now. You never got anything from me; you merely gave--and thus
happened to me what happened to the thief--I had what you missed
when you woke up. How explain in any other way that, in your hand,
everything proved worthless and useless? You were never able to
keep a man's love, in spite of your tulips and your passions--and I
could; you could never learn the art of living from the books--as I
learned it; you bore no little Eskil, although that was your
father's name. And why do you keep silent always and everywhere--
silent, ever silent? I used to think it was because you were so
strong; and maybe the simple truth was you never had anything to
say--because you were unable to-think! [Rises and picks up the
slippers] I'm going home now--I'll take the tulips with me—-your
tulips. You couldn't learn anything from others; you couldn't bend
and so you broke like a dry stem--and I didn't. Thank you, Amèlia,
for all your instructions. I thank you that you have taught me how
to love my husband. Now I'm going home--to him! [Exit.]

(Curtain.)




CREDITORS

INTRODUCTION

This is one of the three plays which Strindberg placed at the head
of his dramatic production during the middle ultra-naturalistic
period, the other two being "The Father" and "Miss Julia." It is,
in many ways, one of the strongest he ever produced. Its rarely