PLAYS: THE FATHER; COUNTESS JULIE; THE OUTLAW; THE STRONGER

By August Strindberg

Translated by Edith and Warner Oland

To M. C. S. And J. H. S. , Under whose rooftree these translations were made. 

CONTENTS. 

THE FATHER A Tragedy in III Acts. 

COUNTESS JULIE A Tragedy in I Act. 

THE OUTLAW A play in I Act. 

THE STRONGER An Episode in I Scene. 

PUBLISHER'S NOTE. 

Since the accompanying biographical note, which aims solely at outliningthe principal events of Strindberg's life up to 1912, was put in type, the news of his death from cancer, at Stockholm on May 14, 1912, hasbeen reported. 

Of the plays included in the present volume, "The Father" and "CountessJulie" are representative of Strindberg's high water mark in dramatictechnique and have successfully maintained their claim to a permanentplace, not only in dramatic literature, but, as acting plays. 

"The Stronger, " than which no better example of Strindberg's uncannypower for analysis of the female mind exists, while essentially achamber play, is from time to time presented at the theatre, and affordsa splendid test of the dramatic ability of the actors, only one ofwhom speaks. The author has boldly thrown on the other the burden ofmaintaining her share in the development of the action by pantomime, facial expression, and an occasional laugh. 

"The Outlaw, " although inferior in construction to the others, is stillplayed with success and is full of dignity and atmosphere. The importantpart it played in promoting the fortunes of the author lends to it anadded interest which fully justifies its inclusion in this volume. 

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

 "I tell you, you must have chaos in you, if you would give birth to a dancing star. "--Nietzsche. 

In Stockholm, living almost as a recluse, August Strindberg is dreaminglife away. The dancing stars, sprung from the chaos of his being, shinewith an ever-increasing refulgence from the high-arched dome of dramaticliterature, but he no longer adds to their number. The constellation ofthe Lion of the North is complete. 

At sixty-three, worn by the emotional intensity of a life, into whichhas been crowded the stress and storm of a universe, he sits at hisdesk, every day transcribing to his diary a record of those mysticalforces which he says regulate his life. 

Before him lies a crucifix, Hardly as a symbol of sectarian faith, for Strindberg is a Swedenborgian, but a fitting accompaniment, nevertheless, to a state of mind which he expresses in saying "One getsmore and more humble the longer one lives, and in the shadow of deathmany things look different. " A softer light beams from those blue eyes, which, under that tossing crown of tawny hair flung high from a speakingforehead, in times past flashed defiance at every opposition. For himthe fierce, unyielding, never-ceasing, ever-pressing strife of mindand unrest of life is passing, an eddy in the tide has borne him intoquieter waters, and if the hum of the world reaches his solitude, it nolonger rouses him to headlong action. 

Secure in his position as the foremost man of letters Sweden hasproduced in modern times, the last representative of that distinguishedgroup of Scandinavian writers which included Ibsen, Bjornson andBrandes, with a Continental reputation surpassing that of any one ofthem, Strindberg well may be entitled to dream of the past. 

One day when in the evolution of the drama Strindberg's technique shallhave served its purpose and like Ibsen's, be forced to give way beforethe advance of younger artists, when his most radical views shall havebecome the commonplaces of pseudo-culture, the scientific psychologistwill take the man in hand and, from the minute record of his life, emotions, thoughts, fancies, speculations and nightmares, which he hasembodied in autobiographical novels and that most remarkable perhapsof all his creations, abysmal in its pessimism, "The Inferno, " will bedrawn a true conception of the man. 

That the individual will prove quite as interesting a study as hisliterary work, even the briefest outline of Strindberg's life willsuggest. 

The lack of harmony in his soul that has permeated his life and workwith theses and antitheses Strindberg tries to explain through heredity, a by no means satisfying or complete solution for the motivation ofhis frequently unusual conduct and exceptional temperamental qualities, which the abnormal psychologist is in the habit of associating withthat not inconsiderable group of cases in which the emotional andtemperamental characteristics of the opposite sex are dominant in theindividual. His ancestry has been traced back to the sixteenthcentury, when his father's family was of the titled aristocracy, later, generation after generation, becoming churchmen, although Strindberg'sfather, Carl Oscar, undertook a commercial career. His mother, UlricaEleanora Norling, was the daughter of a poor tailor, whom Strindberg'sfather first met as a waitress in a hotel, and, falling in love withher, married, after she had borne him three children. 

August, christened Johann August, the fourth child, was born atStockholm, January 22, 1849, soon after his father had become abankrupt. There was little light or cheer in the boy's home; themisfortune that overtook the family at the time of August's birth alwayshung over them like a dark cloud; the mother became nervous and wornfrom the twelve child-births she survived, the father serious andreserved. The children were brought up strictly and as August was nofavorite, loneliness and hostility filled even his earliest years. 

His first school days were spent among boys of the better class, whoturned up their noses at his leather breeches and heavy boots. He wastaken away from that school and sent where there was a lower class ofboys, whose leader he soon became, but in his studies he was far fromprecocious, though not dull. 

As he grew up the family fortunes bettered, and he attended a privateschool patronized by cultivated and wealthy people. Mixing so with bothclasses meant much in the development of the youth, and he began torealize that he belonged to both and neither, felt homeless, torn in hissympathies and antipathies, plebian and aristocratic at the same time. In his thirteenth year, his mother died, a loss for which his fatherwas apparently soon consoled, as in less than a year he married hishousekeeper. This was another blow to the boy, for he disliked thewoman, and there was soon war between them. 

At fifteen he fell in love with it woman of thirty of very religiouscharacter, and its this was a period of fervent belief with the youthhimself, she became an influence in his life for Home time, but one daya young comrade asked him to luncheon at a cafe, and for the first timeStrindberg partook of schnaps and ale with a hearty meal. This littleluncheon was the event which broke up the melancholy introspection ofhis youth and stirred him to activity. 

He went to Upsala University for one term and then left, partly onaccount of the lack of funds for books, and partly because the slow, pedantic methods of learning were distasteful to his restless, activenature. He then became a school teacher; next interested in medicalscience, which he studied energetically, until the realities ofsuffering drove him from it. About this time, the same time, by the way, that Ibsen's "The League of Youth" was being hissed down at Christiana, the creative artist in Strindberg began to stir, and after six monthsmore of turmoil of soul, he turned to the stage as a possible solution, making his debut at the Dramatiska Theatre in 1869 in Bjornson's "MaryStuart, " in the part of a lord with one line to speak. After two monthsof no advancement he found courage to ask to be heard in one of theclassical roles he had been studying. 

The director, tired from a long rehearsal, reluctantly consented tolisten to him, likewise, the bored company of actors. Strindberg went on"to do or die, " and was soon shouting like a revivalist, and made suchit bad impression that he was advised to go to the dramatic school tostudy. He went home disgusted and heartsick, and, determined to take hislife, swallowed an opium pill which he had long been keeping for thatpurpose. 

However, it was not sufficiently powerful, and, a friend coming to seehim, he was persuaded to go out, and together they drowned his chagrinin an evening at it café. 

The day after was a memorable one, for it was Strindberg's birthday asa dramatist. He was lying on a sofa at home, his body still hot fromthe shame of his defeat--and wine, trying to figure out how he couldpersuade his stepmother to effect a reconciliation between him and hisfather. He saw the scenes played as clearly as though on a stage, andwith his brain working at high pressure, in two hours had the schemefor two acts of a comedy worked out. In four days it wasfinished--Strindberg's first play! It was refused production, but he wascomplimented, and felt that his honor was saved. 

The fever of writing took possession of him and within two months he hadfinished two comedies, and a tragedy in verse called "Hermione, "which was later produced. Giving so much promise as a dramatist hewas persuaded to leave the stage and, unwilling of spirit, returned toUpsala in the spring of 1870, as he was advised that he would never berecognized as a writer unless he had secured is university degree. The means with which to continue his studies were derived from the twohundred crowns left him by his mother, which he now forced his father toallow him to use. Despite this, however, his fortunes often ran to thelowest ebb. 

One day Strindberg announced that he had a one act play called "In Rome"to read to the "Runa" (Song) Club, a group of six students whom he hadgotten together, and which was devoted exclusively to the reading of thepoetry of its members. The play, based upon an incident in the life ofThorvaldsen, was received enthusiastically by the "Runa, " and therest of the night was spent in high talk of Strindberg's future over achampagne supper in his honor given by one of the well-to-do members. These days of homage and appreciation from this student group Strindbergcherishes as the happiest time in his life, but notwithstanding theirworshipful attitude, he himself was full of doubts and misgivings abouthis abilities. 

One of these friends sent the manuscript of "In Rome" to the DramatiskaTheatre at Stockholm, where it was accepted and produced anonymously inAugust of the same year, 1870. Strindberg was present at thepremiere and although it was well received, to him it was all a fineoccasion--except the play! He was ashamed of his self-confession in itand fled before the final curtain. He soon finished another play, "TheOutlaw, " which is included in the present volume. In this drama, whichretains a high place among his plays, Strindberg shows for the firsttime his lion's claw and in it began to speak with his own voice. Itwas accepted by the Court Theatre at Stockholm for production during thenext autumn, that of 1871. 

At the close of the summer, after a violent quarrel with his father, he returned to the University in the hope of finding help from hiscomrades. Arrived at Upsala, with just one crown, he found that manyof his old and more prosperous friends were no longer there. Times wereharder than ever. 

But at last a gleam of hope came with the news that "The Outlaw" wasactually to be produced. And his wildest dreams were then realized, for, despite the unappreciative attitude of the critics toward this splendidViking piece, the King, Carl XV, after seeing the play, commandedStrindberg to appear before him. Strindberg regarded the summons as theperpetration of a practical joke, and only obeyed it after making sureby telegraph that it was not a hoax. 

Strindberg tells of the kindly old king standing with a big pipe in hishand as the young author strode between chamberlains and other courtdignitaries into the royal presence. 

The king, a grandson of Napoleon's marshal Bernadotte, and as aFrenchman on the throne of Sweden, diplomatic enough to desire at leastthe appearance of being more Swedish than the Swedes, spoke of thepleasure the ancient Viking spirit of "The Outlaw" had given him, and, after talking genially for some time, said, "You are the son ofStrindberg, the steamship agent, I believe and so, of course, are not inneed. "

"Quite the reverse, " Strindberg replied, explaining that his father nolonger gave him the meager help in his university course, which he hadformerly done. 

"How much can you get along on per annum until you graduate?" asked theking. 

Strindberg was unable to say in a moment. "I'm rather short of coinmyself, " said the king quite frankly, "but do you think you could manageon eight hundred riksdaler a year?" Strindberg was overwhelmed by suchmunificence, and the interview was concluded by his introduction to thecourt treasurer, from whom he received his first quarter's allowance oftwo hundred crowns. 

Full of thankfulness for this unexpected turn of fate, the youngdramatist returned to Upsala. For once he appeared satisfied with hislot, and took up his studies with more earnestness than ever. The year1871 closed brilliantly for the young writer, for in addition to thekingly favor be received honorable mention from the Swedish Academyfor his Greek drama "Hermione. " The following year, 1872, life at theuniversity again began to pall on his restless mind, and he took topainting. 

Then followed a serious disagreement with one of the professors, so thatwhen he received word from the court treasurer that it was uncertainwhether his stipend could be continued on account of the death of theking, he decided to leave the University for good. At a farewell banquetin his honor, he expressed his appreciation of all he had receivedfrom his student friends, saying, "A personality does not develop fromitself, but out of each soul it comes in contact with, it sucks a drop, just as the bee gathers its honey from a million flowers giving it fortheventually as its own. "

Strindberg went to Stockholm to become a literateur and, if possible, a creative artist. He gleaned a living from newspaper work for a fewmonths, but in the summer went to a fishing village on a remote islandin Bothnia Bay where, in his twenty-third year, he wrote his greathistorical drama, "Master Olof. " Breaking away from traditions andmaking flesh and blood creations instead of historical skeletons in thisplay, it was refused by all the managers of the theatres, who assuredStrindberg that the public would not tolerate any such unfamiliarmethods. Strindberg protested, and defended and tried to elucidate hisrealistic handling of the almost sacred historical personages, but invain, for "Master Olof" was not produced until seven years later, whenit was put on at the Swedish Theatre at Stockholm in 1880, the yearIbsen was writing "Ghosts" at Sorrento. 

In 1874, after a year or two of unsuccessful effort to make a living invarious employments, he became assistant at the Court library, which wasindeed a haven of refuge, a position providing both leisure for studyand an assured income. Finding in the library some Chinese parchmentswhich had not been catalogued; he plunged into the study of thatlanguage. A treatise which he wrote on the subject won him medals fromvarious learned societies at home, as well as recognition from theFrench Institute. This success induced the many other treatises thatfollowed, for which he received a variety of decorations, and along withthe honors nearly brought upon himself "a salubrious idiocy, " to use hisown phrase. 

Then something happened that stirred the old higher voice in him, --hefell in love. He had been invited through a woman friend to go to thehome of Baron Wrangel, where his name as an author was esteemed. Herefused the invitation, but the next day, walking in the city streetswith this same woman friend, they encountered the Baroness Wrangel towhom Strindberg was introduced. The Baroness asked him once more tocome. He promised to do so, and they separated. As Strindberg'sfriend went into a shop, he turned to look down the street; noting thebeautiful lines of the disappearing figure of the Baroness, noting, too, a stray lock of her golden hair, that had escaped from her veil, andplayed against the white ruching at her throat. He gazed after her long, in fact, until she disappeared in the crowded street. From that momenthe was not a free man. The friendship which followed resulted in thedivorce of the Baroness from her husband and her marriage to Strindberg, December 30, 1877, when he was twenty-eight years old. At lastStrindberg had someone to love, to take care of, to worship. Thisexperience of happiness, so strange to him, revived the creativeimpulse. 

The following year, 1878, "Master Olof" was finally accepted forpublication, and won immediate praise and appreciation. This, to hismind, belated success, roused in Strindberg a smoldering resentment, which lack of confidence and authority of position had heretofore causedhim to repress. He broke out with a burning satire, in novel form, called "The Red Room, " the motto of which he made Voltaire's words "Rienn'est si désagréable que s'etre pendu obscurément. "

Hardly more than mention can be made of the important work of thisdramatist, poet, novelist, historian, scientist and philosopher. In 1888he left Sweden, as the atmosphere there had become too disagreeable forhim through controversy after controversy in which lie became involved. He joined a group of painters and writers of all nationalities in itlittle village in France. There he wrote "La France, " setting forth therelations between France and Sweden in olden times. This was publishedin Paris and the French government, tendered him the decoration of thelegion of honor which, however, he refused very politely, explainingthat he never wore a frock coat! The episode ends amusingly with thepublisher, a Swede, receiving the decoration instead. In 1884 the firstvolume of his famous short stories, called "Marriages" appeared. Itwas aimed at the cult that had sprung up from Ibsen's "A Doll's House, "which was threatening the peace of all households. A few days after thepublication of "Marriages" the first edition was literally swallowed up. As the book dealt frankly with the physical facts of sex relations, itwas confiscated by the Swedish government a month after its publication, and Strindberg was obliged to go to Stockholm to defend his cause in thecourts, which he won, and in another month "Marriages" was again on themarket. 

The next year, 1885, his "Real Utopias" was written in Switzerland, anattack, in the form of four short stories, on over-civilization, which won him much applause in Germany. He went to Italy as a specialcorrespondent for the "Daily News" of Stockholm. 

In 1886 the much anticipated second volume of "Marriages" appeared. These were the short stories, satisfying to the simplest as well as tothe most discriminating minds, that attracted Nietzsche's attention toStrindberg. A correspondence sprung up between the two men, referring towhich in a letter to Peter Gast, Nietzsche said, "Strindberg haswritten to me, and for the first time I sense an answering note ofuniversality. " The mutual admiration and intellectual sympathies ofthese two conspicuous creative geniuses has led a number of critics, including Edmund Gosse, into the error of attributing to Nietzsche adominating influence over Strindberg. It should be remembered, however, the "Countess Julie" and "The Father, " which are cited its the mostobvious examples of that supposed influence, were completed beforeStrindberg's acquaintance with Nietzsche's philosophy, and that amongothers, the late John Davidson, is also charged with having drawnlargely from Nietzsche. The fact is, that, during the last quarter ofthe nineteenth century, the most original thinkers of many countrieswere quite independently, though less clearly, evolving the samephilosophic principals that the master mind of Nietzsche was radiatingin the almost blinding flashes of his genius. 

Then came the period during which Strindberg attained the highest peaksof his work, the years 1886-90, with his autobiography, "The ServantWoman's Son, " the tragedies, "The Father, " and "Countess Julie, " thecomedies, "Comrades, " and "The Stronger, " and the tragi-comedies, "TheCreditors" and "Simoon. " Of these, "The Father" and "Countess Julie"soon made Strindberg's name known and honored throughout Europe, exceptin his home country. 

In "The Father" perhaps his biggest vision is felt. It was published inFrench soon after it appeared in Sweden, with an introduction by Zola inwhich he says, "To be brief, you have written a mighty and captivatingwork. It is one of the few dramas that have had the power to stir me tothe depths. "

Of his choice of theme in "Countess Julie, " Strindberg says: "When Itook this motive from life, as it was related to me a few years ago, itmade a strong impression on me. I found it suitable for tragedy, and itstill makes a sorrowful impression on me to see an individual to whomhappiness has been allotted go under, much more, to see a line becomeextinct. " And in defence of his realism he has said further in hispreface to "Countess Julie": "The theatre has for a long time seemed tome the Biblia pauperum in the fine arts, a bible with pictures for thosewho can neither read nor write, and the dramatist is the revivalist, and the revivalist dishes tap the ideas of the day in popular form, so popular that the middle class, of whom the bulk of theatre-goers iscomprised, can without burdening their brains understand what it is allabout. The theatre therefore has always been a grammar school for theyoung, the half-educated, and women, who still possess the primitivepower of being able to delude themselves and of allowing themselves tobe deluded, that is to say, receive illusions and accept suggestionsfrom the dramatist. *** Some people have accused my tragedy, 'TheFather' of being too sad, as though one desired a merry tragedy. Peoplecall authoritatively for the 'Joy of Life' and theatrical managerscall for farces, as though the Joy of Life lay in being foolish, and indescribing people who each and every one are suffering from St. Vitus'dance or idiocy. I find the joy of life in the powerful, terriblestruggles of life; and the capability of experiencing something, oflearning something, is a pleasure to me. And therefore I have chosenan unusual but instructive subject; in other words, an exception, but agreat exception, that will strengthen the rules which offend the apostleof the commonplace. What will further create antipathy in some, is thefact that my plan of action is not simple, and that there is not oneview alone to be taken of it. An event in life--and that is rather a newdiscovery--is usually occasioned by a series of more or less deep-seatedmotifs, but the spectator generally chooses that one which his power ofjudgment finds simplest to grasp, or that his gift of judgmentconsiders the most honorable. For example, someone commits suicide: 'Badbusiness!' says the citizen; 'Unhappy love!' says the woman; 'Sickness!'says the sick man; 'Disappointed hopes?' the bankrupt. But it may bethat none of these reasons is the real one, and that the dead man hidthe real one by pretending another that would throw the most favorablelight on his memory. *** In the following drama ('Julie') I have notsought to do anything new, because that cannot be done, but only tomodernize the form according to the requirements I have consideredpresent-day people require. "

Following the mighty output, of those years, in 1891 Strindberg wentout: to the islands where he had lived years before, and led a hermit'slife. Many of his romantic plays were written there, and much of histime was spent at painting. 

In 1892 he was divorced from his wife. 

After a few months Strindberg went to Berlin, where he was received withall honors by literary Germany. Richard Dehmel, one of their foremostminstrels, celebrated the event by a poem called "An Immortal, --ToGermany's Guest. " In the shop windows his picture hung alongside that ofBismarck, and at the theatres his plays were being produced. About thistime he heard of the commotion that "Countess Julie" had created inParis, where it had been produced by Antoine. During these victorioustimes Strindberg met a young Austrian writer, Frida Uhl, to whom he wasmarried in April 1898. Although the literary giant of the hour, he wasnevertheless in very straightened pecuniary circumstances, which ledto his allowing the publication of "A Fool's Confession, " written inFrench, and later, with out his permission or knowledge, issued inGerman and Swedish, which entangled him in a lawsuit, as the subjectmatter contained much of his marital miseries. Interest in chemistry hadlong been stirring in Strindberg's mind; it now began to deepen. Aboutthis time also he passed through that religious crisis which sweptartistic Europe, awakened nearly a century after his death by thatSwedenborgian poet and artist, William Blake. To this period belongs"To Damascus, " a play of deepest soul probing, which was not finishedhowever until 1904. 

Going to Paris in the fall of 1894, to pursue chemical research mostseriously, he ran into his own success at the theatres there. "TheCreditors" had been produced and Strindberg was induced to undertakethe direction of "The Father" at the Theatre de l'Oeuvre, where it wasa tremendous success. A Norwegian correspondent was forced to send wordhome that with "The Father" Strindberg had overreached Ibsen in Paris, because what it had never been possible to do with an Ibsen play, have arun in Paris, they were now doing with Strindberg. At the same time theTheâtre des Ecaliers put on "The Link, " the Odean produced "The Secretof the Guild, " and the Chat Noir "The Kings of Heaven, " and translationsof his novels were running in French periodicals. But Strindberg turnedhis back on all this success and shut himself up in his laboratory todelve into chemistry. This he did with such earnestness that with hisdiscovery of Swedenborg his experimentations and speculationsreduced him to a condition of mind that unfitted him for any kind ofcompanionship, so that when his wife left him to go to their child whowas ill and far away, he welcomed the complete freedom. Strindberg saysof their parting at the railway station that although they smiled andwaved to each other as they called out "Auf wiedersehen" they both knewthat they were saying good bye forever, which proved to be true, as theywere divorced a year later. In 1896 he returned to Sweden so broken inhealth through his tremendous wrestling with the riddle of life that hewent into the sanitorium of his friend, Dr. Aliasson at Wstad. After twomonths he was sufficiently restored to go to Austria, at the invitationof his divorced wife's family, to see his child. Then back to Sweden, toLund, a university town, where he lived solely to absorb Swedenborg. ByMay of that year he was able to go to work on "The Inferno, " that recordof a soul's nightmare, which in all probability will remain unique inthe history of literature. Then came the writing of the great historicaldramas, then the realistically symbolic plays of Swedenborgian spirit, of which "Easter" is representative, and the most popular. 

When "Easter" was produced in Stockholm a young Norwegian, HarrietBosse, played Eleanora, the psychic, and in 1901 this young actressbecame Strindberg's wife. This third marriage ended in divorce threeyears later. In 1906, the actor manager, August Folk, produced "CountessJulie" in Stockholm, seventeen years after it had been written. ToStrindberg's amazement, it won such tremendous attention that the othertheatres became deserted. In consequence of this success an intimatetheatre was founded for the production of none but Strindberg's plays. 

How he is estimated today in his own country may be judged by thefollowing extract from an article which appeared in a recent issue ofthe leading periodical of Stockholm:

"For over thirty years he has dissected us from every point of view;during that time his name has always been conspicuous in every book-shopwindow and his books gradually push out the others from our shelves;every night his plays are produced at the theatres; every conversationturns on him, and his is the name the pigmies quarrel over daily; thecry is heard that he has become hysterical, sentimental, out of hismind, but the next one knows, he is robustness itself, and enduringbeyond belief, despite great need, enmity, sorrow. One hour one is angryover some extravagance which he has allowed himself, the next captivatedby one of his plays, stirred, melted, strengthened and uplifted by hissublime genius. "

THE FATHER

CHARACTERS

 A CAPTAIN OF CAVALRY LAURA, his wife BERTHA, their daughter DOCTOR OSTERMARK THE PASTOR THE NURSE NÖJD AN ORDERLY

ACT I. 

[The sitting room at the Captain's. There is a door a little to theright at the back. In the middle of the room, a large, round tablestrewn with newspapers and magazines. To right a leather-covered sofaand table. In the right-hand corner a private door. At left there is adoor leading to the inner room and a desk with a clock on it. Gamebags, guns and other arms hang on the walls. Army coats hang near door atback. On the large table stands a lighted lamp. ]

CAPTAIN [rings, an orderly comes in. ]

ORDERLY. Yes, Captain. 

CAPTAIN. Is Nöjd out there?

ORDERLY. He is waiting for orders in the kitchen. 

CAPTAIN. In the kitchen again, is he? Send him in at once. 

ORDERLY. Yes, Captain. [Goes. ]

PASTOR. What's the matter now?

CAPTAIN. Oh the rascal has been cutting up with the servant-girl again;he's certainly a bad lot. 

PASTOR. Why, Nöjd got into the same trouble year before last, didn't he?

CAPTAIN. Yes, you remember? Won't you be good enough to give him afriendly talking to and perhaps you can make some impression on him. I've sworn at him and flogged him, too, but it hasn't had the leasteffect. 

PASTOR. And so you want me to preach to him? What effect do you supposethe word of God will have on a rough trooper?

CAPTAIN. Well, it certainly has no effect on me. 

PASTOR. I know that well enough. 

CAPTAIN. Try it on him, anyway. 

[Nöjd comes in. ]

CAPTAIN. What have you been up to now, Nöjd?

NÖJD. God save you, Captain, but I couldn't talk about it with thePastor here. 

PASTOR. Don't be afraid of me, my boy. 

CAPTAIN. You had better confess or you know what will happen. 

NÖJD. Well, you see it was like this; we were at a dance at Gabriel's, and then--then Ludwig said--

CAPTAIN. What has Ludwig got to do with it? Stick to the truth. 

NÖJD. Yes, and Emma said "Let's go into the barn--"

CAPTAIN. --Oh, so it was Emma who led you astray, was it?

NÖJD. Well, not far from it. You know that unless the girl is willingnothing ever happens. 

CAPTAIN. Never mind all that: Are you the father of the child or not?

NÖJD. Who knows?

CAPTAIN. What's that? Don't you know?

NÖJD. Why no--that is, you can never be sure. 

CAPTAIN. Weren't you the only one?

NÖJD. Yes, that time, but you can't be sure for all that. 

CAPTAIN. Are you trying to put the blame on Ludwig? Is that what you areup to?

NÖJD. Well, you see it isn't easy to know who is to blame. 

CAPTAIN. Yes, but you told Emma you would marry her. 

NÖJD. Oh, a fellow's always got to say that--

CAPTAIN [to Pastor. ] This is terrible, isn't it?

PASTOR. It's the old story over again. See here, Nöjd, you surely oughtto know whether you are the father or not?

NÖJD. Well, of course I was mixed up with the girl--but you knowyourself, Pastor, that it needn't amount to anything for all that. 

PASTOR. Look here, my lad, we are talking about you now. Surely youwon't leave the girl alone with the child. I suppose we can't compel youto marry her, but you should provide for the child--that you shall do!

NÖJD. Well, then, so must Ludwig, too. 

CAPTAIN. Then the case must go to the courts. I cannot ferret out thetruth of all this, nor is it to my liking. So now be off. 

PASTOR. One moment, Nöjd. H'm--don't you think it dishonorable to leavea girl destitute like that with her child? Don't you think so? Don't yousee that such conduct-- -- --h'm-- --h'm-- -- --

NÖJD. Yes, if I only knew for sure that I was father of the child, butyou can't be sure of that, Pastor, and I don't see much fun slaving allyour life for another man's child. Surely you, Pastor, and the Captaincan understand for yourselves. 

CAPTAIN. Be off. 

NÖJD. God save you, Captain. [Goes. ]

CAPTAIN. But keep out of the kitchen, you rascal! [To Pastor. ] Now, whydidn't you get after him?

PASTOR. What do you mean?

CAPTAIN. Why, you only sat and mumbled something or other. 

PASTOR. To tell the truth I really don't know what to say. It is a pityabout the girl, yes, and a pity about the lad, too. For think if hewere not the father. The girl can nurse the child for four months at theorphanage, and then it will be permanently provided for, but it willbe different for him. The girl can get a good place afterwards insome respectable family, but the lad's future may be ruined if he isdismissed from the regiment. 

CAPTAIN. Upon my soul I should like to be in the magistrate's shoes andjudge this case. The lad is probably not innocent, one can't be sure, but we do know that the girl is guilty, if there is any guilt in thematter. 

PASTOR. Well, well, I judge no one. But what were we talking aboutwhen this stupid business interrupted us? It was about Bertha and herconfirmation, wasn't it?

CAPTAIN. Yes, but it was certainly not in particular about herconfirmation but about her whole welfare. This house is full of womenwho all want to have their say about my child. My mother-in-law wantsto make a Spiritualist of her. Laura wants her to be an artist; thegoverness wants her to be a Methodist, old Margret a Baptist, and theservant-girls want her to join the Salvation Army! It won't do to try tomake a soul in patches like that. I, who have the chief right to try toform her character, am constantly opposed in my efforts. And that's whyI have decided to send her away from home. 

PASTOR. You have too many women trying to run this house. 

CAPTAIN. You're right! It's like going into a cage full of tigers, andif I didn't hold a red-hot iron under their noses they would tear me topieces any moment. And you laugh, you rascal! Wasn't it enough that Imarried your sister, without your palming off your old stepmother on me?

PASTOR. But, good heavens, one can't have stepmothers in one's ownhouse!

CAPTAIN. No, you think it is better to have mothers-in-law in some oneelse's house!

PASTOR. Oh well, we all have some burden in life. 

CAPTAIN. But mine is certainly too heavy. I have my old nurse into thebargain, who treats me as if I ought still to wear a bib. She is a goodold soul, to be sure, and she must not be dragged into such talk. 

PASTOR. You must keep a tight rein on the women folks. You let them runthings too much. 

CAPTAIN. Now will you please inform me how I'm to keep order among thewomen folk?

PASTOR. Laura was brought up with a firm hand, but although she is myown sister, I must admit she _was_ pretty troublesome. 

CAPTAIN. Laura certainly has her faults, but with her it isn't soserious. 

PASTOR. Oh, speak out--I know her. 

CAPTAIN. She was brought up with romantic ideas, and it has been hardfor her to find herself, but she is my wife--

PASTOR And because she is your wife she is the best of wives? No, mydear fellow, it is she who really wears on you most. 

CAPTAIN. Well, anyway, the whole house is topsy-turvy. Laura won't letBertha leave her, and I can't allow her to remain in this bedlam. 

PASTOR. Oh, so Laura won't? Well, then, I'm afraid you are in fortrouble. When she was a child if she set her mind on anything she usedto play dead dog till she got it, and then likely as not she would giveit back, explaining that it wasn't the thing she wanted, but having herown way. 

CAPTAIN. So she was like that even then? H'm--she really gets into sucha passion sometimes that I am anxious about her and afraid she is ill. 

PASTOR. But what do you want to do with Bertha that is so unpardonable?Can't you compromise?

CAPTAIN. You mustn't think I want to make a prodigy of her or an imageof myself. I don't want to be it procurer for my daughter and educateher exclusively for matrimony, for then if she were left unmarried shemight have bitter days. On the other hand, I don't want to influence hertoward a career that requires a long course of training which would beentirely thrown away if she should marry. 

PASTOR. What do you want, then?

CAPTAIN. I want her to be it teacher. If she remains unmarried she willbe able to support herself, and at any rate she wouldn't be any worseoff than the poor schoolmasters who have to share their salaries with afamily. If she marries she can use her knowledge in the education of herchildren. Am I right?

PASTOR. Quite right. But, on the other hand, hasn't she shown suchtalent for painting that it would be a great pity to crush it?

CAPTAIN. No! I have shown her sketches to an eminent painter, and hesays they are only the kind of thing that can be learned at schools. Butthen a young fop came here in the summer who, of course, understands thematter much better, and he declared that she had colossal genius, and sothat settled it to Laura's satisfaction. 

PASTOR. Was he quite taken with Bertha?

CAPTAIN. That goes without saying. 

PASTOR. Then God help you, old man, for in that case I see no hope. Thisis pretty bad--and, of course, Laura has her supporters--in there?

CAPTAIN. Yes, you may be sure of that; the whole house is already up inarms, and, between ourselves, it is not exactly a noble conflict that isbeing waged from that quarter. 

PASTOR. Don't you think I know that?

CAPTAIN. You do?

PASTOR. I do. 

CAPTAIN. But the worst of it is, it strikes me that Bertha's futureis being decided from spiteful motives. They hint that men better becareful, because women can do this or that now-a-days. All day long, incessantly, it is a conflict between man and woman. Are you going? No, stay for supper. I have no special inducements to offer, but do stay. You know I am expecting the new doctor. Have you seen him?

PASTOR. I caught a glimpse of him as I came along. He looked pleasant, and reliable. 

CAPTAIN. That's good. Do you think it possible he may become my ally?

PASTOR. Who can tell? It depends on how much he has been among women. 

CAPTAIN. But won't you really stay?

PASTOR. No thanks, my dear fellow; I promised to be home for supper, andthe wife gets uneasy if I am late. 

CAPTAIN. Uneasy? Angry, you mean. Well, as you will. Let me help youwith your coat. 

PASTOR. It's certainly pretty cold tonight. Thanks. You must take careof your health, Adolf, you seem rather nervous. 

CAPTAIN. Nervous?

PASTOR. Yes, you are not, really very well. 

CAPTAIN. Has Laura put that into your head? She has treated me for thelast twenty years as if I were at the point of death. 

PASTOR. Laura? No, but you make me uneasy about you. Take care ofyourself--that's my advice! Good-bye, old man; but didn't you want totalk about the confirmation?

CAPTAIN. Not at all! I assure you that matter will have to take itscourse in the ordinary way at the cost of the clerical conscience for Iam neither a believer nor a martyr. 

PASTOR. Good-bye. Love to Laura. [Goes. ]

[The Captain opens his desk and seats himself at it. Takes up accountbooks. ]

CAPTAIN [Figuring. ] Thirty-four--nine, forty-three--seven, eight, fifty-six--

LAURA [Coming in from inner room. ] Will you be kind enough--

CAPTAIN. Just a moment! Sixty-six--seventy-one, eighty-four, eighty-nine, ninety-two, a hundred. What is it?

LAURA. Am I disturbing you?

CAPTAIN. Not at all. Housekeeping money, I suppose?

LAURA. Yes, housekeeping money. 

CAPTAIN. Put the accounts down there and I will go over them. 

LAURA. The accounts?

CAPTAIN. Yes. 

LAURA. Am I to keep accounts now?

CAPTAIN. Of course you are to keep accounts. Our affairs are in aprecarious condition, and in case of a liquidation, accounts arenecessary, or one is liable to punishment for being careless. 

LAURA. It's not my fault that our affairs are in a precarious condition. 

CAPTAIN. That is exactly what the accounts will decide. 

LAURA. It's not my fault that our tenant doesn't pay. 

CAPTAIN. Who recommended this tenant so warmly? You! Why did yourecommend a--good-for-nothing, we'll call him?

LAURA. But why did you rent to this good-for-nothing?

CAPTAIN. Because I was not allowed to eat in peace, nor sleep in peace, nor work in peace, till you women got that man here. You wanted him sothat your brother might be rid of him, your mother wanted him becauseI didn't want him, the governess wanted him because he reads his Bible, and old Margret because she had known his grandmother from childhood. That's why he was taken, and if he hadn't been taken, I'd be in amadhouse by now or lying in my grave. However, here is the housekeepingmoney and your pin money. You may give me the accounts later. 

LAURA [Curtesies. ] Thanks so much. Do you too keep an account of whatyou spend besides the housekeeping money?

CAPTAIN. That doesn't concern you. 

LAURA. No, that's true--just as little as my child's educationconcerns me. Have the gentlemen come to a decision after this evening'sconference?

CAPTAIN. I had already come to a decision, and therefore it onlyremained for me to talk it over with the one friend I and the familyhave in common. Bertha is to go to boarding school in town, and startsin a fortnight. 

LAURA. To which boarding school, if I may venture to ask?

CAPTAIN. Professor Säfberg's. 

LAURA. That free thinker!

CAPTAIN. According to the law, children are to be brought up in theirfather's faith. 

LAURA. And the mother has no voice in the matter?

CAPTAIN. None whatever. She has sold her birthright by a legaltransaction, and forfeited her rights in return for the man'sresponsibility of caring for her and her children. 

LAURA. That is to say she has no rights concerning her child. 

CAPTAIN. No, none at all. When once one has sold one's goods, one cannothave them back and still keep the money. 

LAURA. But if both father and mother should agree?

CAPTAIN. Do you think that could ever happen? I want her to live intown, you want her to stay at home. The arithmetical result would bethat she remain at the railway station midway between train and home. This is a knot that cannot be untied, you see. 

LAURA. Then it must be broken. What did Nöjd want here?

CAPTAIN. That is an official secret. 

LAURA. Which the whole kitchen knows!

CAPTAIN. Good, then you must know it. 

LAURA. I do know it. 

CAPTAIN. And have your judgment ready-made?

LAURA. My judgment is the judgment of the law. 

CAPTAIN. But it is not written in the law who the child's father is. 

LAURA. No, but one usually knows that. 

CAPTAIN. Wise minds claim that one can never know. 

LAURA. That's strange. Can't one ever know who the father of a child is?

CAPTAIN. No; so they claim. 

LAURA. How extraordinary! How can the father have such control over thechildren then?

CAPTAIN. He has control only when he has assumed the responsibilities ofthe child, or has had them forced upon him. But in wedlock, of course, there is no doubt about the fatherhood. 

LAURA. There are no doubts then?

CAPTAIN. Well, I should hope not. 

LAURA. But if the wife has been unfaithful?

CAPTAIN. That's another matter. Was there anything else you wanted tosay?

LAURA. Nothing. 

CAPTAIN. Then I shall go up to my room, and perhaps you will be kindenough to let me know when the doctor arrives. [Closes desk and rises]

LAURA. Certainly. 

[Captain goes through the primate door right. ]

CAPTAIN. As soon as he comes. For I don't want to seem rude to him, youunderstand. [Goes. ]

LAURA. I understand. [Looks at the money she holds in her hands. ]

MOTHER-IN-LAW'S VOICE [Within. ] Laura!

LAURA. Yes. 

MOTHER-IN-LAW'S VOICE. Is my tea ready?

LAURA [In doorway to inner room]. In just a moment. 

[Laura goes toward hall door at back as the orderly opens it. ]

ORDERLY. Doctor Ostermark. 

DOCTOR. Madam!

LAURA [Advances and offers her hand]. Welcome, Doctor--you are heartilywelcome. The Captain is out, but he will be back soon. 

DOCTOR. I hope you will excuse my coming so late, but I have alreadybeen called upon to pay some professional visits. 

LAURA. Sit down, won't you?

DOCTOR. Thank you. 

LAURA. Yes, there is a great deal of illness in the neighborhood justnow, but I hope it will agree with you here. For us country peopleliving in such isolation it is of great value to find a doctor whois interested in his patients, and I hear so many nice things of you, Doctor, that I hope the pleasantest relations will exist between us. 

DOCTOR. You are indeed kind, and I hope for your sake my visits to youwill not often be caused by necessity. Your family is, I believe, as arule in good health--

LAURA. Fortunately we have bear spared acute illnesses, but still thingsare not altogether as they should be. 

DOCTOR. Indeed?

LAURA. Heaven knows, things are not as might be wished. 

DOCTOR. Really, you alarm me. 

LAURA. There are some circumstances in a family which through honor andconscience one is forced to conceal from the whole world--

DOCTOR. Excepting the doctor. 

LAURA. Exactly. It is, therefore, my painful duty to tell you the wholetruth immediately. 

DOCTOR. Shouldn't we postpone this conference until I have had the honorof being introduced to the Captain?

LAURA. No! You must hear me before seeing him. 

DOCTOR. It relates to him then?

LAURA. Yes, to him, my poor, dear husband. 

DOCTOR. You alarm me, indeed, and believe me, I sympathize with yourmisfortune. 

LAURA [Taking out handkerchief]. My husband's mind is affected. Now youknow all, and may judge for yourself when you see him. 

DOCTOR. What do you say? I have read the Captain's excellent treatiseson mineralogy with admiration, and have found that they display a clearand powerful intellect. 

LAURA. Really? How happy I should be if we should all prove to bemistaken. 

DOCTOR. But of course it is possible that his mind might be affected inother directions. 

LAURA. That is just what we fear, too. You see he has sometimes the mostextraordinary ideas which, of course, one might expect in a learned man, if they did not have a disastrous effect on the welfare of his wholefamily. For instance, one of his whims is buying all kinds of things. 

DOCTOR. That is serious; but what does he buy?

LAURA. Whole boxes of books that he never reads. 

DOCTOR. There is nothing strange about a scholar's buying books. 

LAURA. You don't believe what I am saying?

DOCTOR. Well, Madam, I am convinced that you believe what you aresaying. 

LAURA. Tell me, is it reasonable to think that one can see what ishappening on another planet by looking through a microscope?

DOCTOR. Does he say he can do that?

LAURA. Yes, that's what he says. 

DOCTOR. Through a microscope?

LAURA. Through a microscope, yes. 

DOCTOR. This is serious, if it is so. 

LAURA. If it is so! Then you have no faith in me, Doctor, and here I sitconfiding the family secret to--

DOCTOR. Indeed, Madam, I am honored by your confidence, but as aphysician I must investigate and observe before giving an opinion. Hasthe Captain ever shown any symptoms of indecision or instability ofwill?

LAURA. Has he! We have been married twenty years, and he has never yetmade a decision without changing his mind afterward. 

DOCTOR. Is he obstinate?

LAURA. He always insists on having his own way, but once he has got ithe drops the whole matter and asks me to decide. 

DOCTOR. This is serious, and demands close observation. The will, yousee, is the mainspring of the mind, and if it is affected the whole mindgoes to pieces. 

LAURA. God knows how I have taught myself to humor his wishes throughall these long years of trial. Oh, if you knew what a life I haveendured with him--if you only knew. 

DOCTOR. Your misfortune touches me deeply, and I promise you to see whatcan be done. I pity you with all my heart, and I beg you to trustme completely. But after what I have heard I must ask you to avoidsuggesting any ideas that might make a deep impression on the patient, for in a weak brain they develop rapidly and quickly turn to monomaniaor fixed ideas. 

LAURA. You mean to avoid arousing suspicions?

DOCTOR. Exactly. One can make the insane believe anything, just becausethey are receptive to everything. 

LAURA. Indeed? Then I understand. Yes--yes. [A bell rings within. ]Excuse me, my mother wishes to speak to me. One moment-- --Ah, here isAdolf. 

[Captain comes in through private door. ]

CAPTAIN. Oh, here already, Doctor? You are very welcome. 

DOCTOR. Captain! It is a very great pleasure to me to make theacquaintance of so celebrated a man of science. 

CAPTAIN. Oh, I beg of you. The duties of service do not allow me to makeany very profound investigations, but I believe I am now really on thetrack of a discovery. 

DOCTOR. Indeed?

CAPTAIN. You see, I have submitted meteoric stones to spectrum analysis, with the result that I have found carbon, that, is to say, a clear traceof organic life. What do you say to that?

DOCTOR. Can you see that with it microscope?

CAPTAIN. Lord, no--with the spectroscope. 

DOCTOR. The spectroscope! Pardon. Then you will soon be able to tell uswhat is happening on Jupiter. 

CAPTAIN. Not what is happening, but what has happened. If only theconfounded booksellers in Paris would send me the books; but I believeall the booksellers in the universe have conspired against me. Thinkof it, for the last two months not a single one has ever answered mycommunications, neither letters nor abusive telegrams. I shall go madover it, and I can't imagine what's the matter. 

DOCTOR. Oh, I suppose it's the usual carelessness; you mustn't let itvex you so. 

CAPTAIN. But the devil of it is I shall not get my treatise done intime, and I know they are working along the same lines in Berlin. But weshouldn't be talking about this--but about you. If you care to live herewe have rooms for you in the wing, or perhaps you would rather live inthe old quarters?

DOCTOR. Just as you like. 

CAPTAIN. No, as you like. Which is it to be?

DOCTOR. You must decide that, Captain. 

CAPTAIN. No, it's not for me to decide. You must say which you prefer. Ihave no preference in the matter, none at all. 

DOCTOR. Oh, but I really cannot decide. 

CAPTAIN. For heaven's sake, Doctor, say which you prefer. I have nochoice in the matter, no opinion, no wishes. Haven't you got characterenough to know what you want? Answer me, or I shall be provoked. 

DOCTOR. Well, if it rests with me, I prefer to live here. 

CAPTAIN. Thank you--forgive me, Doctor, but nothing annoys me so touchas to see people undecided about anything. [Nurse comes in. ] Oh, thereyou are, Margret. Do you happen to know whether the rooms in the wingare in order for the Doctor?

NURSE. Yes, sir, they are. 

CAPTAIN. Very well. Then I won't detain you, Doctor; you must be tired. Good bye, and welcome once more. I shall see you tomorrow, I hope. 

DOCTOR. Good evening, Captain. 

CAPTAIN. I daresay that my wife explained conditions here to you alittle, so that you have some idea how the land lies?

DOCTOR. Yes, your excellent wife has given me a few hints about this andthat, such as were necessary to a stranger. Good evening, Captain. 

CAPTAIN [To Nurse]. What do you want, you old dear? What is it?

NURSE. Now, little Master Adolf, just listen--

CAPTAIN. Yes, Margret, you are the only one I can listen to withouthaving spasms. 

NURSE. Now, listen, Mr. Adolf. Don't you think you should go half-wayand come to an agreement with Mistress in this fuss over the child? Justthink of a mother--

CAPTAIN. Think of a father, Margret. 

NURSE. There, there, there. A father has something besides his child, but a mother has nothing but her child. 

CAPTAIN. Just so, you old dear. She has only one burden, but I havethree, and I have her burden too. Don't you think that I should hold abetter position in the world than that of a poor soldier if I had nothad her and her child?

NURSE. Well, that isn't what I wanted to talk about. 

CAPTAIN. I can well believe that, for you wanted to make it appear thatI am in the wrong. 

NURSE. Don't you believe, Mr. Adolf, that I wish you well?

CAPTAIN. Yes, dear friend, I do believe it; but you don't know whatis for my good. You see it isn't enough for me to have given the childlife, I want to give her my soul, too. 

NURSE. Such things I don't understand. But I do think that you ought tobe able to agree. 

CAPTAIN. You are not my friend, Margret. 

NURSE. I? Oh, Lord, what are you saying, Mr. Adolf? Do you think I canforget that you were my child when you were little?

CAPTAIN. Well, you dear, have I forgotten it? You have been like amother to me, and always have stood by me when I had everybody againstme, but now, when I really need you, you desert me and go over to theenemy. 

NURSE. The enemy!

CAPTAIN, Yes, the enemy! You know well enough how things are in thishouse! You have seen everything from the beginning. 

NURSE. Indeed I have seen! But, God knows, why two people should tormentthe life out of each other; two people who are otherwise so good andwish all others well. Mistress is never like that to me or to others--

CAPTAIN. Only to me, I know it. But let me tell you, Margret, if youdesert me now, you will do wrong. For now they have begun to weave aplot against me, and that doctor is not my friend. 

NURSE. Oh, Mr. Adolf, you believe evil about everybody. But you see it'sbecause you haven't the true faith; that's just what it is. 

CAPTAIN. Yes, you and the Baptists have found the only true faith. Youare indeed lucky!

NURSE. Anyway, I'm not unhappy like you, Mr. Adolf. Humble your heartand you will see that God will make you happy in your love for yourneighbor. 

CAPTAIN. It's a strange thing that you no sooner speak of God and lovethan your voice becomes hard and your eyes fill with hate. No, Margret, surely you have not the true faith. 

NURSE. Yes, go on being proud and hard in your learning, but it won'tamount to much when it comes to the test. 

CAPTAIN. How mightily you talk, humble heart. I know very well thatknowledge is of no use to you women. 

NURSE. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. But in spite of everythingold Margret cares most for her great big boy, and he will come back tothe fold when it's stormy weather. 

CAPTAIN. Margret! Forgive me, but believe me when I say that there is noone here who wishes me well but you. Help me, for I feel that somethingis going to happen here. What it is, I don't know, but something evil ison the way. [Scream from within. ] What's that? Who's that screaming?

[Berths enters from inner room. ]

BERTHA. Father! Father! Help me; save me. 

CAPTAIN. My dear child, what is it? Speak!

BERTHA. Help me. She wants to hurt me. 

CAPTAIN. Who wants to hurt you? Tell me! Speak!

BERTHA. Grandmother! But it's my fault for I deceived her. 

CAPTAIN. Tell me more. 

BERTHA. Yes, but you mustn't say anything about it. Promise me youwon't. 

CAPTAIN. Tell me what it is then. 

[Nurse goes. ]

BERTHA. In the evening she generally turns down the lamp and then shemakes me sit at a table holding a pen over a piece of paper. And thenshe says that the spirits are to write. 

CAPTAIN. What's all this--and you have never told me about it?

BERTHA. Forgive me, but I dared not, for Grandmother says the spiritstake revenge if one talks about them. And then the pen writes, but Idon't know whether I'm doing it or not. Sometimes it goes well, butsometimes it won't go at all, and when I am tired nothing comes, butshe wants it to come just the same. And tonight I thought I was writingbeautifully, but then grandmother said it was all from Stagnelius, andthat I had deceived her, and then she got terribly angry. 

CAPTAIN. Do you believe that there are spirits?

BERTHA. I don't know. 

CAPTAIN. But I know that there are none. 

BERTHA. But Grandmother says that you don't understand, Father, and thatyou do much worse things--you who can see to other planets. 

CAPTAIN. Does she say that! Does she say that? What else does she say?

BERTHA. She says that you can't work witchery. 

CAPTAIN. I never said that I could. You know what meteoric stonesare, --stones that fall from other heavenly bodies. I can examine themand learn whether they contain the same elements as our world. That isall I can tell. 

BERTHA. But Grandmother says that there are things that she can seewhich you cannot see. 

CAPTAIN. Then she lies. 

BERTHA. Grandmother doesn't tell lies. 

CAPTAIN. Why doesn't she?

BERTHA. Then Mother tells lies too. 

CAPTAIN. H'm!

BERTHA. And if you say that Mother lies, I can never believe in youagain. 

CAPTAIN. I have not said so; and so you must believe in me when I tellyou that it is for your future good that you should leave home. Willyou? Will you go to town and learn something useful?

BERTHA. Oh, yes, I should love to go to town, away from here, anywhere. If I can only see you sometimes--often. Oh, it is so gloomy and awful inthere all the time, like a winter night, but when you come home Father, it is like a morning in spring when they take off the double windows. 

CAPTAIN. My beloved child! My dear child!

BERTHA. But, Father, you'll be good to Mother, won't you? She cries sooften. 

CAPTAIN. H'm--then you want to go to town?

BERTHA. Yes, yes. 

CAPTAIN. But if Mother doesn't want you to go?

BERTHA. But she must let me. 

CAPTAIN. But if she won't?

BERTHA. Well, then, I don't know what will happen. But she must! Shemust!

CAPTAIN. Will you ask her?

BERTHA. You must ask her very nicely; she wouldn't pay any attention tomy asking. 

CAPTAIN. H'm! Now if you wish it, and I wish it, and she doesn't wishit, what shall we do then?

BERTHA. Oh, then it will all be in a tangle again! Why can't you both--

[Laura comes in. ]

LAURA. Oh, so Bertha is here. Then perhaps we may have her own opinionas the question of her future has to be decided. 

CAPTAIN. The child can hardly have any well-grounded opinion about whata young girl's life is likely to be, while we, on the contrary, can moreeasily estimate what it may be, as we have seen so many young girls growup. 

LAURA. But as we are of different opinions Bertha must be the one todecide. 

CAPTAIN. No, I let no one usurp my rights, neither women nor children. Bertha, leave us. 

[Bertha goes out. ]

LAURA. You were afraid of hearing her opinion, because you thought itwould be to my advantage. 

CAPTAIN. I know that she wishes to go away from home, but I know alsothat you possess the power of changing her mind to suit your pleasure. 

LAURA. Oh, am I really so powerful?

CAPTAIN. Yes, you have a fiendish power of getting your own way; but sohas anyone who does not scruple about, the way it is accomplished. Howdid you get Doctor Norling away, for instance, and how did you get thisnew doctor here?

LAURA. Yes, how did I manage that?

CAPTAIN. You insulted the other one so much that he left, and made yourbrother recommend this fellow. 

LAURA. Well, that was quite simple and legitimate. Is Bertha to leavehome now?

CAPTAIN. Yes, she is to start in a fortnight. 

LAURA. That is your decision?

CAPTAIN. Yes. 

LAURA. Then I must try to prevent it. 

CAPTAIN. You cannot. 

LAURA. Can't I? Do you really think I would trust my daughter to wickedpeople to have her taught that everything her mother has implanted inher child is mere foolishness? Why, afterward, she would despise me allthe rest of her life!

CAPTAIN. Do you think that a father should allow ignorant and conceitedwomen to teach his daughter that he is a charlatan?

LAURA. It means less to the father. 

CAPTAIN. Why so?

LAURA. Because the mother is closer to the child, as it has beendiscovered that no one can tell for a certainty who the father of achild is. 

CAPTAIN. How does that apply to this case?

LAURA. You do not know whether you are Bertha's father or not. 

CAPTAIN. I do not know?

LAURA. No; what no one knows, you surely cannot know. 

CAPTAIN. Are you joking?

LAURA. No; I am only making use of your own teaching. For that matter, how do you know that I have not been unfaithful to you?

CAPTAIN. I believe you capable of almost anything, but not that, northat you would talk about it if it were true. 

LAURA. Suppose that I was prepared to bear anything, even to beingdespised and driven out, everything for the sake of being able to keepand control my child, and that I am truthful now when I declare thatBertha is my child, but not yours. Suppose--

CAPTAIN. Stop now!

LAURA. Just suppose this. In that case your power would be at an end. 

CAPTAIN. When you had proved that I was not the father. 

LAURA. That would not be difficult! Would you like me to do so?

CAPTAIN. Stop!

LAURA. Of course I should only need to declare the name of the realfather, give all details of place and time. For instance--when wasBertha born? In the third year of our marriage. 

CAPTAIN. Stop now, or else--

LAURA. Or else, what? Shall we stop now? Think carefully about all youdo and decide, and whatever you do, don't make yourself ridiculous. 

CAPTAIN. I consider all this most lamentable. 

LAURA. Which makes you all the more ridiculous. 

CAPTAIN. And you?

LAURA. Oh, we women are really too clever. 

CAPTAIN. That's why one cannot contend with you. 

LAURA. Then why provoke contests with a superior enemy?

CAPTAIN. Superior?

LAURA. Yes, it's queer, but I have never looked at a man without knowingmyself to be his superior. 

CAPTAIN. Then you shall be made to see your superior for once, so thatyou shall never forget it. 

LAURA. That will be interesting. 

NURSE [comes in]. Supper is served. Will you come in?

LAURA. Very well. 

[Captain lingers; sits down with a magazine in an arm chair near table. ]

LAURA. Aren't you coming in to supper?

CAPTAIN. No, thanks. I don't want anything. 

LAURA. What, are you annoyed?

CAPTAIN. No, but I am not hungry. 

LAURA. Come, or they will ask unnecessary questions--be good now. Youwon't? Stay there then. [Goes. ]

NURSE. Mr. Adolf! What is this all about?

CAPTAIN. I don't know what it is. Can you explain to me why you womentreat an old man as if he were a child?

NURSE. I don't understand it, but it must be because all you men, greatand small, are women's children, every man of you. 

CAPTAIN. But no women are born of men. Yes, but I am Bertha's father. Tell me, Margret, don't you believe it? Don't you?

NURSE. Lord, how silly you are. Of course you are your own child'sfather. Come and eat now, and don't sit there and sulk. There, there, come now. 

CAPTAIN. Get out, woman. To hell with the hags. [Goes to private door. ]Svärd, Svärd!

[Orderly comes in. ]

ORDERLY. Yes, Captain. 

CAPTAIN. Hitch into the covered sleigh at once. 

NURSE. Captain, listen to me. 

CAPTAIN. Out, woman! At once!

[Orderly goes. ]

NURSE. Good Lord, what's going to happen now. 

[Captain puts on his cap and coat and prepares to go out. ]

CAPTAIN. Don't expect me home before midnight. [Goes. ]

NURSE. Lord preserve us, whatever will be the end of this!

ACT II. 

[The same scene as in previous act. A lighted lamp is on the table; itis night. The Doctor and Laura are discovered at rise of curtain. ]

DOCTOR. From what I gathered during my conversation with him the case isnot fully proved to me. In the first place you made a mistake in sayingthat he had arrived at these astonishing results about other heavenlybodies by means of a microscope. Now that I have learned that it was aspectroscope, he is not only cleared of any suspicion of insanity, buthas rendered a great service to science. 

LAURA. Yes, but I never said that. 

DOCTOR. Madam, I made careful notes of our conversation, and I rememberthat I asked about this very point because I thought I had misunderstoodyou. One must be very careful in making such accusations when acertificate in lunacy is in question. 

LAURA. A certificate in lunacy?

DOCTOR. Yes, you must surely know that an insane person loses both civiland family rights. 

LAURA. No, I did not know that. 

DOCTOR. There was another matter that seemed to me suspicious. He spokeof his communications to his booksellers not being answered. Permit meto ask if you, through motives of mistaken kindness, have interceptedthem?

LAURA. Yes, I have. It was my duty to guard the interests of the family, and I could not let him ruin us all without some intervention. 

DOCTOR. Pardon me, but I think you cannot have considered theconsequences of such an act. If he discovers your secret interferencein his affairs, he will have grounds for suspicions, and they will growlike an avalanche. And besides, in doing this you have thwarted his willand irritated him still more. You must have felt yourself how themind rebels when one's deepest desires are thwarted and one's will iscrossed. 

LAURA. Haven't I felt that!

DOCTOR. Think, then, what he must have gone through. 

LAURA [Rising]. It is midnight and he hasn't come home. Now we may fearthe worst. 

DOCTOR. But tell me what actually happened this evening after I left. Imust know everything. 

LAURA. He raved in the wildest way and had the strangest ideas. Forinstance, that he is not the father of his child. 

DOCTOR. That is strange. How did such an idea come into his head?

LAURA. I really can't imagine, unless it was because he had to questionone of the men about supporting a child, and when I tried to defend thegirl, he grew excited and said no one could tell who was the father ofa child. God knows I did everything to calm him, but now I believe thereis no help for him. [Cries. ]

DOCTOR. But this cannot go on. Something must be done here without, ofcourse, arousing his suspicions. Tell me, has the Captain ever had suchdelusions before?

LAURA. Six years ago things were in the same state, and then he, himself, confessed in his own letter to the doctor that he feared forhis reason. 

DOCTOR. Yes, yes, yes, this is a story that has deep roots and thesanctity of the family life--and so on--of course I cannot ask abouteverything, but must limit myself to appearances. What is done can'tbe undone, more's the pity, yet the remedy should be based upon all thepast. --Where do you think he is now?

LAURA. I have no idea, he has such wild streaks. 

DOCTOR. Would you like to have me stay until he returns? To avoidsuspicion, I could say that I had come to see your mother who is notwell. 

LAURA. Yes, that will do very nicely. Don't leave us, Doctor; if youonly knew how troubled I am! But wouldn't it be better to tell himoutright what you think of his condition. 

DOCTOR. We never do that unless the patient mentions the subjecthimself, and very seldom even then. It depends entirely on the case. Butwe mustn't sit here; perhaps I had better go into the next room; it willlook more natural. 

LAURA. Yes, that will be better, and Margret can sit here. She alwayswaits up when he is out, and she is the only one who has any power overhim. [Goes to the door left] Margret, Margret!

NURSE. Yes, Ma'am. Has the master come home?

LAURA. No; but you are to sit here and wait for him, and when he doescome you are to say my mother is ill and that's why the doctor is here. 

NURSE. Yes, yes. I'll see that everything is all right. 

LAURA [Opens the door to inner rooms]. Will you come in here, Doctor?

DOCTOR. Thank you. 

[Nurse seats herself at the table and takes up a hymn book andspectacles and reads. ]

NURSE. Ah, yes, ah yes! [Reads half aloud] Ah woe is me, how sad a thing Is life within this vale of tears, Death's angel triumphs like a king, And calls aloud to all the spheres-- Vanity, all is vanity. Yes, yes! Yes, yes! [Reads again] All that on earth hath life and breath To earth must fall before his spear, And sorrow, saved alone from death, Inscribes above the mighty bier. Vanity, all is vanity. Yes, Yes. 

BERTHA [Comes in with a coffee-pot and some embroidery. She speaks in alow voice]. Margret, may I sit with you? It is so frightfully lonely upthere. 

NURSE. For goodness sake, are you still up, Bertha?

BERTHA. You see I want to finish Father's Christmas present. And here'ssomething that you'll like. 

NURSE. But bless my soul, this won't do. You must be up in the morning, and it's after midnight now. 

BERTHA. What does it matter? I don't dare sit up there alone. I believethe spirits are at work. 

NURSE. You see, just what I've said. Mark my words, this house was notbuilt on a lucky spot. What did you hear?

BERTHA. Think of it, I heard some one singing up in the attic!

NURSE. In the attic? At this hour?

BERTHA. Yes, it was such it sorrowful, melancholy song! I never heardanything like it. It sounded as if it came from the store-room, wherethe cradle stands, you know, to the left-- -- --

NURSE. Dear me, Dear me! And such a fearful night. It seems as if thechimneys would blow down. "Ah, what is then this earthly life, Butgrief, afliction and great strife? E'en when fairest it has seemed, Nought but pain it can be deemed. " Ah, dear child, may God give us agood Christmas!

BERTHA. Margret, is it true that Father is ill?

NURSE. Yes, I'm afraid he is. 

BERTHA. Then we can't keep Christmas eve? But how can he be up andaround if he is 111?

NURSE. You see, my child, the kind of illness he has doesn't keep himfrom being up. Hush, there's some one out in the hall. Go to bed now andtake the coffee pot away or the master will be angry. 

BERTHA [Going out with tray]. Good night, Margret. 

NURSE. Good night, my child. God bless you. 

[Captain comes in, takes off his overcoat. ]

CAPTAIN. Are you still up? Go to bed. 

NURSE. I was only waiting till-- --

[Captain lights a candle, opens his desk, sits down at it and takesletters and newspapers out of his pocket. ]

NURSE. Mr. Adolf. 

CAPTAIN. What do you want?

NURSE. Old mistress is ill and the doctor is here. 

CAPTAIN. Is it anything dangerous?

NURSE. No, I don't think so. Just a cold. 

CAPTAIN [Gets up]. Margret, who was the father of your child?

NURSE. Oh, I've told you many and many a time; it was that scampJohansson. 

CAPTAIN. Are you sure that it was he?

NURSE. How childish you are; of course I'm sure when he was the onlyone. 

CAPTAIN. Yes, but was he sure that he was the only one? No, he could notbe, but you could be sure of it. There is a difference, you see. 

NURSE. Well, I can't see any difference. 

CAPTAIN. No, you cannot see it, but the difference exists, nevertheless. [Turns over the pages of a photograph album which is on the table. ] Doyou think Bertha looks like me?

NURSE. Of course! Why, you are as like as two peas. 

CAPTAIN. Did Johansson confess that he was the father?

NURSE. He was forced to!

CAPTAIN. How terrible! Here is the Doctor. [Doctor comes in. ] Goodevening, Doctor. How is my mother-in-law?

DOCTOR. Oh, it's nothing serious; merely a slight sprain of the leftankle. 

CAPTAIN. I thought Margret said it was a cold. There seem to bedifferent opinions about the same case. Go to bed, Margret. 

[Nurse goes. A pause. ]

CAPTAIN. Sit down, Doctor. 

DOCTOR [Sits]. Thanks. 

CAPTAIN. Is it true that you obtain striped foals if you cross a zebraand a mare?

DOCTOR [Astonished]. Perfectly true. 

CAPTAIN. Is it true that the foals continue to be striped if the breedis continued with a stallion?

DOCTOR. Yes, that is true, too. 

CAPTAIN. That is to say, under certain conditions a stallion can be sireto striped foals or the opposite?

DOCTOR. Yes, so it seems. 

CAPTAIN. Therefore an offspring's likeness to the father proves nothing?

DOCTOR. Well-- -- --

CAPTAIN. That is to say, paternity cannot be proven. 

DOCTOR. H'm-- --well-- --

CAPTAIN. You are a widower, aren't you, and have had children?

DOCTOR. Ye-es. 

CAPTAIN. Didn't you ever feel ridiculous as a. Father? I know of nothingso ludicrous as to see a father leading his children by the hand aroundthe streets, or to hear it father talk about his children. "My wife'schildren, " he ought to say. Did you ever feel how false your positionwas? Weren't you ever afflicted with doubts, I won't say suspicions, for, as a gentleman, I assume that your wife was above suspicion. 

DOCTOR. No, really, I never was; but, Captain, I believe Goethe says aman must take his children on good faith. 

CAPTAIN. It's risky to take anything on good faith where a woman isconcerned. 

DOCTOR. Oh, there are so many kinds of women. 

CAPTAIN. Modern investigations have pronounced that there is only onekind! Lately I have recalled two instances in my life that make mebelieve this. When I was young I was strong and, if I may boast, handsome. Once when I was making a trip on a steamer and sitting with afew friends in the saloon, the young stewardess came and flung herselfdown by me, burst into tears, and told us that her sweetheart wasdrowned. We sympathized with her, and I ordered some champagne. Afterthe second glass I touched her foot; after the fourth her knee, andbefore morning I had consoled her. 

DOCTOR. That was just a winter fly. 

CAPTAIN. Now comes the second instance--and that was a real summer fly. I was at Lyskil. There was a young married woman stopping there with herchildren, but her husband was in town. She was religious, had extremelystrict principles, preached morals to me, and was, I believe, entirelyhonorable. I lent her a book, two books, and when she was leaving, shereturned them, strange to say! Three months later, in those very booksI found her card with a declaration on it. It was innocent, as innocentits it declaration of love can be from a married woman to a strange manwho never made any advances. Now comes the moral: Just don't have toomuch faith. 

DOCTOR. Don't have too little faith either. 

CAPTAIN. No, but just enough. But, you see, Doctor, that woman was sounconsciously dishonest that she talked to her husband about thefancy she had taken to me. That's what makes it dangerous, this veryunconsciousness of their instinctive dishonesty. That is a mitigatingcircumstance, I admit, but it cannot nullify judgment, only soften it. 

DOCTOR. Captain, your thoughts are taking a morbid turn, and you oughtto control them. 

CAPTAIN. You must not use the word morbid. Steam boilers, as you know, explode at it certain pressure, but the same pressure is not needed forall boiler explosions. You understand? However, you are here to watchme. If I were not a man I should have the right to make accusations orcomplaints, as they are so cleverly called, and perhaps I should be ableto give you the whole diagnosis, and, what is more, the history of mydisease. But unfortunately, I am a man, and there is nothing for me todo but, like a Roman, fold my arms across my breast and hold my breathtill I die. 

DOCTOR. Captain, if you are ill, it will not reflect upon your honor asa man to tell me all. In fact, I ought to hear the other side. 

CAPTAIN. You have had enough in hearing the one, I imagine. Do youknow when I heard Mrs. Alving eulogizing her dead husband, I thoughtto myself what a damned pity it was the fellow was dead. Do you supposethat he would have spoken if he had been alive? And do you supposethat if any of the dead husbands came back they would be believed? Goodnight, Doctor. You see that I am calm, and you can retire without fear. 

DOCTOR. Good night, then, Captain. I'm afraid. I can be of no furtheruse in this case. 

CAPTAIN. Are we enemies?

DOCTOR. Far from it. But it is too bad we cannot be friends. Good night. 

[Goes. The Captain follows the Doctor to the door at back and then goesto 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 mustcome to some decision. Sit down. [Pause. ] I have been at the post officetonight to get my letters. From these it appears that you have beenkeeping back my mail, both coming and going. The consequence of whichis that the loss of time has its good as destroyed the result I expectedfrom my work. 

LAURA. It was an act of kindness on my part, as you neglected theservice for this other work. 

CAPTAIN. It was hardly kindness, for you were quite sure that some dayI should win more honor from that, than from the service; but you wereparticularly anxious that I should not win such honors, for fear yourown insignificance would be emphasized by it. In consequence of all thisI 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 beenarraying my old friends against me by spreading reports about my mentalcondition. And you Dave succeeded in your efforts, for now not more thanone person exists from the Colonel down to the cook, who believes that Iam sane. Now these are the facts about my illness; my mind is sound, asyou know, so that I can take care of my duties in the service as wellits my responsibilities as a father; my feelings are more or less undermy control, as my will has not been completely undermined; but you havegnawed and nibbled at it so that it will soon slip the cogs, and thenthe whole mechanism will slip and go to smash. I will not appeal to yourfeelings, for you have none; that is your strength; but I will appeal toyour interests. 

LAURA. Let me hear. 

CAPTAIN. You have succeeded in arousing my suspicions to such an extentthat my judgment is no longer clear, and my thoughts begin to wander. This is the approaching insanity that you are waiting for, which maycome at any time now. So you are face to face with the question whetherit 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 Idie, my life insurance will fall to you. But if I take my own life, youwill get nothing. Consequently, it is to your interest that I shouldlive out my life. 

LAURA. Is this a trap?

CAPTAIN. To be sure. But it rests with you whether you will run aroundit 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 nothingand 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 Igive 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, andcircumstances have strengthened them. Free me from the uncertainty; tellme 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 itis, then you will be convinced. You seem to hope it is true!

CAPTAIN. Yes, strangely enough; it must be, because the firstsupposition 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 ofme and then have absolute control over the child. But you won't catch mein any such snare. 

CAPTAIN. Do you think that I would want to be responsible for anotherman'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 liedjust now when you said that you would forgive me beforehand. 

CAPTAIN. [Rises]. Laura, save me and my reason. You don't seem tounderstand what I say. If the child is not mine I have no control overher 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 forbut power?

CAPTAIN. To me it has meant more. I do not believe in a hereafter; thechild was my future life. That was my conception of immortality, andperhaps the only one that has any analogy in reality. If you take thataway 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 achain. And how did it happen; how? I have never thought about this, but now memories rise up accusingly, condemningly perhaps. We had beenmarried two years, and had no children; you know why. I fell ill and layat the point of death. During a conscious interval of the fever I heardvoices out in the drawing-room. It was you and the lawyer talking aboutthe fortune that I still possessed. He explained that you could inheritnothing because we had no children, and he asked you if you wereexpecting to become a mother. I did not hear your reply. I recovered andwe had a child. Who is its father?

LAURA. You. 

CAPTAIN. No, I am not. Here is a buried crime that begins to stench, andwhat a hellish crime! You women have been compassionate enough to freethe black slaves, but you have kept the white ones. I have workedand slaved for you, your child, your mother, your servants; I havesacrificed promotion and career; I have endured torture, flagellation, sleeplessness, worry for your sake, until my hair has grown gray; andall that you might enjoy a life without care, and when you grew old, enjoy life over again in your child. I have borne everything withoutcomplaint, because I thought myself the father of your child. Thisis the commonest kind of theft, the most brutal slavery. I have hadseventeen years of penal servitude and have been innocent. What can yougive me in return for that?

LAURA. Now you are quite mad. 

CAPTAIN. That is your hope!--And I see how you have labored to concealyour crime. I sympathized with you because I did not understand yourgrief. I have often lulled your evil conscience to rest when I thought Iwas driving away morbid thoughts. I have heard you cry out in your sleepand not wanted to listen. I remember now night before last--Bertha'sbirthday--it was between two and three in the morning, and I was sittingup reading; you shrieked, "Don't, don't!" as if someone were stranglingyou; I knocked on the wall--I didn't want to hear any more. I have hadmy 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 youare Bertha's father. 

CAPTAIN. What use is that when you have often said that a mother can andought to commit any crime for her child? I implore you as a wounded manbegs for a death blow, to tell me all. Don't you see I'm as helpless asa child? Don't you hear me complaining as to a mother? Won't you forgetthat I am a man, that I am a soldier who can tame men and beasts with aword? Like a sick man I only ask for compassion. I lay down the tokensof 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 fedwith the wine food, hurt by the same weapons, warmed and cooled by thesame summer and winter as a woman? If you prick us do we not bleed? Ifyou tickle us do we not laugh? And if you poison us, do we not die? Whyshouldn't a man complain, a soldier weep? Because it is unmanly? Why isit 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 secondmother? Your great strong body needed nerves; you were a giant childthat had either come too early into the world, or perhaps was not wantedat all. 

CAPTAIN. Yes, that's how it was. My father's and my mother's will wasagainst my coming into the world, and consequently I was born without awill. I thought I was completing myself when you and I became one, andtherefore you were allowed to rule, and I, the commander at the barracksand before the troops, became obedient to you, grew through you, lookedup to you as to it more highly-gifted being, listened to you as if I hadbeen your undeveloped child. 

LAURA. Yes, that's the way it was, and therefore I loved you as mychild. But you know, you must have seen, when the nature of yourfeelings changed and you appeared as my lover that I blushed, and yourembraces were joy that was followed by a remorseful conscience as if myblood were ashamed. The mother became the mistress. Ugh!

CAPTAIN. I saw it, but I did not understand. I believed you despised mefor 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, yousee, 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 Iwanted. But you had one advantage. I felt that, and I wanted you to feelit. 

CAPTAIN. You always had the advantage. You could hypnotize me when Iwas wide awake, so that I neither saw nor heard, but merely obeyed; youcould give me a raw potato and make me imagine it was a peach; you couldforce me to admire your foolish caprices as though they were strokes ofgenius. You could have influenced me to crime, yes, even to mean, paltrydeeds. Because you lacked intelligence, instead of carrying out my ideasyou acted on your own judgment. But when at last I awoke, I realizedthat my honor had been corrupted and I wanted to blot out the memory bya great deed, an achievement, a discovery, or an honorable suicide. Iwanted to go to war, but was not permitted. It was then that I threwmyself into science. And now when I was about to reach out my hand togather in its fruits, you chop off my arm. Now I am dishonored and canlive 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 therest of mankind, we lived our lives unconscious as children, full ofimagination, ideals, and illusions, and then we awoke; it was allover. But we awoke with our feet on the pillow, and he who waked us washimself a sleep-walker. When women grow old and cease to be women, theyget beards on their chins; I wonder what men get when they grow old andcease to be men. Those who crowed were no longer cocks but capons, andthe pullets answered their call, so that when we thought the sun wasabout 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 slumberwith 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 keepthem 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 descendedfrom monkeys, at least it must be from two separate species. We arecertainly 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 thecontrol of a guardian. 

CAPTAIN. Under a guardian?

LAURA. And then I shall educate my child without listening to yourfantastic 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 copyis in the hands of the board of lunacy. 

CAPTAIN. What letter?

LAURA [Moving backward toward the door left]. Yours! Your declaration tothe doctor that you are insane. [The Captain stares at her in silence. ]Now you have fulfilled your function as an unfortunately necessaryfather 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 asmy will, and since you will not stay and acknowledge it. 

[The Captain goes to the table, seizes the lighted lamp and hurls it atLaura, who disappears backward through the door. ]

CURTAIN DROP. 

ACT III. 

[Same Scene. Another lamp on the table. The private door is barricadedwith 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 themaster's clothes that Nöjd had out to brush. 

LAURA. Oh, Nöjd is on duty today?

NURSE. Yes, Nöjd. 

LAURA. Give me the keys. 

NURSE. Yes, but this seems like downright stealing. Do you hear himwalking 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 besaved. [Knock. ] Who is it?

NURSE [Opens door to hall]. It is Nöjd. 

LAURA. Let him come in. 

NÖJD [Comes in]. A message from the Colonel. 

LAURA. Give it to me [Reads] Ah!--Nöjd, have you taken all thecartridges out of the guns and pouches?

NÖJD. Yes, Ma'am. 

LAURA. Good, wait outside while I answer the Colonel's letter. [Nöjdgoes. 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 thisend!

LAURA. Here, give this to Nöjd. And my mother must not know anythingabout all this. Do you hear?

[Nurse goes out, Laura opens drawers in desk and takes out papers. ThePastor 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, andonly just got back. Terrible things have been happening here. 

LAURA. Yes, brother, never have I gone through such a night and such aday. 

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 manydifferent versions. 

LAURA. It began with his wild idea of not being Bertha's father, andended with his throwing the lighted lamp in my face. 

PASTOR. But this is dreadful! It is fully developed insanity. And whatis to be done now?

LAURA. We must try to prevent further violence and the doctor has sentto the hospital for a straightjacket. In the meantime I have senta message to the Colonel, and I am now trying to straighten outthe affairs of the household, which he has carried on in a mostreprehensible manner. 

PASTOR. This is a deplorable story, but I have always expected somethingof the sort. Fire and powder must end in an explosion. What have you gotin the drawer there?

LAURA [Has pulled out a drawer in the desk]. Look, he has hiddeneverything here. 

PASTOR [Looking into drawer]. Good Heavens, here is your doll and hereis your christening cap and Bertha's rattle; and your letters; and thelocket. [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 manythings. 

PASTOR. What is that big paper? The receipt for a grave! Yes, better thegrave than the lunatic asylum! Laura, tell me, are you blameless in allthis?

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 thickerthan 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 toeducate 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 youknow 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 foxin a trap, you would rather gnaw off your own leg than let yourselfbe caught! Like a master thief--no accomplice, not even your ownconscience. 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-taleblood stain, not a trace of insidious poison! A little innocent murderthat the law cannot reach, an unconscious crime--unconscious! What asplendid idea! Do you hear how he is working up there? Take care! Ifthat man gets loose he will make short work of you. 

LAURA. You talk so much, you must have a bad conscience. Accuse me ifyou can!

PASTOR. I cannot. 

LAURA. You see! You cannot, and therefore I am innocent. You take careof 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'tyou? But unfortunately there is not much that can be done. Do you hearhow he is carrying on up there? Are you convinced now?

DOCTOR. I am convinced that an act of violence has been committed, butthe question now is whether that act of violence can be considered anoutbreak of passion or madness. 

PASTOR. But apart from the actual outbreak, you must acknowledge that hehas "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 youto decide whether your husband is guilty to the extent of imprisonmentand 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 willbe 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 tosay. 

LAURA. But if he is only sentenced to a fine for violence, he will beable to repeat the violence. 

DOCTOR. And if he is sent to prison he will soon be out again. Thereforewe consider it most advantageous for all parties that he should beimmediately treated as insane. Where is the nurse?

LAURA. Why?

DOCTOR. She must put the straightjacket on the patient when I havetalked to him and given the order! But not before. I have--the--garmentout 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 tothis. We want you to slip this jacket on the Captain, from behind, youunderstand, when I find it necessary to prevent another outbreak ofviolence. You notice it has very long sleeves to prevent his moving andthey are to be tied at the back. Here are two straps that go throughbuckles which are afterwards fastened to the arm of a chair or the sofaor 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 bethe 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. 

[Nöjd comes in. ]

LAURA. Have you delivered the message already?

NÖJD. Yes, Madam. 

DOCTOR. Oh, is it you, Nöjd? You know the circumstances here; you knowthat the Captain is out of his mind and you must help us to take care ofhim. 

NÖJD. If there is anything I can do for the Captain, you may be sure Iwill do it. 

DOCTOR. You must put this jacket on him--

NURSE. No, he shan't touch him. Nöjd might hurt him. I would rather doit myself, very, very gently. But Nöjd can wait outside and help me ifnecessary. 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, andyou must all go out for the time being and the Pastor and I will receivehim, 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. Nöjd goes out back. After amoment the private door is forced open, with such violence that thelock is broken and the chair is thrown into the middle of the room. TheCaptain comes in with a pile of books under his arm, which he puts onthe table. ]

CAPTAIN. The whole thing is to be read here, in every book. So I wasn'tout of my mind after all! Here it is in the Odyssey, book first, verse215, page 6 of the Upsala translation. It is Telemachus speaking toAthene. "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 mostvirtuous of women! Beautiful, eh? And here we have the prophet Ezekiel:"The fool saith; behold here is my father, but who can tell whose loinsengendered him. " That's quite clear! And what have we here? The Historyof Russian Literature by Mersläkow. Alexander Puschkin, Russia'sgreatest poet, died of torture front the reports circulated about hiswife's unfaithfulness rather than by the bullet in his breast, from aduel. On his death-bed he swore she was innocent. Ass, ass! How could heswear to it? You see, I read my books. Ah, Jonas, art you here? and thedoctor, naturally. Have you heard what I answered when an English ladycomplained about Irishmen who used to throw lighted lamps in theirwives' faces? "God, what women, " I cried. "Women, " she gasped. "Yes, ofcourse, " I answered. "When things go so far that a man, a man who lovedand 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'tthat 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 yourepeating their chatter in there, like a telephone! In there! Youknow! Look here, Jonas; do you believe that you are the father ofyour children? I remember that you had a tutor in your house who had ahandsome face, and the people gossiped about him. 

PASTOR. Adolf, take care!

CAPTAIN. Grope under your toupee and feel if there are not two bumpsthere. 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 ridiculousdupes, we married men. Isn't that true, Doctor? How was it with yourmarriage bed? Didn't you have a lieutenant in the house, eh? Wait amoment and I will make a guess--his name was--[whispers in the Doctor'sear]. You see he turns pale, too! Don't be disturbed. She is dead andburied 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 inthe 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 whenI 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 ofyour illustrious brains for awhile I'd soon have you shut up, too! I ammad, but how did I become so? That doesn't concern you, and it doesn'tconcern anyone. But you want to talk of something else now. [Takes thephotograph 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 divorcedsoon after and become lovers, and finally adopt the children. Then onewould at least be sure that they were one's adopted children. Isn't thatright? But how can all that help us now? What can keep me now that youhave taken my conception of immortality from me, what use is scienceand philosophy to me when I have nothing to live for, what can I do withlife when I am dishonored? I grafted my right arm, half my brain, halfmy marrow on another trunk, for I believed they would knit themselvestogether and grow into a more perfect tree, and then someone came witha knife and cut below the graft, and now I am only half a tree. But theother half goes on growing with my arm and half my brain, while I witherand die, for they were the best parts I gave away. Now I want to die. Dowith me as you will. I am no more. 

[Buries his head on his arms on table. The Doctor whispers to thePastor, and they go out through the door left. Soon after Bertha comesin. ]

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 thelamp 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. Whotold you? That I should live to see my child come and tell me to myface that I am not her father! But don't you know that you disgrace yourmother when you say that? Don't you know that it is to her shame if itis so?

BERTHA. Don't say anything bad about Mother; do you hear?

CAPTAIN. No; you hold together, every one of you, against me! and youhave 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 sicklythoughts that come with the wind like pestilence and fever. Look at methat I may see my soul in your eyes!--But I see her soul, too! You havetwo souls and you love me with one and hate me with the other. But youmust only love me! You must have only one soul, or you will never havepeace, nor I either. You must have only one mind, which is the child ofmy 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 Saturnwho ate his children because it had been prophesied that they would eathim. 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 befrightened my dear child; I won't harm you. [Goes and takes a revolverfrom 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 bequiet and I'll get them out again!

[She takes the Captain by the arm and gets him into a chair, into whichhe sinks feebly. Then she takes out the straitjacket and goes behind thechair. Bertha slips out left. ]

NURSE. Mr. Adolf, do you remember when you were my dear little boy andI tucked you in at night and used to repeat: "God who holds his childrendear" to you, and do you remember how I used to get up in the night andgive you a drink, how I would light the candle and tell you stories whenyou had bad dreams and couldn't sleep? Do you remember all that?

CAPTAIN. Go on talking, Margret, it soothes my head so. Tell me somemore. 

NURSE. O yes, but you must listen then! Do you remember when you tookthe big kitchen knife and wanted to cut out boats with it, and how Icame in and had to get the knife away by fooling you? You were just alittle child who didn't understand, so I had to fool you, for you didn'tknow that it was for your own good. "Give me that snake, " I said, "orit will bite you!" and then you let go of the knife. [Takes the revolverout of the Captain's hand. ] And then when you had to be dressed anddidn't want to, I had to coax you and say that you should have a coatof gold and be dressed like a prince. And then I took your little blousethat 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 Ibutton it down the back, " [She puts the straightjacket on] and then Isaid, "Get up now, and walk across the floor like a good boy so I cansee how it fits. " [She leads him to the sofa. ] And then I said, "Now youmust go to bed. "

CAPTAIN. What did you say? Was I to go to bed when I wasdressed--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 muchwit. [Lies down on sofa. ] Trapped, shorn, outwitted, and not to be ableto die!

NURSE. Forgive me, Mr. Adolf, forgive me, but I wanted to keep you fromkilling your child. 

CAPTAIN. Why didn't you let me? You say life is hell and death thekingdom 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 isnot yet too late. It was not too late for the thief on the cross, whenthe 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]. Nöjd, is Nöjd out there?

[Nöjd comes in. ]

CAPTAIN. Throw this woman out! She wants to suffocate me with herhymn-book. Throw her out of the window, or up the chimney, or anywhere. 

NÖJD. [Looks at Nurse]. Heaven help you, Captain, but I can't do that, Ican't. If it were only six men, but a woman!

CAPTAIN. Can't you manage one woman, eh?

NÖJD. Of course I can, --but--well, you see, it's queer, but one neverwants to lay hands on a woman. 

CAPTAIN. Why not? Haven't they laid hands on me?

NÖJD. Yes, but I can't, Captain. It's just as if you asked me to strikethe Pastor. It's second nature, like religion, I can't!

[Laura comes in, she motions Nöjd to go. ]

CAPTAIN. Omphale, Omphale! Now you play with the club while Herculesspins your wool. 

LAURA [Goes to sofa]. Adolf, look at me. Do you believe that I am yourenemy?

CAPTAIN. Yes, I do. I believe that you are all my enemies! My mother wasmy enemy when she did not want to bring me into the world because Iwas to be born with pain, and she robbed my embryonic life of itsnourishment, and made a weakling of me. My sister was my enemy when shetaught me that I must be submissive to her. The first woman I embracedwas my enemy, for she gave me ten years of illness in return for thelove I gave her. My daughter became my enemy when she had to choosebetween 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 thinkI did. It may be that a dim desire to get rid of you as an obstacle layat the bottom of it, and if you see any design in my behavior, it ispossible that it existed, although I was unconscious of it. I have neverthought how it all came about, but it is the result of the course youyourself laid out, and before God and my conscience I feel that I aminnocent, even if I am not. Your existence has lain like a stone on myheart--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 askyour forgiveness. 

CAPTAIN. All that sounds plausible. But how does it help me? And whosefault is it? Perhaps spiritual marriages! Formerly one married a wife, now, one enters into partnership with a business woman, or goes tolive with a friend--and then one ruins the partner, and dishonors thefriend!--What has become of love, healthy sensuous love? It died in thetransformation. And what is the result of this love in shares, payableto the bearer without joint liability? Who is the bearer when the crashcomes? Who is the fleshly father of the spiritual child?

LAURA. And as for your suspicions about the child, they are absolutelygroundless. 

CAPTAIN. That's just what makes it so horrible. If at least there wereany 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 stickout their heads and grin; it is like fighting with the air, or firingblank cartridges in a sham fight. A fatal reality would have calledforth resistance, stirred life and soul to action; but now my thoughtsdissolve into air, and my brain grinds a void until it is on fire. --Puta pillow under my head, and throw something over me, I am cold. I amterribly cold!

[Laura takes her shawl and spreads it over him. Nurse goes to get apillow. ]

LAURA. Give me your hand, friend. 

CAPTAIN. My band! The hand that you have bound! Omphale! Omphale!--ButI 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 theprimroses and the thrushes--glorious, glorious! Think how beautiful lifewas, and what it is now. You didn't want to have it like this, nor didI, and yet it happened. Who then rules over life?

LAURA. God alone rules--

CAPTAIN. The God of strife then! Or the Goddess perhaps, nowadays. --Takeaway 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 coatand puts it over him. ] Ah, my rough lion skin that, you wanted to takeaway from me! Omphale! Omphale! You cunning woman, champion of peace andcontriver of man's disarmament. Wake, Hercules, before they take yourclub away from you! You would wile our armor from us too, and makebelieve that it is nothing but glittering finery. No, it was iron, letme tell you, before it ever glittered. In olden days the smith made thearmor, now it is the needle woman. Omphale! Omphale! Rude strengthhas fallen before treacherous weakness. Out on you infernal woman, anddamnation on your sex! [He raises himself to spit but falls back on thesofa. ] What have you given me for a pillow, Margret? It is so hard, andso cold, so cold. Come and sit near me. There. May I put my head on yourknee? 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 amistress'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 haschildren, 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. Goodnight, Margret, and blessed be you among women. 

[He raises himself, but falls with a cry on the nurses's lap. Laura goesto left and calls the Doctor who comes in with the Pastor. ]

LAURA. Help us, Doctor, if it isn't too late. Look, he has stoppedbreathing. 

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 wecannot tell. 

PASTOR. "First death, and then the judgment. "

DOCTOR. No judgment, and no accusations, you who believe that a Godshapes 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 ofhis 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 festivalsurviving from pagan times. 

[SCENE. --A large kitchen. The ceiling and walls are partially coveredby draperies and greens. The back wall slants upward from left side ofscene. On back wall, left, are two shelves filled with copper kettles, iron casseroles and tin pans. The shelves are trimmed with fancyscalloped paper. To right of middle a large arched entrance with glassdoors through which one sees a fountain with a statue of Cupid, syringabushes in bloom and tall poplars. To left corner of scene a large stovewith hood decorated with birch branches. To right, servants' diningtable of white pine and a few chairs. On the cud of table stands aJapanese jar filled with syringa blossoms. The floor is strewn withjuniper branches. ]

[Near stove, an ice-box, sink and dish-table. A large old-fashionedbell, hangs over the door, to left of door a speaking tube. ]

[Kristin stands at stork engaged in cooking something. She wears a lightcotton dress and kitchen apron. Jean comes in wearing livery; he carriesa 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 tothe barn and danced and then I discovered Miss Julie there leading thedance with the gamekeeper. When she spied me, she rushed right toward meand asked me to waltz, and then she waltzed so--never in my life have Iseen anything like it! Ah--she is crazy tonight. 

KRISTIN. She has always been. But never so much as in the lastfortnight, since her engagement was broken off. 

JEAN. Yes, what about that gossip? He seemed like a fine fellow althoughhe wasn't rich! Ach! they have so much nonsense about them. [Seatshimself at table. ] It's queer about Miss Julie though--to prefer stayinghere at home among these people, eh, to going away with her father tovisit 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 eveningand 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 tojump. He jumped it twice and got a lash each time; but the third timehe snatched the whip from her hand and broke it into pieces. And then hevanished!

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 togive me that's good, Kristin?

KRISTIN. [She takes things from the pans on stove and serves them tohim. ] Oh, it's only a bit of kidney that I cut out of the veal steak foryou. 

JEAN [Smelling the food]. Splendid! My favorite delicacy. [Feeling ofplate]. But you might have warmed the plate. 

KRISTIN. You're fussier than the Count, when you get started. [Tweakshis 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 betterthan that myself. [Takes bottle of wine from drawer of table. ] Yellowseal, how's that? Now give me a glass--a wine glass you understand, ofcourse, 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 yourintended. [Tastes wine. ] Excellent, very excellent! Just a little toocold. [Warms glass with hands]. We bought this at Dijon. It stood atfour francs a litre in the bulk; then of course there was the dutybesides. 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 therecooking for that damned dog on a holiday evening? Is it sick, eh?

KRISTIN. Yes, it's sick. Diana sneaked out with the gatekeeper'smongrels and now something is wrong. Miss Julie can't stand that. 

JEAN. Miss Julie has a great deal of pride about some things--but notenough about others! Just like her mother in her lifetime; shethrived best in the kitchen or the stable, but she must always drivetandem--never one horse! She would go about with soiled cuffs but shehad to have the Count's crest on her cuff buttons. And as for MissJulie, she doesn't take much care of her appearance either. I should sayshe isn't refined. Why just now out there she pulled the forester fromAnna's side and asked him to dance with her. We wouldn't do things thatway. But when the highborn wish to unbend they become vulgar. Splendidshe is though! Magnificent! Ah, such shoulders and--

KRISTIN. Oh, don't exaggerate. I've heard what Clara says who dressesher sometimes, I have. 

JEAN. Ha! Clara--you women are always jealous of each other. I who'vebeen out riding with her--!!! And such a dancer!

KRISTIN. Come now, Jean, don't you want to dance with me when I'mthrough?

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 thesupper--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 cookingstore]. Don't look. Away with you. 

JEAN [Inquisitive but polite]. Is it some troll's dish that you are bothconcocting for midsummer night? Something to pierce the future with andevoke 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 aschottische with me. 

[Jean hesitates. ]

JEAN. I don't wish to be impolite to anyone but--this dance I promisedto Kristin. 

JULIE. Oh, she can have another--isn't that so, Kristin? Won't you lendJean to me. 

KRISTIN. It's not for me to say, if Miss Julie is so gracious it's notfor 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 prudentfor Miss Julie to dance twice in succession with her servant, especiallyas people are never slow to find meaning in--

JULIE [Breaking out]. In what? What sort of meaning? What were you goingto say?

JEAN [Taken aback]. Since Miss Julie does not understand I must speakplainly. It may look strange to prefer one of your--underlings--toothers who covet the same honor--

JULIE. To prefer--what a thought! I, the lady of the house! I honor thepeople with my presence and now that I feel like dancing I want to havea 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 areall 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 yoursweetheart away from you. 

[Jean offers arm. They exit. ]

[PANTOMIME. --Played as though the actress were really alone. Turnsher back to the audience when necessary. Does not look out into theauditorium. Does not hurry as though fearing the audience might growrestless. Soft violin music from the distance, schottische time. Kristinhums with the music. She cleans the table; washes plate, wipes it andputs it in the china closet. Takes off her apron and then opens drawerof table and takes a small hand glass and strands it against a flowerpot on table. Lights a candle and heats a hair pin with which she crimpsher hair around her forehead. After that she goes to door at back andlistens. Then she returns to table and sees the Countess' handkerchief, picks it up, smells of it, then smooths it out and folds it. EnterJean. ]

JEAN. She is crazy I tell you! To dance like that! And the people standgrinning 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 itmy 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. AndI 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 acharming cavalier to run away from your partner. 

JEAN. On the contrary, Miss Julie, I have hastened to my neglected oneas you see. 

JULIE [Changing subject]. Do you know, you dance wonderfully well! Butwhy 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 toyour 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 whatthey 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 meanthese pleasant things that you say to a--such its I am--and therefore Iallowed myself to fancy that you overrate or, as it is called, flatter. 

JULIE. Where did you learn to use words like that? Have you frequentedthe 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 MissJulie 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 aboutthat. 

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 toKristin, 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 drinkfirst?

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 mightjoin your lady. 

JEAN. Looking at it in that way you are quite right. [Opens anotherbottle 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 mylady 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 ifsomeone 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 MissJulie 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 anexpression--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--letalone a servant--at night--then--

JULIE. Then what? And for that matter, we are not alone. Kristin ishere. 

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 thecoffee--soon--soon--soon. Oh--h-h-h--puh! [Breathes heavily. Julie takesher 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 whennight comes. One should respect the weary. 

JULIE. That's a kind thought--and I honor it. [Offers her hand. ] Thanksfor the suggestion. Come out with me now and pick some syringas. 

[Kristin has awakened and goes to her room, right, in a sort of sleepstupified 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 thepeople 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 believethat you stepped down of your own accord; people always say that onefalls down. 

JULIE. I think better of the people than you do. Come--and trythem--come!

[Dares him with a look. ]

JEAN. Do you know that you are wonderful?

JULIE. Perhaps. But you are too. Everything is wonderful for thatmatter. Life, people--everything. Everything is wreckage, that driftsover the water until it sinks, sinks. I have the same dream every nowand then and at this moment I am reminded of it. I find myself seated atthe top of a high pillar and I see no possible way to get down. I growdizzy when I look down, but down I must. But I'm not brave enough tothrow 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. Haveyou ever felt like that?

JEAN. No, I dream that I'm lying in a dark wood under a tall tree and Iwould 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' nestsup there where the golden eggs lie, but the tree trunk is so thick, sosmooth, and the first limb is so high! But I know if I reached the firstlimb I should climb as though on a ladder, to the top. I haven't reachedit yet, but I shall reach it, if only in the dream. 

JULIE. Here I stand talking about dreams with you. Come now, just out inthe park. 

[She offers her arm and they start. ]

JEAN. We should sleep on nine midsummer flowers tonight and then ourdreams 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. Nowsit down and let me look for it. [Pulls him into a chair, looks into hiseye. ] Now sit still, perfectly still. [Uses corner of her handkerchiefin his eye. Strikes his hand. ] So--will you mind? I believe you aretrembling, 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 thankme!

[Jean rises. ]

JEAN. Miss Julie, listen to me. Kristin has gone to bed now--will youlisten 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 itis dangerous to play with fire?

JULIE. Not for me. I am insured!

JEAN. No, you are not. But even if you are, there is inflammablematerial 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 inconceivablepresumption! A Don Juan perhaps! Or a Joseph! On my soul, I believe heis 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 seriouslywith what is dangerous. Now I'm tired of playing and beg to be excusedthat 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 hiredto be your play thing and that I shall never be. I think too well ofmyself 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 Iwas 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 drinkfor 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 Ihesitated to tell, but now I'm going to tell it. Do you know how peoplein high life look from the under world? No, of course you don't. Theylook like hawks and eagles whose backs one seldom sees, for they soar upabove. I lived in a hovel provided by the state, with seven brothers andsisters and a pig; out on a barren stretch where nothing grew, not evena tree, but from the window I could see the Count's park walls withapple trees rising above them. That was the garden of paradise; andthere stood many angry angels with flaming swords protecting it; butfor all that I and other boys found the way to the tree of life--now youdespise me. 

JULIE. Oh, all boys steal apples. 

JEAN. You say that, but you despise me all the same. No matter! One timeI entered the garden of paradise--it was to weed the onion beds with mymother! Near the orchard stood a Turkish pavilion, shaded and overgrownwith jessamine and honeysuckle. I didn't know what it was used for andI had never seen anything so beautiful. People passed in and out and oneday--the door was left open. I sneaked in and beheld walls covered withpictures of kings and emperors and there were red-fringed curtains atthe windows--now you understand what I mean--I--[Breaks off a spray ofsyringes and puts it to her nostrils. ] I had never been in the castleand how my thoughts leaped--and there they returned ever after. Littleby little the longing came over me to experience for once the pleasureof--enfin, I sneaked in and was bewildered. But then I heard someonecoming--there was only one exit for the great folk, but for me there wasanother, and I had to choose that. [Julie who has taken the syringalets it fall on table. ] Once out I started to run, scrambled through araspberry hedge, rushed over a strawberry bed and came to a stop onthe rose terrace. For there I saw a figure in a white dress and whiteslippers 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, rankearth. I gazed at you walking among the roses. And I thought if it istrue that the thief on the cross could enter heaven and dwell among theangels it was strange that a pauper child on God's earth could not gointo the castle park and play with the Countess' daughter. 

JULIE [Pensively]. Do you believe that all poor children would have suchthoughts 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 lieon 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 doesthat happen! But to return to the story, do you know what I did? I randown to the mill dam and threw myself in with my clothes on--and waspulled out and got a thrashing. But the following Sunday when all thefamily went to visit my grandmother I contrived to stay at home; Iscrubbed myself well, put on my best dollies, such its they were, andwent to church so that I might see you. I saw you. Then I went homewith my mind made up to put, an cud to myself. But I wanted to doit beautifully and without pain. Then I happened to remember thatelderberry blossoms are poisonous. I knew where there was a bigelderberry bush in full bloom and I stripped it of its riches and madea bed of it in the oat-bin. Have you ever noticed how smooth and glossyoats are? As soft as a woman's arm. --Well, I got in and let down thecover, fell asleep, and when I awoke I was very ill, but didn't die--asyou see. What I wanted--I don't know. You were unattainable, but throughthe vision of you I was made to realize how hopeless it was to riseabove 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 Ihave 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 thecoachbox. 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 couldnot understand where you had heard such things. Well, perhaps at bottomthere'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 playthe 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 timesbefore 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. Iwant 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 tobe 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 crawlingalong, sleepiness makes one irresponsible and the brain grows hot. Go toyour room. In fact--if I hear rightly some of the people are coming forme. 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 themcome, you shall see. 

JEAN. No, Miss Julie, they don't love you. They take your food and spitupon your kindness, believe me. Listen to them, listen to what they'resinging! 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 runaway. 

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 mefor 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 theirhats, a fiddler in the lead. They carry a keg of home-brewed beer and asmaller keg of gin, both decorated with greens which are placed on thetable. They help themselves to glasses and drink. Then they sing anddance a country dance to the melody of "There came two ladies out of thewoods. " When that is over they go out, singing. ]

[Enter Julie alone, sees the havoc the visitors have made, clasps herhands, 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 forus 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, differentlanguages. Not a moment for boredom. Always something to do night andday--the bell ringing, the trains whistling, the omnibus coming andgoing and all the time the gold pieces rolling into the till--that islife!

JULIE. Yes, that is life. And I--?

JEAN. The mistress of the establishment--the ornament of the house. Withyour looks--and your manners--oh, it's a sure success! Colossal! Youcould sit like a queen in the office and set the slaves in action bytouching an electric button. The guests line up before your throneand shyly lay their riches on your desk. You can't believe how peopletremble when they get their bills--I can salt the bills and you cansweeten them with your most bewitching smile--ha, let us get away fromhere--[Takes a time table from his pocket] immediately--by the nexttrain. We can be at Malmö at 6. 30, Hamburg at 8. 40 tomorrow morning, Frankfort the day after and at Como by the St. Gothard route inabout--let me see, three days. Three days!

JULIE. All that is well enough, but Jean--you must give me courage. Takeme in your arms and tell me that you love me. 

JEAN [Hesitatingly]. I will--but I daren't--not again in this house. Ilove you of course--do you doubt that?

JULIE [Shyly and with womanliness]. You! Say thou to me! Between usthere can be no more formality. Say thou. 

JEAN. I can't--There must be formality between us--as long as we arein this house. There is the memory of the past--and there is theCount, your father. I have never known anyone else for whom I have suchrespect. I need only to see his gloves lying in a chair to feel my owninsignificance. I have only to hear his bell to start like a nervoushorse--and now as I see his boots standing there so stiff and proper Ifeel like bowing and scraping. [Gives boots a kick]. Superstitions andprejudices taught in childhood can't be uprooted in a moment. Let us goto a country that is it republic where they'll stand on their heads formy 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 acoachman today, but next year I shall be a proprietor, in two years agentleman of income; then for Roumania where I'll let them decorate meand 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 acountess just the same--my countess!

JULIE. What do I care for all that--which I now cast behind me. Say thatyou 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. Wemust look at this matter coldly like sensible people. [Takes out a cigarand lights it. ] Now sit down there and I'll sit here and we'll take itover 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 restrainmyself. 

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 nomore. The Count may be here at any moment, and before he comes, ourfate must be settled. How do my plans for the future strike you? Do youapprove of them?

JULIE. They seem acceptable enough. But one question. For such a greatundertaking 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 iscapital 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 canfurnish 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 thinkI will allow the people to point at me in scorn, or that I can ever lookmy father in the face again? Never! Take me away from this humiliationand 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? Thesame 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--thefalling to the rising, or is this love! This--love! Do you know whatlove 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 andmighty, for now we are on the same level. Look here, my little girl, letme offer you a glass of something extra fine. [Opens drawer of tableand takes out wine bottle, then fills two glasses that have been alreadyused. ]

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 Ibeen walking in my sleep this night--midsummer night, the night forinnocent play--

JEAN. Innocent, eh!

JULIE [Pacing back and forth]. Is there a being on earth so miserable asI. 

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 servantis a servant. 

JEAN. And a whore is a whore. 

JULIE [Falls on her knees with clasped hands]. Oh, God in heaven, endmy wretched life, save me from this mire into which I'm sinking--Oh saveme, 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 readsomething of the sort in a newspaper about a chimney-sweep who madea 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 tocapture a woman. 

JULIE. Wretch! Now you have seen the eagle's back, and I suppose I am tobe 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 youhave shown yourself finer than any maid-servant tonight?

JULIE [Crushed]. That is right, strike me, trample on me, I deservenothing better. I have done wrong, but help me now. Help me out of thisif 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 raisehis eyes to you if you yourself had not invited it? Even now I amastonished--

JULIE. And proud. 

JEAN. Why not? Although I must confess that the conquest was too easy tobe exciting. 

JULIE. Go on, strike me again--

JEAN [Rising]. No, forgive me, rather, for what I said. I do not strikethe unarmed, least of all, a woman. But I can't deny that from a certainpoint of view it gives me satisfaction to know that it is the glitter ofbrass, not gold, that dazzles us from below, and that the eagle's backis grey like the rest of him. On the other hand, I'm sorry to have torealize that all that I have looked up to is not worth while, and itpains me to see you fallen lower than your cook as it pains me to seeautumn blossoms whipped to pieces by the cold rain and transformedinto--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 nevermake me a count. 

JULIE. But I am born of a count, that you can never be. 

JEAN. That is true, but I can be the father of counts--if--

JULIE. But you are a thief--that I am not. 

JEAN. There are worse things than that, and for that matter when I servein a house I regard myself as a member of the family, a child of thehouse as it were. And one doesn't consider it theft if children snoopa berry from full bushes. [With renewed passion]. Miss Julie, you are aglorious woman--too good for such as I. You have been the victim of aninfatuation and you want to disguise this fault by fancying that youlove me. But you do not--unless perhaps my outer self attracts you. Andthen your love is no better than mine. But I cannot be satisfied withthat, and your real love I can never awaken. 

JULIE. Are you sure of that?

JEAN. You mean that we could get along with such an arrangement? There'sno doubt about my loving you--you are beautiful, you are elegant--[Goesto her and takes her hand] accomplished, lovable when you wish to be, and the flame that you awaken in man does not die easily. [Puts armaround her. ] You are like hot wine with strong spices, and your lips--

[Tries to kiss her. Julie pulls herself away slowly. ]

JULIE. Leave me--I'm not to be won this way. 

JEAN. How then? Not with caresses and beautiful words? Not by thoughtsfor the future, to save humiliation? How then?

JULIE. How? I don't know. I don't know! I shrink from you as I wouldfrom a rat. But I cannot escape from you. 

JEAN. Escape with me. 

JULIE. Escape? Yes, we must escape. --But I'm so tired. Give me a glassof wine. [Jean fills a glass with wine, Julie looks at her watch. ] Wemust talk it over first for we have still a little time left. 

[She empties the glass and puts it out for more. ]

JEAN. Don't drink too much. It will go to your head. 

JULIE. What harm will that do?

JEAN. What harm? It's foolish to get intoxicated. But what did you wantto say?

JULIE. We must go away, but we must talk first. That is, I must speak, for until now you have done all the talking. You have told me aboutyour life--now I will tell you about mine, then we will know each otherthrough and through before we start on our wandering together. 

JEAN. One moment, pardon. Think well whether you won't regret havingtold your life's secrets. 

JULIE. Aren't you my friend?

JEAN. Yes. Sometimes. But don't depend on me. 

JULIE. You only say that. And for that matter I have no secrets. Yousee, my mother was not of noble birth. She was brought up with ideas ofequality, woman's freedom and all that. She had very decided opinionsagainst matrimony, and when my father courted her she declared that shewould never be his wife--but she did so for all that. I came into theworld against my mother's wishes, I discovered, and was brought up likea child of nature by my mother, and taught everything that a boy mustknow as well; I was to be an example of a woman being as good as aman--I was made to go about in boy's clothes and take care of the horsesand harness and saddle and hunt, and all such things; in fact, all overthe estate women servants were taught to do men's work, with the resultthat the property came near being ruined--and so we became the laughingstock of the countryside. At last my father must have awakened from hisbewitched condition, for he revolted, and ran things according to hisideas. My mother became ill--what it was I don't know, but she often hadcramps and acted queerly--sometimes hiding in the attic or the orchard, and would even be gone all night at times. Then came the big fire whichof course you have heard about. The house, the stables--everything wasburned, under circumstances that pointed strongly to an incendiary, forthe misfortune happened the day after the quarterly insurance wasdue and the premiums sent in by father were strangely delayed by hismessenger so that they arrived too late. [She fills a wine glass anddrinks. ]

JEAN. Don't drink any more. 

JULIE. Oh, what does it matter? My father was utterly at a loss to knowwhere to get money to rebuild with. Then my mother suggested that hetry to borrow from a man who had been her friend in her youth--a brickmanufacturer here in the neighborhood. My father made the loan, butwasn't allowed to pay any interest, which surprised him. Then the housewas rebuilt. [Julie drinks again. ] Do you know who burned the house?

JEAN. Her ladyship, your mother?

JULIE. Do you know who the brick manufacturer was?

JEAN. Your mother's lover?

JULIE. Do you know whose money it was?

JEAN. Just a moment, that I don't know. 

JULIE. It was my mother's. 

JEAN. The Count's--that is to say, unless there was a contract. 

JULIE. There was no contract. My mother had some money which she had notwished to have in my father's keeping and therefore, she had entrustedit to her friend's care. 

JEAN. Who kept it. 

JULIE. Quite right--he held on to it. All this came to my father'sknowledge. He couldn't proceed against him, wasn't allowed to pay hiswife's friend, and couldn't prove that it was his wife's money. That wasmy mother's revenge for his taking the reins of the establishment intohis own hands. At that time he was ready to shoot himself. Gossip had itthat he had tried and failed. Well, he lived it down--and my mother paidfull penalty for her misdeed. Those were five terrible years for me, as you can fancy. I sympathized with my father, but I took my mother'spart, for I didn't know the true circumstances. Through her I learned todistrust and hate men, and I swore to her never to be a man's slave. 

JEAN. But you became engaged to the Lieutenant Governor. 

JULIE. Just to make him my slave. 

JEAN. But that he didn't care to be. 

JULIE. He wanted to be, fast enough, but I grew tired of him. 

JEAN. Yes--I noticed that--in the stable-yard!

JULIE. What do you mean?

JEAN. I saw how he broke the engagement. 

JULIE. That's a lie. It was I who broke it. Did he say he broke it--thewretch!

JEAN. I don't believe that he was a wretch. You hate men, Miss Julie. 

JULIE. Most of them. Sometimes one is weak--

JEAN. You hate me?

JULIE. Excessively. I could see you shot--

JEAN. Like a mad dog?

JULIE. Exactly!

JEAN. But there is nothing here to shoot with. What shall we do then?

JULIE [Rousing herself]. We must get away from here--travel. 

JEAN. And torture each other to death?

JULIE. No--to enjoy, a few days, a week--as long as we can. And then todie. 

JEAN. Die! How silly. I think it's better to start the hotel. 

JULIE [Not heeding him]. By the Lake of Como where the sun is alwaysshining, where the laurel is green at Christmas and the oranges glow. 

JEAN. The Lake of Como is it rain hole, I never saw any oranges thereexcept on fruit stands. But it's a good resort, and there are manyvillas to rent to loving couples. That's a very paying industry. Youknow why? They take leases for half a year at least, but they usuallyleave in three weeks. 

JULIE [Naively]. Why after three weeks?

JEAN. Why? They quarrel of course, but the rent must be paid all thesame. Then you re-let, and so one after another they come and go, forthere is plenty of love, although it doesn't last long. 

JULIE. Then you don't want to die with me?

JEAN. I don't want to die at all, both because I enjoy living andbecause I regard suicide as a crime to Him who has given us life. 

JULIE. Then you believe in God?

JEAN. Yes. Of course I do, and I go to church every other Sunday--ButI'm tired of all this and I'm going to bed. 

JULIE. Do you think I would allow myself to be satisfied with such anending? Do you know what a man owes to a woman he hits-- --

JEAN [Takes out a silver coin and throws it on the table]. Allow me, Idon't want to owe anything to anyone. 

JULIE [Pretending not to notice the insult]. Do you know what the lawdemands?

JEAN. I know that the law demands nothing of a woman who seduces a man. 

JULIE [Again not heeding him]. Do you see any way out of it but totravel?--wed--and separate?

JEAN. And if I protest against this misalliance?

JULIE. Misalliance!

JEAN. Yes, for me. For you see I have a finer ancestry than you, for Ihave no fire-bug in my family. 

JULIE. How do you know?

JEAN. You can't prove the contrary. We have no family record except thatwhich the police keep. But your pedigree I have read in a book on thedrawing room table. Do you know who the founder of your family was? Itwas a miller whose wife found favor with the king during the Danish War. Such ancestry I have not. 

JULIE. This is my reward for opening my heart to anyone so unworthy, with whom I have talked about my family honor. 

JEAN. Dishonor--yes, I said it. I told you not to drink because then onetalks too freely and one should never talk. 

JULIE. Oh, how I repent all this. If at least you loved me!

JEAN. For the last time--what do you mean? Shall I weep, shall I jumpover your riding whip, shall I kiss you, lure you to Lake Como for threeweeks, and then--what do you want anyway? This is getting tiresome. Butthat's the way it always is when you get mixed up in women's affairs. Miss Julie, I see that you are unhappy, I know that you suffer, but Ican't understand you. Among my kind there is no nonsense of this sort;we love as we play when work gives us time. We haven't the whole day andnight for it like you. 

JULIE. You must be good to me and speak to me as though I were a humanbeing. 

JEAN. Be one yourself. You spit on me and expect me to stand it. 

JULIE. Help me, help me. Only tell me what to do--show me a way out ofthis!

JEAN. In heaven's name, if I only knew myself. 

JULIE. I have been raving, I have been mad, but is there no means ofdeliverance?

JEAN. Stay here at home and say nothing. No one knows. 

JULIE. Impossible. These people know it, and Kristin. 

JEAN. They don't know it and could never suspect such a thing. 

JULIE [Hesitating]. But--it might happen again. 

JEAN. That is true. 

JULIE. And the consequences?

JEAN [Frightened]. Consequences--where were my wits not to have thoughtof that! There is only one thing to do. Get away from here immediately. I can't go with you or they will suspect. You must go alone--away fromhere--anywhere. 

JULIE. Alone? Where? I cannot. 

JEAN. You must--and before the Count returns. If you stay, we know howit will be. If one has taken a false step it's likely to happen again asthe harm has already been done, and one grows more and more daringuntil at last all is discovered. Write the Count afterward and confessall--except that it was I. That he could never guess, and I don't thinkhe'll be so anxious to know who it was, anyway. 

JULIE. I will go if you'll go with me. 

JEAN. Are you raving again? Miss Julie running away with her coachman?All the papers would be full of it and that the Count could never livethrough. 

JULIE. I can't go--I can't stay. Help me, I'm so tired--so weary. Command me, set me in motion--I can't think any more, --can't act--

JEAN. See now, what creatures you aristocrats are! Why do you bristle upand stick up your noses as though you were the lords of creation. Verywell--I will command you! Go up and dress yourself and see to it thatyou have travelling money and then come down. [She hesitates. ] Goimmediately. 

[She still hesitates. He takes her hand and leads her to door. ]

JULIE. Speak gently to me, Jean. 

JEAN. A command always sounds harsh. Feel it yourself now. 

[Exit Julie. ]

[Jean draws a sigh of relief, seats himself by the table, takes out anotebook and pencil and counts aloud now and then until, Kristin comesin, dressed for church. ]

KRISTIN. My heavens, how it looks here. What's been going on?

JEAN. Oh, Miss Julie dragged in the people. Have you been sleeping sosoundly that you didn't hear anything?

KRISTIN. I've slept like a log. 

JEAN. And already dressed for church!

KRISTIN. Ye-es, [Sleepily] didn't you promise to go to early servicewith me?

JEAN. Yes, quite so, and there you have my stock and front. All right. 

[He seats himself. Kristin putting on his stock. ]

JEAN [Sleepily]. What is the text today?

KRISTIN. St. John's Day! It is of course about the beheading of John theBaptist. 

JEAN. I'm afraid it will be terribly long drawn out--that. Hey, you'rechoking me. I'm so sleepy, so sleepy. 

KRISTIN. What have you been doing up all night? You are actually greenin the face. 

JEAN. I have been sitting here talking to Miss Julie. 

KRISTIN. Oh you don't know your place. 

[Pause. ]

JEAN. Listen, Kristin. 

KRISTIN. Well?

JEAN. It's queer about her when you think it over. 

KRISTIN. What is queer?

JEAN. The whole thing. 

[Pause. Kristin looks at half empty glasses on table. ]

KRISTIN. Have you been drinking together, too?

JEAN. Yes!

KRISTIN. For shame. Look me in the eye. 

JEAN. Yes. 

KRISTIN. Is it possible? Is it possible?

JEAN [After reflecting]. Yes, it is. 

KRISTIN. Ugh! That I would never have believed. For shame, for shame!

JEAN. You are not jealous of her?

KRISTIN. No, not of her. But if it had been Clara or Sophie--then Iwould have scratched your eyes out. So that is what has happened--how Ican't understand! No, that wasn't very nice!

JEAN. Are you mad at her?

KRISTIN. No, but with you. That was bad of you, very bad. Poor girl. Doyou know what--I don't want to be here in this house any longer whereone cannot respect one's betters. 

JEAN. Why should one respect them?

KRISTIN. Yes, you can say that, you are so smart. But I don't want toserve people who behave so. It reflects on oneself, I think. 

JEAN. Yes, but it's a comfort that they're not a bit better than we. 

KRISTIN. No, I don't, think so, for if they are not better there's nouse in our trying to better ourselves in this world. And to think of theCount! Think of him who has had so much sorrow all his days? No, I don'twant to stay in this house any longer! And to think of it being withsuch as you! If it had been the Lieutenant--

JEAN. What's that?

KRISTIN. Yes! He was good enough, to be sure, but there's a differencebetween people just the same. No, this I can never forget. Miss Juliewho was always so proud and indifferent to men! One never would believethat she would give herself--and to one like you! She who was ready tohave Diana shot because she would run after the gatekeeper's mongrels. Yes, I say it--and here I won't stay any longer and on the twenty-fourthof October I go my way. 

JEAN. And then?

KRISTIN. Well, as we've come to talk about it, it's high time you lookedaround for something else, since we're going to get married. 

JEAN. Well, what'll I look for? A married man couldn't get a place likethis. 

KRISTIN. No, of course not. But you could take a gatekeeper's job orlook for it watchman's place in some factory. The government's plums arefew, but they are sure. And then the wife and children get a pension--

JEAN [With a grimace]. That's all very fine--all that, but it's notexactly in my line to think about dying for my wife and children justnow. I must confess that I have slightly different aspirations. 

KRISTIN. Aspirations? Aspirations--anyway you have obligations. Think ofthose, you. 

JEAN. Don't irritate me with talk about my obligations. I know my ownbusiness. [He listens. ] We'll have plenty of time for all this someother day. Go and get ready and we'll be off to church. 

KRISTIN [Listening]. Who's that walking upstairs?

JEAN. I don't know--unless it's Clara. 

KRISTIN [Starting to go]. It could never be the Count who has come homewithout anyone hearing him?

JEAN [Frightened]. The Count! I can't believe that. He would have rungthe bell. 

KRISTIN. God help us! Never have I been mixed up in anything like this!

[Exit Kristin. The sun has risen and lights up the scene. Presently thesunshine comes in through windows at an angle. Jean goes to door andmotions. Enter Julie, dressed for travelling, carrying a small bird cagecovered with a cloth, which she places on a chair. ]

JULIE. I am ready!

JEAN. Hush, Kristin is stirring!

[Julie frightened and nervous throughout following scene. ]

JULIE. Does she suspect anything?

JEAN. She knows nothing. But, good heavens, how you look!

JULIE. Why?

JEAN. You are pale as a ghost. 

JULIE [Sighs]. Am I? Oh, the sun is rising, the sun!

JEAN. And now the troll's spell is broken. 

JULIE. The trolls have indeed been at work this night. But, Jean, listen--come with me, I have money enough. 

JEAN. Plenty?

JULIE. Enough to start with. Go with me for I can't go alone--today, midsummer day. Think of the stuffy train, packed in with the crowds ofpeople staring at one; the long stops at the stations when one wouldbe speeding away. No, I cannot, I cannot! And then the memories, childhood's memories of midsummer day--the church decorated with birchbranches and syringa blossoms; the festive dinner table with relationsand friends, afternoon in the park, music, dancing, flowers andgames--oh, one may fly, fly, but anguish and remorse follow in the packwagon. 

JEAN. I'll go with you--if we leave instantly--before it's too late. 

JULIE. Go and dress then. [She takes up bird cage. ]

JEAN. But no baggage! That would betray us. 

JULIE. Nothing but what we can take in the coupé. 

[Jean has picked up his hat. ]

JEAN. What have you there?

JULIE. It's only my canary. I cannot, will not, leave it behind. 

JEAN. So we are to lug a bird cage with us. Are you crazy? Let go of it. 

JULIE. It is all I take from home. The only living creature that caresfor me. Don't be hard--let me take it with me. 

JEAN. Let go the cage and don't talk so loud. Kristin will hear us. 

JULIE. No, I will not leave it to strange hands. I would rather see itdead. 

JEAN. Give me the creature. I'll fix it. 

JULIE. Yes, but don't hurt it. Don't--no, I cannot. 

JEAN. Let go. I can. 

JULIE [Takes the canary from cage]. Oh, my little siren. Must yourmistress part with you?

JEAN. Be so good as not to make a scene. Your welfare, your life, is atstake. So--quickly. [Snatches bird from her and goes to chopping blockand takes up meat chopper]. You should have learned how to chop off achicken's head instead of shooting with a revolver. [He chops off thebird's head]. Then you wouldn't swoon at a drop of blood. 

JULIE [Shrieks]. Kill me, too. Kill me! You who can butcher an innocentbird without a tremble. Oh, how I shrink from you. I curse the moment Ifirst saw you. I curse the moment I was conceived in my mother's womb. 

JEAN. Come now! What good is your cursing, let's be off. 

JULIE [Looks toward chopping block as though obsessed by thought of theslain bird]. No, I cannot. I must see-- --hush, a carriage is passing. Don't you think I can stand the sight of blood? You think I am weak. Oh, I should like to see your blood flowing--to see your brain on thechopping block, all your sex swimming in a sea of blood. I believe Icould drink out of your skull, bathe my feet in your breast and eat yourheart cooked whole. You think I am weak; you believe that I love youbecause my life has mingled with yours; you think that I would carryyour offspring under my heart, and nourish it with my blood--give birthto your child and take your name! Hear, you, what are you called, whatis your family name? But I'm sure you have none. I should be "Mrs. Gate-Keeper, " perhaps, or "Madame Dumpheap. " You dog with my collar on, you lackey with my father's hallmark on your buttons. I play rival to mycook--oh--oh--oh! You believe that I am cowardly and want to run away. No, now I shall stay. The thunder may roll. My father will return--andfind his desk broken into--his money gone! Then he will ring--that bell. A scuffle with his servant--then sends for the police--and then I tellall--everything! Oh, it will be beautiful to have it all over with--ifonly that were the end! And my father--he'll have a shock and die, andthen that will be the end. Then they will place his swords across thecoffin--and the Count's line is extinct. The serf's line will continuein an orphanage, win honors in the gutter and end in prison. 

JEAN. Now it is the king's blood talking. Splendid, Miss Julie! Onlykeep the miller in his sack. 

[Enter Kristin with prayer-book in hand. ]

JULIE [Hastening to Kristin and falls in her arms as though seekingprotection]. Help me, Kristin, help me against this man. 

KRISTIN [Cold and unmoved]. What kind of performance is this for a holyday morning? What does this mean--this noise and fuss?

JULIE. Kristin, you are a woman, --and my friend. Beware of this wretch. 

JEAN [A little embarrassed and surprised]. While the ladies are arguingI'll go and shave myself. 

[Jean goes, R. ]

JULIE. You must understand me--you must listen to me. 

KRISTIN. No--I can't understand all this bosh. Where may you be going inyour traveling dress?--and he had his hat on! Hey?

JULIE. Listen to me, Kristin, listen to me and I'll tell you everything. 

KRISTIN. I don't want to know anything--

JULIE. You must listen to me--

KRISTIN. What about? Is it that foolishness with Jean? That doesn'tconcern me at all. That I won't be mixed up with, but if you're tryingto lure him to run away with you then we must put a stop to it. 

JULIE [Nervously]. Try to be calm now Kristin, and listen to me. I can'tstay here and Jean can't stay here. That being true, we must leave----Kristin. 

KRISTIN. Hm, hm!

JULIE [Brightening up]. But I have an idea--what if we three shouldgo--away--to foreign parts. To Switzerland and set up a hoteltogether--I have money you see--and Jean and I would back the wholething, you could run the kitchen. Won't that be fine? Say yes, now--andcome with us--there everything would be arranged--say yes! [Throws herarms around Kristin and coaxes her]. 

KRISTIN [Cold and reflecting]. Hm--hm!

JULIE [Presto tempo]. You leave never been out and traveled, Kristin. You shall look about you in the world. You can't believe how pleasanttraveling on a train is--new faces continually, new countries--andwe'll go to Hamburg--and passing through we'll see the zoologicalgardens--that you will like--then we'll go to the theatre and hear theopera--and when we reach Munich there will be the museum--there areRubins and Raphaels and all the big painters that you know--you haveheard of Munich--where King Ludwig lived--the King, you know, who wentmad. Then we'll see his palace--a palace like those in the Sagas--andfrom there it isn't far to Switzerland--and the Alps, the Alps mind youwith snow in mid-summer. And there oranges grow and laurel--green allthe year round if--[Jean is seen in the doorway R. Stropping his razoron the strop which he holds between his teeth and left hand. He listensand nods his head favorably now and then. Julie continues, tempoprestissimo] And there we'll take a hotel and I'll sit taking the cashwhile Jean greets the guests--goes out and markets writes letters--thatwill be life, you may believe--then the train whistles--then the omnibuscomes--then a bell rings upstairs, then in the restaurant--and thenI make out the bills--and I can salt them--you can't think how peopletremble when they receive their bill--and you--you can sit like alady--of course you won't have to stand over the stove--you can dressfinely and neatly when you show yourself to the people--and you withyour appearance--Oh, I'm not flattering, you can catch a husband somefine day--a rich Englishman perhaps--they are so easy to--[Slowing up]to catch-- --Then we'll be rich--and then we'll build a villa by LakeComo--to be sure it rains sometimes--but [becoming languid] the sun mustshine too sometimes-- -- --although it seems dark-- -- --and if not--wecan at least travel homeward--and come back--here--or some other place. 

KRISTIN. Listen now. Does Miss Julie believe in all this?

[Julie going to pieces. ]

JULIE. Do I believe in it?

KRISTIN. Yes. 

JULIE [Tired]. I don't know. I don't believe in anything any more. [Sinks down on bench, and takes head in her hand on table. ] Innothing--nothing!

KRISTIN [Turns to R. And looks toward Jean]. So--you intended to runaway?

JEAN [Rather shamefaced comes forward and puts razor on table]. Runaway? That's putting it rather strong. You heard Miss Julie's project, Ithink it might be carried out. 

KRISTIN. Now listen to that! Was it meant that I should be her cook--

JEAN [Sharply]. Be so good as to use proper language when you speak ofyour mistress. 

KRISTIN. Mistress?

JEAN. Yes. 

KRISTIN. No--hear! Listen to him!

JEAN. Yes, you listen--you need to, and talk less. Miss Julie is yourmistress and for the same reason that you do not respect her now youshould not respect yourself. 

KRISTIN. I have always had so much respect for myself--

JEAN. That you never had any left for others!

KRISTIN. I have never lowered my position. Let any one say, if they can, that the Count's cook has had anything to do with the riding master orthe swineherd. Let them come and say it!

JEAN. Yes, you happened to get a fine fellow. That was your good luck. 

KRISTIN. Yes, a fine fellow--who sells the Count's oats from his stable. 

JEAN. Is it for you to say anything--you who get a commission on all thegroceries and a bribe from the butcher?

KRISTIN. What's that?

JEAN. And you can't have respect for your master and mistress anylonger--you, you!

KRISTIN [Glad to change the subject]. Are you coming to church with me?You need a good sermon for your actions. 

JEAN. No, I'm not going to church today. You can go alone--and confessyour doings. 

KRISTIN. Yes, that I shall do, and I shall return with so muchforgiveness that there will be enough for you too. The Savior sufferedand died on the cross for all our sins, and when we go to Him in faithand a repentant spirit he takes our sins on Himself. 

JULIE. Do you believe that, Kristin?

KRISTIN. That is my life's belief, as true as I stand here. And that wasmy childhood's belief that I have kept since my youth, Miss Julie. Andwhere sin overflows, there mercy overflows also. 

JULIE. Oh, if I only had your faith. Oh, if--

KRISTIN. Yes, but you see that is not given without God's particulargrace, and that is not allotted to all, that!

JULIE. Who are the chosen?

KRISTIN. That is the great secret of the Kingdom of Grace, and the Lordhas no respect for persons. But there the last shall be first. 

JULIE. But then has he respect for the last--the lowliest person?

KRISTIN [Continuing]. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eyeof a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. That'sthe way it is, Miss Julie. However--now I am going--alone. And on anyway I shall stop in and tell the stable boy not to let any horses go outin case any one wants to get away before the Count comes home. Good bye. 

[Exit Kristin. ]

JEAN. Such a devil. And all this on account of your confounded canary!

JULIE [Tired]. Oh, don't speak of the canary--do you see any wayout--any end to this?

JEAN [Thinking]. No. 

JULIE. What would you do in my place?

JEAN. In your place--wait. As a noble lady, as a woman--fallen--I don'tknow. Yes, now I know. 

JULIE [She takes up razor from table and makes gestures saying] This?

JEAN. Yes. But _I_ should not do it, mark you, for there is a differencebetween us. 

JULIE. Because you are a man and I am a woman? What other difference isthere?

JEAN. That very difference--of man and woman. 

JULIE [Razor in hand]. I want to do it--but I can't. My father couldn'teither that time when he should have done it. 

JEAN. No, he was right, not to do it--he had to avenge himself first. 

JULIE. And now my mother revenges herself again through me. 

JEAN. Haven't you loved your father, Miss Julie?

JULIE. Yes, deeply. But I have probably hated him too, I musthave--without being aware of it. And it is due to my father's trainingthat I have learned to scorn my own sex. Between them both theyhave made me half man, half woman. Whose is the fault for what hashappened--my father's? My mother's? My own? I haven't anything of myown. I haven't a thought which was not nay father's--not a passion thatwasn't my mother's. And last of all from my betrothed the idea that allpeople are equal. For that I now call him a wretch. How can it be myown fault then? Throw the burden on Jesus as Kristin did? No, I am tooproud, too intelligent, thanks to my father's teaching. -- --And that arich man cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven--that is a lie, and Kristin, who has money in the savings bank--she surely cannot enter there. Whoseis the fault? What does it concern us whose fault it is? It is I whomust bear the burden and the consequences. 

JEAN. Yes, but-- --

[Two sharp rings on bell are heard. Julie starts to her feet. Jeanchanges his coat. ]

JEAN. The Count--has returned. Think if Kristin has-- [Goes up tospeaking tube and listens. ]

JULIE. Now he has seen the desk!

JEAN [Speaking in the tube]. It is Jean, Excellency. [Listens]. Yes, Excellency. [Listens]. Yes, Excellency, --right away--immediately, Excellency. Yes--in half an hour. 

JULIE [In great agitation]. What did he say? In Heaven's name, what didhe say?

JEAN. He wants his boots and coffee in a half hour. 

JULIE. In half an hour then. Oh, I'm so tired--I'm incapable of feeling, not able to be sorry, not able to go, not able to stay, not able tolive--not able to die. Help me now. Command me--I will obey like a dog. Do me this last service save my honor. Save his name. You know whatI have the will to do--but cannot do. You will it and command me toexecute your will. 

JEAN. I don't know why--but now I can't either. --I don't understandmyself. It is absolutely as though this coat does it--but I can'tcommand you now. And since the Count spoke to me-- --I can't account forit--but oh, it is that damned servant in my back--I believe if the Countcame in here now and told me to cut my throat I would do it on the spot. 

JULIE. Make believe you are he--and I you. You could act so well alittle while ago when you knelt at my feet. Then you were a nobleman--orhaven't you ever been at the theatre and seen the hypnotist--[Jeannods] He says to his subject "Take the broom, " and he takes it; he says, "Sweep, " and he sweeps. 

JEAN. Then the subject must be asleep!

JULIE [Ecstatically]. I sleep already. The whole room is like smokebefore me--and you are like a tall black stove, like a man clad in blackclothes with a high hat; and your eyes gleam like the hot coals whenthe fire is dying; and your face a white spot like fallen ashes. [Thesunshine is coming in through the windows and falls on Jean. Julierubs her hands as though warming them before a fire]. It is so warm andgood--and so bright and quiet!

JEAN [Takes razor and puts it in her hand]. There is the broom, go nowwhile it's bright--out to the hay loft--and--[He whispers in her ear. ]

JULIE [Rousing herself]. Thanks. And now I go to rest. But tell methis--the foremost may receive the gift of Grace? Say it, even if youdon't believe it. 

JEAN. The foremost? No, I can't say that. But wait, Miss Julie--you areno longer among the foremost since you are of the lowliest. 

JULIE. That's true, I am the lowliest--the lowliest of the lowly. Oh, now I can't go. Tell me once more that I must go. 

JEAN. No, now I cannot either--I cannot. 

JULIE. And the first shall be last-- -- --

JEAN. Don't think. You take my strength from me, too, so that I becomecowardly. --What-- --I thought I heard the bell!-- -- No! To be afraidof the sound of is bell! But it's not the bell--it's someone behind thebell, the hand that sets the lull in motion--and something else thatsets the land in motion. But stop your cars, stop your ears. Then hewill only ring louder and keep on ringing until it's answered--and thenit is too late! Then come the police and then--[Two loud rings onbell are heard, Jean falls in a heap for a moment, but straightens upimmediately. ] It is horrible! But there is no other way. Go!

[Countess Julie goes out resolutely. ]

CURTAIN. 

*****

THE OUTLAW

CHARACTERS

 THORFINN, Erl of Iceland VALGERD, his wife GUNLÖD, their daughter GUNNAR, a Crusader ORM, a minstrel, foster brother to Thorfinn A THRALL A MESSENGER

Action takes place in Iceland. 

[SCENE--A hut, door at back, window-holes, right and, left, closed bybig heavy wooden shutters. Wooden benches against walls, the high bench, a sort of rude throne, at left. The uprights of this high beach arecarved with images of the gods Odin and Thor. From the wall beams hangswords, battle axes and shields. Near the high bench stands a harp. Gunlöd stands at an open window-hole peering out; through the openingone gets a glimpse of the sea lighted by the aurora borealis. Valgerdsits by the fire, which is in the middle of the room, spinning. ]

VALGERD. Close the window-hole. 

[Gunlöd is silent. ]

VALGERD. Gunlöd!

GUNLÖD. Did you speak, mother?

VALGERD. What are you doing?

GUNLÖD. I am watching the sea. 

VALGERD. When will you learn to forget?

GUNLÖD. Take everything away from me but memories!

VALGERD. Look forward--not back. 

GUNLÖD. Who reproaches the strong viking who looks back when he isquitting his native strand?

VALGERD. You have had three winters to make your farewell. 

GUNLÖD. You speak truly--three winters! For here never came a summer!

VALGERD. When the floating ice melts, then shall spring be here. 

GUNLÖD. The Northern Lights melt no ice. 

VALGERD. Nor your tears. 

GUNLÖD. You never saw me weep. 

VALGERD. But I have heard you. As long as you do that, you are a child. 

GUNLÖD. I am not a child. 

VALGERD. If you would be a woman, suffer in silence. 

GUNLÖD. I'll cast sorrow from me, mother. 

VALGERD. No, no--bury it, as your deepest treasure. The seed must notlie on top of the earth if it would sprout and ripen. You have a deepsorrow. It should bear great gladness--and great peace. 

GUNLÖD [After a pause]. I shall forget. 

VALGERD. Everything?

GUNLÖD. I shall try. 

VALGERD. Can you forget your father's hardness?

GUNLÖD. That I have forgotten. 

VALGERD. Can you forget that there was a time when your fore-fathers'dwelling stood on Brövikens' strand? Where the south wind sang in theoak wood when the ice-bound seas ran free--where the hemlocks gave forththeir fragrance and the finches twittered among the linden trees--andBalder, the God of spring and joy, lulled you to sleep on the greenmeadows? Can you forget all this, while you listen to the sea gulls'plaints on these bare rocks and cliffs, and the cold storms out of thenorth howl through the stunted birches?

GUNLÖD. Yes!

VALGERD. Can you forget the friend of your childhood from whom yourfather tore you to save you from the white Christ?

GUNLÖD [in desperation]. Yes, yes!

VALGERD. You are weeping. 

GUNLÖD [Disturbed]. Some one is walking out there. Perhaps father iscoming home. 

VALGERD. Will you bear in mind every day without tears that we now dwellin the land of ice--fugitives from the kingdom of Svea and hated here bythe Christ-men? But we have suffered no loss of greatness, althoughwe have not been baptized and kissed the bishop's hand. Have you everspoken to any of the Christians since we have been here?

GUNLÖD [After a pause]. No. Tell me, mother, is it true that father isto be Erl here in Iceland, too?

VALGERD. Don't let that trouble you, child. 

GUNLÖD. Then I'm afraid he will fare badly with the Christians. 

VALGERD. You fear that?

GUNLÖD. Some one is out there. 

VALGERD [Anxiously]. Did you see the ship lying in the inlet thismorning?

GUNLÖD. With heart-felt gladness!

VALGERD. Bore it the figure-head of Thorfinn?

GUNLÖD. That I could not make out. 

VALGERD. Have a care, girl. 

GUNLÖD. Is it tonight that I may go out?

VALGERD. Tomorrow--that you know well. 

GUNLÖD Mother!

VALGERD [Going]. Mind the fire. [Valgerd goes. ]

[Gunlöd looks after her mother, then cautiously takes from her breast acrucifix, puts it on the high bench and falls on her knees. ]

GUNLÖD. Christ, Christ, forgive me the lie I told. [Springs up noticingthe images of the gods on the high bench. ] No, I cannot pray beforethese wicked images. [She looks for another place. ] Holy St. Olof, holy--oh, I can't remember how the bishop named her! God! God! Cast menot into purgatory for this sin! I will repeat the whole long prayerof the monks--credo, credo--in patrem--oh, I have forgotten that too. Ishall give five tall candles for the altar of the mother of God the nexttime I go to the chapel--Credo, in patrem omnipotentem--[Kissing thecrucifix eagerly. ]

[A song is heard outside the hut accompanied by a lyre. ]

 A crusader went out to the Holy Land, O, Christ, take the maiden's soul in hand, And to your kingdom bring her! I'll return, mayhap, when the spruce trees bloom. 

 Summers three he wanders far from thee, Where nightingales sing their delight, And masses he holds both day and night, At the holy sepulchre's chapel. I'll return, mayhap, when the spruce trees bloom. 

 When the palm trees bud on Jordan's strand, Then makes he a prayer to God, That he may return to his native land, And press to his heart his love. I'll return, my love, when the spruce trees bloom. 

GUNLÖD [At beginning of song springs up and then listens with more andmore agitation and eagerness. When the song is over she goes toward doorto bolt it, but so slowly that Gunnar is able to enter before she slipsthe bolt. Gunnar is clad in the costume of a crusader with a lyre swungacross his shoulder. ]

GUNNAR. Gunlöd! [They embrace. Gunlöd pulls away and goes toward door. ]You are afraid of me? What is it, Gunlöd?

GUNLÖD. You never took me in your arms before!

GUNNAR. We were children then!

GUNLÖD You are right--we were children then. What means that silverfalcon on your shield? I saw it on your ship's bow this morning, too. 

GUNNAR. You saw my ship--you knew my song, and you would have barred thedoor against me! What am I to understand, Gunlöd?

GUNLÖD. Oh, ask me nothing! I am so unquiet of spirit but sit and let metalk to you. 

GUNNAR [Sits]. You are silent. 

GUNLÖD. You are silent, too. 

GUNNAR [Pulls her to his side]. Gunlöd, Gunlöd--has the snow fallen soheavily that memories have been chilled even the mountains here burstforth with fire--and you are cold as a snow wind--but speak--speak! Whyare you here in Iceland--and what has happened?

GUNLÖD. Terrible things--and more may follow if you stay herelonger. --[Springs up]. Go, before my father comes. 

GUNNAR. Do you think I would leave you now--I, who have sought you forlong years? When I could not find you in the home land I went to thewars against the Saracens to seek you the other side of the grave. Butmy time had not yet come; when the fourth spring came, I heard throughwandering merchants that you were to be found here. Now I have foundyou--and you wish me to leave you in this heathen darkness. 

GUNLÖD. I am not alone!

GUNNAR. Your father does not love you--your mother does not understandyou, and they are both heathen. 

GUNLÖD. I have friends among the Christians. 

GUNNAR. Then you have become a Christian, Gunlöd!--the holy virgin hasheard my prayer. 

GUNLÖD. Yes, yes! Oh, let me kiss the cross you bear on yourshoulder--that you got at the holy sepulchre!

GUNNAR. Now I give you a brother Christian's kiss--the first, Gunlöd, you have from me. 

GUNLÖD. You must never kiss me again. 

GUNNAR. But tell me, how did you become a Christian?

GUNLÖD. First I believed in my father--he was so strong; then I believedin my mother--she was so good; last I believed in you--you were sostrong and good--and so beautiful; and when you went away--I stoodalone--myself I could never believe in--I was so weak; then I thought ofyour God, whom you so often begged me to love--and I prayed to Him. 

GUNNAR. And the old gods--

GUNLÖD. I have never been able to believe in them--although my fathercommanded me to do so--they are wicked. 

GUNNAR. Who has taught you to pray? Who gave you the crucifix?

GUNLÖD. The bishop. 

GUNNAR. And that no one knows?

GUNLÖD. No--I have had to lie to my mother and that troubles me. 

GUNNAR. And your father hid you here so that the Christians should notget you?

GUNLÖD. Yes--and now he is expected home from Norway with followers ashe is to be Erl of the island. 

GUNNAR. God forbid!

GUNLÖD. Yes--yes--but you must not delay. He is expected home tonight. 

GUNNAR. Good--there beyond Hjärleif's headland lies my ship. --Out tosea! There is a land wind, and before the first cock's crow we shall bebeyond pursuit. 

GUNLÖD. Yes! Yes!

GUNNAR. Soon we should be at Ostergötland--where the summer is stillgreen--and there you shall live in my castle which I have built whereyour father's house stood. 

GUNLÖD. Does not that still stand?

GUNNAR. No--it was burned. 

GUNLÖD. By the Christians?

GUNNAR. You are so passionate, Gunlöd!

GUNLÖD. I suffer to say I would rather be a heathen. 

GUNNAR. What are you saying, girl!

GUNLÖD. [After a pause]. Forgive me, forgive me--I am in such a wildmood--and when I see the Christians, who should be examples, commit suchdeeds--

GUNNAR. Crush out that thought, Gunlöd--it is ungodly. Do you see thiswreath?

GUNLÖD. Where did you gather it?

GUNNAR. You recognize the flowers, Gunlöd?

GUNLÖD. They grew in my father's garden--may I keep them?

GUNNAR. Gladly--but, why do you care to have them when we are going tojourney there ourselves?

GUNLÖD. I shall look at them the long winter through--the hemlock shallremind me of the green woods and the anemones of the blue sky. 

GUNNAR. And when they are withered--

GUNLÖD. Of that I do not think. 

GUNNAR. Then go with me from this drear land--far away, and there whereour childhood was spent we will live as free as the birds among theflowers and sunshine. There you shall not go in stealth to the temple ofthe Lord when the bells tell you of the Sabbath. Oh, you shall see thenew chapel with its vaulted roof and high pillared aisles. And hear theacolytes singing when the bishop lights the incense on the high altar. There shall you solemnize the God service with those of Christ and youshall feel you heart cleansed of sin. 

GUNLÖD. Shall I fly--leave my mother?

GUNNAR. She will forgive you some time. 

GUNLÖD. But my father would call me cowardly and that I would neverallow. 

GUNNAR. That you must endure for the sake of your belief. 

GUNLÖD. Thorfinn's daughter was never cowardly. 

GUNNAR. Your father does not love you, and he will hate you when heknows of your conversion. 

GUNLÖD. That he may do--but he shall never despise me. 

GUNNAR. You surrender your love, Gunlöd. 

GUNLÖD. Love!--I remember--there was a maiden--she had a friend whowent away--after, she was never again glad--she only sat sewing silk andgold--what she was making no one knew--and when they asked her shewould only weep. And when they asked her why she wept, she neveranswered--only wept. She grew pale of cheek and her mother made readyher shroud. --Then there came an old woman and she said it was love. Gunnar, --I never wept when you went away as father says it is weak toshed tears; I never sewed silk and gold for that my mother has nevertaught me to do--then had I not love?

GUNNAR. You have often thought of me during these years?

GUNLÖD. I have dreamed so often of you, and this morning when I stood bythe window where I linger so willingly and, gazing over the sea, I sawyour ship come up out of the east, I became unquiet although I did notknow it was your ship. 

GUNNAR. Why do you gaze so willingly over the sea?

GUNLÖD. You ask many questions!

GUNNAR. Why did you want to close the door against me?

GUNLÖD. [Silent]. 

GUNNAR. Why didn't you close it?

GUNLÖD. [Silent]. 

GUNNAR. Why are you silent?

[Gunlöd bursts into tears. ]

GUNNAR. You weep, Gunlöd, and you know why? I know, --you love! [Takesher in his arms and kisses her. ]

GUNLÖD. [Tearing herself away]. You must not kiss me! Go!

GUNNAR. Yes--and you shall go with me. 

GUNLÖD. I do not care to be commanded by you--and I shall not obey. 

GUNNAR. The volcano gives forth fire--and burns itself out!

GUNLÖD. You have destroyed my peace--forever! Go and let me forget you. 

GUNNAR. Do you know what the silver falcon with the ribbon stands for?It is the symbol of the wild girl I shall tame. 

GUNLÖD. [With force]. You! Go before I hate you!--No one yet has bent mywill!

GUNNAR. The wild fire of the viking's blood still burns in your veins, but it shall be quenched. A day and a night shall I wait for you. Andyou will come--mild as a dove seeking shelter, although you now wouldfly above the clouds like a wild falcon. But I still hold the ribbon inmy hand--that is your love, which you cannot tear away. When twilightfalls again you will come. Till then, farewell. [Goes to the door andstops. ]

GUNLÖD. [Silent. ]

GUNNAR. [Going. ] Farewell. 

GUNLÖD. We shall see, proud knight, who comes first. When this garlandshall bloom again, then shall I come. [Throws garland in fire. Shewatches it burn in a thoughtful mood. When it is quite burnt she breaksinto tears again and falls on her knees. ] God! God! Soften my proudspirit! Oh, that he should leave me! [Hastens to door. At same momentValgerd enters, passes Gunlöd, and goes to fire. ]

VALGERD. Why did you not tend the fire?

GUNLÖD. [Silent. ]

VALGERD [Putting her hand against Gunlöd's heart]. You have a secret!

GUNLÖD. Yes, mother, yes. 

VALGERD. Hide it well. 

GUNLÖD. Oh, I must speak--I can't bear it any longer. 

VALGERD. When saw you a mother who did not know a daughter's secrets?

GUNLÖD. Who told you mine?

VALGERD [Harshly]. Dry your tears. 

[A pause. ]

GUNLÖD. Oh, let me go out--on the mountains--on the strand. It is sostifling here. 

VALGERD. Go up to the loft--and you can be alone. [Enter a thrall. ] Whatwould you?

THRALL. The Erl's trumpets are heard beyond the rocks and the storm isgrowing. 

VALGERD. Has darkness fallen?

THRALL. Yes, and a terrible darkness it is. 

[A pause. ]

GUNLÖD. Send out a boat--two--as many as can be found. 

THRALL. All the boats are out for the hunt. 

GUNLÖD. Light beacon fires. 

THRALL. All the fuel is so rain-soaked that we haven't had so much as atwig on the hearth all the evening. 

VALGERD. Away!

THRALL. How will it go with the Erl?

VALGERD. Does that concern you?

[Thrall goes. ]

GUNLÖD. You have not forgotten your wrong!

VALGERD. Nor my revenge! One should not lay hands on the daughter of anErl!

GUNLÖD. So be it. Now your moment has come--take your revenge--I'llshow you how--like this. [Takes a lighted torch. ] Put this torch in thewindow-hole on the right and you wreck him. Put it in the left and yousave him--

VALGERD [Interrupts]. Give me the torch and leave me. 

GUNLÖD. There is a sacrifice which can pacify your god's. Sacrifice yourrevenge. 

VALGERD. [Takes torch, hesitates, and goes quickly to left window-holeand places it there. Trumpets are heard]. You struck me, Thorfinn--Iswore revenge--I shall humble you with a kind deed. 

GUNLÖD [Unseen by Valgerd has entered and falls on her mother's neck]. Thanks, mother. 

VALGERD [Disconcerted]. Haven't you gone--

GUNLÖD. Now I shall go. [Gunlöd goes. ]

VALGERD [Alone by the window-hole]. You shout for help, you mighty man, who always helped yourself. [Trumpets are heard. ] Where is now yourmight--where is your kingdom--[A gust of wind blows out the lightedtorch. Valgerd, terribly frightened, takes torch and lights it. ] Oh, hewill perish! What shall I do? Pray? To whom? Odin? Njard? Ogir? I havecalled to them for four times ten years, but never have they answered. Ihave sacrificed, but never have they helped. Thou, God, however youmay be called--Thou mighty one, who bids the sun to rise and set, thoutremendous one who rules over the winds and water--to you will I pray, to you will I sacrifice my revenge if you will save him. 

[Orm enters unnoticed. ]

ORM. Good evening to you, Valgerd. Put on your cloak--the wind is sharp. 

VALGERD [Disconcerted, takes down torch and closes window-hole. ]Welcome, Orm. 

ORM. Thanks. 

VALGERD. How is it with you, Orm?

ORM. Tolerable enough---when one gets near the big logs. 

VALGERD [Irritated]. How went the journey I mean?

ORM. That is a long saga. 

VALGERD. Make it short. 

ORM. Well, as you know, we fared to Norway, seeking men and timber. 

VALGERD. Orm!

ORM. Valgerd!

VALGERD. You have not spoken a word of the Erl. 

ORM. Have you asked a word about your mate?

VALGERD. Where is he? Lives he?

ORM. I know not. 

VALGERD. You know not!--you, his foster brother? Where did you part fromhim?

ORM. Far out in the gulf. It was merry out there you may believe. Youshould have seen him swimming with my lyre in his hand. The sea-weed wasso tangled in his beard and hair that one was tempted to believe that itwas Neptune himself. Just then came a wave as big as a house--

VALGERD. And then?

ORM. And then--I saw my lyre no more. 

VALGERD. Orm! You jest while your lord and brother is perhaps perishingout there! I command you--go at once and seek him! Do you hear?

ORM. Why, what is the matter? You were never before so concerned aboutyour mate! You might find time to give me a drink of ale before I go. 

VALGERD. Warm your knees by the hearth. I shall go--and defy wind andstorm. 

ORM. [Taking her hounds]. Woman, woman--after all, you are a woman!

VALGERD [Angry]. Let go my hand. 

ORM. Now the Erl is saved!

VALGERD. Saved?

ORM. Yes, you have been given back to him--and that is his voice now. [Goes. ]

[Voices of Thorfinn and Orm are heard outside, Thorfinn laughingloudly. ]

VALGERD. The Erl comes--he laughs--that I have never heard before--oh, there is something terrible approaching! [Wrings her hands. ]

[Enter Thorfinn and Orm. ]

THORFINN [Laughing]. That was a murderous sight--

ORM. Yes, I promise you!

VALGERD. Welcome home, mate. 

THORFINN. Thanks, wife. Have you been out in the rain? Your eyes arewet. 

VALGERD. You are so merry!

THORFINN. Merry? Yes--yes. 

VALGERD. What became of your ships?

ORM. They went to the bottom--all but one. 

VALGERD [To Thorfinn]. And you can nevertheless be so gay?

THORFINN. Ho! Ho! Timber grows in plenty in the north!

ORM. Now perhaps we might have something life-giving. 

THORFINN. Well said! Fetch some ale, wife, and let's be merry. 

ORM. And we'll thank the gods who saved us. 

THORFINN. When will you ever outgrow those sagas, Orm?

ORM. Why do you force your wife and daughter to believe in them?

THORFINN. Women folk should have gods. 

ORM. Whom do you believe helped you out there in the storm?

THORFINN. I helped myself. 

ORM. And yet you cried out to Ake-Thor when the big wave swallowed you. 

THORFINN. There you lie. 

ORM. Orm never lies. 

THORFINN. Orm is a poet!

ORM. Thorfinn must have swallowed too much sea water when he cried forhelp to have such a bitter tongue. 

THORFINN. Take care of your own tongue, Orm. 

[Valgerd with drinking horns. ]

VALGERD. Here, foster brothers, I drink to your oath of friendship andbetter luck for your next voyage. 

THORFINN. I forbid you to speak of that again. [They drink. Thorfinntakes horn hastily from mouth and asks] Where is the child?

VALGERD [Troubled]. She is in the loft. 

THORFINN. Call her hither. 

VALGERD. She's not well. 

THORFINN [Looks sharply at Valgerd]. She shall--come!

VALGERD. You don't mean that. 

THORFINN. Did you hear the word?

VALGERD. It is not your last. 

THORFINN. A man has but one, though woman must always have the last. 

VALGERD [Weakly]. You mock me. 

THORFINN. You are angry I believe. 

VALGERD. You laugh so much tonight. 

[Goes out. ]

THORFINN. Orm! A thought comes to me. 

ORM. If it's a great one you had better hide it. Great thoughts arescarce these days. 

THORFINN. Did you notice my wife?

ORM. I never notice other men's wives. 

THORFINN. How kindly and mild she was. 

ORM. She pitied you. 

THORFINN. Pitied me?

ORM. Yes, because sorrow that laughs is the laughter of death, shethought. 

THORFINN. Woman cannot think. 

ORM. No, not with her head, but with her heart. That's why she has asmaller head but a bigger breast than we. 

THORFINN. Forebodings of evil torture me. 

ORM. Poor Thorfinn. 

THORFINN. My child! Orm! When she comes do you bid her drink from thehorn to Asa-Odin. 

ORM. The fox scents against, the wind. I understand. 

THORFINN. Be ready--they come. 

ORM. Be not hard with the child, Thorfinn, or you will have me to reckonwith. 

[Valgerd and Gunlöd enter. The latter heavy with sleepiness. ]

GUNLÖD. Welcome home, father. 

THORFINN. Do you speak truthfully?

GUNLÖD. [Silent. ]

THORFINN. You are ill, are you not?

GUNLÖD. I am not quite myself. 

THORFINN. I fear so. 

ORM [Waning a drinking horn over the fire]. Come, Gunlöd, and empty thissacred horn to Odin who saved your father from shipwreck. 

[All empty their horns except Gunlöd. ]

THORFINN [Tremblingly]. Drink, Gunlöd. 

[Gunlöd throws the horn on floor and goes to Thorfinn and buries herhead in his lap. ]

GUNLÖD. Hear me, father. I am a Christian. Do with me what you will--mysoul you cannot destroy. God and the Saints will protect it. 

[Thorfinn is beside himself with grief and rage. Rises and pushes Gunlödaway from him and tries to speak, but words fail him. Sits on his highbench again in silence. Orm goes to the women and speaks quietly tothem. They go toward door. Suddenly Gunlöd turns. ]

GUNLÖD. No! I won't go. I must speak that you, my father, may not goto the grave with a lie--for your whole life has been a lie! I shallsacrifice the child's respect--love I have never felt--and prove to youwhat terrible guilt you have gathered on your head. Know then, you havetaught me to hate--for when did you ever give me love--you taught me tofear the great Erl Thorfinn and you have succeeded, because I tremblebefore your harshness. I respect your many scars and great deeds, butyou never taught me to love my father. You always thrust me away whenI wanted to come to you--you poisoned my soul and now you see God'spunishment. You have made me a criminal--for such I am at this moment, but it cannot be otherwise. Why do you hate my belief? Because it islove and yours is hate! Oh, father, father, I want to kiss the cloudsfrom your brow. I wanted to caress your white locks and make you forgetthe sorrows that whitened them. I wanted to support you when your stepsbegan to falter--Oh! forget what I have said--open your arms [falls onher knees] and take me to your heart. Look at me tenderly--just oncebefore it is too late. Speak one word--[springs to her feet] Oh, yourglance freezes me! You will not! I shall pray for power to love you. [Bursts into tears and goes out, followed by Valgerd, Orm goes forwardto Thorfinn. ]

THORFINN. Sing for me, Orm. 

ORM. Orm sings nothing but lies. 

THORFINN. Lie then. 

ORM. Was the truth so bitter?

THORFINN. What do you say?

ORM. Never mind. You shall hear more from me later. 

THORFINN. Orm, you are my friend!

ORM. H'm--of course!

THORFINN. I lack peace. 

ORM. There are two ways to gain peace: one is never to do anything oneregrets--the other never to regret anything one does!

THORFINN. But if one has already done what one regrets?

ORM. Thorfinn! That is to say, you regret your harshness toward yourchild?

THORFINN [Angry]. I regret nothing. And as far as the child is concernedyou had better hold your tongue!

ORM. Hear you, Thorfinn--have you ever thought about what your life hasbeen?

THORFINN. Thinking is for old women--doing has been my life. 

ORM. What do you intend to do now?

THORFINN. What do I intend to do now?

ORM. Yes. 

THORFINN [Shaken, is silent. ]

ORM. You see how even a little thought struck you--think then if a bigthought should come. Why don't you dare to look back? Because you areafraid of the sights you would see. 

THORFINN. Let the past remain buried. 

ORM. No, I shall tear the corpses from their graves and they shallstare at you with their empty orbits until you quake with anguish andfear--and you shall see that with all your strength you were not a man. 

THORFINN. What are you saying, madman?

ORM. Yes, shout--you are still a boy. Yes, you--I have seen big, tallchildren with bushy beards and gray hairs and crooked backs as well. 

THORFINN. Hold your tongue, Orm. 

ORM. Shout until the hut trembles--the truth you cannot shout down. 

THORFINN. Silence, before I strike you!

ORM. Strike! Strike me to death--tear the tongue out of my mouth--withcopper trumpets shall the truth be blasted into your ears, "Your lifehas been a lie. "

THORFINN [With repressed anger and pain]. Orm, I beg of you--speak nomore. 

ORM. Yes, Thorfinn, I shall speak. Feel how the earth trembles underyou. That means an earthquake! The whole earth trembles these days, for she is about to give birth. She is to bring forth in dire pain aglorious hero. Open your eyes and look. Do you see how the east warswith the west? It is love's first conflict--the new bride trembles underthe elder's embraces, she struggles and suffers--but soon she shallrejoice, and thousands of torches shall be lighted and radiate peace andgladness, because he shall be born, the young, the strong, the beautifulprinceling, who shall rule over all peoples and whose sceptre is calledlove and whose crown is called light and whose name is the new age!Thorfinn! do you remember the saga about Thor at Utgorda Loake? Helifted the cat so high that the trolls turned pale; he drank so deepfrom the horn that the trolls trembled--but when the old woman felledhim to his knees then the trolls laughed. It was the age that vanquishedhim, and it is the age that you have warred against, and which has slainyou--it is the lord of the age, it is God who has crushed you. 

THORFINN. I have never known any god but my own strength, and that god Ibelieve in!

ORM. You don't know him--you who have so long been lying at feud withhim. It was he who drove you from your native land, and you thoughtyou were escaping him. It was he who struck your ships to splinters andswallowed up your treasures and ended your power. It was he whotore your child from you--and you said you lacked peace! It washe--[Messenger enters. ]

MESSENGER. Are you the Erl Thorfinn. 

THORFINN. I am. 

MESSENGER. You committed the coast massacre at Reyd-fiord last spring?

THORFINN [Undisturbed]. I did. 

MESSENGER. You plundered and burned Hallfred at Thorvalla?

THORFINN. Yes. 

MESSENGER. And then you disappeared. 

THORFINN [Silent. ]

MESSENGER. The Allting has now declared you an outlaw and pronounced youa felon. Your house is to be burned to the ground, and whomsoever willmay take your life. Your enemies are at hand, therefore fly while thereis yet time--make your escape this night. 

[Messenger goes out and there is a long pause. ]

ORM. Do you know who that was?

THORFINN. You may well ask that. 

ORM. It--was a messenger from that old woman who felled Thor--the age!

THORFINN. You talk like an old woman. 

ORM. This age does not want to use force, but you have violated it andit strikes you. 

THORFINN. This age cannot suffer strength, therefore it worshipsweakness. 

ORM. When you came to this island you swore peace. You have broken youroath, you have violated your honor, therefore you must die like a felon. 

THORFINN. Do you too call me a felon?

ORM. Yes. 

THORFINN. Would you dare to break an oath? Would you dare to in called afelon?

ORM [Silent. ]

THORFINN. Poor wretch! It is you who put shackles on me when I want tofly! Like a snake you coil yourself around my legs. Let go of me!

ORM. We have sworn the oath of foster-brothers. 

THORFINN. I break it!

ORM. You cannot. 

THORFINN. Then I'll kick you out of the way. 

ORM. That will be our death. 

THORFINN. Are you a man, Orm?

ORM. I've become a poet only. 

THORFINN. Therefore you have become nothing. 

ORM. I knew what I wanted, but I could not attain it. You could attainanything, but did not know what you wanted. 

THORFINN. Thanks for your song. Farewell. 

ORM. Who will sing your death song?

THORFINN. The ravens no doubt. 

ORM. Do you dare to die, Thorfinn?

THORFINN. I dare more! I dare to be forgotten!

ORM. You were always stronger than I. Farewell. We'll meet again. [Ormgoes out. ]

THORFINN. Alone! Alone! Alone! [Pause. ] I remember one autumn when theequinoctial storm raged over England's sun my dragon ship was wreckedand I was tossed up on the rocks alone. Afterward everything grewcalm. Oh, what long days and nights! Only the cloudless sky aboveand endlessly the deep blue sea around me. Not a sound of any livingcreature! Not even the gulls to wake me with their screeching! Not evena breeze stirred the waves to lap against the stones. It seemed as if Imyself were dead! Loudly I talked and shouted, but the sound of my voicefrightened me, and thirst bound my tongue. Only the even beat of myheart in my breast told me that I was alive! But after a moment'slistening I heard it no longer and, trembling, I rose to my feet, and soit was each time until, senseless, I swooned. When at last I revived Iheard the slow beats of a heart beside me and a deep breathing that wasnot mine, and courage revived in my soul. I looked about--it was aseal seeking rest; it gazed at me with its moist eyes as if filled withcompassion for me. Now I was no longer alone! I stretched out my hand tocaress its rough body; then it fled and I was doubly alone. Again I amon the rocks! What do I fear? Yes, loneliness! What is loneliness? Itis I, myself! Who am I then to fear myself? Am I not Erl Thorfinn, thestrong, who has bowed thousands of wills to his? Who never asked forfriendship or love but himself bore his own sorrows! No! No! I amanother! And therefore Thorfinn the strong fears Thorfinn the weak!Who stole my strength? Who struck me down? Was it the sea? Have I notvanquished the sea three times ten voyages? And it, has defeated me butonce--but then to the death! It was the stronger. It was a God. But whosubdued the sea that lately raged? Who? Who? Who? It was the stronger!Who are you then, the stronger! Oh, answer, that I may believe! He doesnot answer!--All is silent!--Again I hear my heart beating. Oh, help, help! I am cold, I freeze--[Goes to door and calls Valgerd. ]

[Enter a thrall. ]

THRALL. You called, Master Erl?

THORFINN [Recovering himself]. You were mistaken. 

THRALL. Yes, master. 

THORFINN. How many men are we?

THRALL. Oh--half three score I think. 

THORFINN. Are you afraid to die, thrall?

THRALL. How can I be when I believe that I shall be saved?

[Crosses himself. ]

THORFINN. What does that mean?

THRALL. The bishop has taught us to do that. 

THORFINN. I forgot that you are a Christian. 

THRALL. Do you wish me to stay in your service when you are a heathen?

THORFINN. I want to prove how little I respect their belief. We must putdouble bolts on the north gate!

THRALL. Yes, Master, but the belief is stronger than a hundred bolts. 

THORFINN. Who questioned you? [Pause. ] What happened when you becameChristians here on the island?

THRALL. Oh, it was easier than any one would think. They only pouredwater on us and the bishop read from a big book and then they gave useach a white shirt. 

THORFINN. Tell the twelve strongest to take their new axes--do you hear?

THRALL [Starting to go]. Yes, Master. 

THORFINN. Wait. [Pause. ] Do you remember what was written in that bigbook?

THRALL. I don't remember much of it, but there was something about twothieves who were hanged on crosses along with the Son of God. But one ofthem went to heaven. 

THORFINN. Did they pour water on him, too?

THRALL. The bishop didn't say. 

THORFINN. Do you know whether there are any horses in the stable?

THRALL. They must be out at pasture--but I'll see. [Starts to go. ]

THORFINN. You mustn't leave me--Stay. [Pause. ] Could you die in peacethis night?

THRALL. Yes, if I only had time for a prayer first. 

THORFINN. Does that bring peace to one?

THRALL. Oh, yes, Master. 

THORFINN [Rises, takes up a goblet]. This you shall have if you willpray for me. 

THRALL. That's not enough. 

THORFINN. You shall have ten, but if you ever tell of it--I'll take yourlife. 

THRALL. It would not help even if you gave me a hundred. You must prayyourself. 

THORFINN. I cannot, but I command you to pray. 

THRALL. I will obey--but you will see that it does not help. [Praying. ]Jesus Christ, have pity on this poor sinner who begs for mercy. 

THORFINN. That's a lie. I never begged for anything!

THRALL. You see now that it doesn't help. 

THORFINN. Give me my armor and help me buckle. 

THRALL [Helping]. You are not keeping still. I can't fasten the buckles. 

THORFINN. Wretch!

THRALL. But your whole body is shaking. 

THORFINN. That's a lie!

[Valgerd and Gunlöd enter. ]

THRALL. May I go now?

THORFINN. Go. 

VALGERD [Coming forward]. You called me. 

THORFINN. That's not true. 

VALGERD. Your enemies are upon you. 

THORFINN. What does that concern you?

VALGRED. Make ready. I have heard what has come to pass. 

THORFINN. Then it is best that you [indicating both Valgerd and Gunlöd]hide yourselves in the cellar passage. 

[Another messenger enters. ]

MESSENGER. Erl Thorfinn, we are here. Will you surrender to our superiorstrength?

THORFINN [Silent. ]

MESSENGER. You do not answer. Let the women go as we shall burn yourhome. [Thorfinn is silent. ] Your answer!

[Gunlöd who has been standing by the door, comes forward and takes abattle axe from wall. ]

GUNLÖD. I give you your answer! Ill must Erl Thorfinn have brought uphis daughter and little would his wife have loved him if they shoulddesert him now. Here is your answer. [Throws battle axe at messenger'sfeet. ]

MESSENGER. You are stronger than I thought, Thorfinn. For yourdaughter's sake you shall have a chance to fall like a hero and not as afelon. Make ready for open conflict--out on the field. [Goes out. ]

THORFINN [to Valgerd]. Out on you, cowardly, faithless woman, to guardmy treasure so ill! To make my child mine enemy. 

GUNLÖD. O, my father, am I your enemy?

THORFINN. You are a Christian; but it is not too late yet. Will you denythe white Christ?

GUNLÖD. Never! But I will follow you to death. 

VALGERD. Thorfinn, you call me cowardly. I can suffer that, butfaithless--there you wrong me. I have not loved you as warmly asthe southern women are said to love, yet have I been faithful to youthroughout life and I have sworn to go with you in death--as is theancient custom. [Opens a trap door in floor. ] Look, here have I preparedmy grave, here would I die under these smoky beams that have witnessedmy sorrows--and with those [points to the carved images of Thor and Odinon uprights of high bench] who guided us here. I want to go with theflames, and in the smoke shall my spirit rise to Ginde to receivecharity and peace. 

GUNLÖD. And I to be alone afterward! Oh, let me follow you. 

VALGERD. No, child, you are young. You may yet flourish in a milderclime. But the old fir tree dies on its roots. 

GUNLÖD. Father, father, you must not die. I will save you!

THORFINN. You?

GUNLÖD. Your kinsman Gunnar lies off Hjärleif's headland with his men. Send one of the thralls to him by a roundabout route and he will come. 

THORFINN. So! It wax out of that well that you drew your courage. Keepyour help and go if you will. 

GUNLÖD. You shall not think me a coward. I go with you, mother. Youcannot hinder me. 

[Thorfinn goes to the door, trying to conceal his emotion. ]

VALGERD. No! Stay, Thorfinn, and for once bare your big soul that I mayread its dim runics. 

THORFINN. If you cannot interpret them now then may this runic stonecrumble to air unread. 

VALGERD. You are not the hard stone you would seem. You have feelings. Show them. Let them flow forth and you shall know peace!

THORFINN. My feelings are my heart's blood. Would you see it?

[The clatter of arms is heard outside which continues until Thorfinnreturns. Thorfinn starts to go out when he hears the chatter. ]

VALGERD. Oh, stay and say a word of farewell!

THORFINN. Woman, you tear down my strength with your feelings. Let mego! The play has begun!

VALGERD. Say farewell, at least. 

THORNFINN [Restraining his feelings with effort]. Farewell, child. [Goesout. ]

VALGERD. That man no one will bend. 

GUNLÖD. God will!

VALGERD. His hardness is great. 

GUNLÖD. God's mercy is greater!

VALGERD. Farewell, my child. 

GUNLÖD. Do you dare leave me behind, alone?

VALGERD [Embracing Gunlöd]. Are you prepared?

GUNLÖD. The holy virgin prays for me. 

VALGERD. I trust in the God of love. 

GUNLÖD. And in the mother of God. 

VALGERD. I know her not. 

GUNLÖD. You must believe in her. 

VALGERD. My belief is not your belief. 

GUNLÖD [Embracing Valgerd]. Forgive me. 

VALGERD. Now to your place. 

[Gunlöd opens the wooden shutter at window-hole and looks out. Valgerdtakes it torch and places herself by the trap door in floor. ]

GUNLÖD. The strife is sharp. 

VALGERD. Do you see the Erl?

GUNLÖD. He stands at the gate. 

VALGERD. How fares he?

GUNLÖD. Everything falls before him. 

VALGERD. Does he weary?

GUNLÖD. Still is he straight-- -- --See what terrible northern lights. 

VALGERD. Have many fallen?

GUNLÖD. I cannot tell. They are drawing away from the threshing yard. Oh, the heavens are red as blood!

[Pause. ]

VALGERD. Speak! What do you see?

GUNLÖD [With joy]. The silver falcon!

VALGERD. It's an ill-omen. 

GUNLÖD. Father comes. 

VALGERD. Is he wounded?

GUNLÖD. Oh, now he is falling!

VALGERD. Close the window-hole and trust in God. 

GUNLÖD. No, not yet. A moment. 

VALGRED. Are you afraid?

GUNLÖD [Going toward door]. No! No!

[The sounds of the conflict gradually die away. ]

THORFINN [Comes in pale and wounded. ] Stay!

[Valgerd goes towards him. Pause. ]

THORFINN [On high bench]. Come here. 

[Valgerd and Gunlöd go to him. Thorfinn caresses Gunlöd's hair, kissesher forehead, then presses Valgerd's hand. ]

THORFINN [Kissing Valgerd]. Now you see my heart's blood. 

[Valgerd rises to get torch. ]

VALGERD. Now is our parting over. 

THORFINN. Stay and live with your child. 

VALGERD. My oath!

THORFINN. My whole life has been a broken oath and yet I hope-- -- --Itis better to live-- -- --

[Orm comes in wounded. Stops at door. ]

ORM. May I come?

THORFINN. Come. 

ORM. Have you found peace now?

THORFINN [Caressing the woman]. Soon, soon!

ORM. Then we are ready for the journey. 

THORFINN [Looks at Valgerd and Gunlöd]. Not yet. 

ORM [Sits on bench]. Hurry if you want company. 

THORFINN. Orm, are you a Christian?

ORM. You may ask indeed. 

THORFINN. What are you then, riddle?

ORM. I was everything. I was nothing. I was a poet. 

THORFINN. Do you believe in anything?

ORM. I've come to have a belief. 

THORFINN. What gave it to you?

ORM. Doubt, misfortune, sorrow. 

THORFINN [To Valgerd]. Valgerd, give me your hand, so. Holdfast--tighter--you must not let go until--the end. 

[Gunnar comes in and stops by door. ]

THORFINN. Who comes?

GUNNAR. You know me!

THORFINN. I know your voice, but my eyes see you not. 

GUNNAR. I am your kinsman, Gunnar. 

THORFINN [After a pause]. Step forth. 

[Gunnar remains where he is, looking questioningly at Gunlöd. ]

THORFINN. Is he here?

[Gunlöd rises, goes with slow steps and bowed head to Gunnar. Takes hishand and leads him to Thorfinn. They kneel. ]

THORFINN [Putting hands on their heads]. Eternal -- -- -- Creating -- ---- God--[Dies. ]

CURTAIN. 

*****

THE STRONGER

CHARACTERS

 MME. X. , an actress, married MLLE. Y. , an actress, unmarried A WAITRESS

[SCENE--The corner of a ladies' cafe. Two little iron tables, a redvelvet sofa, several chairs. Enter Mme. X. , dressed in winter clothes, carrying a Japanese basket on her arm. ]

[MLLE. Y. Sits with a half empty beer bottle before her, reading anillustrated paper, which she changes later for another. ]

MME. X. Good afternoon, Amelie. You're sitting here alone on Christmaseve like a poor bachelor!

MLLE. Y. [Looks up, nods, and resumes her reading. ]

MME. X. Do you know it really hurts me to see you like this, alone, in acafe, and on Christmas eve, too. It makes me feel as I did one time whenI saw a bridal party in a Paris restaurant, and the bride sat reading acomic paper, while the groom played billiards with the witnesses. Huh, thought I, with such a beginning, what will follow, and what will be theend? He played billiards on his wedding eve! [Mlle. Y. Starts to speak]. And she read a comic paper, you mean? Well, they are not altogether thesame thing. 

[A waitress enters, places a cup of chocolate before Mme. X. And goesout. ]

MME. X. You know what, Amelie! I believe you would have done better tohave kept him! Do you remember, I was the first to say "Forgive him?"Do you remember that? You would be married now and have a home. Rememberthat Christmas when you went out to visit your fiance's parents in thecountry? How you gloried in the happiness of home life and really longedto quit the theatre forever? Yes, Amelie dear, home is the best of all, the theatre next and children--well, you don't understand that. 

MLLE. Y. [Looks up scornfully. ]

[Mme. X. Sips a few spoonfuls out of the cup, then opens her basket andshows Christmas presents. ]

MME. X. Now you shall see what I bought for my piggywigs. [Takes up adoll. ] Look at this! This is for Lisa, ha! Do you see how she can rollher eyes and turn her head, eh? And here is Maja's popgun. [Loads it andshoots at Mlle. Y. ]

MLLE. Y. [Makes a startled gesture. ]

MME. X. Did I frighten you? Do you think I would like to shoot you, eh?On my soul, if I don't think you did! If you wanted to shoot _me_ itwouldn't be so surprising, because I stood in your way--and I know youcan never forget that--although I was absolutely innocent. You stillbelieve I intrigued and got you out of the Stora theatre, but I didn't. I didn't do that, although you think so. Well, it doesn't make anydifference what I say to you. You still believe I did it. [Takes upa pair of embroidered slippers. ] And these are for my better half. Iembroidered them myself--I can't bear tulips, but he wants tulips oneverything. 

MLLE. Y. [Looks up ironically and curiously. ]

MME. X. [Putting a hand in each slipper. ] What little feet Bob has!What? And you should see what a splendid stride he has! You've neverseen him in slippers! [Mlle. Y. Laughs aloud. ] Look! [She makes theslippers walk on the table. Mlle. Y. Laughs loudly. ] And when he isgrumpy he stamps like this with his foot. "What! damn those servants whocan never learn to make coffee. Oh, now those creatures haven't trimmedthe lamp wick properly!" And then there are draughts on the floor andhis feet are cold. "Ugh, how cold it is; the stupid idiots can neverkeep the fire going. " [She rubs the slippers together, one sole over theother. ]

MLLE. Y. [Shrieks with laughter. ]

MME. X. And then he comes home and has to hunt for his slippers whichMarie has stuck under the chiffonier--oh, but it's sinful to sit hereand make fun of one's husband this way when he is kind and a good littleman. You ought to have had such a husband, Amelie. What are you laughingat? What? What? And you see he's true to me. Yes, I'm sure of that, because he told me himself--what are you laughing at?--that when I wastouring in Norway that that brazen Frêdêrique came and wanted to seducehim! Can you fancy anything so infamous? [Pause. ] I'd have torn her eyesout if she had come to see him when I was at home. [Pause. ] It was luckythat Bob told me about it himself and that it didn't reach me throughgossip. [Pause. ] But would you believe it, Frêdêrique wasn't the onlyone! I don't know why, but the women are crazy about my husband. Theymust think he has influence about getting them theatrical engagements, because he is connected with the government. Perhaps you were afterhim yourself. I didn't use to trust you any too much. But now I knowhe never bothered his head about you, and you always seemed to have agrudge against him someway. 

[Pause. They look at each other in a puzzled way. ]

MME. X. Come and see us this evening, Amelie, and show us that you'renot put out with us, --not put out with me at any rate. I don't know, butI think it would be uncomfortable to have you for an enemy. Perhapsit's because I stood in your way [rallentando] or--I really--don't knowwhy--in particular. 

[Pause. Mlle. Y. Stares at Mme. X curiously. ]

MME. X [Thoughtfully]. Our acquaintance has been so queer. When I sawyou for the first time I was afraid of you, so afraid that I didn't darelet you out of my sight; no matter when or where, I always found myselfnear you--I didn't dare have you for an enemy, so I became your friend. But there was always discord when you came to our house, because I sawthat my husband couldn't endure you, and the whole thing seemed as awryto me as an ill-fitting gown--and I did all I could to make him friendlytoward you, but with no success until you became engaged. Then came aviolent friendship between you, so that it looked all at once as thoughyou both dared show your real feelings only when you were secure--andthen--how was it later? I didn't get jealous--strange to say! And Iremember at the christening, when you acted as godmother, I made himkiss you--he did so, and you became so confused--as it were; I didn'tnotice it then--didn't think about it later, either--have never thoughtabout it until--now! [Rises suddenly. ] Why are you silent? You haven'tsaid a word this whole time, but you have let me go on talking! You havesat there, and your eyes have reeled out of me all these thoughts whichlay like raw silk in its cocoon--thoughts--suspicious thoughts, perhaps. Let me see--why did you break your engagement? Why do you never come toour house any more? Why won't you come to see us tonight?

[Mlle. Y. Appears as if about to speak. ]

MME. X. Hush, you needn't speak--I understand it all! It wasbecause--and because--and because! Yes, yes! Now all the accountsbalance. That's it. Fie, I won't sit at the same table with you. [Movesher things to another table. ] That's the reason I had to embroidertulips--which I hate--on his slippers, because you are fond of tulips;that's why [Throws slippers on the floor] we go to Lake Mälarn in thesummer, because you don't like salt water; that's why my boy is namedEskil--because it's your father's name; that's why I wear yourcolors, read your authors, eat your favorite dishes, drink yourdrinks--chocolate, for instance; that's why--oh--my God--it's terrible, when I think about it; it's terrible. Everything, everything came fromyou to me, even your passions. Your soul crept into mine, like a worminto an apple, ate and ate, bored and bored, until nothing was left butthe rind and a little black dust within. I wanted to get away from you, but I couldn't; you lay like a snake and charmed me with your blackeyes; I felt that when I lifted my wings they only dragged me down; Ilay in the water with bound feet, and the stronger I strove to keep upthe deeper I worked myself down, down, until I sank to the bottom, whereyou lay like a giant crab to clutch me in your claws--and there I amlying now. 

I hate you, hate you, hate you! And you only sit there silent--silentand indifferent; indifferent whether it's new moon or waning moon, Christmas or New Year's, whether others are happy or unhappy; withoutpower to hate or to love; as quiet as a stork by a rat hole--youcouldn't scent your prey and capture it, but you could lie in wait forit! You sit here in your corner of the cafê--did you know it's called"The Rat Trap" for you?--and read the papers to see if misfortune hasn'tbefallen some one, to see if some one hasn't been given notice at thetheatre, perhaps; you sit here and calculate about your next victim andreckon on your chances of recompense like a pilot in a shipwreck. Poor Amelie, I pity you, nevertheless, because I know you are unhappy, unhappy like one who has been wounded, and angry because you arewounded. I can't be angry with you, no matter how much I want tobe--because you come out the weaker one. Yes, all that with Bob doesn'ttrouble me. What is that to me, after all? And what difference does itmake whether I learned to drink chocolate from you or some one else. [Sips a spoonful from her cup. ]

Besides, chocolate is very healthful. And if you taught me how todress--tant mieux!--that has only made me more attractive to my husband;so you lost and I won there. Well, judging by certain signs, I believeyou have already lost him; and you certainly intended that I shouldleave him--do as you did with your fiancê and regret as you now regret;but, you see, I don't do that--we mustn't be too exacting. And whyshould I take only what no one else wants?

Perhaps, take it all in all, I am at this moment the stronger one. Youreceived nothing from me, but you gave me much. And now I seem like athief since you have awakened and find I possess what is your loss. Howcould it be otherwise when everything is worthless and sterile inyour hands? You can never keep a man's love with your tulips and yourpassions--but I can keep it. You can't learn how to live from yourauthors, as I have learned. You have no little Eskil to cherish, evenif your father's name was Eskil. And why are you always silent, silent, silent? I thought that was strength, but perhaps it is because you havenothing to say! Because you never think about anything! [Rises and picksup slippers. ]

Now I'm going home--and take the tulips with me--_your_ tulips! You areunable to learn from another; you can't bend--therefore, you broke likea dry stalk. But I won't break! Thank you, Amelie, for all your goodlessons. Thanks for teaching my husband how to love. Now I'm going hometo love him. [Goes. ]