^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B? I I PLAYS BY AUGUST STRINDBERG CREDITORS PARIAH PLAYS BY AUGUST STIUXDBERG Pi BUSHED BT CHARLES SCRIBXER'S SONS CREDITORS. PARUH 7r» cents net ; pos'ago extra MISS JULIA. THE STRONGER 75 cont« net ; iKMtage extra THERE KRE CRIMES AND CRIMES 7.'> wnus nrt ; ixMtaffO extra PLAYS : The Drram PUy. The Unk. The Dence of Death -Part I and Part II 91.50 net; pc»ta«o extra PLAYS BY AUGUST STRINDBERG CREDITORS PARIAH TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH, WITH IXTRODUCTION3 BT EDAVIN BJORKMAN AUTHORIZED EDITION NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1912 ComuOHT. 1912. BT CHARLES SCRIBNERS SONS Publkhod October. 1012 ?■ CONTENTS I>AOE Introduction to "Creditors" 1 Creditors 7 Introduction to "Pariah" C3 Pariah C9 c»i;::n:r;0'g CREDITORS CREDITORS INTRODUCTION This is one of the three plaj's which Strindberg placed at the head of his dramatic production during the middle ultra- naturalistic period, tlie other two being "The Father" and "Miss Julia." It is, in many waj^s, one of the strongest he ever produced. Its rarely excelled unity of construction, its tremendous dramatic tension, and its wonderful psychological analysis combine to make it a masterpiece. In Swedish its name is "Fordringsagare." This indefinite form may be either singular or plural, but it is rarely used except as a plural. And the play itself makes it perfectly clear that the proper translation of its title is "Creditors," for under this aspect appear both the former and the present husband of Tehla. One of the main objec ts of the play is to reve al her inde btedness first to one and then to the other of these men, wKiie all the time she is posmg as a perso'n of original gifts. ~~ '^~~ I have little doubt that Strindberg, at the time he wrote this play — and bear in mind that this happened only a year before he finally decided to free himself from an impossible marriage by an appeal to the law — believed Tekla to be fairly representative of womanhood in general. The utter unreason- ableness of such a view need hardly be pointed out, and I shall waste no time on it. A question more worthy of discussion is whether the figure of Tekla be true to life merely as the picture of a personality — as one out of numerous imaginable 4 CREDITORS variations on a t^-pe decided not by sex but by faculties and qualities. And the same question may well be raised in re- gard to the two men, both of whom are evidently intended to win our sympathy: one as the victim of a fate stronger than himself, and the other as the conqueror of adverse and hu- miliating circumstances. Personally, I am inclined to doubt whether a Tclda can l>e found in tlie flesh— and even if found, she might seem too exceptional to gain acceptance as a real individuality. It must be remembered, however, that, in spite of his avowed realism, Strindlarg did not draw his men and women in the spirit generally designated as impressionistic; that Is, with the idea that they might step straight from his pages into life and there win recognition as human Ix'ings of familiar aspiH-t. His realism is always mixed with i«lealism; his figures are always "dcK-tored," so to speak. And they have Int-n thus treated in order to enable liieir creator to drive home the particular truth he is just then concerneest one of all available. But I susiKHt^tMt_Jjii^tTi(K^lIv stra nge way of Strind t>erg'a —resulting in such repulsive ly^ supe rior beings as G uitar, or in such grievously inferior on^'s as Adolph — pmy come nearer the temper^and nechan({, a painter GubTAV. her dirnreed husband, a high-ichool teacher {who i$ traccUing umUr an assumed nanu) S C E N E A parlor in a summer hotel on the sea-shore. The rear ira/i has a door o])ening on a reranda, l>eyond trhieh is seen a land- scape. To the right of the door stands a table irith neirsjHtjters nn it. There is a chair on the left side of the stage. To the right of the table stands a sofa. A door on the right leads to an adjoin- ing room. |i CREDITORS Adolpii and Gustav, the latter seated on tJie sofa by the table to the right. Adolph. [At work on a wax figure on a miniature modelling stand; his crutches are placed beside him] — and for all this I have to thank you ! Gustav. [Smoking a cigar] Oh, nonsense! Adolph. Why, certainly! During the first days after my wife had gone, I lay helpless on a sofa and did nothing but long for her. It was as if she had taken away my crutches with her, so that I couldn't move from the spot. When I had slept a couple of days, I seemed to come to, and began to pull myself together. My head calmed down after having been working feverishly. Old thoughts from days gone by bobbed up again. The desire to work and the instinct for creation came back. My eyes recovered their faculty of quick and straight vision — and then you showed up, Gustav. I admit you were in a miserable condition when I first met you, and you had to use your crutches when you walked, but this is not to say that my presence has been the cause of your recovery. You needed a rest, and you had a craving for masculine company. Adolph. Oh, that's true enough, like everything you say. Once I used to have men for friends, but I thought them super- fluous after I married, and I felt quite satisfied with the one I had chosen. Later I was drawn into new circles and made a lot of acquaintances, but my wife was jealous of them — she wanted to keep me to herself: worse still — she wanted also 9 10 CREDITORS to keep my friends to herself. And so I was left alone with my own jealousy. Gl'stav. Yes, you have a strong tendency towartl that kind of disease. Adoli'H. I was afraid of losing her — and I tritxl to prevent it. There Ls nothing strange in that. But I was never afraid that she might Ik* deceiving me GusTAV. No, that's what marrieut them. For it usiti to happen (piitc often that she advanceil idras that had once heen mine, and that she stcxMl up for them as her own. Yes, it even hapiKMn-d that friends of mine gave her idea.s which tlii-y had taken dinx-tly fn>m me, ani.PH. Oh yes, I am happy. I have the one I wanted, and I have never wanteil anylnxly else. GrsT.w. And you have never wanted to Ik* free? Adolph. No, I can't say that I have. Oh, well, sometimes I have imagined that it might seem like a rest to Ijc free. But CREDITORS 11 the moment she leaves me, I begin to long for her — long for her as for ray own arras and legs. It is queer tliat soraetinies I have a feeling that she is nothing in herself, hut only a part of myself — an organ that can take away with it ray will, ray very desire to live. It seems almost as if I had deposited with her that centre of vitality of which the anatomical books tell us. GusTAV. Perhaps, when we get to the bottom of it, that is just what has happened. Adolpii. How could it be so? Is she not an independent being, with thoughts of her own.' And when I met her I was nothing — a child of an artist whom she undertook to educate. GusTAV. But later you developed her thoughts and edu- cated her, didn't you? Adolph. No, she stopped growing and I pushed on. GusTAV. Yes, isn't it strange that her "authoring" seemed to fall off after her first book — or that it failed to improve, at least? But that first time she had a subject which wrote itself — for I understand she used her former husband for a model. You never knew liim, did you? They say he was an idiot. Adolph. I never knew him, as he was away for six months at a time. But he must have been an arch-idiot, judging by her picture of him. [Pause] And you may feel sure that the picture was correct. GusTAV. I do! — But why did she ever take him? Adolph. Because she didn't know him well enough. Of course, you never do get acquainted until afterward! GusTAV. .:\nd for that reason one ought not to marry until — afterward. — And he was a tyrant, of course? Adolph. Of course? GusTAV. Why, so are all married men. [Feeling his way] And you not the least. 12 CREDITORS Adolph. I? Who let my wife come and go as she pleases GusTAV. Well, that's nothing. You couldn't lock her up. could you? But do you like her to stay away whole nights? Adolpii. No, rrally, I don't. GusT.w. There, you see! [With a change of tactics] And to tell the truth, it would only make you ridiculous to like it. Adolph. Ridiculous? Can a man be ridiculous because he trusts his wife? GusTAV. Of course he can. .Viid it's just what you arc already — and thoroughly at that! Adolph. [Coitnihicely] I! It's what I dread most of all — and there's going to Ik? a change. GusTAV. Don't get excited now — or you'll have another attack. Adolph. But why isn't she ridiculous when I stay out all night? GrsTAV. Yes, why.' Well, it's nothing that concerns you, hut that's the way it is. And while you arc trying to figure out why, the mishap liius already occurred. Adolph. What mishap? GusTAV. However, the first husband was a tyrant, and she took him only to get her freedom. You see, a girl cannot have freetlom except by providing herself with a chaperon — or w hat wc call a husbaufl. Adolph. Of course not. GusT.w. And now you arc the chaperon. Adolph. I? GusTAV. Since you are her husband. Adolph keeps a preoccupied silence. Gdstav. Am I not right? Adolph. [Uneasily] I don't know. You live with a woman for years, and you never stop to analyse her, or your relation- ship with her, and then — then you begin to think — and there CREDITORS 13 yon are! — Giistav, you are my friend. The only male friend I have. During this last week you have given me courage to hve again. It is as if your own magnetism had been poured into me. Like a watchmaker, you have fixed the works in my head and wound up the spring again. Can't you hear, your- self, how I think more clearly and speak more to the point .^ And to myself at least it seems as if my voice had recovered its ring. GusTAV. So it seems to me also. And why is that? Adolph. I shouldn't wonder if you grew accustomed to lower your voice in talking to women. I know at least that Tekla always used to accuse me of shouting. GusTAv. And so you toned down your voice and accepted the rule of the slipper.'^ Adolph. That isn't quite the way to put it. [After some reflection] I think it is even worse than that. But let us talk of something else! — \Miat was I saying.^ — Yes, you came here, and you enabled me to see my art in its true light. Of course, for some time I had noticed my growing lack of interest in painting, as it didn't seem to offer me the proper medium for the expression of what I wanted to bring out. But when you explained all this to me, and made it clear why painting must fail as a timely outlet for the creative instmct, then I saw the light at last — and I realised that hereafter it would not be possible for me to express myself by means of colour only. GusTAV. Are you quite sure now that you cannot go on painting — that you may not have a relapse.'' Adolph. Perfectly sure! For I have tested myself. When I went to bed that night after our talk, I rehearsed your argu- ment point by point, and I knew you had it right. But when I woke up from a good night's sleep and my head was clear again, then it came over me in a flash that you might be mis- U CREDITORS taken after all. And I jumptnl out of bed and got hold of my Ijrushcs and paints — but it was no use! Every trace of illu- sion was gone — it was nothing but smears of paint, and I (|uakeelicve, that a paintetl canvas could be anything but a paintetl canvas. The veil ha much. When I lcK)k at the figure here I comprehend several things which I merely guessed before. You have loved li- r tremendously ! CREDITORS 15 Adolph. Yes, to such an extent that I couldn't tell whether she was I or I she. When she is smiling, I smile also. When she is weeping. I weep. And when she — can you imagine anything like it? — when she was giving life to our child — I felt the birth pangs within myself. GusTAV. Do you know, my dear friend — I hate to speak of it, but you are already showing the first symptoms of epilepsy. Adolpii. [Agitated] I! How can you tell? GusTAV. Because I have watched the symptoms in a younger brother of mine who had been worshipping Venus a little too excessively. Adolpii. How — how did it show itself — that thing you spoke of? [During the following fassage Gustav speaks vith great animation, and Adolpii listens so intently that, 7in- consciously, he imitates many of Gustav's gestures. Gustav. It was dreadful to witness, and if you don't feel strong enough I won't inflict a description of it on you. Adolph. [Nervously] Yes, go right on — just go on! Gustav. Well, the boy happened to marry an innocent little creature with curls, and eyes like a turtle-dove; with the face of a child and the pure soul of an angel. But never- theless she managed to usurp the male prerogative Adolph. What is that? Gustav. Initiative, of course. And with the result that the angel nearly carried him off to heaven. But first he had to be put on the cross and made to feel the nails in his flesh. It was horrible! Adolph. [Breathlessly] W'ell, what happened? Gustav. [Lingering on each trord] We might be sitting together talking, he and I — and when I had been speaking for a while his face would turn white as chalk, his arms and legs would grow stiff, and his thumbs became twisted against the IG CREDITORS palms of his hands— like this. [lie illustrates the morement and it is imitated by Adolph] Then liis eyes became blootlshot, antl he began io ( hew— hkc this. [lie cheirs, and again Adolph imitates him] The saliva was rattling in his throat. Ilis chesl was squeezed together as if it had lK«en closed in a vice. The pui)ils of his eyes flickeretl like gas-jets. His tongue l>eat the saliva into a lather. and he sank — sU)wly — down— Imckward— into the chair — as if he were drowning. Ami then Adolph. [In a uhisper] Stop now! GusTAV. And then— Are you not feeling well.' Adoumi. No. GcsTAV. [dets a glass of water for him] There: drink now. And we'll talk of something else. Adolph. [Feebly] Thank yon I Please go on! GusTAV. Well — when he came to he couldn't remember anything at all. He had simply lost consciousness. Has that ever happ<'ncd to you? Adolph. Yes, I have had attacks of vertigo now and then, but my jihysician says it's oidy ana>mia. GusTAV. Well, that's the Inginning of it. you know. But, l>elieve me. it will end in ci)iKpsy if you don't take care of yourself. Adolph. What can I gan to a.ssume immense proixirtions — it Invame nietamoriihosed : turned into a nightmare that jlisturlnxl their amorous slum- bers; a creditor who knockecating i»f their own pulses. lie did not prevent them from |)OsseHsing each otlier but he spoiled their happiness. And when they Ixvame awarr of his invisii)le interference with their happinens; when they took flight at hust — a vain flight from the memories that pur- sued them, from the liability they had left l>ehind. from the public opinion they could not fan* — and when they found themselves without the strength neer a .scaix-gtMit to be sacrificed. They were free-thinkers, but they did not have the courage to step forward and speak openly to him the words: "We love each other!" To sum it up. they were cow- ards, and so the tyrant had to be slaughtertHl. Is that right? Adolpii. Yes, but you forget that she etlucated me, that she filletl uiy head with new thoughts CREDITORS 21 GusTAV. I have not forgotten it. But tell me: why coultl she not educate the other man also — into a free-thinker? Adolph. Oh, he was an idiot! GusTAV. Oh, of course — he was an idiot! But that's rather an ambiguous term, and, as pictured in licr novel, his idiocy seems mainly to have consisted in failure to understand her. Pardon me a question : hut is your wife so very profound after all? I have discovered nothing profound in her writings, Adolpii. Neither have I. — But then I have also to confess a certain difficulty in understanding her. It is as if the cogs of our brain wheels didn't fit into each other, and as if some- thing went to pieces in my head when I try to comprehend her. GusTAV. Maybe you are an idiot, too? Adolph. I don't think so! And it seems to me all the time as if she were in the wrong — Would you care to read this letter, for instance, which I got to-day? [Takes out a letter from his pocket-hook. GusTAV. [Glancing through tfie letter] Hm! The handwrit- ing seems strangely familiar. Adolph. Rather masculine, don't you think? GusTAV. Well, I know at least one man who writes that kind of hand — She addresses you as "brother." Are you still playing comedy to each otlier? And do you never permit yourselves any greater familiarity in speaking to each other? Adolph. No, it seems to me that all mutual respect is lost in that way. GusTAV. And is it to make you respect her that she calls herself your sister? Adolph. I want to respect her more than myself. I want her to be the better part of my own self. GusTAV. Why don't you be that better part yourself? Would it be less convenient than to permit somebody else to 22 CREDITORS fill the part? Do you want to place yourself l>eneath your wife? Adolph. Yes, I do. I take a pleasure in never quite reach- ing up to her. I have taught her to swim, for example, and now I enjoy hearing her lx)ast that she surpasses nie Inith in skill and daring. To begin with, I merely pretendeil to Im? awkward and timid in order to raise her courage. And so it ended with my actually l)eing her inferior, more of a c«wanl than she. It almost seemed to me as if she had actually taken my courage away from me. GusTAV. Have j'ou taught her anything else.' Adolpii. Yes — but it must stay In-tween ua — I have taught her how to spell, which she didn't know iH'fore. IJut now, listen: when she took charge «>f our domestic corresix)n- denoe, I grew out of the habit «)f writing. And think «if it: as the years passetl on, lack of practice made me forget a little here and there of my gramnuir. Hut d«j you think she rwalls that I was the one who taught her at the start? No — and so I am "the idiot," of course. GusTAV. So you arc an idiot already? Adolph. Oh, it's just a joke, of course! GusTAV. Of course! Hut this Ls clear cannibalism, I think. / Do you know what's In-hind that .sort of prm-tic**? The j savages eat their enemies in order to ac(|uirc their useful \ qualities. And this woman has l)cen eating your .soul, your . courage, your knowknlge Adolpii. And my faith! It was I who urginl her to write her first book GusTAV. [Mahingafarc] Oh-h-h! Adolph. It was I who praised her, even when I found her stufT rather poor. It was I who brought her into literary cir- cles where she could gather honey from our most ornamental literary flowers. It was I who useer.sonal influence CREDITORS 23 to keep the critics from her throat. It was I who blew her faith in herself into flame; blew on it until I lost my own breath. I gave, gave, gave — until I had nothing left for my- self. Do you know — I'll tell you everything now — do you know I really believe — and the human soul is so peculiarly constituted — I believe that when my artistic successes seemed about to put her in the shadow — as well as her reputation — then I tried to put courage into her by belittling myself, and by making my own art seem inferior to hers. I talked so long about the insignificant part played by painting on the whole — talked so long about it, and invented so many reasons to prove what I said, that one fine day I found myself convinced of its futility. So all you had to do was to breathe on a house of cards. GuSTAV. Pardon me for recalling what you said at the be- ginning of our talk — that she had never taken anything from you. Adolph. She doesn't nowadays. Because there is nothing more to take. GusTAV. The snake being full, it vomits now. Adolph. Perhaps she has been taking a good deal more from me than I have been aware of .^ GusTAV. You can be sure of that. She took when you were not looking, and that is called theft. Adolph. Perhaps she never did educate me? GusTAV. But you her? In all likelihood! But it was her trick to make it appear the other way to you. May I ask how she set about educating you? Adolph. Oh, first of all — hm! GuSTAV. Well? Adolph. Well, I GusTAV. No, we were speaking of her. Adolph. Really, I cannot tell now. 24 CREDITORS GusTAV. Do you see! Adolph. However — she devoured my faith also, and so I sank further and further down, until you came along and gave me a new faith. GusTAV. [Smiling] In sculpture? Adolph. [Doubtfully] Yes. GusTAV. And have you really faith in it.^ In this ab- stract, antiquated art that dates back to the childhood of civilisation.' Do you believe that you can obtain your effect by pure form — by the tlirce dimensions — tell me.' That you can reach the practical mind of our own day, and convey an illusion to it, without the use of colour — without colour, mind you — do you really believe that? Adolph. [Crushed] No! GusTAV. Well, I don't either. Adolph. Why, then, did you say you did? GusTAV. Because I piticut they were dreadful, and I regret them — regret them very much, Gustav. Don't do it! Tell me now? Adolph. I said: "Old flirt!" Gustav. What more did you say? CREDITORS 29 Adolph. Nothing at all. GusTAV. Yes, you did, but you have forgotten it— perhaps because you don't dare remember it. You have put it away in a secret drawer, but you have got to open it now! Adolph. I can't remember! GusTAV. But I know. This is what you said : "You ought to be ashamed of flirting when you are too old to have any more lovers!" Adolph. Did I say that.'' I must have said it!— But how can you know that I did.-* GusTAV. I heard her tell the story on board the boat as I came here, Adolph. To whom.? GusTAv. To fom- young men who formed her company. She is already developing a taste for chaste yoimg men, just like Adolph. But there is nothing wrong in that.'* GusTAV. No more than in playing brother and sister when you are papa and mamma. Adolph. So you have seen her then.'* GusTAV. Yes, I have. But you have never seen her when you didn't — I mean, when you were not present. And there's the reason, you see, why a husband can never really know his wife. Have you a portrait of her.'' Adolph takes a photograph from his pocketbook. There is a look of aroused curiosity on his face. GusTAV. You were not present when this was taken.'' Adolph. No. GusTAV. Look at it. Does it bear much resemblance to the portrait you painted of her? Hardly any! The features are the same, but the expression is quite different. But you don't see this, because your own picture of her creeps in between your eyes and this one. Look at it now as a painter, without 30 CREDITORS giving a thought to the original. What docs it represent? Nothing, so far as I can see, but an affected coquette inviting somebody to come and play with her. Do you notice this CATiical line around the mouth which you are never allowed to see.' Can you see that her eyes are seeking out some man who is not you.' Do you observe that her dress is cut low at the neck, that her hair is done up in a different way, that her sleeve has managed to slip back from her arm.^ Can you sec? Adolph. Yes — now J see. GusTAV. Look out, my boy! Adolph. For what? GusTAV. For her revenge! Bear in mind that when you said she could not attract a man, you struck at what to her is most sacred — the one thing al>ove all others. If you had told her that she wrote nothing but nonsense, she would have laughed at your poor taste. But as it is — believe me, it will not be her fault if her desire for revenge has not already been satisfied. Adolph. I must know if it is so! GusTAV. Find out! Adolph. Find out? GusTAv. Watch — I'll assist you, if you want me to. Adolph. As I am to die anyhow — it may as well come first as last! ^Miat ami todo? GusTAV. First of all a piece of information: has your wife any vulnerable pouit? Adolph. Hardly! I think she must have nine lives, like a cat. GusTAV. There — that was the boat whisthng at the landing — now she'll soon be here. Adolph. Then I must go down and meet her. GusTAV. No, you are to stay here. You have to be im- CREDITORS 31 polite. If her conscience is clear, you'll catch it until your ears tingle. If she is guilty, she'll come up and pet you. Adolph. Are you so sure of that.' GusTAV. Not quite, because a rabbit will sometimes turn and run in loops, but I'll follow. My room is next to this. [He paints to the door on the right} There I shall take up my position and watch you while you are plaj'ing the game in here. But when you are done, we'll change parts: I'll enter the cage and do tricks with the snake while you stick to the key-hole. Then we meet in the park to compare notes. But keep your back stiff. And if j'ou feel yourself weakening, knock twice on the floor with a chair. Adolph. All right! — But don't go away. I must be sure that you are in the next room. GusTAV. You can be quite sure of that. But don't get scared afterward, when you watch me dissecting a human soul and laying out its various parts on the table. They say it is rather hard on a beginner, but once you have seen it done, you never want to miss it. — And be sure to remember one thing : not a word about having met me, or ha\'ing made any new acquaintance whatever while she was away. Not one word! And I'll discover her weak point by mj^self. Hush, she has arrived — she is in her room now. She's humming to herself. That means she is in a rage! — Now, straight in the back, please! And sit do^\Ti on that chair over there, so that she has to sit here — then I can watch both of you at the same time. Adolph. It's only fifteen minutes to dinner — and no new guests have arrived — for I haven't heard the bell ring. That means we shall be by ourselves — worse luck! GusTAV. Are you weak? Adolph. I am nothing at all ! — Yes, I am afraid of what is now coming! But I cannot keep it from coming! The stone 32 CREDITORS has been set rolling — and it was not the first drop of water that started it — nor was it the last one — but all of them to- gether. GusTAV. Let it roll then — for peace will come in no other way. Good-bye for a while now! [Goc^ ou/J Adolpii nods bade at him. Until then he has been stand- ing v'ith the photograph in his hand. Xoic he tears it vp and flings the pieees under the table. Then he sits doien on a chair, pulls Jierrou.dti at his tie, runs his fingers through his hair, crumples his coat lapel, and so on. Tekla. [Kntcrs, goes straight up to him and gires him a hi.ss: her manner is friendly, frank, happy, and engaging] Hello, little brother! How is he getting on? Adolpii. [.Almost won over; speaking reluctantly and as if in jest] What mischief have you Ihvh up to now tliat makes you come antl kiss me.' Tekl.\. I'll tell you: I've spent an awful lot of money. Adolpii. You have had a gtxxl time then.' Tekla. Very! But not exactly at that cr^he meeting. That was plain pifTlc. to tell the truth.— But what has little brother found to divert himsdf with while his Pussy was away.'' Iler eyes wander around the room as if she were looking for somebody or snijpng something. Adolpii. I've simply been bort*!!. TekLu\. And no company at all.' Adolpii. Quite by myself. Tekl.\. [Watching him; she sits down on the sofa] \\'ho has been sitting here.' Adolph. Over there? Nobtxly. Tekl.\. That's funny! The seat is still warm, and there is CREDITORS 33 a hollow here that looks as if it had been made by an elbow. Have you had lady callers? Adolph. I? You don't believe it, do you? Tekla. But you blush. I think little brother is not telling the truth. Come and tell Pussy now what he has on his con- science. Draws him toward herself so that he sinks down with his head resting in her lap. Adolph. You're a little devil — do you know that? Tekla. No, I don't know anything at all about myself. Adolph. You never think about yourself, do you? Tekl,\. [Sniffing and taking notes] I think of nothing but myself— I am a dreadful egoist. But what has made you turn so philosophical all at once? Adolph. Put your hand on my forehead. Tekla. [Prattling as if to a baby] Has he got ants m his head again? Does he want me to take them away, does he? [Kisses him on the forehead] There now! Is it all right now? Adolph. Now it's all right. [Pause] Tekla. Well, tell me now what you have been doing to make the time go? Have you painted anything? Adolph. No, I am done with pamting. Tekla. WTiat? Done with painting? Adolph. Yes, but don't scold me for it. How can I help it that I can't pamt any longer! Tekla. What do you mean to do then? Adolph. I'll become a sculptor. Tekla. WTiat a lot of brand new ideas again ! Adolph. Yes, but please don't scold! Look at that figure over there. Tekla. [Uncovering the wax figure] Well, I declare! — 'Who is that meant for? Adolph. Guess! 34 CREDITORS Tekla. Is it Pussy? lias he got no shame at all? Adolph. Is it like? Tekl-'V. How can I tell when there is no face? Adolph. Yes, but there is so much else — that's Ix'autiful! Teki^. [Taps him plai/fully on ilie cheek] Now be must keep still or I'll have to kiss Ijim. Adolph. [Holding her bach] Now, now! — Somelxxly might come! Tp:kla. Will, what do I care? Can't I kiss my own hus- band, perhaps? Oh yes, that's my lawful right. Adolph. Yes, but don't you know — in the hotel here, they don't believe we are marrii-*!. Ufause we an* kis.sing each other such a lot. And it makes no diflerencc that we quarrel now and then, for lovers are said to do that also. Tekl.\. AVcli. but what's the use of quarrelling? Why can't he always be as nice as he Ls now? Tell me now? Can't he try? Doesn't he want us to be hai)py? Adolph. Do I want it? Yes, but Tekla. There we are again! Who has put it into his head that he is not to paint any longer? Adolph. Wlio? You are always looking for somebwly else behind me and my thouglit.s. Are you jealous? TekLuV. Yes, I am. I'm afraid someboIr.«. X • .- . Mabel Moore M!.--« Y Hedwtg R' " " A WHlUir-.-^ Marjoii? lidnn' •• PAllfAII." a pla;. by Aupu^-l Strin.lberg. Tr