ought to suppress. It's not enough that _we_ have to stick in this
misery, but we'd like to drag her down, too--that being far above all
earthly care----
THE PRINCESS. Oh, dear me!
STRÜBEL. What are you sighing about so terribly?
THE PRINCESS. Tell me, wouldn't you like to have a closer acquaintance
with your princess, some time?
STRÜBEL. Closer? Why should I? Isn't she close enough to me, my far-away
princess?--for that's what I call her when I talk to myself about her.
And to have her _still_ closer?
THE PRINCESS. Why, so that you could talk to her and know what she
really was like?
STRÜBEL. [_Terrified._] Talk to her! Heaven forbid! Goodness gracious,
no! Just see here--how am I to face a princess? I'm an ordinary fellow,
the son of poor folks. I haven't polished manners--I haven't even a
decent tailor. A lady like that--why, she'd measure me from top to toe
in one glance. I've had my lessons in the fine houses where I've applied
as tutor. A glance from boots to cravat--and you're dismissed!
THE PRINCESS. And you think that I--[_correcting herself_] that this
girl is as superficial as that?
STRÜBEL. "This girl"! Dear me, how that sounds! But, how should I ever
succeed in showing her my real self? And even if I should, what would
she care? Oh, yes, if she were like you--so nice and simple--and with
such a kindhearted, roguish little twinkle in her eye----!
THE PRINCESS. Roguish--I? Why so?
STRÜBEL. Because you are laughing at me in your sleeve. And really I
deserve nothing better.
THE PRINCESS. But your princess deserves something better than your
opinion of her.
STRÜBEL. How do you know that?
THE PRINCESS. You really ought to try to become acquainted with her some
time.
STRÜBEL. No, no, no--and again no! As long as she remains my far-away
princess she is everything that I want her to be--modest, gracious,
loving. She smiles upon me dreamily. Yes, she even listens when I recite
my poems to her--and that can't be said of many people! And as soon as I
have finished she sighs, takes a rose from her breast, and casts it down
to the poet. I wrote a few verses yesterday about that rose, that flower
which represents the pinnacle of my desires, as it were.
THE PRINCESS. [_Eagerly._] Oh, yes. Oh, please, please!
STRÜBEL. Well, then, here goes. H'm----
"Twenty roses nestling close----"
THE PRINCESS. What? Are there twenty now?
STRÜBEL. [_Severely._] My princess would not have interrupted me.
THE PRINCESS. Oh, please--forgive me.
STRÜBEL. I shall begin again.
"Twenty roses nestling close
Gleam upon thy breast,
Twenty years of rose-red love
Upon thy fair cheeks rest.
"Twenty years would I gladly give
Out of life's brief reign,
Could I but ask a rose of thee
And ask it not in vain.
"Twenty roses thou dost not need--
Why, pearls and rubies are thine!
With nineteen thou'dst be just as fair,
And _one_ would then be _mine_!
"And twenty years of rose-wreathed joy
Would spring to life for me--
Yet twenty years could ne'er suffice
To worship it--and thee!"
THE PRINCESS. How nice that is! I've never had any verses written to me
b----
STRÜBEL. Ah, my dear young lady, ordinary folks like us have to do their
own verse-making!
THE PRINCESS. And all for one rose! Dear me, how soon it fades! And then
what is left you?
STRÜBEL. No, my dear friend, a rose like that never fades--even as my
love for the gracious giver can never die.
THE PRINCESS. But you haven't even got it yet!
STRÜBEL. That makes no difference in the end. I'm entirely independent
of such externals. When some day I shall be explaining Ovid to the
beginners, or perhaps even reading Horace with the more advanced
classes--no, it's better for the present not to think of reaching any
such dizzy heights of greatness--well, then I shall always be saying to
myself with a smile of satisfaction: "You, too, were one of those
confounded artist fellows--why, you once went so far as to love a
princess!"
THE PRINCESS. And that will make you happy?
STRÜBEL. Enormously! For what makes us happy, after all? A bit of
happiness? Great heavens, no! Happiness wears out like an old glove.
THE PRINCESS. Well, then, what does?
STRÜBEL. Ah, how should I know! Any kind of a dream--a fancy--a wish
unfulfilled--a sorrow that we coddle--some nothing which suddenly
becomes everything to us. I shall always say to my pupils: "Young men,
if you want to be happy as long as you live, create gods for yourselves
in your own image; these gods will take care of your happiness."
The Princess. And what would the god be like that you would create?
STRÜBEL. _Would be?_ _Is_, my dear young lady, _is!_ A man of the world,
a gentleman, well-bred, smiling, enjoying life--who looks out upon
mankind from under bushy eyebrows, who knows Nietzsche and Stendhal by
heart, and--[_pointing to his shoes_] who isn't down at the heels--a
god, in short, worthy of my princess. I know perfectly well that all my
life long I shall never do anything but crawl around on the ground like
an industrious ant, but I know, too, that the god of my fancy will
always take me by the collar when the proper moment comes and pull me up
again into the clouds. Yes, up there I'm safe. And your god, or rather
your goddess--what would she look like?
THE PRINCESS. [_Thoughtfully._] That's not easy to say. My goddess would
be--a quiet, peaceful woman who would treasure a secret little joy like
the apple of her eye, who would know nothing of the world except what
she wanted to know, and who would have the strength to make her own
choice when it pleased her.
STRÜBEL. But that doesn't seem to me a particularly lofty aspiration, my
dear young lady.
THE PRINCESS. Lofty as the heavens, my friend.
STRÜBEL. My princess would be of a different opinion.
THE PRINCESS. Do you think so?
STRÜBEL. For that's merely the ideal of every little country girl.
THE PRINCESS. Not her ideal--her daily life which she counts as naught.
It is my ideal because I can never attain it.
STRÜBEL. Oh, I say, my dear young girl! It can't be as bad as that! A
young girl like you--so charming and--I don't want to be forward, but if
I could only help you a bit!
THE PRINCESS. Have you got to be helping all the time? Before, it was
only a cheap lunch, now it's actually----
STRÜBEL. Yes, yes, I'm an awful donkey, I know, but----
THE PRINCESS. [_Smiling._] Don't say any more about it, dear friend! I
like you that way.
STRÜBEL. [_Feeling oppressed by her superiority._] Really, you are an
awfully strange person! There's something about you that--that----
THE PRINCESS. Well?
STRÜBEL. I can't exactly define it. Tell me, weren't you wanting to go
into the woods before? It's so--so oppressive in here.
THE PRINCESS. Oppressive? I don't find it so at all--quite the contrary.
STRÜBEL. No, no--I'm restless. I don't know what--at all events, may I
not escort you--? One can chat more freely, one can express himself more
openly--if one----
[_Takes a deep breath._
THE PRINCESS. [_Smiling._] And you are leaving your far-away princess
with such a light heart?
STRÜBEL. [_Carelessly._] Oh, she! She won't run away. She'll be sitting
there to-morrow again--and the day after, too!
THE PRINCESS. And so that is your great, undying love?
STRÜBEL. Yes, but when a girl like you comes across one's path----
FRAU V. HALLDORF. [_Hurrying in and then drawing back in feigned
astonishment._] Oh!
LIDDY AND MILLY. [_Similarly._] Oh!
STRÜBEL. Well, ladies, didn't I tell you that you wouldn't find her?
Princesses don't grow along the roadside like weeds!
FRAU V. HALLDORF. [_Disregarding him--ceremoniously._] The infinite
happiness with which this glorious event fills our hearts must excuse in
some measure the extraordinary breach of good manners which we are
committing in daring to address Your Highness. But, as the fortunate
subjects of Your Highness's most noble fiancé, we could not refrain
from----
STRÜBEL. Well, well! What's all this?
FRAU V. HALLDORF.--from offering to our eagerly awaited sovereign a
slight token of our future loyalty. Liddy! Milly! [LIDDY _and_ MILLY
_come forward, and, with low court bows, offer their bouquets_.] My
daughters respectfully present these few flowers to the illustrious
princess----
STRÜBEL. I beg your pardon, but who is doing the joking here, you
or----?
[FRAU V. BROOK _enters_. THE PRINCESS, _taken unawares, has
retreated more and more helplessly toward the door at the left,
undecided whether to take flight or remain. She greets the arrival
of_ FRAU V. BROOK _with a happy sigh of relief_.
FRAU V. BROOK. [_Severely._] Pardon me, ladies. Apparently you have not
taken the proper steps toward being presented to Her Highness. In
matters of this sort one must first apply to me. I may be addressed
every morning from eleven to twelve, and I shall be happy to consider
your desires.
FRAU V. HALLDORF. [_With dignity._] I and my children, madame, were
aware of the fact that we were acting contrary to the usual procedure;
but the impulse of loyal hearts is guided by no rule. I shall be glad to
avail myself of your--very kind invitation.
[_All three go out with low curtsies to_ THE PRINCESS.
FRAU V. BROOK. What forwardness! But how could you come down without me?
And what is that young man over there doing? Does he belong to those
people?
[THE PRINCESS _shakes her head_. STRÜBEL, _without a word, goes to
get his hat, which has been lying on a chair, bows abruptly, and is
about to leave_.
THE PRINCESS. Oh, no! That wouldn't be nice. Not that way----
FRAU V. BROOK. [_Amazed._] What? What! Why, Your Highness----!
THE PRINCESS. Let me be, Eugenie. This young man and I have become far
too good friends to part in such an unfriendly, yes, almost hostile
fashion.
FRAU V. BROOK. Your Highness, I am _very_ much----
THE PRINCESS. [_To_ STRÜBEL.] You and I will certainly remember this
hour with great pleasure, and I thank you for it with all my heart. If I
only had a rose with me, so as to give you your dear wish! Eugenie,
haven't we any roses with us?
FRAU V. BROOK. Your Highness, I am _very_ much----
THE PRINCESS. [_Examining herself and searching among the vases._] Well,
how are we going to manage it?
STRÜBEL. I most humbly thank--your Highness--for the kind intention.
THE PRINCESS. No, no--wait! [_Her glance falls upon the hat which she is
holding in her hand--with a sudden thought._] I have it! But don't think
that I'm joking. And we'll have to do without scissors! [_She tears one
of the roses from the hat._] I don't know whether there are just
twenty--[_Holding out one of the roses to him._] Well? This rose has the
merit of being just as real as the sentiment of which we were speaking
before--and just as unfading.
STRÜBEL. Is this--to be--my punishment? [THE PRINCESS _smilingly shakes
her head_.] Or does your Highness mean by it that only the Unreal never
fades?
THE PRINCESS. That's exactly what I mean--because the Unreal must always
dwell in the imagination.
STRÜBEL. So that's it! Just as it is only the _far-away_ princesses who
are always near to us.
FRAU V. BROOK. Permit me to remark, Your Highness--that it is _high_
time----
THE PRINCESS. As you see, those who are near must hurry away. [_Offering
him the rose again._] Well?
STRÜBEL. [_Is about to take it, but lets his hand fall._] With the
far-away princess there--[_pointing down_] it would have been in
harmony, but with the--[_Shakes his head, then softly and with
emotion._] No, thanks--I'd rather not.
[_He bows and goes out._
THE PRINCESS. [_Smiling pensively, throws away the artificial flower._]
I'm going to ask my fiancé to let me send him a rose.
FRAU V. BROOK. Your Highness, I am _very_ much--surprised!
THE PRINCESS. Well, I told you that I wasn't sleepy.
CURTAIN
THE STRONGER
BY
AUGUST STRINDBERG
AUGUST STRINDBERG
August Strindberg, Sweden's foremost dramatist, was born at Stockholm in
1849. He attended the University of Upsala but did not graduate. In 1872
he wrote _Master Olaf_, which was for six years steadily refused by
managers. When it did appear it inaugurated the Swedish dramatic
renascence. By turns Strindberg was schoolmaster, journalist, dramatist,
writer of scientific and political treatises, and writer of short
stories. In 1883 he left Sweden and travelled extensively in Denmark,
Germany, France, and Italy. He died in 1912.
As a dramatist Strindberg's chief strength lies not so much in dramatic
technique as it does in his trenchant and searching power of analysis of
the human mind. His chief plays are very exact and narrow views of the
feminine soul. Some of his own domestic bitterness finds expression in
the feminine studies in his plays. He is very fond of showing the power
of one character over another.
His important one-act plays are _The Outlaw_, _Countess Julie_,
_Creditors_, _Pariah_, _Facing Death_, and _The Stronger_. _The
Stronger_ has a dramatic intensity that few plays possess. Though but
one character speaks, the souls of three are skilfully laid bare.
PERSONS
MRS. X., _an actress, married_
MISS Y., _an actress, unmarried_
THE STRONGER[M]
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 Japanese basket on her arm_.
MISS Y. _has in front of her a partly emptied bottle of beer; she
is reading an illustrated 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! Yes, and you're going
to say that she was reading a comic paper--- that's a different case, my
dear.
[_A waitress brings a cup of chocolate, places it before_ MRS. X.,
_and disappears again_.
MRS. X. [_Sips a few spoonfuls; opens the basket and displays a number
of Christmas presents._] See what I've bought for my tots. [_Picks up a
doll._] What do you think of this? Lisa is to have it. She can roll her
eyes and twist her head, do you see? Fine, is it not? And here's a cork
pistol for Carl.
[_Loads the pistol and pops it at_ MISS Y. MISS Y. _starts as if
frightened_.
MRS. X. Did I scare you? Why, you didn't fear I was going to shoot you,
did you? Really, I didn't think you could believe that of me. If you
were to shoot _me_--well, that wouldn't surprise me the least. I've got
in your way once, and I know you'll never forget it--but I couldn't help
it. You still think I intrigued you away from the Royal Theatre, and I
didn't do anything of the kind--although you think so. But it doesn't
matter what I say, of course--you believe it was I just the same.
[_Pulls out a pair of embroidered slippers._] Well, these are for my
hubby--tulips--I've embroidered them myself. H'm!--I hate tulips--and he
must have them on everything.
[MISS Y. _looks up from the paper with an expression of mingled
sarcasm and curiosity_.
MRS. X. [_Puts a hand in each slipper._] Just see what small feet Bob
has. See? And you should see him walk--elegant! Of course, you've never
seen him in slippers.
[MISS Y. _laughs aloud_.
MRS. X. Look here--here he comes.
[_Makes the slippers walk across the table._ MISS Y. _laughs
again_.
MRS. X. Then he gets angry, and he stamps his foot just like this:
"Blame that cook who can't learn how to make coffee." Or: "The
idiot--now that girl has forgotten to fix my study lamp again." Then
there is a draught through the floor and his feet get cold. "Gee, but
it's freezing, and those blanked idiots don't even know enough to keep
the house warm."
[_She rubs the sole of one slipper against the instep of the
other._ MISS Y. _breaks into prolonged laughter_.
MRS. X. And then he comes home and has to hunt for his slippers--Mary
has pushed them under the bureau. Well, perhaps it is not right to be
making fun of one's own husband. He's pretty good for all that--a real
dear little hubby, that's what he is. You should have such a
husband--what are you laughing at? Can't you tell? Then, you see, I know
he is faithful. Yes, I know, for he has told me himself--what in the
world makes you giggle like that? That nasty Betty tried to get him away
from me while I was on the road. Can you think of anything more
infamous? [_Pause._] But I'd have scratched the eyes out of her face,
that's what I'd have done, if I had been at home when she tried it.
[_Pause._] I'm glad Bob told me all about it, so I didn't have to hear
it first from somebody else. [_Pause._] And, just think of it, Betty was
not the only one! I don't know why it is, but all women seem to be crazy
after my husband. It must be because they imagine his government
position gives him something to say about the engagements. Perhaps
you've tried it yourself--you may have set your traps for him, too? Yes,
I don't trust you very far--but I know he never cared for you--and then
I have been thinking you rather had a grudge against him.
[_Pause. They look at each other in an embarrassed manner._
MRS. X. Amelia, spend the evening with us, won't you? Just to show that
you are not angry--not with me, at least. I cannot tell exactly why, but
it seems so awfully unpleasant to have you--you--for an enemy. Perhaps
because I got in your way that time [_rallentando_] or--I don't
know--really, I don't know at all----
[_Pause._ MISS Y. _gazes searchingly at_ MRS. X.
MRS. X. [_Thoughtfully._] It was so peculiar, the way our
acquaintance--why, I was afraid of you when I first met you; so afraid
that I did not dare to let you out of sight. It didn't matter where I
tried to go--I always found myself near you. I didn't have the courage
to be your enemy--and so I became your friend. But there was always
something discordant in the air when you called at our home, for I saw
that my husband didn't like you--and it annoyed me--just as it does when
a dress won't fit. I've tried my very best to make him appear friendly
to you at least, but I couldn't move him--not until you were engaged.
Then you two became such fast friends that it almost looked as if you
had not dared to show your real feelings before, when it was not
safe--and later--let me see, now! I didn't get jealous--strange, was it
not? And I remember the baptism--you were acting as godmother, and I
made him kiss you--and he did, but both of you looked terribly
embarrassed--that is, I didn't think of it then--or afterwards, even--I
never thought of it--till--_now_! [_Rises impulsively._] Why don't you
say something? You have not uttered a single word all this time. You've
just let me go on talking. You've been sitting there staring at me only,
and your eyes have drawn out of me all these thoughts which were lying
in me like silk in a cocoon--thoughts--bad thoughts maybe--let me think.
Why did you break your engagement? Why have you never called on us
afterward? Why don't you want to be with us to-night?
[MISS Y. _makes a motion as if intending to speak_.
MRS. X. No, you don't need to say anything at all. All is clear to me
now. So, that's the reason of it all. Yes, yes! Everything fits together
now. Shame on you! I don't want to sit at the same table with you.
[_Moves her things to another table._] That's why I must put those
hateful tulips on his slippers--because you love them. [_Throws the
slippers on the floor._] That's why we have to spend the summer in the
mountains--because you can't bear the salt smell of the ocean; that's
why my boy had to be called Eskil--because that was your father's name;
that's why I had to wear your color, and read your books, and eat your
favorite dishes, and drink your drinks--this chocolate, for instance;
that's why--great heavens!--it's terrible to think of it--it's terrible!
Everything was forced on me by you--even your passions. Your soul bored
itself into mine as a worm into an apple, and it ate and ate and
burrowed and burrowed, till nothing was left but the outside shell and a
little black dust. I wanted to run away from you, but I couldn't. You
were always on hand like a snake, with your black eyes, to charm me--I
felt how my wings beat the air only to drag me down--I was in the water
with my feet tied together, and the harder I worked with my arms, the
further down I went--down, down, till I sank to the bottom, where you
lay in wait like a monster crab to catch me with your claws--and now I'm
there! Shame on you! How I hate you, hate you, hate you! But you, you
just sit there, silent and calm and indifferent, whether the moon is new
or full; whether it's Christmas or mid-summer; whether other people are
happy or unhappy. You are incapable of hatred and you don't know how to
love. As a cat in front of a mouse-hole, you are sitting there. You
can't drag your prey out, and you can't pursue it, but you can outwait
it. Here you sit in this comer--do you know they've nicknamed it "the
mousetrap" on your account? Here you read the papers to see if anybody
is in trouble, or if anybody is about to be discharged from the theatre.
Here you watch your victims and calculate your chances and take your
tributes. Poor Amelia! Do you know, I pity you all the same, for I know
you are unhappy--unhappy as one who has been wounded, and malicious
because you are wounded. I ought to be angry with you, but really I
can't--you are so small, after all--and as to Bob, why, that does not
bother me in the least. What does it matter to me, anyhow? If you or
somebody else taught me to drink chocolate--what of that? [_Takes a
spoonful of chocolate; then, sententiously._] They say chocolate is very
wholesome. And if I have learned from you how to dress--_tant
mieux!_--it has only given me a stronger hold on my husband--and you
have lost where I have gained. Yes, judging by several signs, I think
you have lost him already. Of course, you meant me to break with him--as
you did, and as you are now regretting--but, you see, _I_ never would do
that. It wouldn't do to be narrow-minded, you know. And why should I
take only what nobody else wants? Perhaps, after all, I am the stronger
now. You never got anything from me; you merely gave--and thus happened
to me what happened to the thief--I had what you missed when you woke
up. How explain in any other way that, in your hand, everything proved
worthless and useless? You were never able to keep a man's love, in
spite of your tulips and your passions--and I could; you could never
learn the art of living from the books--as I learned it; you bore no
little Eskil, although that was your father's name. And why do you keep
silent always and everywhere--silent, ever silent? I used to think it
was because you were so strong; and maybe the simple truth was you never
had anything to say--because you were unable to think! [_Rises and picks
up the slippers._] I'm going home now--I'll take the tulips with
me--your tulips. You couldn't learn anything from others; you couldn't
bend--and so you broke like a dry stem--and I didn't. Thank you,
Amelia, for all your instructions. I thank you that you have taught me
how to love my husband. Now I'm going home--to him! [_Exit._
CURTAIN
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
COLLECTIONS OF ONE-ACT PLAYS
_The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays._ The Atlantic Monthly Press,
Boston, 1921.
Baker, Geo. Pierce. _Plays of the 47 Workship_ (two volumes) and
_Plays of the Harvard Dramatic Club_ (two volumes). Brentano's, New
York City, 1918-20.
Clark, Barrett H., _Representative One-Act Plays by British and
Irish Authors_. Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1921.
Cohen, Helen Louise, _One-Act Plays by Modern Authors_. Harcourt,
Brace and Company, New York, 1921.
Eliot, Samuel A., _Little Theatre Classics_, one-act versions of
standard plays from the modern and the classic plays. Four volumes
now issued. Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1918.
Mayorga, Margaret Gardner, _Representative One-Act Plays by
American Authors_. Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1919.
Moses, Montrose J., _Representative One-Act Plays by Continental
European Authors_. Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1922.