JULIA. And now it is my mother's turn to revenge herself again, through me.

JEAN. Have you not loved your father, Miss Julia?

JULIA. Yes, immensely, but I must have hated him, too. I think I must have been doing so without being aware of it. But he was the one who reared me in contempt for my own s.e.x--half woman and half man! Whose fault is it, this that has happened? My father's--my mother's--my own? My own? Why, I have nothing that is my own. I haven't a thought that didn't come from my father; not a pa.s.sion that didn't come from my mother; and now this last--this about all human creatures being equal--I got that from him, my fiance--whom I call a scoundrel for that reason! How can it be my own fault? To put the blame on Jesus, as Christine does--no, I am too proud for that, and know too much--thanks to my father's teachings--And that about a rich person not getting into heaven, it's just a lie, and Christine, who has money in the savings-bank, wouldn't get in anyhow. Whose is the fault?--What does it matter whose it is? For just the same I am the one who must bear the guilt and the results--

JEAN. Yes, but--

[Two sharp strokes are rung on the bell. MISS JULIA leaps to her feet. JEAN changes his coat.]

JEAN. The count is back. Think if Christine-- [Goes to the speaking-tube, knocks on it, and listens.]

JULIA. Now he has been to the chiffonier!

JEAN. It is Jean, your lordship! [Listening again, the spectators being unable to hear what the count says] Yes, your lordship!

[Listening] Yes, your lordship! At once! [Listening] In a minute, your lordship! [Listening] Yes, yes! In half an hour!

JULIA. [With intense concern] What did he say? Lord Jesus, what did he say?

JEAN. He called for his boots and wanted his coffee in half an hour.

JULIA. In half an hour then! Oh, I am so tired. I can't do anything; can't repent, can't run away, can't stay, can't live?- can't die! Help me now! Command me, and I'll obey you like a dog!

Do me this last favour--save my honour, and save his name! You know what my will ought to do, and what it cannot do--now give me your will, and make me do it!

JEAN. I don't know why--but now I can't either--I don't understand?- It is just as if this coat here made a--I cannot command you--and now, since I've heard the count's voice--now--I can't quite explain it-?but--Oh, that d.a.m.ned menial is back in my spine again. I believe if the count should come down here, and if he should tell me to cut my own throat--I'd do it on the spot!

JULIA. Make believe that you are he, and that I am you! You did some fine acting when you were on your knees before me--then you were the n.o.bleman--or--have you ever been to a show and seen one who could hypnotize people?

[JEAN makes a sign of a.s.sent.]

JULIA. He says to his subject: get the broom. And the man gets it.

He says: sweep. And the man sweeps.

JEAN. But then the other person must be asleep.

JULIA. [Ecstatically] I am asleep already--there is nothing in the whole room but a lot of smoke--and you look like a stove--that looks like a man in black clothes and a high hat--and your eyes glow like coals when the fire is going out--and your face is a lump of white ashes. [The sunlight has reached the floor and is now falling on JEAN] How warm and nice it is! [She rubs her hands as if warming them before a fire.] And so light--and so peaceful!

JEAN. [Takes the razor and puts it in her hand] There's the broom!

Go now, while it is light--to the barn--and-- [Whispers something in her ear.]

JULIA. [Awake] Thank you! Now I shall have rest! But tell me first?- that the foremost also receive the gift of grace. Say it, even if you don't believe it.

JEAN. The foremost? No, I can't do that!--But wait--Miss Julia--I know! You are no longer among the foremost--now when you are among the--last!

JULIA. That's right. I am among the last of all: I am the very last. Oh!--But now I cannot go--Tell me once more that I must go!

JEAN. No, now I can't do it either. I cannot!

JULIA. And those that are foremost shall be the last.

JEAN. Don't think, don't think! Why, you are taking away my strength, too, so that I become a coward--What? I thought I saw the bell moving!--To be that scared of a bell! Yes, but it isn't only the bell--there is somebody behind it--a hand that makes it move?- and something else that makes the hand move-but if you cover up your ears--just cover up your ears! Then it rings worse than ever!

Rings and rings, until you answer it--and then it's too late--then comes the sheriff--and then--

[Two quick rings from the bell.]

JEAN. [Shrinks together; then he straightens himself up] It's horrid! But there's no other end to it!--Go!

[JULIA goes firmly out through the door.]

(Curtain.)

THE STRONGER

INTRODUCTION

Of Strindberg's dramatic works the briefest is "The Stronger." He called it a "scene." It is a mere incident--what is called a "sketch" on our vaudeville stage, and what the French so aptly have named a "quart d'heure." And one of the two figures in the cast remains silent throughout the action, thus turning the little play practically into a monologue. Yet it has all the dramatic intensity which we have come to look upon as one of the main characteristics of Strindberg's work for the stage. It is quivering with mental conflict, and because of this conflict human destinies may be seen to change while we are watching. Three life stories are laid bare during the few minutes we are listening to the seemingly aimless, yet so ominous, chatter of _Mrs. X._--and when she sallies forth at last, triumphant in her sense of possession, we know as much about her, her husband, and her rival, as if we had been reading a three-volume novel about them.

Small as it is, the part of _Mrs. X._ would befit a "star," but an actress of genius and discernment might prefer the dumb part of _Miss Y_. One thing is certain: that the latter character has few equals in its demand on the performer's tact and skill and imagination. This wordless opponent of _Mrs. X._ is another of those vampire characters which Strindberg was so fond of drawing, and it is on her the limelight is directed with merciless persistency.

"The Stronger" was first published in 1890, as part of the collection of miscellaneous writings which their author named "Things Printed and Unprinted." The present English version was made by me some years ago--in the summer of 1906--when I first began to plan a Strindberg edition for this country. At that time it appeared in the literary supplement of the _New York Evening Post_.

THE STRONGER A SCENE 1890

PERSONS

MRS. X., an actress, married.

MISS Y., an actress, unmarried.

THE STRONGER

SCENE

[A corner of a ladies' restaurant; two small tables of cast-iron, a sofa covered with red plush, and a few chairs.]

[MRS. X. enters dressed in hat and winter coat, and carrying a pretty j.a.panese basket on her arm.]

[MISS Y. has in front of her a partly emptied bottle of beer; she is reading an ill.u.s.trated weekly, and every now and then she exchanges it for a new one.]

MRS. X. Well, how do, Millie! Here you are sitting on Christmas Eve as lonely as a poor bachelor.

[MISS Y. looks up from the paper for a moment, nods, and resumes her reading.]

MRS. X. Really, I feel sorry to find you like this--alone--alone in a restaurant, and on Christmas Eve of all times. It makes me as sad as when I saw a wedding party at Paris once in a restaurant--the bride was reading a comic paper and the groom was playing billiards with the witnesses. Ugh, when it begins that way, I thought, how will it end? Think of it, playing billiards on his wedding day!