August Strindberg - Miss Julie and Other Plays

John.What a devil! And all that fuss about a canary.

Julie.[Limply.] Leave the canary out of it. Can you see a way out of all this?—an end for the whole thing?

John.[Ponders.] No.

Julie.What would you do in my position?

John.In your position? Just wait a minute, will you? As a girl of good birth, as a woman—as a fallen woman? I don’t know. Ah! I’ve got it!

Julie.[Takes up the razor and makes a movement.] That?

John.Yes, but I wouldn’t do it—note that well; that’s the difference between us.

Julie.Because you’re a man and I’m a woman? What difference does that make?

John.The same difference—as between men and women.

Julie.[With the knife in her hand.] I want to, but I can’t do it. My father couldn’t do it either—the time when he ought to have.

John.No; he shouldn’t have done it—his first duty was to revenge himself.

Julie.And now my mother avenges herself again through me.

John.Have you never loved your father, Miss Julie?

Julie.Yes, infinitely—but I’m sure that I’ve hated him as well. I must have done it without having noticed it myself, but he brought me up to despise my own sex, to be half a woman and half a man. Who is to blame for what has happened? My father, my mother, I myself? I myself? I haven’t got a self at all, I haven’t got a thought which I don’t get from my father, I haven’t got a passion which I don’t get from my mother, and the latest phase—the equality of men and women—that I got from my fiance, whom I called a scoundrel for his pains. How then can it be my own fault? To shove the blame on Jesus like Christine does—no, I’ve got too much pride and too much common sense for that—thanks to my father’s teaching. And as for a rich man not being able to get into the kingdom of heaven, that’s a lie. Christine has got money in the savings bank. Certainly she won’t get in. Who is responsible for the wrong? What does it matter to us who is? I know I’ve got to put up with the blame and the consequences.

John.Yes—but [There are two loud rings in succession. JULIE starts; JOHN quickly changes his coat, on the left.] The Count’s at home—just think if Christine [He goes to the speaking tube at the back, whistles, and listens.]

Julie.He must have already gone to his secretary by now.

John.It’s John, my lord. [He listens. What the Count says is inaudible.] Yes, my lord. [He listens.] Yes, my lord. At once. [He listens.] Very well, my lord. [He listens.] Yes, in half-an-hour.

Julie.[Extremely nervous.] What did he say? My God! what did he say?

John.He asked for his boots and his coffee in half-an-hour.

Julie.In half-an-hour then. Oh, I’m so tired, I can’t do anything; I can’t repent, I can’t run away, I can’t stay, I can’t live, I can’t die. Help me now! Give me orders and I’ll obey like a dog. Do me this last service! Save my honor—save my name! You know what I ought to will, but don’t will. Do you will it and order me to accomplish it.

John.I don’t know—but now I can’t either. I can’t make it out myself—it’s just as though it were the result of this coat I’ve just put on, but I can’t give you any orders. And now, after the Count has spoken to me, I can’t explain it properly—but—ah! it’s the livery which I’ve got on my back. I believe if the Count were to come in now and order me to cut my throat I’d do it on the spot.

Julie.Then just do as though you were he, and I were you. You could imagine it quite well a minute ago, when you were before me on your knees. Then you were a knight. Have you ever been to the theater and seen the mesmerist? [JOHN makes a gesture of assent.] He says to the medium, “Take the broom"; he takes it; he says “Sweep,” and he sweeps.

John.But in that case the medium must be asleep.

Julie.[Exalted.] I am already asleep. The whole room looks as though it were full of smoke—and you look like an iron furnace—which is like a man in black clothes and top hat—and your eyes glow like coals when the fire goes out—and your face is a white blur like cinders. The sunlight has now reached the floor and streams over JOHN.] It’s so warm and fine. [She rubs her hands as though she were warming them by a fire.] And then it’s so light—and so quiet.

John.[Takes the razor and puts it in her hand.] There is the broom, go, now that it’s light, outside into the barn—and [He whispers something in her ear.]

Julie.[Awake.] Thank you. Now I’m going to have peace, but tell me now that the first shall have their share of grace too. Tell me that, even though you don’t believe it.

John.The first? No, I can’t do that; but, one minute, Miss Julie—I’ve got it, you don’t belong any longer to the first—you are beneath the last.

Julie.That’s true—I am beneath the very last, I am the last myself. Oh—but now I can’t go. Tell me again that I must go.

John.No, I can’t do that again now either. I can’t.

Julie.And the first shall be last.

John.Don’t think, don’t think! You rob me of all my strength and make a coward of me. What? I believe the clock was moving. No—shall we put paper in? To be so funky of the sound of a clock! But it’s something more than a clock—there’s something that sits behind it—a hand puts it in motion, and something else sets the hand in motion—just put your fingers to your ears, and then it strikes worse again. It strikes until you give an answer and then it’s too late, and then come the police—and then [Two loud rings in succession, JOHN starts, then he pulls himself together.] It’s awful, but there’s no other way out. Go! [ JULIE goes with a firm step outside the door.]

[Curtain.]

THEKLA.

ADOLF, her husband, a painter.

GUSTAV, her divorced husband.

Two LADIES, a WAITER.

A small watering place. Time, the present. Stage directions with reference to the actors.

A drawing room in a watering place; furnished as above.

Door in the middle, with a view out on the sea; side doors right and left; by the side door on the left the button of an electric bell; on the right of the door in the center a table, with a decanter of water and a glass. On the left of the door in the center a what-not; on the right a fireplace in front; on the right a round table and armchairs; on the left a sofa, a square table, a settee; on the table a small pedestal with a draped figure—pampers, books, armchairs. Only the items of furniture which are introduced into the action are referred to in the above plan. The rest of the scenery remains unaffected. It is summer, and the daytime.

[ADOLF sits on the settee on the left of the square table; his stick is propped up near him.]

Adolf.And it’s you I’ve got to thank for all this.

Gustav.[Walks up and down on the right, smoking a cigar.] Oh, nonsense.

Adolf.Indeed, I have. Why, the first day after my wife went away, I lay on my sofa like a cripple and gave myself up to my depression; it was as though she had taken my crutches, and I couldn’t move from the spot.

A few days went by, and I cheered up and began to pull myself together. The delirious nightmares which my brain had produced, went away. My head became cooler and cooler. A thought which I once had came to the surface again. My desire to work, my impulse to create, woke up. My eye got back again its capacity for sound, sharp observation. You came, old man.