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Strindberg, August, 1849-1912

"Plays: the Father; Countess Julie; the Outlaw; the Stronger"

I have had my
suspicions for a long time but I did not dare to hear them
confirmed. All this I have suffered for you. What will you do for
me?
LAURA. What can I do? I will swear by God and all I hold sacred
that you are Bertha's father.
CAPTAIN. What use is that when you have often said that a mother
can and ought to commit any crime for her child? I implore you as a
wounded man begs for a death blow, to tell me all. Don't you see
I'm as helpless as a child? Don't you hear me complaining as to a
mother? Won't you forget that I am a man, that I am a soldier who
can tame men and beasts with a word? Like a sick man I only ask for
compassion. I lay down the tokens of my power and implore you to
have mercy on my life.
[Laura approaches him and lays her hand on his brow.]
LAURA. What! You are crying, man!
CAPTAIN. Yes, I am crying although I am a man. But has not a man
eyes! Has not a man hands, limbs, senses, thoughts, passions? Is he
not fed with the wine food, hurt by the same weapons, warmed and
cooled by the same summer and winter as a woman? If you prick us do
we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? And if you poison
us, do we not die? Why shouldn't a man complain, a soldier weep?
Because it is unmanly? Why is it unmanly?
LAURA. Weep then, my child, as if you were with your mother once
more. Do you remember when I first came into your life, I was like
a second mother? Your great strong body needed nerves; you were a
giant child that had either come too early into the world, or
perhaps was not wanted at all.


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