Manders. I know, Engstrand, I know--the rough brutes threw you downstairs. You have told me about that incident before. The affliction to your leg is a credit to you.
Engstrand. I don't want to claim credit for it, your reverence.
But what I wanted to tell you was that she came then and confided in me with tears and gnashing of teeth. I can tell you, sir, it went to my heart to hear her.
Manders. Did it, indeed, Engstrand? Well, what then?
Engstrand. Well, then I said to her: "The American is roaming about on the high seas, he is. And you, Joanna," I said, "you have committed a sin and are a fallen woman. But here stands Jacob Engstrand," I said, "on two strong legs"--of course that was only speaking in a kind of metaphor, as it were, your reverence.
Manders. I quite understand. Go on.
Engstrand. Well, sir, that was how I rescued her and made her my lawful wife, so that no one should know how recklessly she had carried on with the stranger.
Manders. That was all very kindly done. The only thing I cannot justify was your bringing yourself to accept the money.
Engstrand. Money? I? Not a farthing.
Manders (to MRS. ALVING, in a questioning tare). But--Engstrand. Ah, yes!--wait a bit; I remember now. Joanna did have a trifle of money, you are quite right. But I didn't want to know anything about that. "Fie," I said, "on the mammon of unrighteousness, it's the price of your sin; as for this tainted gold"--or notes, or whatever it was--"we will throw it back in the American's face," I said. But he had gone away and disappeared on the stormy seas, your reverence.
Manders. Was that how it was, my good fellow?
Engstrand. It was, sir. So then Joanna and I decided that the money should go towards the child's bringing-up, and that's what became of it; and I can give a faithful account of every single penny of it.
Manders. This alters the complexion of the affair very considerably.
Engstrand. That's how it was, your reverence. And I make bold to say that I have been a good father to Regina--as far as was in my power--for I am a poor erring mortal, alas!
Manders. There, there, my dear Engstrand.
Engstrand. Yes, I do make bold to say that I brought up the child, and made my poor Joanna a loving and careful husband, as the Bible says we ought. But it never occurred to me to go to your reverence and claim credit for it or boast about it because I had done one good deed in this world. No; when Jacob Engstrand does a thing like that, he holds his tongue about it.
Unfortunately it doesn't often happen, I know that only too well.
And whenever I do come to see your reverence, I never seem to have anything but trouble and wickedness to talk about. Because, as I said just now--and I say it again--conscience can be very hard on us sometimes.
Manders. Give me your hand, Jacob Engstrand, Engstrand. Oh, sir, I don't like--Manders. No nonsense, (Grasps his hand.) That's it!
Engstrand. And may I make bold humbly to beg your reverence's pardon--Manders. You? On the contrary it is for me to beg your pardon--Engstrand. Oh no, sir.
Manders. Yes, certainly it is, and I do it with my whole heart.
Forgive me for having so much misjudged you. And I assure you that if I can do anything for you to prove my sincere regret and my goodwill towards you--Engstrand. Do you mean it, sir?
Manders. It would give me the greatest pleasure.
Engstrand. As a matter of fact, sir, you could do it now. I am thinking of using the honest money I have put away out of my wages up here, in establishing a sort of Sailors' Home in the town.
Mrs. Alving. You?
Engstrand. Yes, to be a sort of Refuge, as it were, There are such manifold temptations lying in wait for sailor men when they are roaming about on shore. But my idea is that in this house of mine they should have a sort of parental care looking after them.
Menders. What do you say to that, Mrs. Alving!
Engstrand. I haven't much to begin such a work with, I know; but Heaven might prosper it, and if I found any helping hand stretched out to me, then--Manders. Quite so; we will talk over the matter further. Your project attracts me enormously. But in the meantime go back to the Orphanage and put everything tidy and light the lights, so that the occasion may seem a little solemn. And then we will spend a little edifying time together, my dear Engstrand, for now I am sure you are in a suitable frame of mind.
Engstrand. I believe I am, sir, truly. Goodbye, then, Mrs.
Alving, and thank you for all your kindness; and take good care of Regina for me. (Wipes a tear from his eye.) Poor Joanna's child-- it is an extraordinary thing, but she seems to have grown into my life and to hold me by the heartstrings. That's how Ifeel about it, truly. (Bows, and goes out.)
Manders. Now then, what do you think of him, Mrs Alving! That was quite another explanation that he gave us.
Mrs. Alving. It was, indeed.
Manders. There, you see how exceedingly careful we ought to be in condemning our fellow-men. But at the same time it gives one genuine pleasure to find that one was mistaken. Don't you think so?
Mrs. Alving. What I think is that you are, and always will remain, a big baby, Mr. Manders.
Menders. I?
Mrs. Alving (laying her hands on his shoulders). And I think that I should like very much to give you a good hug.
Manders (drawing beck hastily). No, no, good gracious! What an idea!
Mrs. Alving (with a smile). Oh, you needn't be afraid of me.
Manders (standing by the table). You choose such an extravagant way of expressing yourself sometimes. Now I must get these papers together and put them in my bag. (Does so.) That's it. And now goodbye, for the present. Keep your eyes open when Oswald comes back. I will come back and see you again presently.
(He takes his hat and goes out by the hall door. MRS. ALVINGsighs, glances out of the window, puts one or two things tidy in the room and turns to go into the dining-room. She stops in the doorway with a stifled cry.)Mrs. Alving. Oswald, are you still sitting at table!
Oswald (from the dining-room). I am only finishing my cigar.
Mrs. Alving. I thought you had gone out for a little turn.
