goes to the door at left and opens it slightly.]
CAPTAIN. Come in, and we’ll talk. I heard you out there listening. [Laura, embarrassed. Captain sits at desk.] It is late, but we must come to some decision. Sit down. [Pause.] I have been at the post office tonight to get my letters. From these it appears that you have been keeping back my mail, both coming and going. The consequence of which is that the loss of time has its good as destroyed the result I expected from my work.
LAURA. It was an act of kindness on my part, as you neglected the service for this other work.
CAPTAIN. It was hardly kindness, for you were quite sure that some day I should win more honor from that, than from the service; but you were particularly anxious that I should not win such honors, for fear your own insignificance would be emphasized by it. In consequence of all this I have intercepted letters addressed to you.
LAURA. That was a noble act.
CAPTAIN. You see, you have, as you might say, a high opinion of me. It appears from these letters that, for some time past you have been arraying my old friends against me by spreading reports about my mental condition. And you Dave succeeded in your efforts, for now not more than one person exists from the Colonel down to the cook, who believes that I am sane. Now these are the facts about my illness; my mind is sound, as you know, so that I can take care of my duties in the service as well its my responsibilities as a father; my feelings are more or less under my control, as my will has not been completely undermined; but you have gnawed and nibbled at it so that it will soon slip the cogs, and then the whole mechanism will slip and go to smash. I will not appeal to your feelings, for you have none; that is your strength; but I will appeal to your interests.
LAURA. Let me hear.
CAPTAIN. You have succeeded in arousing my suspicions to such an extent that my judgment is no longer clear, and my thoughts begin to wander. This is the approaching insanity that you are waiting for, which may come at any time now. So you are face to face with the question whether it is more to your interest that I should be sane or insane. Consider. If I go under I shall lose the service, and where will you be then? If I die, my life insurance will fall to you. But if I take my own life, you will get nothing. Consequently, it is to your interest that I should live out my life.
LAURA. Is this a trap?
CAPTAIN. To be sure. But it rests with you whether you will run around it or stick your head into it.
LAURA. You say that you will kill yourself! You won’t do that!
CAPTAIN. Are you sure? Do you think a man can live when he has nothing and no one to live for?
LAURA. You surrender, then?
CAPTAIN. No, I offer peace.
LAURA. The conditions?
CAPTAIN. That I may keep my reason. Free me from my suspicions and I give up the conflict.
LAURA. What suspicions?
CAPTAIN. About Bertha’s origin.
LAURA. Are there any doubts about that?
CAPTAIN. Yes, I have doubts, and you have awakened them.
LAURA. I?
CAPTAIN. Yes, you have dropped them like henbane in my ears, and circumstances have strengthened them. Free me from the uncertainty; tell me outright that it is true and I will forgive you beforehand.
LAURA. How can I acknowledge a sin that I have not committed?
CAPTAIN. What does it matter when you know that I shall not divulge it? Do you think a man would go and spread his own shame broadcast?
LAURA. If I say it isn’t true, you won’t be convinced; but if I say it is, then you will be convinced. You seem to hope it is true!
CAPTAIN. Yes, strangely enough; it must be, because the first supposition can’t be proved; the latter can be.
LAURA. Have you tiny ground for your suspicions?
CAPTAIN. Yes, and no.
LAURA. I believe you want to prove me guilty, so that you can get rid of me and then have absolute control over the child. But you won’t catch me in any such snare.
CAPTAIN. Do you think that I would want to be responsible for another man’s child, if I were convinced of your guilt?
LAURA. No, I’m sure you wouldn’t, and that’s what makes me know you lied just now when you said that you would forgive me beforehand.
CAPTAIN. [Rises]. Laura, save me and my reason. You don’t seem to understand what I say. If the child is not mine I have no control over her and don’t want to have any, and that is precisely what you do want, isn’t it? But perhaps you want even more–to have power over the child, but still have me to support you.
LAURA. Power, yes! What has this whole life and death struggle been for but power?
CAPTAIN. To me it has meant more. I do not believe in a hereafter; the child was my future life. That was my conception of immortality, and perhaps the only one that has any analogy in reality. If you take that away from me, you cut off my life.
LAURA. Why didn’t we separate in time?
CAPTAIN. Because the child bound us together; but the link became a chain. And how did it happen; how? I have never thought about this, but now memories rise up accusingly, condemningly perhaps. We had been married two years, and had no children; you know why. I fell ill and lay at the point of death. During a conscious interval of the fever I heard voices out in the drawing-room. It was you and the lawyer talking about the fortune that I still possessed. He explained that you could inherit nothing because we had no children, and he asked you if you were expecting to become a mother. I did not hear your reply. I recovered and we had a child. Who is its father?
LAURA. You.
CAPTAIN. No, I am not. Here is a buried crime that begins to stench, and what a hellish crime! You women have been compassionate enough to free the black slaves, but you have kept the white ones. I have worked and slaved for you, your child, your mother, your servants; I have sacrificed promotion and career; I have endured torture, flaggellation, sleeplessness, worry for your sake, until my hair has grown gray; and all that you might enjoy a life without care, and when you grew old, enjoy life over again in your child. I have borne everything without complaint, because I thought myself the father of your child. This is the commonest kind of theft, the most brutal slavery. I have had seventeen years of penal servitude and have been innocent. What can you give me in return for that?
LAURA. Now you are quite mad.
CAPTAIN. That is your hope!–And I see how you have labored to conceal your crime. I sympathized with you because I did not understand your grief. I have often lulled your evil conscience to rest when I thought I was driving away morbid thoughts. I have heard you cry out in your sleep and not wanted to listen. I remember now night before last–Bertha’s birthday–it was between two and three in the morning, and I was sitting up reading; you shrieked, “Don’t, don’t!” as if someone were strangling you; I knocked on the wall–I didn’t want to hear any more. I have had my suspicions for a long time but I did not dare to hear them confirmed. All this I have suffered for you. What will you do for me?
LAURA. What can I do? I will swear by God and all I hold sacred that you are Bertha’s father.
CAPTAIN. What use is that when you have often said that a mother can and ought to commit any crime for her child? I implore you as a wounded man begs for a death blow, to tell me all. Don’t you see I’m as helpless as a child? Don’t you hear me complaining as to a mother? Won’t you forget that I am a man, that I am a soldier who can tame men and beasts with a word? Like a sick man I only ask for compassion. I lay down the tokens of my power and implore you to have mercy on my life.
[Laura approaches him and lays her hand on his brow.]
LAURA. What! You are crying, man!
CAPTAIN. Yes, I am crying although I am a man. But has not a man eyes! Has not a man hands, limbs, senses, thoughts, passions? Is he not fed with the wine food, hurt by the same weapons, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter as a woman? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? And if you poison us, do we not die? Why shouldn’t a man complain, a soldier weep? Because it is unmanly? Why is it unmanly?
LAURA. Weep then, my child, as if you were with your mother once more. Do you remember when I first came into your life, I was like a second mother? Your great strong body needed nerves; you were a giant child that had either come too early into the world, or perhaps was not wanted at all.
CAPTAIN. Yes, that’s how it was. My father’s and my mother’s will was against my coming into the world, and consequently I was born without a will. I thought I was completing myself when you and I became one, and therefore you were allowed to rule, and I, the commander at the barracks and before the troops, became obedient to you, grew through you, looked up to you as to it more highly-gifted being, listened to you as if I had been your undeveloped child.
LAURA. Yes, that’s the way it was, and therefore I loved you as my child. But you know, you must have seen, when the nature of your feelings changed and you appeared as my lover that I blushed, and your embraces were joy that was followed by a remorseful conscience as if my blood were ashamed. The mother became the mistress. Ugh!
CAPTAIN. I saw it, but I did not understand. I believed you despised me for my unmanliness, and I wanted to win you as a woman by being a man.
LAURA. Yes, but there was the mistake. The mother was your friend, you see, but the woman was your enemy, and love between the sexes is strife. Do not think that I gave myself; I did not give, but I took–what I wanted. But you had one advantage. I felt that, and I wanted you to feel it.
CAPTAIN. You always had the advantage. You could hypnotize me when I was wide awake, so that I neither saw nor heard, but merely obeyed; you could give me a raw potato and make me imagine it was a peach; you could force me to admire your foolish caprices as though they were strokes of genius. You could have influenced me to crime, yes, even to mean, paltry deeds. Because you lacked intelligence, instead of carrying out my ideas you acted on your own judgment. But when at last I awoke, I realized that my honor had been corrupted and I wanted to blot out the memory by a great deed, an achievement, a discovery, or an honorable suicide. I wanted to go to war, but was not permitted. It was then that I threw myself into science. And now when I was about to reach out my hand to gather in its fruits, you chop off my arm. Now I am dishonored and can live no longer, for a man cannot live without honor.
LAURA. But a woman?
CAPTAIN. Yes, for she has her children, which he has not. But, like the rest of mankind, we lived our lives unconscious as children, full of imagination, ideals, and illusions, and then we awoke; it was all over. But we awoke with our feet on the pillow, and he who waked us was himself a sleep-walker. When women grow old and cease to be women, they get beards on their chins; I wonder what men get when they grow old and cease to be men. Those who crowed were no longer cocks but capons, and the pullets answered their call, so that when we thought the sun was about to rise we found ourselves in the bright moon light amid ruins, just as in the good old times. It had only been a little morning slumber with wild dreams, and there was no awakening.
LAURA. Do you know, you should have been a poet!
CAPTAIN. Who knows.
LAURA. Now I am sleepy, so if you have any more fantastic visions keep them till to-morrow.
CAPTAIN. First, a word more about realities. Do you hate me?
LAURA. Yes, sometimes, when you are a man.
CAPTAIN. This is like race hatred. If it is true that we are descended from monkeys, at least it must be from two separate species. We are certainly not like one another, are we?
LAURA. What do you mean to say by all this?
CAPTAIN. I feel that one of us must go under in this struggle.
LAURA. Which?
CAPTAIN. The weaker, of course.
LAURA. And the stronger will be in the right?
CAPTAIN. Always, since he has the power.
LAURA. Then I am in the right.
CAPTAIN. Have you the power already then?
LAURA. Yes, and a legal power with which I shall put you under the control of a guardian.
CAPTAIN. Under a guardian?
LAURA. And then I shall educate my child without listening to your fantastic notions.
CAPTAIN. And who will pay for the education when I am no longer here?
LAURA. Your pension will pay for it.
CAPTAIN [Threateningly]. How can you have me put under a guardian?
LAURA [Takes out a letter]. With this letter of which an attested copy is in the hands of the board of lunacy.
CAPTAIN. What letter?
LAURA [Moving backward toward the door left]. Yours! Your declaration to the doctor that you are insane. [The Captain stares at her in silence.] Now you have fulfilled your function as an unfortunately necessary father and breadwinner, you are not needed any longer and you must go. You must go, since you have realized that my intellect is as strong as my will, and since you will not stay and acknowledge it.
[The Captain goes to the table, seizes the lighted lamp and hurls it at Laura, who disappears backward through the door.]
CURTAIN DROP.
ACT III.
[Same Scene. Another lamp on the table. The private door is barricaded with a chair.]
LAURA [to Nurse]. Did he give you the keys?
NURSE. Give them to me, no! God help me, but I took them from the master’s clothes that Noejd had out to brush.
LAURA. Oh, Noejd is on duty today?
NURSE. Yes, Noejd.
LAURA. Give me the keys.
NURSE. Yes, but this seems like downright stealing. Do you hear him walking up there, Ma’am? Back and forth, back and forth.
LAURA. Is the door well barred?
NURSE. Oh, yes, it’s barred well enough!
LAURA. Control your feelings, Margret. We must be calm if we are to be saved. [Knock.] Who is it?
NURSE [Opens door to hall]. It is Noejd.
LAURA. Let him come in.
NOEJD [Comes in]. A message from the Colonel.
LAURA. Give it to me [Reads] Ah!–Noejd, have you taken all the cartridges out of the guns and pouches?
NOEJD. Yes, Ma’am.
LAURA. Good, wait outside while I answer the Colonel’s letter. [Noejd goes. Laura writes.]
NURSE. Listen. What in the world is he doing up there now?
LAURA. Be quiet while I write.
[The sound of sawing is heard.]
NURSE [Half to herself]. Oh, God have mercy on us all! Where will this end!
LAURA. Here, give this to Noejd. And my mother must not know anything about all this. Do you hear?
[Nurse goes out, Laura opens drawers in desk and takes out papers. The Pastor comes in, he takes a chair and sits near Laura by the desk.]
PASTOR. Good evening, sister. I have been away all day, as you know, and only just got back. Terrible things have been happening here.
LAURA. Yes, brother, never have I gone through such a night and such a day.
PASTOR. I see that you are none the worse for it all.
LAURA. No, God be praised, but think what might have happened!
PASTOR. Tell me one thing, how did it begin? I have heard so many different versions.
LAURA. It began with his wild idea of not being Bertha’s father, and ended with his throwing the lighted lamp in my face.
PASTOR. But this is dreadful! It is fully developed insanity. And what is to be done now?
LAURA. We must try to prevent further violence and the doctor has sent to the hospital for a straightjacket. In the meantime I have sent a message to the Colonel, and I am now trying to straighten out the affairs of the household, which he has carried on in a most reprehensible manner.
PASTOR. This is a deplorable story, but I have always expected something of the sort. Fire and powder must end in an explosion. What have you got in the drawer there?
LAURA [Has pulled out a drawer in the desk]. Look, he has hidden everything here.
PASTOR [Looking into drawer]. Good Heavens, here is your doll and here is your christening cap and Bertha’s rattle; and your letters; and the locket. [Wipes his eyes.] After all he must have loved you very dearly, Laura. I never kept such things!
LAURA. I believe he used to love me, but time–time changes so many things.
PASTOR. What is that big paper? The receipt for a grave! Yes, better the grave than the lunatic asylum! Laura, tell me, are you blameless in all this?
LAURA. I? Why should I be to blame because a man goes out of his mind?
PASTOR. Well, well, I shan’t say anything. After all, blood is thicker than water.
LAURA. What do you dare to intimate?
PASTOR [Looking at her penetratingly]. Now, listen!
LAURA. Yes?
PASTOR. You can hardly deny that it suits you pretty well to be able to educate your child as you wish?
LAURA. I don’t understand.
PASTOR. How I admire you!
LAURA. Me? H’m!
PASTOR. And I am to become the guardian of that free-thinker! Do you know I have always looked on him as a weed in our garden.
[Laura gives a short laugh, and then becomes suddenly serious.]
LAURA. And you dare say that to me–his wife?
PASTOR. You are strong, Laura, incredibly strong. You are like a fox in a trap, you would rather gnaw off your own leg than let yourself be caught! Like a master thief–no accomplice, not even your own conscience. Look at yourself in the glass! You dare not!
LAURA. I never use a looking glass!
PASTOR. No, you dare not! Let me look at your hand. Not a tell-tale blood stain, not a trace of insidious poison! A little innocent murder that the law cannot reach, an unconscious crime– unconscious! What a splendid idea! Do you hear how he is working up there? Take care! If that man gets loose he will make short work of you.
LAURA. You talk so much, you must have a bad conscience. Accuse me if you can!
PASTOR. I cannot.
LAURA. You see! You cannot, and therefore I am innocent. You take care of your ward, and I will take care of mine! Here’s the doctor.
[Doctor comes in.]
LAURA [Rising]. Good evening, Doctor. You at least will help me, won’t you? But unfortunately there is not much that can be done. Do you hear how he is carrying on up there? Are you convinced now?
DOCTOR. I am convinced that an act of violence has been committed, but the question now is whether that act of violence can be considered an outbreak of passion or madness.
PASTOR. But apart from the actual outbreak, you must acknowledge that he has “fixed ideas.”
DOCTOR. I think that your ideas, Pastor, are much more fixed.
PASTOR. My settled views about the highest things are–
DOCTOR. We’ll leave settled views out of this. Madam, it rests with you to decide whether your husband is guilty to the extent of imprisonment and fine or should be put in an asylum! How do you class his behavior?
LAURA. I cannot answer that now.
DOCTOR. That is to say you have no decided opinion as to what will be most advantageous to the interests of the family? What do you say, Pastor?
PASTOR. Well, there will be a scandal in either case. It is not easy to say.
LAURA. But if he is only sentenced to a fine for violence, he will be able to repeat the violence.
DOCTOR. And if he is sent to prison he will soon be out again. Therefore we consider it most advantageous for all parties that he should be immediately treated as insane. Where is the nurse?
LAURA. Why?
DOCTOR. She must put the straightjacket on the patient when I have talked to him and given the order! But not before. I have–the– garment out here. [Goes out into the hall rind returns with a large bundle.] Please ask the nurse to come in here.
[Laura rings.]
PASTOR. Dreadful! Dreadful!
[Nurse comes in.]
DOCTOR [Takes out the straightjacket]. I want you to pay attention to this. We want you to slip this jacket on the Captain, from behind, you understand, when I find it necessary to prevent another outbreak of violence. You notice it has very long sleeves to prevent his moving and they are to be tied at the back. Here are two straps that go through buckles which are afterwards fastened to the arm of a chair or the sofa or whatever is convenient. Will you do it?
NURSE. No, Doctor, I can’t do that; I can’t.
LAURA. Why don’t you do it yourself, Doctor?
DOCTOR. Because the patient distrusts me. You, Madam, would seem to be the one to do it, but I fear he distrusts even you.
[Laura’s face changes for an instant.]
DOCTOR. Perhaps you, Pastor–
PASTOR. No, I must ask to be excused.
[Noejd comes in.]
LAURA. Have you delivered the message already?
NOEJD. Yes, Madam.
DOCTOR. Oh, is it you, Noejd? You know the circumstances here; you know that the Captain is out of his mind and you must help us to take care of him.
NOEJD. If there is anything I can do for the Captain, you may be sure I will do it.
DOCTOR. You must put this jacket on him–
NURSE. No, he shan’t touch him. Noejd might hurt him. I would rather do it myself, very, very gently. But Noejd can wait outside and help me if necessary. He can do that.
[There is loud knocking on the private door.]
DOCTOR. There he is! Put the jacket under your shawl on the chair, and you must all go out for the time being and the Pastor and I will receive him, for that door will not hold out many minutes. Now go.
NURSE [Going out left.] The Lord help us!
[Laura locks desk, then goes out left. Noejd goes out back. After a moment the private door is forced open, with such violence that the lock is broken and the chair is thrown into the middle of the room. The Captain comes in with a pile of books under his arm, which he puts on the table.]
CAPTAIN. The whole thing is to be read here, in every book. So I wasn’t out of my mind after all! Here it is in the Odyssey, book first, verse 215, page 6 of the Upsala translation. It is Telemachus speaking to Athene. “My mother indeed maintains that he, Odysseus, is my father, but I myself know it not, for no man yet hath known his own origin.” And this suspicion is harbored by Telemachus about Penelope, the most virtuous of women! Beautiful, eh? And here we have the prophet Ezekiel: “The fool saith; behold here is my father, but who can tell whose loins engendered him.” That’s quite clear! And what have we here? The History of Russian Literature by Merslaekow. Alexander Puschkin, Russia’s greatest poet, died of torture front the reports circulated about his wife’s unfaithfulness rather than by the bullet in his breast, from a duel. On his death-bed he swore she was innocent. Ass, ass! How could he swear to it? You see, I read my books. Ah, Jonas, art you here? and the doctor, naturally. Have you heard what I answered when an English lady complained about Irishmen who used to throw lighted lamps in their wives’ faces? “God, what women,” I cried. “Women,” she gasped. “Yes, of course,” I answered. “When things go so far that a man, a man who loved and worshipped a woman, takes a lighted lamp and throws it in her face, then one may know.”
PASTOR. Know what?
CAPTAIN. Nothing. One never knows anything. One only believes. Isn’t that true, Jonas? One believes and then one is saved! Yes, to be sure. No, I know that one can be damned by his faith. I know that.
DOCTOR. Captain!
CAPTAIN. Silence! I don’t want to talk to you; I won’t listen to you repeating their chatter in there, like a telephone! In there! You know! Look here, Jonas; do you believe that you are the father of your children? I remember that you had a tutor in your house who had a handsome face, and the people gossiped about him.
PASTOR. Adolf, take care!
CAPTAIN. Grope under your toupee and feel if there are not two bumps there. By my soul, I believe he turns pale! Yes, yes, they will talk; but, good Lord, they talk so much. Still we are a lot of ridiculous dupes, we married men. Isn’t that true, Doctor? How was it with your marriage bed? Didn’t you have a lieutenant in the house, eh? Wait a moment and I will make a guess–his name was– [whispers in the Doctor’s ear]. You see he turns pale, too! Don’t be disturbed. She is dead and buried and what is done can’t be undone. I knew him well, by the way, and he is now–look at me, Doctor–No, straight in my eyes–a major in the cavalry! By God, if I don’t believe he has horns, too.
DOCTOR [Tortured]. Captain, won’t you talk about something else?
CAPTAIN. Do you see? He immediately wants to talk of something else when I mention horns.
PASTOR. Do you know, Adolf, that you are insane?
CAPTAIN. Yes; I know that well enough. But if I only had the handling of your illustrious brains for awhile I’d soon have you shut up, too! I am mad, but how did I become so? That doesn’t concern you, and it doesn’t concern anyone. But you want to talk of something else now. [Takes the photograph album from the table.] Good Lord, that is my child! Mine? We can never know. Do you know what we would have to do to make sure? First, one should marry to get the respect of society, then be divorced soon after and become lovers, and finally adopt the children. Then one would at least be sure that they were one’s adopted children. Isn’t that right? But how can all that help us now? What can keep me now that you have taken my conception of immortality from me, what use is science and philosophy to me when I have nothing to live for, what can I do with life when I am dishonored? I grafted my right arm, half my brain, half my marrow on another trunk, for I believed they would knit themselves together and grow into a more perfect tree, and then someone came with a knife and cut below the graft, and now I am only half a tree. But the other half goes on growing with my arm and half my brain, while I wither and die, for they were the best parts I gave away. Now I want to die. Do with me as you will. I am no more.
[Buries his head on his arms on table. The Doctor whispers to the Pastor, and they go out through the door left. Soon after Bertha comes in.]
BERTRA [Goes up to Captain]. Are you ill, Father?
CAPTAIN [Looks up dazed]. I?
BERTHA. Do you know what you have done? Do you know that you threw the lamp at Mother?
CAPTAIN. Did I?
BERTHA. Yes, you did. Just think if she had been hurt.
CAPTAIN. What would that have mattered?
BERTHA. You are not my father when you talk like that.
CAPTAIN. What do you say? Am I not your father? How do you know that? Who told you that? And who is your father, then? Who?
BERTHA. Not you at any rate.
CAPTAIN. Still not I? Who, then? Who? You seem to be well informed. Who told you? That I should live to see my child come and tell me to my face that I am not her father! But don’t you know that you disgrace your mother when you say that? Don’t you know that it is to her shame if it is so?
BERTHA. Don’t say anything bad about Mother; do you hear?
CAPTAIN. No; you hold together, every one of you, against me! and you have always done so.
BERTHA. Father!
CAPTAIN. Don’t use that word again!
BERTHA. Father, father!
CAPTAIN [Draws her to him]. Bertha, dear, dear child, you are my child! Yes, Yes; it cannot be otherwise. It is so. The other was only sickly thoughts that come with the wind like pestilence and fever. Look at me that I may see my soul in your eyes!–But I see her soul, too! You have two souls and you love me with one and hate me with the other. But you must only love me! You must have only one soul, or you will never have peace, nor I either. You must have only one mind, which is the child of my mind and one will, which is my will.
BERTHA. But I don’t want to, I want to be myself.
CAPTAIN. You must not. You see, I am a cannibal, and I want to eat you. Your mother wanted to eat me, but she was not allowed to. I am Saturn who ate his children because it had been prophesied that they would eat him. To eat or be eaten! That is the question. If I do not eat you, you will eat me, and you have already shown your teeth! But don’t be frightened my dear child; I won’t harm you. [Goes and takes a revolver from the wall.]
BERTHA [Trying to escape]. Help, Mother, help, he wants to kill me.
NURSE [Comes in]. Mr. Adolf, what is it?
CAPTAIN [Examining revolver]. Have you taken out the cartridges?
NURSE. Yes, I put them away when I was tidying up, but sit down and be quiet and I’ll get them out again!
[She takes the Captain by the arm and gets him into a chair, into which he sinks feebly. Then she takes out the straitjacket and goes behind the chair. Bertha slips out left.]
NURSE. Mr. Adolf, do you remember when you were my dear little boy and I tucked you in at night and used to repeat: “God who holds his children dear” to you, and do you remember how I used to get up in the night and give you a drink, how I would light the candle and tell you stories when you had bad dreams and couldn’t sleep? Do you remember all that?
CAPTAIN. Go on talking, Margret, it soothes my head so. Tell me some more.
NURSE. O yes, but you must listen then! Do you remember when you took the big kitchen knife and wanted to cut out boats with it, and how I came in and had to get the knife away by fooling you? You were just a little child who didn’t understand, so I had to fool you, for you didn’t know that it was for your own good. “Give me that snake,” I said, “or it will bite you!” and then you let go of the knife. [Takes the revolver out of the Captain’s hand.] And then when you had to be dressed and didn’t want to, I had to coax you and say that you should have a coat of gold and be dressed like a prince. And then I took your little blouse that was just made of green wool and held it in front of you and said: “In with both arms,” and then I said, “Now sit nice and still while I button it down the back,” [She puts the straightjacket on] and then I said, “Get up now, and walk across the floor like a good boy so I can see how it fits.” [She leads him to the sofa.] And then I said, “Now you must go to bed.”
CAPTAIN. What did you say? Was I to go to bed when I was dressed– damnation! what have you done to me? [Tries to get free.] Ah! you cunning devil of a woman! Who would have thought you had so much wit. [Lies down on sofa.] Trapped, shorn, outwitted, and not to be able to die!
NURSE. Forgive me, Mr. Adolf, forgive me, but I wanted to keep you from killing your child.
CAPTAIN. Why didn’t you let me? You say life is hell and death the kingdom of heaven, and children belong to heaven.
NURSE. How do you know what comes after death?
CAPTAIN. That is the only thing we do know, but of life we know nothing! Oh, if one had only known from the beginning.
NURSE. Mr. Adolf, humble your hard heart and cry to God for mercy; it is not yet too late. It was not too late for the thief on the cross, when the Saviour said, “Today shalt thou be with me in Paradise.”
CAPTAIN. Are you croaking for a corpse already, you old crow?
[Nurse takes a hymnbook out of her pocket.]
CAPTAIN [Calls]. Noejd, is Noejd out there?
[Noejd comes in.]
CAPTAIN. Throw this woman out! She wants to suffocate me with her hymn-book. Throw her out of the window, or up the chimney, or anywhere.
NOEJD. [Looks at Nurse]. Heaven help you, Captain, but I can’t do that, I can’t. If it were only six men, but a woman!
CAPTAIN. Can’t you manage one woman, eh?
NOEJD. Of course I can,–but–well, you see, it’s queer, but one never wants to lay hands on a woman.
CAPTAIN. Why not? Haven’t they laid hands on me?
NOEJD. Yes, but I can’t, Captain. It’s just as if you asked me to strike the Pastor. It’s second nature, like religion, I can’t!
[Laura comes in, she motions Noejd to go.]
CAPTAIN. Omphale, Omphale! Now you play with the club while Hercules spins your wool.
LAURA [Goes to sofa]. Adolf, look at me. Do you believe that I am your enemy?
CAPTAIN. Yes, I do. I believe that you are all my enemies! My mother was my enemy when she did not want to bring me into the world because I was to be born with pain, and she robbed my embryonic life of its nourishment, and made a weakling of me. My sister was my enemy when she taught me that I must be submissive to her. The first woman I embraced was my enemy, for she gave me ten years of illness in return for the love I gave her. My daughter became my enemy when she had to choose between me and you. And you, my wife, you have been my arch enemy, because you never let up on me till I lay here lifeless.
LAURA. I don’t know that. I ever thought or even intended what you think I did. It may be that a dim desire to get rid of you as an obstacle lay at the bottom of it, and if you see any design in my behavior, it is possible that it existed, although I was unconscious of it. I have never thought how it all came about, but it is the result of the course you yourself laid out, and before God and my conscience I feel that I am innocent, even if I am not. Your existence has lain like a stone on my heart–lain so heavily that I tried to shake off the oppressive burden. This is the truth, and if I have unconsciously struck you down, I ask your forgiveness.
CAPTAIN. All that sounds plausible. But how does it help me? And whose fault is it? Perhaps spiritual marriages! Formerly one married a wife, now, one enters into partnership with a business woman, or goes to live with a friend–and then one ruins the partner, and dishonors the friend!–What has become of love, healthy sensuous love? It died in the transformation. And what is the result of this love in shares, payable to the bearer without joint liability? Who is the bearer when the crash comes? Who is the fleshly father of the spiritual child?
LAURA. And as for your suspicions about the child, they are absolutely groundless.
CAPTAIN. That’s just what makes it so horrible. If at least there were any grounds for them, it would be something to get hold of, to cling to. Now there are only shadows that hide themselves in the bushes, and stick out their heads and grin; it is like fighting with the air, or firing blank cartridges in a sham fight. A fatal reality would have called forth resistance, stirred life and soul to action; but now my thoughts dissolve into air, and my brain grinds a void until it is on fire.–Put a pillow under my head, and throw something over me, I am cold. I am terribly cold!
[Laura takes her shawl and spreads it over him. Nurse goes to get a pillow.]
LAURA. Give me your hand, friend.
CAPTAIN. My band! The hand that you have bound! Omphale! Omphale!– But I feel your shawl against my mouth; it is as warm and soft as your arm, and it smells of vanilla, like your hair when you were young! Laura, when you were young, and we walked in the birch woods, with the primroses and the thrushes–glorious, glorious! Think how beautiful life was, and what it is now. You didn’t want to have it like this, nor did I, and yet it happened. Who then rules over life?
LAURA. God alone rules–
CAPTAIN. The God of strife then! Or the Goddess perhaps, nowadays.– Take away the cat that is lying on me! Take it away!
[Nurse brings in a pillow and takes the shawl away.]
CAPTAIN. Give me my army coat!–Throw it over me! [Nurse gets the coat and puts it over him.] Ah, my rough lion skin that, you wanted to take away from me! Omphale! Omphale! You cunning woman, champion of peace and contriver of man’s disarmament. Wake, Hercules, before they take your club away from you! You would wile our armor from us too, and make believe that it is nothing but glittering finery. No, it was iron, let me tell you, before it ever glittered. In olden days the smith made the armor, now it is the needle woman. Omphale! Omphale! Rude strength has fallen before treacherous weakness. Out on you infernal woman, and damnation on your sex! [He raises himself to spit but falls back on the sofa.] What have you given me for a pillow, Margret? It is so hard, and so cold, so cold. Come and sit near me. There. May I put my head on your knee? So!–This is warm! Bend over me so that I can feel your breast! Oh, it is sweet to sleep against a woman’s breast, a mother’s, or a mistress’s, but the mother’s is sweetest.
LAURA. Would you like to see your child, Adolf?
CAPTAIN. My child? A man has no children, it is only woman who has children, and therefore the future is hers when we die childless. Oh, God, who holds his children dear!
NURSE. Listen, he is praying to God.
CAPTAIN. No, to you to put me to sleep, for I am tired, so tired. Good night, Margret, and blessed be you among women.
[He raises himself, but falls with a cry on the nurses’s lap. Laura goes to left and calls the Doctor who comes in with the Pastor.]
LAURA. Help us, Doctor, if it isn’t too late. Look, he has stopped breathing.
DOCTOR [Feels the Captain’s pulse.] It is a stroke.
PASTOR. Is he dead?
DOCTOR. No, he may yet cone back to life, but to what an awakening we cannot tell.
PASTOR. “First death, and then the judgment.”
DOCTOR. No judgment, and no accusations, you who believe that a God shapes man’s destiny must go to him about this.
NURSE. Ah, Pastor, with his last breath he prayed to God.
PASTOR [To Laura]. Is that true?
LAURA. It is.
DOCTOR. In that case, which I can understand as little as the cause of his illness, my skill is at an end. You try yours now, Pastor.
LAURA. Is that all you have to say at this death-bed, Doctor?
DOCTOR. That is all! I know no more. Let him speak who knows more.
[Bertha comes in from left and runs to her mother.]
BERTHA. Mother, Mother!
LAURA. My child, my own child!
PASTOR. Amen.
CURTAIN.
COUNTESS JULIE
CHARACTERS
COUNTESS JULIE, twenty-five years old JEAN, a valet, thirty
KRISTIN, a cook, thirty-five
FARM SERVANTS
The action takes place on Saint John’s night, the mid-summer festival surviving from pagan times.
COUNTESS JULIE
[SCENE.–A large kitchen. The ceiling and walls are partially covered by draperies and greens. The back wall slants upward from left side of scene. On back wall, left, are two shelves filled with copper kettles, iron casseroles and tin pans. The shelves are trimmed with fancy scalloped paper. To right of middle a large arched entrance with glass doors through which one sees a fountain with a statue of Cupid, syringa bushes in bloom and tall poplars. To left corner of scene a large stove with hood decorated with birch branches. To right, servants’ dining table of white pine and a few chairs. On the cud of table stands a Japanese jar filled with syringa blossoms. The floor is strewn with juniper branches.]
[Near stove, an ice-box, sink and dish-table. A large old-fashioned bell, hangs over the door, to left of door a speaking tube.]
[Kristin stands at stork engaged in cooking something. She wears a light cotton dress and kitchen apron. Jean comes in wearing livery; he carries a large pair of riding-boots with spurs, which he puts on floor.]
JEAN. Tonight Miss Julie is crazy again, perfectly crazy.
KRISTIN. So–you’re back at last.
JEAN. I went to the station with the Count and coming back I went in to the barn and danced and then I discovered Miss Julie there leading the dance with the gamekeeper. When she spied me, she rushed right toward me and asked me to waltz, and then she waltzed so–never in my life have I seen anything like it! Ah–she is crazy tonight.
KRISTIN. She has always been. But never so much as in the last fortnight, since her engagement was broken off.
JEAN. Yes, what about that gossip? He seemed like a fine fellow although he wasn’t rich! Ach! they have so much nonsense about them. [Seats himself at table.] It’s queer about Miss Julie though– to prefer staying here at home among these people, eh, to going away with her father to visit her relatives, eh?
KRISTIN. She’s probably shamefaced about breaking off with her intended.
JEAN. No doubt! but he was a likely sort just the same. Do you know, Kristin, how it happened? I saw it, although I didn’t let on.
KRISTIN. No–did you see it?
JEAN. Yes, indeed, I did. They were out in the stable yard one evening and she was “training” him as she called it. Do you know what happened? She made him leap over her riding whip, the way you teach a dog to jump. He jumped it twice and got a lash each time; but the third time he snatched the whip from her hand and broke it into pieces. And then he vanished!
KRISTIN. Was that the way it happened? No, you don’t say so!
JEAN. Yes, that’s the way the thing happened. But what have you got to give me that’s good, Kristin?
KRISTIN. [She takes things from the pans on stove and serves them to him.] Oh, it’s only a bit of kidney that I cut out of the veal steak for you.
JEAN [Smelling the food]. Splendid! My favorite delicacy. [Feeling of plate]. But you might have warmed the plate.
KRISTIN. You’re fussier than the Count, when you get started. [Tweaks his hair.]
JEAN. Don’t pull my hair! You know how sensitive I am.
KRISTIN. Oh–there, there! you know I was only loving you.
[Jean eats, and Kristin opens bottle of beer.]
JEAN. Beer on midsummer night–thank you, no! I have something better than that myself. [Takes bottle of wine from drawer of table.] Yellow seal, how’s that? Now give me a glass–a wine glass you understand, of course, when one drinks the genuine.
KRISTIN. [Fetches a glass. Then goes to stove and puts on casserole.] Heaven help the woman who gets you for her husband. Such a fuss budget!
JEAN. Oh, talk! You ought to be glad to get such a fine fellow as I am. And I don’t think it’s done you any harm because I’m considered your intended. [Tastes wine.] Excellent, very excellent! Just a little too cold. [Warms glass with hands]. We bought this at Dijon. It stood at four francs a litre in the bulk; then of course there was the duty besides. What are you cooking now that smells so infernally?
KRISTIN. Oh, it’s some devil’s mess that Miss Julie must have for Diana.
JEAN. Take care of your words, Kristin. But why should you stand there cooking for that damned dog on a holiday evening? Is it sick, eh?
KRISTIN. Yes, it’s sick. Diana sneaked out with the gatekeeper’s mongrels and now something is wrong. Miss Julie can’t stand that.
JEAN. Miss Julie has a great deal of pride about some things–but not enough about others! Just like her mother in her lifetime; she thrived best in the kitchen or the stable, but she must always drive tandem–never one horse! She would go about with soiled cuffs but she had to have the Count’s crest on her cuff buttons. And as for Miss Julie, she doesn’t take much care of her appearance either. I should say she isn’t refined. Why just now out there she pulled the forester from Anna’s side and asked him to dance with her. We wouldn’t do things that way. But when the highborn wish to unbend they become vulgar. Splendid she is though! Magnificent! Ah, such shoulders and–
KRISTIN. Oh, don’t exaggerate. I’ve heard what Clara says who dresses her sometimes, I have.
JEAN. Ha! Clara–you women are always jealous of each other. I who’ve been out riding with her–!!! And such a dancer!
KRISTIN. Come now, Jean, don’t you want to dance with me when I’m through?
JEAN. Of course I want to.
KRISTIN. That is a promise?
JEAN. Promise! When I say I will do a thing I do it! Thanks for the supper–it was excellent.
[Pushes cork in the bottle with a bang. Miss Julie appears in doorway, speaking to someone outside.]
JULIE. I’ll be back soon, but don’t let things wait for me.
[Jean quickly puts bottle in table drawer and rises very respectfully.]
[Enter Miss Julie and goes to Kristin.]
JULIE. Is it done?
[Kristin indicating Jean’s presence.]
JEAN [Gallantly]. Have you secrets between you?
JULIE. [Flipping handkerchief in his face]. Curious, are you?
JEAN. How sweet that violet perfume is!
JULIE [Coquettishly]. Impudence! Do you appreciate perfumes too? Dance–that you can do splendidly. [Jean looks towards the cooking store]. Don’t look. Away with you.
JEAN [Inquisitive but polite]. Is it some troll’s dish that you are both concocting for midsummer night? Something to pierce the future with and evoke the face of your intended?
JULIE [Sharply]. To see him one must have sharp eyes. [To Kristin]. Put it into a bottle and cork it tight. Come now, Jean and dance a schottische with me.
[Jean hesitates.]
JEAN. I don’t wish to be impolite to anyone but–this dance I promised to Kristin.
JULIE. Oh, she can have another–isn’t that so, Kristin? Won’t you lend Jean to me.
KRISTIN. It’s not for me to say, if Miss Julie is so gracious it’s not for me to say no. [To Jean]. Go you and be grateful for the honor.
JEAN. Well said–but not wishing any offense I wonder if it is prudent for Miss Julie to dance twice in succession with her servant, especially as people are never slow to find meaning in–
JULIE [Breaking out]. In what? What sort of meaning? What were you going to say?
JEAN [Taken aback]. Since Miss Julie does not understand I must speak plainly. It may look strange to prefer one of your– underlings–to others who covet the same honor–
JULIE. To prefer–what a thought! I, the lady of the house! I honor the people with my presence and now that I feel like dancing I want to have a partner who knows how to lead to avoid being ridiculous.
JEAN. As Miss Julie commands. I’m here to serve.
JULIE [Mildly]. You mustn’t look upon that as a command. Tonight we are all in holiday spirits–full of gladness and rank is flung aside. So, give me your arm! Don’t be alarmed, Kristin, I shall not take your sweetheart away from you.
[Jean offers arm. They exit.]
[PANTOMIME.–Played as though the actress were really alone. Turns her back to the audience when necessary. Does not look out into the auditorium. Does not hurry as though fearing the audience might grow restless. Soft violin music from the distance, schottische time. Kristin hums with the music. She cleans the table; washes plate, wipes it and puts it in the china closet. Takes off her apron and then opens drawer of table and takes a small hand glass and strands it against a flower pot on table. Lights a candle and heats a hair pin with which she crimps her hair around her forehead. After that she goes to door at back and listens. Then she returns to table and sees the Countess’ handkerchief, picks it up, smells of it, then smooths it out and folds it. Enter Jean.]
JEAN. She is crazy I tell you! To dance like that! And the people stand grinning at her behind the doors. What do you say to that, Kristin?
KRISTIN. Oh, didn’t I say she’s been acting queer lately? But isn’t it my turn to dance now?
JEAN. You are not angry because I let myself be led by the forelock?
KRISTIN. No, not for such a little thing. That you know well enough. And I know my place too–
JEAN [Puts arm around her waist]. You’re a pretty smart girl, Kristin, and you ought to make a good wife.
[Enter Miss Julie.]
JULIE [Disagreeably surprised, but with forced gaiety]. You’re a charming cavalier to run away from your partner.
JEAN. On the contrary, Miss Julie, I have hastened to my neglected one as you see.
JULIE [Changing subject]. Do you know, you dance wonderfully well! But why are you in livery on a holiday night? Take it off immediately.
JEAN. Will you excuse me–my coat hangs there. [Goes R. and takes coat.]
JULIE. Does it embarrass you to change your coat in my presence? Go to your room then–or else stay and I’ll turn my back.
JEAN. With your permission, Miss Julie.
[Exit Jean R. One sees his arm as he changes coat.]
JULIE [To Kristin]. Is Jean your sweetheart, that he is so devoted?
KRISTIN. Sweetheart? Yes, may it please you. Sweetheart–that’s what they call it.
JULIE. Call it?
KRISTIN. Oh Miss Julie has herself had a sweetheart and–
JULIE. Yes, we were engaged–
KRISTIN. But it came to nothing.
[Enter Jean in black frock coat.]
JULIE. Tres gentil, Monsieur Jean, tres gentil.
JEAN. Vous voulez plaisanter, Mademoiselle.
JULIE. Et vous voulez parler francais? Where did you learn that?
JEAN. In Switzerland where I was butler in the largest hotel at Lucerne.
JULIE. Why, you look like a gentleman in your frock coat. Charmant! [Seats herself by table.]
JEAN. You flatter me!
JULIE. Flatter! [Picking him up on the word.]
JEAN. My natural modesty forbids me to believe that you could mean these pleasant things that you say to a–such its I am–and therefore I allowed myself to fancy that you overrate or, as it is called, flatter.
JULIE. Where did you learn to use words like that? Have you frequented the theatres much?
JEAN. I have frequented many places, I have!
JULIE. But you were born here in this neighborhood?
JEAN. My father was a deputy under the public prosecutor, and I saw Miss Julie as a child–although she didn’t see me!
JULIE. No, really?
JEAN. Yes, I remember one time in particular. But I mustn’t talk about that.
JULIE. Oh yes, do, when was it?
JEAN. No really–not now, another time perhaps.
JULIE. “Another time” is a good for nothing. Is it so dreadful then?
JEAN. Not dreadful–but it goes against the grain. [Turns and points to Kristin, who has fallen asleep in a chair near stove]. Look at her.
JULIE. She’ll make a charming wife! Does she snore too?
JEAN. No, but she talks in her sleep.
JULIE [Cynically]. How do you know that she talks in her sleep?
JEAN [Boldly]. I have heard her.[Pause and they look at each other.]
JULIE. Why don’t you sit down?
JEAN. I can’t allow myself to do so in your presence.
JULIE. But if I command you?
JEAN. Then I obey.
JULIE. Sit down then. But wait–can’t you get me something to drink first?
JEAN. I don’t know what there is in the icebox. Nothing but beer, probably.
JULIE. Is beer nothing? My taste is so simple that I prefer it to wine.
[Jean takes out beer and serves it on plate.]
JEAN. Allow me.
JULIE. Won’t you drink too?
JEAN. I am no friend to beer–but if Miss Julie commands.
JULIE [Gaily]. Commands! I should think as a polite cavalier you might join your lady.
JEAN. Looking at it in that way you are quite right. [Opens another bottle of beer and fills glass.]
JULIE. Give me a toast!
[Jean hesitates.]
JULIE [Mockingly]. Old as he is, I believe the man is bashful!
JEAN [On his knee with mock gallantry, raises glass]. A health to my lady of the house!
JULIE. Bravo! Now you must kiss my slipper. Then the thing is perfect.
[Jean hesitates and then seizes her foot and kisses it lightly.]
JULIE. Splendid! You should have been an actor.
JEAN [Rising]. But this mustn’t go any further, Miss Julie. What if someone should come in and see us?
JULIE. What harm would that do?
JEAN. Simply that it would give them a chance to gossip. And if Miss Julie only knew how their tongues wagged just now–then–
JULIE. What did they say? Tell me. And sit down now.
JEAN [Sitting]. I don’t wish to hurt you, but they used an expression–threw hints of a certain kind–but you are not a child, you can understand. When one sees a lady drinking alone with a man– let alone a servant–at night–then–
JULIE. Then what? And for that matter, we are not alone. Kristin is here.
JEAN. Sleeping! Yes.
JULIE. Then I shall wake her. [Rises]. Kristin, are you asleep?
KRISTIN. [In her sleep]. Bla–bla–bla–bla.
JULIE. Kristin! She certainly can sleep. [Goes to Kristin.]
KRISTIN. [In her sleep]. The Count’s boots are polished–put on the coffee–soon–soon–soon. Oh–h-h-h–puh! [Breathes heavily. Julie takes her by the nose.]
JULIE. Won’t you wake up?
JEAN [Sternly]. Don’t disturb the sleeping.
JULIE [Sharply]. What?
JEAN. Anyone who has stood over the hot stove all day long is tired when night comes. One should respect the weary.
JULIE. That’s a kind thought–and I honor it. [Offers her hand.] Thanks for the suggestion. Come out with me now and pick some syringas.
[Kristin has awakened and goes to her room, right, in a sort of sleep stupified way.]
JEAN. With Miss Julie?
JULIE. With me.
JEAN. But that wouldn’t do–decidedly not.
JULIE. I don’t understand you. Is it possible that you fancy that I–
JEAN. No–not I, but people.
JULIE. What? That I’m in love with my coachman?
JEAN. I am not presumptuous, but we have seen instances–and with the people nothing is sacred.
JULIE. I believe he is an aristocrat!
JEAN. Yes, I am.
JULIE. But I step down– —
JEAN. Don’t step down, Miss Julie. Listen to me–no one would believe that you stepped down of your own accord; people always say that one falls down.
JULIE. I think better of the people than you do. Come–and try them–come!
[Dares him with a look.]
JEAN. Do you know that you are wonderful?
JULIE. Perhaps. But you are too. Everything is wonderful for that matter. Life, people–everything. Everything is wreckage, that drifts over the water until it sinks, sinks. I have the same dream every now and then and at this moment I am reminded of it. I find myself seated at the top of a high pillar and I see no possible way to get down. I grow dizzy when I look down, but down I must. But I’m not brave enough to throw myself; I cannot hold fast and I long to fall–but I don’t fall. And yet I can find no rest or peace until I shall come down to earth; and if I came down to earth I would wish myself down in the ground. Have you ever felt like that?
JEAN. No, I dream that I’m lying in a dark wood under a tall tree and I would up–up to the top, where I can look far over the fair landscape, where the sun is shining. I climb–climb, to plunder the birds’ nests up there where the golden eggs lie, but the tree trunk is so thick, so smooth, and the first limb is so high! But I know if I reached the first limb I should climb as though on a ladder, to the top. I haven’t reached it yet, but I shall reach it, if only in the dream.
JULIE. Here I stand talking about dreams with you. Come now, just out in the park.
[She offers her arm and they start.]
JEAN. We should sleep on nine midsummer flowers tonight and then our dreams would come true.
[She turns, Jean quickly holds a hand over his eye.]
JULIE. What is it, something in your eye?
JEAN. Oh, it is nothing–just a speck. It will be all right in a moment.
JULIE. It was some dust from my sleeve that brushed against you. Now sit down and let me look for it. [Pulls him into a chair, looks into his eye.] Now sit still, perfectly still. [Uses corner of her handkerchief in his eye. Strikes his hand.] So–will you mind? I believe you are trembling, strong man that you are. [Touching his arm.] And such arms!
JEAN [Warningly.] Miss Julie!
JULIE. Yes, Monsieur Jean!
JEAN. Attention. Je ne suis qu’un homme!
JULIE. Will you sit Still! So, now it is gone! Kiss my hand and thank me!
[Jean rises.]
JEAN. Miss Julie, listen to me. Kristin has gone to bed now–will you listen to me–
JULIE. Kiss my hand first.
JEAN. Listen to me–
JULIE. Kiss my hand first.
JEAN. Yes, but blame yourself.
JULIE. For what?
JEAN. For what? Are you a child at twenty-five? Don’t you know that it is dangerous to play with fire?
JULIE. Not for me. I am insured!
JEAN. No, you are not. But even if you are, there is inflammable material in the neighborhood.
JULIE. Might that be you?
JEAN. Yes, not because it is I, but because I’m a young man–
JULIE [Scornfully]. With a grand opportunity–what inconceivable presumption! A Don Juan perhaps! Or a Joseph! On my soul, I believe he is a Joseph!
JEAN. You do?
JULIE. Almost.
[Jean rushes towards her and tries to take her in his arms to kiss her.]
JULIE [Gives him a box on the ear]. Shame on you.
JEAN. Are you in earnest, or fooling?
JULIE. In earnest.
JEAN. Then you were in earnest a moment ago, too. You play too seriously with what is dangerous. Now I’m tired of playing and beg to be excused that I may go on with my work. The Count must have his boots in time, and it is long past midnight. [Jean picks up boots.]
JULIE. Put those boots away.
JEAN. No, that is my work which it is my duty to do, but I was not hired to be your play thing and that I shall never be. I think too well of myself for that.
JULIE. You are proud.
JEAN. In some things–not in others.
JULIE. Were you ever in love?
JEAN. We do not use that word, but I have liked many girls. One time I was sick because I couldn’t have the one I wanted–sick, you understand, like the princesses in the Arabian Nights who could not eat nor drink for love sickness.
JULIE. Who was she? [Jean is silent.] Who was she?
JEAN. That you could not make me tell.
JULIE. Not if I ask you as an equal, as a–friend? Who was she?
JEAN. It was you!
[Julie seats herself.]
JULIE. How extravagant!
JEAN. Yes, if you will, it was ridiculous. That was the story I hesitated to tell, but now I’m going to tell it. Do you know how people in high life look from the under world? No, of course you don’t. They look like hawks and eagles whose backs one seldom sees, for they soar up above. I lived in a hovel provided by the state, with seven brothers and sisters and a pig; out on a barren stretch where nothing grew, not even a tree, but from the window I could see the Count’s park walls with apple trees rising above them. That was the garden of paradise; and there stood many angry angels with flaming swords protecting it; but for all that I and other boys found the way to the tree of life–now you despise me.
JULIE. Oh, all boys steal apples.
JEAN. You say that, but you despise me all the same. No matter! One time I entered the garden of paradise–it was to weed the onion beds with my mother! Near the orchard stood a Turkish pavilion, shaded and overgrown with jessamine and honeysuckle. I didn’t know what it was used for and I had never seen anything so beautiful. People passed in and out and one day–the door was left open. I sneaked in and beheld walls covered with pictures of kings and emperors and there were red-fringed curtains at the windows–now you understand what I mean–I–[Breaks off a spray of syringes and puts it to her nostrils.] I had never been in the castle and how my thoughts leaped–and there they returned ever after. Little by little the longing came over me to experience for once the pleasure of–enfin, I sneaked in and was bewildered. But then I heard someone coming–there was only one exit for the great folk, but for me there was another, and I had to choose that. [Julie who has taken the syringa lets it fall on table.] Once out I started to run, scrambled through a raspberry hedge, rushed over a strawberry bed and came to a stop on the rose terrace. For there I saw a figure in a white dress and white slippers and stockings–it was you! I hid under a heap of weeds, under, you understand, where the thistles pricked me, and lay on the damp, rank earth. I gazed at you walking among the roses. And I thought if it is true that the thief on the cross could enter heaven and dwell among the angels it was strange that a pauper child on God’s earth could not go into the castle park and play with the Countess’ daughter.
JULIE [Pensively]. Do you believe that all poor children would have such thoughts under those conditions?
JEAN [Hesitates, then in a positive voice]. That all poor children– yes, of course, of course!
JULIE. It must be a terrible misfortune to be poor.
JEAN [With deep pain and great chagrin]. Oh, Miss Julie, a dog may lie on the couch of a Countess, a horse may be caressed by a lady’s hand, but a servant–yes, yes, sometimes there is stuff enough in a man, whatever he be, to swing himself up in the world, but how often does that happen! But to return to the story, do you know what I did? I ran down to the mill dam and threw myself in with my clothes on–and was pulled out and got a thrashing. But the following Sunday when all the family went to visit my grandmother I contrived to stay at home; I scrubbed myself well, put on my best dollies, such its they were, and went to church so that I might see you. I saw you. Then I went home with my mind made up to put, an cud to myself. But I wanted to do it beautifully and without pain. Then I happened to remember that elderberry blossoms are poisonous. I knew where there was a big elderberry bush in full bloom and I stripped it of its riches and made a bed of it in the oat-bin. Have you ever noticed how smooth and glossy oats are? As soft as a woman’s arm.–Well, I got in and let down the cover, fell asleep, and when I awoke I was very ill, but didn’t die–as you see. What I wanted–I don’t know. You were unattainable, but through the vision of you I was made to realize how hopeless it was to rise above the conditions of my birth.
JULIE. You tell it well! Were you ever at school?
JEAN. A little, but I have read a good deal and gone to the theatres. And besides, I have always heard the talk of fine folks and from them I have learned most.
JULIE. Do you listen then to what we are saying?
JEAN. Yes, indeed, I do. And I have heard much when I’ve been on the coachbox. One time I heard Miss Julie and a lady–
JULIE. Oh, what was it you heard?
JEAN. Hm! that’s not so easy to tell. But I was astonished and could not understand where you had heard such things. Well, perhaps at bottom there’s not so much difference between people and–people.
JULIE. Oh, shame! We don’t behave as you do when we are engaged.
JEAN. [Eyeing her]. Are you sure of that? It isn’t worthwhile to play the innocent with me.
JULIE. I gave my love to a rascal.
JEAN. That’s what they always say afterward.
JULIE. Always?
JEAN. Always, I believe, as I have heard the expression many times before under the same circumstances.
JULIE. What circumstances?
JEAN. Those we’ve been talking about. The last time I– —
JULIE. Silence. I don’t wish to hear any more.
JEAN. Well, then I beg to be excused so I may go to bed.
JULIE. Go to bed! On midsummer night?
JEAN. Yes, for dancing out there with that pack has not amused me.
JULIE. Then get the key for the boat and row me out over the lake. I want to see the sun rise.
JEAN. Is that prudent?
JULIE. One would think that, you were afraid of your reputation.
JEAN. Why not? I don’t want to be made ridiculous. I am not willing to be driven out without references, now that I am going to settle down. And I feel I owe something to Kristin.
JULIE. Oh, so it’s Kristin now–
JEAN. Yes, but you too. Take my advice, go up and go to bed.
JULIE. Shall I obey you?
JEAN. For once–for your own sake. I beg of you. Night is crawling along, sleepiness makes one irresponsible and the brain grows hot. Go to your room. In fact–if I hear rightly some of the people are coming for me. If they find us here–then you are lost.
[Chorus is heard approaching, singing.]
“There came two ladies out of the woods Tridiridi-ralla tridiridi-ra.
One of them had wet her foot,
Tridiridi-ralla-la.
“They talked of a hundred dollars, Tridiridi-ralla tridiridi-ra.
But neither had hardly a dollar, Tridiridi-ralla-la.
“The mitten I’m going to send you, Tridirichi-ralla tridiridi-ra.
For another I’m going to jilt you, Tridiridi-ralla tridiridi-ra.”
JULIE. I know the people and I love them and they respect me. Let them come, you shall see.
JEAN. No, Miss Julie, they don’t love you. They take your food and spit upon your kindness, believe me. Listen to them, listen to what they’re singing! No! Don’t listen!
JULIE [Listening]. What are they singing?
JEAN. It’s something suggestive, about you and me.
JULIE. Infamous! Oh horrible! And how cowardly!
JEAN. The pack is always cowardly. And in such a battle one can only run away.
JULIE. Run away? Where? We can’t get out and we can’t go to Kristin.
JEAN. Into my room then. Necessity knows no law. You can depend on me for I am your real, genuine, respectful friend.
JULIE. But think if they found you there.
JEAN. I will turn the key and if they try to break in I’ll shoot. Come–come!
JULIE. [Meaningly]. You promise me–?
JEAN. I swear …
[She exits R. Jean follows her.]
[BALLET.–The farm folk enter in holiday dress with flowers in their hats, a fiddler in the lead. They carry a keg of home-brewed beer and a smaller keg of gin, both decorated with greens which are placed on the table. They help themselves to glasses and drink. Then they sing and dance a country dance to the melody of “There came two ladies out of the woods.” When that is over they go out, singing.]
[Enter Julie alone, sees the havoc the visitors have made, clasps her hands, takes out powder box and powders her face. Enter Jean exuberant.]
JEAN. There, you see, and you heard them. Do you think it’s possible for us to remain here any longer?
JULIE. No, I don’t. But what’s to be done?
JEAN. Fly! Travel–far from here!
JULIE. Travel–yes–but where?
JEAN. To Switzerland–to the Italian lakes. You have never been there?
JULIE. No–is it beautiful there?
JEAN. Oh, an eternal summer! Oranges, trees, laurels–oh!
JULIE. But what shall we do there?
JEAN. I’ll open a first-class hotel for first-class patrons.
JULIE. Hotel?
JEAN. That is life–you shall see! New faces constantly, different languages. Not a moment for boredom. Always something to do night and day–the bell ringing, the trains whistling, the omnibus coming and going and all the time the gold pieces rolling into the till– that is life!
JULIE. Yes, that is life. And I–?
JEAN. The mistress of the establishment–the ornament of the house. With your looks–and your manners–oh, it’s a sure success! Colossal! You could sit like a queen in the office and set the slaves in action by touching an electric button. The guests line up before your throne and shyly lay their riches on your desk. You can’t believe how people tremble when they get their bills–I can salt the bills and you can sweeten them with your most bewitching smile–ha, let us get away from here–[Takes a time table from his pocket] immediately–by the next train. We can be at Malmoe at 6.30, Hamburg at 8.40 tomorrow morning, Frankfort the day after and at Como by the St. Gothard route in about–let me see, three days. Three days!
JULIE. All that is well enough, but Jean–you must give me courage. Take me in your arms and tell me that you love me.
JEAN [Hesitatingly]. I will–but I daren’t–not again in this house. I love you of course–do you doubt that?
JULIE [Shyly and with womanliness]. You! Say thou to me! Between us there can be no more formality. Say thou.
JEAN. I can’t–There must be formality between us–as long as we are in this house. There is the memory of the past–and there is the Count, your father. I have never known anyone else for whom I have such respect. I need only to see his gloves lying in a chair to feel my own insignificance. I have only to hear his bell to start like a nervous horse–and now as I see his boots standing there so stiff and proper I feel like bowing and scraping. [Gives boots a kick]. Superstitions and prejudices taught in childhood can’t be uprooted in a moment. Let us go to a country that is it republic where they’ll stand on their heads for my coachman’s livery–on their heads shall they stand–but I shall not. I am not, born to bow and scrape, for there’s stuff in me–character. If I only get hold of the first limb, you shall see me climb. I’m a coachman today, but next year I shall be a proprietor, in two years a gentleman of income; then for Roumania where I’ll let them decorate me and can, mark you, _can_ end a count!
JULIE. Beautiful, beautiful!
JEAN. Oh, in Roumania, one can buy a title cheap–and so you can be a countess just the same–my countess!
JULIE. What do I care for all that–which I now cast behind me. Say that you love me–else, what am I, without it?
JEAN. I’ll say it a thousand times afterwards, but not here. Above all, let us have no sentimentality now or everything will fall through. We must look at this matter coldly like sensible people. [Takes out a cigar and lights it.] Now sit down there and I’ll sit here and we’ll take it over as if nothing had happened.
JULIE [Staggered]. Oh, my God, have you no feeling?
JEAN. I? No one living has more feeling than I but I can restrain myself.
JULIE. A moment ago you could kiss my slipper and now–
JEAN [Harshly]. That was–then. Now we have other things to think about.
JULIE. Don’t speak harshly to me.
JEAN. Not harshly, but wisely. One folly has been committed–commit no more. The Count may be here at any moment, and before he comes, our fate must be settled. How do my plans for the future strike you? Do you approve of them?
JULIE. They seem acceptable enough. But one question. For such a great undertaking a large capital is necessary, have you that?
JEAN [Chewing his cigar]. I? To be sure. I have my regular occupation, my unusual experience, my knowledge of different languages–that is capital that counts, I should say.
JULIE. But with all that you could not buy a railway ticket.
JEAN. That’s true, and for that reason I’m looking for a backer who can furnish the funds.
JULIE. How can that be done at a moment’s notice?
JEAN. That is for you to say, if you wish to be my companion.
JULIE. I can’t–as I have nothing myself.
[A pause.]
JEAN. Then the whole matter drops– —
JULIE. And– —
JEAN. Things remain as they are.
JULIE. Do you think I could remain under this roof after—-Do you think I will allow the people to point at me in scorn, or that I can ever look my father in the face again? Never! Take me away from this humiliation and dishonor. Oh, what have I done! Oh, my God, what have I done! [Weeping.]
JEAN. So, you are beginning in that tune now. What have you done? The same as many before you.
JULIE. And now you despise me. I am falling! I am falling!
JEAN. Fall down to my level, I’ll lift you up afterwards.
JULIE. What strange power drew me to you–the weak to the strong– the falling to the rising, or is this love! This–love! Do you know what love is?
JEAN. I? Yes! Do you think it’s the first time?
JULIE. What language, what thoughts.
JEAN. I am what life has made me. Don’t be nervous and play the high and mighty, for now we are on the same level. Look here, my little girl, let me offer you a glass of something extra fine. [Opens drawer of table and takes out wine bottle, then fills two glasses that have been already used.]
JULIE. Where did you get that wine?
JEAN. From the cellar.
JULIE. My father’s Burgundy.
JEAN. What’s the matter, isn’t that good enough for the son-in-law?
JULIE. And I drink beer–I!
JEAN. That only goes to prove that your taste is poorer than mine.
JULIE. Thief!
JEAN. Do you intend to tattle?
JULIE. Oh ho! Accomplice to a house thief. Was I intoxicated–have I been walking in my sleep this night–midsummer night, the night for innocent play–
JEAN. Innocent, eh!
JULIE [Pacing back and forth]. Is there a being on earth so miserable as I.
JEAN. Why are you, after such a conquest. Think of Kristin in there, don’t you think she has feelings too?
JULIE. I thought so a little while ago, but I don’t any more. A servant is a servant.
JEAN. And a whore is a whore.
JULIE [Falls on her knees with clasped hands]. Oh, God in heaven, end my wretched life, save me from this mire into which I’m sinking–Oh save me, save me.
JEAN. I can’t deny that it hurts me to see you like this.
JULIE. And you who wanted to die for me.
JEAN. In the oat-bin? Oh, that was only talk.
JULIE. That is to say–a lie!
JEAN [Beginning to show sleepiness]. Er–er almost. I believe I read something of the sort in a newspaper about a chimney-sweep who made a death bed for himself of syringa blossoms in a wood-bin– [laughs] because they were going to arrest him for non-support of his children.
JULIE. So you are such a–
JEAN. What better could I have hit on! One must always be romantic to capture a woman.
JULIE. Wretch! Now you have seen the eagle’s back, and I suppose I am to be the first limb–
JEAN. And the limb is rotten–
JULIE [Without seeming to hear]. And I am to be the hotel’s signboard–
JEAN. And I the hotel–
JULIE. And sit behind the desk and allure guests and overcharge them–
JEAN. Oh, that’ll be my business.
JULIE. That a soul can be so degraded!
JEAN. Look to your own soul.
JULIE. Lackey! Servant! Stand up when I speak.
JEAN. Don’t you dare to moralize to me. Lackey, eh! Do you think you have shown yourself finer than any maid-servant tonight?
JULIE [Crushed]. That is right, strike me, trample on me, I deserve nothing better. I have done wrong, but help me now. Help me out of this if there is any possible way.
JEAN [Softens somewhat]. I don’t care to shirk my share of the blame, but do you think any one of my position would ever have dared to raise his eyes to you if you yourself had not invited it? Even now I am astonished–
JULIE. And proud.
JEAN. Why not? Although I must confess that the conquest was too easy to be exciting.
JULIE. Go on, strike me again–
JEAN [Rising]. No, forgive me, rather, for what I said. I do not strike the unarmed, least of all, a woman. But I can’t deny that from a certain point of view it gives me satisfaction to know that it is the glitter of brass, not gold, that dazzles us from below, and that the eagle’s back is grey like the rest of him. On the other hand, I’m sorry to have to realize that all that I have looked up to is not worth while, and it pains me to see you fallen lower than your cook as it pains me to see autumn blossoms whipped to pieces by the cold rain and transformed into–dirt!
JULIE. You speak as though you were already my superior.
JEAN. And so I am! For I can make you a countess and you could never make me a count.