ANTONIN. They did the same. I’m not denying it. But did you help them? Yes or no?
JULIE. No.
ANTONIN. Yes: you did. I remember well enough how you helped them to cajole me, trap me, dupe me. Oh I know it sounds ridiculous. I know each petty incident taken by itself amounts to nothing. But these deceptions of yours have their importance, for you only made use of them to catch me. You played on my weaknesses. You knew I was fond of money—we’re talking straight to each other, remember—you knew I was fond of money and you represented yourself as a model young woman who always made her own dresses. You remember that? And Wagner! Wagner, whose music you professed to admire so much, when you knew as little about him as I do. According to your own account lots of men had wanted to marry you. That was a lie. You had helped your father in keeping his books and were interested in my banking business. That was a lie, too.
JULIE. If that is all you have to reproach me with—
ANTONIN. It is not all. There was another lie to which you condescended. And that was a serious one, because you sacrificed your womanly dignity to your interest. You have forgotten it? I have not. Why it was here, here in this very room where we are at this moment, that you sat dressed for a ball. You were not going to a ball. I knew that later. But they told you to put on that dress, and you know why. Well, that trick came off all right. [Julie, confused, hides her face in her hands]. I behaved as most men behave. I wanted to take your arm and kiss it. You objected as any decent woman would. But when you saw I was annoyed you said to yourself that a husband was well worth the sacrifice of a little modesty, and you came deliberately and let me kiss you as I wished. Isn’t it true? Isn’t it? I tried to deceive you, I admit it. But if I lied you lied, too. Marriages like ours may be shameful. I don’t know. But don’t try to thrust the whole responsibility on me when you’re equally guilty. [Julie’s head sinks lower. A pause]. The other things you say about me I dare say I deserve. I’m ambitious. I want to succeed. Is it my fault that success is the only road to social consideration nowadays? In order to succeed I must truckle to people who can be useful to me and I ask you to help me. I’m not a hero. I’m like the rest of the world. I didn’t make either myself or them. We are to be pitied, both of us. But I’m more to be pitied than you are, for you don’t love me and I can’t help loving you. What shall I do if you leave me? My position will be compromised, my business ruined. And more than all that I shall have lost you. I don’t speak as I ought, I am a fool, a dolt. I ought to have told you this at first instead of going over all that wretched business. But it’s true, it’s far worse for me than for you [much moved] for I love you in spite of all you can say, and the idea of losing you is like being told that I am going to die. [He sobs]. And what have I done after all? I’ve only done as other men do. Why should I be the only one to be punished? Ah, Julie, my little Julie, pity me. I’m very unhappy. [He weeps, bowed over the table, his head in his hands].
JULIE [putting her hand upon his head and speaking in a low expressionless voice] Poor fellow.
ANTONIN [still weeping] You are sorry for me, aren’t you. Say you are.
JULIE. Yes, we are both of us victims.
ANTONIN. That’s it. Ever since I was born my parents have taught me that the great thing in life was to be rich.