Julie. I know our people, and I like them—just in the same way that they like me. Just let them come, then you’ll see.
John. No, Miss Julie. The folks don’t love you. They eat your bread, but they make fun of you behind your back. You take it from me. Listen, just listen, to what they’re singing. No, you’d better not listen.
Julie. [Listens.] What are they singing?
John. It’s some nasty lines about you and me.
Julie. Horrible! Ugh, what sneaks they are!
John. The riff-raff is always cowardly, and in the fight it’s best to fly.
Julie. Fly? But where to? We can’t go out, and we can’t go up to Christine’s room either.
John. Then come into my room. Necessity knows no law, and you can rely on my being your real, sincere and respectful friend.
Julie. But just think, would they look for you there?
John. I’ll bolt the door, and if they try to break it in I’ll shoot. Come. [On his knees.] Come!
Julie. [Significantly.] Promise me.
John. On my oath!
[JULIE rushes off on the left. JOHN follows her in a state of excitement. Pantomime. Wedding party in holiday clothes, with flowers round their hats and a violin player at their head, come in through the glass door. Barrel of small beer and a keg of brandy wreathed with laurel are placed on the table. They take up glasses, they then drink, they then make a ring and a dance is sung and executed. Then they go out, singing again, through the glass door. JULIE comes w done from the left, observes the disorder in the kitchen and claps her hands; she then takes out a powder puff and powders her face. JOHN follows after the young woman from the left, in a state of exaltation.]
John. There, do you see, you’ve seen it for yourself now. You think it possible to go on staying here?
Julie. No, I don’t any more. But what’s to be done?
John. Run away—travel, far away from here.
Julie. Travel? Yes, but where?
John. Sweden—the Italian lakes, you’ve never been there, have you?
Julie. No; is it nice there?
John. Oh! A perpetual summer—oranges, laurels. Whew!
Julie. What are we to start doing afterward?
John. We shall start a first-class hotel there, with first-class visitors.
Julie. An hotel?
John. That’s a life, to be sure, you take it from me—an endless succession of new sights, new languages; not a minute to spare for sulking or brooding; not looking for work, for the work comes of its own. The bell goes on ringing day and night, the train puffs, the omnibus comes and goes, while the gold pieces roll’ into the till. That’s a life, to be sure!
Julie. Yes, that’s what you call life; but what about me?
John. The mistress of the house, the ornament of the firm, with your appearance and your manners—oh! success is certain. Splendid! You sit like a queen in the counting house, and set all your slaves in motion, with a single touch of your electric bell; the visitors pass in procession by your throne, lay their treasure respectfully on your table; you’ve got no idea how men tremble when they take a bill up in- their hand—I’ll touch up the bills, and you must sugar them with your sweetest laugh. Ah, let’s get away from here. [He takes a time-table out of his pocket.] Right away by the next train, by six-thirty we’re at Malmo; at eight-forty in the morning at Hamburg; Frankfort—one day in Basle and in Como by the St. Gothard Tunnel in—let’s see—three days. Only three days.
Julie. That all sounds very nice, but, John, you must give me courage, dear. Tell me that you love me, dear; come and take me in your arms.
John. [Hesitating.] I should like to—but I dare not—not here in the house. I love you, no doubt about it—can you have any real doubt about it, Miss?
Julie. [With real feminine shame.] Miss? Say “Dear.” There are no longer any barriers between us—say “Dear.”
John. [In a hurt tone.] I can’t. There are still barriers between us so long as we remain in this house: there is the past—there is my master the Count; I never met a man whom I’ve respected so much—I’ve only got to see his gloves lying on a chair and straight away I feel quite small; I’ve only got to hear the bell up. there and I dash away like a startled horse and—I’ve only got to see his boots standing there, so proud and upright, and I’ve got a pain inside. [He pushes the boots with his feet.] Superstition, prejudice, which have been inoculated into us since our childhood, but which one can’t get rid of. But only come to another country, to a republic, and I’ll make people go on their knees before my porter’s livery—on their knees, do you hear? You’ll see. But not me: I’m not made to go on my knees, for I’ve got grit in me, character, and, once I get on to the first branch, you’ll see me climb right up. To-day I’m a servant, but next year I shall be the proprietor of a hotel; in ten years I shall be independent; then I’ll take a trip to Roumania and get myself decorated, and may—note that I say, may—finish up as a count.
Julie. Good! Good!
John. Oh, yes, the title of Count is to be bought in Roumania, and then you will be a- countess—my countess.
Julie. Tell me that you love me, dear, if you don’t—why, what am I, if you don’t?
John. I’ll tell you a thousand times later on, but not here. And above all, nor sentimentalism, if everything isn’t to go smash. We must look- at the matter quietly, like sensible people. [He takes out a cigar, cuts off the end, and lights it.] You sit there, I’ll sit here; then we’ll have a little chat just as though nothing had happened.
Julie. O my God! have you no feeling then?
John. Me? There’s no man who has more feeling than I have, but I can control myself.
Julie. A short time back you could kiss my shoe—and now?
John. [Brutally.] Yes, a little while ago, but now we’ve got something else to think of.
Julie. Don’t talk brutally to me.
John. No, but I’ll talk sense. We’ve made fools of ourselves once, don’t let’s do it again. The Count may turn up any minute and we’ve got to map out our lives in advance. What do you think of my plans for the future? Do you agree?
Julie. They seem quite nice, but one question—you need large capital for so great an undertaking—have you got it?
John. [Going on- smoking.] Have I got it? Of course I have. I’ve got my special knowledge, my exceptional experience, my knowledge of languages, that’s a capital which is worth something, seems to me.
Julie. But we can’t buy a. single railway ticket with all that.
John. That’s true enough, and so I’ll look for somebody who can put up the money.
Julie. Where can you find a man like that all at once?
John. Then you’ll have to find him, if you’re going to be my companion.
Julie. I can’t do that, and I’ve got nothing myself. [Pause.]
John. In that case the whole scheme collapses.
Julie. And?
John. Things remain as they are now.
Julie. Do you think I’ll go on staying any longer under this roof as your mistress? Do you think I will let the people point their finger at me? Do you think that after this I can look my father in the face? No! Take me away from here, from all this humiliation and dishonor! O my God! What have I done! O my God! My God! [She cries.]