Miss Julie and Other Plays

by August Strindberg

  Thekla. I don’t understand what you mean.

  Adolf. That’s what you always say when you know I mean something which you don’t like.

  Thekla. Re-a-lly? And why shouldn’t I like it?

  Adolf. Stop! stop—! Don’t start all over again—goodbye for the present—I’ll be back soon; I hope that in the meanwhile you’ll have thought better of it. [Exit through the central door and then toward the right. THEKLA accompanies him to the back of the stage. GUSTAV enters, after a pause, from the right.]

  SCENE III

  [GUSTAV goes straight up to the table on the left and takes up a paper without apparently seeing THEKLA.]

  Thekla. [Starts, then controls herself.] You? [She comes forward.]

  Gustav. It’s me—excuse me.

  Thekla. [On his left.] Where do you come from?

  Gustav. I came by the highroad, but —I won’t stay on here after seeing that

  Thekla. Oh, you stay Well, it’s a long time.

  Gustav. You’re right, a very long time.

  Thekla. You’ve altered a great deal, Gustav.

  Gustav. But you, on the other hand, my dear Thekla, are still quite as fascinating as ever—almost younger, in fact. Please forgive me. I wouldn’t for anything disturb your happiness by my presence. If I’d known that you were staying here I would never have

  Thekla. Please—please, stay. It may be that you find it painful.

  Gustav. It’s all right so far as I’m concerned. I only thought—that whatever I said I should always have to run the risk of wounding you.

  Thekla. [Passes in front of him toward the right.] Sit down for a moment, Gustav, you don’t wound me, because you have the unusual gift—which always distinguished you—of being subtle and tactful.

  Gustav. You’re too kind; but how on earth can one tell if—your husband would regard me in the same light that you do?

  Thekla. Quite the contrary. Why, he’s just been expressing himself with the utmost sympathy with regard to you.

  Gustav. Ah! Yes, everything dies away, even the names which we cut on the tree’s bark—not even malice can persist for long in these temperaments of ours.

  Thekla. He’s never entertained malice against you—why, he doesn’t know you at all—and, so far as I’m concerned, I always entertained the silent hope that I would live to see the time in which you would approach each other as friends —or at least meet each other in my presence, shake hands, and part.

  Gustav. It was also my secret desire to see the woman whom I loved more than my life in really good hands, and, as a matter of fact, I’ve only heard the very best account of him, while I know all his work as well. All the same, I felt the need of pressing his hand before I grew old, looking him in the face, and asking him to preserve the treasure which providence had entrusted to him, and at the same time I wanted to extinguish the hate which was burning inside me, quite against my will, and I longed to find peace of soul and resignation, so as to be able to finish in quiet that dismal portion of my life which is still left me.

  Thekla. Your words come straight from your heart; you have understood me, Gustav—thanks. [She holds out her hand.]

  Gustav. Ah, I’m a petty man. Too insignificant to allow of you thriving in my shadow. Your temperament, with its thirst for freedom, could not be satisfied by my monotonous life, the slavish routine to which I was condemned, the narrow circle in which I had to move. I appreciate that, but you understand well enough—you who are such an expert psychologist—what a struggle it must have cost me to acknowledge that to myself.

  Thekla. How noble, how great to acknowledge one’s weakness so frankly—it’s not all men who can bring themselves to that point. [She sighs.] But you are always an honest character, straight and reliable—which I knew how to respect—but

  Gustav. I wasn’t—not then, but suffering purges, care ennobles, and—and—I have suffered.

  Thekla. [Comes nearer to him.] Poor Gustav, can you forgive me, can you? Tell me.

  Gustav. Forgive? What? It is I who have to ask you for forgiveness.

  Thekla. [Striking another key.] I do believe that we’re both crying— though we’re neither of us chickens.

  Gustav. [Softly sliding into another tone.] Chickens, indeed! I’m an old man, but you—you’re getting younger every day.

  Thekla. Do you mean it?

  Gustav. And how well you know how to dress!

  Thekla. It was you and no one else who taught me that. Do you still remember finding out my special colors?

  Gustav. No.

  Thekla. It was quite simple, don’t you remember? Come, I still remember distinctly how angry you used to be with me if I ever had anything else except pink.

  Gustav. I angry with you? I was never angry with you.

  Thekla. Oh yes, you were, when you wanted to teach me how to think. Don’t you remember? And I wasn’t able to catch on.

  Gustav. Not able to think? Everybody can think, and now you’re developing a quite extraordinary power of penetration—at any rate, in your writings.

  Thekla. [Disagreeably affected, tries to change the subject quickly.] Yes, Gustav dear, I was really awfully glad to see you again, especially under circumstances so unemotional.

  Gustav. Well, you can’t say, at any rate, that I was such a cantankerous cuss: taking it all round, you had a pretty quiet time of it with me.

  Thekla. Yes, if anything, too quiet.

  Gustav. Really? But I thought, don’t you see, that you wanted me to be quiet and nothing else. Judging by your expressions of opinion as a bride, I had to come to that assumption.

  Thekla. How could a woman know then what she really wanted? Besides, mother had always drilled into me to make the best of myself.

  Gustav. Well, and that’s why it is that you’re going as strong as possible. There’s such a lot always doing in artist life—your husband isn’t exactly a home-bird.

  Thekla. But even so, one can have too much of a good thing.

  Gustav. [Suddenly changing his tone.] Why, I do believe you’re still wearing my earrings.

  Thekla. [Embarrassed.] Yes, why shouldn’t I? We’re not enemies, you know—and then I thought I would wear them as a symbol that we’re not enemies—besides, you know that earrings like this aren’t to be had any more. [She takes one off.]

  Gustav. Well, so far so good; but what does your husband say on the point?

  Thekla. Why should I ask him?

  Gustav. You don’t ask him? But that’s rubbing it in a bit too much—it could quite well make him look ridiculous.

  Thekla. [Simply—in an undertone.] If it only weren’t so pretty. [She has some trouble in adjusting the earring.]

  Gustav. [Who has noticed it.] Perhaps you will allow me to help you?

  Thekla. Oh, if you would be so kind.

  Gustav. [Presses it into the ear.] Little ear! I say, dear, supposing your husband saw us now.

  Thekla. Then there’d be a scene.

  Gustav. Is he jealous, then?

  Thekla. I should think he is—rather! [Noise in the room on the right.]

  Gustav. [Passes in front of her toward the right.] Whose room is that?

  Thekla. [Stepping a little toward the left.] I don’t know—tell me how you are now, and what you’re doing. [She goes to the table on the- left.]

  Gustav. You tell me how you are. [He goes behind the square table on the left, over to the sofa. THEKLA, embarrassed, takes the cloth off the figure absent-mindedly.] No! who is that? Why—it’s you!

  Thekla. I don’t think so.

  Gustav. But it looks like you.

  Thekla. [Cynically.] You think so? Gustav. [Sits down on the sofa.] It reminds one of the anecdote: “How could your Majesty say that?"

  Thekla. [Laughs loudly and sits down opposite him on the settee.] What foolish ideas you do get into your head. Have you got by any chance some new yarns?

  Gustav. No; but you must know some.

  Thekla. I don’t get a chance any more now of hearing a
nything which is really funny.

  Gustav. Is he as prudish as all that?

  Thekla. Rather!

  Gustav. Never different?

  Thekla. He’s been so ill lately. [Both stand up.]

  Gustav. Well, who told little brother to walk into somebody else’s wasp’s nest?

  Thekla. [Laughs.] Foolish fellow, you!

  Gustav. Poor child! do you still remember that once, shortly after our engagement, we lived in this very room, eh? But then it was furnished differently, there was a secretary, for instance, here, by the pillar, and the bed [with delicacy] was here.

  Thekla. Hush!

  Gustav. Look at me!

  Thekla. If you would like me to. [They keep their eyes looking into each other for a minute.]

  Gustav. Do you think it is possible to forget a thing which has made so deep an impression on one’s life?

  Thekla. No, the power of impressions is great, particularly when they are the impressions of one’s youth. [She turns toward the fireplace on her right.]

  Gustav. Do you remember how we met for the first time? You were such an ethereal little thing, a little slate on which your parents and governess had scratched some wretched scrawl, which I had to rub out afterward, and then I wrote a new text on it, according to what I thought right, till it seemed to you that the slate was filled with writing. [He follows her to the circular table on the right.] That’s why, do you see, I shouldn’t like to be in your husband’s place—no, that’s his business. [Sits down in* front of the circular table.] But that’s why meeting you has an especial fascination for me. We hit it off together so perfectly, and when I sit down here and chat with you it’s just as though I were uncorking bottles of old wine which I myself have bottled. The wine which is served to me is my own, but it has mellowed. And now that I intend to marry again, I have made a very careful choice of a young girl whom I can train according to my own ideas. [Getting up.] For woman is man’s child, don’t you know; if she isn’t his child, then he becomes hers, and that means that the world is turned upside down.

  Thekla. You’re going to marry again?

  Gustav. Yes. I’m going to try my luck once more, but this time I’ll jolly well see that the double harness is more reliable and shall know how to guard against any bolting.

  Thekla. [Turns and goes over toward him to the left.] Is she pretty?

  Gustav. Yes, according to my taste, but perhaps I’m too old, and, strangely enough—now that chance brings me near to you again—I’m now beginning to have grave doubts of the feasibility of playing a game like that twice over.

  Thekla. What do you mean?

  Gustav. I feel that my roots are too firmly embedded in your soil, and the old wounds break open. You’re a dangerous woman, Thekla.

  Thekla. Re-a-lly? My young husband is emphatic that is just what I’m not—that I can’t make any more conquests.

  Gustav. That means he’s left off loving you.

  Thekla. What he means by love lies outside my line of country. [She goes behind the sofa on the left, GUSTAV goes after her as far as the table on the left.]

  Gustav. You’ve played hide and seek so long with each other that the “he” can’t catch the she, nor the she the “he,” don’t you know. Of course, it’s just the kind of thing one would expect. You had to play the little innocent, and that made him quite tame. As a matter of fact, a change has its disadvantages—yes, it has its disadvantages.

  Thekla. You reproach me?

  Gustav. Not for a minute. What always happens, happens with a certain inevitability, and if this particular thing hadn’t happened something else would, but this did happen, and here we are.

  Thekla. You’re a broad-minded man. I’ve never yet met anybody with whom I liked so much to have a good straight talk as with you. You have so little patience with all that moralizing and preaching, and you make such small demands on people, that one feels really free in your presence. Do you know, I’m jealous of your future wife? [She comes forward and passes by him toward the right.]

  Gustav. And you know I’m jealous of your husband.

  Thekla. And now we must part! For ever! [She goes past him till she approaches the center door.]

  Gustav. Quite right, we must part—but before that, we’ll say good-bye to each other, won’t we?

  Thekla. [Uneasily.] No.

  Gustav. [Dogging her.] Yes, we will; yes, we will. We’ll say good-bye; we will drown our memories in an ecstasy which will be so violent that when we wake up the past will have vanished from our recollection forever. There are ecstasies like that, you know. [He puts his arm round her waist.] You’re being dragged down by a sick spirit, who’s infecting you with his own consumption. I will breathe new life into you. I will fertilize your genius, so that it will bloom in the autumn like a rose in the spring, I will [Two lady visitors appear on the right behind the central door.]

  SCENE IV

  The previous characters; the Two LADIES. [The ladies appear surprised, point, laugh, and exeunt on the left.]

  SCENE V

  Thekla. [Disengaging herself.] Who was that?

  Gustav. [Casually, while he closes the central door.] Oh, some visitors who were passing through.

  Thekla. Go away! I’m afraid of you. [She goes behind the sofa on the left.]

  Gustav. Why?

  Thekla. You’ve robbed me of my soul.

  Gustav. [Comes forward.] And I give you mine in exchange for it. Besides, you haven’t got any soul at all. It’s only an optical illusion.

  Thekla. You’ve got a knack of being rude in such a way that one can’t be angry with you.

  Gustav. That’s because you know very well that I am designated for the place of honor—tell me now when— and where?

  Thekla. [Coming toward him.] No. I can’t hurt him by doing a thing like that. I’m sure he still loves me, and I don’t want to wound him a second time.

  Gustav. He doesn’t love you. Do you want to have proofs?

  Thekla. How can you give me them?

  Gustav. [Takes up from the floor the fragments of photograph behind the circular table on the right.] Here, look at yourself! [He gives them to her.]

  Thekla. Oh, that is shameful!

  Gustav. There, you can see for yourself—well, when and where?

  Thekla. The false brute!

  Gustav. When?

  Thekla. He goes away to-night by the eight o’clock boat.

  Gustav. Then

  Thekla. At nine. [A noise in the room on the right.] Who’s in there making such a noise?

  Gustav. [Goes to the right to the keyhole.] Let’s have a look—the fancy table has been upset and there’s a broken water-bottle on the floor, that’s all. Perhaps someone has shut a dog up there. [He goes again toward her.] Nine o’clock, then?

  Thekla. Right you are. I should only like him to see the fun—such a piece of deceit, and what’s more, from a man that’s always preaching truthfulness, who’s always drilling into me to speak the truth. But stop—how did it all happen? He received me in almost an unfriendly manner—didn’t come to the pier to meet me—then he let fall a remark over the pure boy on the steamboat, which I pretended not to understand. But how could he know anything about it? Wait a moment. Then he began to philosophize about women —then you began to haunt his brain—then he spoke about wanting to be a sculptor, because sculpture was the art of the present day—just like you used to thunder in the old days.

  Gustav. No, really? [THEKLA moves away from GUSTAV behind the sofa on the left.]

  Thekla. “No, really.” Now I understand. [To GUSTAV.] Now at last I see perfectly well what a miserable scoundrel you are. You’ve been with him and have scratched his heart out of his body. It’s you —you who’ve been sitting here on the sofa. It was you who’ve been suggesting all these ideas to him: that he was suffering from epilepsy, that he should live a celibate life, that he should pit himself against his wife and try to play her master. How long have you been here?

  Gustav. Eight day
s.

  Thekla. You were the man, then, I saw on the steamer?

  Gustav. [Frankly.] It was I.

  Thekla. And did you really think that I’d fall in with your little game?

  Gustav. [Firmly.] You’ve already done it.

  Thekla. Not yet.

  Gustav. [Firmly.] Yes, you have.

  Thekla. [Comes forward.] You’ve stalked my lamb like a wolf. You came here with a scoundrelly plan of smashing up my happiness and you’ve been trying to carry it through until I realized what you were up to and put a spoke in your precious wheel.

  Gustav. [Vigorously.] That’s not quite accurate. The thing took quite another course. That I should have wished in my heart of hearts that things should go badly with you is only natural. Yet I was more or less convinced that it would not be necessary for me to cut in actively; besides, I had far too much other business to have time for intrigues. But just now, when I was loafing about a bit, and happened to run across you on the steamer with your circle of young men, I thought that the time had come to get to slightly closer quarters with you two. I came here and that lamb of yours threw himself immediately into the wolf’s arms. I aroused his sympathy by methods of reflex suggestion, into details of which, as a matter of good form, I’d rather not go. At first I experienced a certain pity for him, because he was in the very condition in which I had once found myself. Then, as luck would have it, he began unwittingly to probe about in my old wound—you know what I mean—the book—and the ass—then I was overwhelmed by a desire to pluck him to pieces and to mess up the fragments in such a tangle that they could never be put together again. Thanks to the conscientious way in which you had cleared the ground, I succeeded only too easily, and then I had to deal with you. You were the spring in the works that had to be taken to pieces. And, that done, the game was to listen for the smash-up! When I came into this room I had no idea what I was to say. I had a lot of plans in my head, like a chess player, but the character of the opening depended on the moves you made, one move led to another, chance was kind to me. I soon had you on toast—and now you’re in a nice mess.