THE LINK
A monologue from the
play by August
Strindberg
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from Plays by August Strindberg, v. 1. Trans. Edwin Björkman.
New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1912. |
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BARON: Yes, you are! Both of us are to be pitied. We
tried to avoid the rocks that beset marriage by living unmarried
as husband and wife; but nevertheless we quarrelled, and we were
sacrificing one of life's greatest joys, the respect of our fellow-men--and
so we were married. But we must needs steal a march on the social
body and its laws. We wanted no religious ceremony, but instead
we wriggled into a civil marriage. We did not want to depend
on each other--we were to have no common pocket-book and to insist
on no personal ownership of each other--and with that we fell
right back into the old rut again. Without wedding ceremony,
but with a marriage contract! And then it went to pieces. I forgave
your faithlessness, and for the child's sake we lived together
in voluntary separation--and freedom! But I grew tired of introducing
my friend's mistress as my wife--and so we had to get a divorce.
Can you guess--do you know against whom we have been fighting?
You call him God, but I call him nature. And that was the master
who egged us on to hate each other, just as he is egging people
on to love each other. And now we are condemned to keep on tearing
each other as long as a spark of life remains. New proceedings
in the higher court, reopening of the case, report by the Vestry
Board, opinion from the Diocesan Chapter, decision by the Supreme
Court. Then comes my complaint to the Attorney-General, my application
for a guardian, your objections and counter-suits: from pillory
to post! Without hope of a merciful executioner! Neglect of the
property, financial ruin, scamped education for the child! And
why do we not put an end to these two miserable lives? Because
the child stays our hands! You cry, but I cannot! Not even when
my thought runs ahead to the night that is waiting for me in
a home laid waste! And you, poor Helen, who must go back to your
mother! That mother whom you once left with such eagerness in
order to get a home of your own. To become her daughter once
more--and perhaps find it worse than being a wife! One year!
Two years! Many years! How many more do you think we can bear
to suffer?
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MONOLOGUES BY AUGUST STRINDBERG |
