August Strindberg: Miss Julie and Other Plays

John.Don’t drink to such excess—you’ll get drunk!

Julie.What does it matter?

John.What does it matter? It’s cheap to get drunk. What do you want to say to me then?

Julie.We’ll run away, but we’ll talk first, that means I will talk, because up to now you’ve done all the talking yourself. You’ve told me about your life, now I’ll tell you about mine. Then we shall know each other thoroughly, before we start on our joint wanderings.

John.One moment. Excuse me, just think if you won’t be sorry afterward for giving away all the secrets of your life.

Julie.Aren’t you my friend?

John.Yes, for a short time. Don’t trust me.

Julie.You don’t mean what you say. Besides, everybody knows my secrets. Look here, my mother was not of noble birth, but quite simple, she was brought up in the theories of her period about the equality and freedom of woman and all the rest of it. Then she had a distinct aversion to marriage. When my father proposed to her, she answered that she would never become his wife, but—she did. I came into the world—against the wish of my mother so far as I could understand. The next was, that I was brought up by my mother to lead what she called a child’s natural life, and to do that, I had to learn everything that a boy has to learn, so that I could be a living example of her theory that a woman is as good as a man. I could go about in boys’ clothes. I learned to groom horses, but I wasn’t allowed to go into the dairy. I had to scrub and harness horses and go hunting. Yes, and at times I had actually to try and learn farm-work, and at home the men were given women’s work and the women were given men’s work—the result was that the property began to go down and we became the laughing-stock of the whole neighborhood. At last my father appears to have wakened up out of his trance and to have rebelled; then everything was altered to suit his wishes. My mother became ill. I don’t know what the illness was, but she often suffered from seizures, hid herself in the grounds and in the garden, and remained in the open air the whole night. Then came the great fire, which you must have heard about. House, farm buildings and stables all were burnt, and under circumstances, mind you, which gave a suspicion of arson, because the accident happened the day after the expiration of the quarterly payment of the insurance instalment, and the premiums which my father had sent were delayed through the carelessness of the messenger, so that they did not get there in time. [She fills her glass and drinks.]

John.Don’t drink any more.

Julie.Oh, what does it matter? We were without shelter and had to sleep in the carriage. My father didn’t know where he was to get the money to build a house again. Then my mother advised him to approach a friend of her youth for a loan, a tile manufacturer in the neighborhood. Father got the loan, but didn’t have to pay any interest, which made him quite surprised, and then the house was built. [She drinks again.] You know who set fire to the house?

John.My lady your mother.

Julie.Do you know who the tile manufacturer was?

John.Your mother’s lover.

Julie.Do you know whose the money was?

John.Wait a minute. No, that I don’t know.

Julie.My mother’s.

John.The Count’s then?—unless they were living with separate estates?

Julie.They weren’t doing that. My mother had a small fortune, which she didn’t allow my father to handle, and she invested it with—the friend.

John.Who banked it.

Julie.Quite right. This all came to my father’s ears, but he could not take any legal steps; he couldn’t pay his wife’s lover, he couldn’t prove that it was his wife’s money. That was my mother’s revenge for his using force against her at home. He then made up his mind to shoot himself. The report went about that he had wanted to do it, but hadn’t succeeded. He remained alive then-, and my mother had to settle for what she’d done. That was a bad time for me* as you can imagine. I sympathized with my father, but I sided with my mother, as I didn’t understand the position. I learnt from her to mistrust and hate men, for, so far as I could hear, she always hated men—and I swore to her that I would never be a man’s slave.

John.And then you became engaged to Kronvogt?

Julie.For the simple reason that he was 1 to have been my slave.

John.And he wouldn’t have it?

Julie.He was willing enough, but nothing came of it* I got sick of him.

John.I saw it, in the stable.

Julie.What did you see?

John.I saw how he broke off the engagement.

Julie.That’s a He. It was I who broke off the engagement. Did he say that he did it? The scoundrel!

John.No, he wasn’t a scoundrel at all. You hate the men, Miss.

Julie.Yes—usually, but at times, when my weak fit comes on—ugh!

John.So you hate me as well?

Julie.Infinitely. I could have you killed like a beast.

John.The criminal is condemned to hard labor, but the beast is killed.

Julie.Quite right.

John.But there’s no beast here—and no prosecutor either. What are we going to do?

Julie.Travel.

John.To torture each other to death?

Julie.No—have a good time for two, three years, or as long as we can—and then die.

John.Die? What nonsense! I’m all for starting a hotel.

Julie.[Without listening to him.] By the Lake of Como, where the sun is always shining, where the laurel-trees are green at Christmas and the oranges glow.

John.The Lake of Como is a rainy hole. I didn’t see any oranges there, except in the vegetable shops, but it’s a good place for visitors, because there are a lot of villas which can be let to honeymooning couples, and that’s a very profitable industry. I’ll tell you why. They take a six months’ lease—and travel away after three weeks. ’ Julie. [Naively.] Why-after three weeks?

John.They quarrel, of course; but the rent’s got to be paid all the same, and then we let again, and so it goes on one after the other, for love goes on to all eternity—even though it doesn’t keep quite so long.

Julie.Then you won’t die with me?

John.I won’t die at all just yet, thank you. In the first place, because I still enjoy life, and, besides, because I look upon suicide as a sin against providence, which-has given us life.

Julie.Do you believe in God—you?

John.Yes, I certainly do, and I go to church every other Sunday. But, speaking frankly, I’m tired of all this, and I’m going to bed now.

Julie.You are, are you? And you think that I’m satisfied with that? Do you know what a man owes to the woman he has dishonored?

John.[Takes out his purse and throws a silver coin on the table.] If you don’t mind, I don’t like being in anybody’s debt.

Julie.[As though she had not noticed the insult.] Do you know what the law provides?

John.Unfortunately the law does not provide any penalty for the woman who seduces a man.