Gustav. Your coloring is so watery, so consumptive and thin, that the yellow of the canvas shines through. It is just as though your hollow, ashen, white cheeks were looking out at me.
Adolf. Ah!
Gustav. Yes, and that’s not only my view. Haven’t you read to-day’s paper?
Adolf. [He starts.] No.
Gustav. It’s before you on the table.
Adolf. [He gropes after the paper without having the courage to take it.] Is it in here?
Gustav. Read it, or shall I read it to you?
Adolf. No.
Gustav. [Turns to leave.] If you prefer it, I’ll go.
Adolf. No, no, no! I don’t know how it is—I think I am beginning to hate you, but all the same I can’t do without your being near me. You have helped to drag me out of the slough which I was in, and, as luck would have it, I just managed to work my way clear and then you knocked me on the head and plunged me in again. As long as I kept my secrets to myself I still had some guts—now I’m empty. There’s a picture by an Italian master that describes a torture scene. The entrails are dragged out of a saint by means of a windlass. The martyr lies there and sees himself getting continually thinner and thinner, but the roll on the windlass always gets perpetually fatter, and so it seems to me that you get stronger since you’ve taken me up. and that you’re taking away now with you, as you go, my innermost essence, the core of my character, and there’s nothing left of me but an empty husk.
Gustav. Oh, what fantastic notions; besides, your wife is coming back with your heart.
Adolf. No; no longer, after you have burnt it for me. You have passed through me, changing everything in your track to ashes—my art, my love, my hope, my faith.
Gustav. [Comes near to him again.] Were you so splendidly off before?
Adolf. No, I wasn’t, but the situation might have been been saved, now it’s too late. Murderer!
Gustav. We’ve wasted a little time. Now we’ll do some sowing in the ashes.
Adolf. I hate you! I curse you!
Gustav. A healthy symptom. You’ve still got some strength, and now I’ll screw up your machinery again. I say. [He goes behind- the square table on the left and comes in front of the sofa.] Will you listen to me and obey me?
Adolf. Do what you will with me, I’ll obey.
Gustav. Look at me.
Adolf. [Looks him in the face.] And now you look at me again with that other expression in those eyes of yours, which draws me to you irresistibly.
Gustav. Now listen to me.
Adolf. Yes, but speak of yourself. Don’t speak any more of me: it’s as though I were wounded, every movement hurts me.
Gustav. Oh, no, there isn’t much to say about me, don’t you know. I’m a private tutor in dead languages and a widower, that’s all. [He goes in front of the table.] Hold my hand. [ADOLF does so.]
Adolf. What awful strength you must have, it seems as though a fellow were catching hold of an electric battery.
Gustav. And just think, I was once quite as weak as you are. [Sternly.] Get up.
Adolf. [Gets up.] I am like a child without any bones, and my brain is empty.
Gustav. Take a walk through the room.
Adolf. I can’t.
Gustav. You must, if you don’t I’ll hit you.
Adolf. [Stands up.] What do you say?
Gustav. I’ve told you—I’ll hit you.
Adolf. [Jumps back to the circular fable on the right, beside himself.] You!
Gustav. [Follows him.] Bravo! That’s driven the blood to your head, and wakened up your self-respect. Now I’ll give you an electric shock. Where’s your wife?
Adolf. Where’s my wife?
Gustav. Yes.
Adolf. At—a meeting.
Gustav. Certain?
Adolf. Absolutely.
Gustav. What kind of a meeting?
Adolf. An orphan association.
Gustav. Did you part friends?
Adolf. [Hesitating.] Not friends.
Gustav. Enemies, then? What did you say to make her angry?
Adolf. You’re terrible. I’m frightened of you. How did you manage to know that?
Gustav. I’ve just got three known quantities, and by their help I work out the unknown. What did you say to her, old chap?
Adolf. I said—only two words—but two awful words. I regret them—I regret them.
Gustav. You shouldn’t do that. Well, speak!
Adolf. I said, “Old coquette.”
Gustav. And what else?
Adolf. I didn’t say anything else.
Gustav. Oh yes, you did; you’ve only forgotten it. Perhaps because you haven’t got the pluck to remember it. You’ve locked it up in a secret pigeonhole; open it.
Adolf. I don’t remember.
Gustav. But I know what it was—the sense was roughly this: “You ought to be ashamed of yourself to be always flirting at your age. You’re getting too old to find any more admirers.”
Adolf. Did I say that—possibly? How did you manage to know it?
Gustav. On my way here I heard her tell the story on the steamer.
Adolf. To whom?
Gustav. [Walks up and down on the left.] To four boys, whom she happened to be with. She has a craze for pure boys, just like
Adolf. A perfectly innocent penchant.
Gustav. Quite as innocent as playing brother and sister when one is father and mother. • Adolf. You saw her, then?
Gustav. Yes, of course; but you’ve never seen her if you didn’t see her then —I mean ,if you weren’t present—and that’s the reason, don’t you know, why a husband can never know his wife. Have you got her photograph?
Adolf. [Takes a photo out of his pocketbook.] [Inquisitively.] Here you are.
Gustav. [Takes it.] Were you present when it was taken?
Adolf. No.
Gustav. Just look at it. Is it like the portrait you painted? No, the features are the same, but the expression is different. But you don’t notice that, because you insist on seeing in it the picture of her which you’ve painted. Now look at this picture as a painter, without thinking of the original. What does it represent? I can see nothing but a tricked-out flirt, playing the decoy. Observe the cynical twist in the mouth, which you never managed to see. You see that her look is seeking a man quite different from you. Observe the dress is decollete, the coiffure titivated to the last degree, the sleeves finish high up-. You see?
Adolf. Yes, now I see.
Gustav. Be careful, my boy.
Adolf. Of what?
Gustav. [Gives him back the portrait.] Of her revenge. Don’t forget that by saying she was no longer attractive to men you wounded her in the one thing which she took most seriously. If you’d called her literary works twaddle she’d have laughed, and pitied your bad taste, but now —take it from me—if she hasn’t avenged herself already, it’s not her fault.
Adolf. I must be clear on that point. [He goes over to GUSTAV, and sits down in his previous place. GUSTAV approaches him.]
Gustav. Find out yourself.
Adolf. Find out myself?
Gustav. Investigate. I’ll help you, if you like.
Adolf. [After a pause.] Good. Since I’ve been condemned to death once—so be it—sooner or later it’s all the same what’s to happen.
Gustav. One question first. Hasn’t your wife got just one weak point?
Adolf. Not that I know of. [ADOLF goes’ to the open door in the center.] Yes. You can hear the steamer in the Sound now—she’ll be here soon. And I must go down to meet her.
Gustav. [Holding him back.] No, stay here. Be rude to her. If she’s got a good conscience she’ll let you have it so hot and strong that you won’t know where you are. But if she feels guilty she’ll come and caress you.
Adolf. Are you so sure of it?
Gustav. Not absolutely. At times a hare goes back in its tracks, but I’m not going to let this one escape me. My room is just here. [Points to the door on the right and goes behind ADO
LF’S chair.] I’ll keep this position, and be on the lookout, while you play your game here, and when you’ve played it to the end we’ll exchange parts. I’ll go in the cage and leave myself to the tender mercies of the snake, and you can stand at the keyhole. Afterward we’ll meet in the park and compare notes. But pull yourself together, old man, and if you show weakness I’ll knock on the floor twice with a chair.
Adolf. [Getting up.] Right. But don’t go away: I must know that you’re in the next room.
Gustav. You can trust me for that. But be careful you aren’t afraid when you see later on how I can dissect a human soul and lay the entrails here on the table. It may seem a bit uncanny to beginners, but if you’ve seen it done once you don’t regret it. One thing more, don’t say a word that you’ve met me, or that you have made any acquaintance during her absence—not a word. I’ll ferret out her weak point myself. Hush! She’s already up there in her room. She’s whistling—then she’s in a temper. Now stick to it. [He points to the left.] And sit here on this chair, then she’ll have to sit there [he points to the sofa on the left], and I can keep you both in view at the same time.
Adolf. We’ve still got an hour before dinner. There are no new visitors, for there has been no bell to announce them. We’ll be alone together—more’s the pity!
Gustav. You seem pretty limp. Are you unwell?
Adolf. I’m all right, unless, you know, I’m frightened of what’s going to happen. But I can’t help its happening. The stone rolls, but it was not the last drop of water that made it roll, nor yet the first—everything taken together brought it about.
Gustav. Let it roll, then, it won’t have any peace until it does. Good-bye, for the time being.
[Exit on the right. ADOLF nods to him, stands up for a short time, looking at the photograph, tears it to pieces, and throws the fragments behind the circular table on the right; he then sits down in his previous place, nervously arranges his tie, runs his fingers through his hair, fumbles with the lapels of his coat, etc. THEKLA enters on the left.]
SCENE II
Thekla. [Frank, cheerful and engaging, goes straight up to her husband and kisses him.] Good-day, little brother; how have you been getting on? [She stands on his left.]
Adolf. [Half overcome but jocularly resisting.] What mischief have you been up to, for you to kiss me?
Thekla. Yes, let me just confess. Something very naughty—I’ve spent an awful lot of money.
Adolf. Did you have a good time, then?
Thekla. Excellent. [She goes to his right.] But not at the Congress. It was as dull as ditch-water, don’t you know. But how has little brother been passing the time, when his little dove had flown away? [She looks round the room, as though looking for somebody or scenting something, and thus comes behind the sofa on the left.]
Adolf. Oh, the time seemed awfully long.
Thekla. Nobody to visit you?
Adolf. Not a soul. [THEKLA looks him up and down and sits down on the sofa.]
Thekla. Who sat here?
Adolf. Here? No one.
Thekla. Strange! The sofa is as warm as anything, and there’s the mark of an elbow in the cushion. Have you had a lady visitor? [She stands up.]
Adolf. Me? You’re not serious.
Thekla. [Turns away from the square table and comes to ADOLF’S right.] How he blushes! So the little brother wants to mystify me a bit, does he? Well, let him come here and confess what he’s got on his conscience to his little wife. [She draws him to her. ADOLF lets his head sink on her breast; laughing.]
Adolf. You’re a regular devil, do you know that?
Thekla. No, I know myself so little.
Adolf. Do you never think about yourself?
Thekla. [Looking in the air, while she looks at him searchingly.] About myself? I only think about myself. I am a shocking egoist, but how philosophical you’ve become, my dear.
Adolf. Put your hand on my forehead.
Thekla. [Playfully.] Has he got bees in his bonnet again? Shall I drive them away? [She kisses him on the forehead.] There, it’s all right now? [Pause, moving away from him to the right.] Now let me hear what he’s been doing to amuse himself. Painted anything pretty?
Adolf. No, I’ve given up painting.
Thekla. What, you’ve given up painting!
Adolf. Yes, but don’t scold me about it. How could I help it if I wasn’t able to paint any more?
Thekla. What are you going to take up then?
Adolf. I’m going to be a sculptor. [THEKLA passes over in front of the square table and in front of the sofa.] Yes, but don’t blame me—just look at this figure.
Thekla. [Undrapes the figure on the table.] Hello, I say! Who’s this meant to be?
Adolf. Guess!
Thekla. [Tenderly.] Is it meant to be his little wife? And he isn’t ashamed of it, is he?
Adolf. Hasn’t he hit the mark?
Thekla. How can I tell?—the face is lacking. [She drapes the figure.]
Adolf. Quite so—but all the rest? Nice?
Thekla. [Taps him caressingly on the cheek.] Will he shut up? Otherwise I’ll kiss him. [She goes behind him; ADOLF defending himself.]
Adolf. Look out, look out, anybody might come.
Thekla. [Nestling close to him.] What do I care! I’m surely allowed to kiss my own husband. That’s only my legal right.
Adolf. Quite so, but do you know the people here in the hotel take the view that we’re not married because we kiss each other so much, and our occasional quarrelling makes them all the more cocksure about it, because lovers usually carry on like that.
Thekla. But need there be any quarrels? Can’t he always be as sweet and good as he is at present? Let him tell me. Wouldn’t he like it himself? Wouldn’t he like us to be happy?
Adolf. I should like it, but
Thekla. [With a step to the right.] Who put it into his head not to paint any more?
Adolf. You’re always scenting somebody behind me and my thoughts. You’re jealous.
Thekla. I certainly am. I was always afraid someone might estrange you from me.
Adolf. You’re afraid of that, you say, though you know very well that there isn’t a woman living who can supplant you—that I can’t live without you.
Thekla. I wasn’t frightened the least bit of females. It was your friends I was afraid of: they put all kinds of ideas into your head.
Adolf. [Probing.] So you were afraid? What were you afraid of?
Thekla. Someone has been here. Who was it?
Adolf. Can’t you stand my looking at you?
Thekla. Not in that way. You aren’t accustomed to look at me like that.
Adolf. How am I looking at you then?
Thekla. You are spying underneath your eyelids.
Adolf. Right through. Yes, I want to know what it’s like inside.
Thekla. I don’t mind. As you like. I’ve nothing to hide, but—your very manner of speaking has changed—you employ expressions. [Probing.] You philosophize. Eh? [She goes toward him in a menacing manner.] Who has been here?
Adolf. My doctor—nobody else.
Thekla. Your doctor! What doctor?
Adolf. The doctor from Stromastad.
Thekla. What’s his name?
Adolf. Sjoberg.
Thekla. What did he say?
Adolf. Well—he said, among other things—that I’m pretty near getting epilepsy.
Thekla. [With a step to the right.] Among other things! What else did he say?
Adoif. Oh, something extremely unpleasant.
Thekla. Let me hear it.
Adolf. He forbade us to live together as man and wife for some time.
Thekla. There you are. I thought as much. They want to separate us. I’ve already noticed it for some time. [She goes round the circular table toward the right.]
Adolf. There was nothing 1 for you to notice. There was never the slightest incident of that description.
Thekla. What do you mean?
Adolf. How coul
d it have been possible for you to have seen something- which wasn’t there if your fear hadn’t heated your imagination to so violent a pitch that you saw what never existed? As a matter of fact, what were you afraid of? That I might borrow another’s eyes so as to see you as you really were, not as you appeared to me?
Thekla. Keep your imagination in check, Adolf. Imagination is the beast in the human soul.
Adolf. Where did you get this wisdom from? From the pure youths on the steamer, eh?
Thekla. [Without losing her self-possession.] Certainly—even youth can teach one a great deal.
Adolf. You seem for once in a way, to be awfully keen on youth?
Thekla. [Standing by the door in the center.] I have always been so, and that’s how it came about that I loved you. Any objection?
Adolf. Not at all. But I should very much prefer to be the only one.
Thekla. [Coming forward on his right, and joking as though speaking to a child.] Let the little brother look here. I’ve got such a large heart that there is room in it for a great many, not only for him.
Adolf. But little brother doesn’t want to know anything about the other brothers.
Thekla. Won’t he just come here and let himself be teased by his little woman, because he’s jealous— no, envious is the right word. [Two knocks with a chair are heard, from the room on the right.]
Adolf. No, I don’t want to fool about, I want to speak seriously.
Thekla. [As though speaking to a child.] Good Lord! he wants to speak seriously. Upon my word! Has the man become serious for once in his life? [Comes on his left, takes hold of his head and kisses him.] Won’t he laugh now a little? [ADOLF lawghs.]
Thekla. There, there!
Adolf. [Laughs involuntarily.] You damned witch, you! I really believe you can bewitch people.
Thekla. [Comes in front of the sofa.] He can see for himself, and that’s why he mustn’t worry me, otherwise I shall certainly bewitch him.
Adolf. [Springs up.] Thekla! Sit for me a minute in profile, and I’ll do the face for your figure.
Thekla. With pleasure. [She turns her profile toward him.]
Adolf. [Sits down, fixe-s her with his eyes and acts as though he were modelling.] Now, don’t think of me, think of somebody else.
Thekla. I’ll think of my last conquest.
Miss Julie and Other Plays Page 7