did not suit you to be a wife any longer, so you left your husband. You found it troublesome to be a mother, so you sent your child forth among strangers.
>> Yes, it is true. I did do that. And thus you have become a stranger to him.
>> No.
>> Oh no.
>> A stranger. You sinned against your husband and now you must admit that you have sinned against your son as well.
Mrs. Abid, as a mother, you are rotten with guilt.
This I have thought it my duty to say to you.
Tomorrow you are to speak publicly in memory of my husband.
I shall not speak tomorrow.
But now I will speak to you frankly as you have spoken to me.
>> You will plead excuses for your conduct.
>> I will only narrate.
>> Well, all that you have just said about my husband and me and the life we led when you took me back to the path of duty as you called it. About all that, you know nothing from personal observation.
From that moment on, you who had been our constant, most intimate friend, never set foot in our house again.
>> You and your husband left the town immediately after.
>> And during my husband's lifetime, you never once came to visit us.
Elaine, if that is meant as a reproach, I would beg you to bear in mind.
>> Well, now I will tell you the truth.
I swore to myself that one day you would know it.
You and you alone.
>> What is the truth?
The truth is my husband died as dissolute and debortched as he had lived.
>> What did you say?
>> After 19 years of marriage, as dissolute in his desires as he was before you married us, >> you call youthful escapades, excesses if you like, evidence of a dissolute life. That is precisely the expression our doctor used.
>> You are saying that the rest of your married life was nothing but a facade.
>> Yes.
Now you know.
>> I can't believe it. How is it possible to How could such a state of things be kept dark.
>> That has been my ceaseless struggle day after day.
>> Oh, after Oswald's birth, Alving seemed a little better, but it didn't last long. And then I had to fight twice as hard so that no one should know what sort of man my son's father was.
And you know what power Alving had of winning people's hearts. No one, it seemed, could believe anything but good of him.
He was one of those people whose life does not bite upon their reputation.
But at last, for you must know the whole story.
The most repulsive thing of all happened.
I had gone on bearing with him, although I knew very well the secrets of his life outside this house.
But when he brought scandal within these four walls, >> here >> here in our own home.
It was here in a dining room that I first got to know about it.
I was busy with something in here. The door was a jar. I heard our housemate come out from the garden with water for the flowers.
And >> a moment later, I heard Alvin come in. I heard him murmur something to her. And then I heard I can still hear it.
It was so shattering, so ludicrous.
I heard my own housemate say, "Mr. Alving, let me go. Leave me alone."
>> Oh, it was meant lightheartedly, Mrs. Alving. It was nothing more, believe me.
>> I soon knew what to believe.
Alving had his way with a girl, and that relationship had consequences.
>> Such things in this house.
>> I have borne a great deal in this house.
to keep Alving at home in the evening and at night I had to make myself his drinking companion.
>> And you were able to endure all that?
>> That is when I sent Oswald away from home.
He was 7 years old and beginning to ask questions as children do that I could not endure.
Seemed to me he would become poisoned merely by breathing the air of his polluted home.
That is why I sent him away.
That is why he was never allowed to set foot in this house while his father lived.
No one knows what it cost me.
>> Unendurable.
>> I endured it because I had my work and I did work. I can say that. All those additions to the estate, all those improvements, the one Alving so much praise. Do you think he had energy for anything of the sort? He who lay all day on a sofa reading an old guide. No. And this I will tell you also. It was I who urged him on in his better moments. And it was I who carried the load when he relapsed.
>> And to that man you raise a memorial.
I did not want my son to inherit anything from his father.
Then it is Alving's fortune that you have spent.
>> The sums I have paid into the orphanage year after year make up the amount. I have reckoned it precisely the exact amount that made Lieutenant Alving a good match in his day.
It was my purchase money.
I do not choose for that money to pass into Oswwell's hands.
My son shall have everything from me.
Everything >> back so soon.
>> What can one do out ofdoors in this eternal rain?
>> Well, I hear the dinner is ready.
>> This has come for you, Mrs. Fing.
>> Oh, oh, the the songs for tomorrow's ceremony.
>> And dinner is ready.
>> We will be indirectly. I'll just >> Would Mr. Alving like red or white wine?
Both please. Regina see very good sir.
>> I'll help her to open the bottles.
>> The songs. You see, I I was right.
>> How I shall ever be able to make my speech tomorrow.
Oh, you will manage.
>> It wouldn't do to provoke a scandal.
>> No.
>> And then this long hateful comedy will be at an end.
From the day after tomorrow, it shall be for me as though he who is dead had never lived in this house.
There shall be no one here but my boy and his mother.
>> I know. Will you let me go to >> Mrs. Alving? What is it?
>> Ghosts.
The couple from the past are here again.
>> What are you saying?
Regina, is she?
>> Yes.
Not a word.
Come >> aren't you coming in?
>> Uh, no, thank you. I think I'll go out for a little.
>> Regina.
>> Yes, ma'am.
>> Go downstairs to the islanding room and help with the flowers for tomorrow.
>> Yes, I I I'll go directly >> now. Regina.
>> Yes, ma'am.
He can't hear us in here.
>> Not when the door is shut.
>> Oh, I managed to swallow a bite of that wretched meal. I shall never know what's to be done now.
>> She must go. Of course. Obviously. But where to?
>> Well, home to her father. Of course.
>> What father?
>> Well, to her.
But then Angstrand is not her father.
Oh, Mrs. Alving, it's impossible. You must be mistaken. I'm mistaken in nothing. Joanne, my maid, confessed everything to me, and Alvin could not deny it. So, the only thing to be done was to hush the matter up. She left our service almost at once with a good sum of money to hold her tongue. The rest she managed for herself when she got into town. She took up her old acquaintance with Angstrand.
No doubt uh told him how much money she had received and spun him some foreigner who put in here with a yacht that summer. They married almost at once. You married them yourself.
>> I remember distinctly Amstrand coming to give me notice of the marriage, but he was broken down with contrition, reproached himself bitterly for his misbehavior.
>> Naturally, he had to take the blame upon himself.
>> Such duplicity. I would never have believed it of Jacob Angstrand. How much did the girl receive?
>> £100.
>> £100 to marry a fallen woman. The immorality of it.
>> Then what have you to say to me? I married a fallen man. Well, there's a world of difference between the two cases.
>> Only the price. A wretched £100 compared with a whole fortune.
>> There's no comparison. You had taken counsel with your heart and with your friends.
Nobody could foresee the result.
One thing remains clear. Your marriage was in accordance with law and order.
>> Oh yes, law and order. I sometimes think that is what is responsible for all the misery in the world.
>> Miss it.
>> I can't help it. I can't endure this constraint. This cowardice any longer.
>> Cowardice.
>> Yes. If I were the woman I ought to be, I should go to Oswald and I should say, "Listen, my boy. Your father were self-indulgent and vicious."
>> God forbid.
>> And then I should tell him everything I have just told you, every word of it.
>> But the idea is shocking.
>> I know that. I'm shocked at it myself.
So cowardly. You call it cowardice to do your duty.
Have you forgotten that a son should love and honor his father and mother? Is there no voice in your heart that forbids you to destroy your son's ideals?
>> What about the truth?
>> What about the ideals?
>> Ideals.
Ideals.
>> Do not despise ideals.
They will avenge themselves most cruy.
Oswald seems to have few enough ideals as it is. But I can see his father stands before him as an ideal.
>> Oh, if I weren't such a pitiful coward, I should go to him and I should say marry her. Oh, make what arrangements you please. But no deceit.
>> Merciful God, you would let them marry.
How could you, a mother?
>> I can't. That is precisely what I am saying.
Because you are a coward, as you put it.
But if you are not a coward, then >> let me try to tell you what I mean.
I am frightened.
Frightened because I cannot rid myself of the ghosts that haunt me.
When I saw Oswald and Regina in there, I seem to see ghosts before me. I think we're all of us ghosts, Pastor Amanders.
It's not only what we've inherited from our fathers and mothers that haunts our hearts and minds. It's all sorts of dead beliefs, lifeless old ideas that have no vitality, but cling to us all the same.
And we can't get rid of them.
>> These abominable thoughts, where do they spring from?
>> From you.
From you, Pastor Manders.
It was you who first set me thinking for myself.
And I thank you for it with all my heart.
>> Me?
>> You when you forced me under a yoke of duty and obligation, when you praised as right and proper what my whole soul rebelled against as something loathome, it was then I decided to look into the seams of your doctrine.
Was that the outcome of my life's hardest battle?
>> Call it rather your most pitiful defeat.
>> It was my greatest victory, Elaine.
The victory over myself.
>> It was a crime against us both.
>> When you came to me crying, here I am.
Take me.
I commanded you saying, woman, go home to your lawful husband.
Was that a crime?
>> I think so.
>> You and I do not understand each other.
>> Not now at anyone.
>> Never.
Never in my most secret thoughts have I thought of you otherwise than as another's wife.
I wonder Elaine.
>> Oh >> I beg your pardon humbly. Mom, there were no servants about, so I took the great liberty of just knocking. I was hoping to have a word or two with his reverence.
>> You want to speak to me, do you?
Well, uh, it's like this, your referenc.
We've been paid off down yonder. Most grateful thanks to you, Mom. And now that everything's finished, I was thinking it only right and proper that we that have worked so honestly together all this time. Well, I was thinking we ought to end up with a little prayer meeting.
>> First, I must ask you a question. Are you in the right frame of mind for such a meeting? Is your conscience clear and at ease?
>> Oh Lord, Pastor Manders, I have been troubled by my conscience. Ah, >> you admit that. Then will you tell me the truth about Regina?
>> Pastor Manders, >> just let me There's nothing wrong with Regina, is there?
>> The truth, Angstrand.
You pass for her father. Well, >> might I be bold enough to ask your reverends a bit of a question?
>> Ask away. Is a man not right and proper to raise up the fallen?
>> Well, most certainly he is.
>> And is a man not bound to keep his sacred word?
>> Yes, of course.
>> Well, uh, when Joanna had that trouble with that Englishman, or he might have been an American or a Russian. Well, she came down to the town. Poor thing. She sent me about my business once or twice before because she was only interested in the handsome ones, you see. and I'd got this damaged leg. Well, when she confessed everything to me with weeping and nashing of teeth, I can tell your reverence, I was sore at heart to hear it.
>> Go on. So I said to her, "The American is sailing about the boundless sea, and you said I have committed a sin and are a fallen creature. But Jacob England has two good legs to stand upon."
Figuratively speaking, your reference.
>> Go on.
>> Well, that is how I raised her up and made an honest woman of her. We men ought to deal too hardly with a poor woman, your reverend.
>> All very commendable, Angstrand. If only you hadn't taken the money.
>> Money? Me? I didn't touch a far.
>> But Mrs. Alving says the >> Oh, well, I remember now. Joanna did have a few shillings, but I would have nothing of it. No, said I. That is the mammon. That is the waged of sin, said I. and Joanna and me, we agreed to put that money to the child's education. And that is what we did. And I can count for every blessed fing of it.
This alters the case considerably.
>> Give me your hand, Jacobster.
>> Oh Lord, your reverence. Go before me now and make everything ready. Get the candles lighted so as to give the place an air of festivity. For now, I quite believe you're in the right frame of mind.
>> I trust I am. I say goodbye, ma'am. And thank you kindly. But look after Regina for me.
>> Well, what do you say now, Mrs. Alving?
That threw a totally different light on matters, didn't it? It >> certainly did.
Such a comfort to know that one has been mistaken.
Don't you think?
>> I think you are and always will be a great baby, Pastor Amanders.
>> Me?
>> And have a good mind to put my arms around your neck and give you a kiss.
>> You do sometimes have the most exaggerated way of expressing yourself.
>> Oh, you needn't be afraid of me.
>> Then uh that's everything, I think.
Goodbye for the present. I shall look in again later.
>> Oswald, I thought you'd gone out >> in this weather.
Wasn't that uh Pastor Manders went out just now?
>> Yes. He's gone down to the orphanage.
>> Oswald, that lure is very strong.
>> It keeps out the damp.
>> Won't you come in with me?
>> No, you won't let me smoke in there.
>> You know perfectly well I allow cigars.
>> Oh, all right then. I'll come.
May I sit beside you on the sofa?
>> Oh, my dear boy.
>> Uh, I'm going to tell you something, mother.
>> What is it?
>> I could never bring myself to write to you about it. And since I've come home, >> well, >> well, both yesterday and today, I've tried to put the thoughts away from me to get free from them. I can't.
>> What the >> Sit still, mother, and I'll try and explain.
I complained of fatigue after my journey.
>> But it isn't that. It isn't any ordinary fatigue.
>> You're not ill.
>> No, sit still, mother.
Only take it quietly.
Oh, no. I'm not ill either. Well, not what's commonly called ill.
Mother, my mind is broken.
Ruined.
I shall never be able to work again.
>> Look at me. It's not true.
>> Never to be able to work again. Never.
Never.
>> Can you imagine anything more horrible?
>> But how?
>> That's just what I couldn't understand.
I've never let it dissipate. I've never You mustn't believe that me.
>> Oh, my blessed boy. Oh, this is over work, that's all. Trust me.
>> I thought so to thirst, but it isn't.
Directly after I've been home last time and got back to Paris, I began to feel the most violent pains in my head.
Oh, chiefly in the back of my head, I thought.
It was as though a tight iron ring were being screwed round my neck and upwards.
Well, at first I thought it was the ordinary headaches I had been so plagued when I was growing up, but it wasn't that.
I soon found that out. So, I couldn't work.
I wanted to begin upon a new picture.
But my powers failed me. My strength was crippled.
I couldn't form any definite images.
Everything swam before me, whirling round and round and well, at last I sent for a doctor.
I told him my symptoms and then he sent to work asking me a heap of questions which I thought had nothing to do with the matter. I couldn't understand what the man was getting at. Well, >> at last he said, >> you have been worm eaten since your birth.
>> Well, I actually the word he used was vermolu.
>> What did he mean?
>> Well, I didn't understand him either, and I I begged him to explain himself more clearly.
And then the old cynic said, he said, "The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children."
>> Sins of the fathers.
>> I very nearly struck him in the face.
>> Sins of the fathers?
>> Oh, yes. Well, what do you think of that? Of course, I assured him that such a thing was out of the question. Do you think he gave in? No, he stuck to it.
And it was only after I produced your letters and translated the passages about father that he had to admit he was on the wrong track.
So I I got to know the truth.
The inconceivable truth.
I should have stopped away from my bright and happy life among my friends.
It had been too much for my strength.
I brought it upon myself.
>> No, you mustn't believe that. But >> no other explanation was possible, he said.
>> Oh, if only it had been something inherited, something one wasn't responsible for but this.
My dear, my darling boy.
Oh, and then to cause you all this sorrow.
I've almost wished and hoped you didn't care for me so very much.
>> Oh, my blessed boy, you are all I have in the world.
>> I can see that now.
And that's the hardest part for me.
But now you know the whole story. And now we won't talk about it anymore today. Get me something to drink, mother.
>> To drink?
>> What do you want to drink?
>> Oh, anything you like.
>> But don't refuse me, mother. Do me nice now. I must have something to wash down all these annoying thoughts.
It's so dark here and this ceaseless rain.
I can't recollect ever having seen the sunshine all the times I've been home.
>> You're thinking of leaving me?
>> No, I'm not thinking of anything.
I can't think of anything.
The time for thought is ended.
The lampina, >> it's already lit, man.
>> There's something else, isn't there, Roswell?
>> That's enough for the moment, mother.
>> Regina.
Purchase a bottle of champagne.
>> Yeah.
>> Oh, I knew my mother wouldn't let a boy go thirsty.
>> What could I deny? You know, >> is that true, mother? Do you mean it?
>> What?
>> That you wouldn't deny me anything?
>> What? Shh.
There. Shall I pour it?
>> Oh, no, thank you. I'll do it myself.
>> Very well, >> Oswald. What am I not to deny?
>> Oh, first let's have a glass or two.
>> Not for me, thank you.
>> As you wish.
>> Well, >> oh, tell me. I thought you and Pastor Manders were very quiet at lunch today.
>> You noticed?
Tell me, what do you think of Regina?
Isn't she magnificent?
>> You don't know her as I do. She has many faults.
>> Well, what does that matter?
>> I'm fond of the girl, and I am responsible for her. I would not for all the world have any harm come to her.
>> Regina is my only salvation. Mother, >> what do you mean?
>> I can't bear this anguish of mind alone.
But I am here to help you, baby.
>> That's That's what I thought. That's why I came home to you.
>> But it won't do. I can't end your life here.
>> No, >> I will not have you watch it happen, mother.
>> Oh, you were only the illness. I should stay with you. You may be sure of that.
You're the best friend I have in the world.
>> Am I? Am I? Ow. But it's the torment, the anguish.
And besides that, the great killing dread.
What is it you want?
>> I want my boy to be happy. That is what I want. I don't want him to brood.
Regina, some more champagne. A whole bottle.
>> Yes.
>> Oh, mother. Do you think we don't know how to live out here?
>> Isn't she splendid to look at? A body so sound, so healthy, >> Oswald, let us sit down quietly and talk.
>> Yes. Yes, mother. But first, there's something you don't know.
>> I must make amends to Regina.
>> Amends?
>> Uh, for a bit of thoughtlessness or whatever you like to call it. Very innocent. Anyhow, when I was home last time, she used to ask me about Paris, and I used to tell her, "Well, this and that.
And then one day I happened to ask her if she wouldn't like to go there herself.
>> Well, >> I saw her face flush and she said I should like it above all things. Then perhaps it might be managed. I said or something like that and promptly forgot all about it. But then the day I came home, I hadn't to ask if she was glad I would be staying so long. She looked at me strangely and said, "What's to become of my trip to Paris? Was she taking the whole thing seriously, mother? Then it flashed upon me that my salvation lay in her.
>> For I could see that she was full of the joy of life.
>> Joy of life.
Is there salvation in that?
I'm sorry that was so long. I had to go to the cellar for it.
>> Uh, now fetch another glass. Regina.
Well, >> Mrs. Alving's glass is there.
>> For yourself, Regina.
Mrs. Harvey, fetch a glass.
>> Have you noticed how she walks?
>> It could never be yours. Will >> it's settled, mother. Can't you see?
>> Sit down, Regina.
>> Sit.
Oswald, what were you saying just now about the joy of life?
>> Why haven't you ever noticed, mother, how everything I've ever painted has always turned upon the joy of life?
Always, always upon the joy of life.
Light and sunshine and faces radiant with happiness.
But that's why I'm afraid of remaining at home with you.
>> What are you afraid of here with me?
>> I'm afraid that everything that I feel, everything which is inside me might be warped into ugliness.
>> Do you think that would be the way of it? Well, >> I know it. Oh, you could live the same life here as there. And yet it wouldn't be the same life.
Now I see the connection.
Now I can speak.
>> Perhaps I will do.
>> No, stay.
Listen, Oswald, I am going to tell you the truth and then you can choose.
>> Well, that was all very satisfactory.
We've had a capital meeting.
>> So have we. Angstrand must be encouraged with his sailors home. Regina will have to move in with him and help him.
>> No, no, thank you, sir.
>> Regina is moving in with me, Pastor Mandis.
>> Moving in with you, >> as my wife, if she chooses it, >> good God.
Or she'll stay here if I stay >> here.
>> I'm amazed at you, Mrs. Hing.
>> They will do neither one thing nor the other. But now I can speak.
>> No. No.
>> I can speak and I will.
>> Listen.
>> Listen. Mrs. Alvin, do you shouting?
>> What's going on?
>> Where's that light coming from?
>> It's the orphanage. It's on fire.
>> Fire.
>> Impossible. I JUST COME FROM THERE.
>> ORPHANAGE.
Where's Mrs. Abby?
>> She went into the garden, sir.
>> This is the most terrible night of my life.
>> Pastor Manders, do you know how it happened?
>> How should I know?
You're not suggesting that I I've had enough of that from your father.
>> What about him?
>> He's completely confused me.
>> What do you want with me now?
>> Strike me dead, but I must Oh, it's an ugly business, your reference.
>> Quite dreadful.
>> What's the matter?
>> It all came of that prayer meeting, you see. We've got him now, Margo. And to think it's my fault that it's his reverence's fault.
>> I assure you, Dick Strand, >> not another soul except your reverence touched the candle.
>> Well, so you say, but I certainly can't recollect having a candle in my hand.
>> But I I saw it clear as daylight when your reverend snuffed the candle with your finger, then threw away the snub among the shavings.
>> It's beyond my comprehension. Besides, it's never been my habit to snuff candles with my fingers.
I can't get Oswald away from the fire.
>> So you won't have to make your speech after all. Pastor Manders, >> I should so gladly.
>> That orphanage would have done no good for anybody.
>> It's still a disaster.
>> We will discuss it simply as a matter of business.
Are you waiting for the past day in strength? I am inde rather stand.
>> I suppose you'll be catching steamer.
>> It leaves in about an hour.
>> Then be so good as to take all the papers with you.
>> I'll have other things to think about now.
>> Mrs. Irving, >> I will give you power of attorney to do with everything as you please.
>> The original intention of the indictment will have to be completely changed. I'm afraid >> I shall allow the salvic property to pass to the parish. The land is not without value and the interest on the money in the bank I could perhaps apply to some enterprise or other that would be of benefit to the town.
>> Yes. Yes. Do as you like. I don't care anymore.
>> You'll uh give a thought to my sailor's home. Your re >> I don't know how long I shall be able to retain control of these things. It depends entirely upon the result of the official inquiry into the fire. And that can by no means be foretold.
>> Oh, but it can. For here stands Jacob Ingstand.
But and Jacob Ingstand is not a man to desert a benefactor in the hour of need.
Now is he?
>> What are you talking about?
>> Jacob Ingstand could be described as a a guardian angel. Your reverence.
>> No. No. I I couldn't allow.
>> Yes, you could. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I've taken the blame for another's wrong now, would it?
Jacob, you are a rare character.
>> Well, you shall be helped with your sailor's home that you may rely on.
>> And now, let's be off. We two go together.
>> Come, my girl. You shall live as snug as a yolk in an egg.
>> Oh, mercy.
>> Goodbye, Mrs. Irving.
>> May the spirit of law and order descend upon this house and quickly.
>> Goodbye, Manders.
Well, goodbye my child. And if you're in any trouble, remember where to find Jacob Edge Strander. Captain Elving's home, Little Harbor Street.
>> What house was he talking about?
>> Some home he and Manders are to set up.
A >> will burn down like the other.
>> Everything will burn.
Bye.
My to burning.
>> Oh, my poor boy.
You should not have stayed down there so long. Let me wipe your face.
It's quite wet.
>> Thank you, mother.
Aren't you tired? Would you like to sleep? No, >> I can't sleep. I never sleep. I only pretend to.
>> That will come soon enough.
>> You really are ill. Is Mr. Alving ill?
>> Shut the doors.
>> Shut the door again.
This killing dread. Oswald, come sit by me. I'm going to talk.
>> Regina shall stay here, too. Regina shall be with me always.
>> You'll help me, Regina, won't you? I >> I don't understand you, Mr. Ali.
>> Help >> when it's needed.
>> But you have your mother here to help you when it's needed.
>> No, mother. That help you'll never bring me you.
though after all it lies nearest to you.
>> Why don't you call me Oswald Regina?
>> I don't think that Mrs. Alving would like it.
>> You shall soon have leave to do so.
Sit down, won't you, and join us.
Now, when you spoke this evening about the joy of life, at that word, a whole new light seemed to burst over my life and everything that was part of it.
>> I don't understand you.
>> You should have known your father when he was a young Fener Oswald. He was brimming over with the joy of life.
It was like a sunny day only to look at him.
Such strength and vitality he had.
A child of joy he was. And he was like a child at that time. And he had to live here in a half-grown town that had no joy to offer him, only dissipations.
He had no object in life, only an official position.
>> You mean that father?
>> Your father found no outlet for his overpowering joy of life. And I brought no brightness into his home. I had been taught a great deal about duty and so on which I had taken to be true. So that everything was marked into duties. There were my duties and his duties.
I'm afraid I made life at home intolerable for your father.
>> Why did you never say anything about this in your letters?
>> Because never before did I see it in terms I could say to his son.
I saw only one thing.
That your father was a broken man before you were born.
>> And then day after day I dwelt on the single thought that Regina by rights ought to live in this house as her own home just like my boy >> Regina.
Now you know both of you >> Regina.
>> So my mother was that kind of woman after all. She had many good qualities.
>> Oh, it doesn't matter. I often suspected it.
If you please, ma'am.
May I have permission to leave at once?
>> If you want to.
>> Indeed, I do.
>> Well, you must do as you wish, of course.
>> Away now. But isn't this your home?
>> Oh, mercy, Mr. Alving.
Well, now I suppose I may call you Oswald.
I never thought this to be the reason.
>> I know I haven't been entirely honest with you.
>> Indeed, you haven't.
But if I'd known that Oswwood was ill, I And now nothing between us can come to anything.
I I couldn't wear myself out here looking after someone who was ill.
>> Not even someone who is so close to you.
>> A poor girl has to make the most of her youth. Otherwise, she'll be left out in the cold.
>> And I have the joy of life in me, too.
Mrs. Alvi, >> I can see you.
>> Don't throw yourself away. Aina, >> I have no doubt that if Odwell takes after his father, then I take after my mother.
And may I may I ask, man?
May I ask, does Pastor Manders know about me?
>> He knows about it all.
>> You might have brought me up a gentleman's daughter, man.
It would have suited me better.
Oh, never mind. Doesn't matter.
>> I may drink champagne with a gentleman yet.
>> If you ever need a home, Regina, come to me.
>> No, thank you, ma'am.
Pastor Manders will look after me, I'm sure. And if the worst does come to the worst, there is a a house where I have every right to be.
>> Where is that?
Captain Alving's home.
And you, Mrs. Alving, Oswald, >> is she gone?
>> Yes.
All this shaken you very much.
about my father, you mean?
Well, it doesn't really matter very much to me. It >> doesn't matter that your own father was so unra.
>> Oh, I can pity him as I pity anybody else. But >> but is that all your own father?
>> Oh, father. Father.
I never knew anything of father. I don't remember anything about him except that he once made me sick.
>> But that's a terrible thing to say. A son should love his father. When a son has nothing to thank his father for, has never known him.
Oh, can you really cling to that old superstition?
You who are so enlightened in a low ways.
>> And you don't love me either.
>> But you I know at any rate.
>> You know me.
Yes.
Is that all?
And I know how fond you are of me and I'm grateful.
>> You can be very useful to me now that I'm ill.
>> I can can't I Oh, I could almost bless this illness that has brought you home to me. But now I see very clearly you are not mine.
I have to win.
>> Oh, that's just so much talk, mother.
I can't concern myself with other people's problems. I have enough to do thinking about myself.
>> I shall be patient.
>> I'm cheerful, too, mother.
>> Yes.
>> Well, now, have I removed your remorse? Your self-reroach?
>> Yes, you've done that.
But who's to take away the dread?
>> The dread?
>> I could have got Regina to do it.
>> Is it very late, mother? Um, it's nearly morning.
>> Oh, Oswald, it's going to be a lovely day.
Soon you shall see the sun.
>> I look forward to that.
Oh, I may still have much to enjoy, to live for.
>> Much, much.
>> Even if I can't work.
>> But you will be able to work now that you no longer have those nagging and depressing thoughts.
Well, there's only one thing more to be arranged then.
>> Let's talk together, mother.
Let's >> And in the meantime, the sun will be rising, and then you'll know all, and I shan have the dread any longer.
>> What is it, I am to know?
>> You remember, mother, a little while ago. You said there was nothing in the world you wouldn't do for me if I asked you.
>> Yes. Yes, I did.
>> And you'll stick to it.
>> Oh, you can rely on it, my blessed boy.
I have nothing in the world to live for, >> but you. Oh, all right then. You shall hear.
You'll be strong, mother. I know.
You'll sit quite still when you hear it.
You're not to scream. Do you hear?
Promise me that.
>> We'll sit and talk about it quietly.
Oh, promise me, mother.
>> I promise.
>> This fatigue, my inability to work, that is not the illness. itself.
>> What is the illness itself?
>> The disease I have as my birthright.
It's seated here.
Now, >> don't scream. I can't bear it.
that's seated here waiting and I may break out any moment, any day.
>> This is a nightmare.
>> Now, quietly, Mlet, that's how it is with me.
>> Oh, no, no, no. It isn't. It isn't true.
>> I'VE HAD ONE ATTACK ALREADY.
OH, it was soon over.
But when I when I heard what had happened to me, the dread came upon me, persistent, terrible. I set off home to you as fast as I could.
It were only an ordinary mortal disease.
I'm not so afraid of death, though. I should like to live as long as I could.
But >> yes, you must.
>> This is so unutterably abominable to become a baby again to have to be fed. To have to indescribable child has his mother to look after.
>> No, never. That's just what I won't have. I can't endure to think I might lie in that state. perhaps for years go old and gray and in the meantime you might die and leave me for the doctor said it wouldn't necessarily prove fatal at once. He called it a sort of softening of the brain, something like that.
I think that expression sounds so nice.
It makes me think of cherry colored velvet.
something reluctuous and delicate distro.
>> And now you've taken Regina from me.
If only I'd had her, she would have come to my rescue.
>> IS THERE ANYTHING IN THE WORLD I wouldn't do for you?
>> No. When I got over my attack in Paris, the doctor told me that when it came again, and it will come again, there would be no more hope.
>> He was heartless enough to say that.
>> No, I demanded it of him.
>> I told him I had preparations to make.
That's all I had.
>> You see this, mother?
>> What is it?
>> Morphere.
>> I've scraped together 12 capsules to me.
>> No, not yet, mother.
>> I'll never survive.
>> It must be survived. Oh, if only I'd had Regina here, I should have told her how things stood with me and begged her to come to my rescue at the last. She would have done it. I'm certain she would.
Never.
>> When the horror had come upon me, and she saw me lying there like a baby, lost, helpless, past all saving.
>> Never in the world would have done that would have done it. Oh, she was so splendidly light-hearted, and she would soon have it of nursing an invalid like me.
>> And thank heaven she's not here.
Then it's you mother.
>> Me.
Well, who's closer than you?
I am your mother.
For that very reason, >> I gave you life.
>> No, I never asked you for life.
And what sort of life have you given me?
No, I won't have it.
You shall take it back again.
>> Help.
Help.
>> But don't leave me.
>> WHERE ARE YOU GOING? DIV.
>> NO.
>> OR LET ME GO.
>> NO, YOU SHALL NOT GO.
You have a mother's heart for me.
And still you can see me suffer the unutterable dread.
>> My hand. Will you >> if it is necessary?
But it will never be necessary. It's impossible.
>> Oh, let us hope so. And let us live together for as long as we can.
Thank you, mother.
>> Do you feel calm now?
>> Yes.
It's been a dreadful fancy Oswald.
Just a fancy.
All this excitement, it's been too much for you.
But now you will have a long, long rest here at home with your mother, my blessed boy. Anything you want, you shall point to just as when you were a child. Remember, it's over.
The crisis is passed.
You see how quickly it passed?
I knew it would.
Oh, and Oswald, it's going to be a lovely day. The sun is shining. Brilliant sunshine.
Now you'll really be able to see your home.
>> Give me the sun.
What did you say?
>> The sun.
The sun.
>> What is it?
What's the matter? Oswald, look at me.
Don't you know me?
>> The son.
The son.
I can't bear.
I can't bury it.
Never.
Never.
No, no.
The sun the sun.
Tomorrow night at a quart 11, Artssworld focuses its attention on the writer Paul BS in an Emmy award-winning documentary about his life and work, Let It Come Down. Next tonight though, the lost Jakonda reflects on the remarkable theft of the Mona Lisa in 1911 when an Italian art thief walked out of the Louvre with the painting hidden under his coat.
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