Solstice Madness
[Exit Kristin. The sun has risen and lights up the scene. Presently the sunshine comes in through windows at an angle. Jean goes to door and motions. Enter Julie, dressed for travelling, carrying a small bird cage covered 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 of people staring at one; the long stops at the stations when one would be speeding away. No, I cannot, I cannot! And then the memories, childhood's memories of midsummer day-the church decorated with birch branches and syringa blossoms; the festive dinner table with relations and friends, afternoon in the park, music, dancing, flowers and games-oh, one may fly, fly, but anguish and remorse follow in the pack wagon.
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 coupÈ.
[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 cares for 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 it dead.
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 your mistress part with you?
JEAN. Be so good as not to make a scene. Your welfare, your life, is at stake. So-quickly. [Snatches bird from her and goes to chopping block and takes up meat chopper]. You should have learned how to chop off a chicken's head instead of shooting with a revolver. [He chops off the bird's head]. Then you wouldn't swoon at a drop of blood.
JULIE [Shrieks]. Kill me, too. Kill me! You who can butcher an innocent bird without a tremble. Oh, how I shrink from you. I curse the moment I first 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 the slain 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 the chopping block, all your sex swimming in a sea of blood. I believe I could drink out of your skull, bathe my feet in your breast and eat your heart cooked whole. You think I am weak; you believe that I love you because my life has mingled with yours; you think that I would carry your offspring under my heart, and nourish it with my blood-give birth to your child and take your name! Hear, you, what are you called, what is 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 my cook-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-and find 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 tell all-everything! Oh, it will be beautiful to have it all over with-if only that were the end! And my father-he'll have a shock and die, and then that will be the end. Then they will place his swords across the coffin-and the Count's line is extinct. The serf's line will continue in an orphanage, win honors in the gutter and end in prison.
JEAN. Now it is the king's blood talking. Splendid, Miss Julie! Only keep the miller in his sack.
[Enter Kristin with prayer-book in hand.]
JULIE [Hastening to Kristin and falls in her arms as though seeking protection]. Help me, Kristin, help me against this man.
KRISTIN [Cold and unmoved]. What kind of performance is this for a holy day morning? What does this mean-this noise and fuss?
From August Strindberg's MISS JULIE, written in 1888, first
performed in Stockholm in 1906