August Strindberg - Miss Julie and Other Plays

Don’t you think that the other man—the man who went unpunished—should readjust the balance of human life in the same way as if he were adjudged liable to pay compensation? Don’t you think so?

Mr. X.[Quietly.] Yes.

Mr. Y.Now we understand one another. [Pause.] How much do you think fair?

Mr. X.Fair. The law provides that fifty kronors should be the minimum compensation, but as the dead man didn’t leave any dependents your argument falls to the ground.

Mr. Y.No; you won’t understand. Let me make it clearer. It’s to me that you must make the compensation.

Mr. X.I’ve never heard before that a homicide should make compensation to a forger, and, besides, I haven’t found anybody to accuse me.

Mr. Y.No? Well, here is someone.

Mr. X.Now we’re beginning to see how the land lies. How much do you want to abet my homicide?

Mr. Y.Six thousand kronors.

Mr. X.That’s too much. Where am I to get it from? [MR. Y. points to the chest.] I won’t. I won’t be a thief.

Mr. Y.Don’t try to bluff me. Are you going to tell me that you haven’t been to that chest already?

Mr. X.[As if to himself.] To think that I could have made such a complete mistake! But that’s the case with soft natures. You like soft natures, so you’re apt to believe that they like you, and that’s why I’ve always been on my guard against anyone I liked. And so you’re absolutely convinced that I took the chest out of the ground?

Mr. Y.Yes, I’m certain.

Mr. X.And you’ll inform against me if you don’t get six thousand kronors.

Mr. Y.No mistake about it—you can’t get out of it, and it’s not worth while trying.

Mr. X.Do you think that I will give my father a thief for a son, my wife a thief for a husband, my children a thief for a father, my friends a thief for a colleague? Not if I know it. Now I will go to the police and give myself up.

Mr. Y.[Springs up and collects his things.] Wait a bit.

Mr. X.What for?

Mr. Y.[Hesitating.] I was only thinking—that it’s not necessary any more—as it’s not necessary for me to stay here—that I might go.

Mr. X.No, you don’t—sit down in your place at the table where you were before—then we’ll talk a bit first.

Mr. Y.[Sits down after he has taken up a black coat.] What, what’s going to happen now?

Mr. X.[Looks in the mirror at the back of MR. Y.] Now it’s as clear as possible.

Mr. Y.[Nervously.] What do you see so strange?

Mr. X.I see in the looking-glass that you are a thief—a simple, common or garden thief. A few minutes ago, when you sat there in your white shirt, I just noticed the books were out of order a bit in my bookcase, but I couldn’t notice in what way, as I had to listen to you and observe you. But now that you’ve become antipathetic to me my eyes have grown sharper, and now that you’ve on your black coat, which affords a color foil in the red backs of the books, which there wasn’t before when your red braces were showing, I see that you’ve been and read your forgery story out of Bernheim’s treatise on suggestion, and have put the book back upside down. So you stole the story as well. Now that’s why I think that I’m right in drawing the deduction that you committed your crime because you needed either the necessities or luxuries of life.

Mr. Y.Out of necessity! If you only knew!

Mr. X.If you only knew in what necessity I have lived, and live still. But that’s got nothing to do with it. But you’ve done your stretch, that’s nearly certain, but it was in America, because it was American prison life that you described; and another thing is almost equally certain: that you haven’t done your term here.

Mr. Y.How can you say that?

Mr. X.Wait till the inspector comes, then get to know. [MR. Y. gets up.] Look here, now! The first time I mentioned the inspector, in connection with a thunderbolt, you wanted to clear out. Besides, when a man has served in prison he will never go to a windmill every day and look at it, or post himself behind a window-pane—in one word, you are both a punished and an unpunished criminal. And that’s why you were so unusually difficult to get at. [Pause.]

Mr. Y.[Absolutely cowed.] May I go now?

Mr. X.Now you may go.

Mr. Y.[Puts his things together.] Are you angry with me?

Mr. X.Yes. Would you prefer it if I pitied you?

Mr. Y.[Sulkily.] Do you consider yourself better than I am?

Mr. X.I certainly do. I am better than you are. I am much smarter than you, and much more useful than you are to the general community.

Mr. Y.You are very deep, but not so deep as I am, I am in check myself, but all the same you’ll be mate next move.

Mr. X.[Fixes MR. Y.] Shall we have another round? What mischief are you up to now?

Mr. Y.That’s my secret.

Mr. X.Let’s have a look at you—you’re thinking of writing an anonymous letter to my wife and telling her about this secret of mine.

Mr. Y.Yes, and you can’t stop me doing it. Put me in jail? Why, you daren’t; and so you’ve got to let me go; and when I’m gone I can do what I want to every day.

Mr. X.Oh, you devil! You’ve found my one weak point—do you want to compel me to become a murderer?

Mr. Y.You can’t do that, you wretch!

Mr. X.You see, there’s a difference between one man and another. And you know yourself that I can’t do things like you do; that’s where you have the pull over me. But just consider—supposing you make me treat you in the same way that I treated the coachman. [Lifts up his hand to deliver a blow.]

Mr. Y.[Stares insolently at MR. X.] You can’t do it— you can’t do it; just as you couldn’t find your salvation in that chest.

Mr. X.You don’t believe then that I took it out of the earth?

Mr. Y.You didn’t have the pluck. Just as you didn’t have the pluck to tell your wife that she’d married a murderer.

Mr. X.You’re a different type of man to what I am—whether you’re stronger or weaker I don’t know—more criminal or not don’t touch me. But there’s no question about your being more of an ass; because you were an ass when you wrote in somebody else’s name instead of begging, as I managed to do; you were an ass when you went and stole an idea out of my book. Couldn’t you have known that I read my books? You were an ass when you thought that you were smarter than I was and that you could lure me into being a thief; you were a fool when you thought it would adjust the balance if there were two thieves in the world instead of one, and you were most foolish of all when you labored under the delusion that I would go and build up my life’s happiness without having first made the corner-stone safe. You go and write anonymous letters to my wife that her husband is a homicide?—she knew it when we were engaged! Now take yourself off!

Mr. Y.May I go?

Mr. X.You shall go now. At once. Your things will follow you. Clear out!

[Curtain.]

BISKRA, an Arabian girl.