Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 7).djvu/309

 Oswald.

You, mother?

Mrs. Alving.

all the gnawing remorse and self-reproach you speak of.

Oswald.

And you think you can do that?

Mrs. Alving.

Yes, now I can, Oswald. A little while ago you spoke of the joy of life; and at that word a new light burst for me over my life and everything connected with it.

Oswald.

[Shakes his head.] I don't understand you.

Mrs. Alving.

You ought to have known your father when he was a young lieutenant. He was brimming over with the joy of life!

Oswald.

Yes, I know he was.

Mrs. Alving.

It was like a breezy day only to look at him. And what exuberant strength and vitality there was in him!

Oswald.

Well?

Mrs. Alving.

Well then, child of joy as he was—for he was like a child in those days—he had to live at home here in a half-grown town, which had no joys to offer him—only dissipations. He had no object