Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/292

 Mrs. Alving.

Perhaps you are right. Tell me more about it, Oswald.

Oswald.

I only mean that here people are brought up to believe that work is a curse and a punishment for sin, and that life is something miserable, something it would be best to have done with, the sooner the better.

Mrs. Alving.

"A vale of tears," yes; and we certainly do our best to make it one.

Oswald.

But in the great world people won't hear of such things. There, nobody really believes such doctrines any longer. There, you feel it a positive bliss and ecstasy merely to draw the breath of life. Mother, have you noticed that everything I have painted has turned upon the joy of life?—always, always upon the joy of life?—light and sunshine and glorious air—and faces radiant with happiness. That is why I'm afraid of remaining at home with you.

Mrs. Alving.

Afraid? What are you afraid of here, with me?

Oswald.

I'm afraid lest all my instincts should be warped into ugliness.

Mrs. Alving.

[Looks steadily at him.] Do you think that is what would happen?