THE THUNDERSTORM
A monologue from the
play by August
Strindberg
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from Plays by August Strindberg, vol. 3. Trans. Edwin
Björkman. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1913. |
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MASTER: I thought I heard the "little steps"--those
little steps that came tripping down the corridor when she was
looking for me. -- It was the child that was the best of all!
To watch that fearless little creature, whom nothing could frighten,
who never suspected that life might be deceptive, who had no
secrets! I recall her first experience of the malice that is
in human beings. She caught sight of a pretty child down in the
park, and, though it was strange to her, she went up to it with
open arms to kiss it--and the pretty child rewarded her friendliness
by biting her on the cheek first and then making a face at her.
Then you should have seen my little Anne-Charlotte. She stood
as if turned to stone. And it wasn't pain that did it, but horror
at the sight of that yawning abyss which is called the human
heart. I have been confronted with the same sight myself once,
when out of two beautiful eyes suddenly shot strange glances
as if some evil beast had appeared behind those eyes. It scared
me literally so that I had to see if some other person were standing
behind that face, which looked like a mask. -- Buty why do we
sit here talking about such things? Is it the heat, or the storm,
or what?
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MONOLOGUES BY AUGUST STRINDBERG |
