Plays by August Strindberg Volume II Part 27

JULIA. It must be a dreadful misfortune to be poor.

JEAN. [In a tone of deep distress and with rather exaggerated emphasis] Oh, Miss Julia! Oh!--A dog may lie on her ladys.h.i.+p's sofa; a horse may have his nose patted by the young lady's hand, but a servant--[changing his tone]--oh well, here and there you meet one made of different stuff, and he makes a way for himself in the world, but how often does it happen?--However, do you know what I did? I jumped into the mill brook with my clothes on, and was pulled out, and got a licking. But the next Sunday, when my father and the rest of the people were going over to my grandmother's, I fixed it so that I could stay at home. And then I washed myself with soap and hot water, and put on my best clothes, and went to church, where I could see you. I did see you, and went home determined to die. But I wanted to die beautifully and pleasantly, without any pain. And then I recalled that it was dangerous to sleep under an elder bush. We had a big one that was in full bloom.

I robbed it of all its flowers, and then I put them in the big box where the oats were kept and lay down in them. Did you ever notice the smoothness of oats? Soft to the touch as the skin of the human body! However, I pulled down the lid and closed my eyes--fell asleep and was waked up a very sick boy. But I didn't die, as you can see. What I wanted--that's more than I can tell. Of course, there was not the least hope of winning you?-but you symbolised the hopelessness of trying to get out of the cla.s.s into which I was born.

JULIA. You narrate splendidly, do you know! Did you ever go to school?

JEAN. A little. But I have read a lot of novels and gone to the theatre a good deal. And besides, I have listened to the talk of better-cla.s.s people, and from that I have learned most of all.

JULIA. Do you stand around and listen to what we are saying?

JEAN. Of course! And I have heard a lot, too, when I was on the box of the carriage, or rowing the boat. Once I heard you, Miss Julia, and one of your girl friends--

JULIA. Oh!--What was it you heard then?

JEAN. Well, it wouldn't be easy to repeat. But I was rather surprised, and I couldn't understand where you had learned all those words. Perhaps, at bottom, there isn't quite so much difference as they think between one kind of people and another.

JULIA. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! We don't live as you do when we are engaged.

JEAN. [Looking hard at her] Is it so certain?--Well, Miss Julia, it won't pay to make yourself out so very innocent to me?-

JULIA. The man on whom I bestowed my love was a scoundrel.

JEAN. That's what you always say--afterwards.

JULIA. Always?

JEAN. Always, I believe, for I have heard the same words used several times before, on similar occasions.

JULIA. What occasions?

JEAN. Like the one of which we were speaking. The last time--

JULIA. [Rising] Stop! I don't want to hear any more!

JEAN. Nor did _she_--curiously enough! Well, then I ask permission to go to bed.

JULIA. [Gently] Go to bed on Midsummer Eve?

JEAN. Yes, for dancing with that mob out there has really no attraction for me.

JULIA. Get the key to the boat and take me out on the lake--I want to watch the sunrise.

JEAN. Would that be wise?

JULIA. It sounds as if you were afraid of your reputation.

JEAN. Why not? I don't care to be made ridiculous, and I don't care to be discharged without a recommendation, for I am trying to get on in the world. And then I feel myself under a certain obligation to Christine.

JULIA. So it's Christine now

JEAN. Yes, but it's you also--Take my advice and go to bed!

JULIA. Am I to obey you?

JEAN. For once--and for your own sake! The night is far gone.

Sleepiness makes us drunk, and the head grows hot. Go to bed! And besides--if I am not mistaken?-I can hear the crowd coming this way to look for me. And if we are found together here, you are lost!

CHORUS. [Is heard approaching]: Through the fields come two ladies a-walking, Treederee-derallah, treederee-derah.

And one has her shoes full of water, Treederee-derallah-lah.

They're talking of hundreds of dollars, Treederee-derallah, treederee-derah.

But have not between them a dollar Treederee-derallah-lah.

This wreath I give you gladly, Treederee-derallah, treederee-derah.

But love another madly, Treederee-derallah-lah.

JULIA. I know the people, and I love them, just as they love me.

Let them come, and you'll see.

JEAN. No, Miss Julia, they don't love you. They take your food and spit at your back. Believe me. Listen to me--can't you hear what they are singing?--No, don't pay any attention to it!

JULIA. [Listening] What is it they are singing?

JEAN. Oh, something scurrilous. About you and me.

JULIA. How infamous! They ought to be ashamed! And the treachery of it!

JEAN. The mob is always cowardly. And in such a fight as this there is nothing to do but to run away.

JULIA. Run away? Where to? We cannot get out. And we cannot go into Christine's room.

JEAN. Oh, we cannot? Well, into my room, then! Necessity knows no law. And you can trust me, for I am your true and frank and respectful friend.

JULIA. But think only-think if they should look for you in there!

JEAN. I shall bolt the door. And if they try to break it I open, I'll shoot!--Come! [Kneeling before her] Come!

JULIA. [Meaningly] And you promise me--?

JEAN. I swear!

[MISS JULIA goes quickly out to the right. JEAN follows her eagerly.]

BALLET

The peasants enter. They are decked out in their best and carry flowers in their hats. A fiddler leads them. On the table they place a barrel of small-beer and a keg of "brannvin," or white Swedish whiskey, both of them decorated with wreathes woven out of leaves. First they drink. Then they form in ring and sing and dance to the melody heard before: