Of Strindberg’s dramatic works the briefest is “The Stronger.”  He called it a “scene.”  It is a mere incident—­what is called a “sketch” on our vaudeville stage, and what the French so aptly have named a “quart d’heure.”  And one of the two figures in the cast remains silent throughout the action, thus turning the little play practically into a monologue.  Yet it has all the dramatic intensity which we have come to look upon as one of the main characteristics of Strindberg’s work for the stage.  It is quivering with mental conflict, and because of this conflict human destinies may be seen to change while we are watching.  Three life stories are laid bare during the few minutes we are listening to the seemingly aimless, yet so ominous, chatter of Mrs. X.—­and when she sallies forth at last, triumphant in her sense of possession, we know as much about her, her husband, and her rival, as if we had been reading a three-volume novel about them.

Small as it is, the part of Mrs. X. would befit a “star,” but an actress of genius and discernment might prefer the dumb part of Miss Y.  One thing is certain:  that the latter character has few equals in its demand on the performer’s tact and skill and imagination.  This wordless opponent of Mrs. X. is another of those vampire characters which Strindberg was so fond of drawing, and it is on her the limelight is directed with merciless persistency.

“The Stronger” was first published in 1890, as part of the collection of miscellaneous writings which their author named “Things Printed and Unprinted.”  The present English version was made by me some years ago—­in the summer of 1906—­when I first began to plan a Strindberg edition for this country.  At that time it appeared in the literary supplement of the New York Evening Post.

THE STRONGER
A SCENE
1890

PERSONS

MRS. X., an actress, married. 
MISS Y., an actress, unmarried.

THE STRONGER

SCENE

[A corner of a ladies’ restaurant; two small tables of cast-iron, a sofa covered with red plush, and a few chairs.]

[MRS. X. enters dressed in hat and winter coat, and carrying a pretty Japanese basket on her arm.]

[MISS Y. has in front of her a partly emptied bottle of beer; she is reading an illustrated weekly, and every now and then she exchanges it for a new one.]

MRS. X. Well, how do, Millie!  Here you are sitting on Christmas Eve as lonely as a poor bachelor.

[MISS Y. looks up from the paper for a moment, nods, and resumes her reading.]

MRS. X. Really, I feel sorry to find you like this—­alone—­alone in a restaurant, and on Christmas Eve of all times.  It makes me as sad as when I saw a wedding party at Paris once in a restaurant—­the bride was reading a comic paper and the groom was playing billiards with the witnesses.  Ugh, when it begins that way, I thought, how will it end?  Think of it, playing billiards on his wedding day!  Yes, and you’re going to say that she was reading a comic paper—­ that’s a different case, my dear.