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diff --git a/44109-0.txt b/44109-0.txt index efedd6a..54cbd2e 100644 --- a/44109-0.txt +++ b/44109-0.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44109 *** +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44109 *** THE SON OF A SERVANT @@ -5869,5 +5869,4 @@ ever to remain as he was! End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44109 *** diff --git a/44109-8.txt b/44109-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index af771d0..0000000 --- a/44109-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6257 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Son of a Servant - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44109] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -THE SON OF A SERVANT - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "ZONES OF THE SPIRIT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - -WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH - -G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS - -NEW YORK AND LONDON - -The Knickerbocker Press - -1913 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. Fear and Hunger - II. Breaking-In - III. Away from Home - IV. Intercourse with the Lower Classes - V. Contact with the Upper Classes - VI. The School of the Cross - VII. First Love - VIII. The Spring Thaw - IX. With Strangers - X. Character and Destiny - - - - -AUGUST STRINDBERG AS NOVELIST - - -_From the Publication of "The Son of a Servant" to "The Inferno"_ -(1886-1896) - -A celebrated statesman is said to have described the biography of a -cardinal as being like the Judgment Day. In reading August Strindberg's -autobiographical writings, as, for example, his _Inferno_, and the book -for which this study is a preface, we must remember that he portrays -his own Judgment Day. And as his works have come but lately before the -great British public, it may be well to consider what attitude should -be adopted towards the amazing candour of his self-revelation. In most -provinces of life other than the comprehension of our fellows, the art -of understanding is making great progress. We comprehend new phenomena -without the old strain upon our capacity for readjusting our point of -view. But do we equally well understand our fellow-being whose way of -life is not ours? We are patient towards new phases of philosophy, -new discoveries in science, new sociological facts, observed in other -lands; but in considering an abnormal type of man or woman, hasty -judgment or a too contracted outlook is still liable to cloud the -judgment. - -Now, it is obvious that if we would understand any worker who has -accomplished what his contemporaries could only attempt to do, we -must have a sufficiently wide knowledge of his work. Neither the -inconsequent gossip attaching to such a personality, nor the chance -perusal of a problem-play, affords an adequate basis for arriving at -a true estimate of the man. Few writers demand, to the same degree as -August Strindberg, those graces of judgment, patience, and reverence. -And for this reason first of all: most of us live sheltered lives. They -are few who stand in the heart of the storm made by Europe's progress. -Especially is this true in Southern Europe, where tradition holds its -secular sway, where such a moulding energy as constitutional practice -exerts its influence over social life, where the aims and ends of human -attainment are defined and sanctioned by a consciousness developing -with the advancement of civilisation. There is often engendered under -such conditions a nervous impatience towards those who, judged from -behind the sheltered walls of orthodoxy, are more or less exposed to -the criticism of their fellows. The fault lies in yielding to this -impatience. The proof that August Strindberg was of the few who must -stand in the open, and suffer the full force of all the winds that -blow, cannot now be attempted. Our sole aim must be to enable the -reader of _The Son of a Servant_ to take up a sympathetic standpoint. -This book forms _part_ of the autobiography of a most gifted man, -through whose life the fierce winds of Europe's opinions blew into -various expression. - -The second reason for the exercise of impartiality, is that -Strindberg's recent death has led to the circulation through Europe of -certain phrases which are liable to displace the balance of judgment -in reviewing his life and work. There are passages in his writings, -and phases of his autobiography, that raise questions of Abnormal -Psychology. Hence pathological terms are used to represent the whole -man and his work. Again, from the jargon of a prevalent Nietzschianism -a doctrine at once like and unlike the teaching of that solitary -thinker descriptions of the Superman are borrowed, and with these -Strindberg is labelled. Or again, certain incidents in his domestic -affairs are seized upon to prove him a decadent libertine. The facts of -this book, _The Son of a Servant_, are true: Strindberg lived them. His -_Inferno_, in like manner, is a transcript of a period of his life. And -if these books are read as they should be read, they are neither more -nor less than the records of the progress of a most gifted life along -the Dolorous Way. - -The present volume is the record of the early years of Strindberg's -life, and the story is incomparably told. For the sympathetic reader it -will represent the history of a temperament to which the world could -not come in easy fashion, and for which circumstances had contrived a -world where it would encounter at each step tremendous difficulties. -We find in Strindberg the consciousness of vast powers thwarted by -neglect, by misunderstanding, and by the shackles of an ignominious -parentage. He sets out on life as a viking, sailing the trackless seas -that beat upon the shores of unknown lands, where he must take the -sword to establish his rights of venture, and write fresh pages in some -Heimskringla of a later age. - -A calm reading of the book may induce us to suggest that this is often -the fate of genius. The man of great endowments is made to walk where -hardship lies on every side. And though a recognition of the hardness -of the way is something, it must be borne in mind that while some are -able to pass along it in serenity, others face it in tears, and others -again in terrible revolt. Revolt was the only possible attitude for the -Son of a Servant. - -How true this is may be realised by recalling the fact that towards -the end of the same year in which _The Son of a Servant_ appeared, -viz., 1886, our author published the second part of a series of stories -entitled _Marriage_, in which that relationship is subjected to -criticism more intense than is to be found in any of the many volumes -devoted to this subject in a generation eminently given to this form -of criticism. Side by side with this fact should be set the contents -of one such story from his pen. Here he has etched, with acid that -bites deeper than that of the worker in metal, the story of a woman's -pettiness and inhumanity towards the husband who loves her. By his -art her weakness is made to dominate every detail of the domestic -_ménage_, and what was once a woman now appears to be the spirit of -neglect, whose habitation is garnished with dust and dead flowers. -Her great weakness calls to the man's pity, and we are told how, into -this disorder, he brings the joy of Christmastide, and the whispered -words of life, like a wind from some flower-clad hill. The natural -conclusion, as regards both his autobiographical works and his volume -of stories, is this: that Strindberg finds the Ideal to be a scourge, -and not a Pegasus. And this is a distinction that sharply divides man -from man, whether endowed for the attainment of saintship, for the -apprehension of the vision, or with powers that enable him to wander -far over the worlds of thought. - -Had Strindberg intended to produce some more finished work to qualify -the opinion concerning his pessimism, he could have done no better -than write the novel that comes next in the order of his works, _Hemso -Folk_, which was given to the world in the year 1887. It is the first -of his novels to draw on the natural beauties of the rocky coast and -many tiny islands which make up the splendour of the Fjord whose -crown is Stockholm, and which, continuing north and south, provide -fascinating retreats, still unspoilt and unexplored by the commercial -agent. It may be noticed here that this northern Land of Faery has -not long since found its way into English literature through a story -by Mr. Algernon Blackwood, in his interesting volume, _John Silence_. -The adequate description of this region was reserved for August -Strindberg, and among his prose writings there are none to compare with -those that have been inspired by the islands and coast he delighted -in. Among them, _Hemso Folk_ ranks first. In this work he shows his -mastery, not of self-portraiture, but of the portraiture of other men, -and his characters are painted with a mastery of subject and material -which in a sister art would cause one to think of Velasquez. Against -a background of sea and sky stand the figures of a schoolmaster and -a priest--the portraits of both depicted with the highest art,--and -throughout the book may be heard the authentic speech of the soul of -Strindberg's North. He may truly be claimed to be most Swedish here; -but he may also with equal truth be claimed to be most universal, since -_Hemso Folk_ is true for all time, and in all places. - -In the following year (1888) was published another volume of tales by -Strindberg, entitled _Life on the Skerries_, and again the sea, and -the sun, and the life of men who commune with the great waters are the -sources of his virile inspiration. Other novels of a like kind were -written later, but at this hour of his life he yielded to the command -of the idea--a voice which called him more strongly than did the -magnificence of Nature, whose painter he could be when he had respite -from the whirlwind. - -_Tschandala_, his next book, was the fruit of a holiday in the country. -This novel was written to show a man of uncommon powers of mind in the -toils of inferior folk--the proletariat of soul bent on the ruin of -the elect in soul. Poverty keeps him in chains. He is forced to deal -with neighbours of varying degrees of degradation. A landlady deceives -her husband for the sake of a vagrant lover. This person attempts to -subordinate the uncommon man; who, however, discovers that he can be -dominated through his superstitious fears. He is enticed one night -into a field, where the projections from a lantern, imagined as -supernatural beings, so play upon his fears that he dies from fright. -In this book we evidently have the experimental upsurging of his -imagination: supposing himself the victim of a sordid environment, -he can see with unveiled eyes what might happen to him. Realistic in -his apprehension of outward details, he sees the idea in its vaguest -proportions. This creates, this informs his pictures of Nature; this -also makes his heaven and hell. Inasmuch as a similar method is used -by certain modern novelists, the curious phrase "a novel of ideas" has -been coined. As though it were a surprising feature to find an idea -expressed in novels! And not rarely such works are said to be lacking -in warmth, because they are too full of thought. - -After _Tschandala_ come two or three novels of distinctly controversial -character--books of especial value in essaying an understanding of -Strindberg's mind. The pressure of ideas from many quarters of Europe -was again upon him, and caused him to undertake long and desperate -pilgrimages. _In the Offing_ and _To Damascus_ are the suggestive -titles of these books. Seeing, however, that a detailed sketch of the -evolution of Strindberg's opinions is not at this moment practicable, -we merely mention these works, and the years 1890 and 1892. - -Meanwhile our author has passed through two intervals in his life of a -more peaceful character than was usually his lot. The first of these -was spent among his favourite scenes in the vicinity of the Gulf of -Bothnia, where he lived like a hermit, writing poetry and painting -pictures. He might have become a painter of some note, had it not come -so natural to him to use the pen. At any rate, during the time that he -wielded the brush he put on canvas the scenes which he succeeded in -reproducing so marvellously in his written works. The other period of -respite was during a visit to Ola Hansson, a Swedish writer of rare -distinction, then living near Berlin. The author of _Sensitiva Amorosa_ -was the antithesis of Strindberg. A consummate artist, with a wife of -remarkable intellectual power, the two enfolded him in their peace, and -he was able to give full expression to his creative faculty. - -Strindberg now enters upon the period which culminates in the writing -of _The Inferno_. From the peace of Ola Hansson's home he set out -on his wedding tour, and during the early part of it came over to -England. In a remarkable communication to a Danish man of letters, -Strindberg answers many questions concerning his personal tastes, among -them several regarding his English predilections. We may imagine them -present to him as he looks upon the sleeping city from London Bridge, -in the greyness of a Sunday morning, after a journey from Gravesend. -His favourite English writer is Dickens, and of his works the most -admired is _Little Dorrit_. A novel written in the period described in -_The Son of a Servant_, and which first brought him fame, was inspired -by the reading of _David Copperfield_! His favourite painter is Turner. -These little sidelights upon the personality of the man are very -interesting, throwing into relief as they do the view of him adopted by -the writer of the foregoing pages. London, however, he disliked, and a -crisis in health compelled him to leave for Paris, from which moment -begins his journey through the "Inferno." - -A play of Strindberg's has been performed in Paris--the height of his -ambition. Once attained, it was no longer to be desired; accordingly, -he turned from the theatre to Science. He takes from their hiding-place -some chemical apparatus he had purchased long before. Drawing the -blinds of his room he bums pure sulphur until he believes that he has -discovered in it the presence of carbon. His sentences are written -in terse, swift style. A page or two of the book is turned over, and -we find his pen obeying the impulse of his penetrating sight.... -Separation from his wife; the bells of Christmas; his visit to a -hospital, and the people he sees there, begin to occupy him. Gratitude -to the nursing sister, and the reaching forward of his mind into the -realm of the alchemical significance of his chemical studies, arouse -in him a spirit of mystical asceticism. Pages of _The Inferno_ might -be cited to show their resemblance to documents which have come to us -from the Egyptian desert, or from the narrow cell of a recluse. Theirs -is the search for a spiritual union: his is the quest of a negation -of self, that his science might be without fault. A notion of destiny -is grafted upon his mysticism of science. He wants to be led, as did -the ascetic, though for him the goal is lore hidden from mortal eyes. -He now happens upon confirmation of his scientific curiosity, in -the writings of an older chemist. Then he meets with Balzac's novel -_Séraphita_, and a new ecstasy is added to his outreaching towards the -knowledge he aspires to. Vivid temptations assail him; he materialises -as objective personalities the powers that appear to place obstacles -in the way of his researches. Again we observe the same phenomena as -in the soul of the monk, yet always with this difference: Strindberg -is the monk of science. Curious little experiences--that others would -brush into that great dust-bin, Chance--are examined with a rare -simplicity to see if they may hold significance for the order of his -life. These details accumulate as we turn the pages of _The Inferno_, -and force one to the conclusion that they are akin to the material -which we have only lately begun to study as phenomena peculiar to the -psychology of the religious life. Their summary inclusion under the -heading of "Abnormal Psychology" will, however, lead to a shallow -interpretation of Strindberg. The voluntary isolation of himself from -the relations of life and the world plays havoc with his health. Soon -he is established under a doctor's care in a little southern Swedish -town, with its memories of smugglers and pirates; and he immediately -likens the doctor's house to a Buddhist cloister. The combination is -typically Strindbergian! He begins to be haunted with the terrible -suspicion that he is being plotted against. Nature is exacting heavy -dues from his overwrought system. After thirty days' treatment he -leaves the establishment with the reflection that whom the Lord loveth -he chasteneth. - -Dante wrote his Divine Comedy; Strindberg his Mortal Comedy. There are -three great stages in each, and the literary vehicle of their perilous -journeyings is aptly chosen. Readers of the wonderful Florentine will -recall the familiar words: - - "Surge ai mortali per diverse foci - la lucerna de mondo."[1] - -And they have found deeper content in Strindberg's self-discoveries. -The first part of his _Inferno_ tells of his Purgatory; the second -part closes with the poignant question, Whither? If, for a moment, -we step beyond the period of his life with which this study deals, -we shall find him telling of his Paradise in a mystery-play entitled -_Advent_, where he, too, had a starry vision of "un simplice lume," -a simple flame that ingathers the many and scattered gleams of the -universe's revelation. His guide through Hell is Swedenborg. Once more -the note is that of the anchorite; for at the outset of his acceptance -of Swedenborg's guidance he is tempted to believe that even his guide's -spiritual teaching may weaken his belief in a God who chastens. He -desires to deny himself the gratification of the sight of his little -daughter, because he appears to consider her prattle, that breaks -into the web of his contemplation, to be the instrument of a strange -power. From step to step he goes until his faith is childlike as a -peasant's. How he is hurled again into the depths of his own Hell, the -closing pages of his book will tell us. Whatever views the reader may -hold, it seems impossible that he should see in this Mortal Comedy the -utterances of deranged genius. Rather will his charity of judgment have -led him to a better understanding of one who listened to the winds that -blow through Europe, and was buffeted by their violence. - -We may close this brief study by asking the question: What, then, -is Strindberg's legacy for the advancement of Art, as found in this -decade of his life? It will surely be seen that Strindberg's realism -is of a peculiarly personal kind. Whatever his sympathy with Zola -may have been, or Zola's with him, Strindberg has never confounded -journalism with Art. He has also recognised in his novels that there -is a difference between the function of the camera and the eye of the -artist. More than this--and it is important if Strindberg is to be -understood--his realism has always been subservient to the idea. And -it is this power that has essentially rendered Strindberg's realism -peculiarly personal; that is to say, incapable of being copied or -forming a school. It can only be used by such as he who, standing -in the maelstrom of ideas, is fashioned and attuned by the whirling -storms, as they strive for complete expression. Not always, however, -is he subservient to their dominion. Sometimes cast down from the high -places whence the multitudinous voice can be heard, he may say and do -that which raises fierce criticism. A patient study of Strindberg will -lay bare such matters; but their discovery must not blind our eyes -to the truth that these are moments of insensitiveness towards, or -rejection of, the majestic power which is ceaselessly sculpturing our -highest Western civilisation. - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH. - - -[1] "There riseth up to mortals through diverse trials the light of the -world." - - - - -The Son of a Servant - - - - -I - -FEAR AND HUNGER - - -In the third story of a large house near the Clara Church in -Stockholm, the son of the shipping agent and the servant-maid awoke -to self-consciousness. The child's first impressions were, as he -remembered afterwards, fear and hunger. He feared the darkness and -blows, he feared to fall, to knock himself against something, or to -go in the streets. He feared the fists of his brothers, the roughness -of the servant-girl, the scolding of his grandmother, the rod of -his mother, and his father's cane. He was afraid of the general's -man-servant, who lived on the ground-floor, with his skull-cap and -large hedge-scissors; he feared the landlord's deputy, when he played -in the courtyard with the dust-bin; he feared the landlord, who was -a magistrate. Above him loomed a hierarchy of authorities wielding -various rights, from the right of seniority of his brothers to the -supreme tribunal of his father. And yet above his father was the -deputy-landlord, who always threatened him with the landlord. This last -was generally invisible, because he lived in the country, and perhaps, -for that reason, was the most feared of all. But again, above all, even -above the man-servant with the skull-cap, was the general, especially -when he sallied forth in uniform wearing his plumed three-cornered hat. -The child did not know what a king looked like, but he knew that the -general went to the King. The servant-maids also used to tell stories -of the King, and showed the child his picture. His mother generally -prayed to God in the evening, but the child could form no distinct idea -of God, except that He must certainly be higher than the King. - -This tendency to fear was probably not the child's own peculiarity, -but due to the troubles which his parents had undergone shortly before -his birth. And the troubles had been great. Three children had been -born before their marriage and John soon after it. Probably his birth -had not been desired, as his father had gone bankrupt just before, so -that he came to the light in a now pillaged house, in which was only a -bed, a table, and a couple of chairs. About the same time his father's -brother had died in a state of enmity with him, because his father -would not give up his wife, but, on the contrary, made the tie stronger -by marriage. His father was of a reserved nature, which perhaps -betokened a strong will. He was an aristocrat by birth and education. -There was an old genealogical table which traced his descent to a noble -family of the sixteenth century. His paternal ancestors were pastors -from Zemtland, of Norwegian, possibly Finnish blood. It had become -mixed by emigration. His mother was of German birth, and belonged to a -carpenter's family. His father was a grocer in Stockholm, a captain of -volunteers, a freemason, and adherent of Karl Johann. - -John's mother was a poor tailor's daughter, sent into domestic service -by her step-father. She had become a waitress when John's father met -her. She was democratic by instinct, but she looked up to her husband, -because he was of "good family," and she loved him; but whether as -deliverer, as husband, or as family-provider, one does not know, and it -is difficult to decide. - -He addressed his man-servant and maid as "thou," and she called him -"sir." In spite of his come-down in the world, he did not join the -party of malcontents, but fortified himself with religious resignation, -saying, "It is God's will," and lived a lonely life at home. But he -still cherished the hope of being able to raise himself again. - -He was, however, fundamentally an aristocrat, even in his habits. His -face was of an aristocratic type, beardless, thin-skinned, with hair -like Louis Philippe. He wore glasses, always dressed elegantly, and -liked clean linen. The man-servant who cleaned his boots had to wear -gloves when doing so, because his hands were too dirty to be put into -them. - -John's mother remained a democrat at heart. Her dress was always simple -but clean. She wished the children to be clean and tidy, nothing more. -She lived on intimate terms with the servants, and punished a child, -who had been rude to one of them, upon the bare accusation, without -investigation or inquiry. She was always kind to the poor, and however -scanty the fare might be at home, a beggar was never sent empty away. -Her old nurses, four in number, often came to see her, and were -received as old friends. The storm of financial trouble had raged -severely over the whole family, and its scattered members had crept -together like frightened poultry, friends and foes alike, for they felt -that they needed one another for mutual protection. An aunt rented two -rooms in the house. She was the widow of a famous English discoverer -and manufacturer, who had been ruined. She received a pension, -on which she lived with two well-educated daughters. She was an -aristocrat, having formerly possessed a splendid house, and conversed -with celebrities. She loved her brother, though disapproving of his -marriage, and had taken care of his children when the storm broke. -She wore a lace cap, and the children kissed her hand. She taught -them to sit straight on their chairs, to greet people politely, and -to express themselves properly. Her room had traces of bygone luxury, -and contained gifts from many rich friends. It had cushioned rose-wood -furniture with embroidered covers in the English style. It was adorned -with the picture of her deceased husband dressed as a member of the -Academy of Sciences and wearing the order of Gustavus Vasa. On the -wall there hung a large oil-painting of her father in the uniform of a -major of volunteers. This man the children always regarded as a king, -for he wore many orders, which later on they knew were freemasonry -insignia. The aunt drank tea and read English books. Another room was -occupied by John's mother's brother, a small trader in the New Market, -as well as by a cousin, the son of the deceased uncle, a student in the -Technological Institute. - -In the nursery lived the grandmother. She was a stem old lady who -mended hose and blouses, taught the ABC, rocked the cradle, and pulled -hair. She was religious, and went to early service in the Clara Church. -In the winter she carried a lantern, for there were no gas-lamps at -that time. She kept in her own place, and probably loved neither her -son-in-law nor his sister. They were too polite for her. He treated her -with respect, but not with love. - -John's father and mother, with seven children and two servants, -occupied three rooms. The furniture mostly consisted of tables and -beds. Children lay on the ironing boards and the chairs, children in -the cradles and the beds. The father had no room for himself, although -he was constantly at home. He never accepted an invitation from his -many business friends, because he could not return it. He never went to -the restaurant or the theatre. He had a wound which he concealed and -wished to heal. His recreation was the piano. One of the nieces came -every other evening and then Haydn's symphonies were played _à quatre -mains_, later on Mozart, but never anything modern. Afterwards he had -also another recreation as circumstances permitted. He cultivated -flowers in window-boxes, but only pelargoniums. Why pelargoniums? When -John had grown older and his mother was dead, he fancied he always saw -her standing by one. She was pale, she had had twelve confinements and -suffered from lung-complaint. Her face was like the transparent white -leaves of the pelargonium with its crimson veins, which grow darker -towards the pistil, where they seemed to form an almost black eye, like -hers. - -The father appeared only at meal-times. He was melancholy, weary, -strict, serious, but not hard. He seemed severer than he really was, -because on his return home he always had to settle a number of things -which he could not judge properly. Besides, his name was always used to -frighten the children. "I will tell papa that," signified a thrashing. -It was not exactly a pleasant rôle which fell to his share. Towards -the mother he was always gentle. He kissed her after every meal and -thanked her for the food. This accustomed the children, unjustly -enough, to regard her as the giver of all that was good, and the father -as the dispenser of all that was evil. They feared him. When the cry -"Father is coming!" was heard, all the children ran and hid themselves, -or rushed to the nursery to be combed and washed. At the table there -was deathly silence, and the father spoke only a little. - -The mother had a nervous temperament. She used to become easily -excited, but soon quieted down again. She was relatively content with -her life, for she had risen in the social scale, and had improved her -position and that of her mother and brother. She drank her coffee in -bed in the mornings, and had her nurses, two servants, and her mother -to help her. Probably she did not over-exert herself. - -But for the children she played the part of Providence itself. She cut -overgrown nails, tied up injured fingers, always comforted, quieted, -and soothed when the father punished, although she was the official -accuser. The children did not like her when she "sneaked," and she -did not win their respect. She could be unjust, violent, and punish -unseasonably on the bare accusation of a servant; but the children -received food and comfort from her, therefore they loved her. The -father, on the other hand, always remained a stranger, and was regarded -rather as a foe than a friend. - -That is the thankless position of the father in the family--the -provider for all, and the enemy of all. If he came home tired, hungry, -and ill-humoured, found the floor only just scoured and the food -ill-cooked, and ventured a remark, he received a curt reply. He lived -in his own house as if on sufferance, and the children hid away from -him. He was less content than his wife, for he had come down in the -world, and was obliged to do without things to which he had formerly -been accustomed. And he was not pleased when he saw those to whom he -had given life and food discontented. - -But the family is a very imperfect arrangement. It is properly an -institution for eating, washing, and ironing, and a very uneconomical -one. It consists chiefly of preparations for meals, market-shopping, -anxieties about bills, washing, ironing, starching, and scouring. Such -a lot of bustle for so few persons! The keeper of a restaurant, who -serves hundreds, hardly does more. - -The education consisted of scolding, hair-pulling, and exhortations to -obedience. The child heard only of his duties, nothing of his rights. -Everyone else's wishes carried weight; his were suppressed. He could -begin nothing without doing wrong, go nowhere without being in the way, -utter no word without disturbing someone. At last he did not dare to -move. His highest duty and virtue was to sit on a chair and be quiet. -It was always dinned into him that he had no will of his own, and so -the foundation of a weak character was laid. - -Later on the cry was, "What will people say?" And thus his will was -broken, so that he could never be true to himself, but was forced to -depend on the wavering opinions of others, except on the few occasions -when he felt his energetic soul work independently of his will. - -The child was very sensitive. He wept so often that he received a -special nickname for doing so. He felt the least remark keenly, and -was in perpetual anxiety lest he should do something wrong. He was -very awake to injustice, and while he had a high ideal for himself, -he narrowly watched the failings of his brothers. When they were -unpunished, he felt deeply injured; when they were undeservedly -rewarded, his sense of justice suffered. He was accordingly considered -envious. He then complained to his mother. Sometimes she took his part, -but generally she told him not to judge so severely. But they judged -him severely, and demanded that he should judge himself severely. -Therefore he withdrew into himself and became bitter. His reserve and -shyness grew on him. He hid himself if he received a word of praise, -and took a pleasure in being overlooked. He began to be critical and to -take a pleasure in self-torture; he was melancholy and boisterous by -turns. - -His eldest brother was hysterical; if he became vexed during some game, -he often had attacks of choking with convulsive laughter. This brother -was the mother's favourite, and the second one the father's. In all -families there are favourites; it is a fact that one child wins more -sympathy than another. John was no one's favourite. He was aware of -this, and it troubled him. But the grandmother saw it, and took his -part; he read the ABC with her and helped her to rock the cradle. But -he was not content with this love; he wanted to win his mother; he -tried to flatter her, but did it clumsily and was repulsed. - -Strict discipline prevailed in the house; falsehood and disobedience -were severely punished. Little children often tell falsehoods because -of defective memories. A child is asked, "Did you do it?" It happened -only two hours ago, and his memory does not reach back so far. Since -the act appeared an indifferent matter to the child, he paid it no -attention. Therefore little children can lie unconsciously, and this -fact should be remembered. They also easily lie out of self-defence; -they know that a "no" can free them from punishment, and a "yes" -bring a thrashing. They can also lie in order to win an advantage. -The earliest discovery of an awakening consciousness is that a -well-directed "yes" or "no" is profitable to it. The ugliest feature -of childish untruthfulness is when they accuse one another. They know -that a misdeed must be visited by punishing someone or other, and a -scapegoat has to be found. That is a great mistake in education. Such -punishment is pure revenge, and in such cases is itself a new wrong. - -The certainty that every misdeed will be punished makes the child -afraid of being accused of it, and John was in a perpetual state of -anxiety lest some such act should be discovered. - -One day, during the mid-day meal, his father examined his sister's -wine-flask. It was empty. - -"Who has drunk the wine?" he asked, looking round the circle. No one -answered, but John blushed. - -"It is you, then," said his father. - -John, who had never noticed where the wine-flask was hidden, burst into -tears and sobbed, "I didn't drink the wine." - -"Then you lie too. When dinner is over, you will get something." - -The thought of what he would get when dinner was over, as well as the -continued remarks about "John's secretiveness," caused his tears to -flow without pause. They rose from the table. - -"Come here," said his father, and went into the bedroom. His mother -followed. "Ask father for forgiveness," she said. His father had taken -out the stick from behind the looking-glass. - -"Dear papa, forgive me!" the innocent child exclaimed. But now it was -too late. He had confessed the theft, and his mother assisted at the -execution. He howled from rage and pain, but chiefly from a sense of -humiliation. "Ask papa now for forgiveness," said his mother. - -The child looked at her and despised her. He felt lonely, deserted -by her to whom he had always fled to find comfort and compassion, but -so seldom justice. "Dear papa, forgive," he said, with compressed and -lying lips. - -And then he stole out into the kitchen to Louise the nursery-maid, who -used to comb and wash him, and sobbed his grief out in her apron. - -"What have you done, John?" she asked sympathetically. - -"Nothing," he answered. "I have done nothing." - -The mother came out. - -"What does John say?" she asked Louise. "He says that he didn't do it." -"Is he lying still?" - -And John was fetched in again to be tortured into the admission of what -he had never done. - -Splendid, moral institution! Sacred family! Divinely appointed, -unassailable, where citizens are to be educated in truth and virtue! -Thou art supposed to be the home of the virtues, where innocent -children are tortured into their first falsehood, where wills are -broken by tyranny, and self-respect killed by narrow egoism. Family! -thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for -comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for -children. - -After this John lived in perpetual disquiet. He dared not confide in -his mother, or Louise, still less his brothers, and least of all his -father. Enemies everywhere! God he knew only through hymns. He was an -atheist, as children are, but in the dark, like savages and animals, he -feared evil spirits. - -"Who drank the wine?" he asked himself; who was the guilty one for whom -he suffered? New impressions and anxieties caused him to forget the -question, but the unjust treatment remained in his memory. He had lost -the confidence of his parents, the regard of his brothers and sisters, -the favour of his aunt; his grandmother said nothing. Perhaps she -inferred his innocence on other grounds, for she did not scold him, and -was silent. She had nothing to say. He felt himself disgraced--punished -for lying, which was so abominated in the household, and for theft, -a word which could not be mentioned, deprived of household rights, -suspected and despised by his brothers because he had been caught. All -these consequences, which were painful and real for him, sprang out of -something which never existed--his guilt. - - * * * * * - -It was not actual poverty which reigned in the house, but there was -overcrowding. Baptisms, and burials followed each other in rapid -succession. Sometimes there were two baptisms without a burial -between them. The food was carefully distributed, and was not exactly -nourishing. They had meat only on Sundays, but John grew sturdy and -was tall for his age. He used now to be sent to play in the "court," a -well-like, stone-paved area in which the sun never shone. The dust-bin -which resembled an old bureau with a flap-cover and a coating of tar, -but burst, stood on four legs by the wall. Here slop-pails were emptied -and rubbish thrown, and through the cracks a black stream flowed over -the court. Great rats lurked under the dust-bin and looked out now -and then, scurrying off to hide themselves in the cellar. Woodsheds -and closets lined one side of the court. Here there was dampness, -darkness, and an evil smell. John's first attempt to scrape out the -sand between the great paving-stones was frustrated by the irascible -landlord's deputy. The latter had a son with whom John played, but -never felt safe. The boy was inferior to him in physical strength and -intelligence, but when disputes arose he used to appeal to his father. -His superiority consisted in having an authority behind him. - -The baron on the ground-floor had a staircase with iron banisters. John -liked playing on it, but all attempts to climb on the balustrade were -hindered by the servant who rushed out. - -He was strictly forbidden to go out in the street. But when he looked -through the doorway, and saw the churchyard gate, he heard the children -playing there. He had no longing to be with them, for he feared -children; looking down the street, he saw the Clara lake and the -drawbridges. That looked novel and mysterious, but he feared the water. -On quiet winter evenings he had heard cries for help from drowning -people. These, indeed, were often heard. As they were sitting by the -lamp in the nursery, one of the servant-maids would say, "Hush!" and -all would listen while long, continuous cries would be heard.... "Now -someone is drowning," one of the girls said. They listened till all was -still, and then told stories of others who had been drowned. - -The nursery looked towards the courtyard, and through the window one -saw a zinc roof and a pair of attics in which stood a quantity of old -disused furniture and other household stuff. This furniture, without -any people to use it, had a weird effect. The servants said that the -attics were haunted. What "haunted" meant they could not exactly say, -only that it had something to do with dead men going about. Thus are -we all brought up by the lower classes. It is an involuntary revenge -which they take by inoculating our children with superstitions which -we have cast aside. Perhaps this is what hinders development so much, -while it somewhat obliterates the distinction between the classes. -Why does a mother let this most important duty slip from her hands--a -mother who is supported by the father in order that she may educate her -children? John's mother only occasionally said his evening prayer with -him; generally it was the maidservant. The latter had taught him an old -Catholic prayer which ran as follows: - - "Through our house an angel goes, - In each hand a light he shows." - -The other rooms looked out on the Clara churchyard. Above the -lime-trees the nave of the church rose like a mountain, and on the -mountain sat the giant with a copper hat, who kept up a never-ceasing -clamour in order to announce the flight of time. He sounded the quarter -hours in soprano, and the hours in bass. He rang for early morning -prayer with a tinkling sound, for matins at eight o'clock and vespers -at seven. He rang thrice during the forenoon, and four times during -the afternoon. He chimed all the hours from ten till four at night; he -tolled in the middle of the week at funerals, and often, at the time I -speak of, during the cholera epidemic. On Sundays he rang so much that -the whole family was nearly reduced to tears, and no one could hear -what the other said. The chiming at night, when John lay awake, was -weird; but worst of all was the ringing of an alarm when a fire broke -out. When he heard the deep solemn boom in the middle of the night for -the first time he shuddered feverishly and wept. On such occasions -the household always awoke, and whisperings were heard: "There is a -fire!"--"Where?" They counted the strokes, and then went to sleep -again; but he kept awake and wept. Then his mother came upstairs, -tucked him up, and said: "Don't be afraid; God protects unfortunate -people!" He had never thought that of God before. In the morning the -servant-girls read in the papers that there had been a fire in Soder, -and that two people had been killed. "It was God's will," said the -mother. - -His first awakening to consciousness was mixed with the pealing, -chiming, and tolling of bells. All his first thoughts and impressions -were accompanied by the ringing for funerals, and the first years of -his life were counted out by strokes of the quarter. The effect on him -was certainly not cheerful, even if it did not decidedly tell on his -nervous system. But who can say? The first years are as important as -the nine months which precede them. - -The recollections of childhood show how the senses first partly awaken -and receive the most vivid impressions, how the feelings are moved by -the lightest breath, how the faculty of observation first fastens on -the most striking outward appearances and, later, on moral relations -and qualities, justice and injustice, power and pity. - -These memories lie in confusion, unformed and undefined, like pictures -in a thaumatrope. But when it is made to revolve, they melt together -and form a picture, significant or insignificant as the case may be. - -One day the child sees splendid pictures of emperors and kings in blue -and red uniforms, which the servant-girls hang up in the nursery. He -sees another representing a building which flies in the air and is -full of Turks. Another time he hears someone read in a newspaper how, -in a distant land, they are firing cannon at towns and villages, and -remembers many details--for instance, his mother weeping at hearing -of poor fishermen driven out of their burning cottages with their -children. These pictures and descriptions referred to Czar Nicholas and -Napoleon III., the storming of Sebastopol, and the bombardment of the -coast of Finland. On another occasion his father spends the whole day -at home. All the tumblers in the house are placed on the window-ledges. -They are filled with sand in which candles are inserted and lit at -night. All the rooms are warm and bright. It is bright too in the Clara -school-house and in the church and the vicarage; the church is full of -music. These are the illuminations to celebrate the recovery of King -Oscar. - -One day there is a great noise in the kitchen. The bell is rung and his -mother called. There stands a man in uniform with a book in his hand -and writes. The cook weeps, his mother supplicates and speaks loud, but -the man with the helmet speaks still louder. It is the policeman! The -cry goes all over the house, and all day long they talk of the police. -His father is summoned to the police-station. Will he be arrested? No; -but he has to pay three rix-dollars and sixteen skillings, because the -cook had emptied a utensil in the gutter in the daytime. - -One afternoon he sees them lighting the lamps in the street. A cousin -draws his attention to the fact that they have no oil and no wicks, but -only a metal burner. They are the first gas-lamps. - -For many nights he lies in bed, without getting up by day. He is tired -and sleepy. A harsh-voiced man comes to the bed, and says that he must -not lay his hands outside the coverlet. They give him evil-tasting -stuff with a spoon; he eats nothing. There is whispering in the room, -and his mother weeps. Then he sits again at the window in the bedroom. -Bells are tolling the whole day long. Green biers are carried over the -churchyard. Sometimes a dark mass of people stand round a black chest. -Gravediggers with their spades keep coming and going. He has to wear a -copper plate suspended by a blue silk ribbon on his breast, and chew -all day at a root. That is the cholera epidemic of 1854. - -One day he goes a long way with one of the servants--so far that he -becomes homesick and cries for his mother. The servant takes him into -a house; they sit in a dark kitchen near a green water-butt. He thinks -he will never see his home again. But they still go on, past ships and -barges, past a gloomy brick house with long high walls behind which -prisoners sit. He sees a new church, a new alley lined with trees, a -dusty high-road along whose edges dandelions grow. Now the servant -carries him. At last they come to a great stone building hard by which -is a yellow wooden house with a cross, surrounded by a large garden. -They see limping, mournful-looking people dressed in white. They reach -a great hall where are nothing but beds painted brown, with old women -in them. The walls are whitewashed, the old women are white, and the -beds are white. There is a very bad smell. They pass by a row of beds, -and in the middle of the room stop at a bed on the right side. In it -lies a woman younger than the rest with black curly hair confined by -a night-cap. She lies half on her back; her face is emaciated, and -she wears a white cloth over her head and ears. Her thin hands are -wrapped up in white bandages and her arms shake ceaselessly so that her -knuckles knock against each other. When she sees the child, her arms -and knees tremble violently, and she bursts into tears. She kisses his -head, but the boy does not feel comfortable. He is shy, and not far -from crying himself. "Don't you know Christina again?" she says; but he -does not. Then she dries her eyes and describes her sufferings to the -servant, who is taking eatables out of a basket. - -The old women in white now begin to talk in an undertone, and Christina -begs the servant not to show what she has in the basket, for they are -so envious. Accordingly the servant pushes surreptitiously a yellow -rix-dollar into the psalm-book on the table. The child finds the whole -thing tedious. His heart says nothing to him; it does not tell him that -he has drunk this woman's milk, which really belonged to another; it -does not tell him that he had slept his best sleep on that shrunken -bosom, that those shaking arms had cradled, carried, and dandled him; -his heart says nothing, for the heart is only a muscle, which pumps -blood indifferent as to the source it springs from. But after receiving -her last fervent kisses, after bowing to the old women and the nurse, -and breathing freely in the courtyard after inhaling the close air -of the sick-ward, he becomes somehow conscious of a debt, which can -only be paid by perpetual gratitude, a few eatables, and a rix-dollar -slipped into a psalm-book, and he feels ashamed at being glad to get -away from the brown-painted beds of the sufferers. - -It was his wet-nurse, who subsequently lay for fifteen years in the -same bed, suffering from fits of cramp and wasting disease, till she -died. Then he received his portrait in a schoolboy's cap, sent back by -the directors of the Sabbatsberg infirmary, where it had hung for many -years. During that time the growing youth had only once a year given -her an hour of indescribable joy, and himself one of some uneasiness -of conscience, by going to see her. Although he had received from her -inflammation in his blood, and cramp in his nerves, still he felt he -owed her a debt, a representative debt. It was not a personal one, for -she had only given him what she had been obliged to sell. The fact that -she had been compelled to sell it was the sin of society, and as a -member of society he felt himself in a certain degree guilty. - -Sometimes the child went to the churchyard, where everything seemed -strange. The vaults with the stone monuments bearing inscriptions and -carved figures, the grass on which one might not step, the trees with -leaves which one might not touch. One day his uncle plucked a leaf, -but the police were instantly on the spot. The great building in the -middle was unintelligible to him. People went in and out of it, and one -heard singing and music, ringing and chiming. It was mysterious. At the -east end was a window with a gilded eye. That was God's eye. He did not -understand that, but at any rate it was a large eye which must see far. - -Under the window was a grated cellar-opening. His uncle pointed out to -him the polished coffins below. "Here," he said, "lives Clara the Nun." -Who was she? He did not know, but supposed it must be a ghost. - -One day he stands in an enormous room and does not know where he is; -but it is beautiful, everything in white and gold. Music, as if from a -hundred pianos, sounds over his head, but he cannot see the instrument -or the person who plays it. There stand long rows of benches, and quite -in front is a picture, probably of some Bible story. Two white-winged -figures are kneeling, and near them are two large candlesticks. Those -are probably the angels with the two lights who go about our house. -The people on the benches are bowed down as though they were sleeping. -"Take your caps off," says his uncle, and holds his hat before his -face. The boys look round, and see close beside them a strange-looking -seat on which are two men in grey mantles and hoods. They have iron -chains on their hands and feet, and policemen stand by them. - -"Those are thieves," whispers their uncle. - -All this oppresses the boy with a sense of weirdness, strangeness, and -severity. His brothers also feel it, for they ask their uncle to go, -and he complies. - -Strange! Such are the impressions made by that form of worship which -was intended to symbolise the simple truths of Christianity. But it was -not like the mild teaching of Christ. The sight of the thieves was the -worst--in iron chains, and such coats! - - * * * * * - -One day, when the sun shines warmly, there is a great stir in the -house. Articles of furniture are moved from their place, drawers are -emptied, clothes are thrown about everywhere. A morning or two after, -a waggon comes to take away the things, and so the journey begins. -Some of the family start in a boat from "the red shop," others go in -a cab. Near the harbour there is a smell of oil, tar, and coal smoke; -the freshly painted steamboats shine in gay colours and their flags -flutter in the breeze; drays rattle past the long row of lime-trees; -the yellow riding-school stands dusty and dirty near a woodshed. They -are going on the water, but first they go to see their father in his -office. John is astonished to find him looking cheerful and brisk, -joking with the sunburnt steamer captains and laughing in a friendly, -pleasant way. Indeed, he seems quite youthful, and has a bow and arrows -with which the captains amuse themselves by shooting at the window of -the riding-school. The office is small, but they can go behind the -green partition and drink a glass of porter behind a curtain. The -clerks are attentive and polite when his father speaks to them. John -had never before seen his father at work, but only known him in the -character of a tired, hungry provider for his family, who preferred to -live with nine persons in three rooms, than alone in two. He had only -seen his father at leisure, eating and reading the paper when he came -home in the evening, but never in his official capacity. He admired -him, but he felt that he feared him now less, and thought that some day -he might come to love him. - -He fears the water, but before he knows where he is he finds himself -sitting in an oval room ornamented in white and gold, and containing -red satin sofas. Such a splendid room he has never seen before. But -everything rattles and shakes. He looks out of a little window, and -sees green banks, bluish-green waves, sloops carrying hay, and steamers -passing by. It is like a panorama or something seen at a theatre. On -the banks move small red and white houses, outside which stand green -trees with a sprinkling of snow upon them; larger green meadows rush -past with red cows standing in them, looking like Christmas toys. The -sun gets high, and now they reach trees with yellow foliage and brown -caterpillars, bridges with sailing-boats flying flags, cottages with -fowls pecking and dogs barking. The sun shines on rows of windows which -lie on the ground, and old men and women go about with water-cans and -rakes. Then appear green trees again bending over the water, and yellow -and white bath-houses; overhead a cannon-shot is fired; the rattling -and shaking cease; the banks stand still; above him he sees a stone -wall, men's coats and trousers and a multitude of boots. He is carried -up some steps which have a gilded rail, and sees a very large castle. -Somebody says, "Here the King lives." - -It was the castle of Drottningholm--the most beautiful memory of his -childhood, even including the fairy-tale books. - -Their things are unpacked in a little white house on a hill, and now -the children roll on the grass, on real green grass without dandelions, -like that in the Clara churchyard. It is so high and bright, and the -woods and fiords are green and blue in the distance. - -The dust-bin is forgotten, the schoolroom with its foul atmosphere has -disappeared, the melancholy church-bells sound no more, and the graves -are far away. But in the evening a bell rings in a little belfry quite -near at hand. With astonishment he sees the modest little bell which -swings in the open air, and sends its sound far over the park and bay. -He thinks of the terrible deep-toned bell in the tower at home, which -seemed to him like a great black maw when he looked into it, as it -swung, from below. In the evening, when he is tired and has been washed -and put to bed, he hears how the silence seems to hum in his ears, and -waits in vain to hear the strokes and chiming of the bell in the tower. - -The next morning he wakes to get up and play. He plays day after -day for a whole week. He is in nobody's way, and everything is so -peaceful. The little ones sleep in the nursery, and he is in the open -air all day long. His father does not appear; but on Saturday he comes -out from the town and pinches the boys' cheeks because they have grown -and become sunburnt. "He does not beat us now any more," thinks the -child; but he does not trace this to the simple fact that here outside -the city there is more room and the air is purer. - -The slimmer passes gloriously, as enchanting as a fairy-tale; through -the poplar avenues run lackeys in silver-embroidered livery, on the -water float sky-blue dragon-ships with real princes and princesses, -on the roads roll golden chaises and purple-red coaches drawn by Arab -horses four-in-hand, and the whips are as long as the reins. - -Then there is the King's castle with the polished floors, the gilt -furniture, marble-tiled stoves and pictures; the park with its -avenues like long lofty green churches, the fountains ornamented with -unintelligible figures from story-books; the summer-theatre that -remained a puzzle to the child, but was used as a maze; the Gothic -tower, always closed and mysterious, which had nothing else to do but -to echo back the sound of voices. - -He is taken for a walk in the park by a cousin whom he calls "aunt." -She is a well-dressed maiden just grown up, and carries a parasol. -They come into a gloomy wood of sombre pines; here they wander for a -while, ever farther. Presently they hear a murmur of voices, music, and -the clatter of plates and forks; they find themselves before a little -castle; figures of dragons and snakes wind down from the roof-ridge, -other figures of old men with yellow oval faces, black slanting eyes -and pigtails, look from under them; letters which he cannot read, and -which are unlike any others he has seen, run along the eaves. But below -on the ground-floor of the castle royal personages sit at table by the -open windows and eat from silver dishes and drink wine. - -"There sits the King," says his aunt. - -The child becomes alarmed, and looks round to see whether he has not -trodden on the grass, or is not on the point of doing something wrong. -He believes that the handsome King, who looks friendly, sees right -through him, and he wants to go. But neither Oscar I. nor the French -field-marshals nor the Russian generals trouble themselves about him, -for they are just now discussing the Peace of Paris, which is to make -an end of the war in the East. On the other hand, police-guards, -looking like roused lions, are marching about, and of them he has -an unpleasant recollection. He needs only to see one, and he feels -immediately guilty and thinks of the fine of three rix-dollars and -sixteen skillings. However, he has caught a glimpse of the highest form -of authority--higher than that of his brother, his mother, his father, -the deputy-landlord, the landlord, the general with the plumed helmet, -and the police. - -On another occasion, again with his aunt, he passes a little house -close to the castle. In a courtyard strewn with sand there stands a -man in a panama hat and a summer suit. He has a black beard and looks -strong. Round him there runs a black horse held by a long cord. The man -springs a rattle, cracks a whip, and fires shots. - -"That is the Crown Prince," says his aunt. - -He looked like any other man, and was dressed like his uncle Yanne. - -Another time, in the park, deep in the shade of some trees, a mounted -officer meets them. He salutes the boy's aunt, makes his horse stop, -talks to her, and asks his name. The boy answers, but somewhat shyly. -The dark-visaged man with the kind eyes looks at him, and he hears a -loud peal of laughter. Then the rider disappears. It was the Crown -Prince again. The Crown Prince had spoken to him! He felt elevated, and -at the same time more sure of himself. The dangerous potentate had been -quite pleasant. - -One day he learns that his father and aunt are old acquaintances of a -gentleman who lives in the great castle and wears a three-cornered hat -and a sabre. The castle thenceforward assumes a more friendly aspect. -He is also acquainted with people in it, for the Crown Prince has -spoken with him, and his father calls the chamberlain "thou." Now he -understands that the gorgeous lackeys are of inferior social rank to -him, especially when he hears that the cook goes for walks with one of -them in the evenings. He discovers that he is, at any rate, not on the -lowest stair in the social scale. - -Before he has had time to realise it, the fairy-tale is over. The -dust-bin and the rats are again there, but the deputy-landlord does -not use his authority any more when John wants to dig up stones, for -John has spoken with the Crown Prince, and the family have been for a -summer holiday. The boy has seen the splendour of the upper classes in -the distance. He longs after it, as after a home, but the menial blood -he has from his mother rebels against it. From instinct he reveres the -upper classes, and thinks too much of them ever to be able to hope to -reach them. He feels that he belongs neither to them nor to the menial -class. That becomes one of the struggles in his life. - - - - -II - -BREAKING-IN - - -The storm of poverty was now over. The members of the family who had -held together for mutual protection could now all go their own way. But -the overcrowding and unhappy circumstances of the family continued. -However, death weeded them out. Black papers which had contained sweets -distributed at the funeral were being continually gummed on the nursery -walls. The mother constantly went about in a jacket; all the cousins -and aunts had already been used up as sponsors, so that recourse had -now to be made to the clerks, ships' captains, and restaurant-keepers. - -In spite of all, prosperity seemed gradually to return. Since there -was too little space, the family removed to one of the suburbs, and -took a six-roomed house in the Norrtullsgata. At the same time John -entered the Clara High School at the age of seven. It was a long way -for short legs to go four times a day, but his father wished that -the children should grow hardy. That was a laudable object, but so -much unnecessary expenditure of muscular energy should have been -compensated for by nourishing food. However, the household means did -not allow of that, and the monotonous exercise of walking and carrying -a heavy school-satchel provided no sufficient counterpoise to excessive -brain-work. There was, consequently, a loss of moral and physical -equilibrium and new struggles resulted. In winter the seven-year-old -boy and his brothers are waked up at 6 A.M. in pitch darkness. He has -not been thoroughly rested, but still carries the fever of sleep in -his limbs. His father, mother, younger brothers and sisters, and the -servants are still asleep. He washes himself in cold water, drinks a -cup of barley-coffee, eats a French roll, runs over the endings of the -Fourth Declension in _Rabe's Grammar_, repeats a piece of "Joseph sold -by his brethren," and memorises the Second Article with its explanation. - -Then the books are thrust in the satchel and they start. In the street -it is still dark. Every other oil-lantern sways on the rope in the cold -wind, and the snow lies deep, not having been yet cleared away before -the houses. A little quarrel arises among the brothers about the rate -they are to march. Only the bakers' carts and the police are moving. -Near the Observatory the snow is so deep that their boots and trousers -get wet through. In Kungsbacken Street they meet a baker and buy their -breakfast, a French roll, which they usually eat on the way. - -In Haymarket Street he parts from his brothers, who go to a private -school. When at last he reaches the corner of Berg Street the fatal -clock in the Clara Church strikes the hour. Fear lends wings to his -feet, his satchel bangs against his back, his temples beat, his brain -throbs. As he enters the churchyard gate he sees that the class-rooms -are empty; it is too late! - -In the boy's case the duty of punctuality took the form of a given -promise, a _force majeure,_ a stringent necessity from which nothing -could release him. A ship-captain's bill of lading contains a clause -to the effect that he binds himself to deliver the goods uninjured by -such and such a date "if God wills." If God sends snow or storm, he is -released from his bond. But for the boy there are no such conditions -of exemption. He has neglected his duty, and will be punished: that is -all. - -With a slow step he enters the hall. Only the school porter is there, -who laughs at him, and writes his name on the blackboard under the -heading "Late." A painful hour follows, and then loud cries are heard -in the lower school, and the blows of a cane fall thickly. It is the -headmaster, who has made an onslaught on the late-comers or takes his -exercise on them. John bursts into tears and trembles all over--not -from fear of pain but from a feeling of shame to think that he should -be fallen upon like an animal doomed to slaughter, or a criminal. Then -the door opens. He starts up, but it is only the chamber-maid who comes -in to trim the lamp. - -"Good-day, John," she says. "You are too late; you are generally so -punctual. How is Hanna?" - -John tells her that Hanna is well, and that the snow was very deep in -the Norrtullsgata. - -"Good heavens! You have not come by Norrtullsgata?" - -Then the headmaster opens the door and enters. - -"Well, you!" - -"You must not be angry with John, sir! He lives in Norrtullsgata." - -"Silence, Karin!" says the headmaster, "and go.--Well," he continues: -"you live in the Norrtullsgata. That is certainly a good way. But still -you ought to look out for the time." - -Then he turns and goes. John owed it to Karin that he escaped -a flogging, and to fate that Hanna had chanced to be Karin's -fellow-servant at the headmaster's. Personal influence had saved him -from an injustice. - -And then the school and the teaching! Has not enough been written about -Latin and the cane? Perhaps! In later years he skipped all passages in -books which dealt with reminiscences of school life, and avoided all -books on that subject. When he grew up his worst nightmare, when he had -eaten something indigestible at night or had a specially troublesome -day, was to dream that he was back at school. - -The relation between pupil and teacher is such, that the former gets -as one-sided a view of the latter as a child of its parent. The first -teacher John had looked like the ogre in the story of Tom Thumb. He -flogged continually, and said he would make the boys crawl on the floor -and "beat them to pulp" if they did their exercises badly. - -He was not, however, really a bad fellow, and John and his -school-fellows presented him with an album when he left Stockholm. -Many thought well of him, and considered him a fine character. He ended -as a gentleman farmer and the hero of an Ostgothland idyll. - -Another was regarded as a monster of malignity. He really seemed to -beat the boys because he liked it. He would commence his lesson by -saying, "Bring the cane," and then try to find as many as he could -who had an ill-prepared lesson. He finally committed suicide in -consequence of a scathing newspaper article. Half a year before that, -John, then a student, had met him in Uggelvikswald, and felt moved by -his old teacher's complaints over the ingratitude of the world. A year -previous he had received at Christmas time a box of stones, sent from -an old pupil in Australia. But the colleagues of the stern teacher -used to speak of him as a good-natured fool at whom they made jests. -So many points of view, so many differing judgments! But to this day -old boys of the Clara School cannot meet each other without expressing -their horror and indignation at his unmercifulness, although they all -acknowledge that he was an excellent teacher. - -These men of the old school knew perhaps no better. They had themselves -been brought up on those lines, and we, who learn to understand -everything, are bound also to pardon everything. - -This, however, did not prevent the first period of school life from -appearing to be a preparation for hell and not for life. The teachers -seemed to be there only to torment, not to punish; our school life -weighed upon us like an oppressive nightmare day and night; even having -learned our lessons well before we left home did not save us. Life -seemed a penal institution for crimes committed before we were born, -and therefore the boy always went about with a bad conscience. - -But he learned some social lessons. The Clara School was a school for -the children of the better classes, for the people of the district -were well off. The boy wore leather breeches and greased leather boots -which smelt of train-oil and blacking. Therefore, those who had velvet -jackets did not like sitting near him. He also noticed that the poorly -dressed boys got more floggings than the well-dressed ones, and that -pretty boys were let off altogether. If he had at that time studied -psychology and æsthetics, he would have understood this, but he did not -then. - -The examination day left a pleasant, unforgettable memory. The old -dingy rooms were freshly scoured, the boys wore their best clothes, -and the teachers frock-coats with white ties; the cane was put away, -all punishments were suspended. It was a day of festival and jubilee, -on which one could tread the floor of the torture-chambers without -trembling. The change of places in each class, however, which had -taken place in the morning, brought with it certain surprises, and -those who had been put lower made certain comparisons and observations -which did not always redound to the credit of the teacher. The school -testimonials were also rather hastily drawn up, as was natural. But -the holidays were at hand, and everything else was soon forgotten. At -the conclusion, in the lower schoolroom, the teachers received the -thanks of the Archbishop, and the pupils were reproved and warned. -The presence of the parents, especially the mothers, made the chilly -rooms seem warm, and a sigh involuntarily rose in the boys' hearts, -"Why cannot it be always like to-day?" To some extent the sigh has -been heard, and our present-day youth no longer look upon school as a -penal institute, even if they do not recognise much use in the various -branches of superfluous learning. - -John was certainly not a shining light in the school, but neither was -he a mere good-for-nothing. On account of his precocity in learning he -had been allowed to enter the school before the regulation age, and -therefore he was always the youngest. Although his report justified his -promotion into a higher class, he was still kept a year in his present -one. This was a severe pull-back in his development; his impatient -spirit suffered from having to repeat old lessons for a whole year. -He certainly gained much spare time, but his appetite for learning -was dulled, and he felt himself neglected. At home and school alike -he was the youngest, but only in years; in intelligence he was older -than his school-fellows. His father seemed to have noticed his love -for learning, and to have thought of letting him become a student. He -heard him his lessons, for he himself had had an elementary education. -But when the eight-year-old boy once came to him with a Latin exercise, -and asked for help, his father was obliged to confess that he did not -know Latin. The boy felt his superiority in this point, and it is not -improbable that his father was conscious of it also. He removed John's -elder brother, who had entered the school at the same time, abruptly -from it, because the teacher one day had made the younger, as monitor, -hear the elder his lessons. This was stupid on the part of the -teacher, and it was wise of his father to prevent it. - -His mother was proud of his learning, and boasted of it to her friends. -In the family the word "student" was often heard. At the students' -congress in the fifties, Stockholm was swarming with white caps. - -"Think if you should wear a white cap some day," said his mother. - -When the students' concerts took place, they talked about it for days -at a time. Acquaintances from Upsala sometimes came to Stockholm and -talked of the gay students' life there. A girl who had been in service -in Upsala called John "the student." - -In the midst of his terribly mysterious school life, in which the -boy could discover no essential connection between Latin grammar and -real life, a new mysterious factor appeared for a short time and then -disappeared again. The nine-year-old daughter of the headmaster came to -the French lessons. She was purposely put on the last bench, in order -not to be seen, and to look round was held to be a great misdemeanour. -Her presence, however, was felt in the class-room. The boy, and -probably the whole class, fell in love. The lessons always went well -when she was present; their ambition was spurred, and none of them -wanted to be humiliated or flogged before her. She was, it is true, -ugly, but well dressed. Her gentle voice vibrated among the breaking -voices of the boys, and even the teacher had a smile on his severe face -when he spoke to her. How beautifully her name sounded when he called -it out--one Christian name among all the surnames. - -John's love found expression in a silent melancholy. He never spoke to -her, and would never have dared to do it. He feared and longed for her. -But if anyone had asked him what he wanted from her, he could not have -told them. He wanted nothing from her. A kiss? No; in his family there -was no kissing. To hold her? No! Still less to possess her. Possess? -What should he do with her? He felt that he had a secret. This plagued -him so that he suffered under it, and his whole life was overclouded. -One day at home he seized a knife and said, "I will cut my throat." His -mother thought he was ill. He could not tell her. He was then about -nine years old. - -Perhaps if there had been as many girls as boys in the school -present in all the classes, probably innocent friendships would -have been formed, the electricity would have been carried off, the -Madonna-worship brought within its proper limits, and wrong ideas of -woman would not have followed him and his companions through life. - - * * * * * - -His father's contemplative turn of mind, his dislike of meeting -people after his bankruptcy, the unfriendly verdict of public opinion -regarding his originally illegal union with his wife, had induced him -to retire to the Norrtullsgata. Here he had rented a house with a large -garden, wide-stretching fields, with a pasture, stables, farmyard, and -conservatory. He had always liked the occupations of a country life -and agriculture. Before this he had possessed a piece of land outside -the town, but could not look after it. Now he rented a garden for his -own sake and the children's, whose education a little resembled that -described in Rousseau's _Emile_. The house was separated from its -neighbours by a long fence. The Norrtullsgata was an avenue lined with -trees which as yet had no pavement, and had been but little built upon. -The principal traffic consisted of peasants and milk-carts on their way -to the hay market. Besides these there were also funerals moving slowly -along to the "New Churchyard," sledging parties to Brunnsvik, and -young people on their way to Norrbucka or Stallmastergarden. - -The garden which surrounded the little one-storied house was very -spacious. Long alleys with at least a hundred apple-trees and -berry-bearing bushes crossed each other. Here and there were thick -bowers of lilac and jasmine, and a huge aged oak still stood in a -corner. There was plenty of shade and space, and enough decay to make -the place romantic. East of the garden rose a gravel-hill covered with -maples, beeches, and ash-trees; on the summit of it stood a temple -belonging to the last century. The back of the hill had been dug away -in parts in an unsuccessful attempt to take away gravel, but it had -picturesque little dells filled with osier and thorn bushes. From -this side neither the street nor the house was visible. From here one -obtained a view over Bellevue, Cedardalsberg, and Lilljanskog. One saw -only single scattered houses in the far distance, but on the other hand -numberless gardens and drying-houses for tobacco. - -Thus all the year round they enjoyed a country life, to which they had -no objection. Now the boy could study at first-hand the beauty and -secrets of plant life, and his first spring there was a period of -wonderful surprises. When the freshly turned earth lay black under the -apple-tree's white and pink canopy, when the tulips blazed in oriental -pomp of colour, it seemed to him as he went about in the garden as -if he were assisting at a solemnity more even than at the school -examination, or in church, the Christmas festival itself not excepted. - -But he had also plenty of hard bodily exercise. The boys were sent -with ships' scrapers to clear the moss from the trees; they weeded the -ground, swept the paths, watered and hoed. In the stable there was -a cow with calves; the hay-loft became a swimming school where they -sprang from the beams, and they rode the horses to water. - -They had lively games on the hill, rolled down blocks of stone, climbed -to the tops of the trees, and made expeditions. They explored the woods -and bushes in the Haga Park, climbed up young trees in the ruins, -caught bats, discovered edible wood-sorrel and ferns, and plundered -birds' nests. Soon they laid their bows and arrows aside, discovered -gunpowder, and shot little birds on the hills. They came to be somewhat -uncivilised. They found school more distasteful and the streets more -hateful than ever. Boys' books also helped in this process. _Robinson -Crusoe_ formed an epoch in his life; the _Discovery of America_, -the _Scalp-Hunter_, and others aroused in him a sincere dislike of -school-books. - -During the long summer holidays their wildness increased so much that -their mother could no longer control the unruly boys. As an experiment -they were sent at first to the swimming school in Riddarholm, but it -was so far that they wasted half the day on the road thither. Finally, -their father resolved to send the three eldest to a boarding-school in -the country, to spend the rest of the summer there. - - - - -III - -AWAY FROM HOME - - -Now he stands on the deck of a steamer far out at sea. He has had so -much to look at on the journey that he has not felt any tedium. But -now it is afternoon, which is always melancholy, like the beginning -of old age. The shadows of the sun fall and alter everything without -hiding everything, like the night. He begins to miss something. He -has a feeling of emptiness, of being deserted, broken off. He wants -to go home, but the consciousness that he cannot do so at once fills -him with terror and despair and he weeps. When his brothers ask him -why, he says he wants to go home to his mother. They laugh at him, but -her image recurs to his mind, serious, mild, and smiling. He hears -her last words at parting: "Be obedient and respectful to all, take -care of your clothes, and don't forget your evening prayer." He thinks -how disobedient he has been to her, and wonders whether she may be -ill. Her image seems glorified, and draws him with unbreakable cords -of longing. This feeling of loneliness and longing after his mother -followed him all through his life. Had he come perhaps too early and -incomplete into the world? What held him so closely bound to his mother? - -To this question he found no answer either in books or in life. But -the fact remained: he never became himself, was never liberated, never -a complete individuality. He remained, as it were, a mistletoe, which -could not grow except upon a tree; he was a climbing plant which must -seek a support. He was naturally weak and timid, but he took part in -all physical exercises; he was a good gymnast, could mount a horse when -on the run, was skilled in the use of all sorts of weapons, was a bold -shot, swimmer, and sailor, but only in order not to appear inferior -to others. If no one watched him when bathing, he merely slipped -into the water; but if anyone _was_ watching, he plunged into it, -head-over-heels, from the roof of the bathing-shed. He was conscious -of his timidity, and wished to conceal it. He never attacked his -school-fellows, but if anyone attacked him, he would strike back even a -stronger boy than himself. He seemed to have been born frightened, and -lived in continual fear of life and of men. - -The ship steams out of the bay and there opens before them a blue -stretch of sea without a shore. The novelty of the spectacle, the -fresh wind, the liveliness of his brothers, cheer him up. It has just -occurred to him that they have come eighteen miles by sea when the -steamboat turns into the Nykopingså river. - -When the gangway has been run out, there appears a middle-aged man with -blond whiskers, who, after a short conversation with the captain, takes -over charge of the boys. He looks friendly, and is cheerful. It is the -parish clerk of Vidala. On the shore there stands a waggon with a black -mare, and soon they are above in the town and stop at a shopkeeper's -house which is also an inn for the country people. It smells of -herrings and small beer, and they get weary of waiting. The boy cries -again. At last Herr Linden comes in a country cart with their baggage, -and after many handshakes and a few glasses of beer they leave the -town. Fallow fields and hedges stretch in a long desolate perspective, -and over some red roofs there rises the edge of a wood in the distance. -The sun sets, and they have to drive for three miles through the dark -wood. Herr Linden talks briskly in order to keep up their spirits. He -tells them about their future school-fellows, the bathing-places, and -strawberry-picking. John sleeps till they have reached an inn where -there are drunken peasants. The horses are taken out and watered. Then -they continue their journey through dark woods. In one place they have -to get down and climb up a hill. The horses steam with perspiration -and snort, the peasants on the baggage-cart joke and drink, the parish -clerk chats with them and tells funny stories. Still they go on -sleeping and waking, getting down and resting alternately. Still there -are more woods, which used to be haunted by robbers, black pine woods -under the starry sky, cottages and hedges. The boy is quite alarmed, -and approaches the unknown with trembling. - -At last they are on a level road; the day dawns, and the waggon stops -before a red house. Opposite it is a tall dark building--a church--once -more a church. An old woman, as she appears to him, tall and thin, -comes out, receives the boys, and conducts them into a large room on -the ground-floor, where there is a cover-table. She has a sharp voice -which does not sound friendly, and John is afraid. They eat in the -gloom, but do not relish the unusual food, and one of them has to choke -down tears. Then they are led in the dark into an attic. No lamp is -lit. The room is narrow; pallets and beds are laid across chairs and -on the floor, and there is a terrible odor. There is a stirring in the -beds, and one head rises, and then another. There are whispers and -murmurs, but the new-comers can see no faces. The eldest brother gets -a bed to himself, but John and the second brother lie foot to foot. It -is a new thing for them, but they creep into bed and draw the blankets -over them. His elder brother stretches himself out at his ease, but -John protests against this encroachment. They push each other with -their feet, and John is struck. He weeps at once. The eldest brother is -already asleep. Then there comes a voice from a corner on the ground: -"Lie still, you young devils, and don't fight!" - -"What do you say?" answers his brother, who is inclined to be impudent. - -The bass voice answers, "What do I say? I say--Leave the youngster -alone." - -"What have you to do with that?" - -"A good deal. Come here, and I'll thrash you." - -"_You_ thrash _me_!" - -His brother stands up in his night-shirt. The owner of the bass voice -comes towards him. All that one can see is a short sturdy figure with -broad shoulders. A number of spectators sit upright in their beds. - -They fight, and the elder brother gets the worst of it. - -"No! don't hit him! don't hit him!" - -The small brother throws himself between the combatants. He could not -see anyone of his own flesh and blood being beaten or suffering without -feeling it in all his nerves. It was another instance of his want of -independence and consciousness of the closeness of the blood-tie. - -Then there is silence and dreamless sleep, which Death is said to -resemble, and therefore entices so many to premature rest. - -Now there begins a new little section of life--an education without his -parents, for the boy is out in the world among strangers. He is timid, -and carefully avoids every occasion of being blamed. He attacks no -one, but defends himself against bullies. There are, however, too many -of them for the equilibrium to be maintained. Justice is administered -by the broad-shouldered boy mentioned above, who is humpbacked, and -always takes the weaker one's part when unrighteously attacked. - -In the morning they do their lessons, bathe before dinner, and do -manual labour in the afternoon. They weed the garden, fetch water from -the spring, and keep the stable clean. It is their father's wish that -the boys should do physical work, although they pay the usual fees. - -But John's obedience and conscientiousness do not suffice to render -his life tolerable. His brothers incur all kinds of reprimands, and -under them he also suffers much. He is keenly conscious of their -solidarity, and is in this summer only as it were the third part of a -person. There are no other punishments except detention, but even the -reprimands disquiet him. Manual labour makes him physically strong, but -his nerves are just as sensitive as before. Sometimes he pines for his -mother, sometimes he is in extremely high spirits and indulges in risky -amusements, such as piling up stones in a limestone quarry and lighting -a fire at the bottom of it, or sliding down steep hills on a board. He -is alternately timid and daring, overflowing with spirits or brooding, -but without proper balance. - -The church stands on the opposite side of the way, and with its black -roof and white walls throws a shadow across the summer-like picture. -Daily from his window he sees monumental crosses which rise above the -churchyard wall. The church clock does not strike day and night as -that in the Clara Church did, but in the evenings at six o'clock one -of the boys is allowed to pull the bell-rope which hangs in the tower. -It was a solemn moment when, for the first time, his turn came. He -felt like a church official, and when he counted three times the three -bell-strokes, he thought that God, the pastor, and the congregation -would suffer harm if he rang one too many. On Sundays the bigger boys -were allowed to ring the bells. Then John stood on the dark wooden -staircase and wondered. - -In the course of the summer there arrived a black-bordered proclamation -which caused great commotion when read aloud in church. King Oscar was -dead. Many good things were reported of him, even if no one mourned -him. And now the bells rang daily between twelve and one o'clock. In -fact, church-bells seemed to follow him. - -The boys played in the churchyard among the graves and soon grew -familiar with the church. On Sundays they were all assembled in the -organ-loft. When the parish clerk struck up the psalm, they took their -places by the organ-stops, and when he gave them a sign, all the stops -were drawn out and they marched into the choir. That always made a -great impression on the congregation. - -But the fact of his having to come in such proximity to holy things, -and of his handling the requisites of worship, etc., made him familiar -with them, and his respect for them diminished. For instance, he did -not find the Lord's Supper edifying when on Saturday evening he had -eaten some of the holy bread in the parish clerk's kitchen, where it -was baked and stamped with the impression of a crucifix. The boys ate -these pieces of bread, and called them wafers. Once after the Holy -Communion he and the churchwarden were offered the rest of the wine in -the vestry. - -Nevertheless, after he had been parted from his mother, and felt -himself surrounded by unknown threatening powers, he felt a profound -need of having recourse to some refuge and of keeping watch. He prayed -his evening prayer with a fair amount of devotion; in the morning, when -the sun shone, and he was well rested, he did not feel the need of it. - -One day when the church was being aired the boys were playing in -it. In an access of high spirits they stormed the altar. But John, -who was egged on to something more daring, ran up into the pulpit, -reversed the hour-glass, and began to preach out of the Bible. This -made a great sensation. Then he descended, and ran along the tops of -the pews through the whole church. When he had reached the pew next -to the altar, which belonged to a count's family, he stepped too -heavily on the reading-desk, which fell with a crash to the ground. -There was a panic, and all the boys rushed out of church. He stood -alone and desolate. In other circumstances he would have run to his -mother, acknowledged his fault, and implored her help. But she was -not there. Then he thought of God; he fell on his knees before the -altar, and prayed through the Paternoster. Then, as though inspired -with a thought from above, he arose calmed and strengthened, examined -the desk, and found that its joints were not broken. He took a clamp, -dovetailed the joints together, and, using his boot as a hammer, with -a few well-directed blows repaired the desk. He tried it, and found it -firm. Then he went greatly relieved out of the church. "How simple!" -he thought to himself, and felt ashamed of having prayed the Lord's -Prayer. Why? Perhaps he felt dimly that in this obscure complex which -we call the soul there lives a power which, summoned to self-defence at -the hour of need, possesses a considerable power of extricating itself. -He did not fall on his knees and thank God, and this showed that he did -not believe it was He who had helped him. That obscure feeling of shame -probably arose from the fact of his perceiving that he had crossed a -river to fetch water, _i.e._, that his prayer had been superfluous. - -But this was only a passing moment of self-consciousness. He continued -to be variable and capricious. Moodiness, caprice, or _diables noirs,_ -as the French call it, is a not completely explained phenomenon. The -victim of them is like one possessed; he wants something, but does -the opposite; he suffers from the desire to do himself an injury, and -finds almost a pleasure in self-torment. It is a sickness of the soul -and of the will, and former psychologists tried to explain it by the -hypothesis of a duality in the brain, the two hemispheres of which, -they thought, under certain conditions could operate independently -each for itself and against the other. But this explanation has been -rejected. Many have observed the phenomenon of duplex personality, and -Goethe has handled this theme in _Faust_. In capricious children who -"do not know what they want," as the saying is, the nerve-tension ends -in tears. They "beg for a whipping," and it is strange that on such -occasions a slight chastisement restores the nervous equilibrium and -is almost welcomed by the child, who is at once pacified, appeased, -and not at all embittered by the punishment, which in its view must -have been unjust. It really had asked for a beating as a medicine. But -there is also another way of expelling the "black dog." One takes the -child in one's arms so that it feels the magnetism of friendship and is -quieted. That is the best way of all. - -John suffered from similar attacks of caprice. When some treat was -proposed to him, a strawberry-picking expedition for example, he asked -to be allowed to remain at home, though he knew he would be bored to -death there. He would have gladly gone, but he insisted on remaining at -home. Another will stronger than his own commanded him to do so. The -more they tried to persuade him, the stronger was his resistance. But -then if someone came along jovially and with a jest seized him by the -collar, and threw him into the haycart, he obeyed and was relieved to -be thus liberated from the mysterious will that mastered him. Generally -speaking, he obeyed gladly and never wished to put himself forward -or be prominent. So much of the slave was in his nature. His mother -had served and obeyed in her youth, and as a waitress had been polite -towards everyone. - -One Sunday they were in the parsonage, where there were young girls. -He liked them, but he feared them. All the children went out to pluck -strawberries. Someone suggested that they should collect the berries -without eating them, in order to eat them at home with sugar. John -plucked diligently and kept the agreement; he did not eat one, but -honestly delivered up his share, though he saw others cheating. On -their return home the berries were divided by the pastor's daughter, -and the children pressed round her in order that each might get a full -spoonful. John kept as far away as possible; he was forgotten and -berryless. - -He had been passed over! Full of the bitter consciousness of this, -he went into the garden and concealed himself in an arbour. He felt -himself to be the last and meanest. He did not weep, however, but was -conscious of something hard and cold rising within, like a skeleton of -steel. After he had passed the whole company under critical review, he -found that he was the most honest, because he had not eaten a single -strawberry outside; and then came the false inference--he had been -passed over because he was better than the rest. The result was that he -really regarded himself as such, and felt a deep satisfaction at having -been overlooked. - -He had also a special skill in making himself invisible, or keeping -concealed so as to be passed over. One evening his father brought -home a peach. Each child received a slice of the rare fruit, with the -exception of John, and his otherwise just father did not notice it. He -felt so proud at this new reminder of his gloomy destiny that later in -the evening he boasted of it to his brothers. They did not believe him, -regarding his story as improbable. The more improbable the better, he -thought. He was also plagued by antipathies. One Sunday in the country -a cart full of boys came to the parish clerk's. A brown-complexioned -boy with a mischievous and impudent face alighted from it. John -ran away at the first sight of him, and hid himself in the attic. -They found him out: the parish clerk cajoled him, but he remained -sitting in his corner and listened to the children playing till the -brown-complexioned boy had gone away. - -Neither cold baths, wild games, nor hard physical labour could harden -his sensitive nerves, which at certain moments became strung up to the -highest possible pitch. He had a good memory, and learned his lessons -well, especially practical subjects such as geography and natural -science. He liked arithmetic, but hated geometry; a science which -seemed to deal with unrealities disquieted him. It was not till later, -when a book of land mensuration came into his hands and he had obtained -an insight into the practical value of geometry, that the subject -interested him. He then measured trees and houses, the garden and its -avenues, and constructed cardboard models. - -He was now entering his tenth year. He was broad-shouldered, with -a sunburnt complexion; his hair was fair, and hung over a sickly -looking high and prominent forehead, which often formed a subject of -conversation and caused his relatives to give him the nickname of "the -professor." He was no more an automaton, but began to make his own -observations and to draw inferences. He was approaching the time when -he would be severed from his surroundings and go alone. Solitude had -to take for him the place of desert-wandering, for he had not a strong -enough individuality to go his own way. His sympathies for men were -doomed not to be reciprocated, because their thoughts did not keep pace -with his. He was destined to go about and offer his heart to the first -comer; but no one would take it, because it was strange to them, and so -he would retire into himself, wounded, humbled, overlooked, and passed -by. - - * * * * * - -The summer came to an end, and when the school-term began he returned -to Stockholm. The gloomy house by the Clara churchyard seemed doubly -depressing to him now, and when he saw the long row of class-rooms -through which he must work his way in a fixed number of years in order -to do laboriously the same through another row of class-rooms in the -High School, life did not seem to him particularly inviting. At the -same time his self-opinionatedness began to revolt against the lessons, -and consequently he got bad reports. A term later, when he had been -placed lower in his class, his father took him from the Clara School -and placed him in the Jacob School. At the same time they left the -Norrtullsgata and took a suburban house in the Stora Grabergsgata near -the Sabbatsberg. - - - - -IV - -INTERCOURSE WITH THE LOWER CLASSES - - -Christinenberg, so we will call the house, had a still more lonely -situation than that in the Norrtullsgata.[1] The Grabergsgata had no -pavement. Often for hours at a time one never saw more than a single -pedestrian in it, and the noise of a passing cart was an event which -brought people to their windows. The house stood in a courtyard with -many trees, and resembled a country parsonage. It was surrounded by -gardens and tobacco plantations; extensive fields with ponds stretched -away to Sabbatsberg. But their father rented no land here, so that -the boys spent their time in loafing about. Their playfellows now -consisted of the children of poorer people, such as the miller's and -the milkman's. Their chief playground was the hill on which the mill -stood, and the wings of the windmill were their playthings. - -The Jacob School was attended by the poorer class of children. Here -John came in contact with the lower orders. The boys were ill dressed; -they had sores on their noses, ugly features, and smelt bad. His own -leather breeches and greased boots produced no bad effect here. In -these surroundings, which pleased him, he felt more at his ease. He -could be on more confidential terms with these boys than with the proud -ones in the Clara School. But many of these children were very good at -their lessons, and the genius of the school was a peasant boy. At the -same time there were so-called "louts" in the lower classes, and these -generally did not get beyond the second class. He was now in the third, -and did not come into contact with them, nor did they with those in the -higher classes. These boys worked out of school, had black hands, and -were as old as fourteen or fifteen. Many of them were employed during -the summer on the brig _Carl Johann_, and then appeared in autumn with -tarry trousers, belts, and knives. They fought with chimney-sweeps and -tobacco-binders, took drams, and visited restaurants and coffee-houses. -These boys were liable to ceaseless examinations and expulsions and -were generally regarded, but with great injustice, as a bad lot. Many -of them grew up to be respectable citizens, and one who had served on -the "louts' brig" finally became an officer of the Guard. He never -ventured to talk of his sea voyages, but said that he used to shudder -when he led the watch to relieve guard at Nybrohanm, and saw the -notorious brig lying there. - -One day John met a former school-fellow from the Clara School, and -tried to avoid him. But the latter came directly towards him, and asked -him what school he was attending. "Ah, yes," he said, on being told, -"you are going to the louts' school." - -John felt that he had come down, but he had himself wished it. He did -not stand above his companions, but felt himself at home with them, -on friendly terms, and more comfortable than in the Clara School, -for here there was no pressure on him from above. He himself did not -wish to climb up and press down others, but he suffered himself from -being pressed down. He himself did not wish to ascend, but he felt a -need that there should be none above him. But it annoyed him to feel -that his old school-fellows thought that he had gone down. When at -gymnastic displays he appeared among the grimy-looking troop of the -Jacobites, and met the bright files of the Clara School in their -handsome uniforms and clean faces, then he was conscious of a class -difference, and when from the opposite camp the word "louts" was heard, -then there was war in the air. The two schools fought sometimes, but -John took no part in these encounters. He did not wish to see his old -friends, and to show how he had come down. - -The examination day in the Jacob School made a very different -impression from that in the Clara School. Artisans, poorly clad old -women, restaurant-keepers dressed up for the occasion, coach-men, and -publicans formed the audience. And the speech of the school inspector -was quite other than the flowery one of the Archbishop. He read out the -names of the idle and the stupid, scolded the parents because their -children came too late or did not turn up at all, and the hall reechoed -the sobs of poor mothers who were probably not at all to blame for the -easily explained non-attendances, and who in their simplicity believed -that they had bad sons. It was always the well-to-do citizens' sons who -had had the leisure to devote themselves exclusively to their tasks, -who were now greeted as patterns of virtue. - -In the moral teaching which the boy received he heard nothing of his -rights, only of his duties. Everything he was taught to regard as a -favour; he lived by favour, ate by favour, and went as a favour to -school. And in this poor children's school more and more was demanded -of them. It was demanded from them, for instance, that they should have -untorn clothes--but from whence were they to get them? - -Remarks were made upon their hands because they had been blackened -by contact with tar and pitch. There was demanded of them attention, -good morals, politeness, _i.e._, mere impossibilities. The æsthetic -susceptibilities of the teachers often led them to commit acts of -injustice. Near John sat a boy whose hair was never combed, who had -a sore under his nose, and an evil-smelling flux from his ears. His -hands were dirty, his clothes spotted and torn. He rarely knew his -lessons, and was scolded and caned on the palms of his hands. One day -a school-fellow accused him of bringing vermin into the class. He was -then made to sit apart in a special place. He wept bitterly, ah! so -bitterly, and then kept away from school. - -John was sent to look him up at his house. He lived in the Undertakers' -street. The painter's family lived with the grandmother and many small -children in one room. When John went there he found George, the boy in -question, holding on his knee, a little sister, who screamed violently. -The grandmother carried a little one on her arm. The father and mother -were away at work. In this room, which no one had time to clean, and -which could not be cleaned, there was a smell of sulphur fumes from the -coals and from the uncleanliness of the children. Here the clothes were -dried, food was cooked, oil-colours were rubbed, putty was kneaded. -Here were laid bare the grounds of George's immorality. "But," perhaps -a moralist may object, "one is never so poor that one cannot keep -oneself clean and tidy." _Sancta simplicitas!_ As if to pay for sewing -(when there was anything whole to sew), soap, clothes-washing, and time -cost nothing. Complete cleanliness and tidiness is the highest point to -which the poor can attain; George could not, and was therefore cast out. - -Some younger moralists believe they have made the discovery that the -lower classes are more immoral than the higher. By "immoral" they -mean that they do not keep social contracts so well as the upper -classes. That is a mistake, if not something worse. In all cases, in -which the lower classes are not compelled by necessity, they are more -conscientious than the upper ones. They are more merciful towards their -fellows, gentler to children, and especially more patient. How long -have they allowed their toil to be exploited by the upper classes, till -at last they begin to be impatient! - -Moreover, the social laws have been kept as long as possible in a state -of instability and uncertainty. Why are they not clearly defined and -printed like civil and divine laws? Perhaps because an honestly written -moral law would have to take some cognizance of rights as well as -duties. - -John's revolt against the school-teaching increased. At home he learned -all he could, but he neglected the school-lessons. The principal -subjects taught in the school were now Latin and Greek, but the method -of teaching was absurd. Half a year was spent in explaining a campaign -in _Cornelius_. The teacher had a special method of confusing the -subject by making the scholar analyse the "grammatical construction" of -the sentence. But he never explained what this meant. It consisted in -reading the words of the text in a certain order, but he did not say in -which. It did not agree with the Swedish translation, and when John had -tried to grasp the connection, but failed, he preferred to be silent. -He was obstinate, and when he was called upon to explain something he -was silent, even when he knew his lesson. For as soon as he began to -read, he was assailed with a storm of reproaches for the accent he put -on the words, the pace at which he read, his voice, everything. - -"Cannot you, do not you understand?" the teacher shouted, beside -himself. - -The boy was silent, and looked at the pedant contemptuously. - -"Are you dumb?" - -He remained silent. He was too old to be beaten; besides, this form of -punishment was gradually being disused. He was therefore told to sit -down. - -He could translate the text into Swedish, but not in the way the -teacher wished. That the teacher only permitted one way of translating -seemed to him silly. He had already rushed through _Cornelius_ in a few -weeks, and this deliberate, unreasonable crawling when one could run, -depressed him. He saw no sense in it. - -The same kind of thing happened in the history lessons. "Now, John," -the teacher would say, "tell me what you know about Gustav I." - -The boy stands up, and his vagrant thoughts express themselves as -follows: "What I know about Gustav I. Oh! a good deal. But I knew that -when I was in the lowest class (he is now in the fourth), and the -master knows it too. What is the good of repeating it all again?" - -"Well! is that all you know?" - -He had not said a word about Gustav I., and his school-fellows laughed. -Now he felt angry, and tried to speak, but the words stuck in his -throat. How should he begin? Gustav was born at Lindholm, in the -province of Roslagen. Yes, but he and the teacher knew that long ago. -How stupid to oblige him to repeat it. - -"Ah, well!" continues the teacher, "you don't know your lesson, you -know nothing of Gustav I." Now he opens his mouth, and says curtly and -decidedly: "Yes, I know his history well." - -"If you do, why don't you answer?" - -The master's question seems to him a very stupid one, and now he will -not answer. He drives away all thoughts about Gustav I. and forces -himself to think of other things, the maps on the wall, the lamp -hanging from the ceiling. He pretends to be deaf. - -"Sit down, you don't know your lesson," says the master. He sits down, -and lets his thoughts wander where they will, after he has settled in -his own mind that the master has told a falsehood. - -In this there was a kind of aphasia, an incapability or unwillingness -to speak, which followed him for a long time through life till the -reaction set in in the form of garrulousness, of incapacity to shut -one's mouth, of an impulse to speak whatever came into his mind. He -felt attracted to the natural sciences, and during the hour when -the teacher showed coloured pictures of plants and trees the gloomy -class-room seemed to be lighted up; and when the teacher read out of -Nilsson's _Lectures on Animal Life_, he listened and impressed all on -his memory. But his father observed that he was backward in his other -subjects, especially in Latin. Still, John had to learn Latin and -Greek. Why? He was destined for a scholar's career. His father made -inquiries into the matter. After hearing from the teacher of Latin that -the latter regarded his son as an idiot, his _amour propre_ must have -been hurt, for he determined to send his son to a private school, where -more practical methods of instruction were employed. Indeed, he was so -annoyed that he went so far in private as to praise John's intelligence -and to say some severe things regarding his teacher. - -Meanwhile, contact with the lower classes had aroused in the boy a -decided dislike to the higher ones. In the Jacob School a democratic -spirit prevailed, at any rate among those of the same age. None of them -avoided each other's society except from feelings of personal dislike. -In the Clara School, on the other hand, there were marked distinctions -of class and birth. Though in the Jacob School the possession of -money might have formed an aristocratic class, as a matter of fact -none of them were rich. Those who were obviously poor were treated -by their companions sympathetically without condescension, although -the beribboned school inspector and the academically educated teacher -showed their aversion to them. - -John felt himself identified and friendly with his school-fellows; he -sympathised with them, but was reserved towards those of the higher -class. He avoided the main thoroughfares, and always went through -the empty Hollandergata or the poverty stricken Badstugata. But his -school-fellows' influence made him despise the peasants who lived here. -That was the aristocratism of town-people, with which even the meanest -and poorest city children are imbued. - -These angular figures in grey coats which swayed about on milk-carts or -hay-waggons were regarded as fair butts for jests, as inferior beings -whom to snowball was no injustice. To mount behind on their sledges was -regarded as the boys' inherent privilege. A standing joke was to shout -to them that their waggon-wheels were going round, and to make them get -down to contemplate the wonder. - -But how should children, who see only the motley confusion of society, -where the heaviest sinks and the lightest lies on the top, avoid -regarding that which sinks as the worse of the two? Some say we are -all aristocrats by instinct. That is partly true, but it is none the -less an evil tendency, and we should avoid giving way to it. The -lower classes are really more democratic than the higher ones, for -they do not want to mount up to them, but only to attain to a certain -level; whence the assertion is commonly made that they wish to elevate -themselves. - -Since there was now no longer physical work to do at home, John -lived exclusively an inner, unpractical life of imagination. He read -everything which fell into his hands. - -On Wednesday or Saturday afternoon the eleven-year-old boy could be -seen in a dressing-gown and cap which his father had given him, with -a long tobacco-pipe in his mouth, his fingers stuck in his ears, and -buried in a book, preferably one about Indians. He had already read -five different versions of _Robinson Crusoe_, and derived an incredible -amount of delight from them. But in reading Campe's edition he had, -like all children, skipped the moralisings. Why do all children hate -moral applications? Are they immoral by nature? "Yes," answer modern -moralists, "for they are still animals, and do not recognise social -conventions." That is true, but the social law as taught to children -informs them only of their duties, not of their rights; it is therefore -unjust towards the child, and children hate injustice. Besides this, -he had arranged an herbarium, and made collections of insects and -minerals. He had also read Liljenblad's _Flora_, which he had found -in his father's bookcase. He liked this book better than the school -botany, because it contained a quantity of information regarding -the use of various plants, while the other spoke only of stamens and -pistils. - -When his brothers deliberately disturbed him in reading, he would -run at them and threaten to strike them. They said his nerves were -overstrained. He dissolved the ties which bound him to the realities of -life, he lived a dream-life in foreign lands and in his own thoughts, -and was discontented with the grey monotony of everyday life and of his -surroundings, which ever became more uncongenial to him. His father, -however, would not leave him entirely to his own fancies, but gave him -little commissions to perform, such as fetching the paper and carrying -letters. These he looked upon as encroachments on his private life, and -always performed them unwillingly. - -In the present day much is said about truth and truth-speaking as -though it were a difficult matter, which deserved praise. But, apart -from the question of praise, it is undoubtedly difficult to find out -the real facts about anything. - -A person is not always what rumour reports him or her to be; a whole -mass of public opinion may be false; behind each thought there lurks -a passion; each judgment is coloured by prejudice. But the art -of separating fact from fancy is extremely difficult, _e.g._, six -newspaper reporters will describe a king's coronation robe as being of -six different colours. New ideas do not find ready entrance into brains -which work in a groove; elderly people believe only themselves, and the -uneducated believe that they can trust their own eyes. This, however, -owing to the frequency of optical illusions, is not the case. - -In John's home truth was revered. His father was in the habit of -saying, "Tell the truth, happen what may," and used at the same time -to tell a story about himself. He had once promised a customer to send -home a certain piece of goods by a given day. He forgot it, but must -have had means of exculpating himself, for when the furious customer -came into the office and overwhelmed him with reproaches, John's father -humbly acknowledged his forgetfulness, asked for forgiveness, and -declared himself ready to make good the loss. The result was that the -customer was astonished, reached him his hand, and expressed his regard -for him. People engaged in trade, he said, must not expect too much of -each other. - -Well! his father had a sound intelligence, and as an elderly man felt -sure of his conclusions. - -John, who could never be without some occupation, had discovered that -one could profitably spend some time in loitering on the high-road -which led to and from school. He had once upon the Hollandergata, which -had no pavement, found an iron screw-nut. That pleased him, for it made -an excellent sling-stone when tied to a string. After that he always -walked in the middle of the street and picked up all the pieces of -iron which he saw. Since the streets were ill-paved and rapid driving -was forbidden, the vehicles which passed through them had a great deal -of rough usage. Accordingly an observant passer-by could be sure of -finding every day a couple of horse-shoe nails, a waggon-pin, or at any -rate a screw-nut, and sometimes a horse-shoe. John's favourite find was -screw-nuts which he had made his specialty. In the course of two months -he had collected a considerable quantity of them. - -One evening he was playing with them when his father entered the room. - -"What have you there?" he asked in astonishment. - -"Screw-nuts," John answered confidently. - -"Where did you get them from?" - -"I found them." - -"Found them? Where?" - -"On the street." - -"In one place?" - -"No, in several--by walking down the middle of the street and looking -about." - -"Look here! I don't believe that. You are lying. Come in here. I have -something to say to you." The something was a caning. - -"Will you confess now?" - -"I have found them on the street." - -The cane was again plied in order to make him "confess." What should -he confess? Pain, and fear that the scene would continue indefinitely, -forced the following lie from him: - -"I have stolen them." - -"Where?" - -Now he did not know to which part of a carriage the screw-nuts -belonged, but he guessed it was the under part. - -"Under the carriages." - -"Where?" - -His fancy suggested a place, where many carriages used to stand -together. "By the timber-yard opposite the lane by the smith's." - -This specification of the place lent an air of probability to his -story. His father was now certain that he had elicited the truth from -him. He continued: - -"And how could you get them off merely with your fingers?" - -He had not expected this question, but his eye fell on his father's -tool-box. - -"With a screw-driver." - -Now one cannot take hold of nuts with a screw-driver, but his father -was excited, and let himself be deceived. - -"But that is abominable! You are really a thief. Suppose a policeman -had come by." - -John thought for a moment of quieting him by telling him that the whole -affair was made up, but the prospect of getting another caning and no -supper held him mute. When he had gone to bed in the evening, and his -mother had come and told him to say his evening prayer, he said in a -pathetic tone and raising his hand: - -"May the deuce take me, if I have stolen the screw-nuts." - -His mother looked long at him, and then she said, "You should not swear -so." - -The corporal punishment had sickened and humbled him; he was angry with -God, his parents, and especially his brothers, who had not spoken up -for him, though they knew the real state of the case. That evening he -did not say his prayers, but he wished that the house would take fire -without his having to light it. And then to be called a thief! - -From that time he was suspected, or rather his bad reputation was -confirmed, and he felt long the sting of the memory of a charge of -theft which he had not committed. Another time he caught himself in a -lie, but through an inadvertency which for a long time he could not -explain. This incident is related for the consideration of parents. -A school-fellow with his sister came one Sunday morning in the early -part of the year to him and asked him whether he would accompany them -to the Haga Park. He said, "Yes," but he must first ask his mother's -permission. His father had gone out. - -"Well, hurry up!" said his friend. - -He wanted to show his herbarium, but the other said, "Let us go now." - -"Very well, but I must first ask mother." - -His little brother then came in and wanted to play with his herbarium. -He stopped the interruption and showed his friend his minerals. In the -meantime he changed his blouse. Then he took a piece of bread out of -the cupboard. His mother came and greeted his friends, and talked of -this and that domestic matter. John was in a hurry, begged his mother's -permission, and took his friends into the garden to see the frog-pond. - -At last they went to the Haga Park. He felt quite sure that he had -asked his mother's leave to do so. - -When his father came home, he asked John on his return, "Where have you -been?" - -"With friends to the Haga Park." - -"Did you have leave from mother?" - -"Yes." - -His mother denied it. John was dumb with astonishment. - -"Ah, you are beginning to lie again." - -He was speechless. He was quite sure he had asked his mother's leave, -especially as there was no reason to fear a refusal. He had fully meant -to do it, but other matters had intervened; he had forgotten, but was -willing to die, if he had told a lie. Children as a rule are afraid to -lie, but their memory is short, their impressions change quickly, and -they confuse wishes and resolves with completed acts. Meanwhile the boy -long continued to believe that his mother had told a falsehood. But -later, after frequent reflections on the incident, he came to think -she had forgotten or not heard his request. Later on still he began to -suspect that his memory might have played him a trick. But he had been -so often praised for his good memory, and there was only an interval of -two or three hours between his going to the Haga Park and his return. - -His suspicions regarding his mother's truthfulness (and why should she -not tell an untruth, since women so easily confuse fancies and facts?) -were shortly afterwards confirmed. The family had bought a set of -furniture--a great event. The boys just then happened to be going to -their aunt's. Their mother still wished to keep the novelty a secret -and to surprise her sister on her next visit. Therefore she asked the -children not to speak of the matter. On their arrival at their aunt's, -the latter asked at once: - -"Has your mother bought the yellow furniture?" - -His brothers were silent, but John answered cheerfully, "No." - -On their return, as they sat at table, their mother asked, "Well, did -aunt ask about the furniture?" - -"Yes." - -"What did you say?" - -"I said 'No,'" answered John. - -"So, then, you dared to lie," interrupted his father. - -"Yes, mother said so," the boy answered. - -His mother turned pale, and his father was silent. This in itself -was harmless enough, but, taken in connection with other things, not -without significance. Slight suspicions regarding the truthfulness of -"others" woke in the boy's mind and made him begin to carry on a silent -siege of adverse criticism. His coldness towards his father increased, -he began to have a keen eye for instances of oppression, and to make -small attempts at revolt. - -The children were marched to church every Sunday; and the family had -a key to their pew. The absurdly long services and incomprehensible -sermons soon ceased to make any impression. Before a system of heating -was introduced, it was a perfect torture to sit in the pew in winter -for two hours at a stretch with one's feet freezing; but still they -were obliged to go, whether for their souls' good, or for the sake of -discipline, or in order to have quiet in the house--who knows? His -father personally was a theist, and preferred to read Wallin's sermons -to going to church. His mother began to incline towards pietism. - -One Sunday the idea occurred to John, possibly in consequence of an -imprudent Bible exposition at school, which had touched upon freedom of -the spirit, or something of the sort, not to go to church. He simply -remained at home. At dinner, before his father came home, he declared -to his brothers and sisters and aunts that no one could compel the -conscience of another, and that therefore he did not go to church. This -seemed original, and therefore for this once he escaped a caning, but -was sent to church as before. - - * * * * * - -The social intercourse of the family, except with relatives, could -not be large, because of the defective form of his father's marriage. -But companions in misfortune draw together, and so intercourse was -kept up with an old friend of their father's who also had contracted -a _mésalliance_, and had therefore been repudiated by his family. He -was a legal official. With him they met another family in the same -circumstances owing to an irregular marriage. The children naturally -knew nothing of the tragedy below the surface. There were children -in both the other families, but John did not feel attracted to them. -After the sufferings he had undergone at home and school, his shyness -and unsociability had increased, and his residence on the outside of -the town and in the country had given him a distaste for domestic -life. He did not wish to learn dancing, and thought the boys silly who -showed off before the girls. When his mother on one occasion told him -to be polite to the latter, he asked, "Why?" He had become critical, -and asked this question about everything. During a country excursion -he tried to rouse to rebellion the boys who carried the girls' shawls -and parasols. "Why should we be these girls' servants?" he said; but -they did not listen to him. Finally, he took such a dislike to going -out that he pretended to be ill, or dirtied his clothes in order to be -obliged to stay at home as a punishment. He was no longer a child, and -therefore did not feel comfortable among the other children, but his -elders still saw in him only a child. He remained solitary. - -When he was twelve years old, he was sent in the summer to another -school kept by a parish clerk at Mariefred. Here there were many -boarders, all of so-called illegitimate birth. Since the parish clerk -himself did not know much, he was not able to hear John his lessons. At -the first examination in geometry, he found that John was sufficiently -advanced to study best by himself. Now he felt himself a grandee, and -did his lessons alone. The parish clerk's garden adjoined the park of -the lord of the manor, and here he took his walks free from imposed -tasks and free from oversight. His wings grew, and he began to feel -himself a man. - -In the course of the summer he fell in love with the twenty-year-old -daughter of the inspector who often came to the parish clerk's. He -never spoke to her, but used to spy out her walks, and often went -near her house. The whole affair was only a silent worship of her -beauty from a distance, without desire, and without hope. His feeling -resembled a kind of secret trouble, and might as well have been -directed towards anyone else, if girls had been numerous there. It was -a Madonna-worship which demanded nothing except to bring the object of -his worship some great sacrifice, such as drowning himself in the water -under her eyes. It was an obscure consciousness of his own inadequacy -as a half man, who did not wish to live without being completed by his -"better half." - -He continued to attend church-services, but they made no impression on -him; he found them merely tedious. - -This summer formed an important stage in his development, for it broke -the links with his home. None of his brothers were with him. He had -accordingly no intermediary bond of flesh and blood with his mother. -This made him more complete in himself, and hardened his nerves; but -not all at once, for sometimes he had severe attacks of homesickness. -His mother's image rose up in his mind in its usual ideal shape of -protectiveness and mildness, as the source of warmth and the preserver. - -In summer, at the beginning of August, his eldest brother Gustav was -going to a school in Paris, in order to complete his business studies -and to learn the language. But previous to that, he was to spend a -month in the country and say good-bye to his brother. The thought of -the approaching parting, the reflected glory of the great town to which -his brother was going, the memory of his brother's many heroic feats, -the longing for home and the joy to see again someone of his own flesh -and blood,--all combined to set John's emotion and imagination at work. -During the week in which he expected his brother, he described him to a -friend as a sort of superman to whom he looked up. And Gustav certainly -was, as a man, superior to him. He was a plucky, lively youth, two -years older than John, with strong, dark features; he did not brood, -and had an active temperament; he was sagacious, could keep silence -when necessary, and strike when occasion demanded it. He understood -economy, and was sparing of his money. "He was very wise," thought the -dreaming John. He learned his lessons imperfectly, for he despised -them, but he understood the art of life. - -John needed a hero to worship, and wished to form an ideal out of some -other material than his own weak clay, round which his own aspirations -might gather, and now he exercised his art for eight days. He prepared -for his brother's arrival by painting him in glowing colours before his -friends, praised him to the teacher, sought out playing-places with -little surprises, contrived a spring-board at the bathing-place, and so -on. - -On the day before his brother's arrival he went into the wood and -plucked cloud-berries and blue-berries for him. He covered a table -with white paper, on which he spread out the berries, yellow and blue -alternately, and in the centre he arranged them in the shape of a large -G, and surrounded the whole with flowers. - -His brother arrived, cast a hasty look at the design and ate the -berries, but either did not notice the dexterously-contrived initial, -or thought it a piece of childishness. As a matter of fact, in their -family every ebullition of feeling was regarded as childish. - -Then they went to bathe. The minute after Gustav had taken off his -shirt, he was in the water, and swam immediately out to the buoy. John -admired him and would have gladly followed him, but this time it gave -him more pleasure to think that his brother obtained the reputation -of being a good swimmer, and that he was only second-best. At dinner -Gustav left a fat piece of bacon on his plate--a thing which no one -before had ever dared to do. But he dared everything. In the evening, -when the time came to ring the bells for church, John gave up his -turn of ringing to Gustav, who rang violently. John was frightened, -as though the parish had been exposed to danger thereby, and half in -alarm and half laughing, begged him to stop. - -"What the deuce does it matter?" said Gustav. - -Then he introduced him to his friend the big son of the carpenter, who -was about fifteen. An intimacy at once sprang up between the two of -equal age, and John's friend abandoned him as being too small. But John -felt no bitterness, although the two elder ones jested at him, and went -out alone together with their guns in their hands. He only wished to -give, and he would have given his betrothed away, had he possessed one. -He did actually inform his brother about the inspector's daughter, and -the latter was pleased with her. But, instead of sighing behind the -trees like John, Gustav went straight up to her and spoke to her in an -innocent boyish way. This was the most daring thing which John had ever -seen done in his life, and he felt as if it had added a foot to his own -stature. He became visibly greater, his weak soul caught a contagion of -strength from his brother's strong nerves, and he identified himself -with him. He felt as happy as if he had spoken with the girl himself. -He made suggestions for excursions and boating expeditions and his -brother carried them out. He discovered birds' nests and his brother -climbed the trees and plundered them. - -But this lasted only for a week. On the last day before they were to -leave, John said to Gustav: "Let us buy a fine bouquet for mother." - -"Very well," replied his brother. - -They went to the nursery-man, and Gustav gave the order that the -bouquet should be a fine one. While it was being made up, he went into -the garden and plucked fruit quite openly. John did not venture to -touch anything. - -"Eat," said his brother. No, he could not. When the bouquet was ready, -John paid twenty-four shillings for it. Not a sign came from Gustav. -Then they parted. - -When John came home, he gave his mother the bouquet as from Gustav, -and she was touched. At supper-time the flowers attracted his father's -attention. "Gustav sent me those," said his mother. "He is always a -kind boy," and John received a sad look because he was so cold-hearted. -His father's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. - -John felt no bitterness. His youthful, enthusiastic love of sacrifice -had found vent, the struggle against injustice had made him a -self-tormentor, and he kept silent. He also said nothing when his -father sent Gustav a present of money, and with unusual warmth of -expression said how deeply he had been touched by this graceful -expression of affection. - -In fact, he kept silence regarding this incident during his whole -life, even when he had occasion to feel bitterness. Not till he had -been over-powered and fallen in the dirty sand of life's arena, with a -brutal foot placed upon his chest and not a hand raised to plead in his -behalf, did he say anything about it. Even then, it was not mentioned -from a feeling of revenge, but as the self-defence of a dying man. - - -[1] Gata = street. - - - - -V. - -CONTACT WITH THE UPPER CLASSES - - -The private schools had been started in opposition to the terrorising -sway of the public schools. Since their existence depended on the -goodwill of the pupils, the latter enjoyed great freedom, and were -treated humanely. Corporal punishment was forbidden, and the pupils -were accustomed to express their thoughts, to ask questions, to defend -themselves against charges, and, in a word, were treated as reasonable -beings. Here for the first time John felt that he had rights. If -a teacher made a mistake in a matter of fact, the pupils were not -obliged to echo him, and swear by his authority; he was corrected -and spiritually lynched by the class who convinced him of his error. -Rational methods of teaching were also employed. Few lessons were set -to be done at home. Cursory explanations in the languages themselves -gave the pupils an idea of the object aimed at, _i.e._, to be able -to translate. Moreover, foreign teachers were appointed for modern -languages, so that the ear became accustomed to the correct accent, and -the pupils acquired some notion of the right pronunciation. - -A number of boys had come from the state schools into this one, and -John also met here many of his old comrades from the Clara School. He -also found some of the teachers from both the Clara and Jacob Schools. -These cut quite a different figure here, and played quite another part. -He understood now that they had been in the same hole as their victims, -for they had had the headmaster and the School Board over them. At last -the pressure from above was relaxed, his will and his thoughts obtained -a measure of freedom, and he had a feeling of happiness and well-being. - -At home he praised the school, thanked his parents for his liberation, -and said that he preferred it to any former one. He forgot former acts -of injustice, and became more gentle and unreserved in his behaviour. -His mother began to admire his erudition. He learned five languages -besides his own. His eldest brother was already in a place of business, -and the second in Paris. John received a kind of promotion at home -and became a companion to his mother. He gave her information from -books on history and natural history, and she, having had no education, -listened with docility. But after she had listened awhile, whether it -was that she wished to raise herself to his level, or that she really -feared worldly knowledge, she would speak of the only knowledge which, -she said, could make man happy. She spoke of Christ; John knew all -this very well, but she understood how to make a personal application. -He was to beware of intellectual pride, and always to remain simple. -The boy did not understand what she meant by "simple," and what she -said about Christ did not agree with the Bible. There was something -morbid in her point of view, and he thought he detected the dislike -of the uncultured to culture. "Why all this long school course," he -asked himself, "if it was to be regarded as nothing in comparison with -the mysterious doctrine of Christ's Atonement?" He knew also that -his mother had caught up this talk from conversations with nurses, -seamstresses, and old women, who went to the dissenting chapels. -"Strange," he thought, "that people like that should grasp the highest -wisdom of which neither the priest in the church nor the teacher in -the school had the least notion!" He began to think that these humble -pietists had a good deal of spiritual pride, and that their way to -wisdom was an imaginary short-cut. Moreover, among his school-fellows -there were sons of barons and counts, and, when in his stories out of -school he mentioned noble titles, he was warned against pride. - -Was he proud? Very likely; but in school he did not seek the company -of aristocrats, though he preferred looking at them rather than at the -others, because their fine clothes, their handsome faces, and their -polished finger-nails appealed to his æsthetic sense. He felt that -they were of a different race and held a position which he would never -reach, nor try to reach, for he did not venture to demand anything of -life. But when, one day, a baron's son asked for his help in a lesson, -he felt himself in this matter, at any rate, his equal or even his -superior. He had thereby discovered that there was something which -could set him by the side of the highest in society, and which he could -obtain for himself, _i.e._, knowledge. - -In this school, because of the liberal spirit which was present, there -prevailed a democratic tone, of which there had been no trace in the -Clara School. The sons of counts and barons, who were for the most part -idle, had no advantage above the rest. The headmaster, who himself was -a peasant's son from Smaland, had no fear of the nobility, nor, on the -other hand, had he any prejudice against them or wish to humiliate -them. He addressed them all, small and big ones, familiarily, studied -them individually, called them by their Christian names, and took a -personal interest in them. The daily intercourse of the townspeople's -sons with those of the nobility led to their being on familiar terms -with one another. There were no flatterers, except in the upper -division, where the adolescent aristocrats came into class with their -riding-whips and spurs, while a soldier held their horses outside. The -precociously prudent boys, who had already an insight into the art of -life, courted these youths, but their intercourse was for the most part -superficial. In the autumn term some of the young grandees returned -from their expeditions as supernumerary naval cadets. They then -appeared in class with uniform and dirk. Their fellows admired them, -many envied them, but John, with the slave blood in his veins, was -never presumptuous enough to think of rivalling them; he recognised -their privileges, never dreamed of sharing them, guessed that he would -meet with humiliations among them, and therefore never intruded into -their circle. But he _did_ dream of reaching equal heights with theirs -through merit and hard work. And when in the spring those who were -leaving came into the classes to bid farewell to their teachers, when -he saw their white students' caps, their free and easy manners and -ways, then he noticed that they were also an object of admiration to -the naval cadets. - - * * * * * - -In his family life there was now a certain degree of prosperity. They -had gone back to the Norrtullsgata, where it was more homely than the -Sabbatsberg, and the landlord's sons were his school-fellows. His -father no longer rented a garden, and John busied himself for the most -part with his books. He led the life of a well-to-do-youth. Things -were more cheerful at home; grown-up cousins and the clerks from his -father's office came on Sundays for visits, and John, in spite of his -youth, made one of the company. He now wore a coat, took care of his -personal appearance, and, as a promising scholar, was thought more -highly of than one of his years would otherwise have been. He went -for walks in the garden, but the berries and the apple-trees no longer -tempted him. - -From time to time there came letters from his brother in Paris. They -were read aloud, and listened to with great attention. They were also -read to friends and acquaintances, and that was a triumph for the -family. At Christmas his brother sent a photograph of himself in a -French school uniform. That was the climax. John had now a brother who -wore a uniform and spoke French! He exhibited the photograph in the -school, and rose in the social scale thereby. The naval cadets were -envious, and said it was not a proper uniform, for he had no dirk. But -he had a "kepi," and shining buttons, and some gold lace on his collar. - -At home they had also stereoscopic pictures from Paris to show, and -they now seemed to live in Paris. They were as familiar with the -Tuileries and the Arc de Triomphe as with the castle and statue of -Gustavus Adolphus. The proverb that a father "lives in his children" -really seemed to be justified. Life now lay open before the youth; the -pressure he had formerly been subjected to had diminished, and perhaps -he would have traversed a smooth and easy path through life if a -change of circumstances had not thrown him back. - -His mother had passed through twelve confinements, and consequently -had become weak. Now she was obliged to keep her bed, and only -rose occasionally. She was more given to moods than before, and -contradictions would set her cheek aflame. The previous Christmas she -had fallen into a violent altercation with her brother regarding the -pietist preachers. While sitting at the dinner-table, the latter had -expressed his preference for Fredman's _Epistles_ as exhibiting deeper -powers of thought than the sermons of the pietists. John's mother took -fire at this, and had an attack of hysteria. That was only a symptom. - -Now, during the intervals when she got up, she began to mend the -children's linen and clothes, and to clear out all the drawers. She -often talked to John about religion and other high matters. One day she -showed him some gold rings. "You boys will get these, when Mamma is -dead," she said. "Which is mine?" asked John, without stopping to think -about death. She showed him a plaited girl's ring with a heart. It made -a deep impression on the boy, who had never possessed anything of gold, -and he often thought of the ring. - -About that time a nurse was hired for the children. She was young and -good-looking, taciturn, and smiled in a critical sort of way. She had -served in a count's mansion in the Tradgardsgatan, and probably thought -that she had come into a poverty-stricken house. She was supposed -to look after the children and the servant-maids, but was on almost -intimate terms with the latter. There were now three servants--a -housekeeper, a man-servant, and a girl from Dalecarlia. The girls had -their lovers, and a cheerful life went on in the great kitchen, where -polished copper and tin vessels shone brightly. There was eating and -drinking, and the boys were invited in. They were called "sir," and -their health was drunk. Only the man-servant was not there; he thought -it was "vulgar" to live like that, while the mistress of the house was -ill. The home seemed to be undergoing a process of dissolution, and -John's father had had many difficulties with the servants since his -mother had been obliged to keep her bed. But she remained the servants' -friend till death, and took their side by instinct, but they abused her -partiality. It was strictly forbidden to excite the patient, but the -servants intrigued against each other, and against their master. One -day John had melted lead in a silver spoon. The cook blabbed of it to -his mother, who was excited and told his father. But his father was -only-annoyed with the tell-tale. He went to John and said in a friendly -way, as though he were compelled to make a complaint: "You should not -melt lead in silver spoons. I don't care about the spoon; that can be -repaired; but this devil of a cook has excited mother. Don't tell the -girls when you have done something stupid, but tell me, and we will put -it right." - -He and his father were now friends for the first time, and he loved him -for his condescension. - -One night his father's voice awoke him from sleep. He started up, -and found it dark in the room. Through the darkness he heard a deep -trembling voice, "Come to mother's death-bed!" It went through him like -a flash of lightning. He froze and shivered while he dressed, the skin -of his head felt ice-cold, his eyes were wide-open and streaming with -tears, so that the flame of the lamp looked like a red bladder. - -Then they stood round the sick-bed and wept for one, two, three hours. -The night crept slowly onward. His mother was unconscious and knew no -one. The death-struggle, with rattling in the throat, and cries for -help, had commenced. The little ones were not aroused. John thought -of all the sins which he had committed, and found no good deeds to -counterbalance them. After three hours his tears ceased, and his -thoughts began to take various directions. The process of dying was -over. "How will it be," he asked himself, "when mother is no longer -there?" Nothing but emptiness and desolation, without comfort or -compensation--a deep gloom of wretchedness in which he searched for -some point of light. His eye fell on his mother's chest of drawers, on -which stood a plaster statuette of Linnæus with a flower in his hand. -There was the only advantage which this boundless misfortune brought -with it--he would get the ring. He saw it in imagination on his hand. -"That is in memory of my mother," he would be able to say, and he -would weep at the recollection of her, but he could not suppress the -thought, "A gold ring looks fine after all." Shame! Who could entertain -such thoughts at his mother's death-bed? A brain that was drunk with -sleep? A child which had wept itself out? Oh, no, an heir. Was he more -avaricious than others? Had he a natural tendency to greed? No, for -then he would never have related the matter, but he bore it in memory -his whole life long; it kept on turning up, and when he thought of it -in sleepless nights, and hours of weariness, he felt the flush mount -into his cheeks. Then he instituted an examination of himself and his -conduct, and blamed himself as the meanest of all men. It was not till -he was older and had come to know a great number of men, and studied -the processes of thought, that he came to the conclusion that the -brain is a strange thing which goes its own way, and there is a great -similarity among men in the double life which they lead, the outward -and the inward, the life of speech and that of thought. - -John was a compound of romanticism, pietism, realism, and naturalism. -Therefore he was never anything but a patchwork. He certainly did not -exclusively think about the wretched ornament. The whole matter was -only a momentary distraction of two minutes' duration after months -of sorrow, and when at last there was stillness in the room, and -his father said, "Mother is dead," he was not to be comforted. He -shrieked like one drowning. How can death bring such profound despair -to those who hope to meet again? It must needs press hard on faith -when the annihilation of personality takes place with such inflexible -consistency before our eyes. John's father, who generally had the -outward imperturbability of the Icelander, was now softened. He took -his sons by the hands and said: "God has visited us; we will now hold -together like friends. Men go about in their self-sufficiency, and -believe they are enough for themselves; then comes a blow, and we see -how _we_ all need one another. We will be sincere and considerate with -each other." - -The boy's sorrow was for a moment relieved. He had found a friend, a -strong, wise, manly friend whom he admired. - -White sheets were now hung up at the windows of the house in sign of -mourning. "You need not go to school, if you don't want to," said -his father. "If you don't want"--that was acknowledgment that he had -a will of his own. Then came aunts, cousins, relations, nurses, old -servants, and all called down blessings on the dead. All offered their -help in making the mourning clothes--there were four small and three -elder children. Young girls sat by the sickly light that fell through -the sheeted windows and sewed, while they conversed in undertones. That -was melancholy, and the period of mourning brought a whole chain of -peculiar experiences with it. Never had the boy been the object of so -much sympathy, never had he felt so many warm hands stretched out, nor -heard so many friendly words. - -On the next Sunday his father read a sermon of Wallin's on the text -"Our friend is not dead, but she sleeps." With what extraordinary faith -he took these words literally, and how well he understood how to open -the wounds and heal them again! "She is not dead, but she sleeps," -he repeated cheerfully. The mother really slept there in the cold -anteroom, and no one expected to see her awake. - -The time of burial approached; the place for the grave was bought. -His father's sister-in-law helped to sew the suits of mourning; she -sewed and sewed, the old mother of seven penniless children, the once -rich burgher's wife, sewed for the children of the marriage which her -husband had cursed. - -One day she stood up and asked her brother-in-law to speak with her -privately. She whispered with him in a corner of the room. The two old -people embraced each other and wept. Then John's father told them that -their mother would be laid in their uncle's family grave. This was a -much-admired monument in the new churchyard, which consisted of an iron -pillar surmounted by an urn. The boys knew that this was an honour for -their mother, but they did not understand that by her burial there a -family quarrel had been extinguished, and justice done after her death -to a good and conscientious woman who had been despised because she -became a mother before her marriage. - -Now all was peace and reconciliation in the house, and they vied with -one another in acts of friendliness. They looked frankly at each other, -avoided anything that might cause disturbance, and anticipated each -other's wishes. - -Then came the day of the funeral. When the coffin had been screwed -down and was carried through the hall, which was filled with mourners -dressed in black, one of John's little sisters began to cry and flung -herself in his arms. He took her up and pressed her to himself, as -though he were her mother and wished to protect her. When he felt how -her trembling little body clung close to him, he grew conscious of a -strength which he had not felt for a long time. Comfortless himself he -could bestow comfort, and as he quieted the child he himself grew calm. -The black coffin and the crowd of people had frightened her--that was -all; for the smaller children hardly missed their mother; they did -not weep for her, and had soon forgotten her. The tie between mother -and child is not formed so quickly, but only through long personal -acquaintance. John's real sense of loss hardly lasted for a quarter -of a year. He mourned for her indeed a long time, but that was more -because he wished to continue in that mood, though it was only an -expression of his natural melancholy, which had taken the special form -of mourning for his mother. - -After the funeral there followed a long summer of leisure and freedom. -John occupied two rooms with his eldest brother, who did not return -from business till the evening. His father was out the whole day, -and when they met they were silent. They had laid aside enmity, but -intimacy was impossible. John was now his own master; he came and -went, and did what he liked. His father's housekeeper was sympathetic -with him, and they never quarrelled. He avoided intercourse with his -school-fellows, shut himself in his room, smoked, read, and meditated. -He had always heard that knowledge was the best thing, a capital fund -which could not be lost, and which afforded a footing, however low -one might sink in the social scale. He had a mania for explaining -and knowing everything. He had seen his eldest brother's drawings and -heard them praised. In school he had drawn only geometrical figures. -Accordingly, he wished to draw, and in the Christmas holidays he copied -with furious diligence all his brother's drawings. The last in the -collection was a horse. When he had finished it, and saw that it was -unsatisfactory, he had done with drawing. - -All the children except John could play some instrument. He heard -scales and practising on the piano, violin, and violoncello, so that -music was spoiled for him and became a nuisance, like the church-bells -had formerly been. He would have gladly played, but he did not wish -to practise scales. He took pieces of music when no one was looking -and played them--as might be supposed--very badly, but it pleased him. -As a compensation for his vanity, he determined to learn technically -the pieces which his sisters played, so that he surpassed them in the -knowledge of musical technique. Once they wanted someone to copy the -music of the _Zauberflöte_ arranged for a quartette. John offered to do -so. - -"Can you copy notes?" he was asked. - -"I'll try," he said. - -He practised copying for a couple of days, and then copied out the four -parts. It was a long, tedious piece of work, and he nearly gave it up, -but finally completed it. His copy was certainly inaccurate in places, -but it was usable. He had no rest till he had learned to know all the -varieties of plants included in the Stockholm Flora. When he had done -so he dropped the subject. A botanical excursion afforded him no more -interest; roamings through the country showed him nothing new. He could -not find any plant which he did not know. He also knew the few minerals -which were to be found, and had an entomological collection. He could -distinguish birds by their notes, their feathers, and their eggs. But -all these were only outward phenomena, mere names for things, which -soon lost their interest. He wanted to reach what lay behind them. He -used to be blamed for his destructiveness, for he broke toys, watches, -and everything that fell into his hands. Accidently he heard in the -Academy of Sciences a lecture on Chemistry and Physics, accompanied by -experiments. The unusual instruments and apparatus fascinated him. The -Professor was a magician, but one who explained how the miracles took -place. This was a novelty for him, and he wished himself to penetrate -these secrets. - -He talked with his father about his new hobby, and the latter, who -had himself studied electricity in his youth, lent him books from -his bookcase--Fock's _Physics_, Girardin's _Chemistry_, Figuier's -_Discoveries and Inventions_, and the _Chemical Technology_ of Nyblæus. -In the attic was also a galvanic battery constructed on the old -Daniellian copper and zinc system. This he got hold of when he was -twelve years old, and made so many experiments with sulphuric acid as -to ruin handkerchiefs, napkins, and clothes. After he had galvanised -everything which seemed a suitable object, he laid this hobby also -aside. During the summer he took up privately the study of chemistry -with enthusiasm. But he did not wish to carry out the experiments -described in the text-book; he wished to make discoveries. He had -neither money nor any chemical apparatus, but that did not hinder him. -He had a temperament which must carry out its projects in spite of -every difficulty, and on the spot. This was still more the case, since -he had become his own master, after his mother's death. When he played -chess, he directed his plan of campaign against his opponent's king. -He went on recklessly, without thinking of defending himself, sometimes -gained the victory by sheer recklessness, but frequently also lost the -game. - -"If I had had one move more, you would have been checkmated," he said -on such occasions. - -"Yes, but you hadn't, and therefore _you_ are checkmated," was the -answer. - -When he wished to open a locked drawer, and the key was not at hand, he -took the tongs and broke the lock, so that, together with its screws, -it came loose from the wood. - -"Why did you break the lock?" they asked. - -"Because I wished to get at the drawer." - -This impetuosity revealed a certain pertinacity, but the latter only -lasted while the fit was on him. For example: On one occasion he wished -to make an electric machine. In the attic he found a spinning-wheel. -From it he broke off whatever he did not need, and wanted to replace -the wheel with a round pane of glass. He found a double window, and -with a splinter of quartz cut a pane out. But it had to be round and -have a whole in the middle. With a key he knocked off one splinter of -glass after another, each not larger than a grain of sand, this took -him several days, but at last he had made the pane round. But how was -he to make a hole in it? He contrived a bow-drill. In order to get -the bow, he broke an umbrella, took a piece of whale-bone out, and -with that and a violin-string made his bow. Then he rubbed the glass -with the splinter of quartz, wetted it with turpentine, and bored. But -he saw no result. Then he lost patience and reflection, and tried to -finish the job with a piece of cracking-coal. The pane of glass split -in two. Then he threw himself, weak, exhausted, hopeless, on the bed. -His vexation was intensified by a consciousness of poverty. If he had -only had money. He walked up and down before Spolander's shop in the -Vesterlanggata and looked at the various sets of chemical apparatus -there displayed. He would have gladly ascertained their price, but -dared not go in. What would have been the good? His father gave him no -money. - -When he had recovered from this failure, he wanted to make what no one -has made hitherto, and no one can make--a machine to exhibit "perpetual -motion." His father had told him that for a long time past a reward -had been offered to anyone who should invent this impossibility. This -tempted him. He constructed a waterfall with a "Hero's fountain,"[1] -which worked a pump; the waterfall was to set the pump in motion, and -the pump was to draw up the water again out of the "Hero's fountain." -He had again to make a raid on the attic. After he had broken -everything possible in order to collect material, he began his work. A -coffee-making machine had to serve as a pipe; a soda-water machine as a -reservoir; a chest of drawers furnished planks and wood; a bird-cage, -iron wire; and so on. The day of testing it came. Then the housekeeper -asked him if he would go with his brothers and sisters to their -mother's grave. "No," he said, "he had no time." Whether his conscience -now smote him, and spoiled his work, or whether he was nervous--anyhow, -it was a failure. Then he took the whole apparatus, without trying to -put right what was wrong in it, and hurled it against the tiled stove. -There lay the work, on which so many useful things had been wasted, and -a good while later on the ruin was discovered in the attic. He received -a reproof, but that had no longer an effect on him. - -In order to have his revenge at home, where he was despised on -account of his unfortunate experiments, he made some explosions with -detonating gas, and contrived a Leyden jar. For this he took the skin -of a dead black cat which he had found on the Observatory Hill and -brought home in his pocket-handkerchief. One night, when his eldest -brother and he came home from a concert, they could find no matches, -and did not wish to wake anyone. John hunted up some sulphuric acid and -zinc, produced hydrogen, procured a flame by means of the electricity -conductor, and lighted the lamp. This established his reputation as a -scientific chemist. He also manufactured matches like those made at -Jönkoping. Then he laid chemistry aside for a time. - -His father's bookshelves contained a small collection of books which -were now at his disposal. Here, besides the above-mentioned works on -chemistry and physics, he found books on gardening, an illustrated -natural history, Meyer's _Universum_, a German anatomical treatise with -plates, an illustrated German history of Napoleon, Wallin's, Franzen's, -and Tegner's poems, _Don Quixote_, Frederika Bremer's romances, etc. - -Besides books about Indians and the _Thousand and One Nights_, John -had hitherto no acquaintance with pure literature. He had looked into -some romances and found them tedious, especially as they had no -illustrations. But after he had floundered about chemistry and natural -science, he one day paid a visit to the bookcase. He looked into the -poets; here he felt as though he were floating in the air and did not -know where he was. He did not understand it. Then he took Frederika -Bremer's _Pictures from Daily Life._ Here he found domesticity and -didacticism, and put them back. Then he seized hold of a collection -of tales and fairy stories called _Der Jungfrauenturm_. These dealt -with unhappy love, and moved him. But most important of all was the -circumstance that he felt himself an adult with these adult characters. -He understood what they said, and observed that he was no longer a -child. He, too, had been unhappy in love, had suffered and fought, but -he was kept back in the prison of childhood. And now he first became -aware that his soul was in prison. It had long been fledged, but they -had clipped its wings and put it in a cage. Now he sought his father -and wished to talk with him as a comrade, but his father was reserved -and brooded over his sorrow. - -In the autumn there came a new throw-back and check for him. He was -ripe for the highest class, but was kept back in the school because -he was too young. He was infuriated. For the second time he was held -fast by the coat when he wished to jump. He felt like an omnibus-horse -continually pressing forward and being as constantly held back. This -lacerated his nerves, weakened his will-power, and laid the foundation -for lack of courage in the future. He never dared to wish anything very -keenly, for he had seen how often his wishes were checked. He wanted to -be industrious and press on, but industry did not help him; he was too -young. No, the school course was too long. It showed the goal in the -distance, but set obstacles in the way of the runners. He had reckoned -on being a student when he was fifteen, but had to wait till he was -eighteen. In his last year, when he saw escape from his prison so near, -another year of punishment was imposed upon him by a rule being passed -that they were to remain in the highest class for two years. - -His childhood and youth had been extremely painful; the whole of life -was spoiled for him, and he sought comfort in heaven. - - -[1] An artificial fountain of water, worked by pressure of air. - - - - -VI. - -THE SCHOOL OF THE CROSS - - -Sorrow has the fortunate peculiarity that it preys upon itself. It dies -of starvation. Since it is essentially an interruption of habits, it -can be replaced by new habits. Constituting, as it does, a void, it is -soon filled up by a real "horror vacui." - -A twenty-years' marriage had come to an end. A comrade in the battle -against the difficulties of life was lost; a wife, at whose side her -husband had lived, had gone and left behind an old celibate; the -manager of the house had quitted her post. Everything was in confusion. -The small, black-dressed creatures, who moved everywhere like dark -blots in the rooms and in the garden, kept the feeling of loss fresh. -Their father thought they felt forlorn and believed them defenceless. -He often came home from his work in the afternoon and sat alone in a -lime-tree arbour, which looked towards the street. He had his eldest -daughter, a child of seven, on his knee, and the others played at his -feet. John often watched the grey-haired man, with his melancholy, -handsome features, sitting in the green twilight of the arbour. He -could not comfort him, and did not seek his company any more. He -saw the softening of the old man's nature, which he would not have -thought possible before. He watched how his fixed gaze lingered on his -little daughter as though in the childish lines of her face he would -reconstruct in imagination the features of the dead. From his window -John often watched this picture between the stems of the trees down the -long vista of the avenue; it touched him deeply, but he began to fear -for his father, who no longer seemed to be himself. - -Six months had passed, when his father one autumn evening came home -with a stranger. He was an elderly man of unusually cheerful aspect. -He joked good-naturedly, was friendly and kindly towards children and -servants, and had an irresistible way of making people laugh. He was -an accountant, had been a school friend of John's father, and was now -discovered to be living in a house close by. The two old men talked -of their youthful recollections, which afforded material to fill the -painful void John's father felt. His stern, set features relaxed, as he -was obliged to laugh at his friend's witty and humorous remarks. After -a week he and the whole family were laughing as only those can who have -wept for a long time. Their friend was a wit of the first water, and -more, could play the violin and guitar, and sing Bellman's[1] songs. A -new atmosphere seemed to pervade the house, new views of things sprang -up, and the melancholy phantoms of the mourning period were dissipated. -The accountant had also known trouble; he had lost his betrothed, and -since then remained a bachelor. Life had not been child's play for him, -but he had taken things as they came. - -Soon after John's brother Gustav returned from Paris in uniform, mixing -French words with Swedish in his talk, brisk and cheerful. His father -received him with a kiss on the forehead, and was somewhat depressed -again by the recollection that this son had not been at his mother's -death-bed. But he soon cheered up again and the house grew lively. -Gustav entered his father's business, and the latter had someone now -with whom he could talk on matters which interested him. - -One evening, late in autumn, after supper, when the accountant was -present and the company sat together, John's father stood up and -signified his wish to say a few words: "My boys and my friend," he -began, and then announced his intention of giving his little children a -new mother, adding that the time of youthful passion was past for him, -and that only thoughts for the children had led to the resolve to make -Fräulein--his wife. - -She was the housekeeper. He made the announcement in a somewhat -authoritative tone, as though he would say, "You have really nothing to -do with it; however, I let you know." Then the housekeeper was fetched -to receive their congratulations, which were hearty on the part of the -accountant, but of a somewhat mixed nature on the part of the three -boys. Two of them had rather an uncomfortable conscience on the matter, -for they had strongly but innocently admired her; but the third, -John, had latterly been on bad terms with her. Which of them was most -embarrassed would be difficult to decide. - -There ensued a long pause, during which the youths examined themselves, -mentally settled their accounts, and thought of the possible -consequences of this unexpected event. John must have been the first to -realise what the situation demanded, for he went the same evening into -the nursery straight to the housekeeper. It seemed dark before his eyes -as he repeated the following speech, which he had hastily composed and -learned by heart in his father's fashion: - -"Since our relations with each other will hence-forward be on a -different footing," he said, "allow me to ask you to forget the past -and to be friends." This was a prudent utterance, sincerely meant, and -had no _arrière pensée_ behind it. It was also a balancing of accounts -with his father, and the expression of a wish to live harmoniously -together for the future. At noon the next day John's father came up to -his room, thanked him for his kindness towards the housekeeper, and, as -a token of his pleasure at it, gave him a small present, but one which -he had long desired. It was a chemical apparatus. John felt ashamed to -take the present, and made little of his kindness. It was a natural -result of his father's announcement, and a prudent thing to do, but -his father and the housekeeper must have seen in it a good augury for -their wedded happiness. They soon discovered their mistake, which was -naturally laid at the boy's door. - -There is no doubt that the old man married again for his children's -sake, but it is also certain that he loved the young woman. And why -should he not? It is nobody's affair except that of the persons -concerned, but it is a fact of constant occurrence, both that widowers -marry again, however galling the bonds of matrimony may have been, and -that they also feel they are committing a breach of trust against the -dead. Dying wives are generally tormented with the thought that the -survivor will marry again. - -The two elder brothers took the affair lightly, and accommodated -themselves to it. They regarded their father with veneration, and never -doubted the rightness of what he did. They had never considered that -fatherhood is an accident which may happen to anyone. - -But John doubted. He fell into endless disputes with his brothers, and -criticised his father for becoming engaged before the expiration of the -year of mourning. He conjured up his mother's shade, prophesied misery -and ruin, and let himself go to unreasonable lengths. - -The brothers' argument was: "We have nothing to do with father's -acts." "It was true," retorted John, "that it was not their business to -judge; still, it concerned them deeply." "Word-catcher!" they replied, -not seeing the distinction. - -One evening, when John had come home from school, he saw the house lit -up and heard music and talking. He went to his room in order to study. -The servant came up and said that his father wished him to come down as -there were guests present. - -"Who?" asked John. - -"The new relations." - -John replied that he had no time. Then one of his brothers appeared. He -first abused John, then he begged him to come, saying that he ought to -for his father's sake, even if it were only for a moment; he could soon -go up again. - -John said he would consider the matter. - -At last he went down; he saw the room full of ladies and gentlemen: -three aunts, a new grandmother, an uncle, a grandfather. The aunts -were young girls. He made a bow in the centre of the room politely but -stiffly. - -His father was vexed, but did not wish to show it. He asked John -whether he would have a glass of punch. John took it. Then the old man -asked ironically whether he had really so much work for the school. -John said "Yes," and returned to his room. Here it was cold and dark, -and he could not work when the noise of music and dancing ascended to -him. Then the cook came up to fetch him to supper. He would not have -any. Hungry and angry he paced up and down the room. At intervals he -wanted to go down where it was warm, light, and cheerful, and several -times took hold of the door-handle. But he turned back again, for he -was shy. Timid as he was by nature, this last solitary summer had made -him still more uncivilised. So he went hungry to bed, and considered -himself the most unfortunate creature in the world. - -The next day his father came to his room and told him he had not been -honest when he had asked the housekeeper's pardon. - -"Pardon!" exclaimed John, "he had nothing to ask pardon for." But -now his father wanted to humble him. "Let him try," thought John to -himself. For a time no obvious attempts were made in that direction, -but John stiffened himself to meet them, when they should come. - -One evening his brother was reading by the lamp in the room upstairs. -John asked, "What are you reading?" His brother showed him the title -on the cover; there stood in old black-letter type on a yellow cover -the famous title: _Warning of a Friend of Youth against the most -Dangerous Enemy of Youth_. - -"Have you read it?" asked Gustav. - -John answered "Yes," and drew back. After Gustav had done reading, he -put the book in his drawer and went downstairs. John opened the drawer -and took out the mysterious work. His eyes glanced over the pages -without venturing to fix on any particular spot. His knees trembled, -his face became bloodless, his pulses froze. He was, then, condemned -to death or lunacy at the age of twenty-five! His spinal marrow and -his brain would disappear, his hair would fall out, his hands would -tremble--it was horrible! And the cure was--Christ! But Christ could -not heal the body, only the soul. The body was condemned to death -at five-and-twenty; the only thing left was to save the soul from -everlasting damnation. - -This was Dr. Kapff's famous pamphlet, which has driven so many youths -into a lunatic asylum in order to increase the adherents of the -Protestant Jesuits. Such a dangerous work should have been prosecuted, -confiscated, and burnt, or, at any rate, counteracted by more -intelligent ones. One of the latter sort fell into John's hands later, -and he did his best to circulate it, as it was excellent. The title -was Uncle Palle's _Advice to Young Sinners,_ and its authorship was -attributed to the medical councillor, Dr. Westrand. It was a cheerfully -written book, which took the matter lightly, and declared that the -dangers of the evil habit had been exaggerated; it also gave practical -advice and hygienic directions. But even to the present time Kapff's -absurd pamphlet is in vogue, and doctors are frequently visited by -sinners, who with beating hearts make their confessions.[2] - -For half a year John could find no word of comfort in his great -trouble. He was, he thought, condemned to death; the only thing left -was to lead a virtuous and religious life, till the fatal hour should -strike. He hunted up his mother's pietistic books and read them. He -considered himself merely as a criminal and humbled himself. When on -the next day he passed through the street, he stepped off the pavement -in order to make room for everyone he met. He wished to mortify -himself, to suffer for the allotted period, and then to enter into the -joy of his Lord. - -One night he awoke and saw his brothers sitting by the lamplight. They -were discussing the subject. He crept under the counterpane and put his -fingers in his ears in order not to hear. But he heard all the same. He -wished to spring up to confess, to beg for mercy and help, but dared -not, to hear the confirmation of his death sentence. Had he spoken, -perhaps he would have obtained help and comfort, but he kept silence. -He lay still, with perspiration breaking out, and prayed. Wherever -he went he saw the terrible word written in old black letters on a -yellow ground, on the walls of the houses, on the carpets of the room. -The chest of drawers in which the book lay contained the guillotine. -Every time his brother approached the drawer he trembled and ran away. -For hours at a time he stood before the looking-glass in order to see -if his eyes had sunk in, his hair had fallen out, and his skull was -projecting. But he looked ruddy and healthy. - -He shut himself up in himself, was quiet and avoided all society. -His father imagined that by this behaviour he wished to express his -disapproval of the marriage; that he was proud, and wanted to humble -him. But he was humbled already, and as he silently yielded to the -pressure his father congratulated himself on the success of his -strategy. - -This irritated the boy, and sometimes he revolted. Now and then there -arose a faint hope in him that his body might be saved. He went to the -gymnasium, took cold baths, and ate little in the evening. - -Through home-life, intercourse with school-fellows, and learning, he -had developed a fairly complicated ego, and when he compared himself -with the simpler egos of others, he felt superior. But now religion -came and wanted to kill this ego. That was not so easy and the battle -was fierce. He saw also that no one else denied himself. Why, then, in -heaven's name, should he do so? - -When his father's wedding-day came, he revolted. He did not go to kiss -the bride like his brothers and sisters, but withdrew from the dancing -to the toddy-drinkers, and got a little intoxicated. But a punishment -was soon to follow on this, and his ego was to be broken. - -He became a collegian, but this gave him no joy. It came too late, -like a debt that had been long due. He had had the pleasure of it -beforehand. No one congratulated him, and he got no collegian's cap. -Why? Did they want to humble him or did his father not wish to sec an -outward sign of his learning? At last it was suggested that one of his -aunts should embroider the college wreath on velvet, which could then -be sewn on to an ordinary black cap. She embroidered an oak and laurel -branch, but so badly that his fellow-students laughed at him. He was -the only collegian for a long time who had not worn the proper cap. The -only one--pointed at, and passed over! - -Then his breakfast-money, which hitherto had been five öre, was reduced -to four. This was an unnecessary cruelty, for they were not poor at -home, and a boy ought to have more food. The consequence was that John -had no breakfast at all, for he spent his weekly money in tobacco. He -had a keen appetite and was always hungry. When there was salt cod-fish -for dinner, he ate till his jaws were weary, but left the table hungry. -Did he then really get too little to eat? No; there are millions -of working-men who have much less, but the stomachs of the upper -classes must have become accustomed to stronger and more concentrated -nourishment. His whole youth seemed to him in recollection a long -fasting period. - -Moreover, under the step-mother's rule the scale of diet was reduced, -the food was inferior, and he could change his linen only once instead -of twice a week. This was a sign that one of the lower classes was -guiding the household. The youth was not proud in the sense that he -despised the housekeeper's low birth, but the fact that she who had -formerly been beneath him tried to oppress him, made him revolt--but -now Christianity came in and bade him turn the other cheek. - -He kept growing, and had to go about in clothes which he had outgrown. -His comrades jeered at his short trousers. His school-books were old -editions out of date, and this caused him much annoyance in the school. - -"So it is in my book," he would say to the teacher. - -"Show me your book." - -Then the teacher was scandalised, and told him to get the newest -edition, which he never did. - -His shirt-sleeves reached only half-way down his arm and could not be -buttoned. In the gymnasium, therefore, he always kept his jacket on. -One day in his capacity as leader of the troop he was having a special -lesson from the teacher of gymnastics. - -"Take off your jackets, boys, we want to put our backs into it," said -the instructor. - -All besides John did so. - -"Well, are you ready?" - -"No, I am freezing," answered John. - -"You will soon be warm," said the instructor; "off with your jacket." - -He refused. The instructor came up to him in a friendly way and pulled -at his sleeves. He resisted. The instructor looked at him. "What is -this?" he said. "I ask you kindly and you won't oblige me. Then go!" - -John wished to say something in his defence; he looked at the friendly -man, with whom he had always been on good terms, with troubled -eyes--but he kept silence and went. What depressed him was poverty -imposed as a cruelty, not as a necessity. He complained to his -brothers, but they said he should not be proud. Difference of education -had opened a gulf between him and them. They belonged to a different -class of society, and ranged themselves with the father who was of -their class and the one in power. - -Another time he was given a jacket which had been altered from a blue -frock-coat with bright buttons. His school-fellows laughed at him as -though he were pretending to be a cadet, but this was the last idea in -his mind, for he always plumed himself on being rather than seeming. -This jacket cost him untold suffering. - -After this a systematic plan of humbling him was pursued. John -was waked up early in the mornings to do domestic tasks before he -went to school. He pleaded his school-work as an excuse, but it -did not help him at all. "You learn so easily," he was told. This -was quite unnecessary, as there was a man-servant, besides several -other servants, in the house. He saw that it was merely meant as a -chastisement. He hated his oppressors and they hated him. - -Then there began a second course of discipline. He had to get up in -the morning and drive his father to the town before he went to school, -then return with the horse and trap, take out the horse, feed it, and -sweep the stable. The same manoeuvre was repeated at noon. So, besides -his school-work, he had domestic work and must drive twice daily to -and from Riddarholm. In later years he asked himself whether this had -been done with forethought; whether his wise father saw that too -much activity of brain was bad for him, and that physical work was -necessary. Or perhaps it was an economical regulation in order to save -some of the man-servant's work time. Physical exertion is certainly -useful for boys, and should be commended to the consideration of all -parents, but John could not perceive any beneficent intention in the -matter, even though it may have existed. The whole affair seemed -so dictated by malice and an intention to cause pain, that it was -impossible for him to discover any good purpose in it, though it may -have existed along with the bad one. - -In the summer holidays the driving out degenerated into stable-work. -The horse had to be fed at stated hours, and John was obliged to stay -at home in order not to miss them. His freedom was at an end. He felt -the great change which had taken place in his circumstances, and -attributed them to his stepmother. Instead of being a free person who -could dispose of his own time and thoughts, he had become a slave, to -do service in return for his food. When he saw that his brothers were -spared all such work, he became convinced that it was imposed on him -out of malice. Straw-cutting, room-sweeping, water-carrying, etc., -are excellent exercises, but the motive spoiled everything. If his -father had told him it was good for his health, he would have done -it gladly, but now he hated it. He feared the dark, for he had been -brought up like all children by the maid-servants, and he had to do -violence to himself when he went up to the hay-loft every evening. He -cursed it every time, but the horse was a good-natured beast with whom -he sometimes talked. He was, moreover, fond of animals, and possessed -canaries of which he took great care. - -He hated his domestic tasks because they were imposed upon him by the -former housekeeper, who wished to revenge herself on him and to show -him her superiority. He hated her, for the tasks were exacted from -him as payment for his studies. He had seen through the reason why he -was being prepared for a learned career. They boasted of him and his -learning; he was not then being educated out of kindness. - -Then he became obstinate, and on one occasion damaged the springs of -the trap in driving. When they alighted at Riddarhustorg, his father -examined it. He observed that a spring was broken. - -"Go to the smith's," he said. - -John was silent. - -"Did you hear?" - -"Yes, I heard." - -He had to go to the Malargata, where the smith lived. The latter said -it would take three hours to repair the damage. What was to be done? -He must take the horse out, lead it home and return. But to lead a -horse in harness, while wearing his collegian's cap, through the -Drottningsgata, perhaps to meet the boys by the observatory who envied -him for his cap, or still worse, the pretty girls on the Norrtullsgata -who smiled at him--No! he would do anything rather than that. He then -thought of leading the horse through the Rorstrandsgata, but then he -would have to pass Karlberg, and here he knew the cadets. He remained -in the courtyard, sitting on a log in the sunshine and cursed his lot. -He thought of the summer holidays which he had spent in the country, -of his friends who were now there, and measured his misfortune by that -standard. But had he thought of his brothers who were now shut up for -ten hours a day in the hot and gloomy office without hope of a single -holiday, his meditations on his lot would have taken a different turn; -but he did not do that. Just now he would have willingly changed -places with them. They, at any rate, earned their bread, and did not -have to stay at home. They had a definite position, but he had not. Why -did his parents let him smell at the apple and then drag him away? He -longed to get away--no matter where. He was in a false position, and -he wished to get out of it, to be either above or below and not to be -crushed between the wheels. - -Accordingly, one day he asked his father for permission to leave the -school. His father was astonished, and asked in a friendly way his -reason. He replied that everything was spoiled for him, he was learning -nothing, and wished to go out into life in order to work and earn his -own living. - -"What do you want to be?" asked his father. - -He said he did not know, and then he wept. - -A few days later his father asked him whether he would like to be -a cadet. A cadet! His eyes lighted up, but he did not know what to -answer. To be a fine gentleman with a sword! His boldest dreams had -never reached so far. - -"Think over it," said his father. He thought about it the whole -evening. If he accepted, he would now go in uniform to Karlberg, where -he had once bathed and been driven away by the cadets. To become an -officer--that meant to get power; the girls would smile on him and -no one would oppress him. He felt life grow brighter, the sense of -oppression vanished from his breast and hope awoke. But it was too much -for him. It neither suited him nor his surroundings. He did not wish to -mount and to command; he wished only to escape the compulsion to blind -obedience, the being watched and oppressed. The stoicism which asks -nothing of life awoke in him. He declined the offer, saying it was too -much for him. - -The mere thought that he could have been what perhaps all boys long -to be, was enough for him. He renounced it, descended, and took up -his chain again. When, later on, he became an egotistic pietist, he -imagined that he had renounced the honour for Christ's sake. That was -not true, but, as a matter of fact, there was some asceticism in his -sacrifice. He had, moreover, gained clearer insight into his parents' -game; they wished to get honour through him. Probably the cadet idea -had been suggested by his stepmother. - -But there arose more serious occasions of contention. John thought that -his younger brothers and sisters were worse dressed than before, and -he had heard cries from the nursery. - -"Ah!" he said to himself, "she beats them." - -Now he kept a sharp look-out. One day he noticed that the servant -teased his younger brother as he lay in bed. The little boy was angry -and spat in her face. His step-mother wanted to interfere, but John -intervened. He had now tasted blood. The matter was postponed till his -father's return. After dinner the battle was to begin. John was ready. -He felt that he represented his dead mother. Then it began! After a -formal report, his father took hold of Pelle, and was about to beat -him. "You must not beat him!" cried John in a threatening tone, and -rushed towards his father as though he would have seized him by the -collar. - -"What in heaven's name are you saying?" - -"You should not touch him. He is innocent." - -"Come in here and let me talk to you; you are certainly mad," said his -father. - -"Yes, I will come," said the generally timid John, as though he were -possessed. - -His father hesitated somewhat on hearing his confident tone, and his -sound intelligence must have told him that there was something queer -about the matter. - -"Well, what have you to say to me?" asked his father, more quietly but -still distrustfully. - -"I say that it is Karin's fault; she did wrong, and if mother had -lived----" - -That struck home. "What are you talking nonsense about your mother for? -You have now a new mother. Prove what you say. What has Karin done?" - -That was just the trouble; he could not say it, for he feared by -doing so to touch a sore point. He was silent. A thousand thoughts -coursed through his mind. How should he express them? He struggled for -utterance, and finally came out with a stupid saying which he had read -somewhere in a school-book. - -"Prove!" he said. "There are clear matters of fact which can neither be -proved nor need to be proved." (How stupid! he thought to himself, but -it was too late.) - -"Now you are simply stupid," said his father. - -John was beaten, but he still wished to continue the conflict. A new -repartee learned at school occurred to him. - -"If I am stupid, that is a natural fault, which no one has the right to -reproach me with." - -"Shame on you for talking such rubbish! Go out and don't let me see you -any more!" And he was put out. - -After this scene all punishments took place in John's absence. It was -believed he would spring at their throats if he heard any cries, and -that was probable enough. - -There was yet another method of humbling him--a hateful method which -is often employed in families. It consisted of arresting his mental and -moral growth by confining him to the society of his younger brothers -and sisters. Children are often obliged to play with their brothers and -sisters whether they are congenial to them or not. That is tyranny. But -to compel an elder child to go about with the younger ones is a crime -against nature; it is the mutilation of a young growing tree. John had -a younger brother, a delightful child of seven, who trusted everyone -and worried no one. John loved him and took good care that he was not -ill-treated. But to have intimate intercourse with such a young child, -who did not understand the talk and conversation of its elders, was -impossible. - -But now he was obliged to do so. On the first of May, when John had -hoped to go out with his friends, his father said, as a matter of -course, "Take Pelle and go with him to the Zoölogical Gardens, but take -good care of him." There was no possibility of remonstrance. They went -into the open plain, where they met some of his comrades, and John felt -the presence of his little brother like a clog on his leg. He took -care that no one hurt him, but he wished the little boy was at home. -Pelle talked at the top of his voice and pointed with his finger at -passers-by; John corrected him, and as he felt his solidarity with him, -felt ashamed on his account. Why must he be ashamed because of a fault -in etiquette which he had not himself committed? He became stiff, cold, -and hard. The little boy wanted to see some sight but John would not -go, and refused all his little brother's requests. Then he felt ashamed -of his hardness; he cursed his selfishness, he hated and despised -himself, but could not get rid of his bad feelings. Pelle understood -nothing; he only looked troubled, resigned, patient, and gentle. "You -are proud," said John to himself; "you are robbing the child of a -pleasure." He felt remorseful, but soon afterwards hard again. - -At last the child asked him to buy some gingerbread nuts. John felt -himself insulted by the request. Suppose one of his fellow-collegians -who sat in the restaurant and drank punch saw him buying gingerbread -nuts! But he bought some, and stuffed them in his brother's pocket. -Then they went on. Two cadets, John's acquaintances, came towards him. -At this moment a little hand reached him a gingerbread nut--"Here's one -for you, John!" He pushed the little hand away, and simultaneously saw -two blue faithful eyes looking up to him plaintively and questioningly. -He felt as if he could weep, take the hurt child in his arms, and ask -his forgiveness in order to melt the ice which had crystallised round -his heart. He despised himself for having pushed his brother's hand -away. They went home. - -He wished to shake the recollection of his misdeed from him, but could -not. But he laid the blame of it partly at the door of those who had -caused this sorry situation. He was too old to stand on the same level -with the child, and too young to be able to condescend to it. - -His father, who had been rejuvenated by his marriage with a young wife, -ventured to oppose John's learned authorities, and wished to humble -him in this department also. After supper one evening, they were -sitting at table, his father with his three papers, the _Aftonbladet, -Allehanda_, and _Post-tidningen_, and John with a school-book. -Presently his father stopped reading. - -"What are you reading?" he asked. - -"Philosophy." - -A long pause. The boys always used to call logic "philosophy." - -"What is philosophy, really?" - -"The science of thought." - -"Hm! Must one learn how to think? Let me see the book." He put his -pince-nez on and read. Then he said, "Do you think the peasant members -of the Riks-Dag"[3] (he hated the peasants, but now used them for the -purpose of his argument) "have learned philosophy? I don't, and yet -they manage to corner the professors delightfully. You learn such a lot -of useless stuff!" Thus he dismissed philosophy. - -His father's parsimoniousness also sometimes placed John in very -embarrassing situations. Two of his friends offered during the holidays -to give him lessons in mathematics. John asked his father's permission. - -"All right," he said, "as far as I am concerned." - -When the time came for them to receive an honorarium, his father was of -the opinion that they were so rich that one could not give them money. - -"But one might make them a present," said John. - -"I won't give anything," was the answer. - -John felt ashamed for a whole year and realised for the first time the -unpleasantness of a debt. His two friends gave at first gentle and then -broad hints. He did not avoid them, but crawled after them in order to -show his gratitude. He felt that they possessed a part of his soul and -body; that he was their slave and could not be free. Sometimes he made -them promises, because he imagined he could fulfil them, but they could -not be fulfilled, and the burden of the debt was increased by their -being broken. It was a time of infinite torment, probably more bitter -at the time than it seemed afterwards. - -Another step in arresting his progress was the postponement of his -Confirmation. He learned theology at school, and could read the Gospels -in Greek, but was not considered mature enough for Confirmation. - -He felt the grinding-down process at home all the more because his -position in the school was that of a free man. As a collegian he had -acquired certain rights. He was not made to stand up in class, and -went out when he wished without asking permission; he remained sitting -when the teachers asked questions, and disputed with them. He was the -youngest in the class but sat among the oldest and tallest. The teacher -now played the part of a lecturer rather than of a mere hearer of -lessons. The former ogre from the Clara School had become an elderly -man who expounded Cicero's _De Senectute_ and _De Amicitia_ without -troubling himself much about the commentaries. In reading Virgil, he -dwelt on the meeting of Æneas and Dido, enlarged on the topic of love, -lost the thread of his discourse, and became melancholy. (The boys -found out that about this time he had been wooing an old spinster.) He -no longer assumed a lofty tone, and was magnanimous enough to admit -a mistake he had made (he was weak in Latin) and to acknowledge that -he was not an authority in that subject. From this he drew the moral -that no one should come to school without preparation, however clever -he might be. This produced a great effect upon the boys. He won more -credit as a man than he lost as a teacher. - -John, being well up in the natural sciences, was the only one out -of his class elected to be a member of the "Society of Friends of -Science." He was now thrown with school-fellows in the highest class, -who the next year would become students. He had to give a lecture, and -talked about it at home. He wrote an essay on the air, and read it to -the members. After the lecture, the members went into a restaurant in -the Haymarket and drank punch. John was modest before the big fellows, -but felt quite at his ease. It was the first time he had been lifted -out of the companionship of those of his own age. Others related -improper anecdotes; he shyly related a harmless one. Later on, some -of the members visited him and took away some of his best plants and -chemical apparatus. - -By an accident John found a new friend in the school. When he was top -of the first class the Principal came in one day with a tall fellow in -a frock-coat, with a beard, and wearing a pince-nez. - -"Here, John!" he said, "take charge of this youth; he is freshly come -from the country, and show him round." The wearer of the pince-nez -looked down disdainfully at the boy in the jacket. They sat next each -other; John took the book and whispered to him; the other, however, -knew nothing, but talked about cards and cafés. - -One day John played with his friend's pince-nez and broke the spring. -His friend was vexed. John promised to have it repaired, and took the -pince-nez home. It weighed upon his mind, for he did not know whence -he should get the money in order to have it mended. Then he determined -to mend it himself. He took out the screws, bored holes in an old -clock-spring, but did not succeed. His friend jogged his memory; John -was in despair. His father would never pay for it. His friend said, -"I will have it repaired, and you must pay." The repair cost fifty -öre. On Monday John handed over twelve coppers, and promised to pay -the rest the following Monday. His friend smelt a rat. "That is your -breakfast-money," he said; "do you get only twelve coppers a week?" -John blushed and begged him to take the money. The next Monday he -handed over the remainder. His friend resisted, but he pressed it on -him. - -The two continued together as school-fellows till they went to the -university at Upsala and afterwards. John's friend had a cheerful -temperament and took the world as it came. He did not argue much with -John, but always made him laugh. In contrast to his dreary home, John -found the school a cheerful refuge from domestic tyranny. But this -caused him to lead a double life, which was bound to produce moral -dislocation. - - -[1] Famous Swedish poet. - -[2] In a later work, _Legends_ (1898), Strindberg says: "When I wrote -that youthful confession (_The Son of a Servant_) the liberal tendency -of that period seems to have induced me to use too bright colours, with -the pardonable object of freeing from fear young men who have fallen -into precocious sin." - -[3] The Swedish Parliament. - - - - -VII - -FIRST LOVE - - -If the character of a man is the stereotyped rôle which he plays in the -comedy of social life, John at this time had no character, _i.e._, he -was quite sincere. He sought, but found nothing, and could not remain -in any fixed groove. His coarse nature, which flung off all fetters -that were imposed upon it, could not adapt itself; and his brain, which -was a revolutionary's from birth, could not work automatically. He was -a mirror which threw back all the rays which struck it, a compendium of -various experiences, of changing impressions, and full of contradictory -elements. He possessed a will which worked by fits and starts and with -fanatical energy; but he really did not will anything deeply; he was -a fatalist, and believed in destiny; he was sanguine, and hoped all -things. Hard as ice at home, he was sometimes sensitive to the point -of sentimentality; he would give his last shirt to a poor man, and -could weep at the sight of injustice. He was a pietist, and as sincere -an one as is possible for anyone who tries to adopt an old-world point -of view. His home-life, where everything threatened his intellectual -and personal liberty, compelled him to be this. In the school he was a -cheerful worldling, not at all sentimental, and easy to get on with. -Here he felt he was being educated for society and possessed rights. -At home he was like an edible vegetable, cultivated for the use of the -family, and had no rights. - -He was also a pietist from spiritual pride, as all pietists are. -Beskow, the repentant lieutenant, had come home from his pilgrimage -to the grave of Christ. His _Journal_ was read at home by John's -step-mother, who inclined to pietism. Beskow made pietism gentlemanly, -and brought it into fashion, and a considerable portion of the lower -classes followed this fashion. Pietism was then what spiritualism is -now--a presumably higher knowledge of hidden things. It was therefore -eagerly taken up by all women and uncultivated people, and finally -found acceptance at Court. - -Did all this spring from some universal spiritual need? Was the period -so hopelessly reactionary that one had to be a pessimist? No! The -king led a jovial life in Ulriksdal, and gave society a bright and -liberal tone. Strong agitations were going on in the political world, -especially regarding representation in parliament. The Dano-German -war aroused attention to what was going on beyond our boundaries; the -volunteer movement awoke town and country with drums and music; the new -Opposition papers, _Dagens Nyheter_ and the powerful _Sondags-Nisse_, -were vent-holes for the confined steam which must find an outlet; -railways were constructed everywhere, and brought remote and sparsely -inhabited places into connection with the great motor nerve-centres. It -was no melancholy age of decadence, but, on the contrary, a youthful -season of hope and awakening. Whence then, came this strong breath of -pietism? Perhaps it was a short-cut for those who were destitute of -culture, by which they saved themselves from the pressure of knowledge -from above; there was a certain democratic element in it, since all -high and low had thereby access to a certain kind of wisdom which -abolished class-distinctions. Now, when the privileges of birth were -nearing their end, the privileges of culture asserted themselves, and -were felt to be oppressive. But it was believed that they could be -nullified at a stroke through pietism. - -John became a pietist from many motives. Bankrupt on earth, since he -was doomed to die at twenty-five without spinal marrow or a nose, he -made heaven the object of his search. Melancholy by nature, but full -of activity, he loved what was melancholy. Tired of text-books, which -contained no living water because they did not come into contact with -life, he found more nourishment in a religion which did so at every -turn. Besides this, there was the personal motive, that his stepmother, -aware of his superiority in culture, wished to climb above him on the -Jacob's ladder of religion. She conversed with his eldest brother -on the highest subjects, and when John was near, he was obliged to -hear how they despised his worldly wisdom. This irritated him, and he -determined to catch up with them in religion. Moreover, his mother -had left a written message behind in which she warned him against -intellectual pride. The end was that he went regularly every Sunday to -church, and the house was flooded with pietistic writings. - -His step-mother and eldest brother used to go over afterwards in memory -the sermons they had heard in church. One Sunday after service John -wrote out from memory the whole sermon which they admired. He could -not deny himself the pleasure of presenting it to his step-mother. But -his present was not received with equal pleasure; it was a blow for -her. However, she did not yield a hair-breadth. "God's word should be -written in the heart and not on paper," she said. It was not a bad -retort, but John believed he detected pride in it. She considered -herself further on in the way of holiness than he, and as already a -child of God. - -He began to race with her, and frequented the pietist meetings. But -his attendance was frowned upon, for he had not yet been confirmed, -and was not therefore ripe for heaven. John continued religious -discussions with his elder brother; he maintained that Christ had -declared that even children belonged to the kingdom of heaven. The -subject was hotly contested. John cited Norbeck's _Theology_, but -that was rejected without being looked at. He also quoted Krummacher, -Thomas à Kempis, and all the pietists on his side. But it was no -use. "It must be so," was the reply. "How?" he asked. "As I have it, -and as you cannot get it." "As I!" There we have the formula of the -pietists--self-righteousness. - -One day John said that all men were God's children. "Impossible!" was -the reply; "then there would be no difficulty in being saved. Are all -going to be saved?" - -"Certainly!" he replied. "God is love and wishes no one's destruction." - -"If all are going to be saved, what is the use of chastising oneself?" - -"Yes, that is just what I question." - -"You are then a sceptic, a hypocrite?" - -"Quite possibly they all are." - -John now wished to take heaven by storm, to become a child of God, -and perhaps by doing so defeat his rivals. His step-mother was not -consistent. She went to the theatre and was fond of dancing. One -Saturday evening in summer it was announced that the whole family -would make an excursion into the country the next day--Sunday. All -were expected to go. John considered it a sin, did not want to go, and -wished to use the opportunity and seek in solitude the Saviour whom -he had not yet found. According to what he had been told, conversion -should come like a flash of lightning, and be accompanied by the -conviction that one was a child of God, and then one had peace. - -While his father was reading his paper in the evening, John begged -permission to remain at home the next day. - -"Why?" his father asked in a friendly tone. - -John was silent. He felt ashamed to say. - -"If your religious conviction forbids you to go, obey your conscience." - -His step-mother was defeated. She had to desecrate the Sabbath, not he. - -The others went. John went to the Bethlehem Church to hear Rosenius. It -was a weird, gloomy place, and the men in the congregation looked as -if they had reached the fatal twenty-fifth year, and lost their spinal -marrow. They had leaden-grey faces and sunken eyes. Was it possible -that Dr. Kapff had frightened them all into religion? It seemed strange. - -Rosenius looked like peace itself, and beamed with heavenly joy. He -confessed that he had been an old sinner, but Christ had cleansed him, -and now he was happy. He looked happy. Is it possible that there is -such a thing as a happy man? Why, then, are not all pietists? - -In the afternoon John read à Kempis and Krummacher. Then he went out -to the Haga Park and prayed the whole length of the Norrtullsgata -that Jesus would seek him. In the Haga Park there sat little groups -of families picnicking, with the children playing about. Is it -possible that all these must go to hell? he thought. Yes, certainly. -"Nonsense!" answered his intelligence. But it is so. A carriage full of -excursionists passed by: and these are all condemned already! But they -seemed to be amusing themselves, at any rate. The cheerfulness of other -people made him still more depressed, and he felt a terrible loneliness -in the midst of the crowd. Wearied with his thoughts, he went home as -depressed as a poet who has looked for a thought without being able to -find one. He laid down on his bed and wished he was dead. - -In the evening his brothers and sisters came home joyful and noisy, and -asked him if he had had a good time. - -"Yes," he said. "And you?" - -They gave him details of the excursion, and each time he envied them he -felt a stab in his heart. His step-mother did not look at him, for she -had broken the Sabbath. That was his comfort. He must by this time soon -have detected his self-deceit and thrown it off, but a new powerful -element entered into his life, which stirred up his asceticism into -fanaticism, till it exploded and disappeared. - -His life during these years was not so uniformly monotonous as it -appeared in retrospect later on, when there were enough dark points to -give a grey colouring to the whole. His boyhood, generally speaking, -was darkened by his being treated as a child when arrived at puberty, -the uninteresting character of his school-work, his expectation of -death at twenty-five, the uncultivated minds of those around him, and -the impossibility of being understood. - -His step-mother had brought three young girls, her sisters, into the -house. They soon made friends with the step-sons, and they all took -walks, played games, and made sledging excursions together. The girls -tried to bring about a reconciliation between John and his step-mother. -They acknowledged their sister's faults before him, and this pacified -him so that he laid aside his hatred. The grandmother also played the -part of a mediator, and finally revealed herself as a decided friend of -John's. But a fatal chance robbed him of this friend also. His father's -sister had not welcomed the new marriage, and, as a consequence, had -broken off communications with her brother. This vexed the old man -very much. All intercourse ceased between the families. It was, of -course, pride on his sister's part. But one day John met her daughter, -an elegantly-dressed girl, older than himself, on the street. She was -eager to hear something of the new marriage, and walked with John along -the Drottningsgata. - -When he got home, his grandmother rebuked him sharply for not having -saluted her when she passed, but, of course, she added, he had been -in too grand company to take notice of an old woman! He protested his -innocence, but in vain. Since he had only a few friends, the loss of -her friendship was painful to him. - -One summer he spent with his step-mother at one of her relatives', a -farmer in Östergötland. Here he was treated like a gentleman, and lived -on friendly terms with his step-mother. But it did not last long, and -soon the flames of strife were stirred up again between them. And thus -it went on, up and down, and to and fro. - -About this time, at the age of fifteen, he first fell in love, if it -really was love, and not rather friendship. Can friendship commence -and continue between members of opposite sexes? Only apparently, for -the sexes are born enemies and remain always opposed to each other. -Positive and negative streams of electricity are mutually hostile, but -seek their complement in each other. Friendship can exist only between -persons with similar interests and points of view. Man and woman by the -conventions of society are born with different interests and different -points of view. Therefore a friendship between the sexes can arise only -in marriage where the interests are the same. This, however, can be -only so long as the wife devotes her whole interest to the family for -which the husband works. As soon as she gives herself to some object -outside the family, the agreement is broken, for man and wife then have -separate interests, and then there is an end to friendship. Therefore -purely spiritual marriages are impossible, for they lead to the slavery -of the man, and consequently to the speedy dissolution of the marriage. - -The fifteen-year old boy fell in love with a woman of thirty. He could -truthfully assert that his love was entirely ideal. How came he to love -her? As generally is the case, from many motives, not from one only. - -She was the landlord's daughter, and had, as such, a superior position; -the house was well-appointed and always open for visitors. She was -cultivated, admired, managed the house, and spoke familiarly to her -mother; she could play the hostess and lead the conversation; she was -always surrounded by men who courted her. She was also emancipated -without being a man-hater; she smoked and drank, but was not without -taste. She was engaged to a man whom her father hated and did not -wish to have for his son-in-law. Her _fiancé_ stayed abroad and wrote -seldom. Among the visitors to this hotel were a district judge, a man -of letters, students, clerics, and townsmen who all hovered about her. -John's father admired her, his step-mother feared her, his brothers -courted her. John kept in the background and observed her. It was a -long time before she discovered him. One evening, after she had set all -the hearts around her aflame, she came exhausted into the room in which -John sat. - -"Heavens! how tired I am!" she said to herself, and threw herself on a -sofa. - -John made a movement and she saw him. He had to say something. - -"Are you so unhappy, although you are always laughing? You are -certainly not as unhappy as I am." - -She looked at the boy; they began a conversation and became friends. He -felt lifted up. From that time forward she preferred his conversation -to that of others. He felt embarrassed when she left a circle of grown -men to sit down near him. He questioned her regarding her spiritual -condition, and made remarks on it which showed that he had observed -keenly and reflected much. He became her conscience. Once, when she -had jested too freely, she came to the youth to be punished. That was -a kind of flagellation as pleasant as a caress. At last her admirers -began to tease her about him. - -"Can you imagine it," she said one evening, "they declare I am in love -with you!" - -"They always say that of two persons of opposite sexes who are friends." - -"Do you believe there can be a friendship between man and woman?" - -"Yes, I am sure of it," he answered. - -"Thanks," she said, and reached him her hand. "How could I, who am -twice as old as you, who am sick and ugly, be in love with you? -Besides, I am engaged." - -After this she assumed an air of superiority and became motherly. This -made a deep impression on him; and when later on she was rallied on -account of her liking for him, she felt herself almost embarrassed, -banished all other feelings except that of motherliness, and began to -labour for his conversion, for she also was a pietist. - -They both attended a French conversation class, and had long walks -home together, during which they spoke French. It was easier to speak -of delicate matters in a foreign tongue. He also wrote French essays, -which she corrected. His father's admiration for the old maid lessened, -and his step-mother did not like this French conversation, which she -did not understand. His elder brother's prerogative of talking French -was also neutralised thereby. This vexed his father, so that one day he -said to John, that it was impolite to speak a foreign language before -those who did not understand it, and that he could not understand -that Fräulein X., who was otherwise so cultivated, could commit such -a _bêtise_. But, he added, cultivation of the heart was not gained by -book-learning. - -They no longer endured her presence in the house, and she was -"persecuted." At last her family left the house altogether, so that now -there was little intercourse with them. The day after their removal, -John felt lacerated. He could not live without her daily companionship, -without this support which had lifted him out of the society of those -of his own age to that of his elders. To make himself ridiculous by -seeking her as a lover--that he could not do. The only thing left was -to write to her. They now opened a correspondence, which lasted for -a year. His step-mother's sister, who idolised the clever, bright -spinster, conveyed the letters secretly. They wrote in French, so that -their letters might remain unintelligible if discovered; besides, they -could express themselves more freely in this medium. Their letters -treated of all kinds of subjects. They wrote about Christ, the battle -against sin, about life, death and love, friendship and scepticism. -Although she was a pietist, she was familiar with free-thinkers, and -suffered from doubts on all kinds of subjects. John was alternately her -stern preceptor and her reprimanded son. One or two translations of -John's French essays will give some idea of the chaotic state of the -minds of both. - - -_Is Man's Life a Life of Sorrow_? 1864 - -"Man's life is a battle from beginning to end. We are all born into -this wretched life under conditions which are full of trouble and -grief. Childhood to begin with has its little cares and disagreeables; -youth has its great temptations, on the victorious resistance to which -the whole subsequent life depends; mature life has anxieties about the -means of existence and the fulfilment of duties; finally, old age has -its thorns in the flesh, and its frailty. What are all enjoyments and -all joys, which are regarded by so many men as the highest good in -life? Beautiful illusions! Life is a ceaseless struggle with failures -and misfortunes, a struggle which ends only in death. - -"But we will consider the matter from another side. Is there no reason -to be joyful and contented? I have a home and parents who care for -my future; I live in fairly favourable circumstances, and have good -health--ought I not then to be contented and happy? Yes, and yet I -am not. Look at the poor labourer, who, when his day's work is done, -returns to his simple cottage where poverty reigns; he is happy and -even joyful. He would be made glad by a trifle which I despise. I envy -thee, happy man, who hast true joy! - -"But I am melancholy. Why? 'You are discontented,' you answer. No, -certainly not; I am quite contented with my lot and ask for nothing. -Well, what is it then? Ah! now I know; I am not contented with myself -and my heart, which is full of anger and malice. Away from me, evil -thoughts! I will, with God's help, be happy and contented. For one is -happy only when one is at peace with oneself, one's heart, and one's -conscience." - -John's friend did not approve of his self-contentment, but asserted -in contradiction to the last sentence, that one ought to remain -discontented with life. She wrote: "We are not happy till our -consciousness tells us that we have sought and found the only Good -Physician, who can heal the wounds of all hearts, and when we are ready -to follow His advice with sincerity." - -This assertion, together with long conversations, caused the rapid -conversion of the youth to the true faith, _i.e._, that of his friend, -and gave occasion for the following effusion in which he expressed his -idea of faith and works: - - -_No Happiness without Virtue; no Virtue without Religion_. 1864 - -"What is happiness? Most worldlings regard the possession of great -wealth and worldly goods, happiness, because they afford them the -means of satisfying their sinful desires and passions. Others who -are not so exacting find happiness in a mere sense of well-being, in -health, and domestic felicity. Others, again, who do not expect worldly -happiness at all, and who are poor, and enjoy but scanty food earned -by hard work, are yet contented with their lot, and even happy. They -can even think 'How happy I am in comparison with the rich, who are -never contented.' Meanwhile, _are_ they really happy, because they are -contented? No, there is no happiness without virtue. No one is happy -except the man who leads a really virtuous life. Well, but there are -many really virtuous men. There are men who have never fallen into -gross sin, who are modest and retiring, who injure no one, who are -placable, who fulfil their duties conscientiously, and who are even -religious. They go to church every Sunday, they honour God and His Holy -Word, but yet they have not been born again of the Holy Spirit. Now, -are they happy, since they are virtuous? There is no virtue without -_real religion_. These virtuous worldlings are, as a matter of fact, -much worse than the most wicked men. They slumber in the security -of mere morality. They think themselves better than other men, and -righteous in the eyes of the Most Holy. These Pharisees, full of -self-love, think to win everlasting salvation by their good deeds. But -what are our good deeds before a Holy God? Sin, and nothing but sin. -These self-righteous men are the hardest of all to convert, because -they think they need no Mediator, since they wish to win heaven by -their deeds. An 'old sinner,' on the other hand, once he is awakened, -can realise his sinfulness and feel his need of a Saviour. True -happiness consists in having 'Peace in the heart with God through Jesus -Christ.' One can find no peace till one confesses that one is the chief -of sinners, and flies to the Saviour. How foolish of us to push such -happiness away! We all know where it is to be found, but instead of -seeking it, seek unhappiness, under the pretence of seeking happiness." - -Under this his friend wrote: "Very well written." They were her own -thoughts, or, at any rate, her own words which she had read. - -But sometimes doubt worried him, and he examined himself carefully. He -wrote as follows on a subject which he had himself chosen: - -_Egotism is the Mainspring of all our Actions_ - -"People commonly say, 'So-and-so is so kind and benevolent towards -his neighbours; he is virtuous, and all that he does springs from -compassion and love of the true and right.' Very well, open your heart -and examine it. You meet a beggar in the street; the first thought -that occurs to you is certainly as follows: 'How unfortunate this man -is; I will do a good deed and help him.' You pity him and give him a -coin. But haven't you some thought of this kind?--'Oh, how beautiful -it is to be benevolent and compassionate; it does one's heart good to -give alms to a poor man.' What is the real motive of your action? Is it -really love or compassion? Then your dear 'ego' gets up and condemns -you. You did it for your own sake, in order to set at rest _your_ heart -and to placate _your_ conscience. - -"It was for some time my intention to be a preacher, certainly a good -intention. But what was my motive? Was it to serve my Redeemer, and to -work for Him, or only out of love to Him? No, I was cowardly, and I -wished to escape my burden and lighten my cross, and avoid the great -temptations which met me everywhere. I feared men--that was the motive. -The times alter. I saw that I could not lead a life in Christ in the -society of companions to whose godless speeches I must daily listen, -and so I chose another path in life where I could be independent, or at -any rate----" - -Here the essay broke off, uncorrected. Other essays deal with the -Creator, and seem to have been influenced by Rousseau, extracts from -whose works were contained in Staaff's _French Reading Book_. They -mention, for example, flocks and nightingales, which the writer had -never seen or heard. - -He and his friend also had long discussions regarding their relation to -one another. Was it love or friendship? But she loved another man, of -whom she scarcely ever spoke. John noticed nothing in her but her eyes, -which were deep and expressive. He danced with her once, but never -again. The tie between them was certainly only friendship, and her soul -and body were virile enough to permit of a friendship existing and -continuing. A spiritual marriage can take place only between those who -are more or less sexless, and there is always something abnormal about -it. The best marriages, _i.e._, those which fulfil their real object -the best, are precisely those which are "_mal assortis_." - -Antipathy, dissimilarity of views, hate, contempt, can accompany true -love. Diverse intelligences and characters can produce the best endowed -children, who inherit the qualities of both. - - * * * * * - -In the meantime his Confirmation approached. It had been postponed as -long as possible, in order to keep him back among the children. But the -Confirmation itself was to be used as a means of humiliating him. His -father, at the same time that he announced his decision that it should -take place, expressed the hope that the preparation for it might melt -the ice round John's heart. - -So John found himself again among lower-class children. He felt -sympathy with them, but did not love them, nor could nor would be on -intimate terms with them. His education had alienated him from them, as -it had alienated him from his family. - -He was again a school-boy, had to learn by heart, stand up when -questioned, and be scolded along with the rest. The assistant pastor, -who taught them, was a pietist. He looked as though he had an -infectious disease or had read Dr. Kapff. He was severe, merciless, -emotionless, without a word of grace or comfort. Choleric, irritable, -nervous, this young rustic was petted by the ladies. - -He made an impression by dint of perpetual repetition. He preached -threateningly, cursed the theatre and every kind of amusement. John -and his friend resolved to alter their lives, and not to dance, go to -the theatre, or joke any more. He now infused a strong dash of pietism -into his essays, and avoided his companions in order not to hear their -frivolous stories. - -"Why, you are a pietist!" one of his school-fellows said one day to him. - -"Yes, I am," he answered. He would not deny his Redeemer. The school -grew intolerable to him. He suffered martyrdom there, and feared the -enticements of the world, of which he was already in some degree -conscious. He considered himself already a man, wished to go into the -world and work, earn his own living and marry. Among his other dreams -he formed a strange resolve, which was, however, not without its -reasons; he resolved to find a branch of work which was easy to learn, -would soon provide him with a maintenance, and give him a place where -he would not be the last, nor need he stand especially high--a certain -subordinate place which would let him combine an active life in the -open air with adequate pecuniary profit. The opportunity for plenty of -exercise in the open air was perhaps the principal reason why he wished -to be a subaltern in a cavalry regiment, in order to escape the fatal -twenty-fifth year, the terrors of which the pastor had described. The -prospect of wearing a uniform and riding a horse may also have had -something to do with it. He had already renounced the cadet uniform, -but man is a strange creature. - -His friend strongly dissuaded him from taking such a step; she -described soldiers as the worst kind of men in existence. He stood -firm, however, and said that his faith in Christ would preserve him -from all moral contagion, yes! he would preach Christ to the soldiers -and purify them all. Then he went to his father. The latter regarded -the whole matter as a freak of imagination, and exhorted him to be -ready for his approaching final examination, which would open the whole -world to him. - -A son had been born to his step-mother. John instinctively hated him as -a rival to whom his younger brothers and sisters would have to yield. -But the influence of his friend and of pietism was so strong over him, -that by way of mortifying himself he tried to love the newcomer. He -carried him on his arm and rocked him. - -"Nobody saw you do it," said his step-mother later on, when he adduced -this as a proof of his goodwill. Exactly so; he did it in secret, as he -did not wish to gain credit for it, or perhaps he was ashamed of it. He -had made the sacrifice sincerely; when it became disagreeable, he gave -it up. - -The Confirmation took place, after countless exhortations in the -dimly-lit chancel, and a long series of discourses on the Passion of -Christ and self-mortification, so that they were wrought up to a most -exalted mood. After the catechising, he scolded his friend whom he had -seen laughing. - -On the day on which they were to receive the Holy Communion, the senior -pastor gave a discourse. It was the well-meaning counsel of a shrewd -old man to the young; it was cheering and comforting, and did not -contain threats or denunciations of past sins. Sometimes during the -sermon John felt the words fall like balm on his wounded heart, and was -convinced that the old man was right. But in the act of Communion, -he did not get the spiritual impression he had hoped for. The organ -played and the choir sang, "O Lamb of God, have mercy upon us!" The -boys and girls wept and half-fainted as though they were witnessing an -execution. But John had become too familiar with sacred things in the -parish-clerk's school. The matter seemed to him driven to the verge of -absurdity. His faith was ripe for falling. And it fell. - - * * * * * - -He now wore a high hat, and succeeded to his elder brother's cast-off -clothes. Now his friend with the pince-nez took him in hand. He had not -deserted him during his pietistic period. He treated the matter lightly -and good-humouredly, with a certain admiration of John's asceticism -and firm faith. But now he intervened. He took him for a mid-day -walk, pointed out by name the actors they saw at the corner of the -Regeringsgata, and the officers who were reviewing the troops. John was -still shy, and had no self-reliance. - -It was about twelve o'clock, the time for going to the gymnasium. -John's friend said, "Come along! we will have lunch in the 'Three -Cups.'" - -"No," said John, "we ought to go to the Greek class." - -"Ah! we will dispense with Greek to-day." - -It would be the first time he cut it, thought John, and he might take a -little scolding for once. "But I have no money," he said. - -"That does not matter; you are my guest;" his friend seemed hurt. They -entered the restaurant. An appetising odour of beefsteaks greeted them; -the waiter received their coats and hung up their hats. - -"Bring the bill of fare, waiter," said his friend in a confident tone, -for he was accustomed to take his meals here. "Will you have beefsteak?" - -"Yes," answered John; he had tasted beefsteak only twice in his life. - -His friend ordered butter, cheese, brandy and beer, and without asking, -filled John's glass with brandy. - -"But I don't know whether I ought to," said John. - -"Have you never drunk it before?" - -"No." - -"Oh, well, go ahead! it tastes good." - -He drank. Ah! his body glowed, his eyes watered, and the room swam -in a light mist; but he felt an access of strength, his thoughts -worked freely, new ideas rose in his mind, and the gloomy past seemed -brighter. Then came the juicy beefsteak. That was something like -eating! His friend ate bread, butter, and cheese with it. John said, -"What will the restaurant-keeper say?" - -His friend laughed, as if he were an elderly uncle. - -"Eat away; the bill will be just the same." - -"But butter and cheese with beef-steak! That is too luxurious! But it -tastes good all the same." John felt as though he had never eaten -before. Then he drank beer. "Is each of us to drink half a bottle?" he -asked his friend. "You are really mad!" - -But at any rate it was a meal,--and not such an empty enjoyment either, -as anæmic ascetics assert. No, it is a real enjoyment to feel strong -blood flowing into one's half-empty veins, strengthening the nerves for -the battle of life. It is an enjoyment to feel vanished virile strength -return, and the relaxed sinews of almost perished will-power braced -up again. Hope awoke, and the mist in the room became a rosy cloud, -while his friend depicted for him the future as it is imagined by -youthful friendship. These youthful illusions about life, from whence -do they come? From superabundance of energy, people say. But ordinary -intelligence, which has seen so many childish hopes blighted, ought to -be able to infer the absurdity of expecting a realisation of the dreams -of youth. - -John had not learned to expect from life anything more than freedom -from tyranny and the means of existence. That would be enough for him. -He was no Aladdin and did not believe in luck. He had plenty of power, -but did not know it. His friend had to discover him to himself. - -"You should come and amuse yourself with us," he said, "and not sit in -a corner at home." - -"Yes, but that costs money, and I don't get any." - -"Give lessons." - -"Lessons! What? Do you think I could give lessons?" - -"You know a lot. You would not find it difficult to get pupils." - -He knew a lot! That was a recognition or a piece of flattery, as the -pietists call it, and it fell on fertile soil. - -"Yes, but I have no acquaintances or connections." - -"Tell the headmaster! I did the same!" - -John hardly dared to believe that he could get the chance of earning -money. But he felt strange when he heard that others could, and -compared himself with them. _They_ certainly had luck. His friend urged -him on, and soon he obtained a post as teacher in a girls' school. - -Now his self-esteem awoke. The servants at home called him Mr. John, -and the teachers in the school addressed the class as "Gentlemen." At -the same time he altered his course of study at school. He had for a -long time, but in vain, asked his father to let him give up Greek. He -did it now on his own responsibility, and his father first heard of -it at the examination. In its place he substituted mathematics, after -he had learned that a Latin scholar had the right to dispense with a -testamur in that subject. Moreover, he neglected Latin, intending to -revise it all a month before the examination. During the lessons he -read French, German, and English novels. The questions were asked each -pupil in turn, and he sat with his book in his hand till the questions -came and he could be ready for them. Modern languages and natural -science were now his special subjects. - -Teaching his juniors was a new and dangerous retrograde movement for -him, but he was paid for it. Naturally, the boys who required extra -lessons were those with a certain dislike of learning. It was hard -work for his active brain to accommodate himself to them. They were -impossible pupils, and did not know how to attend. He thought they -were obstinate. The truth was they lacked the will-power to become -attentive. Such boys are wrongly regarded as stupid. They are, on the -contrary, wide awake. Their thoughts are concerned with realities, and -they seem already to have seen through the absurdity of the subjects -they are taught. Many of them became useful citizens when they grew -up, and many more would have become so if they had not been compelled -by their parents to do violence to their natures and to continue their -studies. - -Now ensued a new conflict with his lady friend against his altered -demeanour. She warned him against his other friend who, she -said, flattered him, and against young girls of whom he spoke -enthusiastically. She was jealous. She reminded him of Christ, but John -was distracted by other subjects, and withdrew from her society. - -He now led an active and enjoyable life. He took part in evening -concerts, sang in a quartette, drank punch, and flirted moderately -with waitresses. All this time religion was in abeyance, and only a -weak echo of piety and asceticism remained. He prayed out of habit, but -without hoping for an answer, since he had so long sought the divine -friendship which people say is so easily found, if one but knocks -lightly at the door of grace. Truth to say, he was not very anxious to -be taken at his word. If the Crucified had opened the door and bidden -him enter, he would not have rejoiced. His flesh was too young and -sound to wish to be mortified. - - - - -VIII - -THE SPRING THAW - - -The school educates, not the family. The family is too narrow; its -aims are too petty, selfish, and anti-social. In the case of a -second marriage, such abnormal relations are set up, that the only -justification of the family comes to an end. The children of a deceased -mother should simply be taken away, if the father marries again. This -would best conduce to the interests of all parties, not least to those -of the father, who perhaps is the one who suffers most in a second -marriage. - -In the family there is only one (or two) ruling wills without appeal; -therefore justice is impossible. In the school, on the other hand, -there is a continual watchful jury, which rigorously judges boys as -well as teachers. The boys become more moral; brutality is tamed; -social instincts awaken; they begin to see that individual interests -must be generally furthered by means of compromises. There cannot be -tyranny, for there usually are enough to form parties and to revolt. A -teacher who is badly treated by a pupil can soonest obtain justice by -appealing to the other pupils. Moreover, about this time there was much -to arouse their sympathy in great universal interests. - -During the Danish-German War of 1864 a fund was raised in the school -for the purchase of war-telegrams. These were fastened on the -blackboard and read with great interest by both teachers and pupils. -They gave rise to familiar talks and reflections on the part of the -teachers regarding the origin and cause of the war. They were naturally -all one-sidedly Scandinavian, and the question was judged from the -point of view of the students' union. Seeds of hatred towards Russia -and Germany for some future war were sown, and at the burial of the -popular teacher of gymnastics, Lieutenant Betzholtz, this reached a -fanatical pitch. - -The year of the Reform Bill,[1] 1865, approached. The teacher of -history, a man of kindliness and fine feeling, and an aristocrat of -high birth, tried to interest the pupils in the subject. The class had -divided into opposite parties, and the son of a speaker in the Upper -House, a Count S., universally popular, was the chief of the opposition -against reform. He was sprung from an old German family of knightly -descent; was poor, and lived on familiar terms with his classmates, but -had a keen consciousness of his high birth. Battles more in sport than -in earnest took place in the class, and tables and forms were thrown -about indiscriminately. - -The Reform Bill passed. Count S. remained away from the class. -The history teacher spoke with emotion of the sacrifice which the -nobility had laid upon the altar of the fatherland by renouncing -their privileges. The good man did not know yet that privileges are -not rights, but advantages which have been seized and which can be -recovered like other property, even by illegal means. - -The teacher bade the class to be modest over their victory and not to -insult the defeated party. The young count on his return to the class -was received with elaborate courtesy, but his feelings so overcame him -at the sight of the involuntary elevation of so many pupils of humble -birth, that he burst into tears and had to leave the class again. - -John understood nothing of politics. As a topic of general interest, -they were naturally banished from family discussions, where only -topics of private interest were regarded, and that in a very one-sided -way. Sons were so brought up that they might remain sons their whole -lives long, without any regard to the fact that some day they might be -fathers. But John already possessed the lower-class instinct which told -him, with regard to the Reform Bill, that now an injustice had been -done away with, and that the higher scale had been lowered, in order -that it might be easier for the lower one to rise to the same level. He -was, as might be expected, a liberal, but since the king was a liberal, -he was also a royalist. - -Parallel with the strong reactionary stream of pietism ran that of the -new rationalism, but in the opposite direction. Christianity, which, at -the close of the preceding century, had been declared to be mythical, -was again received into favour, and as it enjoyed State protection, -the liberals could not prevent themselves being reinoculated by its -teaching. But in 1835 Strauss's _Life of Christ_ had made a new -breach, and even in Sweden fresh water trickled into the stagnant -streams. The book was made the subject of legal action, but upon it -as a foundation the whole work of the new reformation was built up by -self-appointed reformers, as is always the case. - -Pastor Cramer had the honour of being the first. As early as 1859 -he published his _Farewell to the Church_, a popular but scientific -criticism of the New Testament. He set the seal of sincerity on his -belief by seceding from the State Church and resigning his office. His -book produced a great effect, and although Ingell's writings had more -vogue among the theologians, they did not reach the younger generation. -In the same year appeared Rydberg's _The Last Athenian_. The influence -of this book was hindered by the fact that it was hailed as a literary -success, and transplanted to the neutral territory of belles-lettres. -Ryllberg's _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_ made a deeper impression. -Renan's _Life of Jesus_ in Ignell's translation had taken young and old -by storm, and was read in the schools along with Cramer, which was not -the case with _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_. And by Boström's attack -on the _Doctrine of Hell_ (1864), the door was opened to rationalism -or "free-thought," as it was called. Boström's really insignificant -work had a great effect, because of his fame as a Professor at Upsala -and former teacher in the Royal Family. The courageous man risked his -reputation, a risk which no one incurred after him, when it was no -longer considered an honour to be a free-thinker or to labour for the -freedom and the right of thinking. - -In short, everything was in train, and it needed only a breath to blow -down John's faith like a house of cards. A young engineer crossed his -path. He was a lodger in the house of John's female friend. He watched -John a long while before he made any approaches. John felt respect for -him, for he had a good head, and was also somewhat jealous. John's -friend prepared him for the acquaintance he was likely to make, and -at the same time warned him. She said the engineer was an interesting -man of great ability, but dangerous. It was not long before John met -him. He hailed from Wermland, was strongly built, with coarse, honest -features, and a childlike laugh, when he did laugh, which occurred -rarely. They were soon on familiar terms. The first evening only a -slight skirmish took place on the question of faith and knowledge. -"Faith must kill reason," said John (echoing Krummacher). "No," replied -his friend. "Reason is a divine gift, which raises man above the -brutes. Shall man lower himself to the level of the brutes by throwing -away this divine gift?" - -"There are things," said John (echoing Norbeck), "which we can very -well believe, without demanding a proof for them. We believe the -calendar, for example, without possessing a scientific knowledge of the -movement of the planets." - -"Yes," answered his friend, "we believe it, because our reason does not -revolt against it." - -"But," said John, "in Galileo's time they revolted against the idea -that the earth revolves round the sun. 'He is possessed by a spirit of -contradiction,' they said, 'and wishes to be thought original.'" - -"We don't live in Galileo's age," returned his friend, "and the -enlightened reason of our time rejects the Deity of Christ and -everlasting punishment." - -"We won't dispute about these things," said John. - -"Why not?" - -"They are out of the reach of reason." - -"Just what I said two years ago when I was a believer." - -"You have been----a pietist?" - -"Yes." - -"Hm! and now you have peace?" - -"Yes, I have peace." - -"How is that?" - -"I learned through a preacher to realise the spirit of true -Christianity." - -"You are a Christian then?" - -"Yes, I acknowledge Christ." - -"But you don't believe that he was God?" - -"He never said so himself. He called himself God's son, and we are all -God's sons." - -John's lady friend interrupted the conversation, which was a type of -many others in the year 1865. John's curiosity was aroused. There were -then, he said to himself, men who did not believe in Christ and yet had -peace. Mere criticism would not have disturbed his old ideas of God; -the "horror vacui" held him back, till Theodore Parker fell into his -hands. Sermons without Christ and hell were what he wanted. And fine -sermons they were. It must be confessed that he read them in extreme -haste, as he was anxious that his friends and relatives should enjoy -them that he might escape their censures. He could not distinguish -between the disapproval of others and his own bad conscience, and was -so accustomed to consider others right that he fell into conflict with -himself. - -But in his mind the doctrine of Christ the Judge, the election of -grace, the punishments of the last day, all collapsed, as though they -had been tottering for a long time. He was astonished at the rapidity -of their disappearance. It was as though he laid aside clothes he had -outgrown and put on new ones. - -One Sunday morning he went with the engineer to the Haga Park. It was -spring. The hazel bushes were in bloom, and the anemones were opening. -The weather was fairly clear, the air soft and mild after a night's -rain. He and his friend discussed the freedom of the will. The pietists -had a very wavering conception of the matter. No one had, they said, -the power to become a child of God of his own free will. The Holy -Spirit must seek one, and thus it was a matter of predestination. John -wished to be converted but he could not. He had learned to pray, "Lord, -create in me a new will." But how could he be held responsible for his -evil will? Yes, he could, answered the pietist, through the Fall, for -when man endowed with free will chose the evil, his posterity inherited -his evil will, which became perpetually evil and ceased to be free. -Man could be delivered from this evil will only through Christ and -the gracious work of the Holy Spirit. The New Birth, however, did not -depend upon his own will, but on the grace of God. Thus he was not free -and at the same time was responsible! Therein lay the false inference. - -Both the engineer and John were nature worshippers. What is this -nature worship which in our days is regarded as so hostile to culture? -A relapse into barbarism, say some; a healthy reaction against -over-culture, say others. When a man has discovered society to be an -institution based on error and injustice, when he perceives that, in -exchange for petty advantages society suppresses too forcibly every -natural impulse and desire, when he has seen through the illusion that -he is a demi-god and a child of God, and regards himself more as a kind -of animal--then he flees from society, which is built on the assumption -of the divine origin of man, and takes refuge with nature. Here he -feels in his proper environment as an animal, sees himself as a detail -in the picture, and beholds his origin--the earth and the meadow. -He sees the interdependence of all creation as if in a summary--the -mountains becoming earth, the sea becoming rain, the plain which is a -mountain crumbled, the woods which are the children of the mountains -and the water. He sees the ocean of air which man and all creatures -breathe, he hears the birds which live on the insects, he sees the -insects which fertilise the plants, he sees the mammalia which supply -man with nourishment, and he feels at home. And in our time, when -all things are seen from the scientific point of view, a lonely hour -with nature, where we can see the whole evolution-history in living -pictures, can be the only substitute for divine worship. - -But our optimistic evolutionists prefer a meeting in a large hall -where they can launch their denunciations against this same society -which they admire and despise. They praise it as the highest stage of -development, but wish to overthrow it, because it is irreconcilable -with the true happiness of the animal. They wish to reconstruct and -develop it, say some. But their reconstruction involves the destruction -of all existing arrangements. Do not these people recognise that -society as it exists is a case of miscarriage in evolution, and is -itself simultaneously hostile to culture and to nature? - -Society, like everything else, is a natural product, they say, and -civilisation is nature. Yes, but it is degenerate nature, nature on -the down-grade, since it works against its own object--happiness. It -was, however, the engineer, John's leader, and a nature-worshipper like -himself, who revealed to him the defects of civilised society, and -prepared the way for his reception of the new views of man's origin. -Darwin's _Origin of Species_ had appeared as early as 1859, but its -influence had not yet penetrated far, much less had it been able to -fertilise other minds.[2] Moleschott's influence was then in the -ascendant, and materialism was the watchword of the day. Armed with -this and with his geology, the engineer pulled to pieces the Mosaic -story of the Creation. He still spoke of the Creator, for he was a -theist and saw God's wisdom and goodness reflected in His works. - -While they were walking in the park, the church bells in the city began -to ring. John stood still and listened. There were the terrible bells -of the Clara Church, which rang through his melancholy childhood; the -bells of the Adolf-Fredrik, which had frightened him to the bleeding -breast of the Crucified, and the bells of St. John's, which, on -Saturdays, when he was in the Jacob School, had announced the end of -the week. A gentle south wind bore the sound of the bells thither from -the city, and it echoed like a warning under the high firs. - -"Are you going to church?" asked his friend. - -"No," answered John, "I am not going to church any more." - -"Follow your conscience," said the engineer. - -It was the first time that John had remained away from church. He -determined to defy his father's command and his own conscience. He got -excited, inveighed against religion and domestic tyranny, and talked of -the church of God in nature; he spoke with enthusiasm of the new gospel -which proclaimed salvation, happiness, and life to all. But suddenly he -became silent. - -"You have a bad conscience," said his friend. - -"Yes," answered John; "one should either not do what one repents of, or -not repent of what one does." - -"The latter is the better course." - -"But I repent all the same. I repent a good deed, for it would be wrong -to play the hypocrite in this old idol-temple. My new conscience tells -me that I am wrong. I can find no more peace." - -And that was true. His new ego revolted against this old one, and they -lived in discord, like an unhappy married couple, during the whole of -his later life, without being able to get a separation. - -The reaction in his mind against his old views, which he felt should -be eradicated, broke out violently. The fear of hell had disappeared, -renunciation seemed silly, and the youth's nature demanded its rights. -The result was a new code of morality, which he formulated for himself -in the following fashion: What does not hurt any of my fellow-men -is permitted to me. He felt that the domestic pressure at home did -him harm, and no one else any good, and revolted against it. He now -showed his real feelings to his parents, who had never shown him love, -but insisted on his being grateful, because they had given him his -legal rights as a matter of favour, and accompanied by humiliations. -They were antipathetic to him, and he was cold to them. To their -ceaseless attacks on free-thinking he gave frank and perhaps somewhat -impertinent answers. His half-annihilated will began to stir, and he -saw that he was entitled to make demands of life. - -The engineer was regarded as John's seducer, and was anathematised. -But he was open to the influence of John's lady friend, who had formed -a friendship with his step-mother. The engineer was not of a radical -turn of mind; he had accepted Theodore Parker's compromise, and still -believed in Christian self-denial. One should, he said, be amiable and -patient, follow Christ's example, and so forth. Urged on by John's lady -friend, for whom he had a concealed tenderness, and alarmed by the -consequences of his own teaching, he wrote John the following letter. -It was inspired by fear of the fire which he had kindled, by regard for -the lady, and by sincere conviction: - -"To MY FRIEND JOHN,--How joyfully we greet the spring when it appears, -to intoxicate us with its wealth of verdure and its divine freshness! -The birds begin their light and cheerful melodies, and the anemones -peep shyly forth under the whispering branches of the pines----" - -"It is strange," thought John, "that this unsophisticated man, who -talks so simply and sincerely, should write in such a stilted style. -It rings false." - -The letter continued: "What breast, whether old or young, does not -expand in order to inhale the fresh perfumes of the spring, which -spread heavenly peace in each heart, accompanied by a longing which -seems like a foretaste of God and of His love? At such a time can any -malice remain in our hearts? Can we not forgive? Ah yes, we must, -when we see how the caressing rays of the spring sun have kissed away -the icy cover from nature and our hearts. Just as we expect to see -the ground, freed from snow, grow green again, so we long to see the -warmth of a kindly heart manifest itself in loving deeds, and peace and -happiness spread through all nature----" - -"Forgive?" thought John. "Yes, certainly he would, if they would only -alter their behaviour and let him be free. But _they_ did not forgive -him. With what right did they demand forbearance on his part? It must -be mutual." - -"John," went on the letter, "you think you have attained to a higher -conception of God through the study of nature and through reason -than when you believed in the Deity of Christ and the Bible, but you -do not realise the tendency of your own thoughts. You think that a -true thought can of itself ennoble a man, but in your better moments -you see that it cannot. You have only grasped the shadow which the -light throws, but not the chief matter, not the light itself. When -you held your former views you could pass over a fault in one of your -fellow-men, you could take a charitable view of an action in spite of -appearances, but how is it with you now? You are violent and bitter -against a loving mother; you condemn and are discontented with the -actions of a tender, experienced, grey-headed father----" - -(As a matter of fact, when he held his former views, John could not -pardon a fault in anyone, least of all in himself. Sometimes, indeed, -he did pardon others; but that was stupid, that was lax morality. A -loving mother, forsooth! Yes, very loving! How did his friend Axel -come to think so? And a tender father? But why should he not judge his -actions? In self-defence one must meet hardness with hardness, and no -more turn the left cheek when the right cheek is smitten.) - -"Formerly you were an unassuming, amiable child, but now you are an -egotistical, conceited youth----" - -("Unassuming!" Yes, and that was why he had been trampled down, but -now he was going to assert his just claims. "Conceited!" Ha! the -teacher felt himself outstripped by his ungrateful pupil.) - -"The warm tears of your mother flow over her cheeks----" - -("Mother!" he had no mother, and his stepmother only cried when she was -angry! Who the deuce had composed the letter?) - -"--when she thinks in solitude about your hard heart----" - -(What the dickens has she to do with my heart when she has the -housekeeping and seven children to look after?) - -"--your unhappy spiritual condition----" - -(That's humbug! My soul has never felt so fresh and lively as now.) - -"--and your father's heart is nearly breaking with grief and -anxiety----" - -(That's a lie. He is himself a theist and follows Wallin; besides, -he has no time to think about me. He knows that I am industrious and -honest, and not immoral. Indeed, he praised me only a day or two ago.) - -"You do not notice your mother's sad looks----" - -(There are other reasons for that, for her marriage is not a happy one.) - -"--nor do you regard the loving warnings of your father. You are like -a crevasse above the snow-line, in which the kiss of the spring sun -cannot melt the snow, nor turn a single atom of ice into a drop of -water----" - -(The writer must have been reading romances. As a matter of fact John -was generally yielding towards his school-fellows. But towards his -domestic enemies he had become cold. That was their fault.) - -"What can your friends think of your new religion, when it produces -such evil fruit? They will curse it, and your views give them the right -to do so----" - -(Not the right, but the occasion.) - -"They will hate the mean scoundrel who has instilled the hellish poison -of his teaching into your innocent heart----" - -(There we have it! The mean scoundrel!) - -"Show now by your actions that you have grasped the truth better than -heretofore. Try to be forbearing----" - -(That's the step-mother!) - -"Pass over the defects and failings of your fellow-men with love and -gentleness----" - -(No, he would not! They had tortured him into lying; they had snuffed -about in his soul, and uprooted good seeds as though they were weeds; -they wished to stifle his personality, which had just as good a right -to exist as their own; they had never been forbearing with his faults, -why should he be so with theirs? Because Christ had said.... That had -become a matter of complete indifference, and had no application to -him now. For the rest, he did not bother about those at home, but shut -himself up in himself. They were unsympathetic to him, and could not -obtain his sympathy. That was the whole thing in a nutshell. They had -faults and wanted him to pardon them. Very well, he did so, if they -would only leave him in peace!) - -"Learn to be grateful to your parents, who spare no pains in promoting -your true welfare and happiness (hm!), and that this may be brought -about through love to God your Creator, who has caused you to be born -in this improving (hm! hm!) environment, for obtaining peace and -blessedness is the prayer of your anxious but hopeful - - "AXEL." - -"I have had enough of father confessors and inquisitors," thought John; -he had escaped and felt himself free. They stretched their claws after -him, but he was beyond their reach. His friend's letter was insincere -and artificial; "the hands were the hands of Esau." He returned no -answer to it, but broke off all intercourse with both his friends. - -They called him ungrateful. A person who insists on gratitude is worse -than a creditor, for he first makes a present on which he plumes -himself, and then sends in the account--an account which can never be -paid, for a service done in return does not seem to extinguish the debt -of gratitude; it is a mortgage on a man's soul, a debt which cannot -be paid, and which stretches over the whole subsequent life. Accept -a service from your friend, and he will expect you to falsify your -opinion of him and to praise his own evil deeds, and those of his wife -and children. - -But gratitude is a deep feeling which honours a man and at the same -time humiliates him. Would that a time may come when it will not be -necessary to fetter ourselves with gratitude for a benefit, which -perhaps is a mere duty. - -John felt ashamed of the breach with his friends, but they hindered -and oppressed him. After all, what had they given him in social -intercourse which he had not given back? - -Fritz, as his friend with the pince-nez was called, was a prudent man -of the world. These two epithets "prudent" and "man of the world" had -a bad significance at that time. To be prudent in a romantic period, -when all were a little cracked, and to be cracked was considered a mark -of the upper classes, was almost synonymous with being bad. To be a -man of the world when all attempted, as well as they could, to deceive -themselves in religion, was considered still worse. Fritz was prudent. -He wished to lead his own life in a pleasant way and to make a career -for himself. He therefore sought the acquaintance of those in good -social position. That was prudent, because they had power and money. -Why should he not seek them? How did he come to make friends with John? -Perhaps through a sort of animal sympathy, perhaps through long habit. -John could not do any special service for him except to whisper answers -to him in the class and to lend him books. For Fritz did not learn his -lessons, and spent in punch the money which was intended for books. - -Now when he saw that John was inwardly purified, and that his outer -man was presentable, he introduced him to his own coterie. This was a -little circle of young fellows, some of them rich and some of them of -good rank belonging to the same class as John. The latter was a little -shy at first, but soon stood on a good footing with them. One day, at -drill time, Fritz told him that he had been invited to a ball. - -"I to a ball? Are you mad? I would certainly be out of place there." - -"You are a good-looking fellow, and will have luck with the girls." - -Hm! That was a new point of view with regard to himself. Should he go? -What would they say at home, where he got nothing but blame? - -He went to the ball. It was in a middle-class house. Some of the girls -were anæmic; others red as berries. John liked best the pale ones who -had black or blue rings round their eyes. They looked so suffering and -pining, and cast yearning glances towards him. There was one among them -deathly pale, whose dark eyes were deep-set and burning, and whose lips -were so dark that her mouth looked almost like a black streak. She made -an impression on him, but he did not venture to approach her, as she -already had an admirer. So he satisfied himself with a less dazzling, -softer, and gentler girl. He felt quite comfortable at the ball and in -intercourse with strangers, without seeing the critical eyes of any -relative. But he found it very difficult to talk with the girls. - -"What shall I say to them?" he asked Fritz. - -"Can't you talk nonsense with them? Say 'It is fine weather. Do you -like dancing? Do you skate?' One must learn to be versatile." - -John went and soon exhausted his repertoire of conversation. His palate -became dry, and at the third dance he got tired of it. He felt in a -rage with himself and was silent. - -"Isn't dancing amusing?" asked Fritz. "Cheer up, old coffin-polisher!" - -"Yes, dancing is all right, if one only had not to talk. I don't know -what to say." - -So it was, as a matter of fact. He liked the girls, and dancing with -them seemed manly, but as to talking with them!--he felt as though he -were dealing with another kind of the species _Homo_, in some cases a -higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired his gentle little -partner, and would have liked her for a wife. - -His fondness for reflection and his everlasting criticism of his -thoughts had robbed him of the power of being simple and direct. When -he talked with a girl, he heard his own voice and words and criticised -them. This made the whole ball seem tedious. And then the girls? What -was it really that they lacked? They had the same education as himself; -they learned history and modern languages, read Icelandic, studied -algebra, etc. They had accordingly the same culture, and yet he could -not talk with them. - -"Well, talk nonsense with them," said Fritz. - -But he could not. Besides, he had a higher opinion of them. He wanted -to give up the balls altogether, since he had no success, but he was -taken there in spite of himself. It flattered him to be invited, and -flattery has always something pleasant about it. One day he was paying -a visit to an aristocratic family. The son of the house was a cadet. -Here he met two actresses. With them he felt he could speak. They -danced with him but did not answer him. So he listened to Fritz's -conversation. The latter said strange things in elegant phrases, and -the girls were delighted with him. That, then, was the way to get on -with them! - -The balls were followed by serenades and "punch evenings." John had a -great longing for strong drinks; they seemed to him like concentrated -liquid nourishment. The first time he was intoxicated was at a -students' supper at Djurgårdsbrunn. He felt happy, joyful, strong, and -mild, but far from mad. He talked nonsense, saw pictures on the plates -and made jokes. This behaviour made him for the moment like his elder -brother, who, though deeply melancholy in his youth, had a certain -reputation afterwards as a comic actor. They had both played at acting -in the attic; but John was embarrassed; he acted badly and was only -successful when he was given the part of some high personage to play. -As a comic actor he was impossible. - -About this time there entered two new factors into his development--Art -and Literature. - -John had found in his father's bookcase Lenstrom's _Æsthetics_, -Boije's _Dictionary of Painters,_ and Oulibischeff's _Life of Mozart_, -besides the authors previously mentioned. Through the scattering of -the family of a deceased relative, a large number of books came into -the house, which increased John's knowledge of belles-lettres. Among -them were several copies of Talis Qualis's poems, which he did not -enjoy; he found no pleasure in Strandberg's translation of Byron's -_Don Juan_, for he hated descriptive poetry; he always skipped verse -quotations when they occurred in books. Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, -in Kullberg's translation, he found tedious; Karl von Zeipel's _Tales_, -impossible. Sir Walter Scott's novels were too long, especially the -descriptions. He therefore did not understand at first the greatness -of Zola, when many years later he read his elaborate descriptions; the -perusal of Lessing's _Laokoön_ had already convinced him that such -descriptions cannot convey an adequate impression of the whole. Dickens -infused life even into inanimate objects and harmonised the scenery -and situations with the characters. That he understood better. He -thought Eugène Sue's _Wandering Jew_ magnificent; he did not regard it -as a novel; for novels, he thought, were only to be found in lending -libraries. This, on the other hand, was a historical poem of universal -interest, whose Socialistic teaching he quickly imbibed. Alexandre -Dumas's works seemed to him like the boys' books about Indians. These -he did not care for now; he wanted books with some serious purpose. -He swallowed Shakespeare whole, in Hagberg's translation. But he had -always found it hard to read plays where the eye must jump from the -names of the _dramatis personæ_, to the text. He was disappointed in -_Hamlet_, of which he had expected much, and the comedies seemed to him -sheer nonsense. - -John could not endure poetry. It seemed to him artificial and untrue. -Men did not speak like that, and they seldom thought so beautifully. -Once he was asked to write a verse in Fanny's album. - -"You can screw yourself up to do that," said his friend. - -John sat up at night, but only managed to hammer out two lines. -Besides, he did not know what to say. One could not expose one's -feelings to common observation. Fritz offered his help, and together -they produced six or eight rhyming lines, for which Snoilsky's _A -Christmas Eve in Rome_ supplied the motive. - -"Genius" often formed the subject of their discussions. Their teacher -used to say "Geniuses" ranked above all else, like "Excellencies." John -thought much about this, and believed that it was possible without -high birth, without money, and without a career to get on the same -level as Excellencies. But what a genius was he did not know. Once -in a weak moment he said to his lady friend that he would rather be -a genius than a child of God, and received a sharp reproof from her. -Another time he told Fritz that he would like to be a professor, as -they can dress like scarecrows and behave as they like without losing -respect. But when someone else asked him what he wished to be, he said, -"A clergyman"; for all peasants' sons can be that, and it seemed a -suitable calling for him also. After he had become a free-thinker, he -wished to take a university degree. But he did not wish to be a teacher -on any account. - -In the theatre _Hamlet_ made a deeper impression on him than -Offenbach's operas, which were then being acted. Who is this Hamlet -who first saw the footlights in the era of John III., and has still -remained fresh? He is a figure which has been much exploited and used -for many purposes. John forthwith determined to use him for his own. - -The curtain rises to the sound of cheerful music, showing the king and -his court in glittering array. Then there enters the pale youth in -mourning garb and opposes his step-father. Ah! he has a step-father. -"That is as bad as having a stepmother," thought John. "That's the -man for me!" And then they try to oppress him and squeeze sympathy -out of him for the tyrant. The youth's ego revolts, but his will is -paralysed; he threatens, but he cannot strike. - -Anyhow, he chastises his mother--a pity that it was not his -step-father. But now he goes about with pangs of conscience. Good! -Good! He is sick with too much thought, he gropes in his in-side, -inspects his actions till they dissolve into nothing. And he loves -another's betrothed; that resembles John's life completely. He begins -to doubt whether he is an exception after all. That, then, is a common -story in life! Very well! He did not need then to worry about himself, -but he had lost his consciousness of originality. The conclusion, which -had been mangled, was unimpressive, but was partly redeemed by the fine -speech of Horatio. John did not observe the unpardonable mistake of -the adapter in omitting the part of Fortinbras, but Horatio, who was -intended to form a contrast to Hamlet, was no contrast. He is as great -a coward as the latter, and says only "yes" and "no." Fortinbras was -the man of action, the conqueror, the claimant to the throne, but he -does not appear, and the play ends in gloom and desolation. - -But it is fine to lament one's destiny, and to see it lamented. -At first Hamlet was only the step-son; later on he becomes the -introspective brooder, and lastly the son, the sacrifice to family -tyranny. Schwarz had represented him as the visionary and idealist who -could not reconcile himself to reality, and satisfied contemporary -taste accordingly. A future matter-of-fact generation, to whom the -romantic appears simply ridiculous, may very likely see the part of -Hamlet, like that of Don Quixote, taken by a comic actor. Youths -like Hamlet have been for a long time the subject of ridicule, for -a new generation has secretly sprung up, a generation which thinks -without seeing visions, and acts accordingly. The neutral territory -of belles-lettres and the theatre, where morality has nothing to say, -and the unrealities of the drama with its reconstruction of a better -world than the present, were taken by John as something more than mere -imagination. He confused poetry and reality, while he fancied that life -outside his parent's house was ideal and that the future was a garden -of Eden. - -The prospect of soon going to the University of Upsala seemed to him -like a flight into liberty. There one might be ill-dressed, poor, and -still a student, _i.e._, a member of the higher classes; one could sing -and drink, come home intoxicated, and fight with the police without -losing one's reputation. That is an ideal land! How had he found that -out? From the students' songs which he sang with his brother. But he -did not know that these songs reflected the views of the aristocracy; -that they were listened to, piece by piece, by princes and future -kings; that the heroes of them were men of family. He did not consider -that borrowing was not so dangerous, when there was a rich aunt in the -background; that the examination was not so hard if one had a bishop -for an uncle; and that the breaking of a window had not got to be too -dearly paid for if one moved in good society. But, at any rate, his -thoughts were busy with the future; his hopes revived, and the fatal -twenty-fifth year did not loom so ominously before him. - -About this time the volunteer movement was at its height. It was a -happy idea which gave Sweden a larger army than she had hitherto -had--40,000 men instead of 37,000. John went in for it energetically, -wore a uniform, drilled, and learned to shoot. He came thereby into -contact with young men of other classes of society. In his company -there were apprentices, shop attendants, office clerks, and young -artists who had not yet achieved fame. He liked them, but they -remained distant. He sought to approach them, but they did not receive -him. They had their own language, which he did not understand. Now he -noticed how his education had separated him from the companions of his -childhood. They took for granted that he was proud. But, as a matter of -fact, he looked up to them in some things. They were frank, fearless, -independent, and pecuniarily better circumstanced than himself, for -they always had money. - -Accompanying the troops on long marches had a soothing effect on him. -He was not born to command, and obeyed gladly, if the person who -commanded did not betray pride or imperiousness. He had no ambition -to become a corporal, for then he would have had to think, and what -was still worse, decide for others. He remained a slave by nature and -inclination, but he was sensitive to the injustice of tyrants, and -observed them narrowly. - -At one important manoeuvre he could not help expostulating with regard -to certain blunders committed, _e.g._, that the infantry of the guard -should be ranged up at a landing-place against the cannon of the fleet -which covered the barges on which they were standing. The cannon -played about their ears from a short distance, but they remained -unmoved. He expostulated and swore, but obeyed, for he had determined -beforehand to do so. - -On one occasion, while they were halting at Tyreso, he wrestled in -sport with a comrade. The captain of the company stepped forward and -forbade such rough play. John answered sharply that they were off duty, -and that they were playing. - -"Yes, but play may become earnest," said the captain. - -"That depends on us," answered John, and obeyed. But he thought him -fussy for interfering in such trifles, and believed that he noticed a -certain dislike in his superior towards himself. The former was called -"magister," because he wrote for the papers, but he was not even a -student. "There it is," he thought, "he wants to humiliate me." And -from that time he watched him closely. Their mutual antipathy lasted -through their lives. - -The volunteer movement was in the first place the result of the -Danish-German War, and, though transitory, was in some degree -advantageous. It kept the young men occupied, and did away, to a -certain extent, with the military prestige of the army, as the lower -classes discovered that soldiering was not such a difficult matter -after all. The insight thus gained caused a widespread resistance to -the introduction of the Prussian system of compulsory service which was -much mooted at the time, since Oscar II., when visiting Berlin, had -expressed to the Emperor William his hope that Swedish and Prussian -troops would once more be brothers-in-arms. - - -[1] See _Encyclopedia Britannica_, art. "Sweden." - -[2] In 1910 Strindberg wrote: "I keep my Bible Christianity for -private use, to tame my somewhat barbarised nature--barbarised by the -veterinary philosophy of Darwinism, in which, as a student. I was -educated."--_Tal till Svenska nationen_. - - - - -IX - -WITH STRANGERS - - -One of his bold dreams had been fulfilled: he had found a situation for -the summer. Why had he not found one sooner? He had not dared to hope -for it, and, therefore, had never sought it, from fear of meeting with -a refusal. A disappointed hope was the worst thing he could imagine. -But now, all at once, Fortune shook her cornucopia over him; the post -he had obtained was in the finest situation that he knew--the Stockholm -archipelago--on the most beautiful of all the islands, Sotaskär. He -now liked aristocrats. His step-mother's ill-treatment of him, his -relations' perpetual watching to discover arrogance in him, where there -was only superiority of intelligence, generosity, and self-sacrifice, -the attempts of his volunteer comrades to oppress him, had driven him -out of the class to which he naturally belonged. He did not think or -feel any more as they did; he had another religion, and another view -of life. The well-regulated behaviour and confident bearing of his -aristocratic friends satisfied his æsthetic sense; his education had -brought him nearer to them, and alienated him from the lower classes. -The aristocrats seemed to him less proud than the middle class. They -did not oppress, but prized culture and talent; they were democratic in -their behaviour towards him, for they treated him as an equal, whereas -his own relatives regarded him as a subordinate and inferior. Fritz, -for example, who was the son of a miller in the country, visited at the -house of a lord-in-waiting, and played in a comedy with his sons before -the director of the Theatre Royal, who offered him an engagement. -No one asked whose son he was. But when Fritz came to a dance at -John's house, he was carefully inspected behind and before, and great -satisfaction was caused when some relative imparted the information -that his father had once been a miller's servant. - -John had become aristocratic in his views, without, however, ceasing to -sympathise with the lower classes, and since about the year 1865 the -nobility were fairly liberal in politics, condescending and popular -for the time, he let himself be duped. - -Fritz began to give him instructions how he should behave. One should -not be cringing, he said, but be yielding; should not say all that one -thought, for no one wished to know that; it was good if one could say -polite things, without indulging in too gross flattery; one should -converse, but not argue, above all things not dispute, for one never -got the best of it. Fritz was certainly a wise youth. John thought the -advice terribly hard, but stored it up in his mind. What he wanted to -get was a salary, and perhaps the chance of a tour abroad to Rome or -Paris with his pupils; that was the most he hoped for from his noble -friends, and what he intended to aim at. - -One Sunday he visited the wife of the baron, his future employer, as -she was in the town. She seemed like the portrait of a mediæval lady; -she had an aquiline nose, great brown eyes, and curled hair, which hung -over her temples. She was somewhat sentimental, talked in a drawling -manner, and with a nasal twang. John did not think her aristocratic, -and the house was a poorer one than his own home, but they had, -besides, an estate and a castle. However, she pleased him, for she had -a certain resemblance to his mother. She examined him, talked with him, -and let her ball of wool fall. John sprang up and gave it to her, with -a self-satisfied air which seemed to say, "I can do that, for I have -often picked up ladies' handkerchiefs." Her opinion of him after the -examination was a favourable one, and he was engaged. On the morning of -the day on which they were to leave the city he called again. The royal -secretary, for so the gentleman of the house was called, was standing -in his shirt-sleeves before the mirror and tying his cravat. He looked -proud and melancholy, and his greeting was curt and cold. John took -a seat uninvited, and tried to commence a conversation, but was not -particularly successful in keeping it up, especially as the secretary -turned his back to him, and gave only short answers. - -"He is not an aristocrat," thought John; "he is a boor." - -The two were antipathetic to each other, as two members of the lower -class, who looked askance at each other in their clamber laboriously -upwards. - -The carriage was before the door; the coachman was in livery, and -stood with his hat in his hand. The secretary asked John whether he -would sit in the carriage or on the box, but in such a tone that John -determined to be polite and to accept the invitation to sit on the -box. So he sat next the coachman. As the whip cracked, and the horses -started, he had only one thought, "Away from home! Out into the world!" - -At the first halting-place John got down from the box and went to -the carriage window. He asked in an easy, polite, perhaps somewhat -confidential tone, how his employers were. The baron answered curtly, -in a tone in a way which cut off all attempts at a nearer approach. -What did that mean? - -They took their seats again. John lighted a cigar, and offered the -coachman one. The latter, however, whispered in reply that he dared -not smoke on the box. He then pumped the coachman, but cautiously, -regarding the baron's friends, and so on. Towards evening they reached -the estate. The house stood on a wooded hill, and was a white stone -building with outside blinds. The roof was flat, and its rounded -comers gave the building a somewhat Italian aspect, but the blinds, -with their white and red borders, were elegance itself. John, with his -three pupils, was installed in one wing, which consisted of an isolated -building with two rooms; the other of which was occupied by the -coachman. - -After eight days John discovered that he was a servant, and in a very -unpleasant position. His father's man-servant had a better room all to -himself; and for several hours of the day was master of his own person -and thoughts. But John was not. Night and day he had to be with the -boys, teach them, and play and bathe with them. If he allowed himself -a moment's liberty, and was seen about, he was at once asked, "Where -are the children?" He lived in perpetual anxiety lest some accident -should happen to them. He was responsible for the behaviour of four -persons--his own and that of his three pupils. Every criticism of them -struck him. He had no companion of his own age with whom he could -converse. The steward was almost the whole day at work, and hardly ever -visible. - -But there were two compensations: the scenery and the sense of being -free from the bondage in his parent's house. The baroness treated -him confidentially, almost in a motherly way; she liked discussing -literature with him. At such times he felt on the same level with -her, and superior to her in point of erudition, but as soon as the -secretary came home he sank to the position of children's nurse again. - -The scenery of the islands had for him a greater charm than the banks -of the Mälar, and his magic recollections of Drottningholm faded. In -the past year he had climbed up a hill in Tyreso with the volunteer -sharpshooters. It was covered with a thick fir-wood. They crawled -through bilberry and juniper bushes till they reached a steep, rocky -plateau. From this they viewed a panorama which thrilled him with -delight: water and islands, water and islands stretched away into -infinite distance. Although born in Stockholm he had never seen the -islands, and did not know where he was. The view made a deep impression -on him, as if he had rediscovered a land which had appeared to him in -his fairest dreams or in a former existence--in which he believed, but -about which he knew nothing. The troop of sharpshooters drew off into -the wood, but John remained upon the height and worshipped--that is -the right word. The attacking troop approached and fired; the bullets -whistled about his ears; he hid himself, but he could not go away. That -was his land-scape and proper environment--barren, rugged gray rocks -surrounding wide stormy bays, and the endless sea in the distance as -a background. He remained faithful to this love, which could not be -explained by the fact that it was his first love. Neither the Alps of -Switzerland, nor the olive groves of the Mediterranean, nor the steep -coast of Normandy, could dethrone this rival from his heart. - -Now he was in Paradise, though rather too deep in it; the shore of -Sotaskär consisted of green pasturage overshadowed by oaks, and the -bay opened out to the fjord in the far distance. The water was pure -and salt; that was something new. In one of his excursions with his -rifle, the dogs, and the boys, he came one fine sunny day down to the -water's edge. On the other side of the bay stood a castle, a large, -old-fashioned stone edifice. He had discovered that his employer only -rented the estate. - -"Who lives in the castle?" he asked the boys. - -"Uncle Wilhelm," they answered. - -"What is his title?" - -"Baron X." - -"Do you never go there?" - -"Oh, yes; sometimes." - -So there was a castle here with a baron! John's walks now regularly -took the direction of the shore, from which he could see the castle. -It was surrounded by a park and garden. At home they had no garden. - -One fine day the baroness told him that he must accompany the boys on -the morrow to the baron's, and remain there for the day. She and her -husband would stay at home; "he would therefore represent the house," -she added jestingly. - -Then he asked what he was to wear. He could go in his summer suit, she -said, take his black coat on his arm, and change for dinner in the -little tapestry-room on the ground floor. He asked whether he should -wear gloves. She laughed, "No, he needed no gloves." He dreamt the -whole night about the baron, the castle, and the tapestry-room. In the -morning a hay-waggon came to the house to fetch them. He did not like -this; it reminded him of the parish clerk's school. - -And so they went off. They came to a long avenue of lime trees, -drove into the courtyard, and stopped before the castle. It was a -real castle, and looked as if it had been built in the Middle Ages. -From an arbour there came the well-known click of a draught-board. A -middle-aged gentleman in an ill-fitting, holland suit came out. His -face was not aristocratic, but rather of the middle-class type, with -a seaman's beard of a gray-yellow colour. He also wore earrings. John -held his hat in his hand and introduced himself. The baron greeted -him in a friendly way, and bade him enter the arbour. Here stood a -table with a draught-board, by which sat a little old man who was very -amiable in his manner. He was introduced as the pastor of a small town. -John was given a glass of brandy, and asked about the Stockholm news. -Since he was familiar with theatrical gossip and similar things, he was -listened to with greater attention. "There it is," he thought, "the -real aristocrats are much more democratic than the sham ones." - -"Oh!" said the Baron. "Pardon me, Mr.----, I did not catch the name. -Yes, that is it. Are you related to Oscar Strindberg?" - -"He is my father." - -"Good heavens! is it possible? He is an old friend of mine from my -youthful days, when I was pilot on the Strengnas." - -John did not believe his ears. The baron had been pilot on a steamer! -Yes, indeed, he had. But he wished to hear about his friend Oscar. -John looked around him, and asked himself if this really was the baron. -The baroness now appeared; she was as simple and friendly as the baron. -The bell rang for dinner. "Now we will get something to drink," said -the baron. "Come along." - -John at first made a vain attempt to put on his frock-coat behind a -door in the hall, but finally succeeded, as the baroness had said that -he ought to wear it. Then they entered the dining-hall. Yes, that was a -real castle; the floor was paved with stone, the ceiling was of carved -wood; the window-niches were so deep that they seemed to form little -rooms; the fire place could hold a barrow-load of wood; there was a -three-footed piano, and the walls were covered with dark paintings. - -John felt quite at home during dinner. In the afternoon he played with -the baron, and drank toddy. All the courteous usages he had expected -were in evidence, and he was well pleased with the day when it was -over. As he went down the long avenue, he turned round and contemplated -the castle. It looked now less stately and almost poverty stricken. It -pleased him all the better, though it had been more romantic to look -at it as a fairy-tale castle from the other shore. Now he had nothing -more to which he could look up. But he himself, on the other hand, was -no more below. Perhaps, after all, it is better to have something to -which one _can_ look up. - -When he came home, he was examined by the baroness. "How did he like -the baron?" John answered that he was pleasant and condescending. -He was also prudent enough to say nothing of the baron's friendship -with his father. "They will learn it anyhow," he thought. Meanwhile -he already felt more at home, and was no more so timid. One day he -borrowed a horse, but he rode it so roughly that he was not allowed to -borrow one again. Then he hired one from a peasant. It looked so fine -to sit high on a horse and gallop; he felt his strength grow at the -same time. - -His illusions were dispelled, but to feel on the same level with those -about him, without wishing to pull anyone down, that had something -soothing about it. He wrote a boasting letter to his brother at home, -but received an answer calculated to set him down. Since he was quite -alone, and had no one with whom he could talk, he wrote letters in -diary-form to his friend Fritz. The latter had obtained a post with -a merchant by the Mälar Lake, where there were young girls, music, -and good eating. John sometimes wished to be in his place. In his -diary-letter he tried to idealise the realities around him, and -succeeded in arousing his friend's envy. - -The story of the baron's acquaintance with John's father spread, and -the baroness felt herself bound to speak ill of her brother. John had, -nevertheless, intelligence enough to perceive that here there was -something to do with the tragedy of an estate in tail. Since he had -nothing to do with the matter, he took no trouble to inquire into it. - -During a visit which John paid to the pastor's house, the assistant -pastor happened to hear of his idea of being a pastor himself. Since -the senior pastor, on account of old age and weakness, no longer -preached, his assistant was John's only acquaintance. The assistant -found the work heavy, so he was very glad to come across young students -who wished to make their debuts as preachers. He asked John whether he -would preach. Upon John's objecting that he was not a student yet, he -answered, "No matter." John said he would consider. - -The assistant did not let him consider long. He said that many -students and collegians had preached here before, and that the church -had a certain fame since the actor Knut Almlöf had preached here in his -youth. John had seen him act as Menelaus in _The Beautiful Helen_, and -admired him. He consented to his friend's request, began to search for -a text, borrowed some homilies, and promised to have his trial sermon -ready by Friday. So, then, only a year after his Confirmation, he -would preach in the pulpit, and the baron and the ladies and gentlemen -would sit as devout hearers! So soon at the goal, without a clerical -examination--yes, even without his final college examination! They -would lend him a gown and bands; he would pray the Lord's Prayer and -read the Commandments! His head began to swell, and he walked home -feeling a foot taller, with the full consciousness that he was no -longer a boy. - -But as he came home he began to think seriously. He was a free-thinker. -Is it honourable to play the hypocrite? No, no. But must he then give -up the sermon? That would be too great a sacrifice. He felt ambitious, -and perhaps he would be able to sow some seeds of free-thought, which -would spring up later. Yes, but it was dishonest. With his old -egotistic morality he always regarded the motive of the actor, not the -beneficial or injurious effect of the action. It was profitable for him -to preach; it would not hurt others to hear something new and true. But -it was not honest. He could not get away from that objection. He took -the baroness into his confidence. - -"Do you believe that preachers believe all they say?" she asked. - -That was the preachers' affair, but John could not act a double part. -Finally, he walked to the assistant pastor's house, and consulted him. -It vexed the assistant to have to hear about it. - -"Well," he said, "but you believe in God, I suppose?" - -"Yes, certainly I do." - -"Very well! don't speak of Christ. Bishop Wallin never mentioned the -name of Christ in his sermons. But don't bother any more. I don't want -to hear about it." - -"I will do my best," said John, glad to have saved his honesty and his -prospect of distinction at the same time. They had a glass of wine, and -the matter was settled. - -There was something intoxicating for him in sitting over his books and -homilies, and in hearing the baron ask for him, and the servant answer: -"The tutor is writing his sermon." - -He had to expound the text: "Jesus said, Now is the son of man -glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God be glorified in him, God -shall glorify him in himself, and shall straightway glorify him." - -That was all. He turned the sentence this way and that, but could find -no meaning in it. "It is obscure," he thought. But it touched the -most delicate point--the Deity of Christ. If he had the courage to -explain away that, he would certainly have done something important. -The prospect enticed him, and with Theodore Parker's help he composed -a prose poem on Christ as the Son of God, and then put forward very -cautiously the assertion that we are all God's sons, but that Christ is -His chosen and beloved Son, whose teaching we must obey. But that was -only the introduction, and the gospel is read after the introduction. -About what, then, should he preach? He had already pacified his -conscience by plainly stating his views regarding the Deity of Christ. -He glowed with excitement, his courage grew, and he felt that he had a -mission to fulfil. He would draw his sword against dogmas, against the -doctrine of election and pietism. - -When he came to the place where, after reading the text, he ought to -have said, "The text we have read gives us occasion for a short time -to consider the following subject," he wrote: "Since the text of the -day gives no further occasion for remark, we will, for a short time, -consider what is of greater importance." And so he dealt with God's -work in conversion. He made two attacks: one on the custom of preaching -from the text, and the second against the Church's teaching on the -subject of grace. - -First he spoke of conversion as a serious matter, which required a -sacrifice, and depended on the free-will of man (he was not quite -clear about that). He ignored the doctrine of election, and finally -flung open for all the doors of the kingdom of heaven: "Come unto me -all ye that are weary and heavy laden." "To-day shalt thou be with me -in Paradise." That is the gospel of Christ for all, and no one is to -believe that the key of heaven is committed to him (that was a hit at -the pietists), but that the doors of grace are open for all without -exception. - -He was very much in earnest, and felt like a missionary. On Friday he -betook himself to the church, and read certain passages of his sermon -from the pulpit. He chose the most harmless ones. Then he repeated the -prayers, while the assistant pastor stood under the choir gallery and -called to him, "Louder! Slower!" He was approved, and they had a glass -of wine together. - -On Sunday the church was full of people. John put on his gown and bands -in the vestry. For a moment he felt it comical, but then was seized -with anxiety. He prayed to the only true God for help, now that he was -to draw the sword against age-long error, and when the last notes of -the organ were silent, he entered the pulpit with confidence. - -Everything went well. But when he came to the place, "Since the text -of the day gives no occasion for remark," and saw a movement among the -faces of the congregation, which looked like so many white blurs, he -trembled. But only for a moment. Then he plucked up courage and read -his sermon in a fairly strong and confident voice. When he neared the -end, he was so moved by the beautiful truths which he proclaimed, that -he could scarcely see the writing on the paper for tears. He took a -long breath, and read through all the prayers, till the organ began -and he left the pulpit. The pastor thanked him, but said one should -not wander from the text; it would be a bad look-out if the Church -Consistory heard of it. But he hoped no one had noticed it. He had no -fault to find with the contents of the sermon. They had dinner at the -pastor's house, played and danced with the girls, and John was the hero -of the day. The girls said, "It was a very fine sermon, for it was so -short." He had read much too fast, and had left out a prayer. - -In the autumn John returned with the boys to the town, in order to live -with them and look after their school-work. They went to the Clara -School, so that, like a crab, he felt he was going backwards. The same -school, the same headmaster, the same malicious Latin teacher. John -worked conscientiously with his pupils, heard their lessons, and could -swear that they had been properly learned. None the less, in the report -books which they took home, and which their father read, it was stated -that such and such lessons had not been learned. - -"That is a lie," said John. - -"Well, but it is written here," answered the boys' father. - -It was hard work, and he was preparing at the same time for his own -examination. In the autumn holidays they went back to the country. -They sat by the stove and cracked nuts, a whole sackful, and read the -_Frithiof Saga, Axel_, and _Children of the Lord's Supper_.[1] The -evenings were intolerably long. But John discovered a new steward, who -was treated almost like a servant. This provoked John to make friends -with him, and in his room they brewed punch and played cards. The -baroness ventured to remark that the steward was not a suitable friend -for John. - -"Why not?" asked the latter. - -"He has no education." - -"That is not so dangerous." - -She also said that she preferred that the tutor should spend his time -with the family in the evening, or, at any rate, stay in the boys' -room. He chose the latter, for it was very stuffy in the drawing-room, -and he was tired of the reading aloud and the conversation. He now -stayed in his own and the boys' room. The steward came there, and -they played their game of cards. The boys asked to be allowed to take -a hand. Why should they not? John had played whist at home with his -father and brothers, and the innocent recreation had been regarded -as a means of education for teaching self-discipline, carefulness, -attention, and fairness; he had never played for money; each dishonest -trick was immediately exposed, untimely exultation at a victory -silenced, sulkiness at a defeat ridiculed. - -At that time the boys' parents made no objections, for they were glad -that the youngsters were occupied. But they did not like their being -on intimate terms with the steward. John had, in the summer, formed -a little military troop from his pupils and the workmen's children, -and drilled them in the open air. But the baroness forbade this close -intercourse with the latter. "Each class should keep to itself," she -said. - -But John could not understand why that should be, since in the year -1865 class distinctions had been done away with. - -In the meantime a storm was brewing, and a mere trifle was the occasion -of its outbreak. - -One morning the baron was storming about a pair of his driving-gloves -which had disappeared. He suspected his eldest boy. The latter denied -having taken them, and accused the steward, specifying the time when -he said he had taken them. The steward was called. - -"You have taken my driving-gloves, sir! What is the meaning of this?" -said the baron. - -"No, sir, I have not." - -"What! Hugo says you did." - -John, who happened to be present, stepped forward unsolicited, and -said, "Then Hugo lies. He himself has had the gloves." - -"What do you say?" said the baron, motioning to the steward to go. - -"I say the truth." - -"What do you mean, sir, by accusing my son in the presence of a -servant?" - -"Mr. X. is not a servant, and, besides, he is innocent." - -"Yes, very innocent--playing cards together and drinking with the boys! -That's a nice business, eh?" - -"Why did you not mention it before? Then you would have found out that -I do not drink with the boys." - -"'You,' you d--d hobbledehoy! What do you mean by calling me 'you.'" - -"Mr. Secretary can look for another 'hobbledehoy' to teach his boys, -since Mr. Secretary is too covetous to engage a grown person." So -saying, John departed. - -On the next day they were to return to the town, for the Christmas -holidays were at an end. So he would have to go home again--back into -hell, to be despised and oppressed, and it would be a thousand times -worse after he had boasted of his new situation, and compared it with -his parents' house to the disadvantage of the latter. He wept for -anger, but after such an insult there was no retreat. - -He was summoned to the baroness, but said she must wait awhile. Then -a messenger came again for him. In a sullen mood he went up to her. -She was quite mild, and asked him to stay some days with them till -they had found another tutor. He promised, since she had asked him so -pressingly. She said she would drive with the boys into the town. - -The sleigh came to the door, and the baron stood by, and said, "You can -sit on the box." - -"I know my place," said John. At the first halting-place the baroness -asked him to get into the sleigh, but he would not. - -They stayed in the town eight days. In the meanwhile John had written a -somewhat arrogant letter, in an independent tone, home, which did not -please his father, although he had flattered him in it. "I think you -should have first asked if you could come home," he said. In that he -was right. But John had never thought otherwise of his parents' house -than of an hotel, where he could get board and lodging without paying. - -So he was home again. Through an incomprehensible simplicity he had -let himself be persuaded to continue to go through his former pupils' -school-work with them, though he received nothing for it. One evening -Fitz wanted to take him to a café. - -"No," said John, "I must give some lessons." - -"Where?" - -"To the Secretary's boys." - -"What! haven't you done with them yet?" - -"No, I have promised to help them till they get a new teacher." - -"What do you get for it?" - -"What do I get? I have had board and lodging." - -"Yes, but what do you get now, when you don't board and lodge with -them?" - -"Hm! I didn't think of that." - -"You are a lunatic--teaching rich peoples' children gratis. Well, you -come along with me, and don't cross their threshold again." - -John had a struggle with himself on the pavement. "But I promised them." - -"You should not promise. Come now and write a letter withdrawing your -offer." - -"I must go and take leave of them." - -"It is not necessary. They promised you a present at Christmas, but you -got nothing; and now you let yourself be treated like a servant. Come -now and write." - -He was dragged to the café. The waitress brought paper and ink, and, -at his friend's dictation, he wrote a letter to the effect that, in -consequence of his approaching examination, he would have no more -leisure for teaching. - -He was free! "But I feel ashamed," he said. - -"Why?" - -"Because I have been impolite." - -"Rubbish! Waitress, bring half a punch." - - -[1] Three poems by Tegner--the last translated by Longfellow. - - - - -X - -CHARACTER AND DESTINY - - -About this time the free-thought movement was at its height. After -preaching his sermon, John believed it was his mission and duty to -spread and champion the new doctrines. He therefore began to stay away -from prayers, and stayed behind when the rest of the class went to the -prayer-room. The headmaster came in and wished to drive him, and those -who had remained with him, out. John answered that his religion forbade -him to take part in an alien form of worship. The headmaster said -one must observe law and order. John answered that Jews were excused -attendance at prayers. The headmaster then asked him for the sake of -example and their former friendship to be present. John yielded. But he -and those who shared his views did not take part in the singing of the -psalms. Then the headmaster was infuriated, and gave them a scolding; -he especially singled out John, and upbraided him. John's answer was -to organise a strike. He and those who shared his views came regularly -so late to school that prayers were over when they entered. If they -happened to come too early, they remained in the corridor and waited, -sitting on the wooden boxes and chatting with the teachers. In order -to humble the rebels, the headmaster hit upon the idea, at the close -of prayers, when the whole school was assembled, to open the doors and -call them in. These then defiled past with an impudent air and under -a hail of reproaches through the prayer-room without remaining there. -Finally, they became quite used to enter of their own accord, and -take their scolding as they walked through the room. The headmaster -conceived a spite against John, and seemed to have the intention of -making him fail in his examination. John, on the other hand, worked day -and night in order to be sure of succeeding. - -His theological lessons degenerated into arguments with his teacher. -The latter was a pastor and theist, and tolerant of objections, but -he soon got tired of them, and told John to answer according to the -text-book. - -"How many Persons are in the Godhead?" he asked. - -"One," answered John. - -"What does Norbeck say?" - -"Norbeck says three!" - -"Well, then, you say three, too!" - -At home things went on quietly. John was left alone. They saw that he -was lost, and that it was too late for any effectual interference. One -Sunday his father made an attempt in the old style, but John was not at -a loss for an answer. - -"Why don't you go to church any more?" his father asked. - -"What should I do there?" - -"A good sermon can always do one some good." - -"I can make sermons myself." - -And there was an end of it. - -The pietists had a special prayer offered for John in the Bethlehem -Church after they had seen him one Sunday morning in volunteer uniform. - -In May, 1867, he passed his final examination. Strange things came to -light on that occasion. Great fellows with beards and pince-nez called -the Malay Peninsula Siberia, and believed that India was Arabia. Some -candidates obtained a testimonial in French who pronounced "en" like -"y," and could not conjugate the auxiliary verbs. It was incredible. -John believed he had been stronger in Latin three years before this. In -history everyone of them would have failed, if they had not known the -questions beforehand. They had read too much and learned too little. - -The examination closed with a prayer which a free-thinker was obliged -to offer. He repeated the Lord's Prayer stammeringly, and this was -wrongly attributed to his supposed state of excitement. In the evening -John was taken by his companions to Storkyrkobrinken, where they bought -him a student's white cap, for he had no money. Then he went to his -father's office to give him the good news. He met him in the hall. - -"Well! Have you passed?" said his father. - -"Yes." - -"And already bought the cap." - -"I got it on credit." - -"Go to the cashier, and have it paid for." - -So they parted. No congratulation! No pressure of the hand! That -was his father's Icelandic nature which could not give vent to any -expressions of tenderness. - -John came home as they were all sitting at supper. He was in a merry -mood, and had drunk punch. But his spirits were soon damped. All -were silent. His brothers and sisters did not congratulate him. Then -he became out of humour and silent also. He left the table and went -to rejoin his comrades in the town. There there was joy, childish, -exaggerated joy, and all too great hopes. - -During the summer he remained at home and gave lessons. With the money -earned he hoped to go in the autumn to the University at Upsala. -Theology attracted him no more. He had done with it, and, moreover, it -went against his conscience to take the ordination vow. - -In the autumn he went to Upsala. Old Margaret packed his box, and -put in cooking utensils, and a knife and fork. Then she obliged him -to borrow fifteen kronas[1] from her. From his father he got a case -of cigars, and an exhortation to help himself. He himself had eighty -kronas, which he had earned by giving lessons, and with which he must -manage to get through his first term at the university. - -The world stood open for him; he had the ticket of admission in his -hand. He had nothing to do but to enter. Only that! - - * * * * * - -"A man's character is his destiny." That was then a common and -favourite proverb. Now that John had to go into the world, he employed -much time in attempting to cast his horoscope from his own character, -which he thought was already fully formed. People generally bestow the -name of "a character" on a man who has sought and found a position, -taken up a rôle, excogitated certain principles of behaviour, and acts -accordingly in an automatic way. - -A man with a so-called character is often a simple piece of mechanism; -he has often only one point of view for the extremely complicated -relationships of life; he has determined to cherish perpetually -certain fixed opinions of certain matters; and in order not to be -accused of "lack of character," he never changes his opinion, however -foolish or absurd it may be. Consequently, a man with a character is -generally a very ordinary individual, and what may be called a little -stupid. "Character" and automaton seem often synonymous. Dickens's -famous characters are puppets, and the characters on the stage must be -automata. A well-drawn character is synonymous with a caricature. John -had formed the habit of "proving himself" in the Christian fashion, -and asked himself whether he had such a character as befitted a man who -wished to make his way in the world. - -In the first place, he was revengeful. A boy had once openly said, by -the Clara Churchyard, that John's father had stood in the pillory. -That was an insult to the whole family. Since John was weaker than his -opponent, he caused his elder brother to execute vengeance with him on -the culprit, by bombarding him with snowballs. They carried out their -revenge so thoroughly, that they thrashed the culprit's younger brother -who was innocent. - -So he must be revengeful. That was a serious charge. He began to -consider the matter more closely. Had he revenged himself on his father -or his step-mother for the injustice they had done him? No; he forgot -all, and kept out of the way. - -Had he revenged himself on his school teachers by sending them boxes -full of stones at Christmas? No. Was he really so severe towards -others, and so hair-splitting in his judgment of their conduct towards -him? Not at all; he was easy to get on with, was credulous, and could -be led by the nose in every kind of way, provided he did not detect any -tyrannous wish to oppress in the other party. By various promises of -exchange his school-fellows had cajoled away from him his herbarium, -his collection of beetles, his chemical apparatus, his adventure books. -Had he abused or dunned them for payment? No; he felt ashamed on their -account, but let them be. At the end of one vacation the father of a -boy whom John had been teaching forgot to pay him. He felt ashamed to -remind him, and it was not till half a year had elapsed, that, at the -instigation of his own father, he demanded payment. - -It was a peculiar trait of John's character, that he identified himself -with others, suffered for them, and felt ashamed on their behalf. -If he had lived in the Middle Ages, he would have been marked with -the stigmata. If one of his brothers did something vulgar or stupid, -John felt ashamed for him. In church he once heard a boys' choir sing -terribly out of tune. He hid himself in the pew with a feeling of -vicarious shame. - -Once he fought with a school-fellow, and gave him a violent blow on -the chest, but when he saw the boy's face distorted with pain, he -burst into tears and reached him his hand. If anyone asked him to do -something which he was very unwilling to do, he suffered on behalf of -the one with whose request he could not comply. - -He was cowardly, and could let no one go away unheard for fear of -causing discontent. He was still afraid of the dark, of dogs, horses, -and strangers. But he could also be courageous if necessary, as he -had shown by rebelling in school, when the matter concerned his final -examination, and by opposing his father. - -"A man without religion is an animal," say the old copybooks. Now -that it has been discovered that animals are the most religious of -creatures, and that he who has knowledge does not need religion, the -practical efficacy of the latter has been much reduced. By placing the -source of his strength outside himself, he had lost strength and faith -in himself. Religion had devoured his ego. He prayed always, and at -all hours, when he was in need. He prayed at school when he was asked -questions; at the card-table when the cards were dealt out. Religion -had spoilt him, for it had educated him for heaven instead of earth; -family life had ruined him by educating him for the family instead of -for society; and school had educated him for the university instead of -for life. - -He was irresolute and weak. When he bought tobacco, he asked his friend -what sort he should buy. Thus he fell into his friends' power. The -consciousness of being popular drove away his fear of the unknown, and -friendship strengthened him. - -He was a prey to capricious moods. One day, when he was a tutor in the -country, he came into the town in order to visit Fritz. When he got -there he did not proceed any further, but remained at home, debating -with himself whether he should go to Fritz or not. He knew that his -friend expected him, and he himself much wished to see him. But he did -not go. The next day he returned to the country, and wrote a melancholy -letter to his friend, in which he tried to explain himself. But Fritz -was angry, and did not understand caprices. - -In all his weakness he sometimes was aware of enormous resources of -strength, which made himself believe himself capable of anything. When -he was twelve his brother brought home a French boys' book from Paris. -John said, "We will translate that, and bring it out at Christmas." -They did translate it, but as they did not know what further steps to -take, the matter dropped. - -An Italian grammar fell into his hands, and he learned Italian. -When he was a tutor in the country, as there was no tailor there, he -undertook to alter a pair of trousers. He opened the seams, altered and -stitched the trousers, and ironed them with the great stable key. He -also mended his boots. When he heard his sisters and brothers play in a -quartette, he was never satisfied with the performance. He would have -liked to jump up, to snatch the instruments from them, and to show them -how they ought to play. - -John had learned to speak the truth. Like all children, he lied in his -defence or in answer to impertinent questions, but he found a brutal -enjoyment, during a conversation, when people were trying to conceal -the truth, to say exactly what all thought. At a ball, where he was -very taciturn, a lady asked him if he liked dancing. - -"No, not at all," he answered. - -"Well, then, why do you dance?" - -"Because I am obliged to." - -He had stolen apples, like all boys, and that did not trouble him; he -made no secret of it. It was a prescriptive right. In the school he had -never done any real mischief. Once, on the last day before the close -of the term, he and some other boys had broken off some clothes-pegs -and torn up some old exercise-books. He was the only one seized on the -occasion. It was a mere outbreak of animal spirits, and was not taken -seriously. - -Now, when he was passing his own character under review, he collected -other people's judgments on himself, and was astonished at the -diversity of opinion displayed. His father considered him hard; his -step-mother, malicious; his brothers, eccentric. Every servant-maid in -the house had a different opinion of him; one of them liked him, and -thought that his parents treated him ill; his lady friend thought him -emotional; the engineer regarded him as an amiable child, and Fritz -considered him melancholy and self-willed. His aunts believed he had a -good heart; his grandmother that he had character; the girl he loved -idolised him; his teachers did not know what to make of him. Towards -those who treated him roughly, he was rough; towards his friends, -friendly. - -John asked himself whether it was he that was so many-sided, or the -opinions about him. Was he false? Did he behave to some differently -from what he did to others? "Yes," said his step-mother. When she heard -anything good about him, she always declared that he was acting a part. - -Yes, but all acted parts! His step-mother was friendly towards her -husband, hard towards her step-children, soft towards her own child, -humble towards the landlord, imperious towards the servants, polite to -the powerful, rough to the weak. - -That was the "law of accommodation," of which John was as yet unaware. -It was a trait in human nature, a tendency to adapt oneself--to be a -lion towards enemies, and a lamb towards friends,--which rested on -calculation. - -But when is one true, and when is one false? And where is to be found -the central "ego,"--the core of character? The "ego" was a complex of -impulses and desires, some of which were to be restrained, and others -unfettered. John's individuality was a fairly rich but chaotic complex; -he was a cross of two entirely different strains of blood, with a good -deal of book-learning, and a variety of experience. He had not yet -found what rôle he was to play, nor his position in life, and therefore -continued to be characterless. He had not yet determined which of -his impulses must be restrained, and how much of his "ego" must be -sacrificed for the society into which he was preparing to enter. - -If he had really been able to view himself objectively, he would have -found that most of the words he spoke were borrowed from books or from -school-fellows, his gestures from teachers and friends, his behaviour -from relatives, his temperament from his mother and wet-nurse, his -tastes from his father, perhaps from his grandfather. His face had no -resemblance to that of his father or mother. Since he had not seen his -grand-parents, he could not judge whether there was any resemblance -to them. What, then, had he of his own? Nothing. But he had two -fundamental characteristics, which largely determined his life and his -destiny. - -The first was Doubt. He did not receive ideas without criticism, but -developed and combined them. Therefore he could not be an automaton, -nor find a place in ordered society. - -The second was--Sensitiveness to pressure. He always tried to lessen -this last, in the first place, by raising his own level; in the second, -by criticising what was above him, in order to observe that it was not -so high after all, nor so much worth striving after. - -So he stepped out into life--in order to develop himself, and still -ever to remain as he was! - - -[1] A krona is worth about twenty-seven cents. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - -***** This file should be named 44109-8.txt or 44109-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44109/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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diff --git a/44109.txt b/44109.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 50415e3..0000000 --- a/44109.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6257 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Son of a Servant - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44109] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -THE SON OF A SERVANT - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "ZONES OF THE SPIRIT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - -WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH - -G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS - -NEW YORK AND LONDON - -The Knickerbocker Press - -1913 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. Fear and Hunger - II. Breaking-In - III. Away from Home - IV. Intercourse with the Lower Classes - V. Contact with the Upper Classes - VI. The School of the Cross - VII. First Love - VIII. The Spring Thaw - IX. With Strangers - X. Character and Destiny - - - - -AUGUST STRINDBERG AS NOVELIST - - -_From the Publication of "The Son of a Servant" to "The Inferno"_ -(1886-1896) - -A celebrated statesman is said to have described the biography of a -cardinal as being like the Judgment Day. In reading August Strindberg's -autobiographical writings, as, for example, his _Inferno_, and the book -for which this study is a preface, we must remember that he portrays -his own Judgment Day. And as his works have come but lately before the -great British public, it may be well to consider what attitude should -be adopted towards the amazing candour of his self-revelation. In most -provinces of life other than the comprehension of our fellows, the art -of understanding is making great progress. We comprehend new phenomena -without the old strain upon our capacity for readjusting our point of -view. But do we equally well understand our fellow-being whose way of -life is not ours? We are patient towards new phases of philosophy, -new discoveries in science, new sociological facts, observed in other -lands; but in considering an abnormal type of man or woman, hasty -judgment or a too contracted outlook is still liable to cloud the -judgment. - -Now, it is obvious that if we would understand any worker who has -accomplished what his contemporaries could only attempt to do, we -must have a sufficiently wide knowledge of his work. Neither the -inconsequent gossip attaching to such a personality, nor the chance -perusal of a problem-play, affords an adequate basis for arriving at -a true estimate of the man. Few writers demand, to the same degree as -August Strindberg, those graces of judgment, patience, and reverence. -And for this reason first of all: most of us live sheltered lives. They -are few who stand in the heart of the storm made by Europe's progress. -Especially is this true in Southern Europe, where tradition holds its -secular sway, where such a moulding energy as constitutional practice -exerts its influence over social life, where the aims and ends of human -attainment are defined and sanctioned by a consciousness developing -with the advancement of civilisation. There is often engendered under -such conditions a nervous impatience towards those who, judged from -behind the sheltered walls of orthodoxy, are more or less exposed to -the criticism of their fellows. The fault lies in yielding to this -impatience. The proof that August Strindberg was of the few who must -stand in the open, and suffer the full force of all the winds that -blow, cannot now be attempted. Our sole aim must be to enable the -reader of _The Son of a Servant_ to take up a sympathetic standpoint. -This book forms _part_ of the autobiography of a most gifted man, -through whose life the fierce winds of Europe's opinions blew into -various expression. - -The second reason for the exercise of impartiality, is that -Strindberg's recent death has led to the circulation through Europe of -certain phrases which are liable to displace the balance of judgment -in reviewing his life and work. There are passages in his writings, -and phases of his autobiography, that raise questions of Abnormal -Psychology. Hence pathological terms are used to represent the whole -man and his work. Again, from the jargon of a prevalent Nietzschianism -a doctrine at once like and unlike the teaching of that solitary -thinker descriptions of the Superman are borrowed, and with these -Strindberg is labelled. Or again, certain incidents in his domestic -affairs are seized upon to prove him a decadent libertine. The facts of -this book, _The Son of a Servant_, are true: Strindberg lived them. His -_Inferno_, in like manner, is a transcript of a period of his life. And -if these books are read as they should be read, they are neither more -nor less than the records of the progress of a most gifted life along -the Dolorous Way. - -The present volume is the record of the early years of Strindberg's -life, and the story is incomparably told. For the sympathetic reader it -will represent the history of a temperament to which the world could -not come in easy fashion, and for which circumstances had contrived a -world where it would encounter at each step tremendous difficulties. -We find in Strindberg the consciousness of vast powers thwarted by -neglect, by misunderstanding, and by the shackles of an ignominious -parentage. He sets out on life as a viking, sailing the trackless seas -that beat upon the shores of unknown lands, where he must take the -sword to establish his rights of venture, and write fresh pages in some -Heimskringla of a later age. - -A calm reading of the book may induce us to suggest that this is often -the fate of genius. The man of great endowments is made to walk where -hardship lies on every side. And though a recognition of the hardness -of the way is something, it must be borne in mind that while some are -able to pass along it in serenity, others face it in tears, and others -again in terrible revolt. Revolt was the only possible attitude for the -Son of a Servant. - -How true this is may be realised by recalling the fact that towards -the end of the same year in which _The Son of a Servant_ appeared, -viz., 1886, our author published the second part of a series of stories -entitled _Marriage_, in which that relationship is subjected to -criticism more intense than is to be found in any of the many volumes -devoted to this subject in a generation eminently given to this form -of criticism. Side by side with this fact should be set the contents -of one such story from his pen. Here he has etched, with acid that -bites deeper than that of the worker in metal, the story of a woman's -pettiness and inhumanity towards the husband who loves her. By his -art her weakness is made to dominate every detail of the domestic -_menage_, and what was once a woman now appears to be the spirit of -neglect, whose habitation is garnished with dust and dead flowers. -Her great weakness calls to the man's pity, and we are told how, into -this disorder, he brings the joy of Christmastide, and the whispered -words of life, like a wind from some flower-clad hill. The natural -conclusion, as regards both his autobiographical works and his volume -of stories, is this: that Strindberg finds the Ideal to be a scourge, -and not a Pegasus. And this is a distinction that sharply divides man -from man, whether endowed for the attainment of saintship, for the -apprehension of the vision, or with powers that enable him to wander -far over the worlds of thought. - -Had Strindberg intended to produce some more finished work to qualify -the opinion concerning his pessimism, he could have done no better -than write the novel that comes next in the order of his works, _Hemso -Folk_, which was given to the world in the year 1887. It is the first -of his novels to draw on the natural beauties of the rocky coast and -many tiny islands which make up the splendour of the Fjord whose -crown is Stockholm, and which, continuing north and south, provide -fascinating retreats, still unspoilt and unexplored by the commercial -agent. It may be noticed here that this northern Land of Faery has -not long since found its way into English literature through a story -by Mr. Algernon Blackwood, in his interesting volume, _John Silence_. -The adequate description of this region was reserved for August -Strindberg, and among his prose writings there are none to compare with -those that have been inspired by the islands and coast he delighted -in. Among them, _Hemso Folk_ ranks first. In this work he shows his -mastery, not of self-portraiture, but of the portraiture of other men, -and his characters are painted with a mastery of subject and material -which in a sister art would cause one to think of Velasquez. Against -a background of sea and sky stand the figures of a schoolmaster and -a priest--the portraits of both depicted with the highest art,--and -throughout the book may be heard the authentic speech of the soul of -Strindberg's North. He may truly be claimed to be most Swedish here; -but he may also with equal truth be claimed to be most universal, since -_Hemso Folk_ is true for all time, and in all places. - -In the following year (1888) was published another volume of tales by -Strindberg, entitled _Life on the Skerries_, and again the sea, and -the sun, and the life of men who commune with the great waters are the -sources of his virile inspiration. Other novels of a like kind were -written later, but at this hour of his life he yielded to the command -of the idea--a voice which called him more strongly than did the -magnificence of Nature, whose painter he could be when he had respite -from the whirlwind. - -_Tschandala_, his next book, was the fruit of a holiday in the country. -This novel was written to show a man of uncommon powers of mind in the -toils of inferior folk--the proletariat of soul bent on the ruin of -the elect in soul. Poverty keeps him in chains. He is forced to deal -with neighbours of varying degrees of degradation. A landlady deceives -her husband for the sake of a vagrant lover. This person attempts to -subordinate the uncommon man; who, however, discovers that he can be -dominated through his superstitious fears. He is enticed one night -into a field, where the projections from a lantern, imagined as -supernatural beings, so play upon his fears that he dies from fright. -In this book we evidently have the experimental upsurging of his -imagination: supposing himself the victim of a sordid environment, -he can see with unveiled eyes what might happen to him. Realistic in -his apprehension of outward details, he sees the idea in its vaguest -proportions. This creates, this informs his pictures of Nature; this -also makes his heaven and hell. Inasmuch as a similar method is used -by certain modern novelists, the curious phrase "a novel of ideas" has -been coined. As though it were a surprising feature to find an idea -expressed in novels! And not rarely such works are said to be lacking -in warmth, because they are too full of thought. - -After _Tschandala_ come two or three novels of distinctly controversial -character--books of especial value in essaying an understanding of -Strindberg's mind. The pressure of ideas from many quarters of Europe -was again upon him, and caused him to undertake long and desperate -pilgrimages. _In the Offing_ and _To Damascus_ are the suggestive -titles of these books. Seeing, however, that a detailed sketch of the -evolution of Strindberg's opinions is not at this moment practicable, -we merely mention these works, and the years 1890 and 1892. - -Meanwhile our author has passed through two intervals in his life of a -more peaceful character than was usually his lot. The first of these -was spent among his favourite scenes in the vicinity of the Gulf of -Bothnia, where he lived like a hermit, writing poetry and painting -pictures. He might have become a painter of some note, had it not come -so natural to him to use the pen. At any rate, during the time that he -wielded the brush he put on canvas the scenes which he succeeded in -reproducing so marvellously in his written works. The other period of -respite was during a visit to Ola Hansson, a Swedish writer of rare -distinction, then living near Berlin. The author of _Sensitiva Amorosa_ -was the antithesis of Strindberg. A consummate artist, with a wife of -remarkable intellectual power, the two enfolded him in their peace, and -he was able to give full expression to his creative faculty. - -Strindberg now enters upon the period which culminates in the writing -of _The Inferno_. From the peace of Ola Hansson's home he set out -on his wedding tour, and during the early part of it came over to -England. In a remarkable communication to a Danish man of letters, -Strindberg answers many questions concerning his personal tastes, among -them several regarding his English predilections. We may imagine them -present to him as he looks upon the sleeping city from London Bridge, -in the greyness of a Sunday morning, after a journey from Gravesend. -His favourite English writer is Dickens, and of his works the most -admired is _Little Dorrit_. A novel written in the period described in -_The Son of a Servant_, and which first brought him fame, was inspired -by the reading of _David Copperfield_! His favourite painter is Turner. -These little sidelights upon the personality of the man are very -interesting, throwing into relief as they do the view of him adopted by -the writer of the foregoing pages. London, however, he disliked, and a -crisis in health compelled him to leave for Paris, from which moment -begins his journey through the "Inferno." - -A play of Strindberg's has been performed in Paris--the height of his -ambition. Once attained, it was no longer to be desired; accordingly, -he turned from the theatre to Science. He takes from their hiding-place -some chemical apparatus he had purchased long before. Drawing the -blinds of his room he bums pure sulphur until he believes that he has -discovered in it the presence of carbon. His sentences are written -in terse, swift style. A page or two of the book is turned over, and -we find his pen obeying the impulse of his penetrating sight.... -Separation from his wife; the bells of Christmas; his visit to a -hospital, and the people he sees there, begin to occupy him. Gratitude -to the nursing sister, and the reaching forward of his mind into the -realm of the alchemical significance of his chemical studies, arouse -in him a spirit of mystical asceticism. Pages of _The Inferno_ might -be cited to show their resemblance to documents which have come to us -from the Egyptian desert, or from the narrow cell of a recluse. Theirs -is the search for a spiritual union: his is the quest of a negation -of self, that his science might be without fault. A notion of destiny -is grafted upon his mysticism of science. He wants to be led, as did -the ascetic, though for him the goal is lore hidden from mortal eyes. -He now happens upon confirmation of his scientific curiosity, in -the writings of an older chemist. Then he meets with Balzac's novel -_Seraphita_, and a new ecstasy is added to his outreaching towards the -knowledge he aspires to. Vivid temptations assail him; he materialises -as objective personalities the powers that appear to place obstacles -in the way of his researches. Again we observe the same phenomena as -in the soul of the monk, yet always with this difference: Strindberg -is the monk of science. Curious little experiences--that others would -brush into that great dust-bin, Chance--are examined with a rare -simplicity to see if they may hold significance for the order of his -life. These details accumulate as we turn the pages of _The Inferno_, -and force one to the conclusion that they are akin to the material -which we have only lately begun to study as phenomena peculiar to the -psychology of the religious life. Their summary inclusion under the -heading of "Abnormal Psychology" will, however, lead to a shallow -interpretation of Strindberg. The voluntary isolation of himself from -the relations of life and the world plays havoc with his health. Soon -he is established under a doctor's care in a little southern Swedish -town, with its memories of smugglers and pirates; and he immediately -likens the doctor's house to a Buddhist cloister. The combination is -typically Strindbergian! He begins to be haunted with the terrible -suspicion that he is being plotted against. Nature is exacting heavy -dues from his overwrought system. After thirty days' treatment he -leaves the establishment with the reflection that whom the Lord loveth -he chasteneth. - -Dante wrote his Divine Comedy; Strindberg his Mortal Comedy. There are -three great stages in each, and the literary vehicle of their perilous -journeyings is aptly chosen. Readers of the wonderful Florentine will -recall the familiar words: - - "Surge ai mortali per diverse foci - la lucerna de mondo."[1] - -And they have found deeper content in Strindberg's self-discoveries. -The first part of his _Inferno_ tells of his Purgatory; the second -part closes with the poignant question, Whither? If, for a moment, -we step beyond the period of his life with which this study deals, -we shall find him telling of his Paradise in a mystery-play entitled -_Advent_, where he, too, had a starry vision of "un simplice lume," -a simple flame that ingathers the many and scattered gleams of the -universe's revelation. His guide through Hell is Swedenborg. Once more -the note is that of the anchorite; for at the outset of his acceptance -of Swedenborg's guidance he is tempted to believe that even his guide's -spiritual teaching may weaken his belief in a God who chastens. He -desires to deny himself the gratification of the sight of his little -daughter, because he appears to consider her prattle, that breaks -into the web of his contemplation, to be the instrument of a strange -power. From step to step he goes until his faith is childlike as a -peasant's. How he is hurled again into the depths of his own Hell, the -closing pages of his book will tell us. Whatever views the reader may -hold, it seems impossible that he should see in this Mortal Comedy the -utterances of deranged genius. Rather will his charity of judgment have -led him to a better understanding of one who listened to the winds that -blow through Europe, and was buffeted by their violence. - -We may close this brief study by asking the question: What, then, -is Strindberg's legacy for the advancement of Art, as found in this -decade of his life? It will surely be seen that Strindberg's realism -is of a peculiarly personal kind. Whatever his sympathy with Zola -may have been, or Zola's with him, Strindberg has never confounded -journalism with Art. He has also recognised in his novels that there -is a difference between the function of the camera and the eye of the -artist. More than this--and it is important if Strindberg is to be -understood--his realism has always been subservient to the idea. And -it is this power that has essentially rendered Strindberg's realism -peculiarly personal; that is to say, incapable of being copied or -forming a school. It can only be used by such as he who, standing -in the maelstrom of ideas, is fashioned and attuned by the whirling -storms, as they strive for complete expression. Not always, however, -is he subservient to their dominion. Sometimes cast down from the high -places whence the multitudinous voice can be heard, he may say and do -that which raises fierce criticism. A patient study of Strindberg will -lay bare such matters; but their discovery must not blind our eyes -to the truth that these are moments of insensitiveness towards, or -rejection of, the majestic power which is ceaselessly sculpturing our -highest Western civilisation. - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH. - - -[1] "There riseth up to mortals through diverse trials the light of the -world." - - - - -The Son of a Servant - - - - -I - -FEAR AND HUNGER - - -In the third story of a large house near the Clara Church in -Stockholm, the son of the shipping agent and the servant-maid awoke -to self-consciousness. The child's first impressions were, as he -remembered afterwards, fear and hunger. He feared the darkness and -blows, he feared to fall, to knock himself against something, or to -go in the streets. He feared the fists of his brothers, the roughness -of the servant-girl, the scolding of his grandmother, the rod of -his mother, and his father's cane. He was afraid of the general's -man-servant, who lived on the ground-floor, with his skull-cap and -large hedge-scissors; he feared the landlord's deputy, when he played -in the courtyard with the dust-bin; he feared the landlord, who was -a magistrate. Above him loomed a hierarchy of authorities wielding -various rights, from the right of seniority of his brothers to the -supreme tribunal of his father. And yet above his father was the -deputy-landlord, who always threatened him with the landlord. This last -was generally invisible, because he lived in the country, and perhaps, -for that reason, was the most feared of all. But again, above all, even -above the man-servant with the skull-cap, was the general, especially -when he sallied forth in uniform wearing his plumed three-cornered hat. -The child did not know what a king looked like, but he knew that the -general went to the King. The servant-maids also used to tell stories -of the King, and showed the child his picture. His mother generally -prayed to God in the evening, but the child could form no distinct idea -of God, except that He must certainly be higher than the King. - -This tendency to fear was probably not the child's own peculiarity, -but due to the troubles which his parents had undergone shortly before -his birth. And the troubles had been great. Three children had been -born before their marriage and John soon after it. Probably his birth -had not been desired, as his father had gone bankrupt just before, so -that he came to the light in a now pillaged house, in which was only a -bed, a table, and a couple of chairs. About the same time his father's -brother had died in a state of enmity with him, because his father -would not give up his wife, but, on the contrary, made the tie stronger -by marriage. His father was of a reserved nature, which perhaps -betokened a strong will. He was an aristocrat by birth and education. -There was an old genealogical table which traced his descent to a noble -family of the sixteenth century. His paternal ancestors were pastors -from Zemtland, of Norwegian, possibly Finnish blood. It had become -mixed by emigration. His mother was of German birth, and belonged to a -carpenter's family. His father was a grocer in Stockholm, a captain of -volunteers, a freemason, and adherent of Karl Johann. - -John's mother was a poor tailor's daughter, sent into domestic service -by her step-father. She had become a waitress when John's father met -her. She was democratic by instinct, but she looked up to her husband, -because he was of "good family," and she loved him; but whether as -deliverer, as husband, or as family-provider, one does not know, and it -is difficult to decide. - -He addressed his man-servant and maid as "thou," and she called him -"sir." In spite of his come-down in the world, he did not join the -party of malcontents, but fortified himself with religious resignation, -saying, "It is God's will," and lived a lonely life at home. But he -still cherished the hope of being able to raise himself again. - -He was, however, fundamentally an aristocrat, even in his habits. His -face was of an aristocratic type, beardless, thin-skinned, with hair -like Louis Philippe. He wore glasses, always dressed elegantly, and -liked clean linen. The man-servant who cleaned his boots had to wear -gloves when doing so, because his hands were too dirty to be put into -them. - -John's mother remained a democrat at heart. Her dress was always simple -but clean. She wished the children to be clean and tidy, nothing more. -She lived on intimate terms with the servants, and punished a child, -who had been rude to one of them, upon the bare accusation, without -investigation or inquiry. She was always kind to the poor, and however -scanty the fare might be at home, a beggar was never sent empty away. -Her old nurses, four in number, often came to see her, and were -received as old friends. The storm of financial trouble had raged -severely over the whole family, and its scattered members had crept -together like frightened poultry, friends and foes alike, for they felt -that they needed one another for mutual protection. An aunt rented two -rooms in the house. She was the widow of a famous English discoverer -and manufacturer, who had been ruined. She received a pension, -on which she lived with two well-educated daughters. She was an -aristocrat, having formerly possessed a splendid house, and conversed -with celebrities. She loved her brother, though disapproving of his -marriage, and had taken care of his children when the storm broke. -She wore a lace cap, and the children kissed her hand. She taught -them to sit straight on their chairs, to greet people politely, and -to express themselves properly. Her room had traces of bygone luxury, -and contained gifts from many rich friends. It had cushioned rose-wood -furniture with embroidered covers in the English style. It was adorned -with the picture of her deceased husband dressed as a member of the -Academy of Sciences and wearing the order of Gustavus Vasa. On the -wall there hung a large oil-painting of her father in the uniform of a -major of volunteers. This man the children always regarded as a king, -for he wore many orders, which later on they knew were freemasonry -insignia. The aunt drank tea and read English books. Another room was -occupied by John's mother's brother, a small trader in the New Market, -as well as by a cousin, the son of the deceased uncle, a student in the -Technological Institute. - -In the nursery lived the grandmother. She was a stem old lady who -mended hose and blouses, taught the ABC, rocked the cradle, and pulled -hair. She was religious, and went to early service in the Clara Church. -In the winter she carried a lantern, for there were no gas-lamps at -that time. She kept in her own place, and probably loved neither her -son-in-law nor his sister. They were too polite for her. He treated her -with respect, but not with love. - -John's father and mother, with seven children and two servants, -occupied three rooms. The furniture mostly consisted of tables and -beds. Children lay on the ironing boards and the chairs, children in -the cradles and the beds. The father had no room for himself, although -he was constantly at home. He never accepted an invitation from his -many business friends, because he could not return it. He never went to -the restaurant or the theatre. He had a wound which he concealed and -wished to heal. His recreation was the piano. One of the nieces came -every other evening and then Haydn's symphonies were played _a quatre -mains_, later on Mozart, but never anything modern. Afterwards he had -also another recreation as circumstances permitted. He cultivated -flowers in window-boxes, but only pelargoniums. Why pelargoniums? When -John had grown older and his mother was dead, he fancied he always saw -her standing by one. She was pale, she had had twelve confinements and -suffered from lung-complaint. Her face was like the transparent white -leaves of the pelargonium with its crimson veins, which grow darker -towards the pistil, where they seemed to form an almost black eye, like -hers. - -The father appeared only at meal-times. He was melancholy, weary, -strict, serious, but not hard. He seemed severer than he really was, -because on his return home he always had to settle a number of things -which he could not judge properly. Besides, his name was always used to -frighten the children. "I will tell papa that," signified a thrashing. -It was not exactly a pleasant role which fell to his share. Towards -the mother he was always gentle. He kissed her after every meal and -thanked her for the food. This accustomed the children, unjustly -enough, to regard her as the giver of all that was good, and the father -as the dispenser of all that was evil. They feared him. When the cry -"Father is coming!" was heard, all the children ran and hid themselves, -or rushed to the nursery to be combed and washed. At the table there -was deathly silence, and the father spoke only a little. - -The mother had a nervous temperament. She used to become easily -excited, but soon quieted down again. She was relatively content with -her life, for she had risen in the social scale, and had improved her -position and that of her mother and brother. She drank her coffee in -bed in the mornings, and had her nurses, two servants, and her mother -to help her. Probably she did not over-exert herself. - -But for the children she played the part of Providence itself. She cut -overgrown nails, tied up injured fingers, always comforted, quieted, -and soothed when the father punished, although she was the official -accuser. The children did not like her when she "sneaked," and she -did not win their respect. She could be unjust, violent, and punish -unseasonably on the bare accusation of a servant; but the children -received food and comfort from her, therefore they loved her. The -father, on the other hand, always remained a stranger, and was regarded -rather as a foe than a friend. - -That is the thankless position of the father in the family--the -provider for all, and the enemy of all. If he came home tired, hungry, -and ill-humoured, found the floor only just scoured and the food -ill-cooked, and ventured a remark, he received a curt reply. He lived -in his own house as if on sufferance, and the children hid away from -him. He was less content than his wife, for he had come down in the -world, and was obliged to do without things to which he had formerly -been accustomed. And he was not pleased when he saw those to whom he -had given life and food discontented. - -But the family is a very imperfect arrangement. It is properly an -institution for eating, washing, and ironing, and a very uneconomical -one. It consists chiefly of preparations for meals, market-shopping, -anxieties about bills, washing, ironing, starching, and scouring. Such -a lot of bustle for so few persons! The keeper of a restaurant, who -serves hundreds, hardly does more. - -The education consisted of scolding, hair-pulling, and exhortations to -obedience. The child heard only of his duties, nothing of his rights. -Everyone else's wishes carried weight; his were suppressed. He could -begin nothing without doing wrong, go nowhere without being in the way, -utter no word without disturbing someone. At last he did not dare to -move. His highest duty and virtue was to sit on a chair and be quiet. -It was always dinned into him that he had no will of his own, and so -the foundation of a weak character was laid. - -Later on the cry was, "What will people say?" And thus his will was -broken, so that he could never be true to himself, but was forced to -depend on the wavering opinions of others, except on the few occasions -when he felt his energetic soul work independently of his will. - -The child was very sensitive. He wept so often that he received a -special nickname for doing so. He felt the least remark keenly, and -was in perpetual anxiety lest he should do something wrong. He was -very awake to injustice, and while he had a high ideal for himself, -he narrowly watched the failings of his brothers. When they were -unpunished, he felt deeply injured; when they were undeservedly -rewarded, his sense of justice suffered. He was accordingly considered -envious. He then complained to his mother. Sometimes she took his part, -but generally she told him not to judge so severely. But they judged -him severely, and demanded that he should judge himself severely. -Therefore he withdrew into himself and became bitter. His reserve and -shyness grew on him. He hid himself if he received a word of praise, -and took a pleasure in being overlooked. He began to be critical and to -take a pleasure in self-torture; he was melancholy and boisterous by -turns. - -His eldest brother was hysterical; if he became vexed during some game, -he often had attacks of choking with convulsive laughter. This brother -was the mother's favourite, and the second one the father's. In all -families there are favourites; it is a fact that one child wins more -sympathy than another. John was no one's favourite. He was aware of -this, and it troubled him. But the grandmother saw it, and took his -part; he read the ABC with her and helped her to rock the cradle. But -he was not content with this love; he wanted to win his mother; he -tried to flatter her, but did it clumsily and was repulsed. - -Strict discipline prevailed in the house; falsehood and disobedience -were severely punished. Little children often tell falsehoods because -of defective memories. A child is asked, "Did you do it?" It happened -only two hours ago, and his memory does not reach back so far. Since -the act appeared an indifferent matter to the child, he paid it no -attention. Therefore little children can lie unconsciously, and this -fact should be remembered. They also easily lie out of self-defence; -they know that a "no" can free them from punishment, and a "yes" -bring a thrashing. They can also lie in order to win an advantage. -The earliest discovery of an awakening consciousness is that a -well-directed "yes" or "no" is profitable to it. The ugliest feature -of childish untruthfulness is when they accuse one another. They know -that a misdeed must be visited by punishing someone or other, and a -scapegoat has to be found. That is a great mistake in education. Such -punishment is pure revenge, and in such cases is itself a new wrong. - -The certainty that every misdeed will be punished makes the child -afraid of being accused of it, and John was in a perpetual state of -anxiety lest some such act should be discovered. - -One day, during the mid-day meal, his father examined his sister's -wine-flask. It was empty. - -"Who has drunk the wine?" he asked, looking round the circle. No one -answered, but John blushed. - -"It is you, then," said his father. - -John, who had never noticed where the wine-flask was hidden, burst into -tears and sobbed, "I didn't drink the wine." - -"Then you lie too. When dinner is over, you will get something." - -The thought of what he would get when dinner was over, as well as the -continued remarks about "John's secretiveness," caused his tears to -flow without pause. They rose from the table. - -"Come here," said his father, and went into the bedroom. His mother -followed. "Ask father for forgiveness," she said. His father had taken -out the stick from behind the looking-glass. - -"Dear papa, forgive me!" the innocent child exclaimed. But now it was -too late. He had confessed the theft, and his mother assisted at the -execution. He howled from rage and pain, but chiefly from a sense of -humiliation. "Ask papa now for forgiveness," said his mother. - -The child looked at her and despised her. He felt lonely, deserted -by her to whom he had always fled to find comfort and compassion, but -so seldom justice. "Dear papa, forgive," he said, with compressed and -lying lips. - -And then he stole out into the kitchen to Louise the nursery-maid, who -used to comb and wash him, and sobbed his grief out in her apron. - -"What have you done, John?" she asked sympathetically. - -"Nothing," he answered. "I have done nothing." - -The mother came out. - -"What does John say?" she asked Louise. "He says that he didn't do it." -"Is he lying still?" - -And John was fetched in again to be tortured into the admission of what -he had never done. - -Splendid, moral institution! Sacred family! Divinely appointed, -unassailable, where citizens are to be educated in truth and virtue! -Thou art supposed to be the home of the virtues, where innocent -children are tortured into their first falsehood, where wills are -broken by tyranny, and self-respect killed by narrow egoism. Family! -thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for -comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for -children. - -After this John lived in perpetual disquiet. He dared not confide in -his mother, or Louise, still less his brothers, and least of all his -father. Enemies everywhere! God he knew only through hymns. He was an -atheist, as children are, but in the dark, like savages and animals, he -feared evil spirits. - -"Who drank the wine?" he asked himself; who was the guilty one for whom -he suffered? New impressions and anxieties caused him to forget the -question, but the unjust treatment remained in his memory. He had lost -the confidence of his parents, the regard of his brothers and sisters, -the favour of his aunt; his grandmother said nothing. Perhaps she -inferred his innocence on other grounds, for she did not scold him, and -was silent. She had nothing to say. He felt himself disgraced--punished -for lying, which was so abominated in the household, and for theft, -a word which could not be mentioned, deprived of household rights, -suspected and despised by his brothers because he had been caught. All -these consequences, which were painful and real for him, sprang out of -something which never existed--his guilt. - - * * * * * - -It was not actual poverty which reigned in the house, but there was -overcrowding. Baptisms, and burials followed each other in rapid -succession. Sometimes there were two baptisms without a burial -between them. The food was carefully distributed, and was not exactly -nourishing. They had meat only on Sundays, but John grew sturdy and -was tall for his age. He used now to be sent to play in the "court," a -well-like, stone-paved area in which the sun never shone. The dust-bin -which resembled an old bureau with a flap-cover and a coating of tar, -but burst, stood on four legs by the wall. Here slop-pails were emptied -and rubbish thrown, and through the cracks a black stream flowed over -the court. Great rats lurked under the dust-bin and looked out now -and then, scurrying off to hide themselves in the cellar. Woodsheds -and closets lined one side of the court. Here there was dampness, -darkness, and an evil smell. John's first attempt to scrape out the -sand between the great paving-stones was frustrated by the irascible -landlord's deputy. The latter had a son with whom John played, but -never felt safe. The boy was inferior to him in physical strength and -intelligence, but when disputes arose he used to appeal to his father. -His superiority consisted in having an authority behind him. - -The baron on the ground-floor had a staircase with iron banisters. John -liked playing on it, but all attempts to climb on the balustrade were -hindered by the servant who rushed out. - -He was strictly forbidden to go out in the street. But when he looked -through the doorway, and saw the churchyard gate, he heard the children -playing there. He had no longing to be with them, for he feared -children; looking down the street, he saw the Clara lake and the -drawbridges. That looked novel and mysterious, but he feared the water. -On quiet winter evenings he had heard cries for help from drowning -people. These, indeed, were often heard. As they were sitting by the -lamp in the nursery, one of the servant-maids would say, "Hush!" and -all would listen while long, continuous cries would be heard.... "Now -someone is drowning," one of the girls said. They listened till all was -still, and then told stories of others who had been drowned. - -The nursery looked towards the courtyard, and through the window one -saw a zinc roof and a pair of attics in which stood a quantity of old -disused furniture and other household stuff. This furniture, without -any people to use it, had a weird effect. The servants said that the -attics were haunted. What "haunted" meant they could not exactly say, -only that it had something to do with dead men going about. Thus are -we all brought up by the lower classes. It is an involuntary revenge -which they take by inoculating our children with superstitions which -we have cast aside. Perhaps this is what hinders development so much, -while it somewhat obliterates the distinction between the classes. -Why does a mother let this most important duty slip from her hands--a -mother who is supported by the father in order that she may educate her -children? John's mother only occasionally said his evening prayer with -him; generally it was the maidservant. The latter had taught him an old -Catholic prayer which ran as follows: - - "Through our house an angel goes, - In each hand a light he shows." - -The other rooms looked out on the Clara churchyard. Above the -lime-trees the nave of the church rose like a mountain, and on the -mountain sat the giant with a copper hat, who kept up a never-ceasing -clamour in order to announce the flight of time. He sounded the quarter -hours in soprano, and the hours in bass. He rang for early morning -prayer with a tinkling sound, for matins at eight o'clock and vespers -at seven. He rang thrice during the forenoon, and four times during -the afternoon. He chimed all the hours from ten till four at night; he -tolled in the middle of the week at funerals, and often, at the time I -speak of, during the cholera epidemic. On Sundays he rang so much that -the whole family was nearly reduced to tears, and no one could hear -what the other said. The chiming at night, when John lay awake, was -weird; but worst of all was the ringing of an alarm when a fire broke -out. When he heard the deep solemn boom in the middle of the night for -the first time he shuddered feverishly and wept. On such occasions -the household always awoke, and whisperings were heard: "There is a -fire!"--"Where?" They counted the strokes, and then went to sleep -again; but he kept awake and wept. Then his mother came upstairs, -tucked him up, and said: "Don't be afraid; God protects unfortunate -people!" He had never thought that of God before. In the morning the -servant-girls read in the papers that there had been a fire in Soder, -and that two people had been killed. "It was God's will," said the -mother. - -His first awakening to consciousness was mixed with the pealing, -chiming, and tolling of bells. All his first thoughts and impressions -were accompanied by the ringing for funerals, and the first years of -his life were counted out by strokes of the quarter. The effect on him -was certainly not cheerful, even if it did not decidedly tell on his -nervous system. But who can say? The first years are as important as -the nine months which precede them. - -The recollections of childhood show how the senses first partly awaken -and receive the most vivid impressions, how the feelings are moved by -the lightest breath, how the faculty of observation first fastens on -the most striking outward appearances and, later, on moral relations -and qualities, justice and injustice, power and pity. - -These memories lie in confusion, unformed and undefined, like pictures -in a thaumatrope. But when it is made to revolve, they melt together -and form a picture, significant or insignificant as the case may be. - -One day the child sees splendid pictures of emperors and kings in blue -and red uniforms, which the servant-girls hang up in the nursery. He -sees another representing a building which flies in the air and is -full of Turks. Another time he hears someone read in a newspaper how, -in a distant land, they are firing cannon at towns and villages, and -remembers many details--for instance, his mother weeping at hearing -of poor fishermen driven out of their burning cottages with their -children. These pictures and descriptions referred to Czar Nicholas and -Napoleon III., the storming of Sebastopol, and the bombardment of the -coast of Finland. On another occasion his father spends the whole day -at home. All the tumblers in the house are placed on the window-ledges. -They are filled with sand in which candles are inserted and lit at -night. All the rooms are warm and bright. It is bright too in the Clara -school-house and in the church and the vicarage; the church is full of -music. These are the illuminations to celebrate the recovery of King -Oscar. - -One day there is a great noise in the kitchen. The bell is rung and his -mother called. There stands a man in uniform with a book in his hand -and writes. The cook weeps, his mother supplicates and speaks loud, but -the man with the helmet speaks still louder. It is the policeman! The -cry goes all over the house, and all day long they talk of the police. -His father is summoned to the police-station. Will he be arrested? No; -but he has to pay three rix-dollars and sixteen skillings, because the -cook had emptied a utensil in the gutter in the daytime. - -One afternoon he sees them lighting the lamps in the street. A cousin -draws his attention to the fact that they have no oil and no wicks, but -only a metal burner. They are the first gas-lamps. - -For many nights he lies in bed, without getting up by day. He is tired -and sleepy. A harsh-voiced man comes to the bed, and says that he must -not lay his hands outside the coverlet. They give him evil-tasting -stuff with a spoon; he eats nothing. There is whispering in the room, -and his mother weeps. Then he sits again at the window in the bedroom. -Bells are tolling the whole day long. Green biers are carried over the -churchyard. Sometimes a dark mass of people stand round a black chest. -Gravediggers with their spades keep coming and going. He has to wear a -copper plate suspended by a blue silk ribbon on his breast, and chew -all day at a root. That is the cholera epidemic of 1854. - -One day he goes a long way with one of the servants--so far that he -becomes homesick and cries for his mother. The servant takes him into -a house; they sit in a dark kitchen near a green water-butt. He thinks -he will never see his home again. But they still go on, past ships and -barges, past a gloomy brick house with long high walls behind which -prisoners sit. He sees a new church, a new alley lined with trees, a -dusty high-road along whose edges dandelions grow. Now the servant -carries him. At last they come to a great stone building hard by which -is a yellow wooden house with a cross, surrounded by a large garden. -They see limping, mournful-looking people dressed in white. They reach -a great hall where are nothing but beds painted brown, with old women -in them. The walls are whitewashed, the old women are white, and the -beds are white. There is a very bad smell. They pass by a row of beds, -and in the middle of the room stop at a bed on the right side. In it -lies a woman younger than the rest with black curly hair confined by -a night-cap. She lies half on her back; her face is emaciated, and -she wears a white cloth over her head and ears. Her thin hands are -wrapped up in white bandages and her arms shake ceaselessly so that her -knuckles knock against each other. When she sees the child, her arms -and knees tremble violently, and she bursts into tears. She kisses his -head, but the boy does not feel comfortable. He is shy, and not far -from crying himself. "Don't you know Christina again?" she says; but he -does not. Then she dries her eyes and describes her sufferings to the -servant, who is taking eatables out of a basket. - -The old women in white now begin to talk in an undertone, and Christina -begs the servant not to show what she has in the basket, for they are -so envious. Accordingly the servant pushes surreptitiously a yellow -rix-dollar into the psalm-book on the table. The child finds the whole -thing tedious. His heart says nothing to him; it does not tell him that -he has drunk this woman's milk, which really belonged to another; it -does not tell him that he had slept his best sleep on that shrunken -bosom, that those shaking arms had cradled, carried, and dandled him; -his heart says nothing, for the heart is only a muscle, which pumps -blood indifferent as to the source it springs from. But after receiving -her last fervent kisses, after bowing to the old women and the nurse, -and breathing freely in the courtyard after inhaling the close air -of the sick-ward, he becomes somehow conscious of a debt, which can -only be paid by perpetual gratitude, a few eatables, and a rix-dollar -slipped into a psalm-book, and he feels ashamed at being glad to get -away from the brown-painted beds of the sufferers. - -It was his wet-nurse, who subsequently lay for fifteen years in the -same bed, suffering from fits of cramp and wasting disease, till she -died. Then he received his portrait in a schoolboy's cap, sent back by -the directors of the Sabbatsberg infirmary, where it had hung for many -years. During that time the growing youth had only once a year given -her an hour of indescribable joy, and himself one of some uneasiness -of conscience, by going to see her. Although he had received from her -inflammation in his blood, and cramp in his nerves, still he felt he -owed her a debt, a representative debt. It was not a personal one, for -she had only given him what she had been obliged to sell. The fact that -she had been compelled to sell it was the sin of society, and as a -member of society he felt himself in a certain degree guilty. - -Sometimes the child went to the churchyard, where everything seemed -strange. The vaults with the stone monuments bearing inscriptions and -carved figures, the grass on which one might not step, the trees with -leaves which one might not touch. One day his uncle plucked a leaf, -but the police were instantly on the spot. The great building in the -middle was unintelligible to him. People went in and out of it, and one -heard singing and music, ringing and chiming. It was mysterious. At the -east end was a window with a gilded eye. That was God's eye. He did not -understand that, but at any rate it was a large eye which must see far. - -Under the window was a grated cellar-opening. His uncle pointed out to -him the polished coffins below. "Here," he said, "lives Clara the Nun." -Who was she? He did not know, but supposed it must be a ghost. - -One day he stands in an enormous room and does not know where he is; -but it is beautiful, everything in white and gold. Music, as if from a -hundred pianos, sounds over his head, but he cannot see the instrument -or the person who plays it. There stand long rows of benches, and quite -in front is a picture, probably of some Bible story. Two white-winged -figures are kneeling, and near them are two large candlesticks. Those -are probably the angels with the two lights who go about our house. -The people on the benches are bowed down as though they were sleeping. -"Take your caps off," says his uncle, and holds his hat before his -face. The boys look round, and see close beside them a strange-looking -seat on which are two men in grey mantles and hoods. They have iron -chains on their hands and feet, and policemen stand by them. - -"Those are thieves," whispers their uncle. - -All this oppresses the boy with a sense of weirdness, strangeness, and -severity. His brothers also feel it, for they ask their uncle to go, -and he complies. - -Strange! Such are the impressions made by that form of worship which -was intended to symbolise the simple truths of Christianity. But it was -not like the mild teaching of Christ. The sight of the thieves was the -worst--in iron chains, and such coats! - - * * * * * - -One day, when the sun shines warmly, there is a great stir in the -house. Articles of furniture are moved from their place, drawers are -emptied, clothes are thrown about everywhere. A morning or two after, -a waggon comes to take away the things, and so the journey begins. -Some of the family start in a boat from "the red shop," others go in -a cab. Near the harbour there is a smell of oil, tar, and coal smoke; -the freshly painted steamboats shine in gay colours and their flags -flutter in the breeze; drays rattle past the long row of lime-trees; -the yellow riding-school stands dusty and dirty near a woodshed. They -are going on the water, but first they go to see their father in his -office. John is astonished to find him looking cheerful and brisk, -joking with the sunburnt steamer captains and laughing in a friendly, -pleasant way. Indeed, he seems quite youthful, and has a bow and arrows -with which the captains amuse themselves by shooting at the window of -the riding-school. The office is small, but they can go behind the -green partition and drink a glass of porter behind a curtain. The -clerks are attentive and polite when his father speaks to them. John -had never before seen his father at work, but only known him in the -character of a tired, hungry provider for his family, who preferred to -live with nine persons in three rooms, than alone in two. He had only -seen his father at leisure, eating and reading the paper when he came -home in the evening, but never in his official capacity. He admired -him, but he felt that he feared him now less, and thought that some day -he might come to love him. - -He fears the water, but before he knows where he is he finds himself -sitting in an oval room ornamented in white and gold, and containing -red satin sofas. Such a splendid room he has never seen before. But -everything rattles and shakes. He looks out of a little window, and -sees green banks, bluish-green waves, sloops carrying hay, and steamers -passing by. It is like a panorama or something seen at a theatre. On -the banks move small red and white houses, outside which stand green -trees with a sprinkling of snow upon them; larger green meadows rush -past with red cows standing in them, looking like Christmas toys. The -sun gets high, and now they reach trees with yellow foliage and brown -caterpillars, bridges with sailing-boats flying flags, cottages with -fowls pecking and dogs barking. The sun shines on rows of windows which -lie on the ground, and old men and women go about with water-cans and -rakes. Then appear green trees again bending over the water, and yellow -and white bath-houses; overhead a cannon-shot is fired; the rattling -and shaking cease; the banks stand still; above him he sees a stone -wall, men's coats and trousers and a multitude of boots. He is carried -up some steps which have a gilded rail, and sees a very large castle. -Somebody says, "Here the King lives." - -It was the castle of Drottningholm--the most beautiful memory of his -childhood, even including the fairy-tale books. - -Their things are unpacked in a little white house on a hill, and now -the children roll on the grass, on real green grass without dandelions, -like that in the Clara churchyard. It is so high and bright, and the -woods and fiords are green and blue in the distance. - -The dust-bin is forgotten, the schoolroom with its foul atmosphere has -disappeared, the melancholy church-bells sound no more, and the graves -are far away. But in the evening a bell rings in a little belfry quite -near at hand. With astonishment he sees the modest little bell which -swings in the open air, and sends its sound far over the park and bay. -He thinks of the terrible deep-toned bell in the tower at home, which -seemed to him like a great black maw when he looked into it, as it -swung, from below. In the evening, when he is tired and has been washed -and put to bed, he hears how the silence seems to hum in his ears, and -waits in vain to hear the strokes and chiming of the bell in the tower. - -The next morning he wakes to get up and play. He plays day after -day for a whole week. He is in nobody's way, and everything is so -peaceful. The little ones sleep in the nursery, and he is in the open -air all day long. His father does not appear; but on Saturday he comes -out from the town and pinches the boys' cheeks because they have grown -and become sunburnt. "He does not beat us now any more," thinks the -child; but he does not trace this to the simple fact that here outside -the city there is more room and the air is purer. - -The slimmer passes gloriously, as enchanting as a fairy-tale; through -the poplar avenues run lackeys in silver-embroidered livery, on the -water float sky-blue dragon-ships with real princes and princesses, -on the roads roll golden chaises and purple-red coaches drawn by Arab -horses four-in-hand, and the whips are as long as the reins. - -Then there is the King's castle with the polished floors, the gilt -furniture, marble-tiled stoves and pictures; the park with its -avenues like long lofty green churches, the fountains ornamented with -unintelligible figures from story-books; the summer-theatre that -remained a puzzle to the child, but was used as a maze; the Gothic -tower, always closed and mysterious, which had nothing else to do but -to echo back the sound of voices. - -He is taken for a walk in the park by a cousin whom he calls "aunt." -She is a well-dressed maiden just grown up, and carries a parasol. -They come into a gloomy wood of sombre pines; here they wander for a -while, ever farther. Presently they hear a murmur of voices, music, and -the clatter of plates and forks; they find themselves before a little -castle; figures of dragons and snakes wind down from the roof-ridge, -other figures of old men with yellow oval faces, black slanting eyes -and pigtails, look from under them; letters which he cannot read, and -which are unlike any others he has seen, run along the eaves. But below -on the ground-floor of the castle royal personages sit at table by the -open windows and eat from silver dishes and drink wine. - -"There sits the King," says his aunt. - -The child becomes alarmed, and looks round to see whether he has not -trodden on the grass, or is not on the point of doing something wrong. -He believes that the handsome King, who looks friendly, sees right -through him, and he wants to go. But neither Oscar I. nor the French -field-marshals nor the Russian generals trouble themselves about him, -for they are just now discussing the Peace of Paris, which is to make -an end of the war in the East. On the other hand, police-guards, -looking like roused lions, are marching about, and of them he has -an unpleasant recollection. He needs only to see one, and he feels -immediately guilty and thinks of the fine of three rix-dollars and -sixteen skillings. However, he has caught a glimpse of the highest form -of authority--higher than that of his brother, his mother, his father, -the deputy-landlord, the landlord, the general with the plumed helmet, -and the police. - -On another occasion, again with his aunt, he passes a little house -close to the castle. In a courtyard strewn with sand there stands a -man in a panama hat and a summer suit. He has a black beard and looks -strong. Round him there runs a black horse held by a long cord. The man -springs a rattle, cracks a whip, and fires shots. - -"That is the Crown Prince," says his aunt. - -He looked like any other man, and was dressed like his uncle Yanne. - -Another time, in the park, deep in the shade of some trees, a mounted -officer meets them. He salutes the boy's aunt, makes his horse stop, -talks to her, and asks his name. The boy answers, but somewhat shyly. -The dark-visaged man with the kind eyes looks at him, and he hears a -loud peal of laughter. Then the rider disappears. It was the Crown -Prince again. The Crown Prince had spoken to him! He felt elevated, and -at the same time more sure of himself. The dangerous potentate had been -quite pleasant. - -One day he learns that his father and aunt are old acquaintances of a -gentleman who lives in the great castle and wears a three-cornered hat -and a sabre. The castle thenceforward assumes a more friendly aspect. -He is also acquainted with people in it, for the Crown Prince has -spoken with him, and his father calls the chamberlain "thou." Now he -understands that the gorgeous lackeys are of inferior social rank to -him, especially when he hears that the cook goes for walks with one of -them in the evenings. He discovers that he is, at any rate, not on the -lowest stair in the social scale. - -Before he has had time to realise it, the fairy-tale is over. The -dust-bin and the rats are again there, but the deputy-landlord does -not use his authority any more when John wants to dig up stones, for -John has spoken with the Crown Prince, and the family have been for a -summer holiday. The boy has seen the splendour of the upper classes in -the distance. He longs after it, as after a home, but the menial blood -he has from his mother rebels against it. From instinct he reveres the -upper classes, and thinks too much of them ever to be able to hope to -reach them. He feels that he belongs neither to them nor to the menial -class. That becomes one of the struggles in his life. - - - - -II - -BREAKING-IN - - -The storm of poverty was now over. The members of the family who had -held together for mutual protection could now all go their own way. But -the overcrowding and unhappy circumstances of the family continued. -However, death weeded them out. Black papers which had contained sweets -distributed at the funeral were being continually gummed on the nursery -walls. The mother constantly went about in a jacket; all the cousins -and aunts had already been used up as sponsors, so that recourse had -now to be made to the clerks, ships' captains, and restaurant-keepers. - -In spite of all, prosperity seemed gradually to return. Since there -was too little space, the family removed to one of the suburbs, and -took a six-roomed house in the Norrtullsgata. At the same time John -entered the Clara High School at the age of seven. It was a long way -for short legs to go four times a day, but his father wished that -the children should grow hardy. That was a laudable object, but so -much unnecessary expenditure of muscular energy should have been -compensated for by nourishing food. However, the household means did -not allow of that, and the monotonous exercise of walking and carrying -a heavy school-satchel provided no sufficient counterpoise to excessive -brain-work. There was, consequently, a loss of moral and physical -equilibrium and new struggles resulted. In winter the seven-year-old -boy and his brothers are waked up at 6 A.M. in pitch darkness. He has -not been thoroughly rested, but still carries the fever of sleep in -his limbs. His father, mother, younger brothers and sisters, and the -servants are still asleep. He washes himself in cold water, drinks a -cup of barley-coffee, eats a French roll, runs over the endings of the -Fourth Declension in _Rabe's Grammar_, repeats a piece of "Joseph sold -by his brethren," and memorises the Second Article with its explanation. - -Then the books are thrust in the satchel and they start. In the street -it is still dark. Every other oil-lantern sways on the rope in the cold -wind, and the snow lies deep, not having been yet cleared away before -the houses. A little quarrel arises among the brothers about the rate -they are to march. Only the bakers' carts and the police are moving. -Near the Observatory the snow is so deep that their boots and trousers -get wet through. In Kungsbacken Street they meet a baker and buy their -breakfast, a French roll, which they usually eat on the way. - -In Haymarket Street he parts from his brothers, who go to a private -school. When at last he reaches the corner of Berg Street the fatal -clock in the Clara Church strikes the hour. Fear lends wings to his -feet, his satchel bangs against his back, his temples beat, his brain -throbs. As he enters the churchyard gate he sees that the class-rooms -are empty; it is too late! - -In the boy's case the duty of punctuality took the form of a given -promise, a _force majeure,_ a stringent necessity from which nothing -could release him. A ship-captain's bill of lading contains a clause -to the effect that he binds himself to deliver the goods uninjured by -such and such a date "if God wills." If God sends snow or storm, he is -released from his bond. But for the boy there are no such conditions -of exemption. He has neglected his duty, and will be punished: that is -all. - -With a slow step he enters the hall. Only the school porter is there, -who laughs at him, and writes his name on the blackboard under the -heading "Late." A painful hour follows, and then loud cries are heard -in the lower school, and the blows of a cane fall thickly. It is the -headmaster, who has made an onslaught on the late-comers or takes his -exercise on them. John bursts into tears and trembles all over--not -from fear of pain but from a feeling of shame to think that he should -be fallen upon like an animal doomed to slaughter, or a criminal. Then -the door opens. He starts up, but it is only the chamber-maid who comes -in to trim the lamp. - -"Good-day, John," she says. "You are too late; you are generally so -punctual. How is Hanna?" - -John tells her that Hanna is well, and that the snow was very deep in -the Norrtullsgata. - -"Good heavens! You have not come by Norrtullsgata?" - -Then the headmaster opens the door and enters. - -"Well, you!" - -"You must not be angry with John, sir! He lives in Norrtullsgata." - -"Silence, Karin!" says the headmaster, "and go.--Well," he continues: -"you live in the Norrtullsgata. That is certainly a good way. But still -you ought to look out for the time." - -Then he turns and goes. John owed it to Karin that he escaped -a flogging, and to fate that Hanna had chanced to be Karin's -fellow-servant at the headmaster's. Personal influence had saved him -from an injustice. - -And then the school and the teaching! Has not enough been written about -Latin and the cane? Perhaps! In later years he skipped all passages in -books which dealt with reminiscences of school life, and avoided all -books on that subject. When he grew up his worst nightmare, when he had -eaten something indigestible at night or had a specially troublesome -day, was to dream that he was back at school. - -The relation between pupil and teacher is such, that the former gets -as one-sided a view of the latter as a child of its parent. The first -teacher John had looked like the ogre in the story of Tom Thumb. He -flogged continually, and said he would make the boys crawl on the floor -and "beat them to pulp" if they did their exercises badly. - -He was not, however, really a bad fellow, and John and his -school-fellows presented him with an album when he left Stockholm. -Many thought well of him, and considered him a fine character. He ended -as a gentleman farmer and the hero of an Ostgothland idyll. - -Another was regarded as a monster of malignity. He really seemed to -beat the boys because he liked it. He would commence his lesson by -saying, "Bring the cane," and then try to find as many as he could -who had an ill-prepared lesson. He finally committed suicide in -consequence of a scathing newspaper article. Half a year before that, -John, then a student, had met him in Uggelvikswald, and felt moved by -his old teacher's complaints over the ingratitude of the world. A year -previous he had received at Christmas time a box of stones, sent from -an old pupil in Australia. But the colleagues of the stern teacher -used to speak of him as a good-natured fool at whom they made jests. -So many points of view, so many differing judgments! But to this day -old boys of the Clara School cannot meet each other without expressing -their horror and indignation at his unmercifulness, although they all -acknowledge that he was an excellent teacher. - -These men of the old school knew perhaps no better. They had themselves -been brought up on those lines, and we, who learn to understand -everything, are bound also to pardon everything. - -This, however, did not prevent the first period of school life from -appearing to be a preparation for hell and not for life. The teachers -seemed to be there only to torment, not to punish; our school life -weighed upon us like an oppressive nightmare day and night; even having -learned our lessons well before we left home did not save us. Life -seemed a penal institution for crimes committed before we were born, -and therefore the boy always went about with a bad conscience. - -But he learned some social lessons. The Clara School was a school for -the children of the better classes, for the people of the district -were well off. The boy wore leather breeches and greased leather boots -which smelt of train-oil and blacking. Therefore, those who had velvet -jackets did not like sitting near him. He also noticed that the poorly -dressed boys got more floggings than the well-dressed ones, and that -pretty boys were let off altogether. If he had at that time studied -psychology and aesthetics, he would have understood this, but he did not -then. - -The examination day left a pleasant, unforgettable memory. The old -dingy rooms were freshly scoured, the boys wore their best clothes, -and the teachers frock-coats with white ties; the cane was put away, -all punishments were suspended. It was a day of festival and jubilee, -on which one could tread the floor of the torture-chambers without -trembling. The change of places in each class, however, which had -taken place in the morning, brought with it certain surprises, and -those who had been put lower made certain comparisons and observations -which did not always redound to the credit of the teacher. The school -testimonials were also rather hastily drawn up, as was natural. But -the holidays were at hand, and everything else was soon forgotten. At -the conclusion, in the lower schoolroom, the teachers received the -thanks of the Archbishop, and the pupils were reproved and warned. -The presence of the parents, especially the mothers, made the chilly -rooms seem warm, and a sigh involuntarily rose in the boys' hearts, -"Why cannot it be always like to-day?" To some extent the sigh has -been heard, and our present-day youth no longer look upon school as a -penal institute, even if they do not recognise much use in the various -branches of superfluous learning. - -John was certainly not a shining light in the school, but neither was -he a mere good-for-nothing. On account of his precocity in learning he -had been allowed to enter the school before the regulation age, and -therefore he was always the youngest. Although his report justified his -promotion into a higher class, he was still kept a year in his present -one. This was a severe pull-back in his development; his impatient -spirit suffered from having to repeat old lessons for a whole year. -He certainly gained much spare time, but his appetite for learning -was dulled, and he felt himself neglected. At home and school alike -he was the youngest, but only in years; in intelligence he was older -than his school-fellows. His father seemed to have noticed his love -for learning, and to have thought of letting him become a student. He -heard him his lessons, for he himself had had an elementary education. -But when the eight-year-old boy once came to him with a Latin exercise, -and asked for help, his father was obliged to confess that he did not -know Latin. The boy felt his superiority in this point, and it is not -improbable that his father was conscious of it also. He removed John's -elder brother, who had entered the school at the same time, abruptly -from it, because the teacher one day had made the younger, as monitor, -hear the elder his lessons. This was stupid on the part of the -teacher, and it was wise of his father to prevent it. - -His mother was proud of his learning, and boasted of it to her friends. -In the family the word "student" was often heard. At the students' -congress in the fifties, Stockholm was swarming with white caps. - -"Think if you should wear a white cap some day," said his mother. - -When the students' concerts took place, they talked about it for days -at a time. Acquaintances from Upsala sometimes came to Stockholm and -talked of the gay students' life there. A girl who had been in service -in Upsala called John "the student." - -In the midst of his terribly mysterious school life, in which the -boy could discover no essential connection between Latin grammar and -real life, a new mysterious factor appeared for a short time and then -disappeared again. The nine-year-old daughter of the headmaster came to -the French lessons. She was purposely put on the last bench, in order -not to be seen, and to look round was held to be a great misdemeanour. -Her presence, however, was felt in the class-room. The boy, and -probably the whole class, fell in love. The lessons always went well -when she was present; their ambition was spurred, and none of them -wanted to be humiliated or flogged before her. She was, it is true, -ugly, but well dressed. Her gentle voice vibrated among the breaking -voices of the boys, and even the teacher had a smile on his severe face -when he spoke to her. How beautifully her name sounded when he called -it out--one Christian name among all the surnames. - -John's love found expression in a silent melancholy. He never spoke to -her, and would never have dared to do it. He feared and longed for her. -But if anyone had asked him what he wanted from her, he could not have -told them. He wanted nothing from her. A kiss? No; in his family there -was no kissing. To hold her? No! Still less to possess her. Possess? -What should he do with her? He felt that he had a secret. This plagued -him so that he suffered under it, and his whole life was overclouded. -One day at home he seized a knife and said, "I will cut my throat." His -mother thought he was ill. He could not tell her. He was then about -nine years old. - -Perhaps if there had been as many girls as boys in the school -present in all the classes, probably innocent friendships would -have been formed, the electricity would have been carried off, the -Madonna-worship brought within its proper limits, and wrong ideas of -woman would not have followed him and his companions through life. - - * * * * * - -His father's contemplative turn of mind, his dislike of meeting -people after his bankruptcy, the unfriendly verdict of public opinion -regarding his originally illegal union with his wife, had induced him -to retire to the Norrtullsgata. Here he had rented a house with a large -garden, wide-stretching fields, with a pasture, stables, farmyard, and -conservatory. He had always liked the occupations of a country life -and agriculture. Before this he had possessed a piece of land outside -the town, but could not look after it. Now he rented a garden for his -own sake and the children's, whose education a little resembled that -described in Rousseau's _Emile_. The house was separated from its -neighbours by a long fence. The Norrtullsgata was an avenue lined with -trees which as yet had no pavement, and had been but little built upon. -The principal traffic consisted of peasants and milk-carts on their way -to the hay market. Besides these there were also funerals moving slowly -along to the "New Churchyard," sledging parties to Brunnsvik, and -young people on their way to Norrbucka or Stallmastergarden. - -The garden which surrounded the little one-storied house was very -spacious. Long alleys with at least a hundred apple-trees and -berry-bearing bushes crossed each other. Here and there were thick -bowers of lilac and jasmine, and a huge aged oak still stood in a -corner. There was plenty of shade and space, and enough decay to make -the place romantic. East of the garden rose a gravel-hill covered with -maples, beeches, and ash-trees; on the summit of it stood a temple -belonging to the last century. The back of the hill had been dug away -in parts in an unsuccessful attempt to take away gravel, but it had -picturesque little dells filled with osier and thorn bushes. From -this side neither the street nor the house was visible. From here one -obtained a view over Bellevue, Cedardalsberg, and Lilljanskog. One saw -only single scattered houses in the far distance, but on the other hand -numberless gardens and drying-houses for tobacco. - -Thus all the year round they enjoyed a country life, to which they had -no objection. Now the boy could study at first-hand the beauty and -secrets of plant life, and his first spring there was a period of -wonderful surprises. When the freshly turned earth lay black under the -apple-tree's white and pink canopy, when the tulips blazed in oriental -pomp of colour, it seemed to him as he went about in the garden as -if he were assisting at a solemnity more even than at the school -examination, or in church, the Christmas festival itself not excepted. - -But he had also plenty of hard bodily exercise. The boys were sent -with ships' scrapers to clear the moss from the trees; they weeded the -ground, swept the paths, watered and hoed. In the stable there was -a cow with calves; the hay-loft became a swimming school where they -sprang from the beams, and they rode the horses to water. - -They had lively games on the hill, rolled down blocks of stone, climbed -to the tops of the trees, and made expeditions. They explored the woods -and bushes in the Haga Park, climbed up young trees in the ruins, -caught bats, discovered edible wood-sorrel and ferns, and plundered -birds' nests. Soon they laid their bows and arrows aside, discovered -gunpowder, and shot little birds on the hills. They came to be somewhat -uncivilised. They found school more distasteful and the streets more -hateful than ever. Boys' books also helped in this process. _Robinson -Crusoe_ formed an epoch in his life; the _Discovery of America_, -the _Scalp-Hunter_, and others aroused in him a sincere dislike of -school-books. - -During the long summer holidays their wildness increased so much that -their mother could no longer control the unruly boys. As an experiment -they were sent at first to the swimming school in Riddarholm, but it -was so far that they wasted half the day on the road thither. Finally, -their father resolved to send the three eldest to a boarding-school in -the country, to spend the rest of the summer there. - - - - -III - -AWAY FROM HOME - - -Now he stands on the deck of a steamer far out at sea. He has had so -much to look at on the journey that he has not felt any tedium. But -now it is afternoon, which is always melancholy, like the beginning -of old age. The shadows of the sun fall and alter everything without -hiding everything, like the night. He begins to miss something. He -has a feeling of emptiness, of being deserted, broken off. He wants -to go home, but the consciousness that he cannot do so at once fills -him with terror and despair and he weeps. When his brothers ask him -why, he says he wants to go home to his mother. They laugh at him, but -her image recurs to his mind, serious, mild, and smiling. He hears -her last words at parting: "Be obedient and respectful to all, take -care of your clothes, and don't forget your evening prayer." He thinks -how disobedient he has been to her, and wonders whether she may be -ill. Her image seems glorified, and draws him with unbreakable cords -of longing. This feeling of loneliness and longing after his mother -followed him all through his life. Had he come perhaps too early and -incomplete into the world? What held him so closely bound to his mother? - -To this question he found no answer either in books or in life. But -the fact remained: he never became himself, was never liberated, never -a complete individuality. He remained, as it were, a mistletoe, which -could not grow except upon a tree; he was a climbing plant which must -seek a support. He was naturally weak and timid, but he took part in -all physical exercises; he was a good gymnast, could mount a horse when -on the run, was skilled in the use of all sorts of weapons, was a bold -shot, swimmer, and sailor, but only in order not to appear inferior -to others. If no one watched him when bathing, he merely slipped -into the water; but if anyone _was_ watching, he plunged into it, -head-over-heels, from the roof of the bathing-shed. He was conscious -of his timidity, and wished to conceal it. He never attacked his -school-fellows, but if anyone attacked him, he would strike back even a -stronger boy than himself. He seemed to have been born frightened, and -lived in continual fear of life and of men. - -The ship steams out of the bay and there opens before them a blue -stretch of sea without a shore. The novelty of the spectacle, the -fresh wind, the liveliness of his brothers, cheer him up. It has just -occurred to him that they have come eighteen miles by sea when the -steamboat turns into the Nykopingsa river. - -When the gangway has been run out, there appears a middle-aged man with -blond whiskers, who, after a short conversation with the captain, takes -over charge of the boys. He looks friendly, and is cheerful. It is the -parish clerk of Vidala. On the shore there stands a waggon with a black -mare, and soon they are above in the town and stop at a shopkeeper's -house which is also an inn for the country people. It smells of -herrings and small beer, and they get weary of waiting. The boy cries -again. At last Herr Linden comes in a country cart with their baggage, -and after many handshakes and a few glasses of beer they leave the -town. Fallow fields and hedges stretch in a long desolate perspective, -and over some red roofs there rises the edge of a wood in the distance. -The sun sets, and they have to drive for three miles through the dark -wood. Herr Linden talks briskly in order to keep up their spirits. He -tells them about their future school-fellows, the bathing-places, and -strawberry-picking. John sleeps till they have reached an inn where -there are drunken peasants. The horses are taken out and watered. Then -they continue their journey through dark woods. In one place they have -to get down and climb up a hill. The horses steam with perspiration -and snort, the peasants on the baggage-cart joke and drink, the parish -clerk chats with them and tells funny stories. Still they go on -sleeping and waking, getting down and resting alternately. Still there -are more woods, which used to be haunted by robbers, black pine woods -under the starry sky, cottages and hedges. The boy is quite alarmed, -and approaches the unknown with trembling. - -At last they are on a level road; the day dawns, and the waggon stops -before a red house. Opposite it is a tall dark building--a church--once -more a church. An old woman, as she appears to him, tall and thin, -comes out, receives the boys, and conducts them into a large room on -the ground-floor, where there is a cover-table. She has a sharp voice -which does not sound friendly, and John is afraid. They eat in the -gloom, but do not relish the unusual food, and one of them has to choke -down tears. Then they are led in the dark into an attic. No lamp is -lit. The room is narrow; pallets and beds are laid across chairs and -on the floor, and there is a terrible odor. There is a stirring in the -beds, and one head rises, and then another. There are whispers and -murmurs, but the new-comers can see no faces. The eldest brother gets -a bed to himself, but John and the second brother lie foot to foot. It -is a new thing for them, but they creep into bed and draw the blankets -over them. His elder brother stretches himself out at his ease, but -John protests against this encroachment. They push each other with -their feet, and John is struck. He weeps at once. The eldest brother is -already asleep. Then there comes a voice from a corner on the ground: -"Lie still, you young devils, and don't fight!" - -"What do you say?" answers his brother, who is inclined to be impudent. - -The bass voice answers, "What do I say? I say--Leave the youngster -alone." - -"What have you to do with that?" - -"A good deal. Come here, and I'll thrash you." - -"_You_ thrash _me_!" - -His brother stands up in his night-shirt. The owner of the bass voice -comes towards him. All that one can see is a short sturdy figure with -broad shoulders. A number of spectators sit upright in their beds. - -They fight, and the elder brother gets the worst of it. - -"No! don't hit him! don't hit him!" - -The small brother throws himself between the combatants. He could not -see anyone of his own flesh and blood being beaten or suffering without -feeling it in all his nerves. It was another instance of his want of -independence and consciousness of the closeness of the blood-tie. - -Then there is silence and dreamless sleep, which Death is said to -resemble, and therefore entices so many to premature rest. - -Now there begins a new little section of life--an education without his -parents, for the boy is out in the world among strangers. He is timid, -and carefully avoids every occasion of being blamed. He attacks no -one, but defends himself against bullies. There are, however, too many -of them for the equilibrium to be maintained. Justice is administered -by the broad-shouldered boy mentioned above, who is humpbacked, and -always takes the weaker one's part when unrighteously attacked. - -In the morning they do their lessons, bathe before dinner, and do -manual labour in the afternoon. They weed the garden, fetch water from -the spring, and keep the stable clean. It is their father's wish that -the boys should do physical work, although they pay the usual fees. - -But John's obedience and conscientiousness do not suffice to render -his life tolerable. His brothers incur all kinds of reprimands, and -under them he also suffers much. He is keenly conscious of their -solidarity, and is in this summer only as it were the third part of a -person. There are no other punishments except detention, but even the -reprimands disquiet him. Manual labour makes him physically strong, but -his nerves are just as sensitive as before. Sometimes he pines for his -mother, sometimes he is in extremely high spirits and indulges in risky -amusements, such as piling up stones in a limestone quarry and lighting -a fire at the bottom of it, or sliding down steep hills on a board. He -is alternately timid and daring, overflowing with spirits or brooding, -but without proper balance. - -The church stands on the opposite side of the way, and with its black -roof and white walls throws a shadow across the summer-like picture. -Daily from his window he sees monumental crosses which rise above the -churchyard wall. The church clock does not strike day and night as -that in the Clara Church did, but in the evenings at six o'clock one -of the boys is allowed to pull the bell-rope which hangs in the tower. -It was a solemn moment when, for the first time, his turn came. He -felt like a church official, and when he counted three times the three -bell-strokes, he thought that God, the pastor, and the congregation -would suffer harm if he rang one too many. On Sundays the bigger boys -were allowed to ring the bells. Then John stood on the dark wooden -staircase and wondered. - -In the course of the summer there arrived a black-bordered proclamation -which caused great commotion when read aloud in church. King Oscar was -dead. Many good things were reported of him, even if no one mourned -him. And now the bells rang daily between twelve and one o'clock. In -fact, church-bells seemed to follow him. - -The boys played in the churchyard among the graves and soon grew -familiar with the church. On Sundays they were all assembled in the -organ-loft. When the parish clerk struck up the psalm, they took their -places by the organ-stops, and when he gave them a sign, all the stops -were drawn out and they marched into the choir. That always made a -great impression on the congregation. - -But the fact of his having to come in such proximity to holy things, -and of his handling the requisites of worship, etc., made him familiar -with them, and his respect for them diminished. For instance, he did -not find the Lord's Supper edifying when on Saturday evening he had -eaten some of the holy bread in the parish clerk's kitchen, where it -was baked and stamped with the impression of a crucifix. The boys ate -these pieces of bread, and called them wafers. Once after the Holy -Communion he and the churchwarden were offered the rest of the wine in -the vestry. - -Nevertheless, after he had been parted from his mother, and felt -himself surrounded by unknown threatening powers, he felt a profound -need of having recourse to some refuge and of keeping watch. He prayed -his evening prayer with a fair amount of devotion; in the morning, when -the sun shone, and he was well rested, he did not feel the need of it. - -One day when the church was being aired the boys were playing in -it. In an access of high spirits they stormed the altar. But John, -who was egged on to something more daring, ran up into the pulpit, -reversed the hour-glass, and began to preach out of the Bible. This -made a great sensation. Then he descended, and ran along the tops of -the pews through the whole church. When he had reached the pew next -to the altar, which belonged to a count's family, he stepped too -heavily on the reading-desk, which fell with a crash to the ground. -There was a panic, and all the boys rushed out of church. He stood -alone and desolate. In other circumstances he would have run to his -mother, acknowledged his fault, and implored her help. But she was -not there. Then he thought of God; he fell on his knees before the -altar, and prayed through the Paternoster. Then, as though inspired -with a thought from above, he arose calmed and strengthened, examined -the desk, and found that its joints were not broken. He took a clamp, -dovetailed the joints together, and, using his boot as a hammer, with -a few well-directed blows repaired the desk. He tried it, and found it -firm. Then he went greatly relieved out of the church. "How simple!" -he thought to himself, and felt ashamed of having prayed the Lord's -Prayer. Why? Perhaps he felt dimly that in this obscure complex which -we call the soul there lives a power which, summoned to self-defence at -the hour of need, possesses a considerable power of extricating itself. -He did not fall on his knees and thank God, and this showed that he did -not believe it was He who had helped him. That obscure feeling of shame -probably arose from the fact of his perceiving that he had crossed a -river to fetch water, _i.e._, that his prayer had been superfluous. - -But this was only a passing moment of self-consciousness. He continued -to be variable and capricious. Moodiness, caprice, or _diables noirs,_ -as the French call it, is a not completely explained phenomenon. The -victim of them is like one possessed; he wants something, but does -the opposite; he suffers from the desire to do himself an injury, and -finds almost a pleasure in self-torment. It is a sickness of the soul -and of the will, and former psychologists tried to explain it by the -hypothesis of a duality in the brain, the two hemispheres of which, -they thought, under certain conditions could operate independently -each for itself and against the other. But this explanation has been -rejected. Many have observed the phenomenon of duplex personality, and -Goethe has handled this theme in _Faust_. In capricious children who -"do not know what they want," as the saying is, the nerve-tension ends -in tears. They "beg for a whipping," and it is strange that on such -occasions a slight chastisement restores the nervous equilibrium and -is almost welcomed by the child, who is at once pacified, appeased, -and not at all embittered by the punishment, which in its view must -have been unjust. It really had asked for a beating as a medicine. But -there is also another way of expelling the "black dog." One takes the -child in one's arms so that it feels the magnetism of friendship and is -quieted. That is the best way of all. - -John suffered from similar attacks of caprice. When some treat was -proposed to him, a strawberry-picking expedition for example, he asked -to be allowed to remain at home, though he knew he would be bored to -death there. He would have gladly gone, but he insisted on remaining at -home. Another will stronger than his own commanded him to do so. The -more they tried to persuade him, the stronger was his resistance. But -then if someone came along jovially and with a jest seized him by the -collar, and threw him into the haycart, he obeyed and was relieved to -be thus liberated from the mysterious will that mastered him. Generally -speaking, he obeyed gladly and never wished to put himself forward -or be prominent. So much of the slave was in his nature. His mother -had served and obeyed in her youth, and as a waitress had been polite -towards everyone. - -One Sunday they were in the parsonage, where there were young girls. -He liked them, but he feared them. All the children went out to pluck -strawberries. Someone suggested that they should collect the berries -without eating them, in order to eat them at home with sugar. John -plucked diligently and kept the agreement; he did not eat one, but -honestly delivered up his share, though he saw others cheating. On -their return home the berries were divided by the pastor's daughter, -and the children pressed round her in order that each might get a full -spoonful. John kept as far away as possible; he was forgotten and -berryless. - -He had been passed over! Full of the bitter consciousness of this, -he went into the garden and concealed himself in an arbour. He felt -himself to be the last and meanest. He did not weep, however, but was -conscious of something hard and cold rising within, like a skeleton of -steel. After he had passed the whole company under critical review, he -found that he was the most honest, because he had not eaten a single -strawberry outside; and then came the false inference--he had been -passed over because he was better than the rest. The result was that he -really regarded himself as such, and felt a deep satisfaction at having -been overlooked. - -He had also a special skill in making himself invisible, or keeping -concealed so as to be passed over. One evening his father brought -home a peach. Each child received a slice of the rare fruit, with the -exception of John, and his otherwise just father did not notice it. He -felt so proud at this new reminder of his gloomy destiny that later in -the evening he boasted of it to his brothers. They did not believe him, -regarding his story as improbable. The more improbable the better, he -thought. He was also plagued by antipathies. One Sunday in the country -a cart full of boys came to the parish clerk's. A brown-complexioned -boy with a mischievous and impudent face alighted from it. John -ran away at the first sight of him, and hid himself in the attic. -They found him out: the parish clerk cajoled him, but he remained -sitting in his corner and listened to the children playing till the -brown-complexioned boy had gone away. - -Neither cold baths, wild games, nor hard physical labour could harden -his sensitive nerves, which at certain moments became strung up to the -highest possible pitch. He had a good memory, and learned his lessons -well, especially practical subjects such as geography and natural -science. He liked arithmetic, but hated geometry; a science which -seemed to deal with unrealities disquieted him. It was not till later, -when a book of land mensuration came into his hands and he had obtained -an insight into the practical value of geometry, that the subject -interested him. He then measured trees and houses, the garden and its -avenues, and constructed cardboard models. - -He was now entering his tenth year. He was broad-shouldered, with -a sunburnt complexion; his hair was fair, and hung over a sickly -looking high and prominent forehead, which often formed a subject of -conversation and caused his relatives to give him the nickname of "the -professor." He was no more an automaton, but began to make his own -observations and to draw inferences. He was approaching the time when -he would be severed from his surroundings and go alone. Solitude had -to take for him the place of desert-wandering, for he had not a strong -enough individuality to go his own way. His sympathies for men were -doomed not to be reciprocated, because their thoughts did not keep pace -with his. He was destined to go about and offer his heart to the first -comer; but no one would take it, because it was strange to them, and so -he would retire into himself, wounded, humbled, overlooked, and passed -by. - - * * * * * - -The summer came to an end, and when the school-term began he returned -to Stockholm. The gloomy house by the Clara churchyard seemed doubly -depressing to him now, and when he saw the long row of class-rooms -through which he must work his way in a fixed number of years in order -to do laboriously the same through another row of class-rooms in the -High School, life did not seem to him particularly inviting. At the -same time his self-opinionatedness began to revolt against the lessons, -and consequently he got bad reports. A term later, when he had been -placed lower in his class, his father took him from the Clara School -and placed him in the Jacob School. At the same time they left the -Norrtullsgata and took a suburban house in the Stora Grabergsgata near -the Sabbatsberg. - - - - -IV - -INTERCOURSE WITH THE LOWER CLASSES - - -Christinenberg, so we will call the house, had a still more lonely -situation than that in the Norrtullsgata.[1] The Grabergsgata had no -pavement. Often for hours at a time one never saw more than a single -pedestrian in it, and the noise of a passing cart was an event which -brought people to their windows. The house stood in a courtyard with -many trees, and resembled a country parsonage. It was surrounded by -gardens and tobacco plantations; extensive fields with ponds stretched -away to Sabbatsberg. But their father rented no land here, so that -the boys spent their time in loafing about. Their playfellows now -consisted of the children of poorer people, such as the miller's and -the milkman's. Their chief playground was the hill on which the mill -stood, and the wings of the windmill were their playthings. - -The Jacob School was attended by the poorer class of children. Here -John came in contact with the lower orders. The boys were ill dressed; -they had sores on their noses, ugly features, and smelt bad. His own -leather breeches and greased boots produced no bad effect here. In -these surroundings, which pleased him, he felt more at his ease. He -could be on more confidential terms with these boys than with the proud -ones in the Clara School. But many of these children were very good at -their lessons, and the genius of the school was a peasant boy. At the -same time there were so-called "louts" in the lower classes, and these -generally did not get beyond the second class. He was now in the third, -and did not come into contact with them, nor did they with those in the -higher classes. These boys worked out of school, had black hands, and -were as old as fourteen or fifteen. Many of them were employed during -the summer on the brig _Carl Johann_, and then appeared in autumn with -tarry trousers, belts, and knives. They fought with chimney-sweeps and -tobacco-binders, took drams, and visited restaurants and coffee-houses. -These boys were liable to ceaseless examinations and expulsions and -were generally regarded, but with great injustice, as a bad lot. Many -of them grew up to be respectable citizens, and one who had served on -the "louts' brig" finally became an officer of the Guard. He never -ventured to talk of his sea voyages, but said that he used to shudder -when he led the watch to relieve guard at Nybrohanm, and saw the -notorious brig lying there. - -One day John met a former school-fellow from the Clara School, and -tried to avoid him. But the latter came directly towards him, and asked -him what school he was attending. "Ah, yes," he said, on being told, -"you are going to the louts' school." - -John felt that he had come down, but he had himself wished it. He did -not stand above his companions, but felt himself at home with them, -on friendly terms, and more comfortable than in the Clara School, -for here there was no pressure on him from above. He himself did not -wish to climb up and press down others, but he suffered himself from -being pressed down. He himself did not wish to ascend, but he felt a -need that there should be none above him. But it annoyed him to feel -that his old school-fellows thought that he had gone down. When at -gymnastic displays he appeared among the grimy-looking troop of the -Jacobites, and met the bright files of the Clara School in their -handsome uniforms and clean faces, then he was conscious of a class -difference, and when from the opposite camp the word "louts" was heard, -then there was war in the air. The two schools fought sometimes, but -John took no part in these encounters. He did not wish to see his old -friends, and to show how he had come down. - -The examination day in the Jacob School made a very different -impression from that in the Clara School. Artisans, poorly clad old -women, restaurant-keepers dressed up for the occasion, coach-men, and -publicans formed the audience. And the speech of the school inspector -was quite other than the flowery one of the Archbishop. He read out the -names of the idle and the stupid, scolded the parents because their -children came too late or did not turn up at all, and the hall reechoed -the sobs of poor mothers who were probably not at all to blame for the -easily explained non-attendances, and who in their simplicity believed -that they had bad sons. It was always the well-to-do citizens' sons who -had had the leisure to devote themselves exclusively to their tasks, -who were now greeted as patterns of virtue. - -In the moral teaching which the boy received he heard nothing of his -rights, only of his duties. Everything he was taught to regard as a -favour; he lived by favour, ate by favour, and went as a favour to -school. And in this poor children's school more and more was demanded -of them. It was demanded from them, for instance, that they should have -untorn clothes--but from whence were they to get them? - -Remarks were made upon their hands because they had been blackened -by contact with tar and pitch. There was demanded of them attention, -good morals, politeness, _i.e._, mere impossibilities. The aesthetic -susceptibilities of the teachers often led them to commit acts of -injustice. Near John sat a boy whose hair was never combed, who had -a sore under his nose, and an evil-smelling flux from his ears. His -hands were dirty, his clothes spotted and torn. He rarely knew his -lessons, and was scolded and caned on the palms of his hands. One day -a school-fellow accused him of bringing vermin into the class. He was -then made to sit apart in a special place. He wept bitterly, ah! so -bitterly, and then kept away from school. - -John was sent to look him up at his house. He lived in the Undertakers' -street. The painter's family lived with the grandmother and many small -children in one room. When John went there he found George, the boy in -question, holding on his knee, a little sister, who screamed violently. -The grandmother carried a little one on her arm. The father and mother -were away at work. In this room, which no one had time to clean, and -which could not be cleaned, there was a smell of sulphur fumes from the -coals and from the uncleanliness of the children. Here the clothes were -dried, food was cooked, oil-colours were rubbed, putty was kneaded. -Here were laid bare the grounds of George's immorality. "But," perhaps -a moralist may object, "one is never so poor that one cannot keep -oneself clean and tidy." _Sancta simplicitas!_ As if to pay for sewing -(when there was anything whole to sew), soap, clothes-washing, and time -cost nothing. Complete cleanliness and tidiness is the highest point to -which the poor can attain; George could not, and was therefore cast out. - -Some younger moralists believe they have made the discovery that the -lower classes are more immoral than the higher. By "immoral" they -mean that they do not keep social contracts so well as the upper -classes. That is a mistake, if not something worse. In all cases, in -which the lower classes are not compelled by necessity, they are more -conscientious than the upper ones. They are more merciful towards their -fellows, gentler to children, and especially more patient. How long -have they allowed their toil to be exploited by the upper classes, till -at last they begin to be impatient! - -Moreover, the social laws have been kept as long as possible in a state -of instability and uncertainty. Why are they not clearly defined and -printed like civil and divine laws? Perhaps because an honestly written -moral law would have to take some cognizance of rights as well as -duties. - -John's revolt against the school-teaching increased. At home he learned -all he could, but he neglected the school-lessons. The principal -subjects taught in the school were now Latin and Greek, but the method -of teaching was absurd. Half a year was spent in explaining a campaign -in _Cornelius_. The teacher had a special method of confusing the -subject by making the scholar analyse the "grammatical construction" of -the sentence. But he never explained what this meant. It consisted in -reading the words of the text in a certain order, but he did not say in -which. It did not agree with the Swedish translation, and when John had -tried to grasp the connection, but failed, he preferred to be silent. -He was obstinate, and when he was called upon to explain something he -was silent, even when he knew his lesson. For as soon as he began to -read, he was assailed with a storm of reproaches for the accent he put -on the words, the pace at which he read, his voice, everything. - -"Cannot you, do not you understand?" the teacher shouted, beside -himself. - -The boy was silent, and looked at the pedant contemptuously. - -"Are you dumb?" - -He remained silent. He was too old to be beaten; besides, this form of -punishment was gradually being disused. He was therefore told to sit -down. - -He could translate the text into Swedish, but not in the way the -teacher wished. That the teacher only permitted one way of translating -seemed to him silly. He had already rushed through _Cornelius_ in a few -weeks, and this deliberate, unreasonable crawling when one could run, -depressed him. He saw no sense in it. - -The same kind of thing happened in the history lessons. "Now, John," -the teacher would say, "tell me what you know about Gustav I." - -The boy stands up, and his vagrant thoughts express themselves as -follows: "What I know about Gustav I. Oh! a good deal. But I knew that -when I was in the lowest class (he is now in the fourth), and the -master knows it too. What is the good of repeating it all again?" - -"Well! is that all you know?" - -He had not said a word about Gustav I., and his school-fellows laughed. -Now he felt angry, and tried to speak, but the words stuck in his -throat. How should he begin? Gustav was born at Lindholm, in the -province of Roslagen. Yes, but he and the teacher knew that long ago. -How stupid to oblige him to repeat it. - -"Ah, well!" continues the teacher, "you don't know your lesson, you -know nothing of Gustav I." Now he opens his mouth, and says curtly and -decidedly: "Yes, I know his history well." - -"If you do, why don't you answer?" - -The master's question seems to him a very stupid one, and now he will -not answer. He drives away all thoughts about Gustav I. and forces -himself to think of other things, the maps on the wall, the lamp -hanging from the ceiling. He pretends to be deaf. - -"Sit down, you don't know your lesson," says the master. He sits down, -and lets his thoughts wander where they will, after he has settled in -his own mind that the master has told a falsehood. - -In this there was a kind of aphasia, an incapability or unwillingness -to speak, which followed him for a long time through life till the -reaction set in in the form of garrulousness, of incapacity to shut -one's mouth, of an impulse to speak whatever came into his mind. He -felt attracted to the natural sciences, and during the hour when -the teacher showed coloured pictures of plants and trees the gloomy -class-room seemed to be lighted up; and when the teacher read out of -Nilsson's _Lectures on Animal Life_, he listened and impressed all on -his memory. But his father observed that he was backward in his other -subjects, especially in Latin. Still, John had to learn Latin and -Greek. Why? He was destined for a scholar's career. His father made -inquiries into the matter. After hearing from the teacher of Latin that -the latter regarded his son as an idiot, his _amour propre_ must have -been hurt, for he determined to send his son to a private school, where -more practical methods of instruction were employed. Indeed, he was so -annoyed that he went so far in private as to praise John's intelligence -and to say some severe things regarding his teacher. - -Meanwhile, contact with the lower classes had aroused in the boy a -decided dislike to the higher ones. In the Jacob School a democratic -spirit prevailed, at any rate among those of the same age. None of them -avoided each other's society except from feelings of personal dislike. -In the Clara School, on the other hand, there were marked distinctions -of class and birth. Though in the Jacob School the possession of -money might have formed an aristocratic class, as a matter of fact -none of them were rich. Those who were obviously poor were treated -by their companions sympathetically without condescension, although -the beribboned school inspector and the academically educated teacher -showed their aversion to them. - -John felt himself identified and friendly with his school-fellows; he -sympathised with them, but was reserved towards those of the higher -class. He avoided the main thoroughfares, and always went through -the empty Hollandergata or the poverty stricken Badstugata. But his -school-fellows' influence made him despise the peasants who lived here. -That was the aristocratism of town-people, with which even the meanest -and poorest city children are imbued. - -These angular figures in grey coats which swayed about on milk-carts or -hay-waggons were regarded as fair butts for jests, as inferior beings -whom to snowball was no injustice. To mount behind on their sledges was -regarded as the boys' inherent privilege. A standing joke was to shout -to them that their waggon-wheels were going round, and to make them get -down to contemplate the wonder. - -But how should children, who see only the motley confusion of society, -where the heaviest sinks and the lightest lies on the top, avoid -regarding that which sinks as the worse of the two? Some say we are -all aristocrats by instinct. That is partly true, but it is none the -less an evil tendency, and we should avoid giving way to it. The -lower classes are really more democratic than the higher ones, for -they do not want to mount up to them, but only to attain to a certain -level; whence the assertion is commonly made that they wish to elevate -themselves. - -Since there was now no longer physical work to do at home, John -lived exclusively an inner, unpractical life of imagination. He read -everything which fell into his hands. - -On Wednesday or Saturday afternoon the eleven-year-old boy could be -seen in a dressing-gown and cap which his father had given him, with -a long tobacco-pipe in his mouth, his fingers stuck in his ears, and -buried in a book, preferably one about Indians. He had already read -five different versions of _Robinson Crusoe_, and derived an incredible -amount of delight from them. But in reading Campe's edition he had, -like all children, skipped the moralisings. Why do all children hate -moral applications? Are they immoral by nature? "Yes," answer modern -moralists, "for they are still animals, and do not recognise social -conventions." That is true, but the social law as taught to children -informs them only of their duties, not of their rights; it is therefore -unjust towards the child, and children hate injustice. Besides this, -he had arranged an herbarium, and made collections of insects and -minerals. He had also read Liljenblad's _Flora_, which he had found -in his father's bookcase. He liked this book better than the school -botany, because it contained a quantity of information regarding -the use of various plants, while the other spoke only of stamens and -pistils. - -When his brothers deliberately disturbed him in reading, he would -run at them and threaten to strike them. They said his nerves were -overstrained. He dissolved the ties which bound him to the realities of -life, he lived a dream-life in foreign lands and in his own thoughts, -and was discontented with the grey monotony of everyday life and of his -surroundings, which ever became more uncongenial to him. His father, -however, would not leave him entirely to his own fancies, but gave him -little commissions to perform, such as fetching the paper and carrying -letters. These he looked upon as encroachments on his private life, and -always performed them unwillingly. - -In the present day much is said about truth and truth-speaking as -though it were a difficult matter, which deserved praise. But, apart -from the question of praise, it is undoubtedly difficult to find out -the real facts about anything. - -A person is not always what rumour reports him or her to be; a whole -mass of public opinion may be false; behind each thought there lurks -a passion; each judgment is coloured by prejudice. But the art -of separating fact from fancy is extremely difficult, _e.g._, six -newspaper reporters will describe a king's coronation robe as being of -six different colours. New ideas do not find ready entrance into brains -which work in a groove; elderly people believe only themselves, and the -uneducated believe that they can trust their own eyes. This, however, -owing to the frequency of optical illusions, is not the case. - -In John's home truth was revered. His father was in the habit of -saying, "Tell the truth, happen what may," and used at the same time -to tell a story about himself. He had once promised a customer to send -home a certain piece of goods by a given day. He forgot it, but must -have had means of exculpating himself, for when the furious customer -came into the office and overwhelmed him with reproaches, John's father -humbly acknowledged his forgetfulness, asked for forgiveness, and -declared himself ready to make good the loss. The result was that the -customer was astonished, reached him his hand, and expressed his regard -for him. People engaged in trade, he said, must not expect too much of -each other. - -Well! his father had a sound intelligence, and as an elderly man felt -sure of his conclusions. - -John, who could never be without some occupation, had discovered that -one could profitably spend some time in loitering on the high-road -which led to and from school. He had once upon the Hollandergata, which -had no pavement, found an iron screw-nut. That pleased him, for it made -an excellent sling-stone when tied to a string. After that he always -walked in the middle of the street and picked up all the pieces of -iron which he saw. Since the streets were ill-paved and rapid driving -was forbidden, the vehicles which passed through them had a great deal -of rough usage. Accordingly an observant passer-by could be sure of -finding every day a couple of horse-shoe nails, a waggon-pin, or at any -rate a screw-nut, and sometimes a horse-shoe. John's favourite find was -screw-nuts which he had made his specialty. In the course of two months -he had collected a considerable quantity of them. - -One evening he was playing with them when his father entered the room. - -"What have you there?" he asked in astonishment. - -"Screw-nuts," John answered confidently. - -"Where did you get them from?" - -"I found them." - -"Found them? Where?" - -"On the street." - -"In one place?" - -"No, in several--by walking down the middle of the street and looking -about." - -"Look here! I don't believe that. You are lying. Come in here. I have -something to say to you." The something was a caning. - -"Will you confess now?" - -"I have found them on the street." - -The cane was again plied in order to make him "confess." What should -he confess? Pain, and fear that the scene would continue indefinitely, -forced the following lie from him: - -"I have stolen them." - -"Where?" - -Now he did not know to which part of a carriage the screw-nuts -belonged, but he guessed it was the under part. - -"Under the carriages." - -"Where?" - -His fancy suggested a place, where many carriages used to stand -together. "By the timber-yard opposite the lane by the smith's." - -This specification of the place lent an air of probability to his -story. His father was now certain that he had elicited the truth from -him. He continued: - -"And how could you get them off merely with your fingers?" - -He had not expected this question, but his eye fell on his father's -tool-box. - -"With a screw-driver." - -Now one cannot take hold of nuts with a screw-driver, but his father -was excited, and let himself be deceived. - -"But that is abominable! You are really a thief. Suppose a policeman -had come by." - -John thought for a moment of quieting him by telling him that the whole -affair was made up, but the prospect of getting another caning and no -supper held him mute. When he had gone to bed in the evening, and his -mother had come and told him to say his evening prayer, he said in a -pathetic tone and raising his hand: - -"May the deuce take me, if I have stolen the screw-nuts." - -His mother looked long at him, and then she said, "You should not swear -so." - -The corporal punishment had sickened and humbled him; he was angry with -God, his parents, and especially his brothers, who had not spoken up -for him, though they knew the real state of the case. That evening he -did not say his prayers, but he wished that the house would take fire -without his having to light it. And then to be called a thief! - -From that time he was suspected, or rather his bad reputation was -confirmed, and he felt long the sting of the memory of a charge of -theft which he had not committed. Another time he caught himself in a -lie, but through an inadvertency which for a long time he could not -explain. This incident is related for the consideration of parents. -A school-fellow with his sister came one Sunday morning in the early -part of the year to him and asked him whether he would accompany them -to the Haga Park. He said, "Yes," but he must first ask his mother's -permission. His father had gone out. - -"Well, hurry up!" said his friend. - -He wanted to show his herbarium, but the other said, "Let us go now." - -"Very well, but I must first ask mother." - -His little brother then came in and wanted to play with his herbarium. -He stopped the interruption and showed his friend his minerals. In the -meantime he changed his blouse. Then he took a piece of bread out of -the cupboard. His mother came and greeted his friends, and talked of -this and that domestic matter. John was in a hurry, begged his mother's -permission, and took his friends into the garden to see the frog-pond. - -At last they went to the Haga Park. He felt quite sure that he had -asked his mother's leave to do so. - -When his father came home, he asked John on his return, "Where have you -been?" - -"With friends to the Haga Park." - -"Did you have leave from mother?" - -"Yes." - -His mother denied it. John was dumb with astonishment. - -"Ah, you are beginning to lie again." - -He was speechless. He was quite sure he had asked his mother's leave, -especially as there was no reason to fear a refusal. He had fully meant -to do it, but other matters had intervened; he had forgotten, but was -willing to die, if he had told a lie. Children as a rule are afraid to -lie, but their memory is short, their impressions change quickly, and -they confuse wishes and resolves with completed acts. Meanwhile the boy -long continued to believe that his mother had told a falsehood. But -later, after frequent reflections on the incident, he came to think -she had forgotten or not heard his request. Later on still he began to -suspect that his memory might have played him a trick. But he had been -so often praised for his good memory, and there was only an interval of -two or three hours between his going to the Haga Park and his return. - -His suspicions regarding his mother's truthfulness (and why should she -not tell an untruth, since women so easily confuse fancies and facts?) -were shortly afterwards confirmed. The family had bought a set of -furniture--a great event. The boys just then happened to be going to -their aunt's. Their mother still wished to keep the novelty a secret -and to surprise her sister on her next visit. Therefore she asked the -children not to speak of the matter. On their arrival at their aunt's, -the latter asked at once: - -"Has your mother bought the yellow furniture?" - -His brothers were silent, but John answered cheerfully, "No." - -On their return, as they sat at table, their mother asked, "Well, did -aunt ask about the furniture?" - -"Yes." - -"What did you say?" - -"I said 'No,'" answered John. - -"So, then, you dared to lie," interrupted his father. - -"Yes, mother said so," the boy answered. - -His mother turned pale, and his father was silent. This in itself -was harmless enough, but, taken in connection with other things, not -without significance. Slight suspicions regarding the truthfulness of -"others" woke in the boy's mind and made him begin to carry on a silent -siege of adverse criticism. His coldness towards his father increased, -he began to have a keen eye for instances of oppression, and to make -small attempts at revolt. - -The children were marched to church every Sunday; and the family had -a key to their pew. The absurdly long services and incomprehensible -sermons soon ceased to make any impression. Before a system of heating -was introduced, it was a perfect torture to sit in the pew in winter -for two hours at a stretch with one's feet freezing; but still they -were obliged to go, whether for their souls' good, or for the sake of -discipline, or in order to have quiet in the house--who knows? His -father personally was a theist, and preferred to read Wallin's sermons -to going to church. His mother began to incline towards pietism. - -One Sunday the idea occurred to John, possibly in consequence of an -imprudent Bible exposition at school, which had touched upon freedom of -the spirit, or something of the sort, not to go to church. He simply -remained at home. At dinner, before his father came home, he declared -to his brothers and sisters and aunts that no one could compel the -conscience of another, and that therefore he did not go to church. This -seemed original, and therefore for this once he escaped a caning, but -was sent to church as before. - - * * * * * - -The social intercourse of the family, except with relatives, could -not be large, because of the defective form of his father's marriage. -But companions in misfortune draw together, and so intercourse was -kept up with an old friend of their father's who also had contracted -a _mesalliance_, and had therefore been repudiated by his family. He -was a legal official. With him they met another family in the same -circumstances owing to an irregular marriage. The children naturally -knew nothing of the tragedy below the surface. There were children -in both the other families, but John did not feel attracted to them. -After the sufferings he had undergone at home and school, his shyness -and unsociability had increased, and his residence on the outside of -the town and in the country had given him a distaste for domestic -life. He did not wish to learn dancing, and thought the boys silly who -showed off before the girls. When his mother on one occasion told him -to be polite to the latter, he asked, "Why?" He had become critical, -and asked this question about everything. During a country excursion -he tried to rouse to rebellion the boys who carried the girls' shawls -and parasols. "Why should we be these girls' servants?" he said; but -they did not listen to him. Finally, he took such a dislike to going -out that he pretended to be ill, or dirtied his clothes in order to be -obliged to stay at home as a punishment. He was no longer a child, and -therefore did not feel comfortable among the other children, but his -elders still saw in him only a child. He remained solitary. - -When he was twelve years old, he was sent in the summer to another -school kept by a parish clerk at Mariefred. Here there were many -boarders, all of so-called illegitimate birth. Since the parish clerk -himself did not know much, he was not able to hear John his lessons. At -the first examination in geometry, he found that John was sufficiently -advanced to study best by himself. Now he felt himself a grandee, and -did his lessons alone. The parish clerk's garden adjoined the park of -the lord of the manor, and here he took his walks free from imposed -tasks and free from oversight. His wings grew, and he began to feel -himself a man. - -In the course of the summer he fell in love with the twenty-year-old -daughter of the inspector who often came to the parish clerk's. He -never spoke to her, but used to spy out her walks, and often went -near her house. The whole affair was only a silent worship of her -beauty from a distance, without desire, and without hope. His feeling -resembled a kind of secret trouble, and might as well have been -directed towards anyone else, if girls had been numerous there. It was -a Madonna-worship which demanded nothing except to bring the object of -his worship some great sacrifice, such as drowning himself in the water -under her eyes. It was an obscure consciousness of his own inadequacy -as a half man, who did not wish to live without being completed by his -"better half." - -He continued to attend church-services, but they made no impression on -him; he found them merely tedious. - -This summer formed an important stage in his development, for it broke -the links with his home. None of his brothers were with him. He had -accordingly no intermediary bond of flesh and blood with his mother. -This made him more complete in himself, and hardened his nerves; but -not all at once, for sometimes he had severe attacks of homesickness. -His mother's image rose up in his mind in its usual ideal shape of -protectiveness and mildness, as the source of warmth and the preserver. - -In summer, at the beginning of August, his eldest brother Gustav was -going to a school in Paris, in order to complete his business studies -and to learn the language. But previous to that, he was to spend a -month in the country and say good-bye to his brother. The thought of -the approaching parting, the reflected glory of the great town to which -his brother was going, the memory of his brother's many heroic feats, -the longing for home and the joy to see again someone of his own flesh -and blood,--all combined to set John's emotion and imagination at work. -During the week in which he expected his brother, he described him to a -friend as a sort of superman to whom he looked up. And Gustav certainly -was, as a man, superior to him. He was a plucky, lively youth, two -years older than John, with strong, dark features; he did not brood, -and had an active temperament; he was sagacious, could keep silence -when necessary, and strike when occasion demanded it. He understood -economy, and was sparing of his money. "He was very wise," thought the -dreaming John. He learned his lessons imperfectly, for he despised -them, but he understood the art of life. - -John needed a hero to worship, and wished to form an ideal out of some -other material than his own weak clay, round which his own aspirations -might gather, and now he exercised his art for eight days. He prepared -for his brother's arrival by painting him in glowing colours before his -friends, praised him to the teacher, sought out playing-places with -little surprises, contrived a spring-board at the bathing-place, and so -on. - -On the day before his brother's arrival he went into the wood and -plucked cloud-berries and blue-berries for him. He covered a table -with white paper, on which he spread out the berries, yellow and blue -alternately, and in the centre he arranged them in the shape of a large -G, and surrounded the whole with flowers. - -His brother arrived, cast a hasty look at the design and ate the -berries, but either did not notice the dexterously-contrived initial, -or thought it a piece of childishness. As a matter of fact, in their -family every ebullition of feeling was regarded as childish. - -Then they went to bathe. The minute after Gustav had taken off his -shirt, he was in the water, and swam immediately out to the buoy. John -admired him and would have gladly followed him, but this time it gave -him more pleasure to think that his brother obtained the reputation -of being a good swimmer, and that he was only second-best. At dinner -Gustav left a fat piece of bacon on his plate--a thing which no one -before had ever dared to do. But he dared everything. In the evening, -when the time came to ring the bells for church, John gave up his -turn of ringing to Gustav, who rang violently. John was frightened, -as though the parish had been exposed to danger thereby, and half in -alarm and half laughing, begged him to stop. - -"What the deuce does it matter?" said Gustav. - -Then he introduced him to his friend the big son of the carpenter, who -was about fifteen. An intimacy at once sprang up between the two of -equal age, and John's friend abandoned him as being too small. But John -felt no bitterness, although the two elder ones jested at him, and went -out alone together with their guns in their hands. He only wished to -give, and he would have given his betrothed away, had he possessed one. -He did actually inform his brother about the inspector's daughter, and -the latter was pleased with her. But, instead of sighing behind the -trees like John, Gustav went straight up to her and spoke to her in an -innocent boyish way. This was the most daring thing which John had ever -seen done in his life, and he felt as if it had added a foot to his own -stature. He became visibly greater, his weak soul caught a contagion of -strength from his brother's strong nerves, and he identified himself -with him. He felt as happy as if he had spoken with the girl himself. -He made suggestions for excursions and boating expeditions and his -brother carried them out. He discovered birds' nests and his brother -climbed the trees and plundered them. - -But this lasted only for a week. On the last day before they were to -leave, John said to Gustav: "Let us buy a fine bouquet for mother." - -"Very well," replied his brother. - -They went to the nursery-man, and Gustav gave the order that the -bouquet should be a fine one. While it was being made up, he went into -the garden and plucked fruit quite openly. John did not venture to -touch anything. - -"Eat," said his brother. No, he could not. When the bouquet was ready, -John paid twenty-four shillings for it. Not a sign came from Gustav. -Then they parted. - -When John came home, he gave his mother the bouquet as from Gustav, -and she was touched. At supper-time the flowers attracted his father's -attention. "Gustav sent me those," said his mother. "He is always a -kind boy," and John received a sad look because he was so cold-hearted. -His father's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. - -John felt no bitterness. His youthful, enthusiastic love of sacrifice -had found vent, the struggle against injustice had made him a -self-tormentor, and he kept silent. He also said nothing when his -father sent Gustav a present of money, and with unusual warmth of -expression said how deeply he had been touched by this graceful -expression of affection. - -In fact, he kept silence regarding this incident during his whole -life, even when he had occasion to feel bitterness. Not till he had -been over-powered and fallen in the dirty sand of life's arena, with a -brutal foot placed upon his chest and not a hand raised to plead in his -behalf, did he say anything about it. Even then, it was not mentioned -from a feeling of revenge, but as the self-defence of a dying man. - - -[1] Gata = street. - - - - -V. - -CONTACT WITH THE UPPER CLASSES - - -The private schools had been started in opposition to the terrorising -sway of the public schools. Since their existence depended on the -goodwill of the pupils, the latter enjoyed great freedom, and were -treated humanely. Corporal punishment was forbidden, and the pupils -were accustomed to express their thoughts, to ask questions, to defend -themselves against charges, and, in a word, were treated as reasonable -beings. Here for the first time John felt that he had rights. If -a teacher made a mistake in a matter of fact, the pupils were not -obliged to echo him, and swear by his authority; he was corrected -and spiritually lynched by the class who convinced him of his error. -Rational methods of teaching were also employed. Few lessons were set -to be done at home. Cursory explanations in the languages themselves -gave the pupils an idea of the object aimed at, _i.e._, to be able -to translate. Moreover, foreign teachers were appointed for modern -languages, so that the ear became accustomed to the correct accent, and -the pupils acquired some notion of the right pronunciation. - -A number of boys had come from the state schools into this one, and -John also met here many of his old comrades from the Clara School. He -also found some of the teachers from both the Clara and Jacob Schools. -These cut quite a different figure here, and played quite another part. -He understood now that they had been in the same hole as their victims, -for they had had the headmaster and the School Board over them. At last -the pressure from above was relaxed, his will and his thoughts obtained -a measure of freedom, and he had a feeling of happiness and well-being. - -At home he praised the school, thanked his parents for his liberation, -and said that he preferred it to any former one. He forgot former acts -of injustice, and became more gentle and unreserved in his behaviour. -His mother began to admire his erudition. He learned five languages -besides his own. His eldest brother was already in a place of business, -and the second in Paris. John received a kind of promotion at home -and became a companion to his mother. He gave her information from -books on history and natural history, and she, having had no education, -listened with docility. But after she had listened awhile, whether it -was that she wished to raise herself to his level, or that she really -feared worldly knowledge, she would speak of the only knowledge which, -she said, could make man happy. She spoke of Christ; John knew all -this very well, but she understood how to make a personal application. -He was to beware of intellectual pride, and always to remain simple. -The boy did not understand what she meant by "simple," and what she -said about Christ did not agree with the Bible. There was something -morbid in her point of view, and he thought he detected the dislike -of the uncultured to culture. "Why all this long school course," he -asked himself, "if it was to be regarded as nothing in comparison with -the mysterious doctrine of Christ's Atonement?" He knew also that -his mother had caught up this talk from conversations with nurses, -seamstresses, and old women, who went to the dissenting chapels. -"Strange," he thought, "that people like that should grasp the highest -wisdom of which neither the priest in the church nor the teacher in -the school had the least notion!" He began to think that these humble -pietists had a good deal of spiritual pride, and that their way to -wisdom was an imaginary short-cut. Moreover, among his school-fellows -there were sons of barons and counts, and, when in his stories out of -school he mentioned noble titles, he was warned against pride. - -Was he proud? Very likely; but in school he did not seek the company -of aristocrats, though he preferred looking at them rather than at the -others, because their fine clothes, their handsome faces, and their -polished finger-nails appealed to his aesthetic sense. He felt that -they were of a different race and held a position which he would never -reach, nor try to reach, for he did not venture to demand anything of -life. But when, one day, a baron's son asked for his help in a lesson, -he felt himself in this matter, at any rate, his equal or even his -superior. He had thereby discovered that there was something which -could set him by the side of the highest in society, and which he could -obtain for himself, _i.e._, knowledge. - -In this school, because of the liberal spirit which was present, there -prevailed a democratic tone, of which there had been no trace in the -Clara School. The sons of counts and barons, who were for the most part -idle, had no advantage above the rest. The headmaster, who himself was -a peasant's son from Smaland, had no fear of the nobility, nor, on the -other hand, had he any prejudice against them or wish to humiliate -them. He addressed them all, small and big ones, familiarily, studied -them individually, called them by their Christian names, and took a -personal interest in them. The daily intercourse of the townspeople's -sons with those of the nobility led to their being on familiar terms -with one another. There were no flatterers, except in the upper -division, where the adolescent aristocrats came into class with their -riding-whips and spurs, while a soldier held their horses outside. The -precociously prudent boys, who had already an insight into the art of -life, courted these youths, but their intercourse was for the most part -superficial. In the autumn term some of the young grandees returned -from their expeditions as supernumerary naval cadets. They then -appeared in class with uniform and dirk. Their fellows admired them, -many envied them, but John, with the slave blood in his veins, was -never presumptuous enough to think of rivalling them; he recognised -their privileges, never dreamed of sharing them, guessed that he would -meet with humiliations among them, and therefore never intruded into -their circle. But he _did_ dream of reaching equal heights with theirs -through merit and hard work. And when in the spring those who were -leaving came into the classes to bid farewell to their teachers, when -he saw their white students' caps, their free and easy manners and -ways, then he noticed that they were also an object of admiration to -the naval cadets. - - * * * * * - -In his family life there was now a certain degree of prosperity. They -had gone back to the Norrtullsgata, where it was more homely than the -Sabbatsberg, and the landlord's sons were his school-fellows. His -father no longer rented a garden, and John busied himself for the most -part with his books. He led the life of a well-to-do-youth. Things -were more cheerful at home; grown-up cousins and the clerks from his -father's office came on Sundays for visits, and John, in spite of his -youth, made one of the company. He now wore a coat, took care of his -personal appearance, and, as a promising scholar, was thought more -highly of than one of his years would otherwise have been. He went -for walks in the garden, but the berries and the apple-trees no longer -tempted him. - -From time to time there came letters from his brother in Paris. They -were read aloud, and listened to with great attention. They were also -read to friends and acquaintances, and that was a triumph for the -family. At Christmas his brother sent a photograph of himself in a -French school uniform. That was the climax. John had now a brother who -wore a uniform and spoke French! He exhibited the photograph in the -school, and rose in the social scale thereby. The naval cadets were -envious, and said it was not a proper uniform, for he had no dirk. But -he had a "kepi," and shining buttons, and some gold lace on his collar. - -At home they had also stereoscopic pictures from Paris to show, and -they now seemed to live in Paris. They were as familiar with the -Tuileries and the Arc de Triomphe as with the castle and statue of -Gustavus Adolphus. The proverb that a father "lives in his children" -really seemed to be justified. Life now lay open before the youth; the -pressure he had formerly been subjected to had diminished, and perhaps -he would have traversed a smooth and easy path through life if a -change of circumstances had not thrown him back. - -His mother had passed through twelve confinements, and consequently -had become weak. Now she was obliged to keep her bed, and only -rose occasionally. She was more given to moods than before, and -contradictions would set her cheek aflame. The previous Christmas she -had fallen into a violent altercation with her brother regarding the -pietist preachers. While sitting at the dinner-table, the latter had -expressed his preference for Fredman's _Epistles_ as exhibiting deeper -powers of thought than the sermons of the pietists. John's mother took -fire at this, and had an attack of hysteria. That was only a symptom. - -Now, during the intervals when she got up, she began to mend the -children's linen and clothes, and to clear out all the drawers. She -often talked to John about religion and other high matters. One day she -showed him some gold rings. "You boys will get these, when Mamma is -dead," she said. "Which is mine?" asked John, without stopping to think -about death. She showed him a plaited girl's ring with a heart. It made -a deep impression on the boy, who had never possessed anything of gold, -and he often thought of the ring. - -About that time a nurse was hired for the children. She was young and -good-looking, taciturn, and smiled in a critical sort of way. She had -served in a count's mansion in the Tradgardsgatan, and probably thought -that she had come into a poverty-stricken house. She was supposed -to look after the children and the servant-maids, but was on almost -intimate terms with the latter. There were now three servants--a -housekeeper, a man-servant, and a girl from Dalecarlia. The girls had -their lovers, and a cheerful life went on in the great kitchen, where -polished copper and tin vessels shone brightly. There was eating and -drinking, and the boys were invited in. They were called "sir," and -their health was drunk. Only the man-servant was not there; he thought -it was "vulgar" to live like that, while the mistress of the house was -ill. The home seemed to be undergoing a process of dissolution, and -John's father had had many difficulties with the servants since his -mother had been obliged to keep her bed. But she remained the servants' -friend till death, and took their side by instinct, but they abused her -partiality. It was strictly forbidden to excite the patient, but the -servants intrigued against each other, and against their master. One -day John had melted lead in a silver spoon. The cook blabbed of it to -his mother, who was excited and told his father. But his father was -only-annoyed with the tell-tale. He went to John and said in a friendly -way, as though he were compelled to make a complaint: "You should not -melt lead in silver spoons. I don't care about the spoon; that can be -repaired; but this devil of a cook has excited mother. Don't tell the -girls when you have done something stupid, but tell me, and we will put -it right." - -He and his father were now friends for the first time, and he loved him -for his condescension. - -One night his father's voice awoke him from sleep. He started up, -and found it dark in the room. Through the darkness he heard a deep -trembling voice, "Come to mother's death-bed!" It went through him like -a flash of lightning. He froze and shivered while he dressed, the skin -of his head felt ice-cold, his eyes were wide-open and streaming with -tears, so that the flame of the lamp looked like a red bladder. - -Then they stood round the sick-bed and wept for one, two, three hours. -The night crept slowly onward. His mother was unconscious and knew no -one. The death-struggle, with rattling in the throat, and cries for -help, had commenced. The little ones were not aroused. John thought -of all the sins which he had committed, and found no good deeds to -counterbalance them. After three hours his tears ceased, and his -thoughts began to take various directions. The process of dying was -over. "How will it be," he asked himself, "when mother is no longer -there?" Nothing but emptiness and desolation, without comfort or -compensation--a deep gloom of wretchedness in which he searched for -some point of light. His eye fell on his mother's chest of drawers, on -which stood a plaster statuette of Linnaeus with a flower in his hand. -There was the only advantage which this boundless misfortune brought -with it--he would get the ring. He saw it in imagination on his hand. -"That is in memory of my mother," he would be able to say, and he -would weep at the recollection of her, but he could not suppress the -thought, "A gold ring looks fine after all." Shame! Who could entertain -such thoughts at his mother's death-bed? A brain that was drunk with -sleep? A child which had wept itself out? Oh, no, an heir. Was he more -avaricious than others? Had he a natural tendency to greed? No, for -then he would never have related the matter, but he bore it in memory -his whole life long; it kept on turning up, and when he thought of it -in sleepless nights, and hours of weariness, he felt the flush mount -into his cheeks. Then he instituted an examination of himself and his -conduct, and blamed himself as the meanest of all men. It was not till -he was older and had come to know a great number of men, and studied -the processes of thought, that he came to the conclusion that the -brain is a strange thing which goes its own way, and there is a great -similarity among men in the double life which they lead, the outward -and the inward, the life of speech and that of thought. - -John was a compound of romanticism, pietism, realism, and naturalism. -Therefore he was never anything but a patchwork. He certainly did not -exclusively think about the wretched ornament. The whole matter was -only a momentary distraction of two minutes' duration after months -of sorrow, and when at last there was stillness in the room, and -his father said, "Mother is dead," he was not to be comforted. He -shrieked like one drowning. How can death bring such profound despair -to those who hope to meet again? It must needs press hard on faith -when the annihilation of personality takes place with such inflexible -consistency before our eyes. John's father, who generally had the -outward imperturbability of the Icelander, was now softened. He took -his sons by the hands and said: "God has visited us; we will now hold -together like friends. Men go about in their self-sufficiency, and -believe they are enough for themselves; then comes a blow, and we see -how _we_ all need one another. We will be sincere and considerate with -each other." - -The boy's sorrow was for a moment relieved. He had found a friend, a -strong, wise, manly friend whom he admired. - -White sheets were now hung up at the windows of the house in sign of -mourning. "You need not go to school, if you don't want to," said -his father. "If you don't want"--that was acknowledgment that he had -a will of his own. Then came aunts, cousins, relations, nurses, old -servants, and all called down blessings on the dead. All offered their -help in making the mourning clothes--there were four small and three -elder children. Young girls sat by the sickly light that fell through -the sheeted windows and sewed, while they conversed in undertones. That -was melancholy, and the period of mourning brought a whole chain of -peculiar experiences with it. Never had the boy been the object of so -much sympathy, never had he felt so many warm hands stretched out, nor -heard so many friendly words. - -On the next Sunday his father read a sermon of Wallin's on the text -"Our friend is not dead, but she sleeps." With what extraordinary faith -he took these words literally, and how well he understood how to open -the wounds and heal them again! "She is not dead, but she sleeps," -he repeated cheerfully. The mother really slept there in the cold -anteroom, and no one expected to see her awake. - -The time of burial approached; the place for the grave was bought. -His father's sister-in-law helped to sew the suits of mourning; she -sewed and sewed, the old mother of seven penniless children, the once -rich burgher's wife, sewed for the children of the marriage which her -husband had cursed. - -One day she stood up and asked her brother-in-law to speak with her -privately. She whispered with him in a corner of the room. The two old -people embraced each other and wept. Then John's father told them that -their mother would be laid in their uncle's family grave. This was a -much-admired monument in the new churchyard, which consisted of an iron -pillar surmounted by an urn. The boys knew that this was an honour for -their mother, but they did not understand that by her burial there a -family quarrel had been extinguished, and justice done after her death -to a good and conscientious woman who had been despised because she -became a mother before her marriage. - -Now all was peace and reconciliation in the house, and they vied with -one another in acts of friendliness. They looked frankly at each other, -avoided anything that might cause disturbance, and anticipated each -other's wishes. - -Then came the day of the funeral. When the coffin had been screwed -down and was carried through the hall, which was filled with mourners -dressed in black, one of John's little sisters began to cry and flung -herself in his arms. He took her up and pressed her to himself, as -though he were her mother and wished to protect her. When he felt how -her trembling little body clung close to him, he grew conscious of a -strength which he had not felt for a long time. Comfortless himself he -could bestow comfort, and as he quieted the child he himself grew calm. -The black coffin and the crowd of people had frightened her--that was -all; for the smaller children hardly missed their mother; they did -not weep for her, and had soon forgotten her. The tie between mother -and child is not formed so quickly, but only through long personal -acquaintance. John's real sense of loss hardly lasted for a quarter -of a year. He mourned for her indeed a long time, but that was more -because he wished to continue in that mood, though it was only an -expression of his natural melancholy, which had taken the special form -of mourning for his mother. - -After the funeral there followed a long summer of leisure and freedom. -John occupied two rooms with his eldest brother, who did not return -from business till the evening. His father was out the whole day, -and when they met they were silent. They had laid aside enmity, but -intimacy was impossible. John was now his own master; he came and -went, and did what he liked. His father's housekeeper was sympathetic -with him, and they never quarrelled. He avoided intercourse with his -school-fellows, shut himself in his room, smoked, read, and meditated. -He had always heard that knowledge was the best thing, a capital fund -which could not be lost, and which afforded a footing, however low -one might sink in the social scale. He had a mania for explaining -and knowing everything. He had seen his eldest brother's drawings and -heard them praised. In school he had drawn only geometrical figures. -Accordingly, he wished to draw, and in the Christmas holidays he copied -with furious diligence all his brother's drawings. The last in the -collection was a horse. When he had finished it, and saw that it was -unsatisfactory, he had done with drawing. - -All the children except John could play some instrument. He heard -scales and practising on the piano, violin, and violoncello, so that -music was spoiled for him and became a nuisance, like the church-bells -had formerly been. He would have gladly played, but he did not wish -to practise scales. He took pieces of music when no one was looking -and played them--as might be supposed--very badly, but it pleased him. -As a compensation for his vanity, he determined to learn technically -the pieces which his sisters played, so that he surpassed them in the -knowledge of musical technique. Once they wanted someone to copy the -music of the _Zauberfloete_ arranged for a quartette. John offered to do -so. - -"Can you copy notes?" he was asked. - -"I'll try," he said. - -He practised copying for a couple of days, and then copied out the four -parts. It was a long, tedious piece of work, and he nearly gave it up, -but finally completed it. His copy was certainly inaccurate in places, -but it was usable. He had no rest till he had learned to know all the -varieties of plants included in the Stockholm Flora. When he had done -so he dropped the subject. A botanical excursion afforded him no more -interest; roamings through the country showed him nothing new. He could -not find any plant which he did not know. He also knew the few minerals -which were to be found, and had an entomological collection. He could -distinguish birds by their notes, their feathers, and their eggs. But -all these were only outward phenomena, mere names for things, which -soon lost their interest. He wanted to reach what lay behind them. He -used to be blamed for his destructiveness, for he broke toys, watches, -and everything that fell into his hands. Accidently he heard in the -Academy of Sciences a lecture on Chemistry and Physics, accompanied by -experiments. The unusual instruments and apparatus fascinated him. The -Professor was a magician, but one who explained how the miracles took -place. This was a novelty for him, and he wished himself to penetrate -these secrets. - -He talked with his father about his new hobby, and the latter, who -had himself studied electricity in his youth, lent him books from -his bookcase--Fock's _Physics_, Girardin's _Chemistry_, Figuier's -_Discoveries and Inventions_, and the _Chemical Technology_ of Nyblaeus. -In the attic was also a galvanic battery constructed on the old -Daniellian copper and zinc system. This he got hold of when he was -twelve years old, and made so many experiments with sulphuric acid as -to ruin handkerchiefs, napkins, and clothes. After he had galvanised -everything which seemed a suitable object, he laid this hobby also -aside. During the summer he took up privately the study of chemistry -with enthusiasm. But he did not wish to carry out the experiments -described in the text-book; he wished to make discoveries. He had -neither money nor any chemical apparatus, but that did not hinder him. -He had a temperament which must carry out its projects in spite of -every difficulty, and on the spot. This was still more the case, since -he had become his own master, after his mother's death. When he played -chess, he directed his plan of campaign against his opponent's king. -He went on recklessly, without thinking of defending himself, sometimes -gained the victory by sheer recklessness, but frequently also lost the -game. - -"If I had had one move more, you would have been checkmated," he said -on such occasions. - -"Yes, but you hadn't, and therefore _you_ are checkmated," was the -answer. - -When he wished to open a locked drawer, and the key was not at hand, he -took the tongs and broke the lock, so that, together with its screws, -it came loose from the wood. - -"Why did you break the lock?" they asked. - -"Because I wished to get at the drawer." - -This impetuosity revealed a certain pertinacity, but the latter only -lasted while the fit was on him. For example: On one occasion he wished -to make an electric machine. In the attic he found a spinning-wheel. -From it he broke off whatever he did not need, and wanted to replace -the wheel with a round pane of glass. He found a double window, and -with a splinter of quartz cut a pane out. But it had to be round and -have a whole in the middle. With a key he knocked off one splinter of -glass after another, each not larger than a grain of sand, this took -him several days, but at last he had made the pane round. But how was -he to make a hole in it? He contrived a bow-drill. In order to get -the bow, he broke an umbrella, took a piece of whale-bone out, and -with that and a violin-string made his bow. Then he rubbed the glass -with the splinter of quartz, wetted it with turpentine, and bored. But -he saw no result. Then he lost patience and reflection, and tried to -finish the job with a piece of cracking-coal. The pane of glass split -in two. Then he threw himself, weak, exhausted, hopeless, on the bed. -His vexation was intensified by a consciousness of poverty. If he had -only had money. He walked up and down before Spolander's shop in the -Vesterlanggata and looked at the various sets of chemical apparatus -there displayed. He would have gladly ascertained their price, but -dared not go in. What would have been the good? His father gave him no -money. - -When he had recovered from this failure, he wanted to make what no one -has made hitherto, and no one can make--a machine to exhibit "perpetual -motion." His father had told him that for a long time past a reward -had been offered to anyone who should invent this impossibility. This -tempted him. He constructed a waterfall with a "Hero's fountain,"[1] -which worked a pump; the waterfall was to set the pump in motion, and -the pump was to draw up the water again out of the "Hero's fountain." -He had again to make a raid on the attic. After he had broken -everything possible in order to collect material, he began his work. A -coffee-making machine had to serve as a pipe; a soda-water machine as a -reservoir; a chest of drawers furnished planks and wood; a bird-cage, -iron wire; and so on. The day of testing it came. Then the housekeeper -asked him if he would go with his brothers and sisters to their -mother's grave. "No," he said, "he had no time." Whether his conscience -now smote him, and spoiled his work, or whether he was nervous--anyhow, -it was a failure. Then he took the whole apparatus, without trying to -put right what was wrong in it, and hurled it against the tiled stove. -There lay the work, on which so many useful things had been wasted, and -a good while later on the ruin was discovered in the attic. He received -a reproof, but that had no longer an effect on him. - -In order to have his revenge at home, where he was despised on -account of his unfortunate experiments, he made some explosions with -detonating gas, and contrived a Leyden jar. For this he took the skin -of a dead black cat which he had found on the Observatory Hill and -brought home in his pocket-handkerchief. One night, when his eldest -brother and he came home from a concert, they could find no matches, -and did not wish to wake anyone. John hunted up some sulphuric acid and -zinc, produced hydrogen, procured a flame by means of the electricity -conductor, and lighted the lamp. This established his reputation as a -scientific chemist. He also manufactured matches like those made at -Joenkoping. Then he laid chemistry aside for a time. - -His father's bookshelves contained a small collection of books which -were now at his disposal. Here, besides the above-mentioned works on -chemistry and physics, he found books on gardening, an illustrated -natural history, Meyer's _Universum_, a German anatomical treatise with -plates, an illustrated German history of Napoleon, Wallin's, Franzen's, -and Tegner's poems, _Don Quixote_, Frederika Bremer's romances, etc. - -Besides books about Indians and the _Thousand and One Nights_, John -had hitherto no acquaintance with pure literature. He had looked into -some romances and found them tedious, especially as they had no -illustrations. But after he had floundered about chemistry and natural -science, he one day paid a visit to the bookcase. He looked into the -poets; here he felt as though he were floating in the air and did not -know where he was. He did not understand it. Then he took Frederika -Bremer's _Pictures from Daily Life._ Here he found domesticity and -didacticism, and put them back. Then he seized hold of a collection -of tales and fairy stories called _Der Jungfrauenturm_. These dealt -with unhappy love, and moved him. But most important of all was the -circumstance that he felt himself an adult with these adult characters. -He understood what they said, and observed that he was no longer a -child. He, too, had been unhappy in love, had suffered and fought, but -he was kept back in the prison of childhood. And now he first became -aware that his soul was in prison. It had long been fledged, but they -had clipped its wings and put it in a cage. Now he sought his father -and wished to talk with him as a comrade, but his father was reserved -and brooded over his sorrow. - -In the autumn there came a new throw-back and check for him. He was -ripe for the highest class, but was kept back in the school because -he was too young. He was infuriated. For the second time he was held -fast by the coat when he wished to jump. He felt like an omnibus-horse -continually pressing forward and being as constantly held back. This -lacerated his nerves, weakened his will-power, and laid the foundation -for lack of courage in the future. He never dared to wish anything very -keenly, for he had seen how often his wishes were checked. He wanted to -be industrious and press on, but industry did not help him; he was too -young. No, the school course was too long. It showed the goal in the -distance, but set obstacles in the way of the runners. He had reckoned -on being a student when he was fifteen, but had to wait till he was -eighteen. In his last year, when he saw escape from his prison so near, -another year of punishment was imposed upon him by a rule being passed -that they were to remain in the highest class for two years. - -His childhood and youth had been extremely painful; the whole of life -was spoiled for him, and he sought comfort in heaven. - - -[1] An artificial fountain of water, worked by pressure of air. - - - - -VI. - -THE SCHOOL OF THE CROSS - - -Sorrow has the fortunate peculiarity that it preys upon itself. It dies -of starvation. Since it is essentially an interruption of habits, it -can be replaced by new habits. Constituting, as it does, a void, it is -soon filled up by a real "horror vacui." - -A twenty-years' marriage had come to an end. A comrade in the battle -against the difficulties of life was lost; a wife, at whose side her -husband had lived, had gone and left behind an old celibate; the -manager of the house had quitted her post. Everything was in confusion. -The small, black-dressed creatures, who moved everywhere like dark -blots in the rooms and in the garden, kept the feeling of loss fresh. -Their father thought they felt forlorn and believed them defenceless. -He often came home from his work in the afternoon and sat alone in a -lime-tree arbour, which looked towards the street. He had his eldest -daughter, a child of seven, on his knee, and the others played at his -feet. John often watched the grey-haired man, with his melancholy, -handsome features, sitting in the green twilight of the arbour. He -could not comfort him, and did not seek his company any more. He -saw the softening of the old man's nature, which he would not have -thought possible before. He watched how his fixed gaze lingered on his -little daughter as though in the childish lines of her face he would -reconstruct in imagination the features of the dead. From his window -John often watched this picture between the stems of the trees down the -long vista of the avenue; it touched him deeply, but he began to fear -for his father, who no longer seemed to be himself. - -Six months had passed, when his father one autumn evening came home -with a stranger. He was an elderly man of unusually cheerful aspect. -He joked good-naturedly, was friendly and kindly towards children and -servants, and had an irresistible way of making people laugh. He was -an accountant, had been a school friend of John's father, and was now -discovered to be living in a house close by. The two old men talked -of their youthful recollections, which afforded material to fill the -painful void John's father felt. His stern, set features relaxed, as he -was obliged to laugh at his friend's witty and humorous remarks. After -a week he and the whole family were laughing as only those can who have -wept for a long time. Their friend was a wit of the first water, and -more, could play the violin and guitar, and sing Bellman's[1] songs. A -new atmosphere seemed to pervade the house, new views of things sprang -up, and the melancholy phantoms of the mourning period were dissipated. -The accountant had also known trouble; he had lost his betrothed, and -since then remained a bachelor. Life had not been child's play for him, -but he had taken things as they came. - -Soon after John's brother Gustav returned from Paris in uniform, mixing -French words with Swedish in his talk, brisk and cheerful. His father -received him with a kiss on the forehead, and was somewhat depressed -again by the recollection that this son had not been at his mother's -death-bed. But he soon cheered up again and the house grew lively. -Gustav entered his father's business, and the latter had someone now -with whom he could talk on matters which interested him. - -One evening, late in autumn, after supper, when the accountant was -present and the company sat together, John's father stood up and -signified his wish to say a few words: "My boys and my friend," he -began, and then announced his intention of giving his little children a -new mother, adding that the time of youthful passion was past for him, -and that only thoughts for the children had led to the resolve to make -Fraeulein--his wife. - -She was the housekeeper. He made the announcement in a somewhat -authoritative tone, as though he would say, "You have really nothing to -do with it; however, I let you know." Then the housekeeper was fetched -to receive their congratulations, which were hearty on the part of the -accountant, but of a somewhat mixed nature on the part of the three -boys. Two of them had rather an uncomfortable conscience on the matter, -for they had strongly but innocently admired her; but the third, -John, had latterly been on bad terms with her. Which of them was most -embarrassed would be difficult to decide. - -There ensued a long pause, during which the youths examined themselves, -mentally settled their accounts, and thought of the possible -consequences of this unexpected event. John must have been the first to -realise what the situation demanded, for he went the same evening into -the nursery straight to the housekeeper. It seemed dark before his eyes -as he repeated the following speech, which he had hastily composed and -learned by heart in his father's fashion: - -"Since our relations with each other will hence-forward be on a -different footing," he said, "allow me to ask you to forget the past -and to be friends." This was a prudent utterance, sincerely meant, and -had no _arriere pensee_ behind it. It was also a balancing of accounts -with his father, and the expression of a wish to live harmoniously -together for the future. At noon the next day John's father came up to -his room, thanked him for his kindness towards the housekeeper, and, as -a token of his pleasure at it, gave him a small present, but one which -he had long desired. It was a chemical apparatus. John felt ashamed to -take the present, and made little of his kindness. It was a natural -result of his father's announcement, and a prudent thing to do, but -his father and the housekeeper must have seen in it a good augury for -their wedded happiness. They soon discovered their mistake, which was -naturally laid at the boy's door. - -There is no doubt that the old man married again for his children's -sake, but it is also certain that he loved the young woman. And why -should he not? It is nobody's affair except that of the persons -concerned, but it is a fact of constant occurrence, both that widowers -marry again, however galling the bonds of matrimony may have been, and -that they also feel they are committing a breach of trust against the -dead. Dying wives are generally tormented with the thought that the -survivor will marry again. - -The two elder brothers took the affair lightly, and accommodated -themselves to it. They regarded their father with veneration, and never -doubted the rightness of what he did. They had never considered that -fatherhood is an accident which may happen to anyone. - -But John doubted. He fell into endless disputes with his brothers, and -criticised his father for becoming engaged before the expiration of the -year of mourning. He conjured up his mother's shade, prophesied misery -and ruin, and let himself go to unreasonable lengths. - -The brothers' argument was: "We have nothing to do with father's -acts." "It was true," retorted John, "that it was not their business to -judge; still, it concerned them deeply." "Word-catcher!" they replied, -not seeing the distinction. - -One evening, when John had come home from school, he saw the house lit -up and heard music and talking. He went to his room in order to study. -The servant came up and said that his father wished him to come down as -there were guests present. - -"Who?" asked John. - -"The new relations." - -John replied that he had no time. Then one of his brothers appeared. He -first abused John, then he begged him to come, saying that he ought to -for his father's sake, even if it were only for a moment; he could soon -go up again. - -John said he would consider the matter. - -At last he went down; he saw the room full of ladies and gentlemen: -three aunts, a new grandmother, an uncle, a grandfather. The aunts -were young girls. He made a bow in the centre of the room politely but -stiffly. - -His father was vexed, but did not wish to show it. He asked John -whether he would have a glass of punch. John took it. Then the old man -asked ironically whether he had really so much work for the school. -John said "Yes," and returned to his room. Here it was cold and dark, -and he could not work when the noise of music and dancing ascended to -him. Then the cook came up to fetch him to supper. He would not have -any. Hungry and angry he paced up and down the room. At intervals he -wanted to go down where it was warm, light, and cheerful, and several -times took hold of the door-handle. But he turned back again, for he -was shy. Timid as he was by nature, this last solitary summer had made -him still more uncivilised. So he went hungry to bed, and considered -himself the most unfortunate creature in the world. - -The next day his father came to his room and told him he had not been -honest when he had asked the housekeeper's pardon. - -"Pardon!" exclaimed John, "he had nothing to ask pardon for." But -now his father wanted to humble him. "Let him try," thought John to -himself. For a time no obvious attempts were made in that direction, -but John stiffened himself to meet them, when they should come. - -One evening his brother was reading by the lamp in the room upstairs. -John asked, "What are you reading?" His brother showed him the title -on the cover; there stood in old black-letter type on a yellow cover -the famous title: _Warning of a Friend of Youth against the most -Dangerous Enemy of Youth_. - -"Have you read it?" asked Gustav. - -John answered "Yes," and drew back. After Gustav had done reading, he -put the book in his drawer and went downstairs. John opened the drawer -and took out the mysterious work. His eyes glanced over the pages -without venturing to fix on any particular spot. His knees trembled, -his face became bloodless, his pulses froze. He was, then, condemned -to death or lunacy at the age of twenty-five! His spinal marrow and -his brain would disappear, his hair would fall out, his hands would -tremble--it was horrible! And the cure was--Christ! But Christ could -not heal the body, only the soul. The body was condemned to death -at five-and-twenty; the only thing left was to save the soul from -everlasting damnation. - -This was Dr. Kapff's famous pamphlet, which has driven so many youths -into a lunatic asylum in order to increase the adherents of the -Protestant Jesuits. Such a dangerous work should have been prosecuted, -confiscated, and burnt, or, at any rate, counteracted by more -intelligent ones. One of the latter sort fell into John's hands later, -and he did his best to circulate it, as it was excellent. The title -was Uncle Palle's _Advice to Young Sinners,_ and its authorship was -attributed to the medical councillor, Dr. Westrand. It was a cheerfully -written book, which took the matter lightly, and declared that the -dangers of the evil habit had been exaggerated; it also gave practical -advice and hygienic directions. But even to the present time Kapff's -absurd pamphlet is in vogue, and doctors are frequently visited by -sinners, who with beating hearts make their confessions.[2] - -For half a year John could find no word of comfort in his great -trouble. He was, he thought, condemned to death; the only thing left -was to lead a virtuous and religious life, till the fatal hour should -strike. He hunted up his mother's pietistic books and read them. He -considered himself merely as a criminal and humbled himself. When on -the next day he passed through the street, he stepped off the pavement -in order to make room for everyone he met. He wished to mortify -himself, to suffer for the allotted period, and then to enter into the -joy of his Lord. - -One night he awoke and saw his brothers sitting by the lamplight. They -were discussing the subject. He crept under the counterpane and put his -fingers in his ears in order not to hear. But he heard all the same. He -wished to spring up to confess, to beg for mercy and help, but dared -not, to hear the confirmation of his death sentence. Had he spoken, -perhaps he would have obtained help and comfort, but he kept silence. -He lay still, with perspiration breaking out, and prayed. Wherever -he went he saw the terrible word written in old black letters on a -yellow ground, on the walls of the houses, on the carpets of the room. -The chest of drawers in which the book lay contained the guillotine. -Every time his brother approached the drawer he trembled and ran away. -For hours at a time he stood before the looking-glass in order to see -if his eyes had sunk in, his hair had fallen out, and his skull was -projecting. But he looked ruddy and healthy. - -He shut himself up in himself, was quiet and avoided all society. -His father imagined that by this behaviour he wished to express his -disapproval of the marriage; that he was proud, and wanted to humble -him. But he was humbled already, and as he silently yielded to the -pressure his father congratulated himself on the success of his -strategy. - -This irritated the boy, and sometimes he revolted. Now and then there -arose a faint hope in him that his body might be saved. He went to the -gymnasium, took cold baths, and ate little in the evening. - -Through home-life, intercourse with school-fellows, and learning, he -had developed a fairly complicated ego, and when he compared himself -with the simpler egos of others, he felt superior. But now religion -came and wanted to kill this ego. That was not so easy and the battle -was fierce. He saw also that no one else denied himself. Why, then, in -heaven's name, should he do so? - -When his father's wedding-day came, he revolted. He did not go to kiss -the bride like his brothers and sisters, but withdrew from the dancing -to the toddy-drinkers, and got a little intoxicated. But a punishment -was soon to follow on this, and his ego was to be broken. - -He became a collegian, but this gave him no joy. It came too late, -like a debt that had been long due. He had had the pleasure of it -beforehand. No one congratulated him, and he got no collegian's cap. -Why? Did they want to humble him or did his father not wish to sec an -outward sign of his learning? At last it was suggested that one of his -aunts should embroider the college wreath on velvet, which could then -be sewn on to an ordinary black cap. She embroidered an oak and laurel -branch, but so badly that his fellow-students laughed at him. He was -the only collegian for a long time who had not worn the proper cap. The -only one--pointed at, and passed over! - -Then his breakfast-money, which hitherto had been five oere, was reduced -to four. This was an unnecessary cruelty, for they were not poor at -home, and a boy ought to have more food. The consequence was that John -had no breakfast at all, for he spent his weekly money in tobacco. He -had a keen appetite and was always hungry. When there was salt cod-fish -for dinner, he ate till his jaws were weary, but left the table hungry. -Did he then really get too little to eat? No; there are millions -of working-men who have much less, but the stomachs of the upper -classes must have become accustomed to stronger and more concentrated -nourishment. His whole youth seemed to him in recollection a long -fasting period. - -Moreover, under the step-mother's rule the scale of diet was reduced, -the food was inferior, and he could change his linen only once instead -of twice a week. This was a sign that one of the lower classes was -guiding the household. The youth was not proud in the sense that he -despised the housekeeper's low birth, but the fact that she who had -formerly been beneath him tried to oppress him, made him revolt--but -now Christianity came in and bade him turn the other cheek. - -He kept growing, and had to go about in clothes which he had outgrown. -His comrades jeered at his short trousers. His school-books were old -editions out of date, and this caused him much annoyance in the school. - -"So it is in my book," he would say to the teacher. - -"Show me your book." - -Then the teacher was scandalised, and told him to get the newest -edition, which he never did. - -His shirt-sleeves reached only half-way down his arm and could not be -buttoned. In the gymnasium, therefore, he always kept his jacket on. -One day in his capacity as leader of the troop he was having a special -lesson from the teacher of gymnastics. - -"Take off your jackets, boys, we want to put our backs into it," said -the instructor. - -All besides John did so. - -"Well, are you ready?" - -"No, I am freezing," answered John. - -"You will soon be warm," said the instructor; "off with your jacket." - -He refused. The instructor came up to him in a friendly way and pulled -at his sleeves. He resisted. The instructor looked at him. "What is -this?" he said. "I ask you kindly and you won't oblige me. Then go!" - -John wished to say something in his defence; he looked at the friendly -man, with whom he had always been on good terms, with troubled -eyes--but he kept silence and went. What depressed him was poverty -imposed as a cruelty, not as a necessity. He complained to his -brothers, but they said he should not be proud. Difference of education -had opened a gulf between him and them. They belonged to a different -class of society, and ranged themselves with the father who was of -their class and the one in power. - -Another time he was given a jacket which had been altered from a blue -frock-coat with bright buttons. His school-fellows laughed at him as -though he were pretending to be a cadet, but this was the last idea in -his mind, for he always plumed himself on being rather than seeming. -This jacket cost him untold suffering. - -After this a systematic plan of humbling him was pursued. John -was waked up early in the mornings to do domestic tasks before he -went to school. He pleaded his school-work as an excuse, but it -did not help him at all. "You learn so easily," he was told. This -was quite unnecessary, as there was a man-servant, besides several -other servants, in the house. He saw that it was merely meant as a -chastisement. He hated his oppressors and they hated him. - -Then there began a second course of discipline. He had to get up in -the morning and drive his father to the town before he went to school, -then return with the horse and trap, take out the horse, feed it, and -sweep the stable. The same manoeuvre was repeated at noon. So, besides -his school-work, he had domestic work and must drive twice daily to -and from Riddarholm. In later years he asked himself whether this had -been done with forethought; whether his wise father saw that too -much activity of brain was bad for him, and that physical work was -necessary. Or perhaps it was an economical regulation in order to save -some of the man-servant's work time. Physical exertion is certainly -useful for boys, and should be commended to the consideration of all -parents, but John could not perceive any beneficent intention in the -matter, even though it may have existed. The whole affair seemed -so dictated by malice and an intention to cause pain, that it was -impossible for him to discover any good purpose in it, though it may -have existed along with the bad one. - -In the summer holidays the driving out degenerated into stable-work. -The horse had to be fed at stated hours, and John was obliged to stay -at home in order not to miss them. His freedom was at an end. He felt -the great change which had taken place in his circumstances, and -attributed them to his stepmother. Instead of being a free person who -could dispose of his own time and thoughts, he had become a slave, to -do service in return for his food. When he saw that his brothers were -spared all such work, he became convinced that it was imposed on him -out of malice. Straw-cutting, room-sweeping, water-carrying, etc., -are excellent exercises, but the motive spoiled everything. If his -father had told him it was good for his health, he would have done -it gladly, but now he hated it. He feared the dark, for he had been -brought up like all children by the maid-servants, and he had to do -violence to himself when he went up to the hay-loft every evening. He -cursed it every time, but the horse was a good-natured beast with whom -he sometimes talked. He was, moreover, fond of animals, and possessed -canaries of which he took great care. - -He hated his domestic tasks because they were imposed upon him by the -former housekeeper, who wished to revenge herself on him and to show -him her superiority. He hated her, for the tasks were exacted from -him as payment for his studies. He had seen through the reason why he -was being prepared for a learned career. They boasted of him and his -learning; he was not then being educated out of kindness. - -Then he became obstinate, and on one occasion damaged the springs of -the trap in driving. When they alighted at Riddarhustorg, his father -examined it. He observed that a spring was broken. - -"Go to the smith's," he said. - -John was silent. - -"Did you hear?" - -"Yes, I heard." - -He had to go to the Malargata, where the smith lived. The latter said -it would take three hours to repair the damage. What was to be done? -He must take the horse out, lead it home and return. But to lead a -horse in harness, while wearing his collegian's cap, through the -Drottningsgata, perhaps to meet the boys by the observatory who envied -him for his cap, or still worse, the pretty girls on the Norrtullsgata -who smiled at him--No! he would do anything rather than that. He then -thought of leading the horse through the Rorstrandsgata, but then he -would have to pass Karlberg, and here he knew the cadets. He remained -in the courtyard, sitting on a log in the sunshine and cursed his lot. -He thought of the summer holidays which he had spent in the country, -of his friends who were now there, and measured his misfortune by that -standard. But had he thought of his brothers who were now shut up for -ten hours a day in the hot and gloomy office without hope of a single -holiday, his meditations on his lot would have taken a different turn; -but he did not do that. Just now he would have willingly changed -places with them. They, at any rate, earned their bread, and did not -have to stay at home. They had a definite position, but he had not. Why -did his parents let him smell at the apple and then drag him away? He -longed to get away--no matter where. He was in a false position, and -he wished to get out of it, to be either above or below and not to be -crushed between the wheels. - -Accordingly, one day he asked his father for permission to leave the -school. His father was astonished, and asked in a friendly way his -reason. He replied that everything was spoiled for him, he was learning -nothing, and wished to go out into life in order to work and earn his -own living. - -"What do you want to be?" asked his father. - -He said he did not know, and then he wept. - -A few days later his father asked him whether he would like to be -a cadet. A cadet! His eyes lighted up, but he did not know what to -answer. To be a fine gentleman with a sword! His boldest dreams had -never reached so far. - -"Think over it," said his father. He thought about it the whole -evening. If he accepted, he would now go in uniform to Karlberg, where -he had once bathed and been driven away by the cadets. To become an -officer--that meant to get power; the girls would smile on him and -no one would oppress him. He felt life grow brighter, the sense of -oppression vanished from his breast and hope awoke. But it was too much -for him. It neither suited him nor his surroundings. He did not wish to -mount and to command; he wished only to escape the compulsion to blind -obedience, the being watched and oppressed. The stoicism which asks -nothing of life awoke in him. He declined the offer, saying it was too -much for him. - -The mere thought that he could have been what perhaps all boys long -to be, was enough for him. He renounced it, descended, and took up -his chain again. When, later on, he became an egotistic pietist, he -imagined that he had renounced the honour for Christ's sake. That was -not true, but, as a matter of fact, there was some asceticism in his -sacrifice. He had, moreover, gained clearer insight into his parents' -game; they wished to get honour through him. Probably the cadet idea -had been suggested by his stepmother. - -But there arose more serious occasions of contention. John thought that -his younger brothers and sisters were worse dressed than before, and -he had heard cries from the nursery. - -"Ah!" he said to himself, "she beats them." - -Now he kept a sharp look-out. One day he noticed that the servant -teased his younger brother as he lay in bed. The little boy was angry -and spat in her face. His step-mother wanted to interfere, but John -intervened. He had now tasted blood. The matter was postponed till his -father's return. After dinner the battle was to begin. John was ready. -He felt that he represented his dead mother. Then it began! After a -formal report, his father took hold of Pelle, and was about to beat -him. "You must not beat him!" cried John in a threatening tone, and -rushed towards his father as though he would have seized him by the -collar. - -"What in heaven's name are you saying?" - -"You should not touch him. He is innocent." - -"Come in here and let me talk to you; you are certainly mad," said his -father. - -"Yes, I will come," said the generally timid John, as though he were -possessed. - -His father hesitated somewhat on hearing his confident tone, and his -sound intelligence must have told him that there was something queer -about the matter. - -"Well, what have you to say to me?" asked his father, more quietly but -still distrustfully. - -"I say that it is Karin's fault; she did wrong, and if mother had -lived----" - -That struck home. "What are you talking nonsense about your mother for? -You have now a new mother. Prove what you say. What has Karin done?" - -That was just the trouble; he could not say it, for he feared by -doing so to touch a sore point. He was silent. A thousand thoughts -coursed through his mind. How should he express them? He struggled for -utterance, and finally came out with a stupid saying which he had read -somewhere in a school-book. - -"Prove!" he said. "There are clear matters of fact which can neither be -proved nor need to be proved." (How stupid! he thought to himself, but -it was too late.) - -"Now you are simply stupid," said his father. - -John was beaten, but he still wished to continue the conflict. A new -repartee learned at school occurred to him. - -"If I am stupid, that is a natural fault, which no one has the right to -reproach me with." - -"Shame on you for talking such rubbish! Go out and don't let me see you -any more!" And he was put out. - -After this scene all punishments took place in John's absence. It was -believed he would spring at their throats if he heard any cries, and -that was probable enough. - -There was yet another method of humbling him--a hateful method which -is often employed in families. It consisted of arresting his mental and -moral growth by confining him to the society of his younger brothers -and sisters. Children are often obliged to play with their brothers and -sisters whether they are congenial to them or not. That is tyranny. But -to compel an elder child to go about with the younger ones is a crime -against nature; it is the mutilation of a young growing tree. John had -a younger brother, a delightful child of seven, who trusted everyone -and worried no one. John loved him and took good care that he was not -ill-treated. But to have intimate intercourse with such a young child, -who did not understand the talk and conversation of its elders, was -impossible. - -But now he was obliged to do so. On the first of May, when John had -hoped to go out with his friends, his father said, as a matter of -course, "Take Pelle and go with him to the Zoological Gardens, but take -good care of him." There was no possibility of remonstrance. They went -into the open plain, where they met some of his comrades, and John felt -the presence of his little brother like a clog on his leg. He took -care that no one hurt him, but he wished the little boy was at home. -Pelle talked at the top of his voice and pointed with his finger at -passers-by; John corrected him, and as he felt his solidarity with him, -felt ashamed on his account. Why must he be ashamed because of a fault -in etiquette which he had not himself committed? He became stiff, cold, -and hard. The little boy wanted to see some sight but John would not -go, and refused all his little brother's requests. Then he felt ashamed -of his hardness; he cursed his selfishness, he hated and despised -himself, but could not get rid of his bad feelings. Pelle understood -nothing; he only looked troubled, resigned, patient, and gentle. "You -are proud," said John to himself; "you are robbing the child of a -pleasure." He felt remorseful, but soon afterwards hard again. - -At last the child asked him to buy some gingerbread nuts. John felt -himself insulted by the request. Suppose one of his fellow-collegians -who sat in the restaurant and drank punch saw him buying gingerbread -nuts! But he bought some, and stuffed them in his brother's pocket. -Then they went on. Two cadets, John's acquaintances, came towards him. -At this moment a little hand reached him a gingerbread nut--"Here's one -for you, John!" He pushed the little hand away, and simultaneously saw -two blue faithful eyes looking up to him plaintively and questioningly. -He felt as if he could weep, take the hurt child in his arms, and ask -his forgiveness in order to melt the ice which had crystallised round -his heart. He despised himself for having pushed his brother's hand -away. They went home. - -He wished to shake the recollection of his misdeed from him, but could -not. But he laid the blame of it partly at the door of those who had -caused this sorry situation. He was too old to stand on the same level -with the child, and too young to be able to condescend to it. - -His father, who had been rejuvenated by his marriage with a young wife, -ventured to oppose John's learned authorities, and wished to humble -him in this department also. After supper one evening, they were -sitting at table, his father with his three papers, the _Aftonbladet, -Allehanda_, and _Post-tidningen_, and John with a school-book. -Presently his father stopped reading. - -"What are you reading?" he asked. - -"Philosophy." - -A long pause. The boys always used to call logic "philosophy." - -"What is philosophy, really?" - -"The science of thought." - -"Hm! Must one learn how to think? Let me see the book." He put his -pince-nez on and read. Then he said, "Do you think the peasant members -of the Riks-Dag"[3] (he hated the peasants, but now used them for the -purpose of his argument) "have learned philosophy? I don't, and yet -they manage to corner the professors delightfully. You learn such a lot -of useless stuff!" Thus he dismissed philosophy. - -His father's parsimoniousness also sometimes placed John in very -embarrassing situations. Two of his friends offered during the holidays -to give him lessons in mathematics. John asked his father's permission. - -"All right," he said, "as far as I am concerned." - -When the time came for them to receive an honorarium, his father was of -the opinion that they were so rich that one could not give them money. - -"But one might make them a present," said John. - -"I won't give anything," was the answer. - -John felt ashamed for a whole year and realised for the first time the -unpleasantness of a debt. His two friends gave at first gentle and then -broad hints. He did not avoid them, but crawled after them in order to -show his gratitude. He felt that they possessed a part of his soul and -body; that he was their slave and could not be free. Sometimes he made -them promises, because he imagined he could fulfil them, but they could -not be fulfilled, and the burden of the debt was increased by their -being broken. It was a time of infinite torment, probably more bitter -at the time than it seemed afterwards. - -Another step in arresting his progress was the postponement of his -Confirmation. He learned theology at school, and could read the Gospels -in Greek, but was not considered mature enough for Confirmation. - -He felt the grinding-down process at home all the more because his -position in the school was that of a free man. As a collegian he had -acquired certain rights. He was not made to stand up in class, and -went out when he wished without asking permission; he remained sitting -when the teachers asked questions, and disputed with them. He was the -youngest in the class but sat among the oldest and tallest. The teacher -now played the part of a lecturer rather than of a mere hearer of -lessons. The former ogre from the Clara School had become an elderly -man who expounded Cicero's _De Senectute_ and _De Amicitia_ without -troubling himself much about the commentaries. In reading Virgil, he -dwelt on the meeting of AEneas and Dido, enlarged on the topic of love, -lost the thread of his discourse, and became melancholy. (The boys -found out that about this time he had been wooing an old spinster.) He -no longer assumed a lofty tone, and was magnanimous enough to admit -a mistake he had made (he was weak in Latin) and to acknowledge that -he was not an authority in that subject. From this he drew the moral -that no one should come to school without preparation, however clever -he might be. This produced a great effect upon the boys. He won more -credit as a man than he lost as a teacher. - -John, being well up in the natural sciences, was the only one out -of his class elected to be a member of the "Society of Friends of -Science." He was now thrown with school-fellows in the highest class, -who the next year would become students. He had to give a lecture, and -talked about it at home. He wrote an essay on the air, and read it to -the members. After the lecture, the members went into a restaurant in -the Haymarket and drank punch. John was modest before the big fellows, -but felt quite at his ease. It was the first time he had been lifted -out of the companionship of those of his own age. Others related -improper anecdotes; he shyly related a harmless one. Later on, some -of the members visited him and took away some of his best plants and -chemical apparatus. - -By an accident John found a new friend in the school. When he was top -of the first class the Principal came in one day with a tall fellow in -a frock-coat, with a beard, and wearing a pince-nez. - -"Here, John!" he said, "take charge of this youth; he is freshly come -from the country, and show him round." The wearer of the pince-nez -looked down disdainfully at the boy in the jacket. They sat next each -other; John took the book and whispered to him; the other, however, -knew nothing, but talked about cards and cafes. - -One day John played with his friend's pince-nez and broke the spring. -His friend was vexed. John promised to have it repaired, and took the -pince-nez home. It weighed upon his mind, for he did not know whence -he should get the money in order to have it mended. Then he determined -to mend it himself. He took out the screws, bored holes in an old -clock-spring, but did not succeed. His friend jogged his memory; John -was in despair. His father would never pay for it. His friend said, -"I will have it repaired, and you must pay." The repair cost fifty -oere. On Monday John handed over twelve coppers, and promised to pay -the rest the following Monday. His friend smelt a rat. "That is your -breakfast-money," he said; "do you get only twelve coppers a week?" -John blushed and begged him to take the money. The next Monday he -handed over the remainder. His friend resisted, but he pressed it on -him. - -The two continued together as school-fellows till they went to the -university at Upsala and afterwards. John's friend had a cheerful -temperament and took the world as it came. He did not argue much with -John, but always made him laugh. In contrast to his dreary home, John -found the school a cheerful refuge from domestic tyranny. But this -caused him to lead a double life, which was bound to produce moral -dislocation. - - -[1] Famous Swedish poet. - -[2] In a later work, _Legends_ (1898), Strindberg says: "When I wrote -that youthful confession (_The Son of a Servant_) the liberal tendency -of that period seems to have induced me to use too bright colours, with -the pardonable object of freeing from fear young men who have fallen -into precocious sin." - -[3] The Swedish Parliament. - - - - -VII - -FIRST LOVE - - -If the character of a man is the stereotyped role which he plays in the -comedy of social life, John at this time had no character, _i.e._, he -was quite sincere. He sought, but found nothing, and could not remain -in any fixed groove. His coarse nature, which flung off all fetters -that were imposed upon it, could not adapt itself; and his brain, which -was a revolutionary's from birth, could not work automatically. He was -a mirror which threw back all the rays which struck it, a compendium of -various experiences, of changing impressions, and full of contradictory -elements. He possessed a will which worked by fits and starts and with -fanatical energy; but he really did not will anything deeply; he was -a fatalist, and believed in destiny; he was sanguine, and hoped all -things. Hard as ice at home, he was sometimes sensitive to the point -of sentimentality; he would give his last shirt to a poor man, and -could weep at the sight of injustice. He was a pietist, and as sincere -an one as is possible for anyone who tries to adopt an old-world point -of view. His home-life, where everything threatened his intellectual -and personal liberty, compelled him to be this. In the school he was a -cheerful worldling, not at all sentimental, and easy to get on with. -Here he felt he was being educated for society and possessed rights. -At home he was like an edible vegetable, cultivated for the use of the -family, and had no rights. - -He was also a pietist from spiritual pride, as all pietists are. -Beskow, the repentant lieutenant, had come home from his pilgrimage -to the grave of Christ. His _Journal_ was read at home by John's -step-mother, who inclined to pietism. Beskow made pietism gentlemanly, -and brought it into fashion, and a considerable portion of the lower -classes followed this fashion. Pietism was then what spiritualism is -now--a presumably higher knowledge of hidden things. It was therefore -eagerly taken up by all women and uncultivated people, and finally -found acceptance at Court. - -Did all this spring from some universal spiritual need? Was the period -so hopelessly reactionary that one had to be a pessimist? No! The -king led a jovial life in Ulriksdal, and gave society a bright and -liberal tone. Strong agitations were going on in the political world, -especially regarding representation in parliament. The Dano-German -war aroused attention to what was going on beyond our boundaries; the -volunteer movement awoke town and country with drums and music; the new -Opposition papers, _Dagens Nyheter_ and the powerful _Sondags-Nisse_, -were vent-holes for the confined steam which must find an outlet; -railways were constructed everywhere, and brought remote and sparsely -inhabited places into connection with the great motor nerve-centres. It -was no melancholy age of decadence, but, on the contrary, a youthful -season of hope and awakening. Whence then, came this strong breath of -pietism? Perhaps it was a short-cut for those who were destitute of -culture, by which they saved themselves from the pressure of knowledge -from above; there was a certain democratic element in it, since all -high and low had thereby access to a certain kind of wisdom which -abolished class-distinctions. Now, when the privileges of birth were -nearing their end, the privileges of culture asserted themselves, and -were felt to be oppressive. But it was believed that they could be -nullified at a stroke through pietism. - -John became a pietist from many motives. Bankrupt on earth, since he -was doomed to die at twenty-five without spinal marrow or a nose, he -made heaven the object of his search. Melancholy by nature, but full -of activity, he loved what was melancholy. Tired of text-books, which -contained no living water because they did not come into contact with -life, he found more nourishment in a religion which did so at every -turn. Besides this, there was the personal motive, that his stepmother, -aware of his superiority in culture, wished to climb above him on the -Jacob's ladder of religion. She conversed with his eldest brother -on the highest subjects, and when John was near, he was obliged to -hear how they despised his worldly wisdom. This irritated him, and he -determined to catch up with them in religion. Moreover, his mother -had left a written message behind in which she warned him against -intellectual pride. The end was that he went regularly every Sunday to -church, and the house was flooded with pietistic writings. - -His step-mother and eldest brother used to go over afterwards in memory -the sermons they had heard in church. One Sunday after service John -wrote out from memory the whole sermon which they admired. He could -not deny himself the pleasure of presenting it to his step-mother. But -his present was not received with equal pleasure; it was a blow for -her. However, she did not yield a hair-breadth. "God's word should be -written in the heart and not on paper," she said. It was not a bad -retort, but John believed he detected pride in it. She considered -herself further on in the way of holiness than he, and as already a -child of God. - -He began to race with her, and frequented the pietist meetings. But -his attendance was frowned upon, for he had not yet been confirmed, -and was not therefore ripe for heaven. John continued religious -discussions with his elder brother; he maintained that Christ had -declared that even children belonged to the kingdom of heaven. The -subject was hotly contested. John cited Norbeck's _Theology_, but -that was rejected without being looked at. He also quoted Krummacher, -Thomas a Kempis, and all the pietists on his side. But it was no -use. "It must be so," was the reply. "How?" he asked. "As I have it, -and as you cannot get it." "As I!" There we have the formula of the -pietists--self-righteousness. - -One day John said that all men were God's children. "Impossible!" was -the reply; "then there would be no difficulty in being saved. Are all -going to be saved?" - -"Certainly!" he replied. "God is love and wishes no one's destruction." - -"If all are going to be saved, what is the use of chastising oneself?" - -"Yes, that is just what I question." - -"You are then a sceptic, a hypocrite?" - -"Quite possibly they all are." - -John now wished to take heaven by storm, to become a child of God, -and perhaps by doing so defeat his rivals. His step-mother was not -consistent. She went to the theatre and was fond of dancing. One -Saturday evening in summer it was announced that the whole family -would make an excursion into the country the next day--Sunday. All -were expected to go. John considered it a sin, did not want to go, and -wished to use the opportunity and seek in solitude the Saviour whom -he had not yet found. According to what he had been told, conversion -should come like a flash of lightning, and be accompanied by the -conviction that one was a child of God, and then one had peace. - -While his father was reading his paper in the evening, John begged -permission to remain at home the next day. - -"Why?" his father asked in a friendly tone. - -John was silent. He felt ashamed to say. - -"If your religious conviction forbids you to go, obey your conscience." - -His step-mother was defeated. She had to desecrate the Sabbath, not he. - -The others went. John went to the Bethlehem Church to hear Rosenius. It -was a weird, gloomy place, and the men in the congregation looked as -if they had reached the fatal twenty-fifth year, and lost their spinal -marrow. They had leaden-grey faces and sunken eyes. Was it possible -that Dr. Kapff had frightened them all into religion? It seemed strange. - -Rosenius looked like peace itself, and beamed with heavenly joy. He -confessed that he had been an old sinner, but Christ had cleansed him, -and now he was happy. He looked happy. Is it possible that there is -such a thing as a happy man? Why, then, are not all pietists? - -In the afternoon John read a Kempis and Krummacher. Then he went out -to the Haga Park and prayed the whole length of the Norrtullsgata -that Jesus would seek him. In the Haga Park there sat little groups -of families picnicking, with the children playing about. Is it -possible that all these must go to hell? he thought. Yes, certainly. -"Nonsense!" answered his intelligence. But it is so. A carriage full of -excursionists passed by: and these are all condemned already! But they -seemed to be amusing themselves, at any rate. The cheerfulness of other -people made him still more depressed, and he felt a terrible loneliness -in the midst of the crowd. Wearied with his thoughts, he went home as -depressed as a poet who has looked for a thought without being able to -find one. He laid down on his bed and wished he was dead. - -In the evening his brothers and sisters came home joyful and noisy, and -asked him if he had had a good time. - -"Yes," he said. "And you?" - -They gave him details of the excursion, and each time he envied them he -felt a stab in his heart. His step-mother did not look at him, for she -had broken the Sabbath. That was his comfort. He must by this time soon -have detected his self-deceit and thrown it off, but a new powerful -element entered into his life, which stirred up his asceticism into -fanaticism, till it exploded and disappeared. - -His life during these years was not so uniformly monotonous as it -appeared in retrospect later on, when there were enough dark points to -give a grey colouring to the whole. His boyhood, generally speaking, -was darkened by his being treated as a child when arrived at puberty, -the uninteresting character of his school-work, his expectation of -death at twenty-five, the uncultivated minds of those around him, and -the impossibility of being understood. - -His step-mother had brought three young girls, her sisters, into the -house. They soon made friends with the step-sons, and they all took -walks, played games, and made sledging excursions together. The girls -tried to bring about a reconciliation between John and his step-mother. -They acknowledged their sister's faults before him, and this pacified -him so that he laid aside his hatred. The grandmother also played the -part of a mediator, and finally revealed herself as a decided friend of -John's. But a fatal chance robbed him of this friend also. His father's -sister had not welcomed the new marriage, and, as a consequence, had -broken off communications with her brother. This vexed the old man -very much. All intercourse ceased between the families. It was, of -course, pride on his sister's part. But one day John met her daughter, -an elegantly-dressed girl, older than himself, on the street. She was -eager to hear something of the new marriage, and walked with John along -the Drottningsgata. - -When he got home, his grandmother rebuked him sharply for not having -saluted her when she passed, but, of course, she added, he had been -in too grand company to take notice of an old woman! He protested his -innocence, but in vain. Since he had only a few friends, the loss of -her friendship was painful to him. - -One summer he spent with his step-mother at one of her relatives', a -farmer in Oestergoetland. Here he was treated like a gentleman, and lived -on friendly terms with his step-mother. But it did not last long, and -soon the flames of strife were stirred up again between them. And thus -it went on, up and down, and to and fro. - -About this time, at the age of fifteen, he first fell in love, if it -really was love, and not rather friendship. Can friendship commence -and continue between members of opposite sexes? Only apparently, for -the sexes are born enemies and remain always opposed to each other. -Positive and negative streams of electricity are mutually hostile, but -seek their complement in each other. Friendship can exist only between -persons with similar interests and points of view. Man and woman by the -conventions of society are born with different interests and different -points of view. Therefore a friendship between the sexes can arise only -in marriage where the interests are the same. This, however, can be -only so long as the wife devotes her whole interest to the family for -which the husband works. As soon as she gives herself to some object -outside the family, the agreement is broken, for man and wife then have -separate interests, and then there is an end to friendship. Therefore -purely spiritual marriages are impossible, for they lead to the slavery -of the man, and consequently to the speedy dissolution of the marriage. - -The fifteen-year old boy fell in love with a woman of thirty. He could -truthfully assert that his love was entirely ideal. How came he to love -her? As generally is the case, from many motives, not from one only. - -She was the landlord's daughter, and had, as such, a superior position; -the house was well-appointed and always open for visitors. She was -cultivated, admired, managed the house, and spoke familiarly to her -mother; she could play the hostess and lead the conversation; she was -always surrounded by men who courted her. She was also emancipated -without being a man-hater; she smoked and drank, but was not without -taste. She was engaged to a man whom her father hated and did not -wish to have for his son-in-law. Her _fiance_ stayed abroad and wrote -seldom. Among the visitors to this hotel were a district judge, a man -of letters, students, clerics, and townsmen who all hovered about her. -John's father admired her, his step-mother feared her, his brothers -courted her. John kept in the background and observed her. It was a -long time before she discovered him. One evening, after she had set all -the hearts around her aflame, she came exhausted into the room in which -John sat. - -"Heavens! how tired I am!" she said to herself, and threw herself on a -sofa. - -John made a movement and she saw him. He had to say something. - -"Are you so unhappy, although you are always laughing? You are -certainly not as unhappy as I am." - -She looked at the boy; they began a conversation and became friends. He -felt lifted up. From that time forward she preferred his conversation -to that of others. He felt embarrassed when she left a circle of grown -men to sit down near him. He questioned her regarding her spiritual -condition, and made remarks on it which showed that he had observed -keenly and reflected much. He became her conscience. Once, when she -had jested too freely, she came to the youth to be punished. That was -a kind of flagellation as pleasant as a caress. At last her admirers -began to tease her about him. - -"Can you imagine it," she said one evening, "they declare I am in love -with you!" - -"They always say that of two persons of opposite sexes who are friends." - -"Do you believe there can be a friendship between man and woman?" - -"Yes, I am sure of it," he answered. - -"Thanks," she said, and reached him her hand. "How could I, who am -twice as old as you, who am sick and ugly, be in love with you? -Besides, I am engaged." - -After this she assumed an air of superiority and became motherly. This -made a deep impression on him; and when later on she was rallied on -account of her liking for him, she felt herself almost embarrassed, -banished all other feelings except that of motherliness, and began to -labour for his conversion, for she also was a pietist. - -They both attended a French conversation class, and had long walks -home together, during which they spoke French. It was easier to speak -of delicate matters in a foreign tongue. He also wrote French essays, -which she corrected. His father's admiration for the old maid lessened, -and his step-mother did not like this French conversation, which she -did not understand. His elder brother's prerogative of talking French -was also neutralised thereby. This vexed his father, so that one day he -said to John, that it was impolite to speak a foreign language before -those who did not understand it, and that he could not understand -that Fraeulein X., who was otherwise so cultivated, could commit such -a _betise_. But, he added, cultivation of the heart was not gained by -book-learning. - -They no longer endured her presence in the house, and she was -"persecuted." At last her family left the house altogether, so that now -there was little intercourse with them. The day after their removal, -John felt lacerated. He could not live without her daily companionship, -without this support which had lifted him out of the society of those -of his own age to that of his elders. To make himself ridiculous by -seeking her as a lover--that he could not do. The only thing left was -to write to her. They now opened a correspondence, which lasted for -a year. His step-mother's sister, who idolised the clever, bright -spinster, conveyed the letters secretly. They wrote in French, so that -their letters might remain unintelligible if discovered; besides, they -could express themselves more freely in this medium. Their letters -treated of all kinds of subjects. They wrote about Christ, the battle -against sin, about life, death and love, friendship and scepticism. -Although she was a pietist, she was familiar with free-thinkers, and -suffered from doubts on all kinds of subjects. John was alternately her -stern preceptor and her reprimanded son. One or two translations of -John's French essays will give some idea of the chaotic state of the -minds of both. - - -_Is Man's Life a Life of Sorrow_? 1864 - -"Man's life is a battle from beginning to end. We are all born into -this wretched life under conditions which are full of trouble and -grief. Childhood to begin with has its little cares and disagreeables; -youth has its great temptations, on the victorious resistance to which -the whole subsequent life depends; mature life has anxieties about the -means of existence and the fulfilment of duties; finally, old age has -its thorns in the flesh, and its frailty. What are all enjoyments and -all joys, which are regarded by so many men as the highest good in -life? Beautiful illusions! Life is a ceaseless struggle with failures -and misfortunes, a struggle which ends only in death. - -"But we will consider the matter from another side. Is there no reason -to be joyful and contented? I have a home and parents who care for -my future; I live in fairly favourable circumstances, and have good -health--ought I not then to be contented and happy? Yes, and yet I -am not. Look at the poor labourer, who, when his day's work is done, -returns to his simple cottage where poverty reigns; he is happy and -even joyful. He would be made glad by a trifle which I despise. I envy -thee, happy man, who hast true joy! - -"But I am melancholy. Why? 'You are discontented,' you answer. No, -certainly not; I am quite contented with my lot and ask for nothing. -Well, what is it then? Ah! now I know; I am not contented with myself -and my heart, which is full of anger and malice. Away from me, evil -thoughts! I will, with God's help, be happy and contented. For one is -happy only when one is at peace with oneself, one's heart, and one's -conscience." - -John's friend did not approve of his self-contentment, but asserted -in contradiction to the last sentence, that one ought to remain -discontented with life. She wrote: "We are not happy till our -consciousness tells us that we have sought and found the only Good -Physician, who can heal the wounds of all hearts, and when we are ready -to follow His advice with sincerity." - -This assertion, together with long conversations, caused the rapid -conversion of the youth to the true faith, _i.e._, that of his friend, -and gave occasion for the following effusion in which he expressed his -idea of faith and works: - - -_No Happiness without Virtue; no Virtue without Religion_. 1864 - -"What is happiness? Most worldlings regard the possession of great -wealth and worldly goods, happiness, because they afford them the -means of satisfying their sinful desires and passions. Others who -are not so exacting find happiness in a mere sense of well-being, in -health, and domestic felicity. Others, again, who do not expect worldly -happiness at all, and who are poor, and enjoy but scanty food earned -by hard work, are yet contented with their lot, and even happy. They -can even think 'How happy I am in comparison with the rich, who are -never contented.' Meanwhile, _are_ they really happy, because they are -contented? No, there is no happiness without virtue. No one is happy -except the man who leads a really virtuous life. Well, but there are -many really virtuous men. There are men who have never fallen into -gross sin, who are modest and retiring, who injure no one, who are -placable, who fulfil their duties conscientiously, and who are even -religious. They go to church every Sunday, they honour God and His Holy -Word, but yet they have not been born again of the Holy Spirit. Now, -are they happy, since they are virtuous? There is no virtue without -_real religion_. These virtuous worldlings are, as a matter of fact, -much worse than the most wicked men. They slumber in the security -of mere morality. They think themselves better than other men, and -righteous in the eyes of the Most Holy. These Pharisees, full of -self-love, think to win everlasting salvation by their good deeds. But -what are our good deeds before a Holy God? Sin, and nothing but sin. -These self-righteous men are the hardest of all to convert, because -they think they need no Mediator, since they wish to win heaven by -their deeds. An 'old sinner,' on the other hand, once he is awakened, -can realise his sinfulness and feel his need of a Saviour. True -happiness consists in having 'Peace in the heart with God through Jesus -Christ.' One can find no peace till one confesses that one is the chief -of sinners, and flies to the Saviour. How foolish of us to push such -happiness away! We all know where it is to be found, but instead of -seeking it, seek unhappiness, under the pretence of seeking happiness." - -Under this his friend wrote: "Very well written." They were her own -thoughts, or, at any rate, her own words which she had read. - -But sometimes doubt worried him, and he examined himself carefully. He -wrote as follows on a subject which he had himself chosen: - -_Egotism is the Mainspring of all our Actions_ - -"People commonly say, 'So-and-so is so kind and benevolent towards -his neighbours; he is virtuous, and all that he does springs from -compassion and love of the true and right.' Very well, open your heart -and examine it. You meet a beggar in the street; the first thought -that occurs to you is certainly as follows: 'How unfortunate this man -is; I will do a good deed and help him.' You pity him and give him a -coin. But haven't you some thought of this kind?--'Oh, how beautiful -it is to be benevolent and compassionate; it does one's heart good to -give alms to a poor man.' What is the real motive of your action? Is it -really love or compassion? Then your dear 'ego' gets up and condemns -you. You did it for your own sake, in order to set at rest _your_ heart -and to placate _your_ conscience. - -"It was for some time my intention to be a preacher, certainly a good -intention. But what was my motive? Was it to serve my Redeemer, and to -work for Him, or only out of love to Him? No, I was cowardly, and I -wished to escape my burden and lighten my cross, and avoid the great -temptations which met me everywhere. I feared men--that was the motive. -The times alter. I saw that I could not lead a life in Christ in the -society of companions to whose godless speeches I must daily listen, -and so I chose another path in life where I could be independent, or at -any rate----" - -Here the essay broke off, uncorrected. Other essays deal with the -Creator, and seem to have been influenced by Rousseau, extracts from -whose works were contained in Staaff's _French Reading Book_. They -mention, for example, flocks and nightingales, which the writer had -never seen or heard. - -He and his friend also had long discussions regarding their relation to -one another. Was it love or friendship? But she loved another man, of -whom she scarcely ever spoke. John noticed nothing in her but her eyes, -which were deep and expressive. He danced with her once, but never -again. The tie between them was certainly only friendship, and her soul -and body were virile enough to permit of a friendship existing and -continuing. A spiritual marriage can take place only between those who -are more or less sexless, and there is always something abnormal about -it. The best marriages, _i.e._, those which fulfil their real object -the best, are precisely those which are "_mal assortis_." - -Antipathy, dissimilarity of views, hate, contempt, can accompany true -love. Diverse intelligences and characters can produce the best endowed -children, who inherit the qualities of both. - - * * * * * - -In the meantime his Confirmation approached. It had been postponed as -long as possible, in order to keep him back among the children. But the -Confirmation itself was to be used as a means of humiliating him. His -father, at the same time that he announced his decision that it should -take place, expressed the hope that the preparation for it might melt -the ice round John's heart. - -So John found himself again among lower-class children. He felt -sympathy with them, but did not love them, nor could nor would be on -intimate terms with them. His education had alienated him from them, as -it had alienated him from his family. - -He was again a school-boy, had to learn by heart, stand up when -questioned, and be scolded along with the rest. The assistant pastor, -who taught them, was a pietist. He looked as though he had an -infectious disease or had read Dr. Kapff. He was severe, merciless, -emotionless, without a word of grace or comfort. Choleric, irritable, -nervous, this young rustic was petted by the ladies. - -He made an impression by dint of perpetual repetition. He preached -threateningly, cursed the theatre and every kind of amusement. John -and his friend resolved to alter their lives, and not to dance, go to -the theatre, or joke any more. He now infused a strong dash of pietism -into his essays, and avoided his companions in order not to hear their -frivolous stories. - -"Why, you are a pietist!" one of his school-fellows said one day to him. - -"Yes, I am," he answered. He would not deny his Redeemer. The school -grew intolerable to him. He suffered martyrdom there, and feared the -enticements of the world, of which he was already in some degree -conscious. He considered himself already a man, wished to go into the -world and work, earn his own living and marry. Among his other dreams -he formed a strange resolve, which was, however, not without its -reasons; he resolved to find a branch of work which was easy to learn, -would soon provide him with a maintenance, and give him a place where -he would not be the last, nor need he stand especially high--a certain -subordinate place which would let him combine an active life in the -open air with adequate pecuniary profit. The opportunity for plenty of -exercise in the open air was perhaps the principal reason why he wished -to be a subaltern in a cavalry regiment, in order to escape the fatal -twenty-fifth year, the terrors of which the pastor had described. The -prospect of wearing a uniform and riding a horse may also have had -something to do with it. He had already renounced the cadet uniform, -but man is a strange creature. - -His friend strongly dissuaded him from taking such a step; she -described soldiers as the worst kind of men in existence. He stood -firm, however, and said that his faith in Christ would preserve him -from all moral contagion, yes! he would preach Christ to the soldiers -and purify them all. Then he went to his father. The latter regarded -the whole matter as a freak of imagination, and exhorted him to be -ready for his approaching final examination, which would open the whole -world to him. - -A son had been born to his step-mother. John instinctively hated him as -a rival to whom his younger brothers and sisters would have to yield. -But the influence of his friend and of pietism was so strong over him, -that by way of mortifying himself he tried to love the newcomer. He -carried him on his arm and rocked him. - -"Nobody saw you do it," said his step-mother later on, when he adduced -this as a proof of his goodwill. Exactly so; he did it in secret, as he -did not wish to gain credit for it, or perhaps he was ashamed of it. He -had made the sacrifice sincerely; when it became disagreeable, he gave -it up. - -The Confirmation took place, after countless exhortations in the -dimly-lit chancel, and a long series of discourses on the Passion of -Christ and self-mortification, so that they were wrought up to a most -exalted mood. After the catechising, he scolded his friend whom he had -seen laughing. - -On the day on which they were to receive the Holy Communion, the senior -pastor gave a discourse. It was the well-meaning counsel of a shrewd -old man to the young; it was cheering and comforting, and did not -contain threats or denunciations of past sins. Sometimes during the -sermon John felt the words fall like balm on his wounded heart, and was -convinced that the old man was right. But in the act of Communion, -he did not get the spiritual impression he had hoped for. The organ -played and the choir sang, "O Lamb of God, have mercy upon us!" The -boys and girls wept and half-fainted as though they were witnessing an -execution. But John had become too familiar with sacred things in the -parish-clerk's school. The matter seemed to him driven to the verge of -absurdity. His faith was ripe for falling. And it fell. - - * * * * * - -He now wore a high hat, and succeeded to his elder brother's cast-off -clothes. Now his friend with the pince-nez took him in hand. He had not -deserted him during his pietistic period. He treated the matter lightly -and good-humouredly, with a certain admiration of John's asceticism -and firm faith. But now he intervened. He took him for a mid-day -walk, pointed out by name the actors they saw at the corner of the -Regeringsgata, and the officers who were reviewing the troops. John was -still shy, and had no self-reliance. - -It was about twelve o'clock, the time for going to the gymnasium. -John's friend said, "Come along! we will have lunch in the 'Three -Cups.'" - -"No," said John, "we ought to go to the Greek class." - -"Ah! we will dispense with Greek to-day." - -It would be the first time he cut it, thought John, and he might take a -little scolding for once. "But I have no money," he said. - -"That does not matter; you are my guest;" his friend seemed hurt. They -entered the restaurant. An appetising odour of beefsteaks greeted them; -the waiter received their coats and hung up their hats. - -"Bring the bill of fare, waiter," said his friend in a confident tone, -for he was accustomed to take his meals here. "Will you have beefsteak?" - -"Yes," answered John; he had tasted beefsteak only twice in his life. - -His friend ordered butter, cheese, brandy and beer, and without asking, -filled John's glass with brandy. - -"But I don't know whether I ought to," said John. - -"Have you never drunk it before?" - -"No." - -"Oh, well, go ahead! it tastes good." - -He drank. Ah! his body glowed, his eyes watered, and the room swam -in a light mist; but he felt an access of strength, his thoughts -worked freely, new ideas rose in his mind, and the gloomy past seemed -brighter. Then came the juicy beefsteak. That was something like -eating! His friend ate bread, butter, and cheese with it. John said, -"What will the restaurant-keeper say?" - -His friend laughed, as if he were an elderly uncle. - -"Eat away; the bill will be just the same." - -"But butter and cheese with beef-steak! That is too luxurious! But it -tastes good all the same." John felt as though he had never eaten -before. Then he drank beer. "Is each of us to drink half a bottle?" he -asked his friend. "You are really mad!" - -But at any rate it was a meal,--and not such an empty enjoyment either, -as anaemic ascetics assert. No, it is a real enjoyment to feel strong -blood flowing into one's half-empty veins, strengthening the nerves for -the battle of life. It is an enjoyment to feel vanished virile strength -return, and the relaxed sinews of almost perished will-power braced -up again. Hope awoke, and the mist in the room became a rosy cloud, -while his friend depicted for him the future as it is imagined by -youthful friendship. These youthful illusions about life, from whence -do they come? From superabundance of energy, people say. But ordinary -intelligence, which has seen so many childish hopes blighted, ought to -be able to infer the absurdity of expecting a realisation of the dreams -of youth. - -John had not learned to expect from life anything more than freedom -from tyranny and the means of existence. That would be enough for him. -He was no Aladdin and did not believe in luck. He had plenty of power, -but did not know it. His friend had to discover him to himself. - -"You should come and amuse yourself with us," he said, "and not sit in -a corner at home." - -"Yes, but that costs money, and I don't get any." - -"Give lessons." - -"Lessons! What? Do you think I could give lessons?" - -"You know a lot. You would not find it difficult to get pupils." - -He knew a lot! That was a recognition or a piece of flattery, as the -pietists call it, and it fell on fertile soil. - -"Yes, but I have no acquaintances or connections." - -"Tell the headmaster! I did the same!" - -John hardly dared to believe that he could get the chance of earning -money. But he felt strange when he heard that others could, and -compared himself with them. _They_ certainly had luck. His friend urged -him on, and soon he obtained a post as teacher in a girls' school. - -Now his self-esteem awoke. The servants at home called him Mr. John, -and the teachers in the school addressed the class as "Gentlemen." At -the same time he altered his course of study at school. He had for a -long time, but in vain, asked his father to let him give up Greek. He -did it now on his own responsibility, and his father first heard of -it at the examination. In its place he substituted mathematics, after -he had learned that a Latin scholar had the right to dispense with a -testamur in that subject. Moreover, he neglected Latin, intending to -revise it all a month before the examination. During the lessons he -read French, German, and English novels. The questions were asked each -pupil in turn, and he sat with his book in his hand till the questions -came and he could be ready for them. Modern languages and natural -science were now his special subjects. - -Teaching his juniors was a new and dangerous retrograde movement for -him, but he was paid for it. Naturally, the boys who required extra -lessons were those with a certain dislike of learning. It was hard -work for his active brain to accommodate himself to them. They were -impossible pupils, and did not know how to attend. He thought they -were obstinate. The truth was they lacked the will-power to become -attentive. Such boys are wrongly regarded as stupid. They are, on the -contrary, wide awake. Their thoughts are concerned with realities, and -they seem already to have seen through the absurdity of the subjects -they are taught. Many of them became useful citizens when they grew -up, and many more would have become so if they had not been compelled -by their parents to do violence to their natures and to continue their -studies. - -Now ensued a new conflict with his lady friend against his altered -demeanour. She warned him against his other friend who, she -said, flattered him, and against young girls of whom he spoke -enthusiastically. She was jealous. She reminded him of Christ, but John -was distracted by other subjects, and withdrew from her society. - -He now led an active and enjoyable life. He took part in evening -concerts, sang in a quartette, drank punch, and flirted moderately -with waitresses. All this time religion was in abeyance, and only a -weak echo of piety and asceticism remained. He prayed out of habit, but -without hoping for an answer, since he had so long sought the divine -friendship which people say is so easily found, if one but knocks -lightly at the door of grace. Truth to say, he was not very anxious to -be taken at his word. If the Crucified had opened the door and bidden -him enter, he would not have rejoiced. His flesh was too young and -sound to wish to be mortified. - - - - -VIII - -THE SPRING THAW - - -The school educates, not the family. The family is too narrow; its -aims are too petty, selfish, and anti-social. In the case of a -second marriage, such abnormal relations are set up, that the only -justification of the family comes to an end. The children of a deceased -mother should simply be taken away, if the father marries again. This -would best conduce to the interests of all parties, not least to those -of the father, who perhaps is the one who suffers most in a second -marriage. - -In the family there is only one (or two) ruling wills without appeal; -therefore justice is impossible. In the school, on the other hand, -there is a continual watchful jury, which rigorously judges boys as -well as teachers. The boys become more moral; brutality is tamed; -social instincts awaken; they begin to see that individual interests -must be generally furthered by means of compromises. There cannot be -tyranny, for there usually are enough to form parties and to revolt. A -teacher who is badly treated by a pupil can soonest obtain justice by -appealing to the other pupils. Moreover, about this time there was much -to arouse their sympathy in great universal interests. - -During the Danish-German War of 1864 a fund was raised in the school -for the purchase of war-telegrams. These were fastened on the -blackboard and read with great interest by both teachers and pupils. -They gave rise to familiar talks and reflections on the part of the -teachers regarding the origin and cause of the war. They were naturally -all one-sidedly Scandinavian, and the question was judged from the -point of view of the students' union. Seeds of hatred towards Russia -and Germany for some future war were sown, and at the burial of the -popular teacher of gymnastics, Lieutenant Betzholtz, this reached a -fanatical pitch. - -The year of the Reform Bill,[1] 1865, approached. The teacher of -history, a man of kindliness and fine feeling, and an aristocrat of -high birth, tried to interest the pupils in the subject. The class had -divided into opposite parties, and the son of a speaker in the Upper -House, a Count S., universally popular, was the chief of the opposition -against reform. He was sprung from an old German family of knightly -descent; was poor, and lived on familiar terms with his classmates, but -had a keen consciousness of his high birth. Battles more in sport than -in earnest took place in the class, and tables and forms were thrown -about indiscriminately. - -The Reform Bill passed. Count S. remained away from the class. -The history teacher spoke with emotion of the sacrifice which the -nobility had laid upon the altar of the fatherland by renouncing -their privileges. The good man did not know yet that privileges are -not rights, but advantages which have been seized and which can be -recovered like other property, even by illegal means. - -The teacher bade the class to be modest over their victory and not to -insult the defeated party. The young count on his return to the class -was received with elaborate courtesy, but his feelings so overcame him -at the sight of the involuntary elevation of so many pupils of humble -birth, that he burst into tears and had to leave the class again. - -John understood nothing of politics. As a topic of general interest, -they were naturally banished from family discussions, where only -topics of private interest were regarded, and that in a very one-sided -way. Sons were so brought up that they might remain sons their whole -lives long, without any regard to the fact that some day they might be -fathers. But John already possessed the lower-class instinct which told -him, with regard to the Reform Bill, that now an injustice had been -done away with, and that the higher scale had been lowered, in order -that it might be easier for the lower one to rise to the same level. He -was, as might be expected, a liberal, but since the king was a liberal, -he was also a royalist. - -Parallel with the strong reactionary stream of pietism ran that of the -new rationalism, but in the opposite direction. Christianity, which, at -the close of the preceding century, had been declared to be mythical, -was again received into favour, and as it enjoyed State protection, -the liberals could not prevent themselves being reinoculated by its -teaching. But in 1835 Strauss's _Life of Christ_ had made a new -breach, and even in Sweden fresh water trickled into the stagnant -streams. The book was made the subject of legal action, but upon it -as a foundation the whole work of the new reformation was built up by -self-appointed reformers, as is always the case. - -Pastor Cramer had the honour of being the first. As early as 1859 -he published his _Farewell to the Church_, a popular but scientific -criticism of the New Testament. He set the seal of sincerity on his -belief by seceding from the State Church and resigning his office. His -book produced a great effect, and although Ingell's writings had more -vogue among the theologians, they did not reach the younger generation. -In the same year appeared Rydberg's _The Last Athenian_. The influence -of this book was hindered by the fact that it was hailed as a literary -success, and transplanted to the neutral territory of belles-lettres. -Ryllberg's _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_ made a deeper impression. -Renan's _Life of Jesus_ in Ignell's translation had taken young and old -by storm, and was read in the schools along with Cramer, which was not -the case with _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_. And by Bostroem's attack -on the _Doctrine of Hell_ (1864), the door was opened to rationalism -or "free-thought," as it was called. Bostroem's really insignificant -work had a great effect, because of his fame as a Professor at Upsala -and former teacher in the Royal Family. The courageous man risked his -reputation, a risk which no one incurred after him, when it was no -longer considered an honour to be a free-thinker or to labour for the -freedom and the right of thinking. - -In short, everything was in train, and it needed only a breath to blow -down John's faith like a house of cards. A young engineer crossed his -path. He was a lodger in the house of John's female friend. He watched -John a long while before he made any approaches. John felt respect for -him, for he had a good head, and was also somewhat jealous. John's -friend prepared him for the acquaintance he was likely to make, and -at the same time warned him. She said the engineer was an interesting -man of great ability, but dangerous. It was not long before John met -him. He hailed from Wermland, was strongly built, with coarse, honest -features, and a childlike laugh, when he did laugh, which occurred -rarely. They were soon on familiar terms. The first evening only a -slight skirmish took place on the question of faith and knowledge. -"Faith must kill reason," said John (echoing Krummacher). "No," replied -his friend. "Reason is a divine gift, which raises man above the -brutes. Shall man lower himself to the level of the brutes by throwing -away this divine gift?" - -"There are things," said John (echoing Norbeck), "which we can very -well believe, without demanding a proof for them. We believe the -calendar, for example, without possessing a scientific knowledge of the -movement of the planets." - -"Yes," answered his friend, "we believe it, because our reason does not -revolt against it." - -"But," said John, "in Galileo's time they revolted against the idea -that the earth revolves round the sun. 'He is possessed by a spirit of -contradiction,' they said, 'and wishes to be thought original.'" - -"We don't live in Galileo's age," returned his friend, "and the -enlightened reason of our time rejects the Deity of Christ and -everlasting punishment." - -"We won't dispute about these things," said John. - -"Why not?" - -"They are out of the reach of reason." - -"Just what I said two years ago when I was a believer." - -"You have been----a pietist?" - -"Yes." - -"Hm! and now you have peace?" - -"Yes, I have peace." - -"How is that?" - -"I learned through a preacher to realise the spirit of true -Christianity." - -"You are a Christian then?" - -"Yes, I acknowledge Christ." - -"But you don't believe that he was God?" - -"He never said so himself. He called himself God's son, and we are all -God's sons." - -John's lady friend interrupted the conversation, which was a type of -many others in the year 1865. John's curiosity was aroused. There were -then, he said to himself, men who did not believe in Christ and yet had -peace. Mere criticism would not have disturbed his old ideas of God; -the "horror vacui" held him back, till Theodore Parker fell into his -hands. Sermons without Christ and hell were what he wanted. And fine -sermons they were. It must be confessed that he read them in extreme -haste, as he was anxious that his friends and relatives should enjoy -them that he might escape their censures. He could not distinguish -between the disapproval of others and his own bad conscience, and was -so accustomed to consider others right that he fell into conflict with -himself. - -But in his mind the doctrine of Christ the Judge, the election of -grace, the punishments of the last day, all collapsed, as though they -had been tottering for a long time. He was astonished at the rapidity -of their disappearance. It was as though he laid aside clothes he had -outgrown and put on new ones. - -One Sunday morning he went with the engineer to the Haga Park. It was -spring. The hazel bushes were in bloom, and the anemones were opening. -The weather was fairly clear, the air soft and mild after a night's -rain. He and his friend discussed the freedom of the will. The pietists -had a very wavering conception of the matter. No one had, they said, -the power to become a child of God of his own free will. The Holy -Spirit must seek one, and thus it was a matter of predestination. John -wished to be converted but he could not. He had learned to pray, "Lord, -create in me a new will." But how could he be held responsible for his -evil will? Yes, he could, answered the pietist, through the Fall, for -when man endowed with free will chose the evil, his posterity inherited -his evil will, which became perpetually evil and ceased to be free. -Man could be delivered from this evil will only through Christ and -the gracious work of the Holy Spirit. The New Birth, however, did not -depend upon his own will, but on the grace of God. Thus he was not free -and at the same time was responsible! Therein lay the false inference. - -Both the engineer and John were nature worshippers. What is this -nature worship which in our days is regarded as so hostile to culture? -A relapse into barbarism, say some; a healthy reaction against -over-culture, say others. When a man has discovered society to be an -institution based on error and injustice, when he perceives that, in -exchange for petty advantages society suppresses too forcibly every -natural impulse and desire, when he has seen through the illusion that -he is a demi-god and a child of God, and regards himself more as a kind -of animal--then he flees from society, which is built on the assumption -of the divine origin of man, and takes refuge with nature. Here he -feels in his proper environment as an animal, sees himself as a detail -in the picture, and beholds his origin--the earth and the meadow. -He sees the interdependence of all creation as if in a summary--the -mountains becoming earth, the sea becoming rain, the plain which is a -mountain crumbled, the woods which are the children of the mountains -and the water. He sees the ocean of air which man and all creatures -breathe, he hears the birds which live on the insects, he sees the -insects which fertilise the plants, he sees the mammalia which supply -man with nourishment, and he feels at home. And in our time, when -all things are seen from the scientific point of view, a lonely hour -with nature, where we can see the whole evolution-history in living -pictures, can be the only substitute for divine worship. - -But our optimistic evolutionists prefer a meeting in a large hall -where they can launch their denunciations against this same society -which they admire and despise. They praise it as the highest stage of -development, but wish to overthrow it, because it is irreconcilable -with the true happiness of the animal. They wish to reconstruct and -develop it, say some. But their reconstruction involves the destruction -of all existing arrangements. Do not these people recognise that -society as it exists is a case of miscarriage in evolution, and is -itself simultaneously hostile to culture and to nature? - -Society, like everything else, is a natural product, they say, and -civilisation is nature. Yes, but it is degenerate nature, nature on -the down-grade, since it works against its own object--happiness. It -was, however, the engineer, John's leader, and a nature-worshipper like -himself, who revealed to him the defects of civilised society, and -prepared the way for his reception of the new views of man's origin. -Darwin's _Origin of Species_ had appeared as early as 1859, but its -influence had not yet penetrated far, much less had it been able to -fertilise other minds.[2] Moleschott's influence was then in the -ascendant, and materialism was the watchword of the day. Armed with -this and with his geology, the engineer pulled to pieces the Mosaic -story of the Creation. He still spoke of the Creator, for he was a -theist and saw God's wisdom and goodness reflected in His works. - -While they were walking in the park, the church bells in the city began -to ring. John stood still and listened. There were the terrible bells -of the Clara Church, which rang through his melancholy childhood; the -bells of the Adolf-Fredrik, which had frightened him to the bleeding -breast of the Crucified, and the bells of St. John's, which, on -Saturdays, when he was in the Jacob School, had announced the end of -the week. A gentle south wind bore the sound of the bells thither from -the city, and it echoed like a warning under the high firs. - -"Are you going to church?" asked his friend. - -"No," answered John, "I am not going to church any more." - -"Follow your conscience," said the engineer. - -It was the first time that John had remained away from church. He -determined to defy his father's command and his own conscience. He got -excited, inveighed against religion and domestic tyranny, and talked of -the church of God in nature; he spoke with enthusiasm of the new gospel -which proclaimed salvation, happiness, and life to all. But suddenly he -became silent. - -"You have a bad conscience," said his friend. - -"Yes," answered John; "one should either not do what one repents of, or -not repent of what one does." - -"The latter is the better course." - -"But I repent all the same. I repent a good deed, for it would be wrong -to play the hypocrite in this old idol-temple. My new conscience tells -me that I am wrong. I can find no more peace." - -And that was true. His new ego revolted against this old one, and they -lived in discord, like an unhappy married couple, during the whole of -his later life, without being able to get a separation. - -The reaction in his mind against his old views, which he felt should -be eradicated, broke out violently. The fear of hell had disappeared, -renunciation seemed silly, and the youth's nature demanded its rights. -The result was a new code of morality, which he formulated for himself -in the following fashion: What does not hurt any of my fellow-men -is permitted to me. He felt that the domestic pressure at home did -him harm, and no one else any good, and revolted against it. He now -showed his real feelings to his parents, who had never shown him love, -but insisted on his being grateful, because they had given him his -legal rights as a matter of favour, and accompanied by humiliations. -They were antipathetic to him, and he was cold to them. To their -ceaseless attacks on free-thinking he gave frank and perhaps somewhat -impertinent answers. His half-annihilated will began to stir, and he -saw that he was entitled to make demands of life. - -The engineer was regarded as John's seducer, and was anathematised. -But he was open to the influence of John's lady friend, who had formed -a friendship with his step-mother. The engineer was not of a radical -turn of mind; he had accepted Theodore Parker's compromise, and still -believed in Christian self-denial. One should, he said, be amiable and -patient, follow Christ's example, and so forth. Urged on by John's lady -friend, for whom he had a concealed tenderness, and alarmed by the -consequences of his own teaching, he wrote John the following letter. -It was inspired by fear of the fire which he had kindled, by regard for -the lady, and by sincere conviction: - -"To MY FRIEND JOHN,--How joyfully we greet the spring when it appears, -to intoxicate us with its wealth of verdure and its divine freshness! -The birds begin their light and cheerful melodies, and the anemones -peep shyly forth under the whispering branches of the pines----" - -"It is strange," thought John, "that this unsophisticated man, who -talks so simply and sincerely, should write in such a stilted style. -It rings false." - -The letter continued: "What breast, whether old or young, does not -expand in order to inhale the fresh perfumes of the spring, which -spread heavenly peace in each heart, accompanied by a longing which -seems like a foretaste of God and of His love? At such a time can any -malice remain in our hearts? Can we not forgive? Ah yes, we must, -when we see how the caressing rays of the spring sun have kissed away -the icy cover from nature and our hearts. Just as we expect to see -the ground, freed from snow, grow green again, so we long to see the -warmth of a kindly heart manifest itself in loving deeds, and peace and -happiness spread through all nature----" - -"Forgive?" thought John. "Yes, certainly he would, if they would only -alter their behaviour and let him be free. But _they_ did not forgive -him. With what right did they demand forbearance on his part? It must -be mutual." - -"John," went on the letter, "you think you have attained to a higher -conception of God through the study of nature and through reason -than when you believed in the Deity of Christ and the Bible, but you -do not realise the tendency of your own thoughts. You think that a -true thought can of itself ennoble a man, but in your better moments -you see that it cannot. You have only grasped the shadow which the -light throws, but not the chief matter, not the light itself. When -you held your former views you could pass over a fault in one of your -fellow-men, you could take a charitable view of an action in spite of -appearances, but how is it with you now? You are violent and bitter -against a loving mother; you condemn and are discontented with the -actions of a tender, experienced, grey-headed father----" - -(As a matter of fact, when he held his former views, John could not -pardon a fault in anyone, least of all in himself. Sometimes, indeed, -he did pardon others; but that was stupid, that was lax morality. A -loving mother, forsooth! Yes, very loving! How did his friend Axel -come to think so? And a tender father? But why should he not judge his -actions? In self-defence one must meet hardness with hardness, and no -more turn the left cheek when the right cheek is smitten.) - -"Formerly you were an unassuming, amiable child, but now you are an -egotistical, conceited youth----" - -("Unassuming!" Yes, and that was why he had been trampled down, but -now he was going to assert his just claims. "Conceited!" Ha! the -teacher felt himself outstripped by his ungrateful pupil.) - -"The warm tears of your mother flow over her cheeks----" - -("Mother!" he had no mother, and his stepmother only cried when she was -angry! Who the deuce had composed the letter?) - -"--when she thinks in solitude about your hard heart----" - -(What the dickens has she to do with my heart when she has the -housekeeping and seven children to look after?) - -"--your unhappy spiritual condition----" - -(That's humbug! My soul has never felt so fresh and lively as now.) - -"--and your father's heart is nearly breaking with grief and -anxiety----" - -(That's a lie. He is himself a theist and follows Wallin; besides, -he has no time to think about me. He knows that I am industrious and -honest, and not immoral. Indeed, he praised me only a day or two ago.) - -"You do not notice your mother's sad looks----" - -(There are other reasons for that, for her marriage is not a happy one.) - -"--nor do you regard the loving warnings of your father. You are like -a crevasse above the snow-line, in which the kiss of the spring sun -cannot melt the snow, nor turn a single atom of ice into a drop of -water----" - -(The writer must have been reading romances. As a matter of fact John -was generally yielding towards his school-fellows. But towards his -domestic enemies he had become cold. That was their fault.) - -"What can your friends think of your new religion, when it produces -such evil fruit? They will curse it, and your views give them the right -to do so----" - -(Not the right, but the occasion.) - -"They will hate the mean scoundrel who has instilled the hellish poison -of his teaching into your innocent heart----" - -(There we have it! The mean scoundrel!) - -"Show now by your actions that you have grasped the truth better than -heretofore. Try to be forbearing----" - -(That's the step-mother!) - -"Pass over the defects and failings of your fellow-men with love and -gentleness----" - -(No, he would not! They had tortured him into lying; they had snuffed -about in his soul, and uprooted good seeds as though they were weeds; -they wished to stifle his personality, which had just as good a right -to exist as their own; they had never been forbearing with his faults, -why should he be so with theirs? Because Christ had said.... That had -become a matter of complete indifference, and had no application to -him now. For the rest, he did not bother about those at home, but shut -himself up in himself. They were unsympathetic to him, and could not -obtain his sympathy. That was the whole thing in a nutshell. They had -faults and wanted him to pardon them. Very well, he did so, if they -would only leave him in peace!) - -"Learn to be grateful to your parents, who spare no pains in promoting -your true welfare and happiness (hm!), and that this may be brought -about through love to God your Creator, who has caused you to be born -in this improving (hm! hm!) environment, for obtaining peace and -blessedness is the prayer of your anxious but hopeful - - "AXEL." - -"I have had enough of father confessors and inquisitors," thought John; -he had escaped and felt himself free. They stretched their claws after -him, but he was beyond their reach. His friend's letter was insincere -and artificial; "the hands were the hands of Esau." He returned no -answer to it, but broke off all intercourse with both his friends. - -They called him ungrateful. A person who insists on gratitude is worse -than a creditor, for he first makes a present on which he plumes -himself, and then sends in the account--an account which can never be -paid, for a service done in return does not seem to extinguish the debt -of gratitude; it is a mortgage on a man's soul, a debt which cannot -be paid, and which stretches over the whole subsequent life. Accept -a service from your friend, and he will expect you to falsify your -opinion of him and to praise his own evil deeds, and those of his wife -and children. - -But gratitude is a deep feeling which honours a man and at the same -time humiliates him. Would that a time may come when it will not be -necessary to fetter ourselves with gratitude for a benefit, which -perhaps is a mere duty. - -John felt ashamed of the breach with his friends, but they hindered -and oppressed him. After all, what had they given him in social -intercourse which he had not given back? - -Fritz, as his friend with the pince-nez was called, was a prudent man -of the world. These two epithets "prudent" and "man of the world" had -a bad significance at that time. To be prudent in a romantic period, -when all were a little cracked, and to be cracked was considered a mark -of the upper classes, was almost synonymous with being bad. To be a -man of the world when all attempted, as well as they could, to deceive -themselves in religion, was considered still worse. Fritz was prudent. -He wished to lead his own life in a pleasant way and to make a career -for himself. He therefore sought the acquaintance of those in good -social position. That was prudent, because they had power and money. -Why should he not seek them? How did he come to make friends with John? -Perhaps through a sort of animal sympathy, perhaps through long habit. -John could not do any special service for him except to whisper answers -to him in the class and to lend him books. For Fritz did not learn his -lessons, and spent in punch the money which was intended for books. - -Now when he saw that John was inwardly purified, and that his outer -man was presentable, he introduced him to his own coterie. This was a -little circle of young fellows, some of them rich and some of them of -good rank belonging to the same class as John. The latter was a little -shy at first, but soon stood on a good footing with them. One day, at -drill time, Fritz told him that he had been invited to a ball. - -"I to a ball? Are you mad? I would certainly be out of place there." - -"You are a good-looking fellow, and will have luck with the girls." - -Hm! That was a new point of view with regard to himself. Should he go? -What would they say at home, where he got nothing but blame? - -He went to the ball. It was in a middle-class house. Some of the girls -were anaemic; others red as berries. John liked best the pale ones who -had black or blue rings round their eyes. They looked so suffering and -pining, and cast yearning glances towards him. There was one among them -deathly pale, whose dark eyes were deep-set and burning, and whose lips -were so dark that her mouth looked almost like a black streak. She made -an impression on him, but he did not venture to approach her, as she -already had an admirer. So he satisfied himself with a less dazzling, -softer, and gentler girl. He felt quite comfortable at the ball and in -intercourse with strangers, without seeing the critical eyes of any -relative. But he found it very difficult to talk with the girls. - -"What shall I say to them?" he asked Fritz. - -"Can't you talk nonsense with them? Say 'It is fine weather. Do you -like dancing? Do you skate?' One must learn to be versatile." - -John went and soon exhausted his repertoire of conversation. His palate -became dry, and at the third dance he got tired of it. He felt in a -rage with himself and was silent. - -"Isn't dancing amusing?" asked Fritz. "Cheer up, old coffin-polisher!" - -"Yes, dancing is all right, if one only had not to talk. I don't know -what to say." - -So it was, as a matter of fact. He liked the girls, and dancing with -them seemed manly, but as to talking with them!--he felt as though he -were dealing with another kind of the species _Homo_, in some cases a -higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired his gentle little -partner, and would have liked her for a wife. - -His fondness for reflection and his everlasting criticism of his -thoughts had robbed him of the power of being simple and direct. When -he talked with a girl, he heard his own voice and words and criticised -them. This made the whole ball seem tedious. And then the girls? What -was it really that they lacked? They had the same education as himself; -they learned history and modern languages, read Icelandic, studied -algebra, etc. They had accordingly the same culture, and yet he could -not talk with them. - -"Well, talk nonsense with them," said Fritz. - -But he could not. Besides, he had a higher opinion of them. He wanted -to give up the balls altogether, since he had no success, but he was -taken there in spite of himself. It flattered him to be invited, and -flattery has always something pleasant about it. One day he was paying -a visit to an aristocratic family. The son of the house was a cadet. -Here he met two actresses. With them he felt he could speak. They -danced with him but did not answer him. So he listened to Fritz's -conversation. The latter said strange things in elegant phrases, and -the girls were delighted with him. That, then, was the way to get on -with them! - -The balls were followed by serenades and "punch evenings." John had a -great longing for strong drinks; they seemed to him like concentrated -liquid nourishment. The first time he was intoxicated was at a -students' supper at Djurgardsbrunn. He felt happy, joyful, strong, and -mild, but far from mad. He talked nonsense, saw pictures on the plates -and made jokes. This behaviour made him for the moment like his elder -brother, who, though deeply melancholy in his youth, had a certain -reputation afterwards as a comic actor. They had both played at acting -in the attic; but John was embarrassed; he acted badly and was only -successful when he was given the part of some high personage to play. -As a comic actor he was impossible. - -About this time there entered two new factors into his development--Art -and Literature. - -John had found in his father's bookcase Lenstrom's _AEsthetics_, -Boije's _Dictionary of Painters,_ and Oulibischeff's _Life of Mozart_, -besides the authors previously mentioned. Through the scattering of -the family of a deceased relative, a large number of books came into -the house, which increased John's knowledge of belles-lettres. Among -them were several copies of Talis Qualis's poems, which he did not -enjoy; he found no pleasure in Strandberg's translation of Byron's -_Don Juan_, for he hated descriptive poetry; he always skipped verse -quotations when they occurred in books. Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, -in Kullberg's translation, he found tedious; Karl von Zeipel's _Tales_, -impossible. Sir Walter Scott's novels were too long, especially the -descriptions. He therefore did not understand at first the greatness -of Zola, when many years later he read his elaborate descriptions; the -perusal of Lessing's _Laokooen_ had already convinced him that such -descriptions cannot convey an adequate impression of the whole. Dickens -infused life even into inanimate objects and harmonised the scenery -and situations with the characters. That he understood better. He -thought Eugene Sue's _Wandering Jew_ magnificent; he did not regard it -as a novel; for novels, he thought, were only to be found in lending -libraries. This, on the other hand, was a historical poem of universal -interest, whose Socialistic teaching he quickly imbibed. Alexandre -Dumas's works seemed to him like the boys' books about Indians. These -he did not care for now; he wanted books with some serious purpose. -He swallowed Shakespeare whole, in Hagberg's translation. But he had -always found it hard to read plays where the eye must jump from the -names of the _dramatis personae_, to the text. He was disappointed in -_Hamlet_, of which he had expected much, and the comedies seemed to him -sheer nonsense. - -John could not endure poetry. It seemed to him artificial and untrue. -Men did not speak like that, and they seldom thought so beautifully. -Once he was asked to write a verse in Fanny's album. - -"You can screw yourself up to do that," said his friend. - -John sat up at night, but only managed to hammer out two lines. -Besides, he did not know what to say. One could not expose one's -feelings to common observation. Fritz offered his help, and together -they produced six or eight rhyming lines, for which Snoilsky's _A -Christmas Eve in Rome_ supplied the motive. - -"Genius" often formed the subject of their discussions. Their teacher -used to say "Geniuses" ranked above all else, like "Excellencies." John -thought much about this, and believed that it was possible without -high birth, without money, and without a career to get on the same -level as Excellencies. But what a genius was he did not know. Once -in a weak moment he said to his lady friend that he would rather be -a genius than a child of God, and received a sharp reproof from her. -Another time he told Fritz that he would like to be a professor, as -they can dress like scarecrows and behave as they like without losing -respect. But when someone else asked him what he wished to be, he said, -"A clergyman"; for all peasants' sons can be that, and it seemed a -suitable calling for him also. After he had become a free-thinker, he -wished to take a university degree. But he did not wish to be a teacher -on any account. - -In the theatre _Hamlet_ made a deeper impression on him than -Offenbach's operas, which were then being acted. Who is this Hamlet -who first saw the footlights in the era of John III., and has still -remained fresh? He is a figure which has been much exploited and used -for many purposes. John forthwith determined to use him for his own. - -The curtain rises to the sound of cheerful music, showing the king and -his court in glittering array. Then there enters the pale youth in -mourning garb and opposes his step-father. Ah! he has a step-father. -"That is as bad as having a stepmother," thought John. "That's the -man for me!" And then they try to oppress him and squeeze sympathy -out of him for the tyrant. The youth's ego revolts, but his will is -paralysed; he threatens, but he cannot strike. - -Anyhow, he chastises his mother--a pity that it was not his -step-father. But now he goes about with pangs of conscience. Good! -Good! He is sick with too much thought, he gropes in his in-side, -inspects his actions till they dissolve into nothing. And he loves -another's betrothed; that resembles John's life completely. He begins -to doubt whether he is an exception after all. That, then, is a common -story in life! Very well! He did not need then to worry about himself, -but he had lost his consciousness of originality. The conclusion, which -had been mangled, was unimpressive, but was partly redeemed by the fine -speech of Horatio. John did not observe the unpardonable mistake of -the adapter in omitting the part of Fortinbras, but Horatio, who was -intended to form a contrast to Hamlet, was no contrast. He is as great -a coward as the latter, and says only "yes" and "no." Fortinbras was -the man of action, the conqueror, the claimant to the throne, but he -does not appear, and the play ends in gloom and desolation. - -But it is fine to lament one's destiny, and to see it lamented. -At first Hamlet was only the step-son; later on he becomes the -introspective brooder, and lastly the son, the sacrifice to family -tyranny. Schwarz had represented him as the visionary and idealist who -could not reconcile himself to reality, and satisfied contemporary -taste accordingly. A future matter-of-fact generation, to whom the -romantic appears simply ridiculous, may very likely see the part of -Hamlet, like that of Don Quixote, taken by a comic actor. Youths -like Hamlet have been for a long time the subject of ridicule, for -a new generation has secretly sprung up, a generation which thinks -without seeing visions, and acts accordingly. The neutral territory -of belles-lettres and the theatre, where morality has nothing to say, -and the unrealities of the drama with its reconstruction of a better -world than the present, were taken by John as something more than mere -imagination. He confused poetry and reality, while he fancied that life -outside his parent's house was ideal and that the future was a garden -of Eden. - -The prospect of soon going to the University of Upsala seemed to him -like a flight into liberty. There one might be ill-dressed, poor, and -still a student, _i.e._, a member of the higher classes; one could sing -and drink, come home intoxicated, and fight with the police without -losing one's reputation. That is an ideal land! How had he found that -out? From the students' songs which he sang with his brother. But he -did not know that these songs reflected the views of the aristocracy; -that they were listened to, piece by piece, by princes and future -kings; that the heroes of them were men of family. He did not consider -that borrowing was not so dangerous, when there was a rich aunt in the -background; that the examination was not so hard if one had a bishop -for an uncle; and that the breaking of a window had not got to be too -dearly paid for if one moved in good society. But, at any rate, his -thoughts were busy with the future; his hopes revived, and the fatal -twenty-fifth year did not loom so ominously before him. - -About this time the volunteer movement was at its height. It was a -happy idea which gave Sweden a larger army than she had hitherto -had--40,000 men instead of 37,000. John went in for it energetically, -wore a uniform, drilled, and learned to shoot. He came thereby into -contact with young men of other classes of society. In his company -there were apprentices, shop attendants, office clerks, and young -artists who had not yet achieved fame. He liked them, but they -remained distant. He sought to approach them, but they did not receive -him. They had their own language, which he did not understand. Now he -noticed how his education had separated him from the companions of his -childhood. They took for granted that he was proud. But, as a matter of -fact, he looked up to them in some things. They were frank, fearless, -independent, and pecuniarily better circumstanced than himself, for -they always had money. - -Accompanying the troops on long marches had a soothing effect on him. -He was not born to command, and obeyed gladly, if the person who -commanded did not betray pride or imperiousness. He had no ambition -to become a corporal, for then he would have had to think, and what -was still worse, decide for others. He remained a slave by nature and -inclination, but he was sensitive to the injustice of tyrants, and -observed them narrowly. - -At one important manoeuvre he could not help expostulating with regard -to certain blunders committed, _e.g._, that the infantry of the guard -should be ranged up at a landing-place against the cannon of the fleet -which covered the barges on which they were standing. The cannon -played about their ears from a short distance, but they remained -unmoved. He expostulated and swore, but obeyed, for he had determined -beforehand to do so. - -On one occasion, while they were halting at Tyreso, he wrestled in -sport with a comrade. The captain of the company stepped forward and -forbade such rough play. John answered sharply that they were off duty, -and that they were playing. - -"Yes, but play may become earnest," said the captain. - -"That depends on us," answered John, and obeyed. But he thought him -fussy for interfering in such trifles, and believed that he noticed a -certain dislike in his superior towards himself. The former was called -"magister," because he wrote for the papers, but he was not even a -student. "There it is," he thought, "he wants to humiliate me." And -from that time he watched him closely. Their mutual antipathy lasted -through their lives. - -The volunteer movement was in the first place the result of the -Danish-German War, and, though transitory, was in some degree -advantageous. It kept the young men occupied, and did away, to a -certain extent, with the military prestige of the army, as the lower -classes discovered that soldiering was not such a difficult matter -after all. The insight thus gained caused a widespread resistance to -the introduction of the Prussian system of compulsory service which was -much mooted at the time, since Oscar II., when visiting Berlin, had -expressed to the Emperor William his hope that Swedish and Prussian -troops would once more be brothers-in-arms. - - -[1] See _Encyclopedia Britannica_, art. "Sweden." - -[2] In 1910 Strindberg wrote: "I keep my Bible Christianity for -private use, to tame my somewhat barbarised nature--barbarised by the -veterinary philosophy of Darwinism, in which, as a student. I was -educated."--_Tal till Svenska nationen_. - - - - -IX - -WITH STRANGERS - - -One of his bold dreams had been fulfilled: he had found a situation for -the summer. Why had he not found one sooner? He had not dared to hope -for it, and, therefore, had never sought it, from fear of meeting with -a refusal. A disappointed hope was the worst thing he could imagine. -But now, all at once, Fortune shook her cornucopia over him; the post -he had obtained was in the finest situation that he knew--the Stockholm -archipelago--on the most beautiful of all the islands, Sotaskaer. He -now liked aristocrats. His step-mother's ill-treatment of him, his -relations' perpetual watching to discover arrogance in him, where there -was only superiority of intelligence, generosity, and self-sacrifice, -the attempts of his volunteer comrades to oppress him, had driven him -out of the class to which he naturally belonged. He did not think or -feel any more as they did; he had another religion, and another view -of life. The well-regulated behaviour and confident bearing of his -aristocratic friends satisfied his aesthetic sense; his education had -brought him nearer to them, and alienated him from the lower classes. -The aristocrats seemed to him less proud than the middle class. They -did not oppress, but prized culture and talent; they were democratic in -their behaviour towards him, for they treated him as an equal, whereas -his own relatives regarded him as a subordinate and inferior. Fritz, -for example, who was the son of a miller in the country, visited at the -house of a lord-in-waiting, and played in a comedy with his sons before -the director of the Theatre Royal, who offered him an engagement. -No one asked whose son he was. But when Fritz came to a dance at -John's house, he was carefully inspected behind and before, and great -satisfaction was caused when some relative imparted the information -that his father had once been a miller's servant. - -John had become aristocratic in his views, without, however, ceasing to -sympathise with the lower classes, and since about the year 1865 the -nobility were fairly liberal in politics, condescending and popular -for the time, he let himself be duped. - -Fritz began to give him instructions how he should behave. One should -not be cringing, he said, but be yielding; should not say all that one -thought, for no one wished to know that; it was good if one could say -polite things, without indulging in too gross flattery; one should -converse, but not argue, above all things not dispute, for one never -got the best of it. Fritz was certainly a wise youth. John thought the -advice terribly hard, but stored it up in his mind. What he wanted to -get was a salary, and perhaps the chance of a tour abroad to Rome or -Paris with his pupils; that was the most he hoped for from his noble -friends, and what he intended to aim at. - -One Sunday he visited the wife of the baron, his future employer, as -she was in the town. She seemed like the portrait of a mediaeval lady; -she had an aquiline nose, great brown eyes, and curled hair, which hung -over her temples. She was somewhat sentimental, talked in a drawling -manner, and with a nasal twang. John did not think her aristocratic, -and the house was a poorer one than his own home, but they had, -besides, an estate and a castle. However, she pleased him, for she had -a certain resemblance to his mother. She examined him, talked with him, -and let her ball of wool fall. John sprang up and gave it to her, with -a self-satisfied air which seemed to say, "I can do that, for I have -often picked up ladies' handkerchiefs." Her opinion of him after the -examination was a favourable one, and he was engaged. On the morning of -the day on which they were to leave the city he called again. The royal -secretary, for so the gentleman of the house was called, was standing -in his shirt-sleeves before the mirror and tying his cravat. He looked -proud and melancholy, and his greeting was curt and cold. John took -a seat uninvited, and tried to commence a conversation, but was not -particularly successful in keeping it up, especially as the secretary -turned his back to him, and gave only short answers. - -"He is not an aristocrat," thought John; "he is a boor." - -The two were antipathetic to each other, as two members of the lower -class, who looked askance at each other in their clamber laboriously -upwards. - -The carriage was before the door; the coachman was in livery, and -stood with his hat in his hand. The secretary asked John whether he -would sit in the carriage or on the box, but in such a tone that John -determined to be polite and to accept the invitation to sit on the -box. So he sat next the coachman. As the whip cracked, and the horses -started, he had only one thought, "Away from home! Out into the world!" - -At the first halting-place John got down from the box and went to -the carriage window. He asked in an easy, polite, perhaps somewhat -confidential tone, how his employers were. The baron answered curtly, -in a tone in a way which cut off all attempts at a nearer approach. -What did that mean? - -They took their seats again. John lighted a cigar, and offered the -coachman one. The latter, however, whispered in reply that he dared -not smoke on the box. He then pumped the coachman, but cautiously, -regarding the baron's friends, and so on. Towards evening they reached -the estate. The house stood on a wooded hill, and was a white stone -building with outside blinds. The roof was flat, and its rounded -comers gave the building a somewhat Italian aspect, but the blinds, -with their white and red borders, were elegance itself. John, with his -three pupils, was installed in one wing, which consisted of an isolated -building with two rooms; the other of which was occupied by the -coachman. - -After eight days John discovered that he was a servant, and in a very -unpleasant position. His father's man-servant had a better room all to -himself; and for several hours of the day was master of his own person -and thoughts. But John was not. Night and day he had to be with the -boys, teach them, and play and bathe with them. If he allowed himself -a moment's liberty, and was seen about, he was at once asked, "Where -are the children?" He lived in perpetual anxiety lest some accident -should happen to them. He was responsible for the behaviour of four -persons--his own and that of his three pupils. Every criticism of them -struck him. He had no companion of his own age with whom he could -converse. The steward was almost the whole day at work, and hardly ever -visible. - -But there were two compensations: the scenery and the sense of being -free from the bondage in his parent's house. The baroness treated -him confidentially, almost in a motherly way; she liked discussing -literature with him. At such times he felt on the same level with -her, and superior to her in point of erudition, but as soon as the -secretary came home he sank to the position of children's nurse again. - -The scenery of the islands had for him a greater charm than the banks -of the Maelar, and his magic recollections of Drottningholm faded. In -the past year he had climbed up a hill in Tyreso with the volunteer -sharpshooters. It was covered with a thick fir-wood. They crawled -through bilberry and juniper bushes till they reached a steep, rocky -plateau. From this they viewed a panorama which thrilled him with -delight: water and islands, water and islands stretched away into -infinite distance. Although born in Stockholm he had never seen the -islands, and did not know where he was. The view made a deep impression -on him, as if he had rediscovered a land which had appeared to him in -his fairest dreams or in a former existence--in which he believed, but -about which he knew nothing. The troop of sharpshooters drew off into -the wood, but John remained upon the height and worshipped--that is -the right word. The attacking troop approached and fired; the bullets -whistled about his ears; he hid himself, but he could not go away. That -was his land-scape and proper environment--barren, rugged gray rocks -surrounding wide stormy bays, and the endless sea in the distance as -a background. He remained faithful to this love, which could not be -explained by the fact that it was his first love. Neither the Alps of -Switzerland, nor the olive groves of the Mediterranean, nor the steep -coast of Normandy, could dethrone this rival from his heart. - -Now he was in Paradise, though rather too deep in it; the shore of -Sotaskaer consisted of green pasturage overshadowed by oaks, and the -bay opened out to the fjord in the far distance. The water was pure -and salt; that was something new. In one of his excursions with his -rifle, the dogs, and the boys, he came one fine sunny day down to the -water's edge. On the other side of the bay stood a castle, a large, -old-fashioned stone edifice. He had discovered that his employer only -rented the estate. - -"Who lives in the castle?" he asked the boys. - -"Uncle Wilhelm," they answered. - -"What is his title?" - -"Baron X." - -"Do you never go there?" - -"Oh, yes; sometimes." - -So there was a castle here with a baron! John's walks now regularly -took the direction of the shore, from which he could see the castle. -It was surrounded by a park and garden. At home they had no garden. - -One fine day the baroness told him that he must accompany the boys on -the morrow to the baron's, and remain there for the day. She and her -husband would stay at home; "he would therefore represent the house," -she added jestingly. - -Then he asked what he was to wear. He could go in his summer suit, she -said, take his black coat on his arm, and change for dinner in the -little tapestry-room on the ground floor. He asked whether he should -wear gloves. She laughed, "No, he needed no gloves." He dreamt the -whole night about the baron, the castle, and the tapestry-room. In the -morning a hay-waggon came to the house to fetch them. He did not like -this; it reminded him of the parish clerk's school. - -And so they went off. They came to a long avenue of lime trees, -drove into the courtyard, and stopped before the castle. It was a -real castle, and looked as if it had been built in the Middle Ages. -From an arbour there came the well-known click of a draught-board. A -middle-aged gentleman in an ill-fitting, holland suit came out. His -face was not aristocratic, but rather of the middle-class type, with -a seaman's beard of a gray-yellow colour. He also wore earrings. John -held his hat in his hand and introduced himself. The baron greeted -him in a friendly way, and bade him enter the arbour. Here stood a -table with a draught-board, by which sat a little old man who was very -amiable in his manner. He was introduced as the pastor of a small town. -John was given a glass of brandy, and asked about the Stockholm news. -Since he was familiar with theatrical gossip and similar things, he was -listened to with greater attention. "There it is," he thought, "the -real aristocrats are much more democratic than the sham ones." - -"Oh!" said the Baron. "Pardon me, Mr.----, I did not catch the name. -Yes, that is it. Are you related to Oscar Strindberg?" - -"He is my father." - -"Good heavens! is it possible? He is an old friend of mine from my -youthful days, when I was pilot on the Strengnas." - -John did not believe his ears. The baron had been pilot on a steamer! -Yes, indeed, he had. But he wished to hear about his friend Oscar. -John looked around him, and asked himself if this really was the baron. -The baroness now appeared; she was as simple and friendly as the baron. -The bell rang for dinner. "Now we will get something to drink," said -the baron. "Come along." - -John at first made a vain attempt to put on his frock-coat behind a -door in the hall, but finally succeeded, as the baroness had said that -he ought to wear it. Then they entered the dining-hall. Yes, that was a -real castle; the floor was paved with stone, the ceiling was of carved -wood; the window-niches were so deep that they seemed to form little -rooms; the fire place could hold a barrow-load of wood; there was a -three-footed piano, and the walls were covered with dark paintings. - -John felt quite at home during dinner. In the afternoon he played with -the baron, and drank toddy. All the courteous usages he had expected -were in evidence, and he was well pleased with the day when it was -over. As he went down the long avenue, he turned round and contemplated -the castle. It looked now less stately and almost poverty stricken. It -pleased him all the better, though it had been more romantic to look -at it as a fairy-tale castle from the other shore. Now he had nothing -more to which he could look up. But he himself, on the other hand, was -no more below. Perhaps, after all, it is better to have something to -which one _can_ look up. - -When he came home, he was examined by the baroness. "How did he like -the baron?" John answered that he was pleasant and condescending. -He was also prudent enough to say nothing of the baron's friendship -with his father. "They will learn it anyhow," he thought. Meanwhile -he already felt more at home, and was no more so timid. One day he -borrowed a horse, but he rode it so roughly that he was not allowed to -borrow one again. Then he hired one from a peasant. It looked so fine -to sit high on a horse and gallop; he felt his strength grow at the -same time. - -His illusions were dispelled, but to feel on the same level with those -about him, without wishing to pull anyone down, that had something -soothing about it. He wrote a boasting letter to his brother at home, -but received an answer calculated to set him down. Since he was quite -alone, and had no one with whom he could talk, he wrote letters in -diary-form to his friend Fritz. The latter had obtained a post with -a merchant by the Maelar Lake, where there were young girls, music, -and good eating. John sometimes wished to be in his place. In his -diary-letter he tried to idealise the realities around him, and -succeeded in arousing his friend's envy. - -The story of the baron's acquaintance with John's father spread, and -the baroness felt herself bound to speak ill of her brother. John had, -nevertheless, intelligence enough to perceive that here there was -something to do with the tragedy of an estate in tail. Since he had -nothing to do with the matter, he took no trouble to inquire into it. - -During a visit which John paid to the pastor's house, the assistant -pastor happened to hear of his idea of being a pastor himself. Since -the senior pastor, on account of old age and weakness, no longer -preached, his assistant was John's only acquaintance. The assistant -found the work heavy, so he was very glad to come across young students -who wished to make their debuts as preachers. He asked John whether he -would preach. Upon John's objecting that he was not a student yet, he -answered, "No matter." John said he would consider. - -The assistant did not let him consider long. He said that many -students and collegians had preached here before, and that the church -had a certain fame since the actor Knut Almloef had preached here in his -youth. John had seen him act as Menelaus in _The Beautiful Helen_, and -admired him. He consented to his friend's request, began to search for -a text, borrowed some homilies, and promised to have his trial sermon -ready by Friday. So, then, only a year after his Confirmation, he -would preach in the pulpit, and the baron and the ladies and gentlemen -would sit as devout hearers! So soon at the goal, without a clerical -examination--yes, even without his final college examination! They -would lend him a gown and bands; he would pray the Lord's Prayer and -read the Commandments! His head began to swell, and he walked home -feeling a foot taller, with the full consciousness that he was no -longer a boy. - -But as he came home he began to think seriously. He was a free-thinker. -Is it honourable to play the hypocrite? No, no. But must he then give -up the sermon? That would be too great a sacrifice. He felt ambitious, -and perhaps he would be able to sow some seeds of free-thought, which -would spring up later. Yes, but it was dishonest. With his old -egotistic morality he always regarded the motive of the actor, not the -beneficial or injurious effect of the action. It was profitable for him -to preach; it would not hurt others to hear something new and true. But -it was not honest. He could not get away from that objection. He took -the baroness into his confidence. - -"Do you believe that preachers believe all they say?" she asked. - -That was the preachers' affair, but John could not act a double part. -Finally, he walked to the assistant pastor's house, and consulted him. -It vexed the assistant to have to hear about it. - -"Well," he said, "but you believe in God, I suppose?" - -"Yes, certainly I do." - -"Very well! don't speak of Christ. Bishop Wallin never mentioned the -name of Christ in his sermons. But don't bother any more. I don't want -to hear about it." - -"I will do my best," said John, glad to have saved his honesty and his -prospect of distinction at the same time. They had a glass of wine, and -the matter was settled. - -There was something intoxicating for him in sitting over his books and -homilies, and in hearing the baron ask for him, and the servant answer: -"The tutor is writing his sermon." - -He had to expound the text: "Jesus said, Now is the son of man -glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God be glorified in him, God -shall glorify him in himself, and shall straightway glorify him." - -That was all. He turned the sentence this way and that, but could find -no meaning in it. "It is obscure," he thought. But it touched the -most delicate point--the Deity of Christ. If he had the courage to -explain away that, he would certainly have done something important. -The prospect enticed him, and with Theodore Parker's help he composed -a prose poem on Christ as the Son of God, and then put forward very -cautiously the assertion that we are all God's sons, but that Christ is -His chosen and beloved Son, whose teaching we must obey. But that was -only the introduction, and the gospel is read after the introduction. -About what, then, should he preach? He had already pacified his -conscience by plainly stating his views regarding the Deity of Christ. -He glowed with excitement, his courage grew, and he felt that he had a -mission to fulfil. He would draw his sword against dogmas, against the -doctrine of election and pietism. - -When he came to the place where, after reading the text, he ought to -have said, "The text we have read gives us occasion for a short time -to consider the following subject," he wrote: "Since the text of the -day gives no further occasion for remark, we will, for a short time, -consider what is of greater importance." And so he dealt with God's -work in conversion. He made two attacks: one on the custom of preaching -from the text, and the second against the Church's teaching on the -subject of grace. - -First he spoke of conversion as a serious matter, which required a -sacrifice, and depended on the free-will of man (he was not quite -clear about that). He ignored the doctrine of election, and finally -flung open for all the doors of the kingdom of heaven: "Come unto me -all ye that are weary and heavy laden." "To-day shalt thou be with me -in Paradise." That is the gospel of Christ for all, and no one is to -believe that the key of heaven is committed to him (that was a hit at -the pietists), but that the doors of grace are open for all without -exception. - -He was very much in earnest, and felt like a missionary. On Friday he -betook himself to the church, and read certain passages of his sermon -from the pulpit. He chose the most harmless ones. Then he repeated the -prayers, while the assistant pastor stood under the choir gallery and -called to him, "Louder! Slower!" He was approved, and they had a glass -of wine together. - -On Sunday the church was full of people. John put on his gown and bands -in the vestry. For a moment he felt it comical, but then was seized -with anxiety. He prayed to the only true God for help, now that he was -to draw the sword against age-long error, and when the last notes of -the organ were silent, he entered the pulpit with confidence. - -Everything went well. But when he came to the place, "Since the text -of the day gives no occasion for remark," and saw a movement among the -faces of the congregation, which looked like so many white blurs, he -trembled. But only for a moment. Then he plucked up courage and read -his sermon in a fairly strong and confident voice. When he neared the -end, he was so moved by the beautiful truths which he proclaimed, that -he could scarcely see the writing on the paper for tears. He took a -long breath, and read through all the prayers, till the organ began -and he left the pulpit. The pastor thanked him, but said one should -not wander from the text; it would be a bad look-out if the Church -Consistory heard of it. But he hoped no one had noticed it. He had no -fault to find with the contents of the sermon. They had dinner at the -pastor's house, played and danced with the girls, and John was the hero -of the day. The girls said, "It was a very fine sermon, for it was so -short." He had read much too fast, and had left out a prayer. - -In the autumn John returned with the boys to the town, in order to live -with them and look after their school-work. They went to the Clara -School, so that, like a crab, he felt he was going backwards. The same -school, the same headmaster, the same malicious Latin teacher. John -worked conscientiously with his pupils, heard their lessons, and could -swear that they had been properly learned. None the less, in the report -books which they took home, and which their father read, it was stated -that such and such lessons had not been learned. - -"That is a lie," said John. - -"Well, but it is written here," answered the boys' father. - -It was hard work, and he was preparing at the same time for his own -examination. In the autumn holidays they went back to the country. -They sat by the stove and cracked nuts, a whole sackful, and read the -_Frithiof Saga, Axel_, and _Children of the Lord's Supper_.[1] The -evenings were intolerably long. But John discovered a new steward, who -was treated almost like a servant. This provoked John to make friends -with him, and in his room they brewed punch and played cards. The -baroness ventured to remark that the steward was not a suitable friend -for John. - -"Why not?" asked the latter. - -"He has no education." - -"That is not so dangerous." - -She also said that she preferred that the tutor should spend his time -with the family in the evening, or, at any rate, stay in the boys' -room. He chose the latter, for it was very stuffy in the drawing-room, -and he was tired of the reading aloud and the conversation. He now -stayed in his own and the boys' room. The steward came there, and -they played their game of cards. The boys asked to be allowed to take -a hand. Why should they not? John had played whist at home with his -father and brothers, and the innocent recreation had been regarded -as a means of education for teaching self-discipline, carefulness, -attention, and fairness; he had never played for money; each dishonest -trick was immediately exposed, untimely exultation at a victory -silenced, sulkiness at a defeat ridiculed. - -At that time the boys' parents made no objections, for they were glad -that the youngsters were occupied. But they did not like their being -on intimate terms with the steward. John had, in the summer, formed -a little military troop from his pupils and the workmen's children, -and drilled them in the open air. But the baroness forbade this close -intercourse with the latter. "Each class should keep to itself," she -said. - -But John could not understand why that should be, since in the year -1865 class distinctions had been done away with. - -In the meantime a storm was brewing, and a mere trifle was the occasion -of its outbreak. - -One morning the baron was storming about a pair of his driving-gloves -which had disappeared. He suspected his eldest boy. The latter denied -having taken them, and accused the steward, specifying the time when -he said he had taken them. The steward was called. - -"You have taken my driving-gloves, sir! What is the meaning of this?" -said the baron. - -"No, sir, I have not." - -"What! Hugo says you did." - -John, who happened to be present, stepped forward unsolicited, and -said, "Then Hugo lies. He himself has had the gloves." - -"What do you say?" said the baron, motioning to the steward to go. - -"I say the truth." - -"What do you mean, sir, by accusing my son in the presence of a -servant?" - -"Mr. X. is not a servant, and, besides, he is innocent." - -"Yes, very innocent--playing cards together and drinking with the boys! -That's a nice business, eh?" - -"Why did you not mention it before? Then you would have found out that -I do not drink with the boys." - -"'You,' you d--d hobbledehoy! What do you mean by calling me 'you.'" - -"Mr. Secretary can look for another 'hobbledehoy' to teach his boys, -since Mr. Secretary is too covetous to engage a grown person." So -saying, John departed. - -On the next day they were to return to the town, for the Christmas -holidays were at an end. So he would have to go home again--back into -hell, to be despised and oppressed, and it would be a thousand times -worse after he had boasted of his new situation, and compared it with -his parents' house to the disadvantage of the latter. He wept for -anger, but after such an insult there was no retreat. - -He was summoned to the baroness, but said she must wait awhile. Then -a messenger came again for him. In a sullen mood he went up to her. -She was quite mild, and asked him to stay some days with them till -they had found another tutor. He promised, since she had asked him so -pressingly. She said she would drive with the boys into the town. - -The sleigh came to the door, and the baron stood by, and said, "You can -sit on the box." - -"I know my place," said John. At the first halting-place the baroness -asked him to get into the sleigh, but he would not. - -They stayed in the town eight days. In the meanwhile John had written a -somewhat arrogant letter, in an independent tone, home, which did not -please his father, although he had flattered him in it. "I think you -should have first asked if you could come home," he said. In that he -was right. But John had never thought otherwise of his parents' house -than of an hotel, where he could get board and lodging without paying. - -So he was home again. Through an incomprehensible simplicity he had -let himself be persuaded to continue to go through his former pupils' -school-work with them, though he received nothing for it. One evening -Fitz wanted to take him to a cafe. - -"No," said John, "I must give some lessons." - -"Where?" - -"To the Secretary's boys." - -"What! haven't you done with them yet?" - -"No, I have promised to help them till they get a new teacher." - -"What do you get for it?" - -"What do I get? I have had board and lodging." - -"Yes, but what do you get now, when you don't board and lodge with -them?" - -"Hm! I didn't think of that." - -"You are a lunatic--teaching rich peoples' children gratis. Well, you -come along with me, and don't cross their threshold again." - -John had a struggle with himself on the pavement. "But I promised them." - -"You should not promise. Come now and write a letter withdrawing your -offer." - -"I must go and take leave of them." - -"It is not necessary. They promised you a present at Christmas, but you -got nothing; and now you let yourself be treated like a servant. Come -now and write." - -He was dragged to the cafe. The waitress brought paper and ink, and, -at his friend's dictation, he wrote a letter to the effect that, in -consequence of his approaching examination, he would have no more -leisure for teaching. - -He was free! "But I feel ashamed," he said. - -"Why?" - -"Because I have been impolite." - -"Rubbish! Waitress, bring half a punch." - - -[1] Three poems by Tegner--the last translated by Longfellow. - - - - -X - -CHARACTER AND DESTINY - - -About this time the free-thought movement was at its height. After -preaching his sermon, John believed it was his mission and duty to -spread and champion the new doctrines. He therefore began to stay away -from prayers, and stayed behind when the rest of the class went to the -prayer-room. The headmaster came in and wished to drive him, and those -who had remained with him, out. John answered that his religion forbade -him to take part in an alien form of worship. The headmaster said -one must observe law and order. John answered that Jews were excused -attendance at prayers. The headmaster then asked him for the sake of -example and their former friendship to be present. John yielded. But he -and those who shared his views did not take part in the singing of the -psalms. Then the headmaster was infuriated, and gave them a scolding; -he especially singled out John, and upbraided him. John's answer was -to organise a strike. He and those who shared his views came regularly -so late to school that prayers were over when they entered. If they -happened to come too early, they remained in the corridor and waited, -sitting on the wooden boxes and chatting with the teachers. In order -to humble the rebels, the headmaster hit upon the idea, at the close -of prayers, when the whole school was assembled, to open the doors and -call them in. These then defiled past with an impudent air and under -a hail of reproaches through the prayer-room without remaining there. -Finally, they became quite used to enter of their own accord, and -take their scolding as they walked through the room. The headmaster -conceived a spite against John, and seemed to have the intention of -making him fail in his examination. John, on the other hand, worked day -and night in order to be sure of succeeding. - -His theological lessons degenerated into arguments with his teacher. -The latter was a pastor and theist, and tolerant of objections, but -he soon got tired of them, and told John to answer according to the -text-book. - -"How many Persons are in the Godhead?" he asked. - -"One," answered John. - -"What does Norbeck say?" - -"Norbeck says three!" - -"Well, then, you say three, too!" - -At home things went on quietly. John was left alone. They saw that he -was lost, and that it was too late for any effectual interference. One -Sunday his father made an attempt in the old style, but John was not at -a loss for an answer. - -"Why don't you go to church any more?" his father asked. - -"What should I do there?" - -"A good sermon can always do one some good." - -"I can make sermons myself." - -And there was an end of it. - -The pietists had a special prayer offered for John in the Bethlehem -Church after they had seen him one Sunday morning in volunteer uniform. - -In May, 1867, he passed his final examination. Strange things came to -light on that occasion. Great fellows with beards and pince-nez called -the Malay Peninsula Siberia, and believed that India was Arabia. Some -candidates obtained a testimonial in French who pronounced "en" like -"y," and could not conjugate the auxiliary verbs. It was incredible. -John believed he had been stronger in Latin three years before this. In -history everyone of them would have failed, if they had not known the -questions beforehand. They had read too much and learned too little. - -The examination closed with a prayer which a free-thinker was obliged -to offer. He repeated the Lord's Prayer stammeringly, and this was -wrongly attributed to his supposed state of excitement. In the evening -John was taken by his companions to Storkyrkobrinken, where they bought -him a student's white cap, for he had no money. Then he went to his -father's office to give him the good news. He met him in the hall. - -"Well! Have you passed?" said his father. - -"Yes." - -"And already bought the cap." - -"I got it on credit." - -"Go to the cashier, and have it paid for." - -So they parted. No congratulation! No pressure of the hand! That -was his father's Icelandic nature which could not give vent to any -expressions of tenderness. - -John came home as they were all sitting at supper. He was in a merry -mood, and had drunk punch. But his spirits were soon damped. All -were silent. His brothers and sisters did not congratulate him. Then -he became out of humour and silent also. He left the table and went -to rejoin his comrades in the town. There there was joy, childish, -exaggerated joy, and all too great hopes. - -During the summer he remained at home and gave lessons. With the money -earned he hoped to go in the autumn to the University at Upsala. -Theology attracted him no more. He had done with it, and, moreover, it -went against his conscience to take the ordination vow. - -In the autumn he went to Upsala. Old Margaret packed his box, and -put in cooking utensils, and a knife and fork. Then she obliged him -to borrow fifteen kronas[1] from her. From his father he got a case -of cigars, and an exhortation to help himself. He himself had eighty -kronas, which he had earned by giving lessons, and with which he must -manage to get through his first term at the university. - -The world stood open for him; he had the ticket of admission in his -hand. He had nothing to do but to enter. Only that! - - * * * * * - -"A man's character is his destiny." That was then a common and -favourite proverb. Now that John had to go into the world, he employed -much time in attempting to cast his horoscope from his own character, -which he thought was already fully formed. People generally bestow the -name of "a character" on a man who has sought and found a position, -taken up a role, excogitated certain principles of behaviour, and acts -accordingly in an automatic way. - -A man with a so-called character is often a simple piece of mechanism; -he has often only one point of view for the extremely complicated -relationships of life; he has determined to cherish perpetually -certain fixed opinions of certain matters; and in order not to be -accused of "lack of character," he never changes his opinion, however -foolish or absurd it may be. Consequently, a man with a character is -generally a very ordinary individual, and what may be called a little -stupid. "Character" and automaton seem often synonymous. Dickens's -famous characters are puppets, and the characters on the stage must be -automata. A well-drawn character is synonymous with a caricature. John -had formed the habit of "proving himself" in the Christian fashion, -and asked himself whether he had such a character as befitted a man who -wished to make his way in the world. - -In the first place, he was revengeful. A boy had once openly said, by -the Clara Churchyard, that John's father had stood in the pillory. -That was an insult to the whole family. Since John was weaker than his -opponent, he caused his elder brother to execute vengeance with him on -the culprit, by bombarding him with snowballs. They carried out their -revenge so thoroughly, that they thrashed the culprit's younger brother -who was innocent. - -So he must be revengeful. That was a serious charge. He began to -consider the matter more closely. Had he revenged himself on his father -or his step-mother for the injustice they had done him? No; he forgot -all, and kept out of the way. - -Had he revenged himself on his school teachers by sending them boxes -full of stones at Christmas? No. Was he really so severe towards -others, and so hair-splitting in his judgment of their conduct towards -him? Not at all; he was easy to get on with, was credulous, and could -be led by the nose in every kind of way, provided he did not detect any -tyrannous wish to oppress in the other party. By various promises of -exchange his school-fellows had cajoled away from him his herbarium, -his collection of beetles, his chemical apparatus, his adventure books. -Had he abused or dunned them for payment? No; he felt ashamed on their -account, but let them be. At the end of one vacation the father of a -boy whom John had been teaching forgot to pay him. He felt ashamed to -remind him, and it was not till half a year had elapsed, that, at the -instigation of his own father, he demanded payment. - -It was a peculiar trait of John's character, that he identified himself -with others, suffered for them, and felt ashamed on their behalf. -If he had lived in the Middle Ages, he would have been marked with -the stigmata. If one of his brothers did something vulgar or stupid, -John felt ashamed for him. In church he once heard a boys' choir sing -terribly out of tune. He hid himself in the pew with a feeling of -vicarious shame. - -Once he fought with a school-fellow, and gave him a violent blow on -the chest, but when he saw the boy's face distorted with pain, he -burst into tears and reached him his hand. If anyone asked him to do -something which he was very unwilling to do, he suffered on behalf of -the one with whose request he could not comply. - -He was cowardly, and could let no one go away unheard for fear of -causing discontent. He was still afraid of the dark, of dogs, horses, -and strangers. But he could also be courageous if necessary, as he -had shown by rebelling in school, when the matter concerned his final -examination, and by opposing his father. - -"A man without religion is an animal," say the old copybooks. Now -that it has been discovered that animals are the most religious of -creatures, and that he who has knowledge does not need religion, the -practical efficacy of the latter has been much reduced. By placing the -source of his strength outside himself, he had lost strength and faith -in himself. Religion had devoured his ego. He prayed always, and at -all hours, when he was in need. He prayed at school when he was asked -questions; at the card-table when the cards were dealt out. Religion -had spoilt him, for it had educated him for heaven instead of earth; -family life had ruined him by educating him for the family instead of -for society; and school had educated him for the university instead of -for life. - -He was irresolute and weak. When he bought tobacco, he asked his friend -what sort he should buy. Thus he fell into his friends' power. The -consciousness of being popular drove away his fear of the unknown, and -friendship strengthened him. - -He was a prey to capricious moods. One day, when he was a tutor in the -country, he came into the town in order to visit Fritz. When he got -there he did not proceed any further, but remained at home, debating -with himself whether he should go to Fritz or not. He knew that his -friend expected him, and he himself much wished to see him. But he did -not go. The next day he returned to the country, and wrote a melancholy -letter to his friend, in which he tried to explain himself. But Fritz -was angry, and did not understand caprices. - -In all his weakness he sometimes was aware of enormous resources of -strength, which made himself believe himself capable of anything. When -he was twelve his brother brought home a French boys' book from Paris. -John said, "We will translate that, and bring it out at Christmas." -They did translate it, but as they did not know what further steps to -take, the matter dropped. - -An Italian grammar fell into his hands, and he learned Italian. -When he was a tutor in the country, as there was no tailor there, he -undertook to alter a pair of trousers. He opened the seams, altered and -stitched the trousers, and ironed them with the great stable key. He -also mended his boots. When he heard his sisters and brothers play in a -quartette, he was never satisfied with the performance. He would have -liked to jump up, to snatch the instruments from them, and to show them -how they ought to play. - -John had learned to speak the truth. Like all children, he lied in his -defence or in answer to impertinent questions, but he found a brutal -enjoyment, during a conversation, when people were trying to conceal -the truth, to say exactly what all thought. At a ball, where he was -very taciturn, a lady asked him if he liked dancing. - -"No, not at all," he answered. - -"Well, then, why do you dance?" - -"Because I am obliged to." - -He had stolen apples, like all boys, and that did not trouble him; he -made no secret of it. It was a prescriptive right. In the school he had -never done any real mischief. Once, on the last day before the close -of the term, he and some other boys had broken off some clothes-pegs -and torn up some old exercise-books. He was the only one seized on the -occasion. It was a mere outbreak of animal spirits, and was not taken -seriously. - -Now, when he was passing his own character under review, he collected -other people's judgments on himself, and was astonished at the -diversity of opinion displayed. His father considered him hard; his -step-mother, malicious; his brothers, eccentric. Every servant-maid in -the house had a different opinion of him; one of them liked him, and -thought that his parents treated him ill; his lady friend thought him -emotional; the engineer regarded him as an amiable child, and Fritz -considered him melancholy and self-willed. His aunts believed he had a -good heart; his grandmother that he had character; the girl he loved -idolised him; his teachers did not know what to make of him. Towards -those who treated him roughly, he was rough; towards his friends, -friendly. - -John asked himself whether it was he that was so many-sided, or the -opinions about him. Was he false? Did he behave to some differently -from what he did to others? "Yes," said his step-mother. When she heard -anything good about him, she always declared that he was acting a part. - -Yes, but all acted parts! His step-mother was friendly towards her -husband, hard towards her step-children, soft towards her own child, -humble towards the landlord, imperious towards the servants, polite to -the powerful, rough to the weak. - -That was the "law of accommodation," of which John was as yet unaware. -It was a trait in human nature, a tendency to adapt oneself--to be a -lion towards enemies, and a lamb towards friends,--which rested on -calculation. - -But when is one true, and when is one false? And where is to be found -the central "ego,"--the core of character? The "ego" was a complex of -impulses and desires, some of which were to be restrained, and others -unfettered. John's individuality was a fairly rich but chaotic complex; -he was a cross of two entirely different strains of blood, with a good -deal of book-learning, and a variety of experience. He had not yet -found what role he was to play, nor his position in life, and therefore -continued to be characterless. He had not yet determined which of -his impulses must be restrained, and how much of his "ego" must be -sacrificed for the society into which he was preparing to enter. - -If he had really been able to view himself objectively, he would have -found that most of the words he spoke were borrowed from books or from -school-fellows, his gestures from teachers and friends, his behaviour -from relatives, his temperament from his mother and wet-nurse, his -tastes from his father, perhaps from his grandfather. His face had no -resemblance to that of his father or mother. Since he had not seen his -grand-parents, he could not judge whether there was any resemblance -to them. What, then, had he of his own? Nothing. But he had two -fundamental characteristics, which largely determined his life and his -destiny. - -The first was Doubt. He did not receive ideas without criticism, but -developed and combined them. Therefore he could not be an automaton, -nor find a place in ordered society. - -The second was--Sensitiveness to pressure. He always tried to lessen -this last, in the first place, by raising his own level; in the second, -by criticising what was above him, in order to observe that it was not -so high after all, nor so much worth striving after. - -So he stepped out into life--in order to develop himself, and still -ever to remain as he was! - - -[1] A krona is worth about twenty-seven cents. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - -***** This file should be named 44109.txt or 44109.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44109/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Son of a Servant - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44109] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -THE SON OF A SERVANT - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "ZONES OF THE SPIRIT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - -WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH - -G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS - -NEW YORK AND LONDON - -The Knickerbocker Press - -1913 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. Fear and Hunger - II. Breaking-In - III. Away from Home - IV. Intercourse with the Lower Classes - V. Contact with the Upper Classes - VI. The School of the Cross - VII. First Love - VIII. The Spring Thaw - IX. With Strangers - X. Character and Destiny - - - - -AUGUST STRINDBERG AS NOVELIST - - -_From the Publication of "The Son of a Servant" to "The Inferno"_ -(1886-1896) - -A celebrated statesman is said to have described the biography of a -cardinal as being like the Judgment Day. In reading August Strindberg's -autobiographical writings, as, for example, his _Inferno_, and the book -for which this study is a preface, we must remember that he portrays -his own Judgment Day. And as his works have come but lately before the -great British public, it may be well to consider what attitude should -be adopted towards the amazing candour of his self-revelation. In most -provinces of life other than the comprehension of our fellows, the art -of understanding is making great progress. We comprehend new phenomena -without the old strain upon our capacity for readjusting our point of -view. But do we equally well understand our fellow-being whose way of -life is not ours? We are patient towards new phases of philosophy, -new discoveries in science, new sociological facts, observed in other -lands; but in considering an abnormal type of man or woman, hasty -judgment or a too contracted outlook is still liable to cloud the -judgment. - -Now, it is obvious that if we would understand any worker who has -accomplished what his contemporaries could only attempt to do, we -must have a sufficiently wide knowledge of his work. Neither the -inconsequent gossip attaching to such a personality, nor the chance -perusal of a problem-play, affords an adequate basis for arriving at -a true estimate of the man. Few writers demand, to the same degree as -August Strindberg, those graces of judgment, patience, and reverence. -And for this reason first of all: most of us live sheltered lives. They -are few who stand in the heart of the storm made by Europe's progress. -Especially is this true in Southern Europe, where tradition holds its -secular sway, where such a moulding energy as constitutional practice -exerts its influence over social life, where the aims and ends of human -attainment are defined and sanctioned by a consciousness developing -with the advancement of civilisation. There is often engendered under -such conditions a nervous impatience towards those who, judged from -behind the sheltered walls of orthodoxy, are more or less exposed to -the criticism of their fellows. The fault lies in yielding to this -impatience. The proof that August Strindberg was of the few who must -stand in the open, and suffer the full force of all the winds that -blow, cannot now be attempted. Our sole aim must be to enable the -reader of _The Son of a Servant_ to take up a sympathetic standpoint. -This book forms _part_ of the autobiography of a most gifted man, -through whose life the fierce winds of Europe's opinions blew into -various expression. - -The second reason for the exercise of impartiality, is that -Strindberg's recent death has led to the circulation through Europe of -certain phrases which are liable to displace the balance of judgment -in reviewing his life and work. There are passages in his writings, -and phases of his autobiography, that raise questions of Abnormal -Psychology. Hence pathological terms are used to represent the whole -man and his work. Again, from the jargon of a prevalent Nietzschianism -a doctrine at once like and unlike the teaching of that solitary -thinker descriptions of the Superman are borrowed, and with these -Strindberg is labelled. Or again, certain incidents in his domestic -affairs are seized upon to prove him a decadent libertine. The facts of -this book, _The Son of a Servant_, are true: Strindberg lived them. His -_Inferno_, in like manner, is a transcript of a period of his life. And -if these books are read as they should be read, they are neither more -nor less than the records of the progress of a most gifted life along -the Dolorous Way. - -The present volume is the record of the early years of Strindberg's -life, and the story is incomparably told. For the sympathetic reader it -will represent the history of a temperament to which the world could -not come in easy fashion, and for which circumstances had contrived a -world where it would encounter at each step tremendous difficulties. -We find in Strindberg the consciousness of vast powers thwarted by -neglect, by misunderstanding, and by the shackles of an ignominious -parentage. He sets out on life as a viking, sailing the trackless seas -that beat upon the shores of unknown lands, where he must take the -sword to establish his rights of venture, and write fresh pages in some -Heimskringla of a later age. - -A calm reading of the book may induce us to suggest that this is often -the fate of genius. The man of great endowments is made to walk where -hardship lies on every side. And though a recognition of the hardness -of the way is something, it must be borne in mind that while some are -able to pass along it in serenity, others face it in tears, and others -again in terrible revolt. Revolt was the only possible attitude for the -Son of a Servant. - -How true this is may be realised by recalling the fact that towards -the end of the same year in which _The Son of a Servant_ appeared, -viz., 1886, our author published the second part of a series of stories -entitled _Marriage_, in which that relationship is subjected to -criticism more intense than is to be found in any of the many volumes -devoted to this subject in a generation eminently given to this form -of criticism. Side by side with this fact should be set the contents -of one such story from his pen. Here he has etched, with acid that -bites deeper than that of the worker in metal, the story of a woman's -pettiness and inhumanity towards the husband who loves her. By his -art her weakness is made to dominate every detail of the domestic -_ménage_, and what was once a woman now appears to be the spirit of -neglect, whose habitation is garnished with dust and dead flowers. -Her great weakness calls to the man's pity, and we are told how, into -this disorder, he brings the joy of Christmastide, and the whispered -words of life, like a wind from some flower-clad hill. The natural -conclusion, as regards both his autobiographical works and his volume -of stories, is this: that Strindberg finds the Ideal to be a scourge, -and not a Pegasus. And this is a distinction that sharply divides man -from man, whether endowed for the attainment of saintship, for the -apprehension of the vision, or with powers that enable him to wander -far over the worlds of thought. - -Had Strindberg intended to produce some more finished work to qualify -the opinion concerning his pessimism, he could have done no better -than write the novel that comes next in the order of his works, _Hemso -Folk_, which was given to the world in the year 1887. It is the first -of his novels to draw on the natural beauties of the rocky coast and -many tiny islands which make up the splendour of the Fjord whose -crown is Stockholm, and which, continuing north and south, provide -fascinating retreats, still unspoilt and unexplored by the commercial -agent. It may be noticed here that this northern Land of Faery has -not long since found its way into English literature through a story -by Mr. Algernon Blackwood, in his interesting volume, _John Silence_. -The adequate description of this region was reserved for August -Strindberg, and among his prose writings there are none to compare with -those that have been inspired by the islands and coast he delighted -in. Among them, _Hemso Folk_ ranks first. In this work he shows his -mastery, not of self-portraiture, but of the portraiture of other men, -and his characters are painted with a mastery of subject and material -which in a sister art would cause one to think of Velasquez. Against -a background of sea and sky stand the figures of a schoolmaster and -a priest--the portraits of both depicted with the highest art,--and -throughout the book may be heard the authentic speech of the soul of -Strindberg's North. He may truly be claimed to be most Swedish here; -but he may also with equal truth be claimed to be most universal, since -_Hemso Folk_ is true for all time, and in all places. - -In the following year (1888) was published another volume of tales by -Strindberg, entitled _Life on the Skerries_, and again the sea, and -the sun, and the life of men who commune with the great waters are the -sources of his virile inspiration. Other novels of a like kind were -written later, but at this hour of his life he yielded to the command -of the idea--a voice which called him more strongly than did the -magnificence of Nature, whose painter he could be when he had respite -from the whirlwind. - -_Tschandala_, his next book, was the fruit of a holiday in the country. -This novel was written to show a man of uncommon powers of mind in the -toils of inferior folk--the proletariat of soul bent on the ruin of -the elect in soul. Poverty keeps him in chains. He is forced to deal -with neighbours of varying degrees of degradation. A landlady deceives -her husband for the sake of a vagrant lover. This person attempts to -subordinate the uncommon man; who, however, discovers that he can be -dominated through his superstitious fears. He is enticed one night -into a field, where the projections from a lantern, imagined as -supernatural beings, so play upon his fears that he dies from fright. -In this book we evidently have the experimental upsurging of his -imagination: supposing himself the victim of a sordid environment, -he can see with unveiled eyes what might happen to him. Realistic in -his apprehension of outward details, he sees the idea in its vaguest -proportions. This creates, this informs his pictures of Nature; this -also makes his heaven and hell. Inasmuch as a similar method is used -by certain modern novelists, the curious phrase "a novel of ideas" has -been coined. As though it were a surprising feature to find an idea -expressed in novels! And not rarely such works are said to be lacking -in warmth, because they are too full of thought. - -After _Tschandala_ come two or three novels of distinctly controversial -character--books of especial value in essaying an understanding of -Strindberg's mind. The pressure of ideas from many quarters of Europe -was again upon him, and caused him to undertake long and desperate -pilgrimages. _In the Offing_ and _To Damascus_ are the suggestive -titles of these books. Seeing, however, that a detailed sketch of the -evolution of Strindberg's opinions is not at this moment practicable, -we merely mention these works, and the years 1890 and 1892. - -Meanwhile our author has passed through two intervals in his life of a -more peaceful character than was usually his lot. The first of these -was spent among his favourite scenes in the vicinity of the Gulf of -Bothnia, where he lived like a hermit, writing poetry and painting -pictures. He might have become a painter of some note, had it not come -so natural to him to use the pen. At any rate, during the time that he -wielded the brush he put on canvas the scenes which he succeeded in -reproducing so marvellously in his written works. The other period of -respite was during a visit to Ola Hansson, a Swedish writer of rare -distinction, then living near Berlin. The author of _Sensitiva Amorosa_ -was the antithesis of Strindberg. A consummate artist, with a wife of -remarkable intellectual power, the two enfolded him in their peace, and -he was able to give full expression to his creative faculty. - -Strindberg now enters upon the period which culminates in the writing -of _The Inferno_. From the peace of Ola Hansson's home he set out -on his wedding tour, and during the early part of it came over to -England. In a remarkable communication to a Danish man of letters, -Strindberg answers many questions concerning his personal tastes, among -them several regarding his English predilections. We may imagine them -present to him as he looks upon the sleeping city from London Bridge, -in the greyness of a Sunday morning, after a journey from Gravesend. -His favourite English writer is Dickens, and of his works the most -admired is _Little Dorrit_. A novel written in the period described in -_The Son of a Servant_, and which first brought him fame, was inspired -by the reading of _David Copperfield_! His favourite painter is Turner. -These little sidelights upon the personality of the man are very -interesting, throwing into relief as they do the view of him adopted by -the writer of the foregoing pages. London, however, he disliked, and a -crisis in health compelled him to leave for Paris, from which moment -begins his journey through the "Inferno." - -A play of Strindberg's has been performed in Paris--the height of his -ambition. Once attained, it was no longer to be desired; accordingly, -he turned from the theatre to Science. He takes from their hiding-place -some chemical apparatus he had purchased long before. Drawing the -blinds of his room he bums pure sulphur until he believes that he has -discovered in it the presence of carbon. His sentences are written -in terse, swift style. A page or two of the book is turned over, and -we find his pen obeying the impulse of his penetrating sight.... -Separation from his wife; the bells of Christmas; his visit to a -hospital, and the people he sees there, begin to occupy him. Gratitude -to the nursing sister, and the reaching forward of his mind into the -realm of the alchemical significance of his chemical studies, arouse -in him a spirit of mystical asceticism. Pages of _The Inferno_ might -be cited to show their resemblance to documents which have come to us -from the Egyptian desert, or from the narrow cell of a recluse. Theirs -is the search for a spiritual union: his is the quest of a negation -of self, that his science might be without fault. A notion of destiny -is grafted upon his mysticism of science. He wants to be led, as did -the ascetic, though for him the goal is lore hidden from mortal eyes. -He now happens upon confirmation of his scientific curiosity, in -the writings of an older chemist. Then he meets with Balzac's novel -_Séraphita_, and a new ecstasy is added to his outreaching towards the -knowledge he aspires to. Vivid temptations assail him; he materialises -as objective personalities the powers that appear to place obstacles -in the way of his researches. Again we observe the same phenomena as -in the soul of the monk, yet always with this difference: Strindberg -is the monk of science. Curious little experiences--that others would -brush into that great dust-bin, Chance--are examined with a rare -simplicity to see if they may hold significance for the order of his -life. These details accumulate as we turn the pages of _The Inferno_, -and force one to the conclusion that they are akin to the material -which we have only lately begun to study as phenomena peculiar to the -psychology of the religious life. Their summary inclusion under the -heading of "Abnormal Psychology" will, however, lead to a shallow -interpretation of Strindberg. The voluntary isolation of himself from -the relations of life and the world plays havoc with his health. Soon -he is established under a doctor's care in a little southern Swedish -town, with its memories of smugglers and pirates; and he immediately -likens the doctor's house to a Buddhist cloister. The combination is -typically Strindbergian! He begins to be haunted with the terrible -suspicion that he is being plotted against. Nature is exacting heavy -dues from his overwrought system. After thirty days' treatment he -leaves the establishment with the reflection that whom the Lord loveth -he chasteneth. - -Dante wrote his Divine Comedy; Strindberg his Mortal Comedy. There are -three great stages in each, and the literary vehicle of their perilous -journeyings is aptly chosen. Readers of the wonderful Florentine will -recall the familiar words: - - "Surge ai mortali per diverse foci - la lucerna de mondo."[1] - -And they have found deeper content in Strindberg's self-discoveries. -The first part of his _Inferno_ tells of his Purgatory; the second -part closes with the poignant question, Whither? If, for a moment, -we step beyond the period of his life with which this study deals, -we shall find him telling of his Paradise in a mystery-play entitled -_Advent_, where he, too, had a starry vision of "un simplice lume," -a simple flame that ingathers the many and scattered gleams of the -universe's revelation. His guide through Hell is Swedenborg. Once more -the note is that of the anchorite; for at the outset of his acceptance -of Swedenborg's guidance he is tempted to believe that even his guide's -spiritual teaching may weaken his belief in a God who chastens. He -desires to deny himself the gratification of the sight of his little -daughter, because he appears to consider her prattle, that breaks -into the web of his contemplation, to be the instrument of a strange -power. From step to step he goes until his faith is childlike as a -peasant's. How he is hurled again into the depths of his own Hell, the -closing pages of his book will tell us. Whatever views the reader may -hold, it seems impossible that he should see in this Mortal Comedy the -utterances of deranged genius. Rather will his charity of judgment have -led him to a better understanding of one who listened to the winds that -blow through Europe, and was buffeted by their violence. - -We may close this brief study by asking the question: What, then, -is Strindberg's legacy for the advancement of Art, as found in this -decade of his life? It will surely be seen that Strindberg's realism -is of a peculiarly personal kind. Whatever his sympathy with Zola -may have been, or Zola's with him, Strindberg has never confounded -journalism with Art. He has also recognised in his novels that there -is a difference between the function of the camera and the eye of the -artist. More than this--and it is important if Strindberg is to be -understood--his realism has always been subservient to the idea. And -it is this power that has essentially rendered Strindberg's realism -peculiarly personal; that is to say, incapable of being copied or -forming a school. It can only be used by such as he who, standing -in the maelstrom of ideas, is fashioned and attuned by the whirling -storms, as they strive for complete expression. Not always, however, -is he subservient to their dominion. Sometimes cast down from the high -places whence the multitudinous voice can be heard, he may say and do -that which raises fierce criticism. A patient study of Strindberg will -lay bare such matters; but their discovery must not blind our eyes -to the truth that these are moments of insensitiveness towards, or -rejection of, the majestic power which is ceaselessly sculpturing our -highest Western civilisation. - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH. - - -[1] "There riseth up to mortals through diverse trials the light of the -world." - - - - -The Son of a Servant - - - - -I - -FEAR AND HUNGER - - -In the third story of a large house near the Clara Church in -Stockholm, the son of the shipping agent and the servant-maid awoke -to self-consciousness. The child's first impressions were, as he -remembered afterwards, fear and hunger. He feared the darkness and -blows, he feared to fall, to knock himself against something, or to -go in the streets. He feared the fists of his brothers, the roughness -of the servant-girl, the scolding of his grandmother, the rod of -his mother, and his father's cane. He was afraid of the general's -man-servant, who lived on the ground-floor, with his skull-cap and -large hedge-scissors; he feared the landlord's deputy, when he played -in the courtyard with the dust-bin; he feared the landlord, who was -a magistrate. Above him loomed a hierarchy of authorities wielding -various rights, from the right of seniority of his brothers to the -supreme tribunal of his father. And yet above his father was the -deputy-landlord, who always threatened him with the landlord. This last -was generally invisible, because he lived in the country, and perhaps, -for that reason, was the most feared of all. But again, above all, even -above the man-servant with the skull-cap, was the general, especially -when he sallied forth in uniform wearing his plumed three-cornered hat. -The child did not know what a king looked like, but he knew that the -general went to the King. The servant-maids also used to tell stories -of the King, and showed the child his picture. His mother generally -prayed to God in the evening, but the child could form no distinct idea -of God, except that He must certainly be higher than the King. - -This tendency to fear was probably not the child's own peculiarity, -but due to the troubles which his parents had undergone shortly before -his birth. And the troubles had been great. Three children had been -born before their marriage and John soon after it. Probably his birth -had not been desired, as his father had gone bankrupt just before, so -that he came to the light in a now pillaged house, in which was only a -bed, a table, and a couple of chairs. About the same time his father's -brother had died in a state of enmity with him, because his father -would not give up his wife, but, on the contrary, made the tie stronger -by marriage. His father was of a reserved nature, which perhaps -betokened a strong will. He was an aristocrat by birth and education. -There was an old genealogical table which traced his descent to a noble -family of the sixteenth century. His paternal ancestors were pastors -from Zemtland, of Norwegian, possibly Finnish blood. It had become -mixed by emigration. His mother was of German birth, and belonged to a -carpenter's family. His father was a grocer in Stockholm, a captain of -volunteers, a freemason, and adherent of Karl Johann. - -John's mother was a poor tailor's daughter, sent into domestic service -by her step-father. She had become a waitress when John's father met -her. She was democratic by instinct, but she looked up to her husband, -because he was of "good family," and she loved him; but whether as -deliverer, as husband, or as family-provider, one does not know, and it -is difficult to decide. - -He addressed his man-servant and maid as "thou," and she called him -"sir." In spite of his come-down in the world, he did not join the -party of malcontents, but fortified himself with religious resignation, -saying, "It is God's will," and lived a lonely life at home. But he -still cherished the hope of being able to raise himself again. - -He was, however, fundamentally an aristocrat, even in his habits. His -face was of an aristocratic type, beardless, thin-skinned, with hair -like Louis Philippe. He wore glasses, always dressed elegantly, and -liked clean linen. The man-servant who cleaned his boots had to wear -gloves when doing so, because his hands were too dirty to be put into -them. - -John's mother remained a democrat at heart. Her dress was always simple -but clean. She wished the children to be clean and tidy, nothing more. -She lived on intimate terms with the servants, and punished a child, -who had been rude to one of them, upon the bare accusation, without -investigation or inquiry. She was always kind to the poor, and however -scanty the fare might be at home, a beggar was never sent empty away. -Her old nurses, four in number, often came to see her, and were -received as old friends. The storm of financial trouble had raged -severely over the whole family, and its scattered members had crept -together like frightened poultry, friends and foes alike, for they felt -that they needed one another for mutual protection. An aunt rented two -rooms in the house. She was the widow of a famous English discoverer -and manufacturer, who had been ruined. She received a pension, -on which she lived with two well-educated daughters. She was an -aristocrat, having formerly possessed a splendid house, and conversed -with celebrities. She loved her brother, though disapproving of his -marriage, and had taken care of his children when the storm broke. -She wore a lace cap, and the children kissed her hand. She taught -them to sit straight on their chairs, to greet people politely, and -to express themselves properly. Her room had traces of bygone luxury, -and contained gifts from many rich friends. It had cushioned rose-wood -furniture with embroidered covers in the English style. It was adorned -with the picture of her deceased husband dressed as a member of the -Academy of Sciences and wearing the order of Gustavus Vasa. On the -wall there hung a large oil-painting of her father in the uniform of a -major of volunteers. This man the children always regarded as a king, -for he wore many orders, which later on they knew were freemasonry -insignia. The aunt drank tea and read English books. Another room was -occupied by John's mother's brother, a small trader in the New Market, -as well as by a cousin, the son of the deceased uncle, a student in the -Technological Institute. - -In the nursery lived the grandmother. She was a stem old lady who -mended hose and blouses, taught the ABC, rocked the cradle, and pulled -hair. She was religious, and went to early service in the Clara Church. -In the winter she carried a lantern, for there were no gas-lamps at -that time. She kept in her own place, and probably loved neither her -son-in-law nor his sister. They were too polite for her. He treated her -with respect, but not with love. - -John's father and mother, with seven children and two servants, -occupied three rooms. The furniture mostly consisted of tables and -beds. Children lay on the ironing boards and the chairs, children in -the cradles and the beds. The father had no room for himself, although -he was constantly at home. He never accepted an invitation from his -many business friends, because he could not return it. He never went to -the restaurant or the theatre. He had a wound which he concealed and -wished to heal. His recreation was the piano. One of the nieces came -every other evening and then Haydn's symphonies were played _à quatre -mains_, later on Mozart, but never anything modern. Afterwards he had -also another recreation as circumstances permitted. He cultivated -flowers in window-boxes, but only pelargoniums. Why pelargoniums? When -John had grown older and his mother was dead, he fancied he always saw -her standing by one. She was pale, she had had twelve confinements and -suffered from lung-complaint. Her face was like the transparent white -leaves of the pelargonium with its crimson veins, which grow darker -towards the pistil, where they seemed to form an almost black eye, like -hers. - -The father appeared only at meal-times. He was melancholy, weary, -strict, serious, but not hard. He seemed severer than he really was, -because on his return home he always had to settle a number of things -which he could not judge properly. Besides, his name was always used to -frighten the children. "I will tell papa that," signified a thrashing. -It was not exactly a pleasant rôle which fell to his share. Towards -the mother he was always gentle. He kissed her after every meal and -thanked her for the food. This accustomed the children, unjustly -enough, to regard her as the giver of all that was good, and the father -as the dispenser of all that was evil. They feared him. When the cry -"Father is coming!" was heard, all the children ran and hid themselves, -or rushed to the nursery to be combed and washed. At the table there -was deathly silence, and the father spoke only a little. - -The mother had a nervous temperament. She used to become easily -excited, but soon quieted down again. She was relatively content with -her life, for she had risen in the social scale, and had improved her -position and that of her mother and brother. She drank her coffee in -bed in the mornings, and had her nurses, two servants, and her mother -to help her. Probably she did not over-exert herself. - -But for the children she played the part of Providence itself. She cut -overgrown nails, tied up injured fingers, always comforted, quieted, -and soothed when the father punished, although she was the official -accuser. The children did not like her when she "sneaked," and she -did not win their respect. She could be unjust, violent, and punish -unseasonably on the bare accusation of a servant; but the children -received food and comfort from her, therefore they loved her. The -father, on the other hand, always remained a stranger, and was regarded -rather as a foe than a friend. - -That is the thankless position of the father in the family--the -provider for all, and the enemy of all. If he came home tired, hungry, -and ill-humoured, found the floor only just scoured and the food -ill-cooked, and ventured a remark, he received a curt reply. He lived -in his own house as if on sufferance, and the children hid away from -him. He was less content than his wife, for he had come down in the -world, and was obliged to do without things to which he had formerly -been accustomed. And he was not pleased when he saw those to whom he -had given life and food discontented. - -But the family is a very imperfect arrangement. It is properly an -institution for eating, washing, and ironing, and a very uneconomical -one. It consists chiefly of preparations for meals, market-shopping, -anxieties about bills, washing, ironing, starching, and scouring. Such -a lot of bustle for so few persons! The keeper of a restaurant, who -serves hundreds, hardly does more. - -The education consisted of scolding, hair-pulling, and exhortations to -obedience. The child heard only of his duties, nothing of his rights. -Everyone else's wishes carried weight; his were suppressed. He could -begin nothing without doing wrong, go nowhere without being in the way, -utter no word without disturbing someone. At last he did not dare to -move. His highest duty and virtue was to sit on a chair and be quiet. -It was always dinned into him that he had no will of his own, and so -the foundation of a weak character was laid. - -Later on the cry was, "What will people say?" And thus his will was -broken, so that he could never be true to himself, but was forced to -depend on the wavering opinions of others, except on the few occasions -when he felt his energetic soul work independently of his will. - -The child was very sensitive. He wept so often that he received a -special nickname for doing so. He felt the least remark keenly, and -was in perpetual anxiety lest he should do something wrong. He was -very awake to injustice, and while he had a high ideal for himself, -he narrowly watched the failings of his brothers. When they were -unpunished, he felt deeply injured; when they were undeservedly -rewarded, his sense of justice suffered. He was accordingly considered -envious. He then complained to his mother. Sometimes she took his part, -but generally she told him not to judge so severely. But they judged -him severely, and demanded that he should judge himself severely. -Therefore he withdrew into himself and became bitter. His reserve and -shyness grew on him. He hid himself if he received a word of praise, -and took a pleasure in being overlooked. He began to be critical and to -take a pleasure in self-torture; he was melancholy and boisterous by -turns. - -His eldest brother was hysterical; if he became vexed during some game, -he often had attacks of choking with convulsive laughter. This brother -was the mother's favourite, and the second one the father's. In all -families there are favourites; it is a fact that one child wins more -sympathy than another. John was no one's favourite. He was aware of -this, and it troubled him. But the grandmother saw it, and took his -part; he read the ABC with her and helped her to rock the cradle. But -he was not content with this love; he wanted to win his mother; he -tried to flatter her, but did it clumsily and was repulsed. - -Strict discipline prevailed in the house; falsehood and disobedience -were severely punished. Little children often tell falsehoods because -of defective memories. A child is asked, "Did you do it?" It happened -only two hours ago, and his memory does not reach back so far. Since -the act appeared an indifferent matter to the child, he paid it no -attention. Therefore little children can lie unconsciously, and this -fact should be remembered. They also easily lie out of self-defence; -they know that a "no" can free them from punishment, and a "yes" -bring a thrashing. They can also lie in order to win an advantage. -The earliest discovery of an awakening consciousness is that a -well-directed "yes" or "no" is profitable to it. The ugliest feature -of childish untruthfulness is when they accuse one another. They know -that a misdeed must be visited by punishing someone or other, and a -scapegoat has to be found. That is a great mistake in education. Such -punishment is pure revenge, and in such cases is itself a new wrong. - -The certainty that every misdeed will be punished makes the child -afraid of being accused of it, and John was in a perpetual state of -anxiety lest some such act should be discovered. - -One day, during the mid-day meal, his father examined his sister's -wine-flask. It was empty. - -"Who has drunk the wine?" he asked, looking round the circle. No one -answered, but John blushed. - -"It is you, then," said his father. - -John, who had never noticed where the wine-flask was hidden, burst into -tears and sobbed, "I didn't drink the wine." - -"Then you lie too. When dinner is over, you will get something." - -The thought of what he would get when dinner was over, as well as the -continued remarks about "John's secretiveness," caused his tears to -flow without pause. They rose from the table. - -"Come here," said his father, and went into the bedroom. His mother -followed. "Ask father for forgiveness," she said. His father had taken -out the stick from behind the looking-glass. - -"Dear papa, forgive me!" the innocent child exclaimed. But now it was -too late. He had confessed the theft, and his mother assisted at the -execution. He howled from rage and pain, but chiefly from a sense of -humiliation. "Ask papa now for forgiveness," said his mother. - -The child looked at her and despised her. He felt lonely, deserted -by her to whom he had always fled to find comfort and compassion, but -so seldom justice. "Dear papa, forgive," he said, with compressed and -lying lips. - -And then he stole out into the kitchen to Louise the nursery-maid, who -used to comb and wash him, and sobbed his grief out in her apron. - -"What have you done, John?" she asked sympathetically. - -"Nothing," he answered. "I have done nothing." - -The mother came out. - -"What does John say?" she asked Louise. "He says that he didn't do it." -"Is he lying still?" - -And John was fetched in again to be tortured into the admission of what -he had never done. - -Splendid, moral institution! Sacred family! Divinely appointed, -unassailable, where citizens are to be educated in truth and virtue! -Thou art supposed to be the home of the virtues, where innocent -children are tortured into their first falsehood, where wills are -broken by tyranny, and self-respect killed by narrow egoism. Family! -thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for -comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for -children. - -After this John lived in perpetual disquiet. He dared not confide in -his mother, or Louise, still less his brothers, and least of all his -father. Enemies everywhere! God he knew only through hymns. He was an -atheist, as children are, but in the dark, like savages and animals, he -feared evil spirits. - -"Who drank the wine?" he asked himself; who was the guilty one for whom -he suffered? New impressions and anxieties caused him to forget the -question, but the unjust treatment remained in his memory. He had lost -the confidence of his parents, the regard of his brothers and sisters, -the favour of his aunt; his grandmother said nothing. Perhaps she -inferred his innocence on other grounds, for she did not scold him, and -was silent. She had nothing to say. He felt himself disgraced--punished -for lying, which was so abominated in the household, and for theft, -a word which could not be mentioned, deprived of household rights, -suspected and despised by his brothers because he had been caught. All -these consequences, which were painful and real for him, sprang out of -something which never existed--his guilt. - - * * * * * - -It was not actual poverty which reigned in the house, but there was -overcrowding. Baptisms, and burials followed each other in rapid -succession. Sometimes there were two baptisms without a burial -between them. The food was carefully distributed, and was not exactly -nourishing. They had meat only on Sundays, but John grew sturdy and -was tall for his age. He used now to be sent to play in the "court," a -well-like, stone-paved area in which the sun never shone. The dust-bin -which resembled an old bureau with a flap-cover and a coating of tar, -but burst, stood on four legs by the wall. Here slop-pails were emptied -and rubbish thrown, and through the cracks a black stream flowed over -the court. Great rats lurked under the dust-bin and looked out now -and then, scurrying off to hide themselves in the cellar. Woodsheds -and closets lined one side of the court. Here there was dampness, -darkness, and an evil smell. John's first attempt to scrape out the -sand between the great paving-stones was frustrated by the irascible -landlord's deputy. The latter had a son with whom John played, but -never felt safe. The boy was inferior to him in physical strength and -intelligence, but when disputes arose he used to appeal to his father. -His superiority consisted in having an authority behind him. - -The baron on the ground-floor had a staircase with iron banisters. John -liked playing on it, but all attempts to climb on the balustrade were -hindered by the servant who rushed out. - -He was strictly forbidden to go out in the street. But when he looked -through the doorway, and saw the churchyard gate, he heard the children -playing there. He had no longing to be with them, for he feared -children; looking down the street, he saw the Clara lake and the -drawbridges. That looked novel and mysterious, but he feared the water. -On quiet winter evenings he had heard cries for help from drowning -people. These, indeed, were often heard. As they were sitting by the -lamp in the nursery, one of the servant-maids would say, "Hush!" and -all would listen while long, continuous cries would be heard.... "Now -someone is drowning," one of the girls said. They listened till all was -still, and then told stories of others who had been drowned. - -The nursery looked towards the courtyard, and through the window one -saw a zinc roof and a pair of attics in which stood a quantity of old -disused furniture and other household stuff. This furniture, without -any people to use it, had a weird effect. The servants said that the -attics were haunted. What "haunted" meant they could not exactly say, -only that it had something to do with dead men going about. Thus are -we all brought up by the lower classes. It is an involuntary revenge -which they take by inoculating our children with superstitions which -we have cast aside. Perhaps this is what hinders development so much, -while it somewhat obliterates the distinction between the classes. -Why does a mother let this most important duty slip from her hands--a -mother who is supported by the father in order that she may educate her -children? John's mother only occasionally said his evening prayer with -him; generally it was the maidservant. The latter had taught him an old -Catholic prayer which ran as follows: - - "Through our house an angel goes, - In each hand a light he shows." - -The other rooms looked out on the Clara churchyard. Above the -lime-trees the nave of the church rose like a mountain, and on the -mountain sat the giant with a copper hat, who kept up a never-ceasing -clamour in order to announce the flight of time. He sounded the quarter -hours in soprano, and the hours in bass. He rang for early morning -prayer with a tinkling sound, for matins at eight o'clock and vespers -at seven. He rang thrice during the forenoon, and four times during -the afternoon. He chimed all the hours from ten till four at night; he -tolled in the middle of the week at funerals, and often, at the time I -speak of, during the cholera epidemic. On Sundays he rang so much that -the whole family was nearly reduced to tears, and no one could hear -what the other said. The chiming at night, when John lay awake, was -weird; but worst of all was the ringing of an alarm when a fire broke -out. When he heard the deep solemn boom in the middle of the night for -the first time he shuddered feverishly and wept. On such occasions -the household always awoke, and whisperings were heard: "There is a -fire!"--"Where?" They counted the strokes, and then went to sleep -again; but he kept awake and wept. Then his mother came upstairs, -tucked him up, and said: "Don't be afraid; God protects unfortunate -people!" He had never thought that of God before. In the morning the -servant-girls read in the papers that there had been a fire in Soder, -and that two people had been killed. "It was God's will," said the -mother. - -His first awakening to consciousness was mixed with the pealing, -chiming, and tolling of bells. All his first thoughts and impressions -were accompanied by the ringing for funerals, and the first years of -his life were counted out by strokes of the quarter. The effect on him -was certainly not cheerful, even if it did not decidedly tell on his -nervous system. But who can say? The first years are as important as -the nine months which precede them. - -The recollections of childhood show how the senses first partly awaken -and receive the most vivid impressions, how the feelings are moved by -the lightest breath, how the faculty of observation first fastens on -the most striking outward appearances and, later, on moral relations -and qualities, justice and injustice, power and pity. - -These memories lie in confusion, unformed and undefined, like pictures -in a thaumatrope. But when it is made to revolve, they melt together -and form a picture, significant or insignificant as the case may be. - -One day the child sees splendid pictures of emperors and kings in blue -and red uniforms, which the servant-girls hang up in the nursery. He -sees another representing a building which flies in the air and is -full of Turks. Another time he hears someone read in a newspaper how, -in a distant land, they are firing cannon at towns and villages, and -remembers many details--for instance, his mother weeping at hearing -of poor fishermen driven out of their burning cottages with their -children. These pictures and descriptions referred to Czar Nicholas and -Napoleon III., the storming of Sebastopol, and the bombardment of the -coast of Finland. On another occasion his father spends the whole day -at home. All the tumblers in the house are placed on the window-ledges. -They are filled with sand in which candles are inserted and lit at -night. All the rooms are warm and bright. It is bright too in the Clara -school-house and in the church and the vicarage; the church is full of -music. These are the illuminations to celebrate the recovery of King -Oscar. - -One day there is a great noise in the kitchen. The bell is rung and his -mother called. There stands a man in uniform with a book in his hand -and writes. The cook weeps, his mother supplicates and speaks loud, but -the man with the helmet speaks still louder. It is the policeman! The -cry goes all over the house, and all day long they talk of the police. -His father is summoned to the police-station. Will he be arrested? No; -but he has to pay three rix-dollars and sixteen skillings, because the -cook had emptied a utensil in the gutter in the daytime. - -One afternoon he sees them lighting the lamps in the street. A cousin -draws his attention to the fact that they have no oil and no wicks, but -only a metal burner. They are the first gas-lamps. - -For many nights he lies in bed, without getting up by day. He is tired -and sleepy. A harsh-voiced man comes to the bed, and says that he must -not lay his hands outside the coverlet. They give him evil-tasting -stuff with a spoon; he eats nothing. There is whispering in the room, -and his mother weeps. Then he sits again at the window in the bedroom. -Bells are tolling the whole day long. Green biers are carried over the -churchyard. Sometimes a dark mass of people stand round a black chest. -Gravediggers with their spades keep coming and going. He has to wear a -copper plate suspended by a blue silk ribbon on his breast, and chew -all day at a root. That is the cholera epidemic of 1854. - -One day he goes a long way with one of the servants--so far that he -becomes homesick and cries for his mother. The servant takes him into -a house; they sit in a dark kitchen near a green water-butt. He thinks -he will never see his home again. But they still go on, past ships and -barges, past a gloomy brick house with long high walls behind which -prisoners sit. He sees a new church, a new alley lined with trees, a -dusty high-road along whose edges dandelions grow. Now the servant -carries him. At last they come to a great stone building hard by which -is a yellow wooden house with a cross, surrounded by a large garden. -They see limping, mournful-looking people dressed in white. They reach -a great hall where are nothing but beds painted brown, with old women -in them. The walls are whitewashed, the old women are white, and the -beds are white. There is a very bad smell. They pass by a row of beds, -and in the middle of the room stop at a bed on the right side. In it -lies a woman younger than the rest with black curly hair confined by -a night-cap. She lies half on her back; her face is emaciated, and -she wears a white cloth over her head and ears. Her thin hands are -wrapped up in white bandages and her arms shake ceaselessly so that her -knuckles knock against each other. When she sees the child, her arms -and knees tremble violently, and she bursts into tears. She kisses his -head, but the boy does not feel comfortable. He is shy, and not far -from crying himself. "Don't you know Christina again?" she says; but he -does not. Then she dries her eyes and describes her sufferings to the -servant, who is taking eatables out of a basket. - -The old women in white now begin to talk in an undertone, and Christina -begs the servant not to show what she has in the basket, for they are -so envious. Accordingly the servant pushes surreptitiously a yellow -rix-dollar into the psalm-book on the table. The child finds the whole -thing tedious. His heart says nothing to him; it does not tell him that -he has drunk this woman's milk, which really belonged to another; it -does not tell him that he had slept his best sleep on that shrunken -bosom, that those shaking arms had cradled, carried, and dandled him; -his heart says nothing, for the heart is only a muscle, which pumps -blood indifferent as to the source it springs from. But after receiving -her last fervent kisses, after bowing to the old women and the nurse, -and breathing freely in the courtyard after inhaling the close air -of the sick-ward, he becomes somehow conscious of a debt, which can -only be paid by perpetual gratitude, a few eatables, and a rix-dollar -slipped into a psalm-book, and he feels ashamed at being glad to get -away from the brown-painted beds of the sufferers. - -It was his wet-nurse, who subsequently lay for fifteen years in the -same bed, suffering from fits of cramp and wasting disease, till she -died. Then he received his portrait in a schoolboy's cap, sent back by -the directors of the Sabbatsberg infirmary, where it had hung for many -years. During that time the growing youth had only once a year given -her an hour of indescribable joy, and himself one of some uneasiness -of conscience, by going to see her. Although he had received from her -inflammation in his blood, and cramp in his nerves, still he felt he -owed her a debt, a representative debt. It was not a personal one, for -she had only given him what she had been obliged to sell. The fact that -she had been compelled to sell it was the sin of society, and as a -member of society he felt himself in a certain degree guilty. - -Sometimes the child went to the churchyard, where everything seemed -strange. The vaults with the stone monuments bearing inscriptions and -carved figures, the grass on which one might not step, the trees with -leaves which one might not touch. One day his uncle plucked a leaf, -but the police were instantly on the spot. The great building in the -middle was unintelligible to him. People went in and out of it, and one -heard singing and music, ringing and chiming. It was mysterious. At the -east end was a window with a gilded eye. That was God's eye. He did not -understand that, but at any rate it was a large eye which must see far. - -Under the window was a grated cellar-opening. His uncle pointed out to -him the polished coffins below. "Here," he said, "lives Clara the Nun." -Who was she? He did not know, but supposed it must be a ghost. - -One day he stands in an enormous room and does not know where he is; -but it is beautiful, everything in white and gold. Music, as if from a -hundred pianos, sounds over his head, but he cannot see the instrument -or the person who plays it. There stand long rows of benches, and quite -in front is a picture, probably of some Bible story. Two white-winged -figures are kneeling, and near them are two large candlesticks. Those -are probably the angels with the two lights who go about our house. -The people on the benches are bowed down as though they were sleeping. -"Take your caps off," says his uncle, and holds his hat before his -face. The boys look round, and see close beside them a strange-looking -seat on which are two men in grey mantles and hoods. They have iron -chains on their hands and feet, and policemen stand by them. - -"Those are thieves," whispers their uncle. - -All this oppresses the boy with a sense of weirdness, strangeness, and -severity. His brothers also feel it, for they ask their uncle to go, -and he complies. - -Strange! Such are the impressions made by that form of worship which -was intended to symbolise the simple truths of Christianity. But it was -not like the mild teaching of Christ. The sight of the thieves was the -worst--in iron chains, and such coats! - - * * * * * - -One day, when the sun shines warmly, there is a great stir in the -house. Articles of furniture are moved from their place, drawers are -emptied, clothes are thrown about everywhere. A morning or two after, -a waggon comes to take away the things, and so the journey begins. -Some of the family start in a boat from "the red shop," others go in -a cab. Near the harbour there is a smell of oil, tar, and coal smoke; -the freshly painted steamboats shine in gay colours and their flags -flutter in the breeze; drays rattle past the long row of lime-trees; -the yellow riding-school stands dusty and dirty near a woodshed. They -are going on the water, but first they go to see their father in his -office. John is astonished to find him looking cheerful and brisk, -joking with the sunburnt steamer captains and laughing in a friendly, -pleasant way. Indeed, he seems quite youthful, and has a bow and arrows -with which the captains amuse themselves by shooting at the window of -the riding-school. The office is small, but they can go behind the -green partition and drink a glass of porter behind a curtain. The -clerks are attentive and polite when his father speaks to them. John -had never before seen his father at work, but only known him in the -character of a tired, hungry provider for his family, who preferred to -live with nine persons in three rooms, than alone in two. He had only -seen his father at leisure, eating and reading the paper when he came -home in the evening, but never in his official capacity. He admired -him, but he felt that he feared him now less, and thought that some day -he might come to love him. - -He fears the water, but before he knows where he is he finds himself -sitting in an oval room ornamented in white and gold, and containing -red satin sofas. Such a splendid room he has never seen before. But -everything rattles and shakes. He looks out of a little window, and -sees green banks, bluish-green waves, sloops carrying hay, and steamers -passing by. It is like a panorama or something seen at a theatre. On -the banks move small red and white houses, outside which stand green -trees with a sprinkling of snow upon them; larger green meadows rush -past with red cows standing in them, looking like Christmas toys. The -sun gets high, and now they reach trees with yellow foliage and brown -caterpillars, bridges with sailing-boats flying flags, cottages with -fowls pecking and dogs barking. The sun shines on rows of windows which -lie on the ground, and old men and women go about with water-cans and -rakes. Then appear green trees again bending over the water, and yellow -and white bath-houses; overhead a cannon-shot is fired; the rattling -and shaking cease; the banks stand still; above him he sees a stone -wall, men's coats and trousers and a multitude of boots. He is carried -up some steps which have a gilded rail, and sees a very large castle. -Somebody says, "Here the King lives." - -It was the castle of Drottningholm--the most beautiful memory of his -childhood, even including the fairy-tale books. - -Their things are unpacked in a little white house on a hill, and now -the children roll on the grass, on real green grass without dandelions, -like that in the Clara churchyard. It is so high and bright, and the -woods and fiords are green and blue in the distance. - -The dust-bin is forgotten, the schoolroom with its foul atmosphere has -disappeared, the melancholy church-bells sound no more, and the graves -are far away. But in the evening a bell rings in a little belfry quite -near at hand. With astonishment he sees the modest little bell which -swings in the open air, and sends its sound far over the park and bay. -He thinks of the terrible deep-toned bell in the tower at home, which -seemed to him like a great black maw when he looked into it, as it -swung, from below. In the evening, when he is tired and has been washed -and put to bed, he hears how the silence seems to hum in his ears, and -waits in vain to hear the strokes and chiming of the bell in the tower. - -The next morning he wakes to get up and play. He plays day after -day for a whole week. He is in nobody's way, and everything is so -peaceful. The little ones sleep in the nursery, and he is in the open -air all day long. His father does not appear; but on Saturday he comes -out from the town and pinches the boys' cheeks because they have grown -and become sunburnt. "He does not beat us now any more," thinks the -child; but he does not trace this to the simple fact that here outside -the city there is more room and the air is purer. - -The slimmer passes gloriously, as enchanting as a fairy-tale; through -the poplar avenues run lackeys in silver-embroidered livery, on the -water float sky-blue dragon-ships with real princes and princesses, -on the roads roll golden chaises and purple-red coaches drawn by Arab -horses four-in-hand, and the whips are as long as the reins. - -Then there is the King's castle with the polished floors, the gilt -furniture, marble-tiled stoves and pictures; the park with its -avenues like long lofty green churches, the fountains ornamented with -unintelligible figures from story-books; the summer-theatre that -remained a puzzle to the child, but was used as a maze; the Gothic -tower, always closed and mysterious, which had nothing else to do but -to echo back the sound of voices. - -He is taken for a walk in the park by a cousin whom he calls "aunt." -She is a well-dressed maiden just grown up, and carries a parasol. -They come into a gloomy wood of sombre pines; here they wander for a -while, ever farther. Presently they hear a murmur of voices, music, and -the clatter of plates and forks; they find themselves before a little -castle; figures of dragons and snakes wind down from the roof-ridge, -other figures of old men with yellow oval faces, black slanting eyes -and pigtails, look from under them; letters which he cannot read, and -which are unlike any others he has seen, run along the eaves. But below -on the ground-floor of the castle royal personages sit at table by the -open windows and eat from silver dishes and drink wine. - -"There sits the King," says his aunt. - -The child becomes alarmed, and looks round to see whether he has not -trodden on the grass, or is not on the point of doing something wrong. -He believes that the handsome King, who looks friendly, sees right -through him, and he wants to go. But neither Oscar I. nor the French -field-marshals nor the Russian generals trouble themselves about him, -for they are just now discussing the Peace of Paris, which is to make -an end of the war in the East. On the other hand, police-guards, -looking like roused lions, are marching about, and of them he has -an unpleasant recollection. He needs only to see one, and he feels -immediately guilty and thinks of the fine of three rix-dollars and -sixteen skillings. However, he has caught a glimpse of the highest form -of authority--higher than that of his brother, his mother, his father, -the deputy-landlord, the landlord, the general with the plumed helmet, -and the police. - -On another occasion, again with his aunt, he passes a little house -close to the castle. In a courtyard strewn with sand there stands a -man in a panama hat and a summer suit. He has a black beard and looks -strong. Round him there runs a black horse held by a long cord. The man -springs a rattle, cracks a whip, and fires shots. - -"That is the Crown Prince," says his aunt. - -He looked like any other man, and was dressed like his uncle Yanne. - -Another time, in the park, deep in the shade of some trees, a mounted -officer meets them. He salutes the boy's aunt, makes his horse stop, -talks to her, and asks his name. The boy answers, but somewhat shyly. -The dark-visaged man with the kind eyes looks at him, and he hears a -loud peal of laughter. Then the rider disappears. It was the Crown -Prince again. The Crown Prince had spoken to him! He felt elevated, and -at the same time more sure of himself. The dangerous potentate had been -quite pleasant. - -One day he learns that his father and aunt are old acquaintances of a -gentleman who lives in the great castle and wears a three-cornered hat -and a sabre. The castle thenceforward assumes a more friendly aspect. -He is also acquainted with people in it, for the Crown Prince has -spoken with him, and his father calls the chamberlain "thou." Now he -understands that the gorgeous lackeys are of inferior social rank to -him, especially when he hears that the cook goes for walks with one of -them in the evenings. He discovers that he is, at any rate, not on the -lowest stair in the social scale. - -Before he has had time to realise it, the fairy-tale is over. The -dust-bin and the rats are again there, but the deputy-landlord does -not use his authority any more when John wants to dig up stones, for -John has spoken with the Crown Prince, and the family have been for a -summer holiday. The boy has seen the splendour of the upper classes in -the distance. He longs after it, as after a home, but the menial blood -he has from his mother rebels against it. From instinct he reveres the -upper classes, and thinks too much of them ever to be able to hope to -reach them. He feels that he belongs neither to them nor to the menial -class. That becomes one of the struggles in his life. - - - - -II - -BREAKING-IN - - -The storm of poverty was now over. The members of the family who had -held together for mutual protection could now all go their own way. But -the overcrowding and unhappy circumstances of the family continued. -However, death weeded them out. Black papers which had contained sweets -distributed at the funeral were being continually gummed on the nursery -walls. The mother constantly went about in a jacket; all the cousins -and aunts had already been used up as sponsors, so that recourse had -now to be made to the clerks, ships' captains, and restaurant-keepers. - -In spite of all, prosperity seemed gradually to return. Since there -was too little space, the family removed to one of the suburbs, and -took a six-roomed house in the Norrtullsgata. At the same time John -entered the Clara High School at the age of seven. It was a long way -for short legs to go four times a day, but his father wished that -the children should grow hardy. That was a laudable object, but so -much unnecessary expenditure of muscular energy should have been -compensated for by nourishing food. However, the household means did -not allow of that, and the monotonous exercise of walking and carrying -a heavy school-satchel provided no sufficient counterpoise to excessive -brain-work. There was, consequently, a loss of moral and physical -equilibrium and new struggles resulted. In winter the seven-year-old -boy and his brothers are waked up at 6 A.M. in pitch darkness. He has -not been thoroughly rested, but still carries the fever of sleep in -his limbs. His father, mother, younger brothers and sisters, and the -servants are still asleep. He washes himself in cold water, drinks a -cup of barley-coffee, eats a French roll, runs over the endings of the -Fourth Declension in _Rabe's Grammar_, repeats a piece of "Joseph sold -by his brethren," and memorises the Second Article with its explanation. - -Then the books are thrust in the satchel and they start. In the street -it is still dark. Every other oil-lantern sways on the rope in the cold -wind, and the snow lies deep, not having been yet cleared away before -the houses. A little quarrel arises among the brothers about the rate -they are to march. Only the bakers' carts and the police are moving. -Near the Observatory the snow is so deep that their boots and trousers -get wet through. In Kungsbacken Street they meet a baker and buy their -breakfast, a French roll, which they usually eat on the way. - -In Haymarket Street he parts from his brothers, who go to a private -school. When at last he reaches the corner of Berg Street the fatal -clock in the Clara Church strikes the hour. Fear lends wings to his -feet, his satchel bangs against his back, his temples beat, his brain -throbs. As he enters the churchyard gate he sees that the class-rooms -are empty; it is too late! - -In the boy's case the duty of punctuality took the form of a given -promise, a _force majeure,_ a stringent necessity from which nothing -could release him. A ship-captain's bill of lading contains a clause -to the effect that he binds himself to deliver the goods uninjured by -such and such a date "if God wills." If God sends snow or storm, he is -released from his bond. But for the boy there are no such conditions -of exemption. He has neglected his duty, and will be punished: that is -all. - -With a slow step he enters the hall. Only the school porter is there, -who laughs at him, and writes his name on the blackboard under the -heading "Late." A painful hour follows, and then loud cries are heard -in the lower school, and the blows of a cane fall thickly. It is the -headmaster, who has made an onslaught on the late-comers or takes his -exercise on them. John bursts into tears and trembles all over--not -from fear of pain but from a feeling of shame to think that he should -be fallen upon like an animal doomed to slaughter, or a criminal. Then -the door opens. He starts up, but it is only the chamber-maid who comes -in to trim the lamp. - -"Good-day, John," she says. "You are too late; you are generally so -punctual. How is Hanna?" - -John tells her that Hanna is well, and that the snow was very deep in -the Norrtullsgata. - -"Good heavens! You have not come by Norrtullsgata?" - -Then the headmaster opens the door and enters. - -"Well, you!" - -"You must not be angry with John, sir! He lives in Norrtullsgata." - -"Silence, Karin!" says the headmaster, "and go.--Well," he continues: -"you live in the Norrtullsgata. That is certainly a good way. But still -you ought to look out for the time." - -Then he turns and goes. John owed it to Karin that he escaped -a flogging, and to fate that Hanna had chanced to be Karin's -fellow-servant at the headmaster's. Personal influence had saved him -from an injustice. - -And then the school and the teaching! Has not enough been written about -Latin and the cane? Perhaps! In later years he skipped all passages in -books which dealt with reminiscences of school life, and avoided all -books on that subject. When he grew up his worst nightmare, when he had -eaten something indigestible at night or had a specially troublesome -day, was to dream that he was back at school. - -The relation between pupil and teacher is such, that the former gets -as one-sided a view of the latter as a child of its parent. The first -teacher John had looked like the ogre in the story of Tom Thumb. He -flogged continually, and said he would make the boys crawl on the floor -and "beat them to pulp" if they did their exercises badly. - -He was not, however, really a bad fellow, and John and his -school-fellows presented him with an album when he left Stockholm. -Many thought well of him, and considered him a fine character. He ended -as a gentleman farmer and the hero of an Ostgothland idyll. - -Another was regarded as a monster of malignity. He really seemed to -beat the boys because he liked it. He would commence his lesson by -saying, "Bring the cane," and then try to find as many as he could -who had an ill-prepared lesson. He finally committed suicide in -consequence of a scathing newspaper article. Half a year before that, -John, then a student, had met him in Uggelvikswald, and felt moved by -his old teacher's complaints over the ingratitude of the world. A year -previous he had received at Christmas time a box of stones, sent from -an old pupil in Australia. But the colleagues of the stern teacher -used to speak of him as a good-natured fool at whom they made jests. -So many points of view, so many differing judgments! But to this day -old boys of the Clara School cannot meet each other without expressing -their horror and indignation at his unmercifulness, although they all -acknowledge that he was an excellent teacher. - -These men of the old school knew perhaps no better. They had themselves -been brought up on those lines, and we, who learn to understand -everything, are bound also to pardon everything. - -This, however, did not prevent the first period of school life from -appearing to be a preparation for hell and not for life. The teachers -seemed to be there only to torment, not to punish; our school life -weighed upon us like an oppressive nightmare day and night; even having -learned our lessons well before we left home did not save us. Life -seemed a penal institution for crimes committed before we were born, -and therefore the boy always went about with a bad conscience. - -But he learned some social lessons. The Clara School was a school for -the children of the better classes, for the people of the district -were well off. The boy wore leather breeches and greased leather boots -which smelt of train-oil and blacking. Therefore, those who had velvet -jackets did not like sitting near him. He also noticed that the poorly -dressed boys got more floggings than the well-dressed ones, and that -pretty boys were let off altogether. If he had at that time studied -psychology and æsthetics, he would have understood this, but he did not -then. - -The examination day left a pleasant, unforgettable memory. The old -dingy rooms were freshly scoured, the boys wore their best clothes, -and the teachers frock-coats with white ties; the cane was put away, -all punishments were suspended. It was a day of festival and jubilee, -on which one could tread the floor of the torture-chambers without -trembling. The change of places in each class, however, which had -taken place in the morning, brought with it certain surprises, and -those who had been put lower made certain comparisons and observations -which did not always redound to the credit of the teacher. The school -testimonials were also rather hastily drawn up, as was natural. But -the holidays were at hand, and everything else was soon forgotten. At -the conclusion, in the lower schoolroom, the teachers received the -thanks of the Archbishop, and the pupils were reproved and warned. -The presence of the parents, especially the mothers, made the chilly -rooms seem warm, and a sigh involuntarily rose in the boys' hearts, -"Why cannot it be always like to-day?" To some extent the sigh has -been heard, and our present-day youth no longer look upon school as a -penal institute, even if they do not recognise much use in the various -branches of superfluous learning. - -John was certainly not a shining light in the school, but neither was -he a mere good-for-nothing. On account of his precocity in learning he -had been allowed to enter the school before the regulation age, and -therefore he was always the youngest. Although his report justified his -promotion into a higher class, he was still kept a year in his present -one. This was a severe pull-back in his development; his impatient -spirit suffered from having to repeat old lessons for a whole year. -He certainly gained much spare time, but his appetite for learning -was dulled, and he felt himself neglected. At home and school alike -he was the youngest, but only in years; in intelligence he was older -than his school-fellows. His father seemed to have noticed his love -for learning, and to have thought of letting him become a student. He -heard him his lessons, for he himself had had an elementary education. -But when the eight-year-old boy once came to him with a Latin exercise, -and asked for help, his father was obliged to confess that he did not -know Latin. The boy felt his superiority in this point, and it is not -improbable that his father was conscious of it also. He removed John's -elder brother, who had entered the school at the same time, abruptly -from it, because the teacher one day had made the younger, as monitor, -hear the elder his lessons. This was stupid on the part of the -teacher, and it was wise of his father to prevent it. - -His mother was proud of his learning, and boasted of it to her friends. -In the family the word "student" was often heard. At the students' -congress in the fifties, Stockholm was swarming with white caps. - -"Think if you should wear a white cap some day," said his mother. - -When the students' concerts took place, they talked about it for days -at a time. Acquaintances from Upsala sometimes came to Stockholm and -talked of the gay students' life there. A girl who had been in service -in Upsala called John "the student." - -In the midst of his terribly mysterious school life, in which the -boy could discover no essential connection between Latin grammar and -real life, a new mysterious factor appeared for a short time and then -disappeared again. The nine-year-old daughter of the headmaster came to -the French lessons. She was purposely put on the last bench, in order -not to be seen, and to look round was held to be a great misdemeanour. -Her presence, however, was felt in the class-room. The boy, and -probably the whole class, fell in love. The lessons always went well -when she was present; their ambition was spurred, and none of them -wanted to be humiliated or flogged before her. She was, it is true, -ugly, but well dressed. Her gentle voice vibrated among the breaking -voices of the boys, and even the teacher had a smile on his severe face -when he spoke to her. How beautifully her name sounded when he called -it out--one Christian name among all the surnames. - -John's love found expression in a silent melancholy. He never spoke to -her, and would never have dared to do it. He feared and longed for her. -But if anyone had asked him what he wanted from her, he could not have -told them. He wanted nothing from her. A kiss? No; in his family there -was no kissing. To hold her? No! Still less to possess her. Possess? -What should he do with her? He felt that he had a secret. This plagued -him so that he suffered under it, and his whole life was overclouded. -One day at home he seized a knife and said, "I will cut my throat." His -mother thought he was ill. He could not tell her. He was then about -nine years old. - -Perhaps if there had been as many girls as boys in the school -present in all the classes, probably innocent friendships would -have been formed, the electricity would have been carried off, the -Madonna-worship brought within its proper limits, and wrong ideas of -woman would not have followed him and his companions through life. - - * * * * * - -His father's contemplative turn of mind, his dislike of meeting -people after his bankruptcy, the unfriendly verdict of public opinion -regarding his originally illegal union with his wife, had induced him -to retire to the Norrtullsgata. Here he had rented a house with a large -garden, wide-stretching fields, with a pasture, stables, farmyard, and -conservatory. He had always liked the occupations of a country life -and agriculture. Before this he had possessed a piece of land outside -the town, but could not look after it. Now he rented a garden for his -own sake and the children's, whose education a little resembled that -described in Rousseau's _Emile_. The house was separated from its -neighbours by a long fence. The Norrtullsgata was an avenue lined with -trees which as yet had no pavement, and had been but little built upon. -The principal traffic consisted of peasants and milk-carts on their way -to the hay market. Besides these there were also funerals moving slowly -along to the "New Churchyard," sledging parties to Brunnsvik, and -young people on their way to Norrbucka or Stallmastergarden. - -The garden which surrounded the little one-storied house was very -spacious. Long alleys with at least a hundred apple-trees and -berry-bearing bushes crossed each other. Here and there were thick -bowers of lilac and jasmine, and a huge aged oak still stood in a -corner. There was plenty of shade and space, and enough decay to make -the place romantic. East of the garden rose a gravel-hill covered with -maples, beeches, and ash-trees; on the summit of it stood a temple -belonging to the last century. The back of the hill had been dug away -in parts in an unsuccessful attempt to take away gravel, but it had -picturesque little dells filled with osier and thorn bushes. From -this side neither the street nor the house was visible. From here one -obtained a view over Bellevue, Cedardalsberg, and Lilljanskog. One saw -only single scattered houses in the far distance, but on the other hand -numberless gardens and drying-houses for tobacco. - -Thus all the year round they enjoyed a country life, to which they had -no objection. Now the boy could study at first-hand the beauty and -secrets of plant life, and his first spring there was a period of -wonderful surprises. When the freshly turned earth lay black under the -apple-tree's white and pink canopy, when the tulips blazed in oriental -pomp of colour, it seemed to him as he went about in the garden as -if he were assisting at a solemnity more even than at the school -examination, or in church, the Christmas festival itself not excepted. - -But he had also plenty of hard bodily exercise. The boys were sent -with ships' scrapers to clear the moss from the trees; they weeded the -ground, swept the paths, watered and hoed. In the stable there was -a cow with calves; the hay-loft became a swimming school where they -sprang from the beams, and they rode the horses to water. - -They had lively games on the hill, rolled down blocks of stone, climbed -to the tops of the trees, and made expeditions. They explored the woods -and bushes in the Haga Park, climbed up young trees in the ruins, -caught bats, discovered edible wood-sorrel and ferns, and plundered -birds' nests. Soon they laid their bows and arrows aside, discovered -gunpowder, and shot little birds on the hills. They came to be somewhat -uncivilised. They found school more distasteful and the streets more -hateful than ever. Boys' books also helped in this process. _Robinson -Crusoe_ formed an epoch in his life; the _Discovery of America_, -the _Scalp-Hunter_, and others aroused in him a sincere dislike of -school-books. - -During the long summer holidays their wildness increased so much that -their mother could no longer control the unruly boys. As an experiment -they were sent at first to the swimming school in Riddarholm, but it -was so far that they wasted half the day on the road thither. Finally, -their father resolved to send the three eldest to a boarding-school in -the country, to spend the rest of the summer there. - - - - -III - -AWAY FROM HOME - - -Now he stands on the deck of a steamer far out at sea. He has had so -much to look at on the journey that he has not felt any tedium. But -now it is afternoon, which is always melancholy, like the beginning -of old age. The shadows of the sun fall and alter everything without -hiding everything, like the night. He begins to miss something. He -has a feeling of emptiness, of being deserted, broken off. He wants -to go home, but the consciousness that he cannot do so at once fills -him with terror and despair and he weeps. When his brothers ask him -why, he says he wants to go home to his mother. They laugh at him, but -her image recurs to his mind, serious, mild, and smiling. He hears -her last words at parting: "Be obedient and respectful to all, take -care of your clothes, and don't forget your evening prayer." He thinks -how disobedient he has been to her, and wonders whether she may be -ill. Her image seems glorified, and draws him with unbreakable cords -of longing. This feeling of loneliness and longing after his mother -followed him all through his life. Had he come perhaps too early and -incomplete into the world? What held him so closely bound to his mother? - -To this question he found no answer either in books or in life. But -the fact remained: he never became himself, was never liberated, never -a complete individuality. He remained, as it were, a mistletoe, which -could not grow except upon a tree; he was a climbing plant which must -seek a support. He was naturally weak and timid, but he took part in -all physical exercises; he was a good gymnast, could mount a horse when -on the run, was skilled in the use of all sorts of weapons, was a bold -shot, swimmer, and sailor, but only in order not to appear inferior -to others. If no one watched him when bathing, he merely slipped -into the water; but if anyone _was_ watching, he plunged into it, -head-over-heels, from the roof of the bathing-shed. He was conscious -of his timidity, and wished to conceal it. He never attacked his -school-fellows, but if anyone attacked him, he would strike back even a -stronger boy than himself. He seemed to have been born frightened, and -lived in continual fear of life and of men. - -The ship steams out of the bay and there opens before them a blue -stretch of sea without a shore. The novelty of the spectacle, the -fresh wind, the liveliness of his brothers, cheer him up. It has just -occurred to him that they have come eighteen miles by sea when the -steamboat turns into the Nykopingså river. - -When the gangway has been run out, there appears a middle-aged man with -blond whiskers, who, after a short conversation with the captain, takes -over charge of the boys. He looks friendly, and is cheerful. It is the -parish clerk of Vidala. On the shore there stands a waggon with a black -mare, and soon they are above in the town and stop at a shopkeeper's -house which is also an inn for the country people. It smells of -herrings and small beer, and they get weary of waiting. The boy cries -again. At last Herr Linden comes in a country cart with their baggage, -and after many handshakes and a few glasses of beer they leave the -town. Fallow fields and hedges stretch in a long desolate perspective, -and over some red roofs there rises the edge of a wood in the distance. -The sun sets, and they have to drive for three miles through the dark -wood. Herr Linden talks briskly in order to keep up their spirits. He -tells them about their future school-fellows, the bathing-places, and -strawberry-picking. John sleeps till they have reached an inn where -there are drunken peasants. The horses are taken out and watered. Then -they continue their journey through dark woods. In one place they have -to get down and climb up a hill. The horses steam with perspiration -and snort, the peasants on the baggage-cart joke and drink, the parish -clerk chats with them and tells funny stories. Still they go on -sleeping and waking, getting down and resting alternately. Still there -are more woods, which used to be haunted by robbers, black pine woods -under the starry sky, cottages and hedges. The boy is quite alarmed, -and approaches the unknown with trembling. - -At last they are on a level road; the day dawns, and the waggon stops -before a red house. Opposite it is a tall dark building--a church--once -more a church. An old woman, as she appears to him, tall and thin, -comes out, receives the boys, and conducts them into a large room on -the ground-floor, where there is a cover-table. She has a sharp voice -which does not sound friendly, and John is afraid. They eat in the -gloom, but do not relish the unusual food, and one of them has to choke -down tears. Then they are led in the dark into an attic. No lamp is -lit. The room is narrow; pallets and beds are laid across chairs and -on the floor, and there is a terrible odor. There is a stirring in the -beds, and one head rises, and then another. There are whispers and -murmurs, but the new-comers can see no faces. The eldest brother gets -a bed to himself, but John and the second brother lie foot to foot. It -is a new thing for them, but they creep into bed and draw the blankets -over them. His elder brother stretches himself out at his ease, but -John protests against this encroachment. They push each other with -their feet, and John is struck. He weeps at once. The eldest brother is -already asleep. Then there comes a voice from a corner on the ground: -"Lie still, you young devils, and don't fight!" - -"What do you say?" answers his brother, who is inclined to be impudent. - -The bass voice answers, "What do I say? I say--Leave the youngster -alone." - -"What have you to do with that?" - -"A good deal. Come here, and I'll thrash you." - -"_You_ thrash _me_!" - -His brother stands up in his night-shirt. The owner of the bass voice -comes towards him. All that one can see is a short sturdy figure with -broad shoulders. A number of spectators sit upright in their beds. - -They fight, and the elder brother gets the worst of it. - -"No! don't hit him! don't hit him!" - -The small brother throws himself between the combatants. He could not -see anyone of his own flesh and blood being beaten or suffering without -feeling it in all his nerves. It was another instance of his want of -independence and consciousness of the closeness of the blood-tie. - -Then there is silence and dreamless sleep, which Death is said to -resemble, and therefore entices so many to premature rest. - -Now there begins a new little section of life--an education without his -parents, for the boy is out in the world among strangers. He is timid, -and carefully avoids every occasion of being blamed. He attacks no -one, but defends himself against bullies. There are, however, too many -of them for the equilibrium to be maintained. Justice is administered -by the broad-shouldered boy mentioned above, who is humpbacked, and -always takes the weaker one's part when unrighteously attacked. - -In the morning they do their lessons, bathe before dinner, and do -manual labour in the afternoon. They weed the garden, fetch water from -the spring, and keep the stable clean. It is their father's wish that -the boys should do physical work, although they pay the usual fees. - -But John's obedience and conscientiousness do not suffice to render -his life tolerable. His brothers incur all kinds of reprimands, and -under them he also suffers much. He is keenly conscious of their -solidarity, and is in this summer only as it were the third part of a -person. There are no other punishments except detention, but even the -reprimands disquiet him. Manual labour makes him physically strong, but -his nerves are just as sensitive as before. Sometimes he pines for his -mother, sometimes he is in extremely high spirits and indulges in risky -amusements, such as piling up stones in a limestone quarry and lighting -a fire at the bottom of it, or sliding down steep hills on a board. He -is alternately timid and daring, overflowing with spirits or brooding, -but without proper balance. - -The church stands on the opposite side of the way, and with its black -roof and white walls throws a shadow across the summer-like picture. -Daily from his window he sees monumental crosses which rise above the -churchyard wall. The church clock does not strike day and night as -that in the Clara Church did, but in the evenings at six o'clock one -of the boys is allowed to pull the bell-rope which hangs in the tower. -It was a solemn moment when, for the first time, his turn came. He -felt like a church official, and when he counted three times the three -bell-strokes, he thought that God, the pastor, and the congregation -would suffer harm if he rang one too many. On Sundays the bigger boys -were allowed to ring the bells. Then John stood on the dark wooden -staircase and wondered. - -In the course of the summer there arrived a black-bordered proclamation -which caused great commotion when read aloud in church. King Oscar was -dead. Many good things were reported of him, even if no one mourned -him. And now the bells rang daily between twelve and one o'clock. In -fact, church-bells seemed to follow him. - -The boys played in the churchyard among the graves and soon grew -familiar with the church. On Sundays they were all assembled in the -organ-loft. When the parish clerk struck up the psalm, they took their -places by the organ-stops, and when he gave them a sign, all the stops -were drawn out and they marched into the choir. That always made a -great impression on the congregation. - -But the fact of his having to come in such proximity to holy things, -and of his handling the requisites of worship, etc., made him familiar -with them, and his respect for them diminished. For instance, he did -not find the Lord's Supper edifying when on Saturday evening he had -eaten some of the holy bread in the parish clerk's kitchen, where it -was baked and stamped with the impression of a crucifix. The boys ate -these pieces of bread, and called them wafers. Once after the Holy -Communion he and the churchwarden were offered the rest of the wine in -the vestry. - -Nevertheless, after he had been parted from his mother, and felt -himself surrounded by unknown threatening powers, he felt a profound -need of having recourse to some refuge and of keeping watch. He prayed -his evening prayer with a fair amount of devotion; in the morning, when -the sun shone, and he was well rested, he did not feel the need of it. - -One day when the church was being aired the boys were playing in -it. In an access of high spirits they stormed the altar. But John, -who was egged on to something more daring, ran up into the pulpit, -reversed the hour-glass, and began to preach out of the Bible. This -made a great sensation. Then he descended, and ran along the tops of -the pews through the whole church. When he had reached the pew next -to the altar, which belonged to a count's family, he stepped too -heavily on the reading-desk, which fell with a crash to the ground. -There was a panic, and all the boys rushed out of church. He stood -alone and desolate. In other circumstances he would have run to his -mother, acknowledged his fault, and implored her help. But she was -not there. Then he thought of God; he fell on his knees before the -altar, and prayed through the Paternoster. Then, as though inspired -with a thought from above, he arose calmed and strengthened, examined -the desk, and found that its joints were not broken. He took a clamp, -dovetailed the joints together, and, using his boot as a hammer, with -a few well-directed blows repaired the desk. He tried it, and found it -firm. Then he went greatly relieved out of the church. "How simple!" -he thought to himself, and felt ashamed of having prayed the Lord's -Prayer. Why? Perhaps he felt dimly that in this obscure complex which -we call the soul there lives a power which, summoned to self-defence at -the hour of need, possesses a considerable power of extricating itself. -He did not fall on his knees and thank God, and this showed that he did -not believe it was He who had helped him. That obscure feeling of shame -probably arose from the fact of his perceiving that he had crossed a -river to fetch water, _i.e._, that his prayer had been superfluous. - -But this was only a passing moment of self-consciousness. He continued -to be variable and capricious. Moodiness, caprice, or _diables noirs,_ -as the French call it, is a not completely explained phenomenon. The -victim of them is like one possessed; he wants something, but does -the opposite; he suffers from the desire to do himself an injury, and -finds almost a pleasure in self-torment. It is a sickness of the soul -and of the will, and former psychologists tried to explain it by the -hypothesis of a duality in the brain, the two hemispheres of which, -they thought, under certain conditions could operate independently -each for itself and against the other. But this explanation has been -rejected. Many have observed the phenomenon of duplex personality, and -Goethe has handled this theme in _Faust_. In capricious children who -"do not know what they want," as the saying is, the nerve-tension ends -in tears. They "beg for a whipping," and it is strange that on such -occasions a slight chastisement restores the nervous equilibrium and -is almost welcomed by the child, who is at once pacified, appeased, -and not at all embittered by the punishment, which in its view must -have been unjust. It really had asked for a beating as a medicine. But -there is also another way of expelling the "black dog." One takes the -child in one's arms so that it feels the magnetism of friendship and is -quieted. That is the best way of all. - -John suffered from similar attacks of caprice. When some treat was -proposed to him, a strawberry-picking expedition for example, he asked -to be allowed to remain at home, though he knew he would be bored to -death there. He would have gladly gone, but he insisted on remaining at -home. Another will stronger than his own commanded him to do so. The -more they tried to persuade him, the stronger was his resistance. But -then if someone came along jovially and with a jest seized him by the -collar, and threw him into the haycart, he obeyed and was relieved to -be thus liberated from the mysterious will that mastered him. Generally -speaking, he obeyed gladly and never wished to put himself forward -or be prominent. So much of the slave was in his nature. His mother -had served and obeyed in her youth, and as a waitress had been polite -towards everyone. - -One Sunday they were in the parsonage, where there were young girls. -He liked them, but he feared them. All the children went out to pluck -strawberries. Someone suggested that they should collect the berries -without eating them, in order to eat them at home with sugar. John -plucked diligently and kept the agreement; he did not eat one, but -honestly delivered up his share, though he saw others cheating. On -their return home the berries were divided by the pastor's daughter, -and the children pressed round her in order that each might get a full -spoonful. John kept as far away as possible; he was forgotten and -berryless. - -He had been passed over! Full of the bitter consciousness of this, -he went into the garden and concealed himself in an arbour. He felt -himself to be the last and meanest. He did not weep, however, but was -conscious of something hard and cold rising within, like a skeleton of -steel. After he had passed the whole company under critical review, he -found that he was the most honest, because he had not eaten a single -strawberry outside; and then came the false inference--he had been -passed over because he was better than the rest. The result was that he -really regarded himself as such, and felt a deep satisfaction at having -been overlooked. - -He had also a special skill in making himself invisible, or keeping -concealed so as to be passed over. One evening his father brought -home a peach. Each child received a slice of the rare fruit, with the -exception of John, and his otherwise just father did not notice it. He -felt so proud at this new reminder of his gloomy destiny that later in -the evening he boasted of it to his brothers. They did not believe him, -regarding his story as improbable. The more improbable the better, he -thought. He was also plagued by antipathies. One Sunday in the country -a cart full of boys came to the parish clerk's. A brown-complexioned -boy with a mischievous and impudent face alighted from it. John -ran away at the first sight of him, and hid himself in the attic. -They found him out: the parish clerk cajoled him, but he remained -sitting in his corner and listened to the children playing till the -brown-complexioned boy had gone away. - -Neither cold baths, wild games, nor hard physical labour could harden -his sensitive nerves, which at certain moments became strung up to the -highest possible pitch. He had a good memory, and learned his lessons -well, especially practical subjects such as geography and natural -science. He liked arithmetic, but hated geometry; a science which -seemed to deal with unrealities disquieted him. It was not till later, -when a book of land mensuration came into his hands and he had obtained -an insight into the practical value of geometry, that the subject -interested him. He then measured trees and houses, the garden and its -avenues, and constructed cardboard models. - -He was now entering his tenth year. He was broad-shouldered, with -a sunburnt complexion; his hair was fair, and hung over a sickly -looking high and prominent forehead, which often formed a subject of -conversation and caused his relatives to give him the nickname of "the -professor." He was no more an automaton, but began to make his own -observations and to draw inferences. He was approaching the time when -he would be severed from his surroundings and go alone. Solitude had -to take for him the place of desert-wandering, for he had not a strong -enough individuality to go his own way. His sympathies for men were -doomed not to be reciprocated, because their thoughts did not keep pace -with his. He was destined to go about and offer his heart to the first -comer; but no one would take it, because it was strange to them, and so -he would retire into himself, wounded, humbled, overlooked, and passed -by. - - * * * * * - -The summer came to an end, and when the school-term began he returned -to Stockholm. The gloomy house by the Clara churchyard seemed doubly -depressing to him now, and when he saw the long row of class-rooms -through which he must work his way in a fixed number of years in order -to do laboriously the same through another row of class-rooms in the -High School, life did not seem to him particularly inviting. At the -same time his self-opinionatedness began to revolt against the lessons, -and consequently he got bad reports. A term later, when he had been -placed lower in his class, his father took him from the Clara School -and placed him in the Jacob School. At the same time they left the -Norrtullsgata and took a suburban house in the Stora Grabergsgata near -the Sabbatsberg. - - - - -IV - -INTERCOURSE WITH THE LOWER CLASSES - - -Christinenberg, so we will call the house, had a still more lonely -situation than that in the Norrtullsgata.[1] The Grabergsgata had no -pavement. Often for hours at a time one never saw more than a single -pedestrian in it, and the noise of a passing cart was an event which -brought people to their windows. The house stood in a courtyard with -many trees, and resembled a country parsonage. It was surrounded by -gardens and tobacco plantations; extensive fields with ponds stretched -away to Sabbatsberg. But their father rented no land here, so that -the boys spent their time in loafing about. Their playfellows now -consisted of the children of poorer people, such as the miller's and -the milkman's. Their chief playground was the hill on which the mill -stood, and the wings of the windmill were their playthings. - -The Jacob School was attended by the poorer class of children. Here -John came in contact with the lower orders. The boys were ill dressed; -they had sores on their noses, ugly features, and smelt bad. His own -leather breeches and greased boots produced no bad effect here. In -these surroundings, which pleased him, he felt more at his ease. He -could be on more confidential terms with these boys than with the proud -ones in the Clara School. But many of these children were very good at -their lessons, and the genius of the school was a peasant boy. At the -same time there were so-called "louts" in the lower classes, and these -generally did not get beyond the second class. He was now in the third, -and did not come into contact with them, nor did they with those in the -higher classes. These boys worked out of school, had black hands, and -were as old as fourteen or fifteen. Many of them were employed during -the summer on the brig _Carl Johann_, and then appeared in autumn with -tarry trousers, belts, and knives. They fought with chimney-sweeps and -tobacco-binders, took drams, and visited restaurants and coffee-houses. -These boys were liable to ceaseless examinations and expulsions and -were generally regarded, but with great injustice, as a bad lot. Many -of them grew up to be respectable citizens, and one who had served on -the "louts' brig" finally became an officer of the Guard. He never -ventured to talk of his sea voyages, but said that he used to shudder -when he led the watch to relieve guard at Nybrohanm, and saw the -notorious brig lying there. - -One day John met a former school-fellow from the Clara School, and -tried to avoid him. But the latter came directly towards him, and asked -him what school he was attending. "Ah, yes," he said, on being told, -"you are going to the louts' school." - -John felt that he had come down, but he had himself wished it. He did -not stand above his companions, but felt himself at home with them, -on friendly terms, and more comfortable than in the Clara School, -for here there was no pressure on him from above. He himself did not -wish to climb up and press down others, but he suffered himself from -being pressed down. He himself did not wish to ascend, but he felt a -need that there should be none above him. But it annoyed him to feel -that his old school-fellows thought that he had gone down. When at -gymnastic displays he appeared among the grimy-looking troop of the -Jacobites, and met the bright files of the Clara School in their -handsome uniforms and clean faces, then he was conscious of a class -difference, and when from the opposite camp the word "louts" was heard, -then there was war in the air. The two schools fought sometimes, but -John took no part in these encounters. He did not wish to see his old -friends, and to show how he had come down. - -The examination day in the Jacob School made a very different -impression from that in the Clara School. Artisans, poorly clad old -women, restaurant-keepers dressed up for the occasion, coach-men, and -publicans formed the audience. And the speech of the school inspector -was quite other than the flowery one of the Archbishop. He read out the -names of the idle and the stupid, scolded the parents because their -children came too late or did not turn up at all, and the hall reechoed -the sobs of poor mothers who were probably not at all to blame for the -easily explained non-attendances, and who in their simplicity believed -that they had bad sons. It was always the well-to-do citizens' sons who -had had the leisure to devote themselves exclusively to their tasks, -who were now greeted as patterns of virtue. - -In the moral teaching which the boy received he heard nothing of his -rights, only of his duties. Everything he was taught to regard as a -favour; he lived by favour, ate by favour, and went as a favour to -school. And in this poor children's school more and more was demanded -of them. It was demanded from them, for instance, that they should have -untorn clothes--but from whence were they to get them? - -Remarks were made upon their hands because they had been blackened -by contact with tar and pitch. There was demanded of them attention, -good morals, politeness, _i.e._, mere impossibilities. The æsthetic -susceptibilities of the teachers often led them to commit acts of -injustice. Near John sat a boy whose hair was never combed, who had -a sore under his nose, and an evil-smelling flux from his ears. His -hands were dirty, his clothes spotted and torn. He rarely knew his -lessons, and was scolded and caned on the palms of his hands. One day -a school-fellow accused him of bringing vermin into the class. He was -then made to sit apart in a special place. He wept bitterly, ah! so -bitterly, and then kept away from school. - -John was sent to look him up at his house. He lived in the Undertakers' -street. The painter's family lived with the grandmother and many small -children in one room. When John went there he found George, the boy in -question, holding on his knee, a little sister, who screamed violently. -The grandmother carried a little one on her arm. The father and mother -were away at work. In this room, which no one had time to clean, and -which could not be cleaned, there was a smell of sulphur fumes from the -coals and from the uncleanliness of the children. Here the clothes were -dried, food was cooked, oil-colours were rubbed, putty was kneaded. -Here were laid bare the grounds of George's immorality. "But," perhaps -a moralist may object, "one is never so poor that one cannot keep -oneself clean and tidy." _Sancta simplicitas!_ As if to pay for sewing -(when there was anything whole to sew), soap, clothes-washing, and time -cost nothing. Complete cleanliness and tidiness is the highest point to -which the poor can attain; George could not, and was therefore cast out. - -Some younger moralists believe they have made the discovery that the -lower classes are more immoral than the higher. By "immoral" they -mean that they do not keep social contracts so well as the upper -classes. That is a mistake, if not something worse. In all cases, in -which the lower classes are not compelled by necessity, they are more -conscientious than the upper ones. They are more merciful towards their -fellows, gentler to children, and especially more patient. How long -have they allowed their toil to be exploited by the upper classes, till -at last they begin to be impatient! - -Moreover, the social laws have been kept as long as possible in a state -of instability and uncertainty. Why are they not clearly defined and -printed like civil and divine laws? Perhaps because an honestly written -moral law would have to take some cognizance of rights as well as -duties. - -John's revolt against the school-teaching increased. At home he learned -all he could, but he neglected the school-lessons. The principal -subjects taught in the school were now Latin and Greek, but the method -of teaching was absurd. Half a year was spent in explaining a campaign -in _Cornelius_. The teacher had a special method of confusing the -subject by making the scholar analyse the "grammatical construction" of -the sentence. But he never explained what this meant. It consisted in -reading the words of the text in a certain order, but he did not say in -which. It did not agree with the Swedish translation, and when John had -tried to grasp the connection, but failed, he preferred to be silent. -He was obstinate, and when he was called upon to explain something he -was silent, even when he knew his lesson. For as soon as he began to -read, he was assailed with a storm of reproaches for the accent he put -on the words, the pace at which he read, his voice, everything. - -"Cannot you, do not you understand?" the teacher shouted, beside -himself. - -The boy was silent, and looked at the pedant contemptuously. - -"Are you dumb?" - -He remained silent. He was too old to be beaten; besides, this form of -punishment was gradually being disused. He was therefore told to sit -down. - -He could translate the text into Swedish, but not in the way the -teacher wished. That the teacher only permitted one way of translating -seemed to him silly. He had already rushed through _Cornelius_ in a few -weeks, and this deliberate, unreasonable crawling when one could run, -depressed him. He saw no sense in it. - -The same kind of thing happened in the history lessons. "Now, John," -the teacher would say, "tell me what you know about Gustav I." - -The boy stands up, and his vagrant thoughts express themselves as -follows: "What I know about Gustav I. Oh! a good deal. But I knew that -when I was in the lowest class (he is now in the fourth), and the -master knows it too. What is the good of repeating it all again?" - -"Well! is that all you know?" - -He had not said a word about Gustav I., and his school-fellows laughed. -Now he felt angry, and tried to speak, but the words stuck in his -throat. How should he begin? Gustav was born at Lindholm, in the -province of Roslagen. Yes, but he and the teacher knew that long ago. -How stupid to oblige him to repeat it. - -"Ah, well!" continues the teacher, "you don't know your lesson, you -know nothing of Gustav I." Now he opens his mouth, and says curtly and -decidedly: "Yes, I know his history well." - -"If you do, why don't you answer?" - -The master's question seems to him a very stupid one, and now he will -not answer. He drives away all thoughts about Gustav I. and forces -himself to think of other things, the maps on the wall, the lamp -hanging from the ceiling. He pretends to be deaf. - -"Sit down, you don't know your lesson," says the master. He sits down, -and lets his thoughts wander where they will, after he has settled in -his own mind that the master has told a falsehood. - -In this there was a kind of aphasia, an incapability or unwillingness -to speak, which followed him for a long time through life till the -reaction set in in the form of garrulousness, of incapacity to shut -one's mouth, of an impulse to speak whatever came into his mind. He -felt attracted to the natural sciences, and during the hour when -the teacher showed coloured pictures of plants and trees the gloomy -class-room seemed to be lighted up; and when the teacher read out of -Nilsson's _Lectures on Animal Life_, he listened and impressed all on -his memory. But his father observed that he was backward in his other -subjects, especially in Latin. Still, John had to learn Latin and -Greek. Why? He was destined for a scholar's career. His father made -inquiries into the matter. After hearing from the teacher of Latin that -the latter regarded his son as an idiot, his _amour propre_ must have -been hurt, for he determined to send his son to a private school, where -more practical methods of instruction were employed. Indeed, he was so -annoyed that he went so far in private as to praise John's intelligence -and to say some severe things regarding his teacher. - -Meanwhile, contact with the lower classes had aroused in the boy a -decided dislike to the higher ones. In the Jacob School a democratic -spirit prevailed, at any rate among those of the same age. None of them -avoided each other's society except from feelings of personal dislike. -In the Clara School, on the other hand, there were marked distinctions -of class and birth. Though in the Jacob School the possession of -money might have formed an aristocratic class, as a matter of fact -none of them were rich. Those who were obviously poor were treated -by their companions sympathetically without condescension, although -the beribboned school inspector and the academically educated teacher -showed their aversion to them. - -John felt himself identified and friendly with his school-fellows; he -sympathised with them, but was reserved towards those of the higher -class. He avoided the main thoroughfares, and always went through -the empty Hollandergata or the poverty stricken Badstugata. But his -school-fellows' influence made him despise the peasants who lived here. -That was the aristocratism of town-people, with which even the meanest -and poorest city children are imbued. - -These angular figures in grey coats which swayed about on milk-carts or -hay-waggons were regarded as fair butts for jests, as inferior beings -whom to snowball was no injustice. To mount behind on their sledges was -regarded as the boys' inherent privilege. A standing joke was to shout -to them that their waggon-wheels were going round, and to make them get -down to contemplate the wonder. - -But how should children, who see only the motley confusion of society, -where the heaviest sinks and the lightest lies on the top, avoid -regarding that which sinks as the worse of the two? Some say we are -all aristocrats by instinct. That is partly true, but it is none the -less an evil tendency, and we should avoid giving way to it. The -lower classes are really more democratic than the higher ones, for -they do not want to mount up to them, but only to attain to a certain -level; whence the assertion is commonly made that they wish to elevate -themselves. - -Since there was now no longer physical work to do at home, John -lived exclusively an inner, unpractical life of imagination. He read -everything which fell into his hands. - -On Wednesday or Saturday afternoon the eleven-year-old boy could be -seen in a dressing-gown and cap which his father had given him, with -a long tobacco-pipe in his mouth, his fingers stuck in his ears, and -buried in a book, preferably one about Indians. He had already read -five different versions of _Robinson Crusoe_, and derived an incredible -amount of delight from them. But in reading Campe's edition he had, -like all children, skipped the moralisings. Why do all children hate -moral applications? Are they immoral by nature? "Yes," answer modern -moralists, "for they are still animals, and do not recognise social -conventions." That is true, but the social law as taught to children -informs them only of their duties, not of their rights; it is therefore -unjust towards the child, and children hate injustice. Besides this, -he had arranged an herbarium, and made collections of insects and -minerals. He had also read Liljenblad's _Flora_, which he had found -in his father's bookcase. He liked this book better than the school -botany, because it contained a quantity of information regarding -the use of various plants, while the other spoke only of stamens and -pistils. - -When his brothers deliberately disturbed him in reading, he would -run at them and threaten to strike them. They said his nerves were -overstrained. He dissolved the ties which bound him to the realities of -life, he lived a dream-life in foreign lands and in his own thoughts, -and was discontented with the grey monotony of everyday life and of his -surroundings, which ever became more uncongenial to him. His father, -however, would not leave him entirely to his own fancies, but gave him -little commissions to perform, such as fetching the paper and carrying -letters. These he looked upon as encroachments on his private life, and -always performed them unwillingly. - -In the present day much is said about truth and truth-speaking as -though it were a difficult matter, which deserved praise. But, apart -from the question of praise, it is undoubtedly difficult to find out -the real facts about anything. - -A person is not always what rumour reports him or her to be; a whole -mass of public opinion may be false; behind each thought there lurks -a passion; each judgment is coloured by prejudice. But the art -of separating fact from fancy is extremely difficult, _e.g._, six -newspaper reporters will describe a king's coronation robe as being of -six different colours. New ideas do not find ready entrance into brains -which work in a groove; elderly people believe only themselves, and the -uneducated believe that they can trust their own eyes. This, however, -owing to the frequency of optical illusions, is not the case. - -In John's home truth was revered. His father was in the habit of -saying, "Tell the truth, happen what may," and used at the same time -to tell a story about himself. He had once promised a customer to send -home a certain piece of goods by a given day. He forgot it, but must -have had means of exculpating himself, for when the furious customer -came into the office and overwhelmed him with reproaches, John's father -humbly acknowledged his forgetfulness, asked for forgiveness, and -declared himself ready to make good the loss. The result was that the -customer was astonished, reached him his hand, and expressed his regard -for him. People engaged in trade, he said, must not expect too much of -each other. - -Well! his father had a sound intelligence, and as an elderly man felt -sure of his conclusions. - -John, who could never be without some occupation, had discovered that -one could profitably spend some time in loitering on the high-road -which led to and from school. He had once upon the Hollandergata, which -had no pavement, found an iron screw-nut. That pleased him, for it made -an excellent sling-stone when tied to a string. After that he always -walked in the middle of the street and picked up all the pieces of -iron which he saw. Since the streets were ill-paved and rapid driving -was forbidden, the vehicles which passed through them had a great deal -of rough usage. Accordingly an observant passer-by could be sure of -finding every day a couple of horse-shoe nails, a waggon-pin, or at any -rate a screw-nut, and sometimes a horse-shoe. John's favourite find was -screw-nuts which he had made his specialty. In the course of two months -he had collected a considerable quantity of them. - -One evening he was playing with them when his father entered the room. - -"What have you there?" he asked in astonishment. - -"Screw-nuts," John answered confidently. - -"Where did you get them from?" - -"I found them." - -"Found them? Where?" - -"On the street." - -"In one place?" - -"No, in several--by walking down the middle of the street and looking -about." - -"Look here! I don't believe that. You are lying. Come in here. I have -something to say to you." The something was a caning. - -"Will you confess now?" - -"I have found them on the street." - -The cane was again plied in order to make him "confess." What should -he confess? Pain, and fear that the scene would continue indefinitely, -forced the following lie from him: - -"I have stolen them." - -"Where?" - -Now he did not know to which part of a carriage the screw-nuts -belonged, but he guessed it was the under part. - -"Under the carriages." - -"Where?" - -His fancy suggested a place, where many carriages used to stand -together. "By the timber-yard opposite the lane by the smith's." - -This specification of the place lent an air of probability to his -story. His father was now certain that he had elicited the truth from -him. He continued: - -"And how could you get them off merely with your fingers?" - -He had not expected this question, but his eye fell on his father's -tool-box. - -"With a screw-driver." - -Now one cannot take hold of nuts with a screw-driver, but his father -was excited, and let himself be deceived. - -"But that is abominable! You are really a thief. Suppose a policeman -had come by." - -John thought for a moment of quieting him by telling him that the whole -affair was made up, but the prospect of getting another caning and no -supper held him mute. When he had gone to bed in the evening, and his -mother had come and told him to say his evening prayer, he said in a -pathetic tone and raising his hand: - -"May the deuce take me, if I have stolen the screw-nuts." - -His mother looked long at him, and then she said, "You should not swear -so." - -The corporal punishment had sickened and humbled him; he was angry with -God, his parents, and especially his brothers, who had not spoken up -for him, though they knew the real state of the case. That evening he -did not say his prayers, but he wished that the house would take fire -without his having to light it. And then to be called a thief! - -From that time he was suspected, or rather his bad reputation was -confirmed, and he felt long the sting of the memory of a charge of -theft which he had not committed. Another time he caught himself in a -lie, but through an inadvertency which for a long time he could not -explain. This incident is related for the consideration of parents. -A school-fellow with his sister came one Sunday morning in the early -part of the year to him and asked him whether he would accompany them -to the Haga Park. He said, "Yes," but he must first ask his mother's -permission. His father had gone out. - -"Well, hurry up!" said his friend. - -He wanted to show his herbarium, but the other said, "Let us go now." - -"Very well, but I must first ask mother." - -His little brother then came in and wanted to play with his herbarium. -He stopped the interruption and showed his friend his minerals. In the -meantime he changed his blouse. Then he took a piece of bread out of -the cupboard. His mother came and greeted his friends, and talked of -this and that domestic matter. John was in a hurry, begged his mother's -permission, and took his friends into the garden to see the frog-pond. - -At last they went to the Haga Park. He felt quite sure that he had -asked his mother's leave to do so. - -When his father came home, he asked John on his return, "Where have you -been?" - -"With friends to the Haga Park." - -"Did you have leave from mother?" - -"Yes." - -His mother denied it. John was dumb with astonishment. - -"Ah, you are beginning to lie again." - -He was speechless. He was quite sure he had asked his mother's leave, -especially as there was no reason to fear a refusal. He had fully meant -to do it, but other matters had intervened; he had forgotten, but was -willing to die, if he had told a lie. Children as a rule are afraid to -lie, but their memory is short, their impressions change quickly, and -they confuse wishes and resolves with completed acts. Meanwhile the boy -long continued to believe that his mother had told a falsehood. But -later, after frequent reflections on the incident, he came to think -she had forgotten or not heard his request. Later on still he began to -suspect that his memory might have played him a trick. But he had been -so often praised for his good memory, and there was only an interval of -two or three hours between his going to the Haga Park and his return. - -His suspicions regarding his mother's truthfulness (and why should she -not tell an untruth, since women so easily confuse fancies and facts?) -were shortly afterwards confirmed. The family had bought a set of -furniture--a great event. The boys just then happened to be going to -their aunt's. Their mother still wished to keep the novelty a secret -and to surprise her sister on her next visit. Therefore she asked the -children not to speak of the matter. On their arrival at their aunt's, -the latter asked at once: - -"Has your mother bought the yellow furniture?" - -His brothers were silent, but John answered cheerfully, "No." - -On their return, as they sat at table, their mother asked, "Well, did -aunt ask about the furniture?" - -"Yes." - -"What did you say?" - -"I said 'No,'" answered John. - -"So, then, you dared to lie," interrupted his father. - -"Yes, mother said so," the boy answered. - -His mother turned pale, and his father was silent. This in itself -was harmless enough, but, taken in connection with other things, not -without significance. Slight suspicions regarding the truthfulness of -"others" woke in the boy's mind and made him begin to carry on a silent -siege of adverse criticism. His coldness towards his father increased, -he began to have a keen eye for instances of oppression, and to make -small attempts at revolt. - -The children were marched to church every Sunday; and the family had -a key to their pew. The absurdly long services and incomprehensible -sermons soon ceased to make any impression. Before a system of heating -was introduced, it was a perfect torture to sit in the pew in winter -for two hours at a stretch with one's feet freezing; but still they -were obliged to go, whether for their souls' good, or for the sake of -discipline, or in order to have quiet in the house--who knows? His -father personally was a theist, and preferred to read Wallin's sermons -to going to church. His mother began to incline towards pietism. - -One Sunday the idea occurred to John, possibly in consequence of an -imprudent Bible exposition at school, which had touched upon freedom of -the spirit, or something of the sort, not to go to church. He simply -remained at home. At dinner, before his father came home, he declared -to his brothers and sisters and aunts that no one could compel the -conscience of another, and that therefore he did not go to church. This -seemed original, and therefore for this once he escaped a caning, but -was sent to church as before. - - * * * * * - -The social intercourse of the family, except with relatives, could -not be large, because of the defective form of his father's marriage. -But companions in misfortune draw together, and so intercourse was -kept up with an old friend of their father's who also had contracted -a _mésalliance_, and had therefore been repudiated by his family. He -was a legal official. With him they met another family in the same -circumstances owing to an irregular marriage. The children naturally -knew nothing of the tragedy below the surface. There were children -in both the other families, but John did not feel attracted to them. -After the sufferings he had undergone at home and school, his shyness -and unsociability had increased, and his residence on the outside of -the town and in the country had given him a distaste for domestic -life. He did not wish to learn dancing, and thought the boys silly who -showed off before the girls. When his mother on one occasion told him -to be polite to the latter, he asked, "Why?" He had become critical, -and asked this question about everything. During a country excursion -he tried to rouse to rebellion the boys who carried the girls' shawls -and parasols. "Why should we be these girls' servants?" he said; but -they did not listen to him. Finally, he took such a dislike to going -out that he pretended to be ill, or dirtied his clothes in order to be -obliged to stay at home as a punishment. He was no longer a child, and -therefore did not feel comfortable among the other children, but his -elders still saw in him only a child. He remained solitary. - -When he was twelve years old, he was sent in the summer to another -school kept by a parish clerk at Mariefred. Here there were many -boarders, all of so-called illegitimate birth. Since the parish clerk -himself did not know much, he was not able to hear John his lessons. At -the first examination in geometry, he found that John was sufficiently -advanced to study best by himself. Now he felt himself a grandee, and -did his lessons alone. The parish clerk's garden adjoined the park of -the lord of the manor, and here he took his walks free from imposed -tasks and free from oversight. His wings grew, and he began to feel -himself a man. - -In the course of the summer he fell in love with the twenty-year-old -daughter of the inspector who often came to the parish clerk's. He -never spoke to her, but used to spy out her walks, and often went -near her house. The whole affair was only a silent worship of her -beauty from a distance, without desire, and without hope. His feeling -resembled a kind of secret trouble, and might as well have been -directed towards anyone else, if girls had been numerous there. It was -a Madonna-worship which demanded nothing except to bring the object of -his worship some great sacrifice, such as drowning himself in the water -under her eyes. It was an obscure consciousness of his own inadequacy -as a half man, who did not wish to live without being completed by his -"better half." - -He continued to attend church-services, but they made no impression on -him; he found them merely tedious. - -This summer formed an important stage in his development, for it broke -the links with his home. None of his brothers were with him. He had -accordingly no intermediary bond of flesh and blood with his mother. -This made him more complete in himself, and hardened his nerves; but -not all at once, for sometimes he had severe attacks of homesickness. -His mother's image rose up in his mind in its usual ideal shape of -protectiveness and mildness, as the source of warmth and the preserver. - -In summer, at the beginning of August, his eldest brother Gustav was -going to a school in Paris, in order to complete his business studies -and to learn the language. But previous to that, he was to spend a -month in the country and say good-bye to his brother. The thought of -the approaching parting, the reflected glory of the great town to which -his brother was going, the memory of his brother's many heroic feats, -the longing for home and the joy to see again someone of his own flesh -and blood,--all combined to set John's emotion and imagination at work. -During the week in which he expected his brother, he described him to a -friend as a sort of superman to whom he looked up. And Gustav certainly -was, as a man, superior to him. He was a plucky, lively youth, two -years older than John, with strong, dark features; he did not brood, -and had an active temperament; he was sagacious, could keep silence -when necessary, and strike when occasion demanded it. He understood -economy, and was sparing of his money. "He was very wise," thought the -dreaming John. He learned his lessons imperfectly, for he despised -them, but he understood the art of life. - -John needed a hero to worship, and wished to form an ideal out of some -other material than his own weak clay, round which his own aspirations -might gather, and now he exercised his art for eight days. He prepared -for his brother's arrival by painting him in glowing colours before his -friends, praised him to the teacher, sought out playing-places with -little surprises, contrived a spring-board at the bathing-place, and so -on. - -On the day before his brother's arrival he went into the wood and -plucked cloud-berries and blue-berries for him. He covered a table -with white paper, on which he spread out the berries, yellow and blue -alternately, and in the centre he arranged them in the shape of a large -G, and surrounded the whole with flowers. - -His brother arrived, cast a hasty look at the design and ate the -berries, but either did not notice the dexterously-contrived initial, -or thought it a piece of childishness. As a matter of fact, in their -family every ebullition of feeling was regarded as childish. - -Then they went to bathe. The minute after Gustav had taken off his -shirt, he was in the water, and swam immediately out to the buoy. John -admired him and would have gladly followed him, but this time it gave -him more pleasure to think that his brother obtained the reputation -of being a good swimmer, and that he was only second-best. At dinner -Gustav left a fat piece of bacon on his plate--a thing which no one -before had ever dared to do. But he dared everything. In the evening, -when the time came to ring the bells for church, John gave up his -turn of ringing to Gustav, who rang violently. John was frightened, -as though the parish had been exposed to danger thereby, and half in -alarm and half laughing, begged him to stop. - -"What the deuce does it matter?" said Gustav. - -Then he introduced him to his friend the big son of the carpenter, who -was about fifteen. An intimacy at once sprang up between the two of -equal age, and John's friend abandoned him as being too small. But John -felt no bitterness, although the two elder ones jested at him, and went -out alone together with their guns in their hands. He only wished to -give, and he would have given his betrothed away, had he possessed one. -He did actually inform his brother about the inspector's daughter, and -the latter was pleased with her. But, instead of sighing behind the -trees like John, Gustav went straight up to her and spoke to her in an -innocent boyish way. This was the most daring thing which John had ever -seen done in his life, and he felt as if it had added a foot to his own -stature. He became visibly greater, his weak soul caught a contagion of -strength from his brother's strong nerves, and he identified himself -with him. He felt as happy as if he had spoken with the girl himself. -He made suggestions for excursions and boating expeditions and his -brother carried them out. He discovered birds' nests and his brother -climbed the trees and plundered them. - -But this lasted only for a week. On the last day before they were to -leave, John said to Gustav: "Let us buy a fine bouquet for mother." - -"Very well," replied his brother. - -They went to the nursery-man, and Gustav gave the order that the -bouquet should be a fine one. While it was being made up, he went into -the garden and plucked fruit quite openly. John did not venture to -touch anything. - -"Eat," said his brother. No, he could not. When the bouquet was ready, -John paid twenty-four shillings for it. Not a sign came from Gustav. -Then they parted. - -When John came home, he gave his mother the bouquet as from Gustav, -and she was touched. At supper-time the flowers attracted his father's -attention. "Gustav sent me those," said his mother. "He is always a -kind boy," and John received a sad look because he was so cold-hearted. -His father's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. - -John felt no bitterness. His youthful, enthusiastic love of sacrifice -had found vent, the struggle against injustice had made him a -self-tormentor, and he kept silent. He also said nothing when his -father sent Gustav a present of money, and with unusual warmth of -expression said how deeply he had been touched by this graceful -expression of affection. - -In fact, he kept silence regarding this incident during his whole -life, even when he had occasion to feel bitterness. Not till he had -been over-powered and fallen in the dirty sand of life's arena, with a -brutal foot placed upon his chest and not a hand raised to plead in his -behalf, did he say anything about it. Even then, it was not mentioned -from a feeling of revenge, but as the self-defence of a dying man. - - -[1] Gata = street. - - - - -V. - -CONTACT WITH THE UPPER CLASSES - - -The private schools had been started in opposition to the terrorising -sway of the public schools. Since their existence depended on the -goodwill of the pupils, the latter enjoyed great freedom, and were -treated humanely. Corporal punishment was forbidden, and the pupils -were accustomed to express their thoughts, to ask questions, to defend -themselves against charges, and, in a word, were treated as reasonable -beings. Here for the first time John felt that he had rights. If -a teacher made a mistake in a matter of fact, the pupils were not -obliged to echo him, and swear by his authority; he was corrected -and spiritually lynched by the class who convinced him of his error. -Rational methods of teaching were also employed. Few lessons were set -to be done at home. Cursory explanations in the languages themselves -gave the pupils an idea of the object aimed at, _i.e._, to be able -to translate. Moreover, foreign teachers were appointed for modern -languages, so that the ear became accustomed to the correct accent, and -the pupils acquired some notion of the right pronunciation. - -A number of boys had come from the state schools into this one, and -John also met here many of his old comrades from the Clara School. He -also found some of the teachers from both the Clara and Jacob Schools. -These cut quite a different figure here, and played quite another part. -He understood now that they had been in the same hole as their victims, -for they had had the headmaster and the School Board over them. At last -the pressure from above was relaxed, his will and his thoughts obtained -a measure of freedom, and he had a feeling of happiness and well-being. - -At home he praised the school, thanked his parents for his liberation, -and said that he preferred it to any former one. He forgot former acts -of injustice, and became more gentle and unreserved in his behaviour. -His mother began to admire his erudition. He learned five languages -besides his own. His eldest brother was already in a place of business, -and the second in Paris. John received a kind of promotion at home -and became a companion to his mother. He gave her information from -books on history and natural history, and she, having had no education, -listened with docility. But after she had listened awhile, whether it -was that she wished to raise herself to his level, or that she really -feared worldly knowledge, she would speak of the only knowledge which, -she said, could make man happy. She spoke of Christ; John knew all -this very well, but she understood how to make a personal application. -He was to beware of intellectual pride, and always to remain simple. -The boy did not understand what she meant by "simple," and what she -said about Christ did not agree with the Bible. There was something -morbid in her point of view, and he thought he detected the dislike -of the uncultured to culture. "Why all this long school course," he -asked himself, "if it was to be regarded as nothing in comparison with -the mysterious doctrine of Christ's Atonement?" He knew also that -his mother had caught up this talk from conversations with nurses, -seamstresses, and old women, who went to the dissenting chapels. -"Strange," he thought, "that people like that should grasp the highest -wisdom of which neither the priest in the church nor the teacher in -the school had the least notion!" He began to think that these humble -pietists had a good deal of spiritual pride, and that their way to -wisdom was an imaginary short-cut. Moreover, among his school-fellows -there were sons of barons and counts, and, when in his stories out of -school he mentioned noble titles, he was warned against pride. - -Was he proud? Very likely; but in school he did not seek the company -of aristocrats, though he preferred looking at them rather than at the -others, because their fine clothes, their handsome faces, and their -polished finger-nails appealed to his æsthetic sense. He felt that -they were of a different race and held a position which he would never -reach, nor try to reach, for he did not venture to demand anything of -life. But when, one day, a baron's son asked for his help in a lesson, -he felt himself in this matter, at any rate, his equal or even his -superior. He had thereby discovered that there was something which -could set him by the side of the highest in society, and which he could -obtain for himself, _i.e._, knowledge. - -In this school, because of the liberal spirit which was present, there -prevailed a democratic tone, of which there had been no trace in the -Clara School. The sons of counts and barons, who were for the most part -idle, had no advantage above the rest. The headmaster, who himself was -a peasant's son from Smaland, had no fear of the nobility, nor, on the -other hand, had he any prejudice against them or wish to humiliate -them. He addressed them all, small and big ones, familiarily, studied -them individually, called them by their Christian names, and took a -personal interest in them. The daily intercourse of the townspeople's -sons with those of the nobility led to their being on familiar terms -with one another. There were no flatterers, except in the upper -division, where the adolescent aristocrats came into class with their -riding-whips and spurs, while a soldier held their horses outside. The -precociously prudent boys, who had already an insight into the art of -life, courted these youths, but their intercourse was for the most part -superficial. In the autumn term some of the young grandees returned -from their expeditions as supernumerary naval cadets. They then -appeared in class with uniform and dirk. Their fellows admired them, -many envied them, but John, with the slave blood in his veins, was -never presumptuous enough to think of rivalling them; he recognised -their privileges, never dreamed of sharing them, guessed that he would -meet with humiliations among them, and therefore never intruded into -their circle. But he _did_ dream of reaching equal heights with theirs -through merit and hard work. And when in the spring those who were -leaving came into the classes to bid farewell to their teachers, when -he saw their white students' caps, their free and easy manners and -ways, then he noticed that they were also an object of admiration to -the naval cadets. - - * * * * * - -In his family life there was now a certain degree of prosperity. They -had gone back to the Norrtullsgata, where it was more homely than the -Sabbatsberg, and the landlord's sons were his school-fellows. His -father no longer rented a garden, and John busied himself for the most -part with his books. He led the life of a well-to-do-youth. Things -were more cheerful at home; grown-up cousins and the clerks from his -father's office came on Sundays for visits, and John, in spite of his -youth, made one of the company. He now wore a coat, took care of his -personal appearance, and, as a promising scholar, was thought more -highly of than one of his years would otherwise have been. He went -for walks in the garden, but the berries and the apple-trees no longer -tempted him. - -From time to time there came letters from his brother in Paris. They -were read aloud, and listened to with great attention. They were also -read to friends and acquaintances, and that was a triumph for the -family. At Christmas his brother sent a photograph of himself in a -French school uniform. That was the climax. John had now a brother who -wore a uniform and spoke French! He exhibited the photograph in the -school, and rose in the social scale thereby. The naval cadets were -envious, and said it was not a proper uniform, for he had no dirk. But -he had a "kepi," and shining buttons, and some gold lace on his collar. - -At home they had also stereoscopic pictures from Paris to show, and -they now seemed to live in Paris. They were as familiar with the -Tuileries and the Arc de Triomphe as with the castle and statue of -Gustavus Adolphus. The proverb that a father "lives in his children" -really seemed to be justified. Life now lay open before the youth; the -pressure he had formerly been subjected to had diminished, and perhaps -he would have traversed a smooth and easy path through life if a -change of circumstances had not thrown him back. - -His mother had passed through twelve confinements, and consequently -had become weak. Now she was obliged to keep her bed, and only -rose occasionally. She was more given to moods than before, and -contradictions would set her cheek aflame. The previous Christmas she -had fallen into a violent altercation with her brother regarding the -pietist preachers. While sitting at the dinner-table, the latter had -expressed his preference for Fredman's _Epistles_ as exhibiting deeper -powers of thought than the sermons of the pietists. John's mother took -fire at this, and had an attack of hysteria. That was only a symptom. - -Now, during the intervals when she got up, she began to mend the -children's linen and clothes, and to clear out all the drawers. She -often talked to John about religion and other high matters. One day she -showed him some gold rings. "You boys will get these, when Mamma is -dead," she said. "Which is mine?" asked John, without stopping to think -about death. She showed him a plaited girl's ring with a heart. It made -a deep impression on the boy, who had never possessed anything of gold, -and he often thought of the ring. - -About that time a nurse was hired for the children. She was young and -good-looking, taciturn, and smiled in a critical sort of way. She had -served in a count's mansion in the Tradgardsgatan, and probably thought -that she had come into a poverty-stricken house. She was supposed -to look after the children and the servant-maids, but was on almost -intimate terms with the latter. There were now three servants--a -housekeeper, a man-servant, and a girl from Dalecarlia. The girls had -their lovers, and a cheerful life went on in the great kitchen, where -polished copper and tin vessels shone brightly. There was eating and -drinking, and the boys were invited in. They were called "sir," and -their health was drunk. Only the man-servant was not there; he thought -it was "vulgar" to live like that, while the mistress of the house was -ill. The home seemed to be undergoing a process of dissolution, and -John's father had had many difficulties with the servants since his -mother had been obliged to keep her bed. But she remained the servants' -friend till death, and took their side by instinct, but they abused her -partiality. It was strictly forbidden to excite the patient, but the -servants intrigued against each other, and against their master. One -day John had melted lead in a silver spoon. The cook blabbed of it to -his mother, who was excited and told his father. But his father was -only-annoyed with the tell-tale. He went to John and said in a friendly -way, as though he were compelled to make a complaint: "You should not -melt lead in silver spoons. I don't care about the spoon; that can be -repaired; but this devil of a cook has excited mother. Don't tell the -girls when you have done something stupid, but tell me, and we will put -it right." - -He and his father were now friends for the first time, and he loved him -for his condescension. - -One night his father's voice awoke him from sleep. He started up, -and found it dark in the room. Through the darkness he heard a deep -trembling voice, "Come to mother's death-bed!" It went through him like -a flash of lightning. He froze and shivered while he dressed, the skin -of his head felt ice-cold, his eyes were wide-open and streaming with -tears, so that the flame of the lamp looked like a red bladder. - -Then they stood round the sick-bed and wept for one, two, three hours. -The night crept slowly onward. His mother was unconscious and knew no -one. The death-struggle, with rattling in the throat, and cries for -help, had commenced. The little ones were not aroused. John thought -of all the sins which he had committed, and found no good deeds to -counterbalance them. After three hours his tears ceased, and his -thoughts began to take various directions. The process of dying was -over. "How will it be," he asked himself, "when mother is no longer -there?" Nothing but emptiness and desolation, without comfort or -compensation--a deep gloom of wretchedness in which he searched for -some point of light. His eye fell on his mother's chest of drawers, on -which stood a plaster statuette of Linnæus with a flower in his hand. -There was the only advantage which this boundless misfortune brought -with it--he would get the ring. He saw it in imagination on his hand. -"That is in memory of my mother," he would be able to say, and he -would weep at the recollection of her, but he could not suppress the -thought, "A gold ring looks fine after all." Shame! Who could entertain -such thoughts at his mother's death-bed? A brain that was drunk with -sleep? A child which had wept itself out? Oh, no, an heir. Was he more -avaricious than others? Had he a natural tendency to greed? No, for -then he would never have related the matter, but he bore it in memory -his whole life long; it kept on turning up, and when he thought of it -in sleepless nights, and hours of weariness, he felt the flush mount -into his cheeks. Then he instituted an examination of himself and his -conduct, and blamed himself as the meanest of all men. It was not till -he was older and had come to know a great number of men, and studied -the processes of thought, that he came to the conclusion that the -brain is a strange thing which goes its own way, and there is a great -similarity among men in the double life which they lead, the outward -and the inward, the life of speech and that of thought. - -John was a compound of romanticism, pietism, realism, and naturalism. -Therefore he was never anything but a patchwork. He certainly did not -exclusively think about the wretched ornament. The whole matter was -only a momentary distraction of two minutes' duration after months -of sorrow, and when at last there was stillness in the room, and -his father said, "Mother is dead," he was not to be comforted. He -shrieked like one drowning. How can death bring such profound despair -to those who hope to meet again? It must needs press hard on faith -when the annihilation of personality takes place with such inflexible -consistency before our eyes. John's father, who generally had the -outward imperturbability of the Icelander, was now softened. He took -his sons by the hands and said: "God has visited us; we will now hold -together like friends. Men go about in their self-sufficiency, and -believe they are enough for themselves; then comes a blow, and we see -how _we_ all need one another. We will be sincere and considerate with -each other." - -The boy's sorrow was for a moment relieved. He had found a friend, a -strong, wise, manly friend whom he admired. - -White sheets were now hung up at the windows of the house in sign of -mourning. "You need not go to school, if you don't want to," said -his father. "If you don't want"--that was acknowledgment that he had -a will of his own. Then came aunts, cousins, relations, nurses, old -servants, and all called down blessings on the dead. All offered their -help in making the mourning clothes--there were four small and three -elder children. Young girls sat by the sickly light that fell through -the sheeted windows and sewed, while they conversed in undertones. That -was melancholy, and the period of mourning brought a whole chain of -peculiar experiences with it. Never had the boy been the object of so -much sympathy, never had he felt so many warm hands stretched out, nor -heard so many friendly words. - -On the next Sunday his father read a sermon of Wallin's on the text -"Our friend is not dead, but she sleeps." With what extraordinary faith -he took these words literally, and how well he understood how to open -the wounds and heal them again! "She is not dead, but she sleeps," -he repeated cheerfully. The mother really slept there in the cold -anteroom, and no one expected to see her awake. - -The time of burial approached; the place for the grave was bought. -His father's sister-in-law helped to sew the suits of mourning; she -sewed and sewed, the old mother of seven penniless children, the once -rich burgher's wife, sewed for the children of the marriage which her -husband had cursed. - -One day she stood up and asked her brother-in-law to speak with her -privately. She whispered with him in a corner of the room. The two old -people embraced each other and wept. Then John's father told them that -their mother would be laid in their uncle's family grave. This was a -much-admired monument in the new churchyard, which consisted of an iron -pillar surmounted by an urn. The boys knew that this was an honour for -their mother, but they did not understand that by her burial there a -family quarrel had been extinguished, and justice done after her death -to a good and conscientious woman who had been despised because she -became a mother before her marriage. - -Now all was peace and reconciliation in the house, and they vied with -one another in acts of friendliness. They looked frankly at each other, -avoided anything that might cause disturbance, and anticipated each -other's wishes. - -Then came the day of the funeral. When the coffin had been screwed -down and was carried through the hall, which was filled with mourners -dressed in black, one of John's little sisters began to cry and flung -herself in his arms. He took her up and pressed her to himself, as -though he were her mother and wished to protect her. When he felt how -her trembling little body clung close to him, he grew conscious of a -strength which he had not felt for a long time. Comfortless himself he -could bestow comfort, and as he quieted the child he himself grew calm. -The black coffin and the crowd of people had frightened her--that was -all; for the smaller children hardly missed their mother; they did -not weep for her, and had soon forgotten her. The tie between mother -and child is not formed so quickly, but only through long personal -acquaintance. John's real sense of loss hardly lasted for a quarter -of a year. He mourned for her indeed a long time, but that was more -because he wished to continue in that mood, though it was only an -expression of his natural melancholy, which had taken the special form -of mourning for his mother. - -After the funeral there followed a long summer of leisure and freedom. -John occupied two rooms with his eldest brother, who did not return -from business till the evening. His father was out the whole day, -and when they met they were silent. They had laid aside enmity, but -intimacy was impossible. John was now his own master; he came and -went, and did what he liked. His father's housekeeper was sympathetic -with him, and they never quarrelled. He avoided intercourse with his -school-fellows, shut himself in his room, smoked, read, and meditated. -He had always heard that knowledge was the best thing, a capital fund -which could not be lost, and which afforded a footing, however low -one might sink in the social scale. He had a mania for explaining -and knowing everything. He had seen his eldest brother's drawings and -heard them praised. In school he had drawn only geometrical figures. -Accordingly, he wished to draw, and in the Christmas holidays he copied -with furious diligence all his brother's drawings. The last in the -collection was a horse. When he had finished it, and saw that it was -unsatisfactory, he had done with drawing. - -All the children except John could play some instrument. He heard -scales and practising on the piano, violin, and violoncello, so that -music was spoiled for him and became a nuisance, like the church-bells -had formerly been. He would have gladly played, but he did not wish -to practise scales. He took pieces of music when no one was looking -and played them--as might be supposed--very badly, but it pleased him. -As a compensation for his vanity, he determined to learn technically -the pieces which his sisters played, so that he surpassed them in the -knowledge of musical technique. Once they wanted someone to copy the -music of the _Zauberflöte_ arranged for a quartette. John offered to do -so. - -"Can you copy notes?" he was asked. - -"I'll try," he said. - -He practised copying for a couple of days, and then copied out the four -parts. It was a long, tedious piece of work, and he nearly gave it up, -but finally completed it. His copy was certainly inaccurate in places, -but it was usable. He had no rest till he had learned to know all the -varieties of plants included in the Stockholm Flora. When he had done -so he dropped the subject. A botanical excursion afforded him no more -interest; roamings through the country showed him nothing new. He could -not find any plant which he did not know. He also knew the few minerals -which were to be found, and had an entomological collection. He could -distinguish birds by their notes, their feathers, and their eggs. But -all these were only outward phenomena, mere names for things, which -soon lost their interest. He wanted to reach what lay behind them. He -used to be blamed for his destructiveness, for he broke toys, watches, -and everything that fell into his hands. Accidently he heard in the -Academy of Sciences a lecture on Chemistry and Physics, accompanied by -experiments. The unusual instruments and apparatus fascinated him. The -Professor was a magician, but one who explained how the miracles took -place. This was a novelty for him, and he wished himself to penetrate -these secrets. - -He talked with his father about his new hobby, and the latter, who -had himself studied electricity in his youth, lent him books from -his bookcase--Fock's _Physics_, Girardin's _Chemistry_, Figuier's -_Discoveries and Inventions_, and the _Chemical Technology_ of Nyblæus. -In the attic was also a galvanic battery constructed on the old -Daniellian copper and zinc system. This he got hold of when he was -twelve years old, and made so many experiments with sulphuric acid as -to ruin handkerchiefs, napkins, and clothes. After he had galvanised -everything which seemed a suitable object, he laid this hobby also -aside. During the summer he took up privately the study of chemistry -with enthusiasm. But he did not wish to carry out the experiments -described in the text-book; he wished to make discoveries. He had -neither money nor any chemical apparatus, but that did not hinder him. -He had a temperament which must carry out its projects in spite of -every difficulty, and on the spot. This was still more the case, since -he had become his own master, after his mother's death. When he played -chess, he directed his plan of campaign against his opponent's king. -He went on recklessly, without thinking of defending himself, sometimes -gained the victory by sheer recklessness, but frequently also lost the -game. - -"If I had had one move more, you would have been checkmated," he said -on such occasions. - -"Yes, but you hadn't, and therefore _you_ are checkmated," was the -answer. - -When he wished to open a locked drawer, and the key was not at hand, he -took the tongs and broke the lock, so that, together with its screws, -it came loose from the wood. - -"Why did you break the lock?" they asked. - -"Because I wished to get at the drawer." - -This impetuosity revealed a certain pertinacity, but the latter only -lasted while the fit was on him. For example: On one occasion he wished -to make an electric machine. In the attic he found a spinning-wheel. -From it he broke off whatever he did not need, and wanted to replace -the wheel with a round pane of glass. He found a double window, and -with a splinter of quartz cut a pane out. But it had to be round and -have a whole in the middle. With a key he knocked off one splinter of -glass after another, each not larger than a grain of sand, this took -him several days, but at last he had made the pane round. But how was -he to make a hole in it? He contrived a bow-drill. In order to get -the bow, he broke an umbrella, took a piece of whale-bone out, and -with that and a violin-string made his bow. Then he rubbed the glass -with the splinter of quartz, wetted it with turpentine, and bored. But -he saw no result. Then he lost patience and reflection, and tried to -finish the job with a piece of cracking-coal. The pane of glass split -in two. Then he threw himself, weak, exhausted, hopeless, on the bed. -His vexation was intensified by a consciousness of poverty. If he had -only had money. He walked up and down before Spolander's shop in the -Vesterlanggata and looked at the various sets of chemical apparatus -there displayed. He would have gladly ascertained their price, but -dared not go in. What would have been the good? His father gave him no -money. - -When he had recovered from this failure, he wanted to make what no one -has made hitherto, and no one can make--a machine to exhibit "perpetual -motion." His father had told him that for a long time past a reward -had been offered to anyone who should invent this impossibility. This -tempted him. He constructed a waterfall with a "Hero's fountain,"[1] -which worked a pump; the waterfall was to set the pump in motion, and -the pump was to draw up the water again out of the "Hero's fountain." -He had again to make a raid on the attic. After he had broken -everything possible in order to collect material, he began his work. A -coffee-making machine had to serve as a pipe; a soda-water machine as a -reservoir; a chest of drawers furnished planks and wood; a bird-cage, -iron wire; and so on. The day of testing it came. Then the housekeeper -asked him if he would go with his brothers and sisters to their -mother's grave. "No," he said, "he had no time." Whether his conscience -now smote him, and spoiled his work, or whether he was nervous--anyhow, -it was a failure. Then he took the whole apparatus, without trying to -put right what was wrong in it, and hurled it against the tiled stove. -There lay the work, on which so many useful things had been wasted, and -a good while later on the ruin was discovered in the attic. He received -a reproof, but that had no longer an effect on him. - -In order to have his revenge at home, where he was despised on -account of his unfortunate experiments, he made some explosions with -detonating gas, and contrived a Leyden jar. For this he took the skin -of a dead black cat which he had found on the Observatory Hill and -brought home in his pocket-handkerchief. One night, when his eldest -brother and he came home from a concert, they could find no matches, -and did not wish to wake anyone. John hunted up some sulphuric acid and -zinc, produced hydrogen, procured a flame by means of the electricity -conductor, and lighted the lamp. This established his reputation as a -scientific chemist. He also manufactured matches like those made at -Jönkoping. Then he laid chemistry aside for a time. - -His father's bookshelves contained a small collection of books which -were now at his disposal. Here, besides the above-mentioned works on -chemistry and physics, he found books on gardening, an illustrated -natural history, Meyer's _Universum_, a German anatomical treatise with -plates, an illustrated German history of Napoleon, Wallin's, Franzen's, -and Tegner's poems, _Don Quixote_, Frederika Bremer's romances, etc. - -Besides books about Indians and the _Thousand and One Nights_, John -had hitherto no acquaintance with pure literature. He had looked into -some romances and found them tedious, especially as they had no -illustrations. But after he had floundered about chemistry and natural -science, he one day paid a visit to the bookcase. He looked into the -poets; here he felt as though he were floating in the air and did not -know where he was. He did not understand it. Then he took Frederika -Bremer's _Pictures from Daily Life._ Here he found domesticity and -didacticism, and put them back. Then he seized hold of a collection -of tales and fairy stories called _Der Jungfrauenturm_. These dealt -with unhappy love, and moved him. But most important of all was the -circumstance that he felt himself an adult with these adult characters. -He understood what they said, and observed that he was no longer a -child. He, too, had been unhappy in love, had suffered and fought, but -he was kept back in the prison of childhood. And now he first became -aware that his soul was in prison. It had long been fledged, but they -had clipped its wings and put it in a cage. Now he sought his father -and wished to talk with him as a comrade, but his father was reserved -and brooded over his sorrow. - -In the autumn there came a new throw-back and check for him. He was -ripe for the highest class, but was kept back in the school because -he was too young. He was infuriated. For the second time he was held -fast by the coat when he wished to jump. He felt like an omnibus-horse -continually pressing forward and being as constantly held back. This -lacerated his nerves, weakened his will-power, and laid the foundation -for lack of courage in the future. He never dared to wish anything very -keenly, for he had seen how often his wishes were checked. He wanted to -be industrious and press on, but industry did not help him; he was too -young. No, the school course was too long. It showed the goal in the -distance, but set obstacles in the way of the runners. He had reckoned -on being a student when he was fifteen, but had to wait till he was -eighteen. In his last year, when he saw escape from his prison so near, -another year of punishment was imposed upon him by a rule being passed -that they were to remain in the highest class for two years. - -His childhood and youth had been extremely painful; the whole of life -was spoiled for him, and he sought comfort in heaven. - - -[1] An artificial fountain of water, worked by pressure of air. - - - - -VI. - -THE SCHOOL OF THE CROSS - - -Sorrow has the fortunate peculiarity that it preys upon itself. It dies -of starvation. Since it is essentially an interruption of habits, it -can be replaced by new habits. Constituting, as it does, a void, it is -soon filled up by a real "horror vacui." - -A twenty-years' marriage had come to an end. A comrade in the battle -against the difficulties of life was lost; a wife, at whose side her -husband had lived, had gone and left behind an old celibate; the -manager of the house had quitted her post. Everything was in confusion. -The small, black-dressed creatures, who moved everywhere like dark -blots in the rooms and in the garden, kept the feeling of loss fresh. -Their father thought they felt forlorn and believed them defenceless. -He often came home from his work in the afternoon and sat alone in a -lime-tree arbour, which looked towards the street. He had his eldest -daughter, a child of seven, on his knee, and the others played at his -feet. John often watched the grey-haired man, with his melancholy, -handsome features, sitting in the green twilight of the arbour. He -could not comfort him, and did not seek his company any more. He -saw the softening of the old man's nature, which he would not have -thought possible before. He watched how his fixed gaze lingered on his -little daughter as though in the childish lines of her face he would -reconstruct in imagination the features of the dead. From his window -John often watched this picture between the stems of the trees down the -long vista of the avenue; it touched him deeply, but he began to fear -for his father, who no longer seemed to be himself. - -Six months had passed, when his father one autumn evening came home -with a stranger. He was an elderly man of unusually cheerful aspect. -He joked good-naturedly, was friendly and kindly towards children and -servants, and had an irresistible way of making people laugh. He was -an accountant, had been a school friend of John's father, and was now -discovered to be living in a house close by. The two old men talked -of their youthful recollections, which afforded material to fill the -painful void John's father felt. His stern, set features relaxed, as he -was obliged to laugh at his friend's witty and humorous remarks. After -a week he and the whole family were laughing as only those can who have -wept for a long time. Their friend was a wit of the first water, and -more, could play the violin and guitar, and sing Bellman's[1] songs. A -new atmosphere seemed to pervade the house, new views of things sprang -up, and the melancholy phantoms of the mourning period were dissipated. -The accountant had also known trouble; he had lost his betrothed, and -since then remained a bachelor. Life had not been child's play for him, -but he had taken things as they came. - -Soon after John's brother Gustav returned from Paris in uniform, mixing -French words with Swedish in his talk, brisk and cheerful. His father -received him with a kiss on the forehead, and was somewhat depressed -again by the recollection that this son had not been at his mother's -death-bed. But he soon cheered up again and the house grew lively. -Gustav entered his father's business, and the latter had someone now -with whom he could talk on matters which interested him. - -One evening, late in autumn, after supper, when the accountant was -present and the company sat together, John's father stood up and -signified his wish to say a few words: "My boys and my friend," he -began, and then announced his intention of giving his little children a -new mother, adding that the time of youthful passion was past for him, -and that only thoughts for the children had led to the resolve to make -Fräulein--his wife. - -She was the housekeeper. He made the announcement in a somewhat -authoritative tone, as though he would say, "You have really nothing to -do with it; however, I let you know." Then the housekeeper was fetched -to receive their congratulations, which were hearty on the part of the -accountant, but of a somewhat mixed nature on the part of the three -boys. Two of them had rather an uncomfortable conscience on the matter, -for they had strongly but innocently admired her; but the third, -John, had latterly been on bad terms with her. Which of them was most -embarrassed would be difficult to decide. - -There ensued a long pause, during which the youths examined themselves, -mentally settled their accounts, and thought of the possible -consequences of this unexpected event. John must have been the first to -realise what the situation demanded, for he went the same evening into -the nursery straight to the housekeeper. It seemed dark before his eyes -as he repeated the following speech, which he had hastily composed and -learned by heart in his father's fashion: - -"Since our relations with each other will hence-forward be on a -different footing," he said, "allow me to ask you to forget the past -and to be friends." This was a prudent utterance, sincerely meant, and -had no _arrière pensée_ behind it. It was also a balancing of accounts -with his father, and the expression of a wish to live harmoniously -together for the future. At noon the next day John's father came up to -his room, thanked him for his kindness towards the housekeeper, and, as -a token of his pleasure at it, gave him a small present, but one which -he had long desired. It was a chemical apparatus. John felt ashamed to -take the present, and made little of his kindness. It was a natural -result of his father's announcement, and a prudent thing to do, but -his father and the housekeeper must have seen in it a good augury for -their wedded happiness. They soon discovered their mistake, which was -naturally laid at the boy's door. - -There is no doubt that the old man married again for his children's -sake, but it is also certain that he loved the young woman. And why -should he not? It is nobody's affair except that of the persons -concerned, but it is a fact of constant occurrence, both that widowers -marry again, however galling the bonds of matrimony may have been, and -that they also feel they are committing a breach of trust against the -dead. Dying wives are generally tormented with the thought that the -survivor will marry again. - -The two elder brothers took the affair lightly, and accommodated -themselves to it. They regarded their father with veneration, and never -doubted the rightness of what he did. They had never considered that -fatherhood is an accident which may happen to anyone. - -But John doubted. He fell into endless disputes with his brothers, and -criticised his father for becoming engaged before the expiration of the -year of mourning. He conjured up his mother's shade, prophesied misery -and ruin, and let himself go to unreasonable lengths. - -The brothers' argument was: "We have nothing to do with father's -acts." "It was true," retorted John, "that it was not their business to -judge; still, it concerned them deeply." "Word-catcher!" they replied, -not seeing the distinction. - -One evening, when John had come home from school, he saw the house lit -up and heard music and talking. He went to his room in order to study. -The servant came up and said that his father wished him to come down as -there were guests present. - -"Who?" asked John. - -"The new relations." - -John replied that he had no time. Then one of his brothers appeared. He -first abused John, then he begged him to come, saying that he ought to -for his father's sake, even if it were only for a moment; he could soon -go up again. - -John said he would consider the matter. - -At last he went down; he saw the room full of ladies and gentlemen: -three aunts, a new grandmother, an uncle, a grandfather. The aunts -were young girls. He made a bow in the centre of the room politely but -stiffly. - -His father was vexed, but did not wish to show it. He asked John -whether he would have a glass of punch. John took it. Then the old man -asked ironically whether he had really so much work for the school. -John said "Yes," and returned to his room. Here it was cold and dark, -and he could not work when the noise of music and dancing ascended to -him. Then the cook came up to fetch him to supper. He would not have -any. Hungry and angry he paced up and down the room. At intervals he -wanted to go down where it was warm, light, and cheerful, and several -times took hold of the door-handle. But he turned back again, for he -was shy. Timid as he was by nature, this last solitary summer had made -him still more uncivilised. So he went hungry to bed, and considered -himself the most unfortunate creature in the world. - -The next day his father came to his room and told him he had not been -honest when he had asked the housekeeper's pardon. - -"Pardon!" exclaimed John, "he had nothing to ask pardon for." But -now his father wanted to humble him. "Let him try," thought John to -himself. For a time no obvious attempts were made in that direction, -but John stiffened himself to meet them, when they should come. - -One evening his brother was reading by the lamp in the room upstairs. -John asked, "What are you reading?" His brother showed him the title -on the cover; there stood in old black-letter type on a yellow cover -the famous title: _Warning of a Friend of Youth against the most -Dangerous Enemy of Youth_. - -"Have you read it?" asked Gustav. - -John answered "Yes," and drew back. After Gustav had done reading, he -put the book in his drawer and went downstairs. John opened the drawer -and took out the mysterious work. His eyes glanced over the pages -without venturing to fix on any particular spot. His knees trembled, -his face became bloodless, his pulses froze. He was, then, condemned -to death or lunacy at the age of twenty-five! His spinal marrow and -his brain would disappear, his hair would fall out, his hands would -tremble--it was horrible! And the cure was--Christ! But Christ could -not heal the body, only the soul. The body was condemned to death -at five-and-twenty; the only thing left was to save the soul from -everlasting damnation. - -This was Dr. Kapff's famous pamphlet, which has driven so many youths -into a lunatic asylum in order to increase the adherents of the -Protestant Jesuits. Such a dangerous work should have been prosecuted, -confiscated, and burnt, or, at any rate, counteracted by more -intelligent ones. One of the latter sort fell into John's hands later, -and he did his best to circulate it, as it was excellent. The title -was Uncle Palle's _Advice to Young Sinners,_ and its authorship was -attributed to the medical councillor, Dr. Westrand. It was a cheerfully -written book, which took the matter lightly, and declared that the -dangers of the evil habit had been exaggerated; it also gave practical -advice and hygienic directions. But even to the present time Kapff's -absurd pamphlet is in vogue, and doctors are frequently visited by -sinners, who with beating hearts make their confessions.[2] - -For half a year John could find no word of comfort in his great -trouble. He was, he thought, condemned to death; the only thing left -was to lead a virtuous and religious life, till the fatal hour should -strike. He hunted up his mother's pietistic books and read them. He -considered himself merely as a criminal and humbled himself. When on -the next day he passed through the street, he stepped off the pavement -in order to make room for everyone he met. He wished to mortify -himself, to suffer for the allotted period, and then to enter into the -joy of his Lord. - -One night he awoke and saw his brothers sitting by the lamplight. They -were discussing the subject. He crept under the counterpane and put his -fingers in his ears in order not to hear. But he heard all the same. He -wished to spring up to confess, to beg for mercy and help, but dared -not, to hear the confirmation of his death sentence. Had he spoken, -perhaps he would have obtained help and comfort, but he kept silence. -He lay still, with perspiration breaking out, and prayed. Wherever -he went he saw the terrible word written in old black letters on a -yellow ground, on the walls of the houses, on the carpets of the room. -The chest of drawers in which the book lay contained the guillotine. -Every time his brother approached the drawer he trembled and ran away. -For hours at a time he stood before the looking-glass in order to see -if his eyes had sunk in, his hair had fallen out, and his skull was -projecting. But he looked ruddy and healthy. - -He shut himself up in himself, was quiet and avoided all society. -His father imagined that by this behaviour he wished to express his -disapproval of the marriage; that he was proud, and wanted to humble -him. But he was humbled already, and as he silently yielded to the -pressure his father congratulated himself on the success of his -strategy. - -This irritated the boy, and sometimes he revolted. Now and then there -arose a faint hope in him that his body might be saved. He went to the -gymnasium, took cold baths, and ate little in the evening. - -Through home-life, intercourse with school-fellows, and learning, he -had developed a fairly complicated ego, and when he compared himself -with the simpler egos of others, he felt superior. But now religion -came and wanted to kill this ego. That was not so easy and the battle -was fierce. He saw also that no one else denied himself. Why, then, in -heaven's name, should he do so? - -When his father's wedding-day came, he revolted. He did not go to kiss -the bride like his brothers and sisters, but withdrew from the dancing -to the toddy-drinkers, and got a little intoxicated. But a punishment -was soon to follow on this, and his ego was to be broken. - -He became a collegian, but this gave him no joy. It came too late, -like a debt that had been long due. He had had the pleasure of it -beforehand. No one congratulated him, and he got no collegian's cap. -Why? Did they want to humble him or did his father not wish to sec an -outward sign of his learning? At last it was suggested that one of his -aunts should embroider the college wreath on velvet, which could then -be sewn on to an ordinary black cap. She embroidered an oak and laurel -branch, but so badly that his fellow-students laughed at him. He was -the only collegian for a long time who had not worn the proper cap. The -only one--pointed at, and passed over! - -Then his breakfast-money, which hitherto had been five öre, was reduced -to four. This was an unnecessary cruelty, for they were not poor at -home, and a boy ought to have more food. The consequence was that John -had no breakfast at all, for he spent his weekly money in tobacco. He -had a keen appetite and was always hungry. When there was salt cod-fish -for dinner, he ate till his jaws were weary, but left the table hungry. -Did he then really get too little to eat? No; there are millions -of working-men who have much less, but the stomachs of the upper -classes must have become accustomed to stronger and more concentrated -nourishment. His whole youth seemed to him in recollection a long -fasting period. - -Moreover, under the step-mother's rule the scale of diet was reduced, -the food was inferior, and he could change his linen only once instead -of twice a week. This was a sign that one of the lower classes was -guiding the household. The youth was not proud in the sense that he -despised the housekeeper's low birth, but the fact that she who had -formerly been beneath him tried to oppress him, made him revolt--but -now Christianity came in and bade him turn the other cheek. - -He kept growing, and had to go about in clothes which he had outgrown. -His comrades jeered at his short trousers. His school-books were old -editions out of date, and this caused him much annoyance in the school. - -"So it is in my book," he would say to the teacher. - -"Show me your book." - -Then the teacher was scandalised, and told him to get the newest -edition, which he never did. - -His shirt-sleeves reached only half-way down his arm and could not be -buttoned. In the gymnasium, therefore, he always kept his jacket on. -One day in his capacity as leader of the troop he was having a special -lesson from the teacher of gymnastics. - -"Take off your jackets, boys, we want to put our backs into it," said -the instructor. - -All besides John did so. - -"Well, are you ready?" - -"No, I am freezing," answered John. - -"You will soon be warm," said the instructor; "off with your jacket." - -He refused. The instructor came up to him in a friendly way and pulled -at his sleeves. He resisted. The instructor looked at him. "What is -this?" he said. "I ask you kindly and you won't oblige me. Then go!" - -John wished to say something in his defence; he looked at the friendly -man, with whom he had always been on good terms, with troubled -eyes--but he kept silence and went. What depressed him was poverty -imposed as a cruelty, not as a necessity. He complained to his -brothers, but they said he should not be proud. Difference of education -had opened a gulf between him and them. They belonged to a different -class of society, and ranged themselves with the father who was of -their class and the one in power. - -Another time he was given a jacket which had been altered from a blue -frock-coat with bright buttons. His school-fellows laughed at him as -though he were pretending to be a cadet, but this was the last idea in -his mind, for he always plumed himself on being rather than seeming. -This jacket cost him untold suffering. - -After this a systematic plan of humbling him was pursued. John -was waked up early in the mornings to do domestic tasks before he -went to school. He pleaded his school-work as an excuse, but it -did not help him at all. "You learn so easily," he was told. This -was quite unnecessary, as there was a man-servant, besides several -other servants, in the house. He saw that it was merely meant as a -chastisement. He hated his oppressors and they hated him. - -Then there began a second course of discipline. He had to get up in -the morning and drive his father to the town before he went to school, -then return with the horse and trap, take out the horse, feed it, and -sweep the stable. The same manoeuvre was repeated at noon. So, besides -his school-work, he had domestic work and must drive twice daily to -and from Riddarholm. In later years he asked himself whether this had -been done with forethought; whether his wise father saw that too -much activity of brain was bad for him, and that physical work was -necessary. Or perhaps it was an economical regulation in order to save -some of the man-servant's work time. Physical exertion is certainly -useful for boys, and should be commended to the consideration of all -parents, but John could not perceive any beneficent intention in the -matter, even though it may have existed. The whole affair seemed -so dictated by malice and an intention to cause pain, that it was -impossible for him to discover any good purpose in it, though it may -have existed along with the bad one. - -In the summer holidays the driving out degenerated into stable-work. -The horse had to be fed at stated hours, and John was obliged to stay -at home in order not to miss them. His freedom was at an end. He felt -the great change which had taken place in his circumstances, and -attributed them to his stepmother. Instead of being a free person who -could dispose of his own time and thoughts, he had become a slave, to -do service in return for his food. When he saw that his brothers were -spared all such work, he became convinced that it was imposed on him -out of malice. Straw-cutting, room-sweeping, water-carrying, etc., -are excellent exercises, but the motive spoiled everything. If his -father had told him it was good for his health, he would have done -it gladly, but now he hated it. He feared the dark, for he had been -brought up like all children by the maid-servants, and he had to do -violence to himself when he went up to the hay-loft every evening. He -cursed it every time, but the horse was a good-natured beast with whom -he sometimes talked. He was, moreover, fond of animals, and possessed -canaries of which he took great care. - -He hated his domestic tasks because they were imposed upon him by the -former housekeeper, who wished to revenge herself on him and to show -him her superiority. He hated her, for the tasks were exacted from -him as payment for his studies. He had seen through the reason why he -was being prepared for a learned career. They boasted of him and his -learning; he was not then being educated out of kindness. - -Then he became obstinate, and on one occasion damaged the springs of -the trap in driving. When they alighted at Riddarhustorg, his father -examined it. He observed that a spring was broken. - -"Go to the smith's," he said. - -John was silent. - -"Did you hear?" - -"Yes, I heard." - -He had to go to the Malargata, where the smith lived. The latter said -it would take three hours to repair the damage. What was to be done? -He must take the horse out, lead it home and return. But to lead a -horse in harness, while wearing his collegian's cap, through the -Drottningsgata, perhaps to meet the boys by the observatory who envied -him for his cap, or still worse, the pretty girls on the Norrtullsgata -who smiled at him--No! he would do anything rather than that. He then -thought of leading the horse through the Rorstrandsgata, but then he -would have to pass Karlberg, and here he knew the cadets. He remained -in the courtyard, sitting on a log in the sunshine and cursed his lot. -He thought of the summer holidays which he had spent in the country, -of his friends who were now there, and measured his misfortune by that -standard. But had he thought of his brothers who were now shut up for -ten hours a day in the hot and gloomy office without hope of a single -holiday, his meditations on his lot would have taken a different turn; -but he did not do that. Just now he would have willingly changed -places with them. They, at any rate, earned their bread, and did not -have to stay at home. They had a definite position, but he had not. Why -did his parents let him smell at the apple and then drag him away? He -longed to get away--no matter where. He was in a false position, and -he wished to get out of it, to be either above or below and not to be -crushed between the wheels. - -Accordingly, one day he asked his father for permission to leave the -school. His father was astonished, and asked in a friendly way his -reason. He replied that everything was spoiled for him, he was learning -nothing, and wished to go out into life in order to work and earn his -own living. - -"What do you want to be?" asked his father. - -He said he did not know, and then he wept. - -A few days later his father asked him whether he would like to be -a cadet. A cadet! His eyes lighted up, but he did not know what to -answer. To be a fine gentleman with a sword! His boldest dreams had -never reached so far. - -"Think over it," said his father. He thought about it the whole -evening. If he accepted, he would now go in uniform to Karlberg, where -he had once bathed and been driven away by the cadets. To become an -officer--that meant to get power; the girls would smile on him and -no one would oppress him. He felt life grow brighter, the sense of -oppression vanished from his breast and hope awoke. But it was too much -for him. It neither suited him nor his surroundings. He did not wish to -mount and to command; he wished only to escape the compulsion to blind -obedience, the being watched and oppressed. The stoicism which asks -nothing of life awoke in him. He declined the offer, saying it was too -much for him. - -The mere thought that he could have been what perhaps all boys long -to be, was enough for him. He renounced it, descended, and took up -his chain again. When, later on, he became an egotistic pietist, he -imagined that he had renounced the honour for Christ's sake. That was -not true, but, as a matter of fact, there was some asceticism in his -sacrifice. He had, moreover, gained clearer insight into his parents' -game; they wished to get honour through him. Probably the cadet idea -had been suggested by his stepmother. - -But there arose more serious occasions of contention. John thought that -his younger brothers and sisters were worse dressed than before, and -he had heard cries from the nursery. - -"Ah!" he said to himself, "she beats them." - -Now he kept a sharp look-out. One day he noticed that the servant -teased his younger brother as he lay in bed. The little boy was angry -and spat in her face. His step-mother wanted to interfere, but John -intervened. He had now tasted blood. The matter was postponed till his -father's return. After dinner the battle was to begin. John was ready. -He felt that he represented his dead mother. Then it began! After a -formal report, his father took hold of Pelle, and was about to beat -him. "You must not beat him!" cried John in a threatening tone, and -rushed towards his father as though he would have seized him by the -collar. - -"What in heaven's name are you saying?" - -"You should not touch him. He is innocent." - -"Come in here and let me talk to you; you are certainly mad," said his -father. - -"Yes, I will come," said the generally timid John, as though he were -possessed. - -His father hesitated somewhat on hearing his confident tone, and his -sound intelligence must have told him that there was something queer -about the matter. - -"Well, what have you to say to me?" asked his father, more quietly but -still distrustfully. - -"I say that it is Karin's fault; she did wrong, and if mother had -lived----" - -That struck home. "What are you talking nonsense about your mother for? -You have now a new mother. Prove what you say. What has Karin done?" - -That was just the trouble; he could not say it, for he feared by -doing so to touch a sore point. He was silent. A thousand thoughts -coursed through his mind. How should he express them? He struggled for -utterance, and finally came out with a stupid saying which he had read -somewhere in a school-book. - -"Prove!" he said. "There are clear matters of fact which can neither be -proved nor need to be proved." (How stupid! he thought to himself, but -it was too late.) - -"Now you are simply stupid," said his father. - -John was beaten, but he still wished to continue the conflict. A new -repartee learned at school occurred to him. - -"If I am stupid, that is a natural fault, which no one has the right to -reproach me with." - -"Shame on you for talking such rubbish! Go out and don't let me see you -any more!" And he was put out. - -After this scene all punishments took place in John's absence. It was -believed he would spring at their throats if he heard any cries, and -that was probable enough. - -There was yet another method of humbling him--a hateful method which -is often employed in families. It consisted of arresting his mental and -moral growth by confining him to the society of his younger brothers -and sisters. Children are often obliged to play with their brothers and -sisters whether they are congenial to them or not. That is tyranny. But -to compel an elder child to go about with the younger ones is a crime -against nature; it is the mutilation of a young growing tree. John had -a younger brother, a delightful child of seven, who trusted everyone -and worried no one. John loved him and took good care that he was not -ill-treated. But to have intimate intercourse with such a young child, -who did not understand the talk and conversation of its elders, was -impossible. - -But now he was obliged to do so. On the first of May, when John had -hoped to go out with his friends, his father said, as a matter of -course, "Take Pelle and go with him to the Zoölogical Gardens, but take -good care of him." There was no possibility of remonstrance. They went -into the open plain, where they met some of his comrades, and John felt -the presence of his little brother like a clog on his leg. He took -care that no one hurt him, but he wished the little boy was at home. -Pelle talked at the top of his voice and pointed with his finger at -passers-by; John corrected him, and as he felt his solidarity with him, -felt ashamed on his account. Why must he be ashamed because of a fault -in etiquette which he had not himself committed? He became stiff, cold, -and hard. The little boy wanted to see some sight but John would not -go, and refused all his little brother's requests. Then he felt ashamed -of his hardness; he cursed his selfishness, he hated and despised -himself, but could not get rid of his bad feelings. Pelle understood -nothing; he only looked troubled, resigned, patient, and gentle. "You -are proud," said John to himself; "you are robbing the child of a -pleasure." He felt remorseful, but soon afterwards hard again. - -At last the child asked him to buy some gingerbread nuts. John felt -himself insulted by the request. Suppose one of his fellow-collegians -who sat in the restaurant and drank punch saw him buying gingerbread -nuts! But he bought some, and stuffed them in his brother's pocket. -Then they went on. Two cadets, John's acquaintances, came towards him. -At this moment a little hand reached him a gingerbread nut--"Here's one -for you, John!" He pushed the little hand away, and simultaneously saw -two blue faithful eyes looking up to him plaintively and questioningly. -He felt as if he could weep, take the hurt child in his arms, and ask -his forgiveness in order to melt the ice which had crystallised round -his heart. He despised himself for having pushed his brother's hand -away. They went home. - -He wished to shake the recollection of his misdeed from him, but could -not. But he laid the blame of it partly at the door of those who had -caused this sorry situation. He was too old to stand on the same level -with the child, and too young to be able to condescend to it. - -His father, who had been rejuvenated by his marriage with a young wife, -ventured to oppose John's learned authorities, and wished to humble -him in this department also. After supper one evening, they were -sitting at table, his father with his three papers, the _Aftonbladet, -Allehanda_, and _Post-tidningen_, and John with a school-book. -Presently his father stopped reading. - -"What are you reading?" he asked. - -"Philosophy." - -A long pause. The boys always used to call logic "philosophy." - -"What is philosophy, really?" - -"The science of thought." - -"Hm! Must one learn how to think? Let me see the book." He put his -pince-nez on and read. Then he said, "Do you think the peasant members -of the Riks-Dag"[3] (he hated the peasants, but now used them for the -purpose of his argument) "have learned philosophy? I don't, and yet -they manage to corner the professors delightfully. You learn such a lot -of useless stuff!" Thus he dismissed philosophy. - -His father's parsimoniousness also sometimes placed John in very -embarrassing situations. Two of his friends offered during the holidays -to give him lessons in mathematics. John asked his father's permission. - -"All right," he said, "as far as I am concerned." - -When the time came for them to receive an honorarium, his father was of -the opinion that they were so rich that one could not give them money. - -"But one might make them a present," said John. - -"I won't give anything," was the answer. - -John felt ashamed for a whole year and realised for the first time the -unpleasantness of a debt. His two friends gave at first gentle and then -broad hints. He did not avoid them, but crawled after them in order to -show his gratitude. He felt that they possessed a part of his soul and -body; that he was their slave and could not be free. Sometimes he made -them promises, because he imagined he could fulfil them, but they could -not be fulfilled, and the burden of the debt was increased by their -being broken. It was a time of infinite torment, probably more bitter -at the time than it seemed afterwards. - -Another step in arresting his progress was the postponement of his -Confirmation. He learned theology at school, and could read the Gospels -in Greek, but was not considered mature enough for Confirmation. - -He felt the grinding-down process at home all the more because his -position in the school was that of a free man. As a collegian he had -acquired certain rights. He was not made to stand up in class, and -went out when he wished without asking permission; he remained sitting -when the teachers asked questions, and disputed with them. He was the -youngest in the class but sat among the oldest and tallest. The teacher -now played the part of a lecturer rather than of a mere hearer of -lessons. The former ogre from the Clara School had become an elderly -man who expounded Cicero's _De Senectute_ and _De Amicitia_ without -troubling himself much about the commentaries. In reading Virgil, he -dwelt on the meeting of Æneas and Dido, enlarged on the topic of love, -lost the thread of his discourse, and became melancholy. (The boys -found out that about this time he had been wooing an old spinster.) He -no longer assumed a lofty tone, and was magnanimous enough to admit -a mistake he had made (he was weak in Latin) and to acknowledge that -he was not an authority in that subject. From this he drew the moral -that no one should come to school without preparation, however clever -he might be. This produced a great effect upon the boys. He won more -credit as a man than he lost as a teacher. - -John, being well up in the natural sciences, was the only one out -of his class elected to be a member of the "Society of Friends of -Science." He was now thrown with school-fellows in the highest class, -who the next year would become students. He had to give a lecture, and -talked about it at home. He wrote an essay on the air, and read it to -the members. After the lecture, the members went into a restaurant in -the Haymarket and drank punch. John was modest before the big fellows, -but felt quite at his ease. It was the first time he had been lifted -out of the companionship of those of his own age. Others related -improper anecdotes; he shyly related a harmless one. Later on, some -of the members visited him and took away some of his best plants and -chemical apparatus. - -By an accident John found a new friend in the school. When he was top -of the first class the Principal came in one day with a tall fellow in -a frock-coat, with a beard, and wearing a pince-nez. - -"Here, John!" he said, "take charge of this youth; he is freshly come -from the country, and show him round." The wearer of the pince-nez -looked down disdainfully at the boy in the jacket. They sat next each -other; John took the book and whispered to him; the other, however, -knew nothing, but talked about cards and cafés. - -One day John played with his friend's pince-nez and broke the spring. -His friend was vexed. John promised to have it repaired, and took the -pince-nez home. It weighed upon his mind, for he did not know whence -he should get the money in order to have it mended. Then he determined -to mend it himself. He took out the screws, bored holes in an old -clock-spring, but did not succeed. His friend jogged his memory; John -was in despair. His father would never pay for it. His friend said, -"I will have it repaired, and you must pay." The repair cost fifty -öre. On Monday John handed over twelve coppers, and promised to pay -the rest the following Monday. His friend smelt a rat. "That is your -breakfast-money," he said; "do you get only twelve coppers a week?" -John blushed and begged him to take the money. The next Monday he -handed over the remainder. His friend resisted, but he pressed it on -him. - -The two continued together as school-fellows till they went to the -university at Upsala and afterwards. John's friend had a cheerful -temperament and took the world as it came. He did not argue much with -John, but always made him laugh. In contrast to his dreary home, John -found the school a cheerful refuge from domestic tyranny. But this -caused him to lead a double life, which was bound to produce moral -dislocation. - - -[1] Famous Swedish poet. - -[2] In a later work, _Legends_ (1898), Strindberg says: "When I wrote -that youthful confession (_The Son of a Servant_) the liberal tendency -of that period seems to have induced me to use too bright colours, with -the pardonable object of freeing from fear young men who have fallen -into precocious sin." - -[3] The Swedish Parliament. - - - - -VII - -FIRST LOVE - - -If the character of a man is the stereotyped rôle which he plays in the -comedy of social life, John at this time had no character, _i.e._, he -was quite sincere. He sought, but found nothing, and could not remain -in any fixed groove. His coarse nature, which flung off all fetters -that were imposed upon it, could not adapt itself; and his brain, which -was a revolutionary's from birth, could not work automatically. He was -a mirror which threw back all the rays which struck it, a compendium of -various experiences, of changing impressions, and full of contradictory -elements. He possessed a will which worked by fits and starts and with -fanatical energy; but he really did not will anything deeply; he was -a fatalist, and believed in destiny; he was sanguine, and hoped all -things. Hard as ice at home, he was sometimes sensitive to the point -of sentimentality; he would give his last shirt to a poor man, and -could weep at the sight of injustice. He was a pietist, and as sincere -an one as is possible for anyone who tries to adopt an old-world point -of view. His home-life, where everything threatened his intellectual -and personal liberty, compelled him to be this. In the school he was a -cheerful worldling, not at all sentimental, and easy to get on with. -Here he felt he was being educated for society and possessed rights. -At home he was like an edible vegetable, cultivated for the use of the -family, and had no rights. - -He was also a pietist from spiritual pride, as all pietists are. -Beskow, the repentant lieutenant, had come home from his pilgrimage -to the grave of Christ. His _Journal_ was read at home by John's -step-mother, who inclined to pietism. Beskow made pietism gentlemanly, -and brought it into fashion, and a considerable portion of the lower -classes followed this fashion. Pietism was then what spiritualism is -now--a presumably higher knowledge of hidden things. It was therefore -eagerly taken up by all women and uncultivated people, and finally -found acceptance at Court. - -Did all this spring from some universal spiritual need? Was the period -so hopelessly reactionary that one had to be a pessimist? No! The -king led a jovial life in Ulriksdal, and gave society a bright and -liberal tone. Strong agitations were going on in the political world, -especially regarding representation in parliament. The Dano-German -war aroused attention to what was going on beyond our boundaries; the -volunteer movement awoke town and country with drums and music; the new -Opposition papers, _Dagens Nyheter_ and the powerful _Sondags-Nisse_, -were vent-holes for the confined steam which must find an outlet; -railways were constructed everywhere, and brought remote and sparsely -inhabited places into connection with the great motor nerve-centres. It -was no melancholy age of decadence, but, on the contrary, a youthful -season of hope and awakening. Whence then, came this strong breath of -pietism? Perhaps it was a short-cut for those who were destitute of -culture, by which they saved themselves from the pressure of knowledge -from above; there was a certain democratic element in it, since all -high and low had thereby access to a certain kind of wisdom which -abolished class-distinctions. Now, when the privileges of birth were -nearing their end, the privileges of culture asserted themselves, and -were felt to be oppressive. But it was believed that they could be -nullified at a stroke through pietism. - -John became a pietist from many motives. Bankrupt on earth, since he -was doomed to die at twenty-five without spinal marrow or a nose, he -made heaven the object of his search. Melancholy by nature, but full -of activity, he loved what was melancholy. Tired of text-books, which -contained no living water because they did not come into contact with -life, he found more nourishment in a religion which did so at every -turn. Besides this, there was the personal motive, that his stepmother, -aware of his superiority in culture, wished to climb above him on the -Jacob's ladder of religion. She conversed with his eldest brother -on the highest subjects, and when John was near, he was obliged to -hear how they despised his worldly wisdom. This irritated him, and he -determined to catch up with them in religion. Moreover, his mother -had left a written message behind in which she warned him against -intellectual pride. The end was that he went regularly every Sunday to -church, and the house was flooded with pietistic writings. - -His step-mother and eldest brother used to go over afterwards in memory -the sermons they had heard in church. One Sunday after service John -wrote out from memory the whole sermon which they admired. He could -not deny himself the pleasure of presenting it to his step-mother. But -his present was not received with equal pleasure; it was a blow for -her. However, she did not yield a hair-breadth. "God's word should be -written in the heart and not on paper," she said. It was not a bad -retort, but John believed he detected pride in it. She considered -herself further on in the way of holiness than he, and as already a -child of God. - -He began to race with her, and frequented the pietist meetings. But -his attendance was frowned upon, for he had not yet been confirmed, -and was not therefore ripe for heaven. John continued religious -discussions with his elder brother; he maintained that Christ had -declared that even children belonged to the kingdom of heaven. The -subject was hotly contested. John cited Norbeck's _Theology_, but -that was rejected without being looked at. He also quoted Krummacher, -Thomas à Kempis, and all the pietists on his side. But it was no -use. "It must be so," was the reply. "How?" he asked. "As I have it, -and as you cannot get it." "As I!" There we have the formula of the -pietists--self-righteousness. - -One day John said that all men were God's children. "Impossible!" was -the reply; "then there would be no difficulty in being saved. Are all -going to be saved?" - -"Certainly!" he replied. "God is love and wishes no one's destruction." - -"If all are going to be saved, what is the use of chastising oneself?" - -"Yes, that is just what I question." - -"You are then a sceptic, a hypocrite?" - -"Quite possibly they all are." - -John now wished to take heaven by storm, to become a child of God, -and perhaps by doing so defeat his rivals. His step-mother was not -consistent. She went to the theatre and was fond of dancing. One -Saturday evening in summer it was announced that the whole family -would make an excursion into the country the next day--Sunday. All -were expected to go. John considered it a sin, did not want to go, and -wished to use the opportunity and seek in solitude the Saviour whom -he had not yet found. According to what he had been told, conversion -should come like a flash of lightning, and be accompanied by the -conviction that one was a child of God, and then one had peace. - -While his father was reading his paper in the evening, John begged -permission to remain at home the next day. - -"Why?" his father asked in a friendly tone. - -John was silent. He felt ashamed to say. - -"If your religious conviction forbids you to go, obey your conscience." - -His step-mother was defeated. She had to desecrate the Sabbath, not he. - -The others went. John went to the Bethlehem Church to hear Rosenius. It -was a weird, gloomy place, and the men in the congregation looked as -if they had reached the fatal twenty-fifth year, and lost their spinal -marrow. They had leaden-grey faces and sunken eyes. Was it possible -that Dr. Kapff had frightened them all into religion? It seemed strange. - -Rosenius looked like peace itself, and beamed with heavenly joy. He -confessed that he had been an old sinner, but Christ had cleansed him, -and now he was happy. He looked happy. Is it possible that there is -such a thing as a happy man? Why, then, are not all pietists? - -In the afternoon John read à Kempis and Krummacher. Then he went out -to the Haga Park and prayed the whole length of the Norrtullsgata -that Jesus would seek him. In the Haga Park there sat little groups -of families picnicking, with the children playing about. Is it -possible that all these must go to hell? he thought. Yes, certainly. -"Nonsense!" answered his intelligence. But it is so. A carriage full of -excursionists passed by: and these are all condemned already! But they -seemed to be amusing themselves, at any rate. The cheerfulness of other -people made him still more depressed, and he felt a terrible loneliness -in the midst of the crowd. Wearied with his thoughts, he went home as -depressed as a poet who has looked for a thought without being able to -find one. He laid down on his bed and wished he was dead. - -In the evening his brothers and sisters came home joyful and noisy, and -asked him if he had had a good time. - -"Yes," he said. "And you?" - -They gave him details of the excursion, and each time he envied them he -felt a stab in his heart. His step-mother did not look at him, for she -had broken the Sabbath. That was his comfort. He must by this time soon -have detected his self-deceit and thrown it off, but a new powerful -element entered into his life, which stirred up his asceticism into -fanaticism, till it exploded and disappeared. - -His life during these years was not so uniformly monotonous as it -appeared in retrospect later on, when there were enough dark points to -give a grey colouring to the whole. His boyhood, generally speaking, -was darkened by his being treated as a child when arrived at puberty, -the uninteresting character of his school-work, his expectation of -death at twenty-five, the uncultivated minds of those around him, and -the impossibility of being understood. - -His step-mother had brought three young girls, her sisters, into the -house. They soon made friends with the step-sons, and they all took -walks, played games, and made sledging excursions together. The girls -tried to bring about a reconciliation between John and his step-mother. -They acknowledged their sister's faults before him, and this pacified -him so that he laid aside his hatred. The grandmother also played the -part of a mediator, and finally revealed herself as a decided friend of -John's. But a fatal chance robbed him of this friend also. His father's -sister had not welcomed the new marriage, and, as a consequence, had -broken off communications with her brother. This vexed the old man -very much. All intercourse ceased between the families. It was, of -course, pride on his sister's part. But one day John met her daughter, -an elegantly-dressed girl, older than himself, on the street. She was -eager to hear something of the new marriage, and walked with John along -the Drottningsgata. - -When he got home, his grandmother rebuked him sharply for not having -saluted her when she passed, but, of course, she added, he had been -in too grand company to take notice of an old woman! He protested his -innocence, but in vain. Since he had only a few friends, the loss of -her friendship was painful to him. - -One summer he spent with his step-mother at one of her relatives', a -farmer in Östergötland. Here he was treated like a gentleman, and lived -on friendly terms with his step-mother. But it did not last long, and -soon the flames of strife were stirred up again between them. And thus -it went on, up and down, and to and fro. - -About this time, at the age of fifteen, he first fell in love, if it -really was love, and not rather friendship. Can friendship commence -and continue between members of opposite sexes? Only apparently, for -the sexes are born enemies and remain always opposed to each other. -Positive and negative streams of electricity are mutually hostile, but -seek their complement in each other. Friendship can exist only between -persons with similar interests and points of view. Man and woman by the -conventions of society are born with different interests and different -points of view. Therefore a friendship between the sexes can arise only -in marriage where the interests are the same. This, however, can be -only so long as the wife devotes her whole interest to the family for -which the husband works. As soon as she gives herself to some object -outside the family, the agreement is broken, for man and wife then have -separate interests, and then there is an end to friendship. Therefore -purely spiritual marriages are impossible, for they lead to the slavery -of the man, and consequently to the speedy dissolution of the marriage. - -The fifteen-year old boy fell in love with a woman of thirty. He could -truthfully assert that his love was entirely ideal. How came he to love -her? As generally is the case, from many motives, not from one only. - -She was the landlord's daughter, and had, as such, a superior position; -the house was well-appointed and always open for visitors. She was -cultivated, admired, managed the house, and spoke familiarly to her -mother; she could play the hostess and lead the conversation; she was -always surrounded by men who courted her. She was also emancipated -without being a man-hater; she smoked and drank, but was not without -taste. She was engaged to a man whom her father hated and did not -wish to have for his son-in-law. Her _fiancé_ stayed abroad and wrote -seldom. Among the visitors to this hotel were a district judge, a man -of letters, students, clerics, and townsmen who all hovered about her. -John's father admired her, his step-mother feared her, his brothers -courted her. John kept in the background and observed her. It was a -long time before she discovered him. One evening, after she had set all -the hearts around her aflame, she came exhausted into the room in which -John sat. - -"Heavens! how tired I am!" she said to herself, and threw herself on a -sofa. - -John made a movement and she saw him. He had to say something. - -"Are you so unhappy, although you are always laughing? You are -certainly not as unhappy as I am." - -She looked at the boy; they began a conversation and became friends. He -felt lifted up. From that time forward she preferred his conversation -to that of others. He felt embarrassed when she left a circle of grown -men to sit down near him. He questioned her regarding her spiritual -condition, and made remarks on it which showed that he had observed -keenly and reflected much. He became her conscience. Once, when she -had jested too freely, she came to the youth to be punished. That was -a kind of flagellation as pleasant as a caress. At last her admirers -began to tease her about him. - -"Can you imagine it," she said one evening, "they declare I am in love -with you!" - -"They always say that of two persons of opposite sexes who are friends." - -"Do you believe there can be a friendship between man and woman?" - -"Yes, I am sure of it," he answered. - -"Thanks," she said, and reached him her hand. "How could I, who am -twice as old as you, who am sick and ugly, be in love with you? -Besides, I am engaged." - -After this she assumed an air of superiority and became motherly. This -made a deep impression on him; and when later on she was rallied on -account of her liking for him, she felt herself almost embarrassed, -banished all other feelings except that of motherliness, and began to -labour for his conversion, for she also was a pietist. - -They both attended a French conversation class, and had long walks -home together, during which they spoke French. It was easier to speak -of delicate matters in a foreign tongue. He also wrote French essays, -which she corrected. His father's admiration for the old maid lessened, -and his step-mother did not like this French conversation, which she -did not understand. His elder brother's prerogative of talking French -was also neutralised thereby. This vexed his father, so that one day he -said to John, that it was impolite to speak a foreign language before -those who did not understand it, and that he could not understand -that Fräulein X., who was otherwise so cultivated, could commit such -a _bêtise_. But, he added, cultivation of the heart was not gained by -book-learning. - -They no longer endured her presence in the house, and she was -"persecuted." At last her family left the house altogether, so that now -there was little intercourse with them. The day after their removal, -John felt lacerated. He could not live without her daily companionship, -without this support which had lifted him out of the society of those -of his own age to that of his elders. To make himself ridiculous by -seeking her as a lover--that he could not do. The only thing left was -to write to her. They now opened a correspondence, which lasted for -a year. His step-mother's sister, who idolised the clever, bright -spinster, conveyed the letters secretly. They wrote in French, so that -their letters might remain unintelligible if discovered; besides, they -could express themselves more freely in this medium. Their letters -treated of all kinds of subjects. They wrote about Christ, the battle -against sin, about life, death and love, friendship and scepticism. -Although she was a pietist, she was familiar with free-thinkers, and -suffered from doubts on all kinds of subjects. John was alternately her -stern preceptor and her reprimanded son. One or two translations of -John's French essays will give some idea of the chaotic state of the -minds of both. - - -_Is Man's Life a Life of Sorrow_? 1864 - -"Man's life is a battle from beginning to end. We are all born into -this wretched life under conditions which are full of trouble and -grief. Childhood to begin with has its little cares and disagreeables; -youth has its great temptations, on the victorious resistance to which -the whole subsequent life depends; mature life has anxieties about the -means of existence and the fulfilment of duties; finally, old age has -its thorns in the flesh, and its frailty. What are all enjoyments and -all joys, which are regarded by so many men as the highest good in -life? Beautiful illusions! Life is a ceaseless struggle with failures -and misfortunes, a struggle which ends only in death. - -"But we will consider the matter from another side. Is there no reason -to be joyful and contented? I have a home and parents who care for -my future; I live in fairly favourable circumstances, and have good -health--ought I not then to be contented and happy? Yes, and yet I -am not. Look at the poor labourer, who, when his day's work is done, -returns to his simple cottage where poverty reigns; he is happy and -even joyful. He would be made glad by a trifle which I despise. I envy -thee, happy man, who hast true joy! - -"But I am melancholy. Why? 'You are discontented,' you answer. No, -certainly not; I am quite contented with my lot and ask for nothing. -Well, what is it then? Ah! now I know; I am not contented with myself -and my heart, which is full of anger and malice. Away from me, evil -thoughts! I will, with God's help, be happy and contented. For one is -happy only when one is at peace with oneself, one's heart, and one's -conscience." - -John's friend did not approve of his self-contentment, but asserted -in contradiction to the last sentence, that one ought to remain -discontented with life. She wrote: "We are not happy till our -consciousness tells us that we have sought and found the only Good -Physician, who can heal the wounds of all hearts, and when we are ready -to follow His advice with sincerity." - -This assertion, together with long conversations, caused the rapid -conversion of the youth to the true faith, _i.e._, that of his friend, -and gave occasion for the following effusion in which he expressed his -idea of faith and works: - - -_No Happiness without Virtue; no Virtue without Religion_. 1864 - -"What is happiness? Most worldlings regard the possession of great -wealth and worldly goods, happiness, because they afford them the -means of satisfying their sinful desires and passions. Others who -are not so exacting find happiness in a mere sense of well-being, in -health, and domestic felicity. Others, again, who do not expect worldly -happiness at all, and who are poor, and enjoy but scanty food earned -by hard work, are yet contented with their lot, and even happy. They -can even think 'How happy I am in comparison with the rich, who are -never contented.' Meanwhile, _are_ they really happy, because they are -contented? No, there is no happiness without virtue. No one is happy -except the man who leads a really virtuous life. Well, but there are -many really virtuous men. There are men who have never fallen into -gross sin, who are modest and retiring, who injure no one, who are -placable, who fulfil their duties conscientiously, and who are even -religious. They go to church every Sunday, they honour God and His Holy -Word, but yet they have not been born again of the Holy Spirit. Now, -are they happy, since they are virtuous? There is no virtue without -_real religion_. These virtuous worldlings are, as a matter of fact, -much worse than the most wicked men. They slumber in the security -of mere morality. They think themselves better than other men, and -righteous in the eyes of the Most Holy. These Pharisees, full of -self-love, think to win everlasting salvation by their good deeds. But -what are our good deeds before a Holy God? Sin, and nothing but sin. -These self-righteous men are the hardest of all to convert, because -they think they need no Mediator, since they wish to win heaven by -their deeds. An 'old sinner,' on the other hand, once he is awakened, -can realise his sinfulness and feel his need of a Saviour. True -happiness consists in having 'Peace in the heart with God through Jesus -Christ.' One can find no peace till one confesses that one is the chief -of sinners, and flies to the Saviour. How foolish of us to push such -happiness away! We all know where it is to be found, but instead of -seeking it, seek unhappiness, under the pretence of seeking happiness." - -Under this his friend wrote: "Very well written." They were her own -thoughts, or, at any rate, her own words which she had read. - -But sometimes doubt worried him, and he examined himself carefully. He -wrote as follows on a subject which he had himself chosen: - -_Egotism is the Mainspring of all our Actions_ - -"People commonly say, 'So-and-so is so kind and benevolent towards -his neighbours; he is virtuous, and all that he does springs from -compassion and love of the true and right.' Very well, open your heart -and examine it. You meet a beggar in the street; the first thought -that occurs to you is certainly as follows: 'How unfortunate this man -is; I will do a good deed and help him.' You pity him and give him a -coin. But haven't you some thought of this kind?--'Oh, how beautiful -it is to be benevolent and compassionate; it does one's heart good to -give alms to a poor man.' What is the real motive of your action? Is it -really love or compassion? Then your dear 'ego' gets up and condemns -you. You did it for your own sake, in order to set at rest _your_ heart -and to placate _your_ conscience. - -"It was for some time my intention to be a preacher, certainly a good -intention. But what was my motive? Was it to serve my Redeemer, and to -work for Him, or only out of love to Him? No, I was cowardly, and I -wished to escape my burden and lighten my cross, and avoid the great -temptations which met me everywhere. I feared men--that was the motive. -The times alter. I saw that I could not lead a life in Christ in the -society of companions to whose godless speeches I must daily listen, -and so I chose another path in life where I could be independent, or at -any rate----" - -Here the essay broke off, uncorrected. Other essays deal with the -Creator, and seem to have been influenced by Rousseau, extracts from -whose works were contained in Staaff's _French Reading Book_. They -mention, for example, flocks and nightingales, which the writer had -never seen or heard. - -He and his friend also had long discussions regarding their relation to -one another. Was it love or friendship? But she loved another man, of -whom she scarcely ever spoke. John noticed nothing in her but her eyes, -which were deep and expressive. He danced with her once, but never -again. The tie between them was certainly only friendship, and her soul -and body were virile enough to permit of a friendship existing and -continuing. A spiritual marriage can take place only between those who -are more or less sexless, and there is always something abnormal about -it. The best marriages, _i.e._, those which fulfil their real object -the best, are precisely those which are "_mal assortis_." - -Antipathy, dissimilarity of views, hate, contempt, can accompany true -love. Diverse intelligences and characters can produce the best endowed -children, who inherit the qualities of both. - - * * * * * - -In the meantime his Confirmation approached. It had been postponed as -long as possible, in order to keep him back among the children. But the -Confirmation itself was to be used as a means of humiliating him. His -father, at the same time that he announced his decision that it should -take place, expressed the hope that the preparation for it might melt -the ice round John's heart. - -So John found himself again among lower-class children. He felt -sympathy with them, but did not love them, nor could nor would be on -intimate terms with them. His education had alienated him from them, as -it had alienated him from his family. - -He was again a school-boy, had to learn by heart, stand up when -questioned, and be scolded along with the rest. The assistant pastor, -who taught them, was a pietist. He looked as though he had an -infectious disease or had read Dr. Kapff. He was severe, merciless, -emotionless, without a word of grace or comfort. Choleric, irritable, -nervous, this young rustic was petted by the ladies. - -He made an impression by dint of perpetual repetition. He preached -threateningly, cursed the theatre and every kind of amusement. John -and his friend resolved to alter their lives, and not to dance, go to -the theatre, or joke any more. He now infused a strong dash of pietism -into his essays, and avoided his companions in order not to hear their -frivolous stories. - -"Why, you are a pietist!" one of his school-fellows said one day to him. - -"Yes, I am," he answered. He would not deny his Redeemer. The school -grew intolerable to him. He suffered martyrdom there, and feared the -enticements of the world, of which he was already in some degree -conscious. He considered himself already a man, wished to go into the -world and work, earn his own living and marry. Among his other dreams -he formed a strange resolve, which was, however, not without its -reasons; he resolved to find a branch of work which was easy to learn, -would soon provide him with a maintenance, and give him a place where -he would not be the last, nor need he stand especially high--a certain -subordinate place which would let him combine an active life in the -open air with adequate pecuniary profit. The opportunity for plenty of -exercise in the open air was perhaps the principal reason why he wished -to be a subaltern in a cavalry regiment, in order to escape the fatal -twenty-fifth year, the terrors of which the pastor had described. The -prospect of wearing a uniform and riding a horse may also have had -something to do with it. He had already renounced the cadet uniform, -but man is a strange creature. - -His friend strongly dissuaded him from taking such a step; she -described soldiers as the worst kind of men in existence. He stood -firm, however, and said that his faith in Christ would preserve him -from all moral contagion, yes! he would preach Christ to the soldiers -and purify them all. Then he went to his father. The latter regarded -the whole matter as a freak of imagination, and exhorted him to be -ready for his approaching final examination, which would open the whole -world to him. - -A son had been born to his step-mother. John instinctively hated him as -a rival to whom his younger brothers and sisters would have to yield. -But the influence of his friend and of pietism was so strong over him, -that by way of mortifying himself he tried to love the newcomer. He -carried him on his arm and rocked him. - -"Nobody saw you do it," said his step-mother later on, when he adduced -this as a proof of his goodwill. Exactly so; he did it in secret, as he -did not wish to gain credit for it, or perhaps he was ashamed of it. He -had made the sacrifice sincerely; when it became disagreeable, he gave -it up. - -The Confirmation took place, after countless exhortations in the -dimly-lit chancel, and a long series of discourses on the Passion of -Christ and self-mortification, so that they were wrought up to a most -exalted mood. After the catechising, he scolded his friend whom he had -seen laughing. - -On the day on which they were to receive the Holy Communion, the senior -pastor gave a discourse. It was the well-meaning counsel of a shrewd -old man to the young; it was cheering and comforting, and did not -contain threats or denunciations of past sins. Sometimes during the -sermon John felt the words fall like balm on his wounded heart, and was -convinced that the old man was right. But in the act of Communion, -he did not get the spiritual impression he had hoped for. The organ -played and the choir sang, "O Lamb of God, have mercy upon us!" The -boys and girls wept and half-fainted as though they were witnessing an -execution. But John had become too familiar with sacred things in the -parish-clerk's school. The matter seemed to him driven to the verge of -absurdity. His faith was ripe for falling. And it fell. - - * * * * * - -He now wore a high hat, and succeeded to his elder brother's cast-off -clothes. Now his friend with the pince-nez took him in hand. He had not -deserted him during his pietistic period. He treated the matter lightly -and good-humouredly, with a certain admiration of John's asceticism -and firm faith. But now he intervened. He took him for a mid-day -walk, pointed out by name the actors they saw at the corner of the -Regeringsgata, and the officers who were reviewing the troops. John was -still shy, and had no self-reliance. - -It was about twelve o'clock, the time for going to the gymnasium. -John's friend said, "Come along! we will have lunch in the 'Three -Cups.'" - -"No," said John, "we ought to go to the Greek class." - -"Ah! we will dispense with Greek to-day." - -It would be the first time he cut it, thought John, and he might take a -little scolding for once. "But I have no money," he said. - -"That does not matter; you are my guest;" his friend seemed hurt. They -entered the restaurant. An appetising odour of beefsteaks greeted them; -the waiter received their coats and hung up their hats. - -"Bring the bill of fare, waiter," said his friend in a confident tone, -for he was accustomed to take his meals here. "Will you have beefsteak?" - -"Yes," answered John; he had tasted beefsteak only twice in his life. - -His friend ordered butter, cheese, brandy and beer, and without asking, -filled John's glass with brandy. - -"But I don't know whether I ought to," said John. - -"Have you never drunk it before?" - -"No." - -"Oh, well, go ahead! it tastes good." - -He drank. Ah! his body glowed, his eyes watered, and the room swam -in a light mist; but he felt an access of strength, his thoughts -worked freely, new ideas rose in his mind, and the gloomy past seemed -brighter. Then came the juicy beefsteak. That was something like -eating! His friend ate bread, butter, and cheese with it. John said, -"What will the restaurant-keeper say?" - -His friend laughed, as if he were an elderly uncle. - -"Eat away; the bill will be just the same." - -"But butter and cheese with beef-steak! That is too luxurious! But it -tastes good all the same." John felt as though he had never eaten -before. Then he drank beer. "Is each of us to drink half a bottle?" he -asked his friend. "You are really mad!" - -But at any rate it was a meal,--and not such an empty enjoyment either, -as anæmic ascetics assert. No, it is a real enjoyment to feel strong -blood flowing into one's half-empty veins, strengthening the nerves for -the battle of life. It is an enjoyment to feel vanished virile strength -return, and the relaxed sinews of almost perished will-power braced -up again. Hope awoke, and the mist in the room became a rosy cloud, -while his friend depicted for him the future as it is imagined by -youthful friendship. These youthful illusions about life, from whence -do they come? From superabundance of energy, people say. But ordinary -intelligence, which has seen so many childish hopes blighted, ought to -be able to infer the absurdity of expecting a realisation of the dreams -of youth. - -John had not learned to expect from life anything more than freedom -from tyranny and the means of existence. That would be enough for him. -He was no Aladdin and did not believe in luck. He had plenty of power, -but did not know it. His friend had to discover him to himself. - -"You should come and amuse yourself with us," he said, "and not sit in -a corner at home." - -"Yes, but that costs money, and I don't get any." - -"Give lessons." - -"Lessons! What? Do you think I could give lessons?" - -"You know a lot. You would not find it difficult to get pupils." - -He knew a lot! That was a recognition or a piece of flattery, as the -pietists call it, and it fell on fertile soil. - -"Yes, but I have no acquaintances or connections." - -"Tell the headmaster! I did the same!" - -John hardly dared to believe that he could get the chance of earning -money. But he felt strange when he heard that others could, and -compared himself with them. _They_ certainly had luck. His friend urged -him on, and soon he obtained a post as teacher in a girls' school. - -Now his self-esteem awoke. The servants at home called him Mr. John, -and the teachers in the school addressed the class as "Gentlemen." At -the same time he altered his course of study at school. He had for a -long time, but in vain, asked his father to let him give up Greek. He -did it now on his own responsibility, and his father first heard of -it at the examination. In its place he substituted mathematics, after -he had learned that a Latin scholar had the right to dispense with a -testamur in that subject. Moreover, he neglected Latin, intending to -revise it all a month before the examination. During the lessons he -read French, German, and English novels. The questions were asked each -pupil in turn, and he sat with his book in his hand till the questions -came and he could be ready for them. Modern languages and natural -science were now his special subjects. - -Teaching his juniors was a new and dangerous retrograde movement for -him, but he was paid for it. Naturally, the boys who required extra -lessons were those with a certain dislike of learning. It was hard -work for his active brain to accommodate himself to them. They were -impossible pupils, and did not know how to attend. He thought they -were obstinate. The truth was they lacked the will-power to become -attentive. Such boys are wrongly regarded as stupid. They are, on the -contrary, wide awake. Their thoughts are concerned with realities, and -they seem already to have seen through the absurdity of the subjects -they are taught. Many of them became useful citizens when they grew -up, and many more would have become so if they had not been compelled -by their parents to do violence to their natures and to continue their -studies. - -Now ensued a new conflict with his lady friend against his altered -demeanour. She warned him against his other friend who, she -said, flattered him, and against young girls of whom he spoke -enthusiastically. She was jealous. She reminded him of Christ, but John -was distracted by other subjects, and withdrew from her society. - -He now led an active and enjoyable life. He took part in evening -concerts, sang in a quartette, drank punch, and flirted moderately -with waitresses. All this time religion was in abeyance, and only a -weak echo of piety and asceticism remained. He prayed out of habit, but -without hoping for an answer, since he had so long sought the divine -friendship which people say is so easily found, if one but knocks -lightly at the door of grace. Truth to say, he was not very anxious to -be taken at his word. If the Crucified had opened the door and bidden -him enter, he would not have rejoiced. His flesh was too young and -sound to wish to be mortified. - - - - -VIII - -THE SPRING THAW - - -The school educates, not the family. The family is too narrow; its -aims are too petty, selfish, and anti-social. In the case of a -second marriage, such abnormal relations are set up, that the only -justification of the family comes to an end. The children of a deceased -mother should simply be taken away, if the father marries again. This -would best conduce to the interests of all parties, not least to those -of the father, who perhaps is the one who suffers most in a second -marriage. - -In the family there is only one (or two) ruling wills without appeal; -therefore justice is impossible. In the school, on the other hand, -there is a continual watchful jury, which rigorously judges boys as -well as teachers. The boys become more moral; brutality is tamed; -social instincts awaken; they begin to see that individual interests -must be generally furthered by means of compromises. There cannot be -tyranny, for there usually are enough to form parties and to revolt. A -teacher who is badly treated by a pupil can soonest obtain justice by -appealing to the other pupils. Moreover, about this time there was much -to arouse their sympathy in great universal interests. - -During the Danish-German War of 1864 a fund was raised in the school -for the purchase of war-telegrams. These were fastened on the -blackboard and read with great interest by both teachers and pupils. -They gave rise to familiar talks and reflections on the part of the -teachers regarding the origin and cause of the war. They were naturally -all one-sidedly Scandinavian, and the question was judged from the -point of view of the students' union. Seeds of hatred towards Russia -and Germany for some future war were sown, and at the burial of the -popular teacher of gymnastics, Lieutenant Betzholtz, this reached a -fanatical pitch. - -The year of the Reform Bill,[1] 1865, approached. The teacher of -history, a man of kindliness and fine feeling, and an aristocrat of -high birth, tried to interest the pupils in the subject. The class had -divided into opposite parties, and the son of a speaker in the Upper -House, a Count S., universally popular, was the chief of the opposition -against reform. He was sprung from an old German family of knightly -descent; was poor, and lived on familiar terms with his classmates, but -had a keen consciousness of his high birth. Battles more in sport than -in earnest took place in the class, and tables and forms were thrown -about indiscriminately. - -The Reform Bill passed. Count S. remained away from the class. -The history teacher spoke with emotion of the sacrifice which the -nobility had laid upon the altar of the fatherland by renouncing -their privileges. The good man did not know yet that privileges are -not rights, but advantages which have been seized and which can be -recovered like other property, even by illegal means. - -The teacher bade the class to be modest over their victory and not to -insult the defeated party. The young count on his return to the class -was received with elaborate courtesy, but his feelings so overcame him -at the sight of the involuntary elevation of so many pupils of humble -birth, that he burst into tears and had to leave the class again. - -John understood nothing of politics. As a topic of general interest, -they were naturally banished from family discussions, where only -topics of private interest were regarded, and that in a very one-sided -way. Sons were so brought up that they might remain sons their whole -lives long, without any regard to the fact that some day they might be -fathers. But John already possessed the lower-class instinct which told -him, with regard to the Reform Bill, that now an injustice had been -done away with, and that the higher scale had been lowered, in order -that it might be easier for the lower one to rise to the same level. He -was, as might be expected, a liberal, but since the king was a liberal, -he was also a royalist. - -Parallel with the strong reactionary stream of pietism ran that of the -new rationalism, but in the opposite direction. Christianity, which, at -the close of the preceding century, had been declared to be mythical, -was again received into favour, and as it enjoyed State protection, -the liberals could not prevent themselves being reinoculated by its -teaching. But in 1835 Strauss's _Life of Christ_ had made a new -breach, and even in Sweden fresh water trickled into the stagnant -streams. The book was made the subject of legal action, but upon it -as a foundation the whole work of the new reformation was built up by -self-appointed reformers, as is always the case. - -Pastor Cramer had the honour of being the first. As early as 1859 -he published his _Farewell to the Church_, a popular but scientific -criticism of the New Testament. He set the seal of sincerity on his -belief by seceding from the State Church and resigning his office. His -book produced a great effect, and although Ingell's writings had more -vogue among the theologians, they did not reach the younger generation. -In the same year appeared Rydberg's _The Last Athenian_. The influence -of this book was hindered by the fact that it was hailed as a literary -success, and transplanted to the neutral territory of belles-lettres. -Ryllberg's _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_ made a deeper impression. -Renan's _Life of Jesus_ in Ignell's translation had taken young and old -by storm, and was read in the schools along with Cramer, which was not -the case with _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_. And by Boström's attack -on the _Doctrine of Hell_ (1864), the door was opened to rationalism -or "free-thought," as it was called. Boström's really insignificant -work had a great effect, because of his fame as a Professor at Upsala -and former teacher in the Royal Family. The courageous man risked his -reputation, a risk which no one incurred after him, when it was no -longer considered an honour to be a free-thinker or to labour for the -freedom and the right of thinking. - -In short, everything was in train, and it needed only a breath to blow -down John's faith like a house of cards. A young engineer crossed his -path. He was a lodger in the house of John's female friend. He watched -John a long while before he made any approaches. John felt respect for -him, for he had a good head, and was also somewhat jealous. John's -friend prepared him for the acquaintance he was likely to make, and -at the same time warned him. She said the engineer was an interesting -man of great ability, but dangerous. It was not long before John met -him. He hailed from Wermland, was strongly built, with coarse, honest -features, and a childlike laugh, when he did laugh, which occurred -rarely. They were soon on familiar terms. The first evening only a -slight skirmish took place on the question of faith and knowledge. -"Faith must kill reason," said John (echoing Krummacher). "No," replied -his friend. "Reason is a divine gift, which raises man above the -brutes. Shall man lower himself to the level of the brutes by throwing -away this divine gift?" - -"There are things," said John (echoing Norbeck), "which we can very -well believe, without demanding a proof for them. We believe the -calendar, for example, without possessing a scientific knowledge of the -movement of the planets." - -"Yes," answered his friend, "we believe it, because our reason does not -revolt against it." - -"But," said John, "in Galileo's time they revolted against the idea -that the earth revolves round the sun. 'He is possessed by a spirit of -contradiction,' they said, 'and wishes to be thought original.'" - -"We don't live in Galileo's age," returned his friend, "and the -enlightened reason of our time rejects the Deity of Christ and -everlasting punishment." - -"We won't dispute about these things," said John. - -"Why not?" - -"They are out of the reach of reason." - -"Just what I said two years ago when I was a believer." - -"You have been----a pietist?" - -"Yes." - -"Hm! and now you have peace?" - -"Yes, I have peace." - -"How is that?" - -"I learned through a preacher to realise the spirit of true -Christianity." - -"You are a Christian then?" - -"Yes, I acknowledge Christ." - -"But you don't believe that he was God?" - -"He never said so himself. He called himself God's son, and we are all -God's sons." - -John's lady friend interrupted the conversation, which was a type of -many others in the year 1865. John's curiosity was aroused. There were -then, he said to himself, men who did not believe in Christ and yet had -peace. Mere criticism would not have disturbed his old ideas of God; -the "horror vacui" held him back, till Theodore Parker fell into his -hands. Sermons without Christ and hell were what he wanted. And fine -sermons they were. It must be confessed that he read them in extreme -haste, as he was anxious that his friends and relatives should enjoy -them that he might escape their censures. He could not distinguish -between the disapproval of others and his own bad conscience, and was -so accustomed to consider others right that he fell into conflict with -himself. - -But in his mind the doctrine of Christ the Judge, the election of -grace, the punishments of the last day, all collapsed, as though they -had been tottering for a long time. He was astonished at the rapidity -of their disappearance. It was as though he laid aside clothes he had -outgrown and put on new ones. - -One Sunday morning he went with the engineer to the Haga Park. It was -spring. The hazel bushes were in bloom, and the anemones were opening. -The weather was fairly clear, the air soft and mild after a night's -rain. He and his friend discussed the freedom of the will. The pietists -had a very wavering conception of the matter. No one had, they said, -the power to become a child of God of his own free will. The Holy -Spirit must seek one, and thus it was a matter of predestination. John -wished to be converted but he could not. He had learned to pray, "Lord, -create in me a new will." But how could he be held responsible for his -evil will? Yes, he could, answered the pietist, through the Fall, for -when man endowed with free will chose the evil, his posterity inherited -his evil will, which became perpetually evil and ceased to be free. -Man could be delivered from this evil will only through Christ and -the gracious work of the Holy Spirit. The New Birth, however, did not -depend upon his own will, but on the grace of God. Thus he was not free -and at the same time was responsible! Therein lay the false inference. - -Both the engineer and John were nature worshippers. What is this -nature worship which in our days is regarded as so hostile to culture? -A relapse into barbarism, say some; a healthy reaction against -over-culture, say others. When a man has discovered society to be an -institution based on error and injustice, when he perceives that, in -exchange for petty advantages society suppresses too forcibly every -natural impulse and desire, when he has seen through the illusion that -he is a demi-god and a child of God, and regards himself more as a kind -of animal--then he flees from society, which is built on the assumption -of the divine origin of man, and takes refuge with nature. Here he -feels in his proper environment as an animal, sees himself as a detail -in the picture, and beholds his origin--the earth and the meadow. -He sees the interdependence of all creation as if in a summary--the -mountains becoming earth, the sea becoming rain, the plain which is a -mountain crumbled, the woods which are the children of the mountains -and the water. He sees the ocean of air which man and all creatures -breathe, he hears the birds which live on the insects, he sees the -insects which fertilise the plants, he sees the mammalia which supply -man with nourishment, and he feels at home. And in our time, when -all things are seen from the scientific point of view, a lonely hour -with nature, where we can see the whole evolution-history in living -pictures, can be the only substitute for divine worship. - -But our optimistic evolutionists prefer a meeting in a large hall -where they can launch their denunciations against this same society -which they admire and despise. They praise it as the highest stage of -development, but wish to overthrow it, because it is irreconcilable -with the true happiness of the animal. They wish to reconstruct and -develop it, say some. But their reconstruction involves the destruction -of all existing arrangements. Do not these people recognise that -society as it exists is a case of miscarriage in evolution, and is -itself simultaneously hostile to culture and to nature? - -Society, like everything else, is a natural product, they say, and -civilisation is nature. Yes, but it is degenerate nature, nature on -the down-grade, since it works against its own object--happiness. It -was, however, the engineer, John's leader, and a nature-worshipper like -himself, who revealed to him the defects of civilised society, and -prepared the way for his reception of the new views of man's origin. -Darwin's _Origin of Species_ had appeared as early as 1859, but its -influence had not yet penetrated far, much less had it been able to -fertilise other minds.[2] Moleschott's influence was then in the -ascendant, and materialism was the watchword of the day. Armed with -this and with his geology, the engineer pulled to pieces the Mosaic -story of the Creation. He still spoke of the Creator, for he was a -theist and saw God's wisdom and goodness reflected in His works. - -While they were walking in the park, the church bells in the city began -to ring. John stood still and listened. There were the terrible bells -of the Clara Church, which rang through his melancholy childhood; the -bells of the Adolf-Fredrik, which had frightened him to the bleeding -breast of the Crucified, and the bells of St. John's, which, on -Saturdays, when he was in the Jacob School, had announced the end of -the week. A gentle south wind bore the sound of the bells thither from -the city, and it echoed like a warning under the high firs. - -"Are you going to church?" asked his friend. - -"No," answered John, "I am not going to church any more." - -"Follow your conscience," said the engineer. - -It was the first time that John had remained away from church. He -determined to defy his father's command and his own conscience. He got -excited, inveighed against religion and domestic tyranny, and talked of -the church of God in nature; he spoke with enthusiasm of the new gospel -which proclaimed salvation, happiness, and life to all. But suddenly he -became silent. - -"You have a bad conscience," said his friend. - -"Yes," answered John; "one should either not do what one repents of, or -not repent of what one does." - -"The latter is the better course." - -"But I repent all the same. I repent a good deed, for it would be wrong -to play the hypocrite in this old idol-temple. My new conscience tells -me that I am wrong. I can find no more peace." - -And that was true. His new ego revolted against this old one, and they -lived in discord, like an unhappy married couple, during the whole of -his later life, without being able to get a separation. - -The reaction in his mind against his old views, which he felt should -be eradicated, broke out violently. The fear of hell had disappeared, -renunciation seemed silly, and the youth's nature demanded its rights. -The result was a new code of morality, which he formulated for himself -in the following fashion: What does not hurt any of my fellow-men -is permitted to me. He felt that the domestic pressure at home did -him harm, and no one else any good, and revolted against it. He now -showed his real feelings to his parents, who had never shown him love, -but insisted on his being grateful, because they had given him his -legal rights as a matter of favour, and accompanied by humiliations. -They were antipathetic to him, and he was cold to them. To their -ceaseless attacks on free-thinking he gave frank and perhaps somewhat -impertinent answers. His half-annihilated will began to stir, and he -saw that he was entitled to make demands of life. - -The engineer was regarded as John's seducer, and was anathematised. -But he was open to the influence of John's lady friend, who had formed -a friendship with his step-mother. The engineer was not of a radical -turn of mind; he had accepted Theodore Parker's compromise, and still -believed in Christian self-denial. One should, he said, be amiable and -patient, follow Christ's example, and so forth. Urged on by John's lady -friend, for whom he had a concealed tenderness, and alarmed by the -consequences of his own teaching, he wrote John the following letter. -It was inspired by fear of the fire which he had kindled, by regard for -the lady, and by sincere conviction: - -"To MY FRIEND JOHN,--How joyfully we greet the spring when it appears, -to intoxicate us with its wealth of verdure and its divine freshness! -The birds begin their light and cheerful melodies, and the anemones -peep shyly forth under the whispering branches of the pines----" - -"It is strange," thought John, "that this unsophisticated man, who -talks so simply and sincerely, should write in such a stilted style. -It rings false." - -The letter continued: "What breast, whether old or young, does not -expand in order to inhale the fresh perfumes of the spring, which -spread heavenly peace in each heart, accompanied by a longing which -seems like a foretaste of God and of His love? At such a time can any -malice remain in our hearts? Can we not forgive? Ah yes, we must, -when we see how the caressing rays of the spring sun have kissed away -the icy cover from nature and our hearts. Just as we expect to see -the ground, freed from snow, grow green again, so we long to see the -warmth of a kindly heart manifest itself in loving deeds, and peace and -happiness spread through all nature----" - -"Forgive?" thought John. "Yes, certainly he would, if they would only -alter their behaviour and let him be free. But _they_ did not forgive -him. With what right did they demand forbearance on his part? It must -be mutual." - -"John," went on the letter, "you think you have attained to a higher -conception of God through the study of nature and through reason -than when you believed in the Deity of Christ and the Bible, but you -do not realise the tendency of your own thoughts. You think that a -true thought can of itself ennoble a man, but in your better moments -you see that it cannot. You have only grasped the shadow which the -light throws, but not the chief matter, not the light itself. When -you held your former views you could pass over a fault in one of your -fellow-men, you could take a charitable view of an action in spite of -appearances, but how is it with you now? You are violent and bitter -against a loving mother; you condemn and are discontented with the -actions of a tender, experienced, grey-headed father----" - -(As a matter of fact, when he held his former views, John could not -pardon a fault in anyone, least of all in himself. Sometimes, indeed, -he did pardon others; but that was stupid, that was lax morality. A -loving mother, forsooth! Yes, very loving! How did his friend Axel -come to think so? And a tender father? But why should he not judge his -actions? In self-defence one must meet hardness with hardness, and no -more turn the left cheek when the right cheek is smitten.) - -"Formerly you were an unassuming, amiable child, but now you are an -egotistical, conceited youth----" - -("Unassuming!" Yes, and that was why he had been trampled down, but -now he was going to assert his just claims. "Conceited!" Ha! the -teacher felt himself outstripped by his ungrateful pupil.) - -"The warm tears of your mother flow over her cheeks----" - -("Mother!" he had no mother, and his stepmother only cried when she was -angry! Who the deuce had composed the letter?) - -"--when she thinks in solitude about your hard heart----" - -(What the dickens has she to do with my heart when she has the -housekeeping and seven children to look after?) - -"--your unhappy spiritual condition----" - -(That's humbug! My soul has never felt so fresh and lively as now.) - -"--and your father's heart is nearly breaking with grief and -anxiety----" - -(That's a lie. He is himself a theist and follows Wallin; besides, -he has no time to think about me. He knows that I am industrious and -honest, and not immoral. Indeed, he praised me only a day or two ago.) - -"You do not notice your mother's sad looks----" - -(There are other reasons for that, for her marriage is not a happy one.) - -"--nor do you regard the loving warnings of your father. You are like -a crevasse above the snow-line, in which the kiss of the spring sun -cannot melt the snow, nor turn a single atom of ice into a drop of -water----" - -(The writer must have been reading romances. As a matter of fact John -was generally yielding towards his school-fellows. But towards his -domestic enemies he had become cold. That was their fault.) - -"What can your friends think of your new religion, when it produces -such evil fruit? They will curse it, and your views give them the right -to do so----" - -(Not the right, but the occasion.) - -"They will hate the mean scoundrel who has instilled the hellish poison -of his teaching into your innocent heart----" - -(There we have it! The mean scoundrel!) - -"Show now by your actions that you have grasped the truth better than -heretofore. Try to be forbearing----" - -(That's the step-mother!) - -"Pass over the defects and failings of your fellow-men with love and -gentleness----" - -(No, he would not! They had tortured him into lying; they had snuffed -about in his soul, and uprooted good seeds as though they were weeds; -they wished to stifle his personality, which had just as good a right -to exist as their own; they had never been forbearing with his faults, -why should he be so with theirs? Because Christ had said.... That had -become a matter of complete indifference, and had no application to -him now. For the rest, he did not bother about those at home, but shut -himself up in himself. They were unsympathetic to him, and could not -obtain his sympathy. That was the whole thing in a nutshell. They had -faults and wanted him to pardon them. Very well, he did so, if they -would only leave him in peace!) - -"Learn to be grateful to your parents, who spare no pains in promoting -your true welfare and happiness (hm!), and that this may be brought -about through love to God your Creator, who has caused you to be born -in this improving (hm! hm!) environment, for obtaining peace and -blessedness is the prayer of your anxious but hopeful - - "AXEL." - -"I have had enough of father confessors and inquisitors," thought John; -he had escaped and felt himself free. They stretched their claws after -him, but he was beyond their reach. His friend's letter was insincere -and artificial; "the hands were the hands of Esau." He returned no -answer to it, but broke off all intercourse with both his friends. - -They called him ungrateful. A person who insists on gratitude is worse -than a creditor, for he first makes a present on which he plumes -himself, and then sends in the account--an account which can never be -paid, for a service done in return does not seem to extinguish the debt -of gratitude; it is a mortgage on a man's soul, a debt which cannot -be paid, and which stretches over the whole subsequent life. Accept -a service from your friend, and he will expect you to falsify your -opinion of him and to praise his own evil deeds, and those of his wife -and children. - -But gratitude is a deep feeling which honours a man and at the same -time humiliates him. Would that a time may come when it will not be -necessary to fetter ourselves with gratitude for a benefit, which -perhaps is a mere duty. - -John felt ashamed of the breach with his friends, but they hindered -and oppressed him. After all, what had they given him in social -intercourse which he had not given back? - -Fritz, as his friend with the pince-nez was called, was a prudent man -of the world. These two epithets "prudent" and "man of the world" had -a bad significance at that time. To be prudent in a romantic period, -when all were a little cracked, and to be cracked was considered a mark -of the upper classes, was almost synonymous with being bad. To be a -man of the world when all attempted, as well as they could, to deceive -themselves in religion, was considered still worse. Fritz was prudent. -He wished to lead his own life in a pleasant way and to make a career -for himself. He therefore sought the acquaintance of those in good -social position. That was prudent, because they had power and money. -Why should he not seek them? How did he come to make friends with John? -Perhaps through a sort of animal sympathy, perhaps through long habit. -John could not do any special service for him except to whisper answers -to him in the class and to lend him books. For Fritz did not learn his -lessons, and spent in punch the money which was intended for books. - -Now when he saw that John was inwardly purified, and that his outer -man was presentable, he introduced him to his own coterie. This was a -little circle of young fellows, some of them rich and some of them of -good rank belonging to the same class as John. The latter was a little -shy at first, but soon stood on a good footing with them. One day, at -drill time, Fritz told him that he had been invited to a ball. - -"I to a ball? Are you mad? I would certainly be out of place there." - -"You are a good-looking fellow, and will have luck with the girls." - -Hm! That was a new point of view with regard to himself. Should he go? -What would they say at home, where he got nothing but blame? - -He went to the ball. It was in a middle-class house. Some of the girls -were anæmic; others red as berries. John liked best the pale ones who -had black or blue rings round their eyes. They looked so suffering and -pining, and cast yearning glances towards him. There was one among them -deathly pale, whose dark eyes were deep-set and burning, and whose lips -were so dark that her mouth looked almost like a black streak. She made -an impression on him, but he did not venture to approach her, as she -already had an admirer. So he satisfied himself with a less dazzling, -softer, and gentler girl. He felt quite comfortable at the ball and in -intercourse with strangers, without seeing the critical eyes of any -relative. But he found it very difficult to talk with the girls. - -"What shall I say to them?" he asked Fritz. - -"Can't you talk nonsense with them? Say 'It is fine weather. Do you -like dancing? Do you skate?' One must learn to be versatile." - -John went and soon exhausted his repertoire of conversation. His palate -became dry, and at the third dance he got tired of it. He felt in a -rage with himself and was silent. - -"Isn't dancing amusing?" asked Fritz. "Cheer up, old coffin-polisher!" - -"Yes, dancing is all right, if one only had not to talk. I don't know -what to say." - -So it was, as a matter of fact. He liked the girls, and dancing with -them seemed manly, but as to talking with them!--he felt as though he -were dealing with another kind of the species _Homo_, in some cases a -higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired his gentle little -partner, and would have liked her for a wife. - -His fondness for reflection and his everlasting criticism of his -thoughts had robbed him of the power of being simple and direct. When -he talked with a girl, he heard his own voice and words and criticised -them. This made the whole ball seem tedious. And then the girls? What -was it really that they lacked? They had the same education as himself; -they learned history and modern languages, read Icelandic, studied -algebra, etc. They had accordingly the same culture, and yet he could -not talk with them. - -"Well, talk nonsense with them," said Fritz. - -But he could not. Besides, he had a higher opinion of them. He wanted -to give up the balls altogether, since he had no success, but he was -taken there in spite of himself. It flattered him to be invited, and -flattery has always something pleasant about it. One day he was paying -a visit to an aristocratic family. The son of the house was a cadet. -Here he met two actresses. With them he felt he could speak. They -danced with him but did not answer him. So he listened to Fritz's -conversation. The latter said strange things in elegant phrases, and -the girls were delighted with him. That, then, was the way to get on -with them! - -The balls were followed by serenades and "punch evenings." John had a -great longing for strong drinks; they seemed to him like concentrated -liquid nourishment. The first time he was intoxicated was at a -students' supper at Djurgårdsbrunn. He felt happy, joyful, strong, and -mild, but far from mad. He talked nonsense, saw pictures on the plates -and made jokes. This behaviour made him for the moment like his elder -brother, who, though deeply melancholy in his youth, had a certain -reputation afterwards as a comic actor. They had both played at acting -in the attic; but John was embarrassed; he acted badly and was only -successful when he was given the part of some high personage to play. -As a comic actor he was impossible. - -About this time there entered two new factors into his development--Art -and Literature. - -John had found in his father's bookcase Lenstrom's _Æsthetics_, -Boije's _Dictionary of Painters,_ and Oulibischeff's _Life of Mozart_, -besides the authors previously mentioned. Through the scattering of -the family of a deceased relative, a large number of books came into -the house, which increased John's knowledge of belles-lettres. Among -them were several copies of Talis Qualis's poems, which he did not -enjoy; he found no pleasure in Strandberg's translation of Byron's -_Don Juan_, for he hated descriptive poetry; he always skipped verse -quotations when they occurred in books. Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, -in Kullberg's translation, he found tedious; Karl von Zeipel's _Tales_, -impossible. Sir Walter Scott's novels were too long, especially the -descriptions. He therefore did not understand at first the greatness -of Zola, when many years later he read his elaborate descriptions; the -perusal of Lessing's _Laokoön_ had already convinced him that such -descriptions cannot convey an adequate impression of the whole. Dickens -infused life even into inanimate objects and harmonised the scenery -and situations with the characters. That he understood better. He -thought Eugène Sue's _Wandering Jew_ magnificent; he did not regard it -as a novel; for novels, he thought, were only to be found in lending -libraries. This, on the other hand, was a historical poem of universal -interest, whose Socialistic teaching he quickly imbibed. Alexandre -Dumas's works seemed to him like the boys' books about Indians. These -he did not care for now; he wanted books with some serious purpose. -He swallowed Shakespeare whole, in Hagberg's translation. But he had -always found it hard to read plays where the eye must jump from the -names of the _dramatis personæ_, to the text. He was disappointed in -_Hamlet_, of which he had expected much, and the comedies seemed to him -sheer nonsense. - -John could not endure poetry. It seemed to him artificial and untrue. -Men did not speak like that, and they seldom thought so beautifully. -Once he was asked to write a verse in Fanny's album. - -"You can screw yourself up to do that," said his friend. - -John sat up at night, but only managed to hammer out two lines. -Besides, he did not know what to say. One could not expose one's -feelings to common observation. Fritz offered his help, and together -they produced six or eight rhyming lines, for which Snoilsky's _A -Christmas Eve in Rome_ supplied the motive. - -"Genius" often formed the subject of their discussions. Their teacher -used to say "Geniuses" ranked above all else, like "Excellencies." John -thought much about this, and believed that it was possible without -high birth, without money, and without a career to get on the same -level as Excellencies. But what a genius was he did not know. Once -in a weak moment he said to his lady friend that he would rather be -a genius than a child of God, and received a sharp reproof from her. -Another time he told Fritz that he would like to be a professor, as -they can dress like scarecrows and behave as they like without losing -respect. But when someone else asked him what he wished to be, he said, -"A clergyman"; for all peasants' sons can be that, and it seemed a -suitable calling for him also. After he had become a free-thinker, he -wished to take a university degree. But he did not wish to be a teacher -on any account. - -In the theatre _Hamlet_ made a deeper impression on him than -Offenbach's operas, which were then being acted. Who is this Hamlet -who first saw the footlights in the era of John III., and has still -remained fresh? He is a figure which has been much exploited and used -for many purposes. John forthwith determined to use him for his own. - -The curtain rises to the sound of cheerful music, showing the king and -his court in glittering array. Then there enters the pale youth in -mourning garb and opposes his step-father. Ah! he has a step-father. -"That is as bad as having a stepmother," thought John. "That's the -man for me!" And then they try to oppress him and squeeze sympathy -out of him for the tyrant. The youth's ego revolts, but his will is -paralysed; he threatens, but he cannot strike. - -Anyhow, he chastises his mother--a pity that it was not his -step-father. But now he goes about with pangs of conscience. Good! -Good! He is sick with too much thought, he gropes in his in-side, -inspects his actions till they dissolve into nothing. And he loves -another's betrothed; that resembles John's life completely. He begins -to doubt whether he is an exception after all. That, then, is a common -story in life! Very well! He did not need then to worry about himself, -but he had lost his consciousness of originality. The conclusion, which -had been mangled, was unimpressive, but was partly redeemed by the fine -speech of Horatio. John did not observe the unpardonable mistake of -the adapter in omitting the part of Fortinbras, but Horatio, who was -intended to form a contrast to Hamlet, was no contrast. He is as great -a coward as the latter, and says only "yes" and "no." Fortinbras was -the man of action, the conqueror, the claimant to the throne, but he -does not appear, and the play ends in gloom and desolation. - -But it is fine to lament one's destiny, and to see it lamented. -At first Hamlet was only the step-son; later on he becomes the -introspective brooder, and lastly the son, the sacrifice to family -tyranny. Schwarz had represented him as the visionary and idealist who -could not reconcile himself to reality, and satisfied contemporary -taste accordingly. A future matter-of-fact generation, to whom the -romantic appears simply ridiculous, may very likely see the part of -Hamlet, like that of Don Quixote, taken by a comic actor. Youths -like Hamlet have been for a long time the subject of ridicule, for -a new generation has secretly sprung up, a generation which thinks -without seeing visions, and acts accordingly. The neutral territory -of belles-lettres and the theatre, where morality has nothing to say, -and the unrealities of the drama with its reconstruction of a better -world than the present, were taken by John as something more than mere -imagination. He confused poetry and reality, while he fancied that life -outside his parent's house was ideal and that the future was a garden -of Eden. - -The prospect of soon going to the University of Upsala seemed to him -like a flight into liberty. There one might be ill-dressed, poor, and -still a student, _i.e._, a member of the higher classes; one could sing -and drink, come home intoxicated, and fight with the police without -losing one's reputation. That is an ideal land! How had he found that -out? From the students' songs which he sang with his brother. But he -did not know that these songs reflected the views of the aristocracy; -that they were listened to, piece by piece, by princes and future -kings; that the heroes of them were men of family. He did not consider -that borrowing was not so dangerous, when there was a rich aunt in the -background; that the examination was not so hard if one had a bishop -for an uncle; and that the breaking of a window had not got to be too -dearly paid for if one moved in good society. But, at any rate, his -thoughts were busy with the future; his hopes revived, and the fatal -twenty-fifth year did not loom so ominously before him. - -About this time the volunteer movement was at its height. It was a -happy idea which gave Sweden a larger army than she had hitherto -had--40,000 men instead of 37,000. John went in for it energetically, -wore a uniform, drilled, and learned to shoot. He came thereby into -contact with young men of other classes of society. In his company -there were apprentices, shop attendants, office clerks, and young -artists who had not yet achieved fame. He liked them, but they -remained distant. He sought to approach them, but they did not receive -him. They had their own language, which he did not understand. Now he -noticed how his education had separated him from the companions of his -childhood. They took for granted that he was proud. But, as a matter of -fact, he looked up to them in some things. They were frank, fearless, -independent, and pecuniarily better circumstanced than himself, for -they always had money. - -Accompanying the troops on long marches had a soothing effect on him. -He was not born to command, and obeyed gladly, if the person who -commanded did not betray pride or imperiousness. He had no ambition -to become a corporal, for then he would have had to think, and what -was still worse, decide for others. He remained a slave by nature and -inclination, but he was sensitive to the injustice of tyrants, and -observed them narrowly. - -At one important manoeuvre he could not help expostulating with regard -to certain blunders committed, _e.g._, that the infantry of the guard -should be ranged up at a landing-place against the cannon of the fleet -which covered the barges on which they were standing. The cannon -played about their ears from a short distance, but they remained -unmoved. He expostulated and swore, but obeyed, for he had determined -beforehand to do so. - -On one occasion, while they were halting at Tyreso, he wrestled in -sport with a comrade. The captain of the company stepped forward and -forbade such rough play. John answered sharply that they were off duty, -and that they were playing. - -"Yes, but play may become earnest," said the captain. - -"That depends on us," answered John, and obeyed. But he thought him -fussy for interfering in such trifles, and believed that he noticed a -certain dislike in his superior towards himself. The former was called -"magister," because he wrote for the papers, but he was not even a -student. "There it is," he thought, "he wants to humiliate me." And -from that time he watched him closely. Their mutual antipathy lasted -through their lives. - -The volunteer movement was in the first place the result of the -Danish-German War, and, though transitory, was in some degree -advantageous. It kept the young men occupied, and did away, to a -certain extent, with the military prestige of the army, as the lower -classes discovered that soldiering was not such a difficult matter -after all. The insight thus gained caused a widespread resistance to -the introduction of the Prussian system of compulsory service which was -much mooted at the time, since Oscar II., when visiting Berlin, had -expressed to the Emperor William his hope that Swedish and Prussian -troops would once more be brothers-in-arms. - - -[1] See _Encyclopedia Britannica_, art. "Sweden." - -[2] In 1910 Strindberg wrote: "I keep my Bible Christianity for -private use, to tame my somewhat barbarised nature--barbarised by the -veterinary philosophy of Darwinism, in which, as a student. I was -educated."--_Tal till Svenska nationen_. - - - - -IX - -WITH STRANGERS - - -One of his bold dreams had been fulfilled: he had found a situation for -the summer. Why had he not found one sooner? He had not dared to hope -for it, and, therefore, had never sought it, from fear of meeting with -a refusal. A disappointed hope was the worst thing he could imagine. -But now, all at once, Fortune shook her cornucopia over him; the post -he had obtained was in the finest situation that he knew--the Stockholm -archipelago--on the most beautiful of all the islands, Sotaskär. He -now liked aristocrats. His step-mother's ill-treatment of him, his -relations' perpetual watching to discover arrogance in him, where there -was only superiority of intelligence, generosity, and self-sacrifice, -the attempts of his volunteer comrades to oppress him, had driven him -out of the class to which he naturally belonged. He did not think or -feel any more as they did; he had another religion, and another view -of life. The well-regulated behaviour and confident bearing of his -aristocratic friends satisfied his æsthetic sense; his education had -brought him nearer to them, and alienated him from the lower classes. -The aristocrats seemed to him less proud than the middle class. They -did not oppress, but prized culture and talent; they were democratic in -their behaviour towards him, for they treated him as an equal, whereas -his own relatives regarded him as a subordinate and inferior. Fritz, -for example, who was the son of a miller in the country, visited at the -house of a lord-in-waiting, and played in a comedy with his sons before -the director of the Theatre Royal, who offered him an engagement. -No one asked whose son he was. But when Fritz came to a dance at -John's house, he was carefully inspected behind and before, and great -satisfaction was caused when some relative imparted the information -that his father had once been a miller's servant. - -John had become aristocratic in his views, without, however, ceasing to -sympathise with the lower classes, and since about the year 1865 the -nobility were fairly liberal in politics, condescending and popular -for the time, he let himself be duped. - -Fritz began to give him instructions how he should behave. One should -not be cringing, he said, but be yielding; should not say all that one -thought, for no one wished to know that; it was good if one could say -polite things, without indulging in too gross flattery; one should -converse, but not argue, above all things not dispute, for one never -got the best of it. Fritz was certainly a wise youth. John thought the -advice terribly hard, but stored it up in his mind. What he wanted to -get was a salary, and perhaps the chance of a tour abroad to Rome or -Paris with his pupils; that was the most he hoped for from his noble -friends, and what he intended to aim at. - -One Sunday he visited the wife of the baron, his future employer, as -she was in the town. She seemed like the portrait of a mediæval lady; -she had an aquiline nose, great brown eyes, and curled hair, which hung -over her temples. She was somewhat sentimental, talked in a drawling -manner, and with a nasal twang. John did not think her aristocratic, -and the house was a poorer one than his own home, but they had, -besides, an estate and a castle. However, she pleased him, for she had -a certain resemblance to his mother. She examined him, talked with him, -and let her ball of wool fall. John sprang up and gave it to her, with -a self-satisfied air which seemed to say, "I can do that, for I have -often picked up ladies' handkerchiefs." Her opinion of him after the -examination was a favourable one, and he was engaged. On the morning of -the day on which they were to leave the city he called again. The royal -secretary, for so the gentleman of the house was called, was standing -in his shirt-sleeves before the mirror and tying his cravat. He looked -proud and melancholy, and his greeting was curt and cold. John took -a seat uninvited, and tried to commence a conversation, but was not -particularly successful in keeping it up, especially as the secretary -turned his back to him, and gave only short answers. - -"He is not an aristocrat," thought John; "he is a boor." - -The two were antipathetic to each other, as two members of the lower -class, who looked askance at each other in their clamber laboriously -upwards. - -The carriage was before the door; the coachman was in livery, and -stood with his hat in his hand. The secretary asked John whether he -would sit in the carriage or on the box, but in such a tone that John -determined to be polite and to accept the invitation to sit on the -box. So he sat next the coachman. As the whip cracked, and the horses -started, he had only one thought, "Away from home! Out into the world!" - -At the first halting-place John got down from the box and went to -the carriage window. He asked in an easy, polite, perhaps somewhat -confidential tone, how his employers were. The baron answered curtly, -in a tone in a way which cut off all attempts at a nearer approach. -What did that mean? - -They took their seats again. John lighted a cigar, and offered the -coachman one. The latter, however, whispered in reply that he dared -not smoke on the box. He then pumped the coachman, but cautiously, -regarding the baron's friends, and so on. Towards evening they reached -the estate. The house stood on a wooded hill, and was a white stone -building with outside blinds. The roof was flat, and its rounded -comers gave the building a somewhat Italian aspect, but the blinds, -with their white and red borders, were elegance itself. John, with his -three pupils, was installed in one wing, which consisted of an isolated -building with two rooms; the other of which was occupied by the -coachman. - -After eight days John discovered that he was a servant, and in a very -unpleasant position. His father's man-servant had a better room all to -himself; and for several hours of the day was master of his own person -and thoughts. But John was not. Night and day he had to be with the -boys, teach them, and play and bathe with them. If he allowed himself -a moment's liberty, and was seen about, he was at once asked, "Where -are the children?" He lived in perpetual anxiety lest some accident -should happen to them. He was responsible for the behaviour of four -persons--his own and that of his three pupils. Every criticism of them -struck him. He had no companion of his own age with whom he could -converse. The steward was almost the whole day at work, and hardly ever -visible. - -But there were two compensations: the scenery and the sense of being -free from the bondage in his parent's house. The baroness treated -him confidentially, almost in a motherly way; she liked discussing -literature with him. At such times he felt on the same level with -her, and superior to her in point of erudition, but as soon as the -secretary came home he sank to the position of children's nurse again. - -The scenery of the islands had for him a greater charm than the banks -of the Mälar, and his magic recollections of Drottningholm faded. In -the past year he had climbed up a hill in Tyreso with the volunteer -sharpshooters. It was covered with a thick fir-wood. They crawled -through bilberry and juniper bushes till they reached a steep, rocky -plateau. From this they viewed a panorama which thrilled him with -delight: water and islands, water and islands stretched away into -infinite distance. Although born in Stockholm he had never seen the -islands, and did not know where he was. The view made a deep impression -on him, as if he had rediscovered a land which had appeared to him in -his fairest dreams or in a former existence--in which he believed, but -about which he knew nothing. The troop of sharpshooters drew off into -the wood, but John remained upon the height and worshipped--that is -the right word. The attacking troop approached and fired; the bullets -whistled about his ears; he hid himself, but he could not go away. That -was his land-scape and proper environment--barren, rugged gray rocks -surrounding wide stormy bays, and the endless sea in the distance as -a background. He remained faithful to this love, which could not be -explained by the fact that it was his first love. Neither the Alps of -Switzerland, nor the olive groves of the Mediterranean, nor the steep -coast of Normandy, could dethrone this rival from his heart. - -Now he was in Paradise, though rather too deep in it; the shore of -Sotaskär consisted of green pasturage overshadowed by oaks, and the -bay opened out to the fjord in the far distance. The water was pure -and salt; that was something new. In one of his excursions with his -rifle, the dogs, and the boys, he came one fine sunny day down to the -water's edge. On the other side of the bay stood a castle, a large, -old-fashioned stone edifice. He had discovered that his employer only -rented the estate. - -"Who lives in the castle?" he asked the boys. - -"Uncle Wilhelm," they answered. - -"What is his title?" - -"Baron X." - -"Do you never go there?" - -"Oh, yes; sometimes." - -So there was a castle here with a baron! John's walks now regularly -took the direction of the shore, from which he could see the castle. -It was surrounded by a park and garden. At home they had no garden. - -One fine day the baroness told him that he must accompany the boys on -the morrow to the baron's, and remain there for the day. She and her -husband would stay at home; "he would therefore represent the house," -she added jestingly. - -Then he asked what he was to wear. He could go in his summer suit, she -said, take his black coat on his arm, and change for dinner in the -little tapestry-room on the ground floor. He asked whether he should -wear gloves. She laughed, "No, he needed no gloves." He dreamt the -whole night about the baron, the castle, and the tapestry-room. In the -morning a hay-waggon came to the house to fetch them. He did not like -this; it reminded him of the parish clerk's school. - -And so they went off. They came to a long avenue of lime trees, -drove into the courtyard, and stopped before the castle. It was a -real castle, and looked as if it had been built in the Middle Ages. -From an arbour there came the well-known click of a draught-board. A -middle-aged gentleman in an ill-fitting, holland suit came out. His -face was not aristocratic, but rather of the middle-class type, with -a seaman's beard of a gray-yellow colour. He also wore earrings. John -held his hat in his hand and introduced himself. The baron greeted -him in a friendly way, and bade him enter the arbour. Here stood a -table with a draught-board, by which sat a little old man who was very -amiable in his manner. He was introduced as the pastor of a small town. -John was given a glass of brandy, and asked about the Stockholm news. -Since he was familiar with theatrical gossip and similar things, he was -listened to with greater attention. "There it is," he thought, "the -real aristocrats are much more democratic than the sham ones." - -"Oh!" said the Baron. "Pardon me, Mr.----, I did not catch the name. -Yes, that is it. Are you related to Oscar Strindberg?" - -"He is my father." - -"Good heavens! is it possible? He is an old friend of mine from my -youthful days, when I was pilot on the Strengnas." - -John did not believe his ears. The baron had been pilot on a steamer! -Yes, indeed, he had. But he wished to hear about his friend Oscar. -John looked around him, and asked himself if this really was the baron. -The baroness now appeared; she was as simple and friendly as the baron. -The bell rang for dinner. "Now we will get something to drink," said -the baron. "Come along." - -John at first made a vain attempt to put on his frock-coat behind a -door in the hall, but finally succeeded, as the baroness had said that -he ought to wear it. Then they entered the dining-hall. Yes, that was a -real castle; the floor was paved with stone, the ceiling was of carved -wood; the window-niches were so deep that they seemed to form little -rooms; the fire place could hold a barrow-load of wood; there was a -three-footed piano, and the walls were covered with dark paintings. - -John felt quite at home during dinner. In the afternoon he played with -the baron, and drank toddy. All the courteous usages he had expected -were in evidence, and he was well pleased with the day when it was -over. As he went down the long avenue, he turned round and contemplated -the castle. It looked now less stately and almost poverty stricken. It -pleased him all the better, though it had been more romantic to look -at it as a fairy-tale castle from the other shore. Now he had nothing -more to which he could look up. But he himself, on the other hand, was -no more below. Perhaps, after all, it is better to have something to -which one _can_ look up. - -When he came home, he was examined by the baroness. "How did he like -the baron?" John answered that he was pleasant and condescending. -He was also prudent enough to say nothing of the baron's friendship -with his father. "They will learn it anyhow," he thought. Meanwhile -he already felt more at home, and was no more so timid. One day he -borrowed a horse, but he rode it so roughly that he was not allowed to -borrow one again. Then he hired one from a peasant. It looked so fine -to sit high on a horse and gallop; he felt his strength grow at the -same time. - -His illusions were dispelled, but to feel on the same level with those -about him, without wishing to pull anyone down, that had something -soothing about it. He wrote a boasting letter to his brother at home, -but received an answer calculated to set him down. Since he was quite -alone, and had no one with whom he could talk, he wrote letters in -diary-form to his friend Fritz. The latter had obtained a post with -a merchant by the Mälar Lake, where there were young girls, music, -and good eating. John sometimes wished to be in his place. In his -diary-letter he tried to idealise the realities around him, and -succeeded in arousing his friend's envy. - -The story of the baron's acquaintance with John's father spread, and -the baroness felt herself bound to speak ill of her brother. John had, -nevertheless, intelligence enough to perceive that here there was -something to do with the tragedy of an estate in tail. Since he had -nothing to do with the matter, he took no trouble to inquire into it. - -During a visit which John paid to the pastor's house, the assistant -pastor happened to hear of his idea of being a pastor himself. Since -the senior pastor, on account of old age and weakness, no longer -preached, his assistant was John's only acquaintance. The assistant -found the work heavy, so he was very glad to come across young students -who wished to make their debuts as preachers. He asked John whether he -would preach. Upon John's objecting that he was not a student yet, he -answered, "No matter." John said he would consider. - -The assistant did not let him consider long. He said that many -students and collegians had preached here before, and that the church -had a certain fame since the actor Knut Almlöf had preached here in his -youth. John had seen him act as Menelaus in _The Beautiful Helen_, and -admired him. He consented to his friend's request, began to search for -a text, borrowed some homilies, and promised to have his trial sermon -ready by Friday. So, then, only a year after his Confirmation, he -would preach in the pulpit, and the baron and the ladies and gentlemen -would sit as devout hearers! So soon at the goal, without a clerical -examination--yes, even without his final college examination! They -would lend him a gown and bands; he would pray the Lord's Prayer and -read the Commandments! His head began to swell, and he walked home -feeling a foot taller, with the full consciousness that he was no -longer a boy. - -But as he came home he began to think seriously. He was a free-thinker. -Is it honourable to play the hypocrite? No, no. But must he then give -up the sermon? That would be too great a sacrifice. He felt ambitious, -and perhaps he would be able to sow some seeds of free-thought, which -would spring up later. Yes, but it was dishonest. With his old -egotistic morality he always regarded the motive of the actor, not the -beneficial or injurious effect of the action. It was profitable for him -to preach; it would not hurt others to hear something new and true. But -it was not honest. He could not get away from that objection. He took -the baroness into his confidence. - -"Do you believe that preachers believe all they say?" she asked. - -That was the preachers' affair, but John could not act a double part. -Finally, he walked to the assistant pastor's house, and consulted him. -It vexed the assistant to have to hear about it. - -"Well," he said, "but you believe in God, I suppose?" - -"Yes, certainly I do." - -"Very well! don't speak of Christ. Bishop Wallin never mentioned the -name of Christ in his sermons. But don't bother any more. I don't want -to hear about it." - -"I will do my best," said John, glad to have saved his honesty and his -prospect of distinction at the same time. They had a glass of wine, and -the matter was settled. - -There was something intoxicating for him in sitting over his books and -homilies, and in hearing the baron ask for him, and the servant answer: -"The tutor is writing his sermon." - -He had to expound the text: "Jesus said, Now is the son of man -glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God be glorified in him, God -shall glorify him in himself, and shall straightway glorify him." - -That was all. He turned the sentence this way and that, but could find -no meaning in it. "It is obscure," he thought. But it touched the -most delicate point--the Deity of Christ. If he had the courage to -explain away that, he would certainly have done something important. -The prospect enticed him, and with Theodore Parker's help he composed -a prose poem on Christ as the Son of God, and then put forward very -cautiously the assertion that we are all God's sons, but that Christ is -His chosen and beloved Son, whose teaching we must obey. But that was -only the introduction, and the gospel is read after the introduction. -About what, then, should he preach? He had already pacified his -conscience by plainly stating his views regarding the Deity of Christ. -He glowed with excitement, his courage grew, and he felt that he had a -mission to fulfil. He would draw his sword against dogmas, against the -doctrine of election and pietism. - -When he came to the place where, after reading the text, he ought to -have said, "The text we have read gives us occasion for a short time -to consider the following subject," he wrote: "Since the text of the -day gives no further occasion for remark, we will, for a short time, -consider what is of greater importance." And so he dealt with God's -work in conversion. He made two attacks: one on the custom of preaching -from the text, and the second against the Church's teaching on the -subject of grace. - -First he spoke of conversion as a serious matter, which required a -sacrifice, and depended on the free-will of man (he was not quite -clear about that). He ignored the doctrine of election, and finally -flung open for all the doors of the kingdom of heaven: "Come unto me -all ye that are weary and heavy laden." "To-day shalt thou be with me -in Paradise." That is the gospel of Christ for all, and no one is to -believe that the key of heaven is committed to him (that was a hit at -the pietists), but that the doors of grace are open for all without -exception. - -He was very much in earnest, and felt like a missionary. On Friday he -betook himself to the church, and read certain passages of his sermon -from the pulpit. He chose the most harmless ones. Then he repeated the -prayers, while the assistant pastor stood under the choir gallery and -called to him, "Louder! Slower!" He was approved, and they had a glass -of wine together. - -On Sunday the church was full of people. John put on his gown and bands -in the vestry. For a moment he felt it comical, but then was seized -with anxiety. He prayed to the only true God for help, now that he was -to draw the sword against age-long error, and when the last notes of -the organ were silent, he entered the pulpit with confidence. - -Everything went well. But when he came to the place, "Since the text -of the day gives no occasion for remark," and saw a movement among the -faces of the congregation, which looked like so many white blurs, he -trembled. But only for a moment. Then he plucked up courage and read -his sermon in a fairly strong and confident voice. When he neared the -end, he was so moved by the beautiful truths which he proclaimed, that -he could scarcely see the writing on the paper for tears. He took a -long breath, and read through all the prayers, till the organ began -and he left the pulpit. The pastor thanked him, but said one should -not wander from the text; it would be a bad look-out if the Church -Consistory heard of it. But he hoped no one had noticed it. He had no -fault to find with the contents of the sermon. They had dinner at the -pastor's house, played and danced with the girls, and John was the hero -of the day. The girls said, "It was a very fine sermon, for it was so -short." He had read much too fast, and had left out a prayer. - -In the autumn John returned with the boys to the town, in order to live -with them and look after their school-work. They went to the Clara -School, so that, like a crab, he felt he was going backwards. The same -school, the same headmaster, the same malicious Latin teacher. John -worked conscientiously with his pupils, heard their lessons, and could -swear that they had been properly learned. None the less, in the report -books which they took home, and which their father read, it was stated -that such and such lessons had not been learned. - -"That is a lie," said John. - -"Well, but it is written here," answered the boys' father. - -It was hard work, and he was preparing at the same time for his own -examination. In the autumn holidays they went back to the country. -They sat by the stove and cracked nuts, a whole sackful, and read the -_Frithiof Saga, Axel_, and _Children of the Lord's Supper_.[1] The -evenings were intolerably long. But John discovered a new steward, who -was treated almost like a servant. This provoked John to make friends -with him, and in his room they brewed punch and played cards. The -baroness ventured to remark that the steward was not a suitable friend -for John. - -"Why not?" asked the latter. - -"He has no education." - -"That is not so dangerous." - -She also said that she preferred that the tutor should spend his time -with the family in the evening, or, at any rate, stay in the boys' -room. He chose the latter, for it was very stuffy in the drawing-room, -and he was tired of the reading aloud and the conversation. He now -stayed in his own and the boys' room. The steward came there, and -they played their game of cards. The boys asked to be allowed to take -a hand. Why should they not? John had played whist at home with his -father and brothers, and the innocent recreation had been regarded -as a means of education for teaching self-discipline, carefulness, -attention, and fairness; he had never played for money; each dishonest -trick was immediately exposed, untimely exultation at a victory -silenced, sulkiness at a defeat ridiculed. - -At that time the boys' parents made no objections, for they were glad -that the youngsters were occupied. But they did not like their being -on intimate terms with the steward. John had, in the summer, formed -a little military troop from his pupils and the workmen's children, -and drilled them in the open air. But the baroness forbade this close -intercourse with the latter. "Each class should keep to itself," she -said. - -But John could not understand why that should be, since in the year -1865 class distinctions had been done away with. - -In the meantime a storm was brewing, and a mere trifle was the occasion -of its outbreak. - -One morning the baron was storming about a pair of his driving-gloves -which had disappeared. He suspected his eldest boy. The latter denied -having taken them, and accused the steward, specifying the time when -he said he had taken them. The steward was called. - -"You have taken my driving-gloves, sir! What is the meaning of this?" -said the baron. - -"No, sir, I have not." - -"What! Hugo says you did." - -John, who happened to be present, stepped forward unsolicited, and -said, "Then Hugo lies. He himself has had the gloves." - -"What do you say?" said the baron, motioning to the steward to go. - -"I say the truth." - -"What do you mean, sir, by accusing my son in the presence of a -servant?" - -"Mr. X. is not a servant, and, besides, he is innocent." - -"Yes, very innocent--playing cards together and drinking with the boys! -That's a nice business, eh?" - -"Why did you not mention it before? Then you would have found out that -I do not drink with the boys." - -"'You,' you d--d hobbledehoy! What do you mean by calling me 'you.'" - -"Mr. Secretary can look for another 'hobbledehoy' to teach his boys, -since Mr. Secretary is too covetous to engage a grown person." So -saying, John departed. - -On the next day they were to return to the town, for the Christmas -holidays were at an end. So he would have to go home again--back into -hell, to be despised and oppressed, and it would be a thousand times -worse after he had boasted of his new situation, and compared it with -his parents' house to the disadvantage of the latter. He wept for -anger, but after such an insult there was no retreat. - -He was summoned to the baroness, but said she must wait awhile. Then -a messenger came again for him. In a sullen mood he went up to her. -She was quite mild, and asked him to stay some days with them till -they had found another tutor. He promised, since she had asked him so -pressingly. She said she would drive with the boys into the town. - -The sleigh came to the door, and the baron stood by, and said, "You can -sit on the box." - -"I know my place," said John. At the first halting-place the baroness -asked him to get into the sleigh, but he would not. - -They stayed in the town eight days. In the meanwhile John had written a -somewhat arrogant letter, in an independent tone, home, which did not -please his father, although he had flattered him in it. "I think you -should have first asked if you could come home," he said. In that he -was right. But John had never thought otherwise of his parents' house -than of an hotel, where he could get board and lodging without paying. - -So he was home again. Through an incomprehensible simplicity he had -let himself be persuaded to continue to go through his former pupils' -school-work with them, though he received nothing for it. One evening -Fitz wanted to take him to a café. - -"No," said John, "I must give some lessons." - -"Where?" - -"To the Secretary's boys." - -"What! haven't you done with them yet?" - -"No, I have promised to help them till they get a new teacher." - -"What do you get for it?" - -"What do I get? I have had board and lodging." - -"Yes, but what do you get now, when you don't board and lodge with -them?" - -"Hm! I didn't think of that." - -"You are a lunatic--teaching rich peoples' children gratis. Well, you -come along with me, and don't cross their threshold again." - -John had a struggle with himself on the pavement. "But I promised them." - -"You should not promise. Come now and write a letter withdrawing your -offer." - -"I must go and take leave of them." - -"It is not necessary. They promised you a present at Christmas, but you -got nothing; and now you let yourself be treated like a servant. Come -now and write." - -He was dragged to the café. The waitress brought paper and ink, and, -at his friend's dictation, he wrote a letter to the effect that, in -consequence of his approaching examination, he would have no more -leisure for teaching. - -He was free! "But I feel ashamed," he said. - -"Why?" - -"Because I have been impolite." - -"Rubbish! Waitress, bring half a punch." - - -[1] Three poems by Tegner--the last translated by Longfellow. - - - - -X - -CHARACTER AND DESTINY - - -About this time the free-thought movement was at its height. After -preaching his sermon, John believed it was his mission and duty to -spread and champion the new doctrines. He therefore began to stay away -from prayers, and stayed behind when the rest of the class went to the -prayer-room. The headmaster came in and wished to drive him, and those -who had remained with him, out. John answered that his religion forbade -him to take part in an alien form of worship. The headmaster said -one must observe law and order. John answered that Jews were excused -attendance at prayers. The headmaster then asked him for the sake of -example and their former friendship to be present. John yielded. But he -and those who shared his views did not take part in the singing of the -psalms. Then the headmaster was infuriated, and gave them a scolding; -he especially singled out John, and upbraided him. John's answer was -to organise a strike. He and those who shared his views came regularly -so late to school that prayers were over when they entered. If they -happened to come too early, they remained in the corridor and waited, -sitting on the wooden boxes and chatting with the teachers. In order -to humble the rebels, the headmaster hit upon the idea, at the close -of prayers, when the whole school was assembled, to open the doors and -call them in. These then defiled past with an impudent air and under -a hail of reproaches through the prayer-room without remaining there. -Finally, they became quite used to enter of their own accord, and -take their scolding as they walked through the room. The headmaster -conceived a spite against John, and seemed to have the intention of -making him fail in his examination. John, on the other hand, worked day -and night in order to be sure of succeeding. - -His theological lessons degenerated into arguments with his teacher. -The latter was a pastor and theist, and tolerant of objections, but -he soon got tired of them, and told John to answer according to the -text-book. - -"How many Persons are in the Godhead?" he asked. - -"One," answered John. - -"What does Norbeck say?" - -"Norbeck says three!" - -"Well, then, you say three, too!" - -At home things went on quietly. John was left alone. They saw that he -was lost, and that it was too late for any effectual interference. One -Sunday his father made an attempt in the old style, but John was not at -a loss for an answer. - -"Why don't you go to church any more?" his father asked. - -"What should I do there?" - -"A good sermon can always do one some good." - -"I can make sermons myself." - -And there was an end of it. - -The pietists had a special prayer offered for John in the Bethlehem -Church after they had seen him one Sunday morning in volunteer uniform. - -In May, 1867, he passed his final examination. Strange things came to -light on that occasion. Great fellows with beards and pince-nez called -the Malay Peninsula Siberia, and believed that India was Arabia. Some -candidates obtained a testimonial in French who pronounced "en" like -"y," and could not conjugate the auxiliary verbs. It was incredible. -John believed he had been stronger in Latin three years before this. In -history everyone of them would have failed, if they had not known the -questions beforehand. They had read too much and learned too little. - -The examination closed with a prayer which a free-thinker was obliged -to offer. He repeated the Lord's Prayer stammeringly, and this was -wrongly attributed to his supposed state of excitement. In the evening -John was taken by his companions to Storkyrkobrinken, where they bought -him a student's white cap, for he had no money. Then he went to his -father's office to give him the good news. He met him in the hall. - -"Well! Have you passed?" said his father. - -"Yes." - -"And already bought the cap." - -"I got it on credit." - -"Go to the cashier, and have it paid for." - -So they parted. No congratulation! No pressure of the hand! That -was his father's Icelandic nature which could not give vent to any -expressions of tenderness. - -John came home as they were all sitting at supper. He was in a merry -mood, and had drunk punch. But his spirits were soon damped. All -were silent. His brothers and sisters did not congratulate him. Then -he became out of humour and silent also. He left the table and went -to rejoin his comrades in the town. There there was joy, childish, -exaggerated joy, and all too great hopes. - -During the summer he remained at home and gave lessons. With the money -earned he hoped to go in the autumn to the University at Upsala. -Theology attracted him no more. He had done with it, and, moreover, it -went against his conscience to take the ordination vow. - -In the autumn he went to Upsala. Old Margaret packed his box, and -put in cooking utensils, and a knife and fork. Then she obliged him -to borrow fifteen kronas[1] from her. From his father he got a case -of cigars, and an exhortation to help himself. He himself had eighty -kronas, which he had earned by giving lessons, and with which he must -manage to get through his first term at the university. - -The world stood open for him; he had the ticket of admission in his -hand. He had nothing to do but to enter. Only that! - - * * * * * - -"A man's character is his destiny." That was then a common and -favourite proverb. Now that John had to go into the world, he employed -much time in attempting to cast his horoscope from his own character, -which he thought was already fully formed. People generally bestow the -name of "a character" on a man who has sought and found a position, -taken up a rôle, excogitated certain principles of behaviour, and acts -accordingly in an automatic way. - -A man with a so-called character is often a simple piece of mechanism; -he has often only one point of view for the extremely complicated -relationships of life; he has determined to cherish perpetually -certain fixed opinions of certain matters; and in order not to be -accused of "lack of character," he never changes his opinion, however -foolish or absurd it may be. Consequently, a man with a character is -generally a very ordinary individual, and what may be called a little -stupid. "Character" and automaton seem often synonymous. Dickens's -famous characters are puppets, and the characters on the stage must be -automata. A well-drawn character is synonymous with a caricature. John -had formed the habit of "proving himself" in the Christian fashion, -and asked himself whether he had such a character as befitted a man who -wished to make his way in the world. - -In the first place, he was revengeful. A boy had once openly said, by -the Clara Churchyard, that John's father had stood in the pillory. -That was an insult to the whole family. Since John was weaker than his -opponent, he caused his elder brother to execute vengeance with him on -the culprit, by bombarding him with snowballs. They carried out their -revenge so thoroughly, that they thrashed the culprit's younger brother -who was innocent. - -So he must be revengeful. That was a serious charge. He began to -consider the matter more closely. Had he revenged himself on his father -or his step-mother for the injustice they had done him? No; he forgot -all, and kept out of the way. - -Had he revenged himself on his school teachers by sending them boxes -full of stones at Christmas? No. Was he really so severe towards -others, and so hair-splitting in his judgment of their conduct towards -him? Not at all; he was easy to get on with, was credulous, and could -be led by the nose in every kind of way, provided he did not detect any -tyrannous wish to oppress in the other party. By various promises of -exchange his school-fellows had cajoled away from him his herbarium, -his collection of beetles, his chemical apparatus, his adventure books. -Had he abused or dunned them for payment? No; he felt ashamed on their -account, but let them be. At the end of one vacation the father of a -boy whom John had been teaching forgot to pay him. He felt ashamed to -remind him, and it was not till half a year had elapsed, that, at the -instigation of his own father, he demanded payment. - -It was a peculiar trait of John's character, that he identified himself -with others, suffered for them, and felt ashamed on their behalf. -If he had lived in the Middle Ages, he would have been marked with -the stigmata. If one of his brothers did something vulgar or stupid, -John felt ashamed for him. In church he once heard a boys' choir sing -terribly out of tune. He hid himself in the pew with a feeling of -vicarious shame. - -Once he fought with a school-fellow, and gave him a violent blow on -the chest, but when he saw the boy's face distorted with pain, he -burst into tears and reached him his hand. If anyone asked him to do -something which he was very unwilling to do, he suffered on behalf of -the one with whose request he could not comply. - -He was cowardly, and could let no one go away unheard for fear of -causing discontent. He was still afraid of the dark, of dogs, horses, -and strangers. But he could also be courageous if necessary, as he -had shown by rebelling in school, when the matter concerned his final -examination, and by opposing his father. - -"A man without religion is an animal," say the old copybooks. Now -that it has been discovered that animals are the most religious of -creatures, and that he who has knowledge does not need religion, the -practical efficacy of the latter has been much reduced. By placing the -source of his strength outside himself, he had lost strength and faith -in himself. Religion had devoured his ego. He prayed always, and at -all hours, when he was in need. He prayed at school when he was asked -questions; at the card-table when the cards were dealt out. Religion -had spoilt him, for it had educated him for heaven instead of earth; -family life had ruined him by educating him for the family instead of -for society; and school had educated him for the university instead of -for life. - -He was irresolute and weak. When he bought tobacco, he asked his friend -what sort he should buy. Thus he fell into his friends' power. The -consciousness of being popular drove away his fear of the unknown, and -friendship strengthened him. - -He was a prey to capricious moods. One day, when he was a tutor in the -country, he came into the town in order to visit Fritz. When he got -there he did not proceed any further, but remained at home, debating -with himself whether he should go to Fritz or not. He knew that his -friend expected him, and he himself much wished to see him. But he did -not go. The next day he returned to the country, and wrote a melancholy -letter to his friend, in which he tried to explain himself. But Fritz -was angry, and did not understand caprices. - -In all his weakness he sometimes was aware of enormous resources of -strength, which made himself believe himself capable of anything. When -he was twelve his brother brought home a French boys' book from Paris. -John said, "We will translate that, and bring it out at Christmas." -They did translate it, but as they did not know what further steps to -take, the matter dropped. - -An Italian grammar fell into his hands, and he learned Italian. -When he was a tutor in the country, as there was no tailor there, he -undertook to alter a pair of trousers. He opened the seams, altered and -stitched the trousers, and ironed them with the great stable key. He -also mended his boots. When he heard his sisters and brothers play in a -quartette, he was never satisfied with the performance. He would have -liked to jump up, to snatch the instruments from them, and to show them -how they ought to play. - -John had learned to speak the truth. Like all children, he lied in his -defence or in answer to impertinent questions, but he found a brutal -enjoyment, during a conversation, when people were trying to conceal -the truth, to say exactly what all thought. At a ball, where he was -very taciturn, a lady asked him if he liked dancing. - -"No, not at all," he answered. - -"Well, then, why do you dance?" - -"Because I am obliged to." - -He had stolen apples, like all boys, and that did not trouble him; he -made no secret of it. It was a prescriptive right. In the school he had -never done any real mischief. Once, on the last day before the close -of the term, he and some other boys had broken off some clothes-pegs -and torn up some old exercise-books. He was the only one seized on the -occasion. It was a mere outbreak of animal spirits, and was not taken -seriously. - -Now, when he was passing his own character under review, he collected -other people's judgments on himself, and was astonished at the -diversity of opinion displayed. His father considered him hard; his -step-mother, malicious; his brothers, eccentric. Every servant-maid in -the house had a different opinion of him; one of them liked him, and -thought that his parents treated him ill; his lady friend thought him -emotional; the engineer regarded him as an amiable child, and Fritz -considered him melancholy and self-willed. His aunts believed he had a -good heart; his grandmother that he had character; the girl he loved -idolised him; his teachers did not know what to make of him. Towards -those who treated him roughly, he was rough; towards his friends, -friendly. - -John asked himself whether it was he that was so many-sided, or the -opinions about him. Was he false? Did he behave to some differently -from what he did to others? "Yes," said his step-mother. When she heard -anything good about him, she always declared that he was acting a part. - -Yes, but all acted parts! His step-mother was friendly towards her -husband, hard towards her step-children, soft towards her own child, -humble towards the landlord, imperious towards the servants, polite to -the powerful, rough to the weak. - -That was the "law of accommodation," of which John was as yet unaware. -It was a trait in human nature, a tendency to adapt oneself--to be a -lion towards enemies, and a lamb towards friends,--which rested on -calculation. - -But when is one true, and when is one false? And where is to be found -the central "ego,"--the core of character? The "ego" was a complex of -impulses and desires, some of which were to be restrained, and others -unfettered. John's individuality was a fairly rich but chaotic complex; -he was a cross of two entirely different strains of blood, with a good -deal of book-learning, and a variety of experience. He had not yet -found what rôle he was to play, nor his position in life, and therefore -continued to be characterless. He had not yet determined which of -his impulses must be restrained, and how much of his "ego" must be -sacrificed for the society into which he was preparing to enter. - -If he had really been able to view himself objectively, he would have -found that most of the words he spoke were borrowed from books or from -school-fellows, his gestures from teachers and friends, his behaviour -from relatives, his temperament from his mother and wet-nurse, his -tastes from his father, perhaps from his grandfather. His face had no -resemblance to that of his father or mother. Since he had not seen his -grand-parents, he could not judge whether there was any resemblance -to them. What, then, had he of his own? Nothing. But he had two -fundamental characteristics, which largely determined his life and his -destiny. - -The first was Doubt. He did not receive ideas without criticism, but -developed and combined them. Therefore he could not be an automaton, -nor find a place in ordered society. - -The second was--Sensitiveness to pressure. He always tried to lessen -this last, in the first place, by raising his own level; in the second, -by criticising what was above him, in order to observe that it was not -so high after all, nor so much worth striving after. - -So he stepped out into life--in order to develop himself, and still -ever to remain as he was! - - -[1] A krona is worth about twenty-seven cents. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - -***** This file should be named 44109-8.txt or 44109-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44109/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Son of a Servant - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44109] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<h1>THE SON OF A SERVANT</h1> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>AUGUST STRINDBERG</h2> - -<h4>AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "ZONES OF THE SPIRIT," ETC.</h4> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD</h4> - - -<h4>WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY</h4> - -<h4>HENRY VACHER-BURCH</h4> - -<h5>G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS</h5> - -<h5>NEW YORK AND LONDON</h5> - -<h5>The Knickerbocker Press</h5> - -<h5>1913</h5> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p style="margin-left: 40%;">CONTENTS</p> - -<div class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><a href="#I">FEAR AND HUNGER</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><a href="#II">BREAKING-IN</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left"><a href="#III">AWAY FROM HOME</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#IV">INTERCOURSE WITH THE LOWER CLASSES</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><a href="#V">CONTACT WITH THE UPPER CLASSES</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VI">THE SCHOOL OF THE CROSS</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VII">FIRST LOVE</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VIII">THE SPRING THAW</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#IX">WITH STRANGERS</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left"><a href="#X">CHARACTER AND DESTINY</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4>AUGUST STRINDBERG AS NOVELIST</h4> - - -<p><i>From the Publication of "The Son of a Servant" to "The Inferno"</i> -(1886-1896)</p> - -<p>A celebrated statesman is said to have described the biography of a -cardinal as being like the Judgment Day. In reading August Strindberg's -autobiographical writings, as, for example, his <i>Inferno</i>, and the book -for which this study is a preface, we must remember that he portrays -his own Judgment Day. And as his works have come but lately before the -great British public, it may be well to consider what attitude should -be adopted towards the amazing candour of his self-revelation. In most -provinces of life other than the comprehension of our fellows, the art -of understanding is making great progress. We comprehend new phenomena -without the old strain upon our capacity for readjusting our point of -view. But do we equally well understand our fellow-being whose way of -life is not ours? We are patient towards new phases of philosophy, -new discoveries in science, new sociological facts, observed in other -lands; but in considering an abnormal type of man or woman, hasty -judgment or a too contracted outlook is still liable to cloud the -judgment.</p> - -<p>Now, it is obvious that if we would understand any worker who has -accomplished what his contemporaries could only attempt to do, we -must have a sufficiently wide knowledge of his work. Neither the -inconsequent gossip attaching to such a personality, nor the chance -perusal of a problem-play, affords an adequate basis for arriving at -a true estimate of the man. Few writers demand, to the same degree as -August Strindberg, those graces of judgment, patience, and reverence. -And for this reason first of all: most of us live sheltered lives. They -are few who stand in the heart of the storm made by Europe's progress. -Especially is this true in Southern Europe, where tradition holds its -secular sway, where such a moulding energy as constitutional practice -exerts its influence over social life, where the aims and ends of human -attainment are defined and sanctioned by a consciousness developing -with the advancement of civilisation. There is often engendered under -such conditions a nervous impatience towards those who, judged from -behind the sheltered walls of orthodoxy, are more or less exposed to -the criticism of their fellows. The fault lies in yielding to this -impatience. The proof that August Strindberg was of the few who must -stand in the open, and suffer the full force of all the winds that -blow, cannot now be attempted. Our sole aim must be to enable the -reader of <i>The Son of a Servant</i> to take up a sympathetic standpoint. -This book forms <i>part</i> of the autobiography of a most gifted man, -through whose life the fierce winds of Europe's opinions blew into -various expression.</p> - -<p>The second reason for the exercise of impartiality, is that -Strindberg's recent death has led to the circulation through Europe of -certain phrases which are liable to displace the balance of judgment -in reviewing his life and work. There are passages in his writings, -and phases of his autobiography, that raise questions of Abnormal -Psychology. Hence pathological terms are used to represent the whole -man and his work. Again, from the jargon of a prevalent Nietzschianism -a doctrine at once like and unlike the teaching of that solitary -thinker descriptions of the Superman are borrowed, and with these -Strindberg is labelled. Or again, certain incidents in his domestic -affairs are seized upon to prove him a decadent libertine. The facts of -this book, <i>The Son of a Servant</i>, are true: Strindberg lived them. His -<i>Inferno</i>, in like manner, is a transcript of a period of his life. And -if these books are read as they should be read, they are neither more -nor less than the records of the progress of a most gifted life along -the Dolorous Way.</p> - -<p>The present volume is the record of the early years of Strindberg's -life, and the story is incomparably told. For the sympathetic reader it -will represent the history of a temperament to which the world could -not come in easy fashion, and for which circumstances had contrived a -world where it would encounter at each step tremendous difficulties. -We find in Strindberg the consciousness of vast powers thwarted by -neglect, by misunderstanding, and by the shackles of an ignominious -parentage. He sets out on life as a viking, sailing the trackless seas -that beat upon the shores of unknown lands, where he must take the -sword to establish his rights of venture, and write fresh pages in some -Heimskringla of a later age.</p> - -<p>A calm reading of the book may induce us to suggest that this is often -the fate of genius. The man of great endowments is made to walk where -hardship lies on every side. And though a recognition of the hardness -of the way is something, it must be borne in mind that while some are -able to pass along it in serenity, others face it in tears, and others -again in terrible revolt. Revolt was the only possible attitude for the -Son of a Servant.</p> - -<p>How true this is may be realised by recalling the fact that towards -the end of the same year in which <i>The Son of a Servant</i> appeared, -viz., 1886, our author published the second part of a series of stories -entitled <i>Marriage</i>, in which that relationship is subjected to -criticism more intense than is to be found in any of the many volumes -devoted to this subject in a generation eminently given to this form -of criticism. Side by side with this fact should be set the contents -of one such story from his pen. Here he has etched, with acid that -bites deeper than that of the worker in metal, the story of a woman's -pettiness and inhumanity towards the husband who loves her. By his -art her weakness is made to dominate every detail of the domestic -<i>ménage</i>, and what was once a woman now appears to be the spirit of -neglect, whose habitation is garnished with dust and dead flowers. -Her great weakness calls to the man's pity, and we are told how, into -this disorder, he brings the joy of Christmastide, and the whispered -words of life, like a wind from some flower-clad hill. The natural -conclusion, as regards both his autobiographical works and his volume -of stories, is this: that Strindberg finds the Ideal to be a scourge, -and not a Pegasus. And this is a distinction that sharply divides man -from man, whether endowed for the attainment of saintship, for the -apprehension of the vision, or with powers that enable him to wander -far over the worlds of thought.</p> - -<p>Had Strindberg intended to produce some more finished work to qualify -the opinion concerning his pessimism, he could have done no better -than write the novel that comes next in the order of his works, <i>Hemso -Folk</i>, which was given to the world in the year 1887. It is the first -of his novels to draw on the natural beauties of the rocky coast and -many tiny islands which make up the splendour of the Fjord whose -crown is Stockholm, and which, continuing north and south, provide -fascinating retreats, still unspoilt and unexplored by the commercial -agent. It may be noticed here that this northern Land of Faery has -not long since found its way into English literature through a story -by Mr. Algernon Blackwood, in his interesting volume, <i>John Silence</i>. -The adequate description of this region was reserved for August -Strindberg, and among his prose writings there are none to compare with -those that have been inspired by the islands and coast he delighted -in. Among them, <i>Hemso Folk</i> ranks first. In this work he shows his -mastery, not of self-portraiture, but of the portraiture of other men, -and his characters are painted with a mastery of subject and material -which in a sister art would cause one to think of Velasquez. Against -a background of sea and sky stand the figures of a schoolmaster and -a priest—the portraits of both depicted with the highest art,—and -throughout the book may be heard the authentic speech of the soul of -Strindberg's North. He may truly be claimed to be most Swedish here; -but he may also with equal truth be claimed to be most universal, since -<i>Hemso Folk</i> is true for all time, and in all places.</p> - -<p>In the following year (1888) was published another volume of tales by -Strindberg, entitled <i>Life on the Skerries</i>, and again the sea, and -the sun, and the life of men who commune with the great waters are the -sources of his virile inspiration. Other novels of a like kind were -written later, but at this hour of his life he yielded to the command -of the idea—a voice which called him more strongly than did the -magnificence of Nature, whose painter he could be when he had respite -from the whirlwind.</p> - -<p><i>Tschandala</i>, his next book, was the fruit of a holiday in the country. -This novel was written to show a man of uncommon powers of mind in the -toils of inferior folk—the proletariat of soul bent on the ruin of -the elect in soul. Poverty keeps him in chains. He is forced to deal -with neighbours of varying degrees of degradation. A landlady deceives -her husband for the sake of a vagrant lover. This person attempts to -subordinate the uncommon man; who, however, discovers that he can be -dominated through his superstitious fears. He is enticed one night -into a field, where the projections from a lantern, imagined as -supernatural beings, so play upon his fears that he dies from fright. -In this book we evidently have the experimental upsurging of his -imagination: supposing himself the victim of a sordid environment, -he can see with unveiled eyes what might happen to him. Realistic in -his apprehension of outward details, he sees the idea in its vaguest -proportions. This creates, this informs his pictures of Nature; this -also makes his heaven and hell. Inasmuch as a similar method is used -by certain modern novelists, the curious phrase "a novel of ideas" has -been coined. As though it were a surprising feature to find an idea -expressed in novels! And not rarely such works are said to be lacking -in warmth, because they are too full of thought.</p> - -<p>After <i>Tschandala</i> come two or three novels of distinctly controversial -character—books of especial value in essaying an understanding of -Strindberg's mind. The pressure of ideas from many quarters of Europe -was again upon him, and caused him to undertake long and desperate -pilgrimages. <i>In the Offing</i> and <i>To Damascus</i> are the suggestive -titles of these books. Seeing, however, that a detailed sketch of the -evolution of Strindberg's opinions is not at this moment practicable, -we merely mention these works, and the years 1890 and 1892.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile our author has passed through two intervals in his life of a -more peaceful character than was usually his lot. The first of these -was spent among his favourite scenes in the vicinity of the Gulf of -Bothnia, where he lived like a hermit, writing poetry and painting -pictures. He might have become a painter of some note, had it not come -so natural to him to use the pen. At any rate, during the time that he -wielded the brush he put on canvas the scenes which he succeeded in -reproducing so marvellously in his written works. The other period of -respite was during a visit to Ola Hansson, a Swedish writer of rare -distinction, then living near Berlin. The author of <i>Sensitiva Amorosa</i> -was the antithesis of Strindberg. A consummate artist, with a wife of -remarkable intellectual power, the two enfolded him in their peace, and -he was able to give full expression to his creative faculty.</p> - -<p>Strindberg now enters upon the period which culminates in the writing -of <i>The Inferno</i>. From the peace of Ola Hansson's home he set out -on his wedding tour, and during the early part of it came over to -England. In a remarkable communication to a Danish man of letters, -Strindberg answers many questions concerning his personal tastes, among -them several regarding his English predilections. We may imagine them -present to him as he looks upon the sleeping city from London Bridge, -in the greyness of a Sunday morning, after a journey from Gravesend. -His favourite English writer is Dickens, and of his works the most -admired is <i>Little Dorrit</i>. A novel written in the period described in -<i>The Son of a Servant</i>, and which first brought him fame, was inspired -by the reading of <i>David Copperfield</i>! His favourite painter is Turner. -These little sidelights upon the personality of the man are very -interesting, throwing into relief as they do the view of him adopted by -the writer of the foregoing pages. London, however, he disliked, and a -crisis in health compelled him to leave for Paris, from which moment -begins his journey through the "Inferno."</p> - -<p>A play of Strindberg's has been performed in Paris—the height of his -ambition. Once attained, it was no longer to be desired; accordingly, -he turned from the theatre to Science. He takes from their hiding-place -some chemical apparatus he had purchased long before. Drawing the -blinds of his room he bums pure sulphur until he believes that he has -discovered in it the presence of carbon. His sentences are written -in terse, swift style. A page or two of the book is turned over, and -we find his pen obeying the impulse of his penetrating sight.... -Separation from his wife; the bells of Christmas; his visit to a -hospital, and the people he sees there, begin to occupy him. Gratitude -to the nursing sister, and the reaching forward of his mind into the -realm of the alchemical significance of his chemical studies, arouse -in him a spirit of mystical asceticism. Pages of <i>The Inferno</i> might -be cited to show their resemblance to documents which have come to us -from the Egyptian desert, or from the narrow cell of a recluse. Theirs -is the search for a spiritual union: his is the quest of a negation -of self, that his science might be without fault. A notion of destiny -is grafted upon his mysticism of science. He wants to be led, as did -the ascetic, though for him the goal is lore hidden from mortal eyes. -He now happens upon confirmation of his scientific curiosity, in -the writings of an older chemist. Then he meets with Balzac's novel -<i>Séraphita</i>, and a new ecstasy is added to his outreaching towards the -knowledge he aspires to. Vivid temptations assail him; he materialises -as objective personalities the powers that appear to place obstacles -in the way of his researches. Again we observe the same phenomena as -in the soul of the monk, yet always with this difference: Strindberg -is the monk of science. Curious little experiences—that others would -brush into that great dust-bin, Chance—are examined with a rare -simplicity to see if they may hold significance for the order of his -life. These details accumulate as we turn the pages of <i>The Inferno</i>, -and force one to the conclusion that they are akin to the material -which we have only lately begun to study as phenomena peculiar to the -psychology of the religious life. Their summary inclusion under the -heading of "Abnormal Psychology" will, however, lead to a shallow -interpretation of Strindberg. The voluntary isolation of himself from -the relations of life and the world plays havoc with his health. Soon -he is established under a doctor's care in a little southern Swedish -town, with its memories of smugglers and pirates; and he immediately -likens the doctor's house to a Buddhist cloister. The combination is -typically Strindbergian! He begins to be haunted with the terrible -suspicion that he is being plotted against. Nature is exacting heavy -dues from his overwrought system. After thirty days' treatment he -leaves the establishment with the reflection that whom the Lord loveth -he chasteneth.</p> - -<p>Dante wrote his Divine Comedy; Strindberg his Mortal Comedy. There are -three great stages in each, and the literary vehicle of their perilous -journeyings is aptly chosen. Readers of the wonderful Florentine will -recall the familiar words:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Surge ai mortali per diverse foci</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">la lucerna de mondo."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>And they have found deeper content in Strindberg's self-discoveries. -The first part of his <i>Inferno</i> tells of his Purgatory; the second -part closes with the poignant question, Whither? If, for a moment, -we step beyond the period of his life with which this study deals, -we shall find him telling of his Paradise in a mystery-play entitled -<i>Advent</i>, where he, too, had a starry vision of "un simplice lume," -a simple flame that ingathers the many and scattered gleams of the -universe's revelation. His guide through Hell is Swedenborg. Once more -the note is that of the anchorite; for at the outset of his acceptance -of Swedenborg's guidance he is tempted to believe that even his guide's -spiritual teaching may weaken his belief in a God who chastens. He -desires to deny himself the gratification of the sight of his little -daughter, because he appears to consider her prattle, that breaks -into the web of his contemplation, to be the instrument of a strange -power. From step to step he goes until his faith is childlike as a -peasant's. How he is hurled again into the depths of his own Hell, the -closing pages of his book will tell us. Whatever views the reader may -hold, it seems impossible that he should see in this Mortal Comedy the -utterances of deranged genius. Rather will his charity of judgment have -led him to a better understanding of one who listened to the winds that -blow through Europe, and was buffeted by their violence.</p> - -<p>We may close this brief study by asking the question: What, then, -is Strindberg's legacy for the advancement of Art, as found in this -decade of his life? It will surely be seen that Strindberg's realism -is of a peculiarly personal kind. Whatever his sympathy with Zola -may have been, or Zola's with him, Strindberg has never confounded -journalism with Art. He has also recognised in his novels that there -is a difference between the function of the camera and the eye of the -artist. More than this—and it is important if Strindberg is to be -understood—his realism has always been subservient to the idea. And -it is this power that has essentially rendered Strindberg's realism -peculiarly personal; that is to say, incapable of being copied or -forming a school. It can only be used by such as he who, standing -in the maelstrom of ideas, is fashioned and attuned by the whirling -storms, as they strive for complete expression. Not always, however, -is he subservient to their dominion. Sometimes cast down from the high -places whence the multitudinous voice can be heard, he may say and do -that which raises fierce criticism. A patient study of Strindberg will -lay bare such matters; but their discovery must not blind our eyes -to the truth that these are moments of insensitiveness towards, or -rejection of, the majestic power which is ceaselessly sculpturing our -highest Western civilisation.</p> - -<p style="text-align: right; font-size: 0.8em;">HENRY VACHER-BURCH.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "There riseth up to mortals through diverse trials the -light of the world."</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>The Son of a Servant</h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="I" id="I">I</a></h4> - -<h3>FEAR AND HUNGER</h3> - - -<p>In the third story of a large house near the Clara Church in -Stockholm, the son of the shipping agent and the servant-maid awoke -to self-consciousness. The child's first impressions were, as he -remembered afterwards, fear and hunger. He feared the darkness and -blows, he feared to fall, to knock himself against something, or to -go in the streets. He feared the fists of his brothers, the roughness -of the servant-girl, the scolding of his grandmother, the rod of -his mother, and his father's cane. He was afraid of the general's -man-servant, who lived on the ground-floor, with his skull-cap and -large hedge-scissors; he feared the landlord's deputy, when he played -in the courtyard with the dust-bin; he feared the landlord, who was -a magistrate. Above him loomed a hierarchy of authorities wielding -various rights, from the right of seniority of his brothers to the -supreme tribunal of his father. And yet above his father was the -deputy-landlord, who always threatened him with the landlord. This last -was generally invisible, because he lived in the country, and perhaps, -for that reason, was the most feared of all. But again, above all, even -above the man-servant with the skull-cap, was the general, especially -when he sallied forth in uniform wearing his plumed three-cornered hat. -The child did not know what a king looked like, but he knew that the -general went to the King. The servant-maids also used to tell stories -of the King, and showed the child his picture. His mother generally -prayed to God in the evening, but the child could form no distinct idea -of God, except that He must certainly be higher than the King.</p> - -<p>This tendency to fear was probably not the child's own peculiarity, -but due to the troubles which his parents had undergone shortly before -his birth. And the troubles had been great. Three children had been -born before their marriage and John soon after it. Probably his birth -had not been desired, as his father had gone bankrupt just before, so -that he came to the light in a now pillaged house, in which was only a -bed, a table, and a couple of chairs. About the same time his father's -brother had died in a state of enmity with him, because his father -would not give up his wife, but, on the contrary, made the tie stronger -by marriage. His father was of a reserved nature, which perhaps -betokened a strong will. He was an aristocrat by birth and education. -There was an old genealogical table which traced his descent to a noble -family of the sixteenth century. His paternal ancestors were pastors -from Zemtland, of Norwegian, possibly Finnish blood. It had become -mixed by emigration. His mother was of German birth, and belonged to a -carpenter's family. His father was a grocer in Stockholm, a captain of -volunteers, a freemason, and adherent of Karl Johann.</p> - -<p>John's mother was a poor tailor's daughter, sent into domestic service -by her step-father. She had become a waitress when John's father met -her. She was democratic by instinct, but she looked up to her husband, -because he was of "good family," and she loved him; but whether as -deliverer, as husband, or as family-provider, one does not know, and it -is difficult to decide.</p> - -<p>He addressed his man-servant and maid as "thou," and she called him -"sir." In spite of his come-down in the world, he did not join the -party of malcontents, but fortified himself with religious resignation, -saying, "It is God's will," and lived a lonely life at home. But he -still cherished the hope of being able to raise himself again.</p> - -<p>He was, however, fundamentally an aristocrat, even in his habits. His -face was of an aristocratic type, beardless, thin-skinned, with hair -like Louis Philippe. He wore glasses, always dressed elegantly, and -liked clean linen. The man-servant who cleaned his boots had to wear -gloves when doing so, because his hands were too dirty to be put into -them.</p> - -<p>John's mother remained a democrat at heart. Her dress was always simple -but clean. She wished the children to be clean and tidy, nothing more. -She lived on intimate terms with the servants, and punished a child, -who had been rude to one of them, upon the bare accusation, without -investigation or inquiry. She was always kind to the poor, and however -scanty the fare might be at home, a beggar was never sent empty away. -Her old nurses, four in number, often came to see her, and were -received as old friends. The storm of financial trouble had raged -severely over the whole family, and its scattered members had crept -together like frightened poultry, friends and foes alike, for they felt -that they needed one another for mutual protection. An aunt rented two -rooms in the house. She was the widow of a famous English discoverer -and manufacturer, who had been ruined. She received a pension, -on which she lived with two well-educated daughters. She was an -aristocrat, having formerly possessed a splendid house, and conversed -with celebrities. She loved her brother, though disapproving of his -marriage, and had taken care of his children when the storm broke. -She wore a lace cap, and the children kissed her hand. She taught -them to sit straight on their chairs, to greet people politely, and -to express themselves properly. Her room had traces of bygone luxury, -and contained gifts from many rich friends. It had cushioned rose-wood -furniture with embroidered covers in the English style. It was adorned -with the picture of her deceased husband dressed as a member of the -Academy of Sciences and wearing the order of Gustavus Vasa. On the -wall there hung a large oil-painting of her father in the uniform of a -major of volunteers. This man the children always regarded as a king, -for he wore many orders, which later on they knew were freemasonry -insignia. The aunt drank tea and read English books. Another room was -occupied by John's mother's brother, a small trader in the New Market, -as well as by a cousin, the son of the deceased uncle, a student in the -Technological Institute.</p> - -<p>In the nursery lived the grandmother. She was a stem old lady who -mended hose and blouses, taught the ABC, rocked the cradle, and pulled -hair. She was religious, and went to early service in the Clara Church. -In the winter she carried a lantern, for there were no gas-lamps at -that time. She kept in her own place, and probably loved neither her -son-in-law nor his sister. They were too polite for her. He treated her -with respect, but not with love.</p> - -<p>John's father and mother, with seven children and two servants, -occupied three rooms. The furniture mostly consisted of tables and -beds. Children lay on the ironing boards and the chairs, children in -the cradles and the beds. The father had no room for himself, although -he was constantly at home. He never accepted an invitation from his -many business friends, because he could not return it. He never went to -the restaurant or the theatre. He had a wound which he concealed and -wished to heal. His recreation was the piano. One of the nieces came -every other evening and then Haydn's symphonies were played <i>à quatre -mains</i>, later on Mozart, but never anything modern. Afterwards he had -also another recreation as circumstances permitted. He cultivated -flowers in window-boxes, but only pelargoniums. Why pelargoniums? When -John had grown older and his mother was dead, he fancied he always saw -her standing by one. She was pale, she had had twelve confinements and -suffered from lung-complaint. Her face was like the transparent white -leaves of the pelargonium with its crimson veins, which grow darker -towards the pistil, where they seemed to form an almost black eye, like -hers.</p> - -<p>The father appeared only at meal-times. He was melancholy, weary, -strict, serious, but not hard. He seemed severer than he really was, -because on his return home he always had to settle a number of things -which he could not judge properly. Besides, his name was always used to -frighten the children. "I will tell papa that," signified a thrashing. -It was not exactly a pleasant rôle which fell to his share. Towards -the mother he was always gentle. He kissed her after every meal and -thanked her for the food. This accustomed the children, unjustly -enough, to regard her as the giver of all that was good, and the father -as the dispenser of all that was evil. They feared him. When the cry -"Father is coming!" was heard, all the children ran and hid themselves, -or rushed to the nursery to be combed and washed. At the table there -was deathly silence, and the father spoke only a little.</p> - -<p>The mother had a nervous temperament. She used to become easily -excited, but soon quieted down again. She was relatively content with -her life, for she had risen in the social scale, and had improved her -position and that of her mother and brother. She drank her coffee in -bed in the mornings, and had her nurses, two servants, and her mother -to help her. Probably she did not over-exert herself.</p> - -<p>But for the children she played the part of Providence itself. She cut -overgrown nails, tied up injured fingers, always comforted, quieted, -and soothed when the father punished, although she was the official -accuser. The children did not like her when she "sneaked," and she -did not win their respect. She could be unjust, violent, and punish -unseasonably on the bare accusation of a servant; but the children -received food and comfort from her, therefore they loved her. The -father, on the other hand, always remained a stranger, and was regarded -rather as a foe than a friend.</p> - -<p>That is the thankless position of the father in the family—the -provider for all, and the enemy of all. If he came home tired, hungry, -and ill-humoured, found the floor only just scoured and the food -ill-cooked, and ventured a remark, he received a curt reply. He lived -in his own house as if on sufferance, and the children hid away from -him. He was less content than his wife, for he had come down in the -world, and was obliged to do without things to which he had formerly -been accustomed. And he was not pleased when he saw those to whom he -had given life and food discontented.</p> - -<p>But the family is a very imperfect arrangement. It is properly an -institution for eating, washing, and ironing, and a very uneconomical -one. It consists chiefly of preparations for meals, market-shopping, -anxieties about bills, washing, ironing, starching, and scouring. Such -a lot of bustle for so few persons! The keeper of a restaurant, who -serves hundreds, hardly does more.</p> - -<p>The education consisted of scolding, hair-pulling, and exhortations to -obedience. The child heard only of his duties, nothing of his rights. -Everyone else's wishes carried weight; his were suppressed. He could -begin nothing without doing wrong, go nowhere without being in the way, -utter no word without disturbing someone. At last he did not dare to -move. His highest duty and virtue was to sit on a chair and be quiet. -It was always dinned into him that he had no will of his own, and so -the foundation of a weak character was laid.</p> - -<p>Later on the cry was, "What will people say?" And thus his will was -broken, so that he could never be true to himself, but was forced to -depend on the wavering opinions of others, except on the few occasions -when he felt his energetic soul work independently of his will.</p> - -<p>The child was very sensitive. He wept so often that he received a -special nickname for doing so. He felt the least remark keenly, and -was in perpetual anxiety lest he should do something wrong. He was -very awake to injustice, and while he had a high ideal for himself, -he narrowly watched the failings of his brothers. When they were -unpunished, he felt deeply injured; when they were undeservedly -rewarded, his sense of justice suffered. He was accordingly considered -envious. He then complained to his mother. Sometimes she took his part, -but generally she told him not to judge so severely. But they judged -him severely, and demanded that he should judge himself severely. -Therefore he withdrew into himself and became bitter. His reserve and -shyness grew on him. He hid himself if he received a word of praise, -and took a pleasure in being overlooked. He began to be critical and to -take a pleasure in self-torture; he was melancholy and boisterous by -turns.</p> - -<p>His eldest brother was hysterical; if he became vexed during some game, -he often had attacks of choking with convulsive laughter. This brother -was the mother's favourite, and the second one the father's. In all -families there are favourites; it is a fact that one child wins more -sympathy than another. John was no one's favourite. He was aware of -this, and it troubled him. But the grandmother saw it, and took his -part; he read the ABC with her and helped her to rock the cradle. But -he was not content with this love; he wanted to win his mother; he -tried to flatter her, but did it clumsily and was repulsed.</p> - -<p>Strict discipline prevailed in the house; falsehood and disobedience -were severely punished. Little children often tell falsehoods because -of defective memories. A child is asked, "Did you do it?" It happened -only two hours ago, and his memory does not reach back so far. Since -the act appeared an indifferent matter to the child, he paid it no -attention. Therefore little children can lie unconsciously, and this -fact should be remembered. They also easily lie out of self-defence; -they know that a "no" can free them from punishment, and a "yes" -bring a thrashing. They can also lie in order to win an advantage. -The earliest discovery of an awakening consciousness is that a -well-directed "yes" or "no" is profitable to it. The ugliest feature -of childish untruthfulness is when they accuse one another. They know -that a misdeed must be visited by punishing someone or other, and a -scapegoat has to be found. That is a great mistake in education. Such -punishment is pure revenge, and in such cases is itself a new wrong.</p> - -<p>The certainty that every misdeed will be punished makes the child -afraid of being accused of it, and John was in a perpetual state of -anxiety lest some such act should be discovered.</p> - -<p>One day, during the mid-day meal, his father examined his sister's -wine-flask. It was empty.</p> - -<p>"Who has drunk the wine?" he asked, looking round the circle. No one -answered, but John blushed.</p> - -<p>"It is you, then," said his father.</p> - -<p>John, who had never noticed where the wine-flask was hidden, burst into -tears and sobbed, "I didn't drink the wine."</p> - -<p>"Then you lie too. When dinner is over, you will get something."</p> - -<p>The thought of what he would get when dinner was over, as well as the -continued remarks about "John's secretiveness," caused his tears to -flow without pause. They rose from the table.</p> - -<p>"Come here," said his father, and went into the bedroom. His mother -followed. "Ask father for forgiveness," she said. His father had taken -out the stick from behind the looking-glass.</p> - -<p>"Dear papa, forgive me!" the innocent child exclaimed. But now it was -too late. He had confessed the theft, and his mother assisted at the -execution. He howled from rage and pain, but chiefly from a sense of -humiliation. "Ask papa now for forgiveness," said his mother.</p> - -<p>The child looked at her and despised her. He felt lonely, deserted -by her to whom he had always fled to find comfort and compassion, but -so seldom justice. "Dear papa, forgive," he said, with compressed and -lying lips.</p> - -<p>And then he stole out into the kitchen to Louise the nursery-maid, who -used to comb and wash him, and sobbed his grief out in her apron.</p> - -<p>"What have you done, John?" she asked sympathetically.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," he answered. "I have done nothing."</p> - -<p>The mother came out.</p> - -<p>"What does John say?" she asked Louise. "He says that he didn't do it." -"Is he lying still?"</p> - -<p>And John was fetched in again to be tortured into the admission of what -he had never done.</p> - -<p>Splendid, moral institution! Sacred family! Divinely appointed, -unassailable, where citizens are to be educated in truth and virtue! -Thou art supposed to be the home of the virtues, where innocent -children are tortured into their first falsehood, where wills are -broken by tyranny, and self-respect killed by narrow egoism. Family! -thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for -comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for -children.</p> - -<p>After this John lived in perpetual disquiet. He dared not confide in -his mother, or Louise, still less his brothers, and least of all his -father. Enemies everywhere! God he knew only through hymns. He was an -atheist, as children are, but in the dark, like savages and animals, he -feared evil spirits.</p> - -<p>"Who drank the wine?" he asked himself; who was the guilty one for whom -he suffered? New impressions and anxieties caused him to forget the -question, but the unjust treatment remained in his memory. He had lost -the confidence of his parents, the regard of his brothers and sisters, -the favour of his aunt; his grandmother said nothing. Perhaps she -inferred his innocence on other grounds, for she did not scold him, and -was silent. She had nothing to say. He felt himself disgraced—punished -for lying, which was so abominated in the household, and for theft, -a word which could not be mentioned, deprived of household rights, -suspected and despised by his brothers because he had been caught. All -these consequences, which were painful and real for him, sprang out of -something which never existed—his guilt.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was not actual poverty which reigned in the house, but there was -overcrowding. Baptisms, and burials followed each other in rapid -succession. Sometimes there were two baptisms without a burial -between them. The food was carefully distributed, and was not exactly -nourishing. They had meat only on Sundays, but John grew sturdy and -was tall for his age. He used now to be sent to play in the "court," a -well-like, stone-paved area in which the sun never shone. The dust-bin -which resembled an old bureau with a flap-cover and a coating of tar, -but burst, stood on four legs by the wall. Here slop-pails were emptied -and rubbish thrown, and through the cracks a black stream flowed over -the court. Great rats lurked under the dust-bin and looked out now -and then, scurrying off to hide themselves in the cellar. Woodsheds -and closets lined one side of the court. Here there was dampness, -darkness, and an evil smell. John's first attempt to scrape out the -sand between the great paving-stones was frustrated by the irascible -landlord's deputy. The latter had a son with whom John played, but -never felt safe. The boy was inferior to him in physical strength and -intelligence, but when disputes arose he used to appeal to his father. -His superiority consisted in having an authority behind him.</p> - -<p>The baron on the ground-floor had a staircase with iron banisters. John -liked playing on it, but all attempts to climb on the balustrade were -hindered by the servant who rushed out.</p> - -<p>He was strictly forbidden to go out in the street. But when he looked -through the doorway, and saw the churchyard gate, he heard the children -playing there. He had no longing to be with them, for he feared -children; looking down the street, he saw the Clara lake and the -drawbridges. That looked novel and mysterious, but he feared the water. -On quiet winter evenings he had heard cries for help from drowning -people. These, indeed, were often heard. As they were sitting by the -lamp in the nursery, one of the servant-maids would say, "Hush!" and -all would listen while long, continuous cries would be heard.... "Now -someone is drowning," one of the girls said. They listened till all was -still, and then told stories of others who had been drowned.</p> - -<p>The nursery looked towards the courtyard, and through the window one -saw a zinc roof and a pair of attics in which stood a quantity of old -disused furniture and other household stuff. This furniture, without -any people to use it, had a weird effect. The servants said that the -attics were haunted. What "haunted" meant they could not exactly say, -only that it had something to do with dead men going about. Thus are -we all brought up by the lower classes. It is an involuntary revenge -which they take by inoculating our children with superstitions which -we have cast aside. Perhaps this is what hinders development so much, -while it somewhat obliterates the distinction between the classes. -Why does a mother let this most important duty slip from her hands—a -mother who is supported by the father in order that she may educate her -children? John's mother only occasionally said his evening prayer with -him; generally it was the maidservant. The latter had taught him an old -Catholic prayer which ran as follows:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Through our house an angel goes,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In each hand a light he shows."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The other rooms looked out on the Clara churchyard. Above the -lime-trees the nave of the church rose like a mountain, and on the -mountain sat the giant with a copper hat, who kept up a never-ceasing -clamour in order to announce the flight of time. He sounded the quarter -hours in soprano, and the hours in bass. He rang for early morning -prayer with a tinkling sound, for matins at eight o'clock and vespers -at seven. He rang thrice during the forenoon, and four times during -the afternoon. He chimed all the hours from ten till four at night; he -tolled in the middle of the week at funerals, and often, at the time I -speak of, during the cholera epidemic. On Sundays he rang so much that -the whole family was nearly reduced to tears, and no one could hear -what the other said. The chiming at night, when John lay awake, was -weird; but worst of all was the ringing of an alarm when a fire broke -out. When he heard the deep solemn boom in the middle of the night for -the first time he shuddered feverishly and wept. On such occasions -the household always awoke, and whisperings were heard: "There is a -fire!"—"Where?" They counted the strokes, and then went to sleep -again; but he kept awake and wept. Then his mother came upstairs, -tucked him up, and said: "Don't be afraid; God protects unfortunate -people!" He had never thought that of God before. In the morning the -servant-girls read in the papers that there had been a fire in Soder, -and that two people had been killed. "It was God's will," said the -mother.</p> - -<p>His first awakening to consciousness was mixed with the pealing, -chiming, and tolling of bells. All his first thoughts and impressions -were accompanied by the ringing for funerals, and the first years of -his life were counted out by strokes of the quarter. The effect on him -was certainly not cheerful, even if it did not decidedly tell on his -nervous system. But who can say? The first years are as important as -the nine months which precede them.</p> - -<p>The recollections of childhood show how the senses first partly awaken -and receive the most vivid impressions, how the feelings are moved by -the lightest breath, how the faculty of observation first fastens on -the most striking outward appearances and, later, on moral relations -and qualities, justice and injustice, power and pity.</p> - -<p>These memories lie in confusion, unformed and undefined, like pictures -in a thaumatrope. But when it is made to revolve, they melt together -and form a picture, significant or insignificant as the case may be.</p> - -<p>One day the child sees splendid pictures of emperors and kings in blue -and red uniforms, which the servant-girls hang up in the nursery. He -sees another representing a building which flies in the air and is -full of Turks. Another time he hears someone read in a newspaper how, -in a distant land, they are firing cannon at towns and villages, and -remembers many details—for instance, his mother weeping at hearing -of poor fishermen driven out of their burning cottages with their -children. These pictures and descriptions referred to Czar Nicholas and -Napoleon III., the storming of Sebastopol, and the bombardment of the -coast of Finland. On another occasion his father spends the whole day -at home. All the tumblers in the house are placed on the window-ledges. -They are filled with sand in which candles are inserted and lit at -night. All the rooms are warm and bright. It is bright too in the Clara -school-house and in the church and the vicarage; the church is full of -music. These are the illuminations to celebrate the recovery of King -Oscar.</p> - -<p>One day there is a great noise in the kitchen. The bell is rung and his -mother called. There stands a man in uniform with a book in his hand -and writes. The cook weeps, his mother supplicates and speaks loud, but -the man with the helmet speaks still louder. It is the policeman! The -cry goes all over the house, and all day long they talk of the police. -His father is summoned to the police-station. Will he be arrested? No; -but he has to pay three rix-dollars and sixteen skillings, because the -cook had emptied a utensil in the gutter in the daytime.</p> - -<p>One afternoon he sees them lighting the lamps in the street. A cousin -draws his attention to the fact that they have no oil and no wicks, but -only a metal burner. They are the first gas-lamps.</p> - -<p>For many nights he lies in bed, without getting up by day. He is tired -and sleepy. A harsh-voiced man comes to the bed, and says that he must -not lay his hands outside the coverlet. They give him evil-tasting -stuff with a spoon; he eats nothing. There is whispering in the room, -and his mother weeps. Then he sits again at the window in the bedroom. -Bells are tolling the whole day long. Green biers are carried over the -churchyard. Sometimes a dark mass of people stand round a black chest. -Gravediggers with their spades keep coming and going. He has to wear a -copper plate suspended by a blue silk ribbon on his breast, and chew -all day at a root. That is the cholera epidemic of 1854.</p> - -<p>One day he goes a long way with one of the servants—so far that he -becomes homesick and cries for his mother. The servant takes him into -a house; they sit in a dark kitchen near a green water-butt. He thinks -he will never see his home again. But they still go on, past ships and -barges, past a gloomy brick house with long high walls behind which -prisoners sit. He sees a new church, a new alley lined with trees, a -dusty high-road along whose edges dandelions grow. Now the servant -carries him. At last they come to a great stone building hard by which -is a yellow wooden house with a cross, surrounded by a large garden. -They see limping, mournful-looking people dressed in white. They reach -a great hall where are nothing but beds painted brown, with old women -in them. The walls are whitewashed, the old women are white, and the -beds are white. There is a very bad smell. They pass by a row of beds, -and in the middle of the room stop at a bed on the right side. In it -lies a woman younger than the rest with black curly hair confined by -a night-cap. She lies half on her back; her face is emaciated, and -she wears a white cloth over her head and ears. Her thin hands are -wrapped up in white bandages and her arms shake ceaselessly so that her -knuckles knock against each other. When she sees the child, her arms -and knees tremble violently, and she bursts into tears. She kisses his -head, but the boy does not feel comfortable. He is shy, and not far -from crying himself. "Don't you know Christina again?" she says; but he -does not. Then she dries her eyes and describes her sufferings to the -servant, who is taking eatables out of a basket.</p> - -<p>The old women in white now begin to talk in an undertone, and Christina -begs the servant not to show what she has in the basket, for they are -so envious. Accordingly the servant pushes surreptitiously a yellow -rix-dollar into the psalm-book on the table. The child finds the whole -thing tedious. His heart says nothing to him; it does not tell him that -he has drunk this woman's milk, which really belonged to another; it -does not tell him that he had slept his best sleep on that shrunken -bosom, that those shaking arms had cradled, carried, and dandled him; -his heart says nothing, for the heart is only a muscle, which pumps -blood indifferent as to the source it springs from. But after receiving -her last fervent kisses, after bowing to the old women and the nurse, -and breathing freely in the courtyard after inhaling the close air -of the sick-ward, he becomes somehow conscious of a debt, which can -only be paid by perpetual gratitude, a few eatables, and a rix-dollar -slipped into a psalm-book, and he feels ashamed at being glad to get -away from the brown-painted beds of the sufferers.</p> - -<p>It was his wet-nurse, who subsequently lay for fifteen years in the -same bed, suffering from fits of cramp and wasting disease, till she -died. Then he received his portrait in a schoolboy's cap, sent back by -the directors of the Sabbatsberg infirmary, where it had hung for many -years. During that time the growing youth had only once a year given -her an hour of indescribable joy, and himself one of some uneasiness -of conscience, by going to see her. Although he had received from her -inflammation in his blood, and cramp in his nerves, still he felt he -owed her a debt, a representative debt. It was not a personal one, for -she had only given him what she had been obliged to sell. The fact that -she had been compelled to sell it was the sin of society, and as a -member of society he felt himself in a certain degree guilty.</p> - -<p>Sometimes the child went to the churchyard, where everything seemed -strange. The vaults with the stone monuments bearing inscriptions and -carved figures, the grass on which one might not step, the trees with -leaves which one might not touch. One day his uncle plucked a leaf, -but the police were instantly on the spot. The great building in the -middle was unintelligible to him. People went in and out of it, and one -heard singing and music, ringing and chiming. It was mysterious. At the -east end was a window with a gilded eye. That was God's eye. He did not -understand that, but at any rate it was a large eye which must see far.</p> - -<p>Under the window was a grated cellar-opening. His uncle pointed out to -him the polished coffins below. "Here," he said, "lives Clara the Nun." -Who was she? He did not know, but supposed it must be a ghost.</p> - -<p>One day he stands in an enormous room and does not know where he is; -but it is beautiful, everything in white and gold. Music, as if from a -hundred pianos, sounds over his head, but he cannot see the instrument -or the person who plays it. There stand long rows of benches, and quite -in front is a picture, probably of some Bible story. Two white-winged -figures are kneeling, and near them are two large candlesticks. Those -are probably the angels with the two lights who go about our house. -The people on the benches are bowed down as though they were sleeping. -"Take your caps off," says his uncle, and holds his hat before his -face. The boys look round, and see close beside them a strange-looking -seat on which are two men in grey mantles and hoods. They have iron -chains on their hands and feet, and policemen stand by them.</p> - -<p>"Those are thieves," whispers their uncle.</p> - -<p>All this oppresses the boy with a sense of weirdness, strangeness, and -severity. His brothers also feel it, for they ask their uncle to go, -and he complies.</p> - -<p>Strange! Such are the impressions made by that form of worship which -was intended to symbolise the simple truths of Christianity. But it was -not like the mild teaching of Christ. The sight of the thieves was the -worst—in iron chains, and such coats!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>One day, when the sun shines warmly, there is a great stir in the -house. Articles of furniture are moved from their place, drawers are -emptied, clothes are thrown about everywhere. A morning or two after, -a waggon comes to take away the things, and so the journey begins. -Some of the family start in a boat from "the red shop," others go in -a cab. Near the harbour there is a smell of oil, tar, and coal smoke; -the freshly painted steamboats shine in gay colours and their flags -flutter in the breeze; drays rattle past the long row of lime-trees; -the yellow riding-school stands dusty and dirty near a woodshed. They -are going on the water, but first they go to see their father in his -office. John is astonished to find him looking cheerful and brisk, -joking with the sunburnt steamer captains and laughing in a friendly, -pleasant way. Indeed, he seems quite youthful, and has a bow and arrows -with which the captains amuse themselves by shooting at the window of -the riding-school. The office is small, but they can go behind the -green partition and drink a glass of porter behind a curtain. The -clerks are attentive and polite when his father speaks to them. John -had never before seen his father at work, but only known him in the -character of a tired, hungry provider for his family, who preferred to -live with nine persons in three rooms, than alone in two. He had only -seen his father at leisure, eating and reading the paper when he came -home in the evening, but never in his official capacity. He admired -him, but he felt that he feared him now less, and thought that some day -he might come to love him.</p> - -<p>He fears the water, but before he knows where he is he finds himself -sitting in an oval room ornamented in white and gold, and containing -red satin sofas. Such a splendid room he has never seen before. But -everything rattles and shakes. He looks out of a little window, and -sees green banks, bluish-green waves, sloops carrying hay, and steamers -passing by. It is like a panorama or something seen at a theatre. On -the banks move small red and white houses, outside which stand green -trees with a sprinkling of snow upon them; larger green meadows rush -past with red cows standing in them, looking like Christmas toys. The -sun gets high, and now they reach trees with yellow foliage and brown -caterpillars, bridges with sailing-boats flying flags, cottages with -fowls pecking and dogs barking. The sun shines on rows of windows which -lie on the ground, and old men and women go about with water-cans and -rakes. Then appear green trees again bending over the water, and yellow -and white bath-houses; overhead a cannon-shot is fired; the rattling -and shaking cease; the banks stand still; above him he sees a stone -wall, men's coats and trousers and a multitude of boots. He is carried -up some steps which have a gilded rail, and sees a very large castle. -Somebody says, "Here the King lives."</p> - -<p>It was the castle of Drottningholm—the most beautiful memory of his -childhood, even including the fairy-tale books.</p> - -<p>Their things are unpacked in a little white house on a hill, and now -the children roll on the grass, on real green grass without dandelions, -like that in the Clara churchyard. It is so high and bright, and the -woods and fiords are green and blue in the distance.</p> - -<p>The dust-bin is forgotten, the schoolroom with its foul atmosphere has -disappeared, the melancholy church-bells sound no more, and the graves -are far away. But in the evening a bell rings in a little belfry quite -near at hand. With astonishment he sees the modest little bell which -swings in the open air, and sends its sound far over the park and bay. -He thinks of the terrible deep-toned bell in the tower at home, which -seemed to him like a great black maw when he looked into it, as it -swung, from below. In the evening, when he is tired and has been washed -and put to bed, he hears how the silence seems to hum in his ears, and -waits in vain to hear the strokes and chiming of the bell in the tower.</p> - -<p>The next morning he wakes to get up and play. He plays day after -day for a whole week. He is in nobody's way, and everything is so -peaceful. The little ones sleep in the nursery, and he is in the open -air all day long. His father does not appear; but on Saturday he comes -out from the town and pinches the boys' cheeks because they have grown -and become sunburnt. "He does not beat us now any more," thinks the -child; but he does not trace this to the simple fact that here outside -the city there is more room and the air is purer.</p> - -<p>The slimmer passes gloriously, as enchanting as a fairy-tale; through -the poplar avenues run lackeys in silver-embroidered livery, on the -water float sky-blue dragon-ships with real princes and princesses, -on the roads roll golden chaises and purple-red coaches drawn by Arab -horses four-in-hand, and the whips are as long as the reins.</p> - -<p>Then there is the King's castle with the polished floors, the gilt -furniture, marble-tiled stoves and pictures; the park with its -avenues like long lofty green churches, the fountains ornamented with -unintelligible figures from story-books; the summer-theatre that -remained a puzzle to the child, but was used as a maze; the Gothic -tower, always closed and mysterious, which had nothing else to do but -to echo back the sound of voices.</p> - -<p>He is taken for a walk in the park by a cousin whom he calls "aunt." -She is a well-dressed maiden just grown up, and carries a parasol. -They come into a gloomy wood of sombre pines; here they wander for a -while, ever farther. Presently they hear a murmur of voices, music, and -the clatter of plates and forks; they find themselves before a little -castle; figures of dragons and snakes wind down from the roof-ridge, -other figures of old men with yellow oval faces, black slanting eyes -and pigtails, look from under them; letters which he cannot read, and -which are unlike any others he has seen, run along the eaves. But below -on the ground-floor of the castle royal personages sit at table by the -open windows and eat from silver dishes and drink wine.</p> - -<p>"There sits the King," says his aunt.</p> - -<p>The child becomes alarmed, and looks round to see whether he has not -trodden on the grass, or is not on the point of doing something wrong. -He believes that the handsome King, who looks friendly, sees right -through him, and he wants to go. But neither Oscar I. nor the French -field-marshals nor the Russian generals trouble themselves about him, -for they are just now discussing the Peace of Paris, which is to make -an end of the war in the East. On the other hand, police-guards, -looking like roused lions, are marching about, and of them he has -an unpleasant recollection. He needs only to see one, and he feels -immediately guilty and thinks of the fine of three rix-dollars and -sixteen skillings. However, he has caught a glimpse of the highest form -of authority—higher than that of his brother, his mother, his father, -the deputy-landlord, the landlord, the general with the plumed helmet, -and the police.</p> - -<p>On another occasion, again with his aunt, he passes a little house -close to the castle. In a courtyard strewn with sand there stands a -man in a panama hat and a summer suit. He has a black beard and looks -strong. Round him there runs a black horse held by a long cord. The man -springs a rattle, cracks a whip, and fires shots.</p> - -<p>"That is the Crown Prince," says his aunt.</p> - -<p>He looked like any other man, and was dressed like his uncle Yanne.</p> - -<p>Another time, in the park, deep in the shade of some trees, a mounted -officer meets them. He salutes the boy's aunt, makes his horse stop, -talks to her, and asks his name. The boy answers, but somewhat shyly. -The dark-visaged man with the kind eyes looks at him, and he hears a -loud peal of laughter. Then the rider disappears. It was the Crown -Prince again. The Crown Prince had spoken to him! He felt elevated, and -at the same time more sure of himself. The dangerous potentate had been -quite pleasant.</p> - -<p>One day he learns that his father and aunt are old acquaintances of a -gentleman who lives in the great castle and wears a three-cornered hat -and a sabre. The castle thenceforward assumes a more friendly aspect. -He is also acquainted with people in it, for the Crown Prince has -spoken with him, and his father calls the chamberlain "thou." Now he -understands that the gorgeous lackeys are of inferior social rank to -him, especially when he hears that the cook goes for walks with one of -them in the evenings. He discovers that he is, at any rate, not on the -lowest stair in the social scale.</p> - -<p>Before he has had time to realise it, the fairy-tale is over. The -dust-bin and the rats are again there, but the deputy-landlord does -not use his authority any more when John wants to dig up stones, for -John has spoken with the Crown Prince, and the family have been for a -summer holiday. The boy has seen the splendour of the upper classes in -the distance. He longs after it, as after a home, but the menial blood -he has from his mother rebels against it. From instinct he reveres the -upper classes, and thinks too much of them ever to be able to hope to -reach them. He feels that he belongs neither to them nor to the menial -class. That becomes one of the struggles in his life.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="II" id="II">II</a></h4> - -<h3>BREAKING-IN</h3> - - -<p>The storm of poverty was now over. The members of the family who had -held together for mutual protection could now all go their own way. But -the overcrowding and unhappy circumstances of the family continued. -However, death weeded them out. Black papers which had contained sweets -distributed at the funeral were being continually gummed on the nursery -walls. The mother constantly went about in a jacket; all the cousins -and aunts had already been used up as sponsors, so that recourse had -now to be made to the clerks, ships' captains, and restaurant-keepers.</p> - -<p>In spite of all, prosperity seemed gradually to return. Since there -was too little space, the family removed to one of the suburbs, and -took a six-roomed house in the Norrtullsgata. At the same time John -entered the Clara High School at the age of seven. It was a long way -for short legs to go four times a day, but his father wished that -the children should grow hardy. That was a laudable object, but so -much unnecessary expenditure of muscular energy should have been -compensated for by nourishing food. However, the household means did -not allow of that, and the monotonous exercise of walking and carrying -a heavy school-satchel provided no sufficient counterpoise to excessive -brain-work. There was, consequently, a loss of moral and physical -equilibrium and new struggles resulted. In winter the seven-year-old -boy and his brothers are waked up at 6 <span style="font-size: 0.7em;">A.M.</span> in pitch darkness. He has -not been thoroughly rested, but still carries the fever of sleep in -his limbs. His father, mother, younger brothers and sisters, and the -servants are still asleep. He washes himself in cold water, drinks a -cup of barley-coffee, eats a French roll, runs over the endings of the -Fourth Declension in <i>Rabe's Grammar</i>, repeats a piece of "Joseph sold -by his brethren," and memorises the Second Article with its explanation.</p> - -<p>Then the books are thrust in the satchel and they start. In the street -it is still dark. Every other oil-lantern sways on the rope in the cold -wind, and the snow lies deep, not having been yet cleared away before -the houses. A little quarrel arises among the brothers about the rate -they are to march. Only the bakers' carts and the police are moving. -Near the Observatory the snow is so deep that their boots and trousers -get wet through. In Kungsbacken Street they meet a baker and buy their -breakfast, a French roll, which they usually eat on the way.</p> - -<p>In Haymarket Street he parts from his brothers, who go to a private -school. When at last he reaches the corner of Berg Street the fatal -clock in the Clara Church strikes the hour. Fear lends wings to his -feet, his satchel bangs against his back, his temples beat, his brain -throbs. As he enters the churchyard gate he sees that the class-rooms -are empty; it is too late!</p> - -<p>In the boy's case the duty of punctuality took the form of a given -promise, a <i>force majeure,</i> a stringent necessity from which nothing -could release him. A ship-captain's bill of lading contains a clause -to the effect that he binds himself to deliver the goods uninjured by -such and such a date "if God wills." If God sends snow or storm, he is -released from his bond. But for the boy there are no such conditions -of exemption. He has neglected his duty, and will be punished: that is -all.</p> - -<p>With a slow step he enters the hall. Only the school porter is there, -who laughs at him, and writes his name on the blackboard under the -heading "Late." A painful hour follows, and then loud cries are heard -in the lower school, and the blows of a cane fall thickly. It is the -headmaster, who has made an onslaught on the late-comers or takes his -exercise on them. John bursts into tears and trembles all over—not -from fear of pain but from a feeling of shame to think that he should -be fallen upon like an animal doomed to slaughter, or a criminal. Then -the door opens. He starts up, but it is only the chamber-maid who comes -in to trim the lamp.</p> - -<p>"Good-day, John," she says. "You are too late; you are generally so -punctual. How is Hanna?"</p> - -<p>John tells her that Hanna is well, and that the snow was very deep in -the Norrtullsgata.</p> - -<p>"Good heavens! You have not come by Norrtullsgata?"</p> - -<p>Then the headmaster opens the door and enters.</p> - -<p>"Well, you!"</p> - -<p>"You must not be angry with John, sir! He lives in Norrtullsgata."</p> - -<p>"Silence, Karin!" says the headmaster, "and go.—Well," he continues: -"you live in the Norrtullsgata. That is certainly a good way. But still -you ought to look out for the time."</p> - -<p>Then he turns and goes. John owed it to Karin that he escaped -a flogging, and to fate that Hanna had chanced to be Karin's -fellow-servant at the headmaster's. Personal influence had saved him -from an injustice.</p> - -<p>And then the school and the teaching! Has not enough been written about -Latin and the cane? Perhaps! In later years he skipped all passages in -books which dealt with reminiscences of school life, and avoided all -books on that subject. When he grew up his worst nightmare, when he had -eaten something indigestible at night or had a specially troublesome -day, was to dream that he was back at school.</p> - -<p>The relation between pupil and teacher is such, that the former gets -as one-sided a view of the latter as a child of its parent. The first -teacher John had looked like the ogre in the story of Tom Thumb. He -flogged continually, and said he would make the boys crawl on the floor -and "beat them to pulp" if they did their exercises badly.</p> - -<p>He was not, however, really a bad fellow, and John and his -school-fellows presented him with an album when he left Stockholm. -Many thought well of him, and considered him a fine character. He ended -as a gentleman farmer and the hero of an Ostgothland idyll.</p> - -<p>Another was regarded as a monster of malignity. He really seemed to -beat the boys because he liked it. He would commence his lesson by -saying, "Bring the cane," and then try to find as many as he could -who had an ill-prepared lesson. He finally committed suicide in -consequence of a scathing newspaper article. Half a year before that, -John, then a student, had met him in Uggelvikswald, and felt moved by -his old teacher's complaints over the ingratitude of the world. A year -previous he had received at Christmas time a box of stones, sent from -an old pupil in Australia. But the colleagues of the stern teacher -used to speak of him as a good-natured fool at whom they made jests. -So many points of view, so many differing judgments! But to this day -old boys of the Clara School cannot meet each other without expressing -their horror and indignation at his unmercifulness, although they all -acknowledge that he was an excellent teacher.</p> - -<p>These men of the old school knew perhaps no better. They had themselves -been brought up on those lines, and we, who learn to understand -everything, are bound also to pardon everything.</p> - -<p>This, however, did not prevent the first period of school life from -appearing to be a preparation for hell and not for life. The teachers -seemed to be there only to torment, not to punish; our school life -weighed upon us like an oppressive nightmare day and night; even having -learned our lessons well before we left home did not save us. Life -seemed a penal institution for crimes committed before we were born, -and therefore the boy always went about with a bad conscience.</p> - -<p>But he learned some social lessons. The Clara School was a school for -the children of the better classes, for the people of the district -were well off. The boy wore leather breeches and greased leather boots -which smelt of train-oil and blacking. Therefore, those who had velvet -jackets did not like sitting near him. He also noticed that the poorly -dressed boys got more floggings than the well-dressed ones, and that -pretty boys were let off altogether. If he had at that time studied -psychology and æsthetics, he would have understood this, but he did not -then.</p> - -<p>The examination day left a pleasant, unforgettable memory. The old -dingy rooms were freshly scoured, the boys wore their best clothes, -and the teachers frock-coats with white ties; the cane was put away, -all punishments were suspended. It was a day of festival and jubilee, -on which one could tread the floor of the torture-chambers without -trembling. The change of places in each class, however, which had -taken place in the morning, brought with it certain surprises, and -those who had been put lower made certain comparisons and observations -which did not always redound to the credit of the teacher. The school -testimonials were also rather hastily drawn up, as was natural. But -the holidays were at hand, and everything else was soon forgotten. At -the conclusion, in the lower schoolroom, the teachers received the -thanks of the Archbishop, and the pupils were reproved and warned. -The presence of the parents, especially the mothers, made the chilly -rooms seem warm, and a sigh involuntarily rose in the boys' hearts, -"Why cannot it be always like to-day?" To some extent the sigh has -been heard, and our present-day youth no longer look upon school as a -penal institute, even if they do not recognise much use in the various -branches of superfluous learning.</p> - -<p>John was certainly not a shining light in the school, but neither was -he a mere good-for-nothing. On account of his precocity in learning he -had been allowed to enter the school before the regulation age, and -therefore he was always the youngest. Although his report justified his -promotion into a higher class, he was still kept a year in his present -one. This was a severe pull-back in his development; his impatient -spirit suffered from having to repeat old lessons for a whole year. -He certainly gained much spare time, but his appetite for learning -was dulled, and he felt himself neglected. At home and school alike -he was the youngest, but only in years; in intelligence he was older -than his school-fellows. His father seemed to have noticed his love -for learning, and to have thought of letting him become a student. He -heard him his lessons, for he himself had had an elementary education. -But when the eight-year-old boy once came to him with a Latin exercise, -and asked for help, his father was obliged to confess that he did not -know Latin. The boy felt his superiority in this point, and it is not -improbable that his father was conscious of it also. He removed John's -elder brother, who had entered the school at the same time, abruptly -from it, because the teacher one day had made the younger, as monitor, -hear the elder his lessons. This was stupid on the part of the -teacher, and it was wise of his father to prevent it.</p> - -<p>His mother was proud of his learning, and boasted of it to her friends. -In the family the word "student" was often heard. At the students' -congress in the fifties, Stockholm was swarming with white caps.</p> - -<p>"Think if you should wear a white cap some day," said his mother.</p> - -<p>When the students' concerts took place, they talked about it for days -at a time. Acquaintances from Upsala sometimes came to Stockholm and -talked of the gay students' life there. A girl who had been in service -in Upsala called John "the student."</p> - -<p>In the midst of his terribly mysterious school life, in which the -boy could discover no essential connection between Latin grammar and -real life, a new mysterious factor appeared for a short time and then -disappeared again. The nine-year-old daughter of the headmaster came to -the French lessons. She was purposely put on the last bench, in order -not to be seen, and to look round was held to be a great misdemeanour. -Her presence, however, was felt in the class-room. The boy, and -probably the whole class, fell in love. The lessons always went well -when she was present; their ambition was spurred, and none of them -wanted to be humiliated or flogged before her. She was, it is true, -ugly, but well dressed. Her gentle voice vibrated among the breaking -voices of the boys, and even the teacher had a smile on his severe face -when he spoke to her. How beautifully her name sounded when he called -it out—one Christian name among all the surnames.</p> - -<p>John's love found expression in a silent melancholy. He never spoke to -her, and would never have dared to do it. He feared and longed for her. -But if anyone had asked him what he wanted from her, he could not have -told them. He wanted nothing from her. A kiss? No; in his family there -was no kissing. To hold her? No! Still less to possess her. Possess? -What should he do with her? He felt that he had a secret. This plagued -him so that he suffered under it, and his whole life was overclouded. -One day at home he seized a knife and said, "I will cut my throat." His -mother thought he was ill. He could not tell her. He was then about -nine years old.</p> - -<p>Perhaps if there had been as many girls as boys in the school -present in all the classes, probably innocent friendships would -have been formed, the electricity would have been carried off, the -Madonna-worship brought within its proper limits, and wrong ideas of -woman would not have followed him and his companions through life.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>His father's contemplative turn of mind, his dislike of meeting -people after his bankruptcy, the unfriendly verdict of public opinion -regarding his originally illegal union with his wife, had induced him -to retire to the Norrtullsgata. Here he had rented a house with a large -garden, wide-stretching fields, with a pasture, stables, farmyard, and -conservatory. He had always liked the occupations of a country life -and agriculture. Before this he had possessed a piece of land outside -the town, but could not look after it. Now he rented a garden for his -own sake and the children's, whose education a little resembled that -described in Rousseau's <i>Emile</i>. The house was separated from its -neighbours by a long fence. The Norrtullsgata was an avenue lined with -trees which as yet had no pavement, and had been but little built upon. -The principal traffic consisted of peasants and milk-carts on their way -to the hay market. Besides these there were also funerals moving slowly -along to the "New Churchyard," sledging parties to Brunnsvik, and -young people on their way to Norrbucka or Stallmastergarden.</p> - -<p>The garden which surrounded the little one-storied house was very -spacious. Long alleys with at least a hundred apple-trees and -berry-bearing bushes crossed each other. Here and there were thick -bowers of lilac and jasmine, and a huge aged oak still stood in a -corner. There was plenty of shade and space, and enough decay to make -the place romantic. East of the garden rose a gravel-hill covered with -maples, beeches, and ash-trees; on the summit of it stood a temple -belonging to the last century. The back of the hill had been dug away -in parts in an unsuccessful attempt to take away gravel, but it had -picturesque little dells filled with osier and thorn bushes. From -this side neither the street nor the house was visible. From here one -obtained a view over Bellevue, Cedardalsberg, and Lilljanskog. One saw -only single scattered houses in the far distance, but on the other hand -numberless gardens and drying-houses for tobacco.</p> - -<p>Thus all the year round they enjoyed a country life, to which they had -no objection. Now the boy could study at first-hand the beauty and -secrets of plant life, and his first spring there was a period of -wonderful surprises. When the freshly turned earth lay black under the -apple-tree's white and pink canopy, when the tulips blazed in oriental -pomp of colour, it seemed to him as he went about in the garden as -if he were assisting at a solemnity more even than at the school -examination, or in church, the Christmas festival itself not excepted.</p> - -<p>But he had also plenty of hard bodily exercise. The boys were sent -with ships' scrapers to clear the moss from the trees; they weeded the -ground, swept the paths, watered and hoed. In the stable there was -a cow with calves; the hay-loft became a swimming school where they -sprang from the beams, and they rode the horses to water.</p> - -<p>They had lively games on the hill, rolled down blocks of stone, climbed -to the tops of the trees, and made expeditions. They explored the woods -and bushes in the Haga Park, climbed up young trees in the ruins, -caught bats, discovered edible wood-sorrel and ferns, and plundered -birds' nests. Soon they laid their bows and arrows aside, discovered -gunpowder, and shot little birds on the hills. They came to be somewhat -uncivilised. They found school more distasteful and the streets more -hateful than ever. Boys' books also helped in this process. <i>Robinson -Crusoe</i> formed an epoch in his life; the <i>Discovery of America</i>, -the <i>Scalp-Hunter</i>, and others aroused in him a sincere dislike of -school-books.</p> - -<p>During the long summer holidays their wildness increased so much that -their mother could no longer control the unruly boys. As an experiment -they were sent at first to the swimming school in Riddarholm, but it -was so far that they wasted half the day on the road thither. Finally, -their father resolved to send the three eldest to a boarding-school in -the country, to spend the rest of the summer there.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="III" id="III">III</a></h4> - -<h3>AWAY FROM HOME</h3> - - -<p>Now he stands on the deck of a steamer far out at sea. He has had so -much to look at on the journey that he has not felt any tedium. But -now it is afternoon, which is always melancholy, like the beginning -of old age. The shadows of the sun fall and alter everything without -hiding everything, like the night. He begins to miss something. He -has a feeling of emptiness, of being deserted, broken off. He wants -to go home, but the consciousness that he cannot do so at once fills -him with terror and despair and he weeps. When his brothers ask him -why, he says he wants to go home to his mother. They laugh at him, but -her image recurs to his mind, serious, mild, and smiling. He hears -her last words at parting: "Be obedient and respectful to all, take -care of your clothes, and don't forget your evening prayer." He thinks -how disobedient he has been to her, and wonders whether she may be -ill. Her image seems glorified, and draws him with unbreakable cords -of longing. This feeling of loneliness and longing after his mother -followed him all through his life. Had he come perhaps too early and -incomplete into the world? What held him so closely bound to his mother?</p> - -<p>To this question he found no answer either in books or in life. But -the fact remained: he never became himself, was never liberated, never -a complete individuality. He remained, as it were, a mistletoe, which -could not grow except upon a tree; he was a climbing plant which must -seek a support. He was naturally weak and timid, but he took part in -all physical exercises; he was a good gymnast, could mount a horse when -on the run, was skilled in the use of all sorts of weapons, was a bold -shot, swimmer, and sailor, but only in order not to appear inferior -to others. If no one watched him when bathing, he merely slipped -into the water; but if anyone <i>was</i> watching, he plunged into it, -head-over-heels, from the roof of the bathing-shed. He was conscious -of his timidity, and wished to conceal it. He never attacked his -school-fellows, but if anyone attacked him, he would strike back even a -stronger boy than himself. He seemed to have been born frightened, and -lived in continual fear of life and of men.</p> - -<p>The ship steams out of the bay and there opens before them a blue -stretch of sea without a shore. The novelty of the spectacle, the -fresh wind, the liveliness of his brothers, cheer him up. It has just -occurred to him that they have come eighteen miles by sea when the -steamboat turns into the Nykopingså river.</p> - -<p>When the gangway has been run out, there appears a middle-aged man with -blond whiskers, who, after a short conversation with the captain, takes -over charge of the boys. He looks friendly, and is cheerful. It is the -parish clerk of Vidala. On the shore there stands a waggon with a black -mare, and soon they are above in the town and stop at a shopkeeper's -house which is also an inn for the country people. It smells of -herrings and small beer, and they get weary of waiting. The boy cries -again. At last Herr Linden comes in a country cart with their baggage, -and after many handshakes and a few glasses of beer they leave the -town. Fallow fields and hedges stretch in a long desolate perspective, -and over some red roofs there rises the edge of a wood in the distance. -The sun sets, and they have to drive for three miles through the dark -wood. Herr Linden talks briskly in order to keep up their spirits. He -tells them about their future school-fellows, the bathing-places, and -strawberry-picking. John sleeps till they have reached an inn where -there are drunken peasants. The horses are taken out and watered. Then -they continue their journey through dark woods. In one place they have -to get down and climb up a hill. The horses steam with perspiration -and snort, the peasants on the baggage-cart joke and drink, the parish -clerk chats with them and tells funny stories. Still they go on -sleeping and waking, getting down and resting alternately. Still there -are more woods, which used to be haunted by robbers, black pine woods -under the starry sky, cottages and hedges. The boy is quite alarmed, -and approaches the unknown with trembling.</p> - -<p>At last they are on a level road; the day dawns, and the waggon stops -before a red house. Opposite it is a tall dark building—a church—once -more a church. An old woman, as she appears to him, tall and thin, -comes out, receives the boys, and conducts them into a large room on -the ground-floor, where there is a cover-table. She has a sharp voice -which does not sound friendly, and John is afraid. They eat in the -gloom, but do not relish the unusual food, and one of them has to choke -down tears. Then they are led in the dark into an attic. No lamp is -lit. The room is narrow; pallets and beds are laid across chairs and -on the floor, and there is a terrible odor. There is a stirring in the -beds, and one head rises, and then another. There are whispers and -murmurs, but the new-comers can see no faces. The eldest brother gets -a bed to himself, but John and the second brother lie foot to foot. It -is a new thing for them, but they creep into bed and draw the blankets -over them. His elder brother stretches himself out at his ease, but -John protests against this encroachment. They push each other with -their feet, and John is struck. He weeps at once. The eldest brother is -already asleep. Then there comes a voice from a corner on the ground: -"Lie still, you young devils, and don't fight!"</p> - -<p>"What do you say?" answers his brother, who is inclined to be impudent.</p> - -<p>The bass voice answers, "What do I say? I say—Leave the youngster -alone."</p> - -<p>"What have you to do with that?"</p> - -<p>"A good deal. Come here, and I'll thrash you."</p> - -<p>"<i>You</i> thrash <i>me</i>!"</p> - -<p>His brother stands up in his night-shirt. The owner of the bass voice -comes towards him. All that one can see is a short sturdy figure with -broad shoulders. A number of spectators sit upright in their beds.</p> - -<p>They fight, and the elder brother gets the worst of it.</p> - -<p>"No! don't hit him! don't hit him!"</p> - -<p>The small brother throws himself between the combatants. He could not -see anyone of his own flesh and blood being beaten or suffering without -feeling it in all his nerves. It was another instance of his want of -independence and consciousness of the closeness of the blood-tie.</p> - -<p>Then there is silence and dreamless sleep, which Death is said to -resemble, and therefore entices so many to premature rest.</p> - -<p>Now there begins a new little section of life—an education without his -parents, for the boy is out in the world among strangers. He is timid, -and carefully avoids every occasion of being blamed. He attacks no -one, but defends himself against bullies. There are, however, too many -of them for the equilibrium to be maintained. Justice is administered -by the broad-shouldered boy mentioned above, who is humpbacked, and -always takes the weaker one's part when unrighteously attacked.</p> - -<p>In the morning they do their lessons, bathe before dinner, and do -manual labour in the afternoon. They weed the garden, fetch water from -the spring, and keep the stable clean. It is their father's wish that -the boys should do physical work, although they pay the usual fees.</p> - -<p>But John's obedience and conscientiousness do not suffice to render -his life tolerable. His brothers incur all kinds of reprimands, and -under them he also suffers much. He is keenly conscious of their -solidarity, and is in this summer only as it were the third part of a -person. There are no other punishments except detention, but even the -reprimands disquiet him. Manual labour makes him physically strong, but -his nerves are just as sensitive as before. Sometimes he pines for his -mother, sometimes he is in extremely high spirits and indulges in risky -amusements, such as piling up stones in a limestone quarry and lighting -a fire at the bottom of it, or sliding down steep hills on a board. He -is alternately timid and daring, overflowing with spirits or brooding, -but without proper balance.</p> - -<p>The church stands on the opposite side of the way, and with its black -roof and white walls throws a shadow across the summer-like picture. -Daily from his window he sees monumental crosses which rise above the -churchyard wall. The church clock does not strike day and night as -that in the Clara Church did, but in the evenings at six o'clock one -of the boys is allowed to pull the bell-rope which hangs in the tower. -It was a solemn moment when, for the first time, his turn came. He -felt like a church official, and when he counted three times the three -bell-strokes, he thought that God, the pastor, and the congregation -would suffer harm if he rang one too many. On Sundays the bigger boys -were allowed to ring the bells. Then John stood on the dark wooden -staircase and wondered.</p> - -<p>In the course of the summer there arrived a black-bordered proclamation -which caused great commotion when read aloud in church. King Oscar was -dead. Many good things were reported of him, even if no one mourned -him. And now the bells rang daily between twelve and one o'clock. In -fact, church-bells seemed to follow him.</p> - -<p>The boys played in the churchyard among the graves and soon grew -familiar with the church. On Sundays they were all assembled in the -organ-loft. When the parish clerk struck up the psalm, they took their -places by the organ-stops, and when he gave them a sign, all the stops -were drawn out and they marched into the choir. That always made a -great impression on the congregation.</p> - -<p>But the fact of his having to come in such proximity to holy things, -and of his handling the requisites of worship, etc., made him familiar -with them, and his respect for them diminished. For instance, he did -not find the Lord's Supper edifying when on Saturday evening he had -eaten some of the holy bread in the parish clerk's kitchen, where it -was baked and stamped with the impression of a crucifix. The boys ate -these pieces of bread, and called them wafers. Once after the Holy -Communion he and the churchwarden were offered the rest of the wine in -the vestry.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, after he had been parted from his mother, and felt -himself surrounded by unknown threatening powers, he felt a profound -need of having recourse to some refuge and of keeping watch. He prayed -his evening prayer with a fair amount of devotion; in the morning, when -the sun shone, and he was well rested, he did not feel the need of it.</p> - -<p>One day when the church was being aired the boys were playing in -it. In an access of high spirits they stormed the altar. But John, -who was egged on to something more daring, ran up into the pulpit, -reversed the hour-glass, and began to preach out of the Bible. This -made a great sensation. Then he descended, and ran along the tops of -the pews through the whole church. When he had reached the pew next -to the altar, which belonged to a count's family, he stepped too -heavily on the reading-desk, which fell with a crash to the ground. -There was a panic, and all the boys rushed out of church. He stood -alone and desolate. In other circumstances he would have run to his -mother, acknowledged his fault, and implored her help. But she was -not there. Then he thought of God; he fell on his knees before the -altar, and prayed through the Paternoster. Then, as though inspired -with a thought from above, he arose calmed and strengthened, examined -the desk, and found that its joints were not broken. He took a clamp, -dovetailed the joints together, and, using his boot as a hammer, with -a few well-directed blows repaired the desk. He tried it, and found it -firm. Then he went greatly relieved out of the church. "How simple!" -he thought to himself, and felt ashamed of having prayed the Lord's -Prayer. Why? Perhaps he felt dimly that in this obscure complex which -we call the soul there lives a power which, summoned to self-defence at -the hour of need, possesses a considerable power of extricating itself. -He did not fall on his knees and thank God, and this showed that he did -not believe it was He who had helped him. That obscure feeling of shame -probably arose from the fact of his perceiving that he had crossed a -river to fetch water, <i>i.e.</i>, that his prayer had been superfluous.</p> - -<p>But this was only a passing moment of self-consciousness. He continued -to be variable and capricious. Moodiness, caprice, or <i>diables noirs,</i> -as the French call it, is a not completely explained phenomenon. The -victim of them is like one possessed; he wants something, but does -the opposite; he suffers from the desire to do himself an injury, and -finds almost a pleasure in self-torment. It is a sickness of the soul -and of the will, and former psychologists tried to explain it by the -hypothesis of a duality in the brain, the two hemispheres of which, -they thought, under certain conditions could operate independently -each for itself and against the other. But this explanation has been -rejected. Many have observed the phenomenon of duplex personality, and -Goethe has handled this theme in <i>Faust</i>. In capricious children who -"do not know what they want," as the saying is, the nerve-tension ends -in tears. They "beg for a whipping," and it is strange that on such -occasions a slight chastisement restores the nervous equilibrium and -is almost welcomed by the child, who is at once pacified, appeased, -and not at all embittered by the punishment, which in its view must -have been unjust. It really had asked for a beating as a medicine. But -there is also another way of expelling the "black dog." One takes the -child in one's arms so that it feels the magnetism of friendship and is -quieted. That is the best way of all.</p> - -<p>John suffered from similar attacks of caprice. When some treat was -proposed to him, a strawberry-picking expedition for example, he asked -to be allowed to remain at home, though he knew he would be bored to -death there. He would have gladly gone, but he insisted on remaining at -home. Another will stronger than his own commanded him to do so. The -more they tried to persuade him, the stronger was his resistance. But -then if someone came along jovially and with a jest seized him by the -collar, and threw him into the haycart, he obeyed and was relieved to -be thus liberated from the mysterious will that mastered him. Generally -speaking, he obeyed gladly and never wished to put himself forward -or be prominent. So much of the slave was in his nature. His mother -had served and obeyed in her youth, and as a waitress had been polite -towards everyone.</p> - -<p>One Sunday they were in the parsonage, where there were young girls. -He liked them, but he feared them. All the children went out to pluck -strawberries. Someone suggested that they should collect the berries -without eating them, in order to eat them at home with sugar. John -plucked diligently and kept the agreement; he did not eat one, but -honestly delivered up his share, though he saw others cheating. On -their return home the berries were divided by the pastor's daughter, -and the children pressed round her in order that each might get a full -spoonful. John kept as far away as possible; he was forgotten and -berryless.</p> - -<p>He had been passed over! Full of the bitter consciousness of this, -he went into the garden and concealed himself in an arbour. He felt -himself to be the last and meanest. He did not weep, however, but was -conscious of something hard and cold rising within, like a skeleton of -steel. After he had passed the whole company under critical review, he -found that he was the most honest, because he had not eaten a single -strawberry outside; and then came the false inference—he had been -passed over because he was better than the rest. The result was that he -really regarded himself as such, and felt a deep satisfaction at having -been overlooked.</p> - -<p>He had also a special skill in making himself invisible, or keeping -concealed so as to be passed over. One evening his father brought -home a peach. Each child received a slice of the rare fruit, with the -exception of John, and his otherwise just father did not notice it. He -felt so proud at this new reminder of his gloomy destiny that later in -the evening he boasted of it to his brothers. They did not believe him, -regarding his story as improbable. The more improbable the better, he -thought. He was also plagued by antipathies. One Sunday in the country -a cart full of boys came to the parish clerk's. A brown-complexioned -boy with a mischievous and impudent face alighted from it. John -ran away at the first sight of him, and hid himself in the attic. -They found him out: the parish clerk cajoled him, but he remained -sitting in his corner and listened to the children playing till the -brown-complexioned boy had gone away.</p> - -<p>Neither cold baths, wild games, nor hard physical labour could harden -his sensitive nerves, which at certain moments became strung up to the -highest possible pitch. He had a good memory, and learned his lessons -well, especially practical subjects such as geography and natural -science. He liked arithmetic, but hated geometry; a science which -seemed to deal with unrealities disquieted him. It was not till later, -when a book of land mensuration came into his hands and he had obtained -an insight into the practical value of geometry, that the subject -interested him. He then measured trees and houses, the garden and its -avenues, and constructed cardboard models.</p> - -<p>He was now entering his tenth year. He was broad-shouldered, with -a sunburnt complexion; his hair was fair, and hung over a sickly -looking high and prominent forehead, which often formed a subject of -conversation and caused his relatives to give him the nickname of "the -professor." He was no more an automaton, but began to make his own -observations and to draw inferences. He was approaching the time when -he would be severed from his surroundings and go alone. Solitude had -to take for him the place of desert-wandering, for he had not a strong -enough individuality to go his own way. His sympathies for men were -doomed not to be reciprocated, because their thoughts did not keep pace -with his. He was destined to go about and offer his heart to the first -comer; but no one would take it, because it was strange to them, and so -he would retire into himself, wounded, humbled, overlooked, and passed -by.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The summer came to an end, and when the school-term began he returned -to Stockholm. The gloomy house by the Clara churchyard seemed doubly -depressing to him now, and when he saw the long row of class-rooms -through which he must work his way in a fixed number of years in order -to do laboriously the same through another row of class-rooms in the -High School, life did not seem to him particularly inviting. At the -same time his self-opinionatedness began to revolt against the lessons, -and consequently he got bad reports. A term later, when he had been -placed lower in his class, his father took him from the Clara School -and placed him in the Jacob School. At the same time they left the -Norrtullsgata and took a suburban house in the Stora Grabergsgata near -the Sabbatsberg.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IV" id="IV">IV</a></h4> - -<h3>INTERCOURSE WITH THE LOWER CLASSES</h3> - - -<p>Christinenberg, so we will call the house, had a still more lonely -situation than that in the Norrtullsgata.<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The Grabergsgata had no -pavement. Often for hours at a time one never saw more than a single -pedestrian in it, and the noise of a passing cart was an event which -brought people to their windows. The house stood in a courtyard with -many trees, and resembled a country parsonage. It was surrounded by -gardens and tobacco plantations; extensive fields with ponds stretched -away to Sabbatsberg. But their father rented no land here, so that -the boys spent their time in loafing about. Their playfellows now -consisted of the children of poorer people, such as the miller's and -the milkman's. Their chief playground was the hill on which the mill -stood, and the wings of the windmill were their playthings.</p> - -<p>The Jacob School was attended by the poorer class of children. Here -John came in contact with the lower orders. The boys were ill dressed; -they had sores on their noses, ugly features, and smelt bad. His own -leather breeches and greased boots produced no bad effect here. In -these surroundings, which pleased him, he felt more at his ease. He -could be on more confidential terms with these boys than with the proud -ones in the Clara School. But many of these children were very good at -their lessons, and the genius of the school was a peasant boy. At the -same time there were so-called "louts" in the lower classes, and these -generally did not get beyond the second class. He was now in the third, -and did not come into contact with them, nor did they with those in the -higher classes. These boys worked out of school, had black hands, and -were as old as fourteen or fifteen. Many of them were employed during -the summer on the brig <i>Carl Johann</i>, and then appeared in autumn with -tarry trousers, belts, and knives. They fought with chimney-sweeps and -tobacco-binders, took drams, and visited restaurants and coffee-houses. -These boys were liable to ceaseless examinations and expulsions and -were generally regarded, but with great injustice, as a bad lot. Many -of them grew up to be respectable citizens, and one who had served on -the "louts' brig" finally became an officer of the Guard. He never -ventured to talk of his sea voyages, but said that he used to shudder -when he led the watch to relieve guard at Nybrohanm, and saw the -notorious brig lying there.</p> - -<p>One day John met a former school-fellow from the Clara School, and -tried to avoid him. But the latter came directly towards him, and asked -him what school he was attending. "Ah, yes," he said, on being told, -"you are going to the louts' school."</p> - -<p>John felt that he had come down, but he had himself wished it. He did -not stand above his companions, but felt himself at home with them, -on friendly terms, and more comfortable than in the Clara School, -for here there was no pressure on him from above. He himself did not -wish to climb up and press down others, but he suffered himself from -being pressed down. He himself did not wish to ascend, but he felt a -need that there should be none above him. But it annoyed him to feel -that his old school-fellows thought that he had gone down. When at -gymnastic displays he appeared among the grimy-looking troop of the -Jacobites, and met the bright files of the Clara School in their -handsome uniforms and clean faces, then he was conscious of a class -difference, and when from the opposite camp the word "louts" was heard, -then there was war in the air. The two schools fought sometimes, but -John took no part in these encounters. He did not wish to see his old -friends, and to show how he had come down.</p> - -<p>The examination day in the Jacob School made a very different -impression from that in the Clara School. Artisans, poorly clad old -women, restaurant-keepers dressed up for the occasion, coach-men, and -publicans formed the audience. And the speech of the school inspector -was quite other than the flowery one of the Archbishop. He read out the -names of the idle and the stupid, scolded the parents because their -children came too late or did not turn up at all, and the hall reechoed -the sobs of poor mothers who were probably not at all to blame for the -easily explained non-attendances, and who in their simplicity believed -that they had bad sons. It was always the well-to-do citizens' sons who -had had the leisure to devote themselves exclusively to their tasks, -who were now greeted as patterns of virtue.</p> - -<p>In the moral teaching which the boy received he heard nothing of his -rights, only of his duties. Everything he was taught to regard as a -favour; he lived by favour, ate by favour, and went as a favour to -school. And in this poor children's school more and more was demanded -of them. It was demanded from them, for instance, that they should have -untorn clothes—but from whence were they to get them?</p> - -<p>Remarks were made upon their hands because they had been blackened -by contact with tar and pitch. There was demanded of them attention, -good morals, politeness, <i>i.e.</i>, mere impossibilities. The æsthetic -susceptibilities of the teachers often led them to commit acts of -injustice. Near John sat a boy whose hair was never combed, who had -a sore under his nose, and an evil-smelling flux from his ears. His -hands were dirty, his clothes spotted and torn. He rarely knew his -lessons, and was scolded and caned on the palms of his hands. One day -a school-fellow accused him of bringing vermin into the class. He was -then made to sit apart in a special place. He wept bitterly, ah! so -bitterly, and then kept away from school.</p> - -<p>John was sent to look him up at his house. He lived in the Undertakers' -street. The painter's family lived with the grandmother and many small -children in one room. When John went there he found George, the boy in -question, holding on his knee, a little sister, who screamed violently. -The grandmother carried a little one on her arm. The father and mother -were away at work. In this room, which no one had time to clean, and -which could not be cleaned, there was a smell of sulphur fumes from the -coals and from the uncleanliness of the children. Here the clothes were -dried, food was cooked, oil-colours were rubbed, putty was kneaded. -Here were laid bare the grounds of George's immorality. "But," perhaps -a moralist may object, "one is never so poor that one cannot keep -oneself clean and tidy." <i>Sancta simplicitas!</i> As if to pay for sewing -(when there was anything whole to sew), soap, clothes-washing, and time -cost nothing. Complete cleanliness and tidiness is the highest point to -which the poor can attain; George could not, and was therefore cast out.</p> - -<p>Some younger moralists believe they have made the discovery that the -lower classes are more immoral than the higher. By "immoral" they -mean that they do not keep social contracts so well as the upper -classes. That is a mistake, if not something worse. In all cases, in -which the lower classes are not compelled by necessity, they are more -conscientious than the upper ones. They are more merciful towards their -fellows, gentler to children, and especially more patient. How long -have they allowed their toil to be exploited by the upper classes, till -at last they begin to be impatient!</p> - -<p>Moreover, the social laws have been kept as long as possible in a state -of instability and uncertainty. Why are they not clearly defined and -printed like civil and divine laws? Perhaps because an honestly written -moral law would have to take some cognizance of rights as well as -duties.</p> - -<p>John's revolt against the school-teaching increased. At home he learned -all he could, but he neglected the school-lessons. The principal -subjects taught in the school were now Latin and Greek, but the method -of teaching was absurd. Half a year was spent in explaining a campaign -in <i>Cornelius</i>. The teacher had a special method of confusing the -subject by making the scholar analyse the "grammatical construction" of -the sentence. But he never explained what this meant. It consisted in -reading the words of the text in a certain order, but he did not say in -which. It did not agree with the Swedish translation, and when John had -tried to grasp the connection, but failed, he preferred to be silent. -He was obstinate, and when he was called upon to explain something he -was silent, even when he knew his lesson. For as soon as he began to -read, he was assailed with a storm of reproaches for the accent he put -on the words, the pace at which he read, his voice, everything.</p> - -<p>"Cannot you, do not you understand?" the teacher shouted, beside -himself.</p> - -<p>The boy was silent, and looked at the pedant contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"Are you dumb?"</p> - -<p>He remained silent. He was too old to be beaten; besides, this form of -punishment was gradually being disused. He was therefore told to sit -down.</p> - -<p>He could translate the text into Swedish, but not in the way the -teacher wished. That the teacher only permitted one way of translating -seemed to him silly. He had already rushed through <i>Cornelius</i> in a few -weeks, and this deliberate, unreasonable crawling when one could run, -depressed him. He saw no sense in it.</p> - -<p>The same kind of thing happened in the history lessons. "Now, John," -the teacher would say, "tell me what you know about Gustav I."</p> - -<p>The boy stands up, and his vagrant thoughts express themselves as -follows: "What I know about Gustav I. Oh! a good deal. But I knew that -when I was in the lowest class (he is now in the fourth), and the -master knows it too. What is the good of repeating it all again?"</p> - -<p>"Well! is that all you know?"</p> - -<p>He had not said a word about Gustav I., and his school-fellows laughed. -Now he felt angry, and tried to speak, but the words stuck in his -throat. How should he begin? Gustav was born at Lindholm, in the -province of Roslagen. Yes, but he and the teacher knew that long ago. -How stupid to oblige him to repeat it.</p> - -<p>"Ah, well!" continues the teacher, "you don't know your lesson, you -know nothing of Gustav I." Now he opens his mouth, and says curtly and -decidedly: "Yes, I know his history well."</p> - -<p>"If you do, why don't you answer?"</p> - -<p>The master's question seems to him a very stupid one, and now he will -not answer. He drives away all thoughts about Gustav I. and forces -himself to think of other things, the maps on the wall, the lamp -hanging from the ceiling. He pretends to be deaf.</p> - -<p>"Sit down, you don't know your lesson," says the master. He sits down, -and lets his thoughts wander where they will, after he has settled in -his own mind that the master has told a falsehood.</p> - -<p>In this there was a kind of aphasia, an incapability or unwillingness -to speak, which followed him for a long time through life till the -reaction set in in the form of garrulousness, of incapacity to shut -one's mouth, of an impulse to speak whatever came into his mind. He -felt attracted to the natural sciences, and during the hour when -the teacher showed coloured pictures of plants and trees the gloomy -class-room seemed to be lighted up; and when the teacher read out of -Nilsson's <i>Lectures on Animal Life</i>, he listened and impressed all on -his memory. But his father observed that he was backward in his other -subjects, especially in Latin. Still, John had to learn Latin and -Greek. Why? He was destined for a scholar's career. His father made -inquiries into the matter. After hearing from the teacher of Latin that -the latter regarded his son as an idiot, his <i>amour propre</i> must have -been hurt, for he determined to send his son to a private school, where -more practical methods of instruction were employed. Indeed, he was so -annoyed that he went so far in private as to praise John's intelligence -and to say some severe things regarding his teacher.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, contact with the lower classes had aroused in the boy a -decided dislike to the higher ones. In the Jacob School a democratic -spirit prevailed, at any rate among those of the same age. None of them -avoided each other's society except from feelings of personal dislike. -In the Clara School, on the other hand, there were marked distinctions -of class and birth. Though in the Jacob School the possession of -money might have formed an aristocratic class, as a matter of fact -none of them were rich. Those who were obviously poor were treated -by their companions sympathetically without condescension, although -the beribboned school inspector and the academically educated teacher -showed their aversion to them.</p> - -<p>John felt himself identified and friendly with his school-fellows; he -sympathised with them, but was reserved towards those of the higher -class. He avoided the main thoroughfares, and always went through -the empty Hollandergata or the poverty stricken Badstugata. But his -school-fellows' influence made him despise the peasants who lived here. -That was the aristocratism of town-people, with which even the meanest -and poorest city children are imbued.</p> - -<p>These angular figures in grey coats which swayed about on milk-carts or -hay-waggons were regarded as fair butts for jests, as inferior beings -whom to snowball was no injustice. To mount behind on their sledges was -regarded as the boys' inherent privilege. A standing joke was to shout -to them that their waggon-wheels were going round, and to make them get -down to contemplate the wonder.</p> - -<p>But how should children, who see only the motley confusion of society, -where the heaviest sinks and the lightest lies on the top, avoid -regarding that which sinks as the worse of the two? Some say we are -all aristocrats by instinct. That is partly true, but it is none the -less an evil tendency, and we should avoid giving way to it. The -lower classes are really more democratic than the higher ones, for -they do not want to mount up to them, but only to attain to a certain -level; whence the assertion is commonly made that they wish to elevate -themselves.</p> - -<p>Since there was now no longer physical work to do at home, John -lived exclusively an inner, unpractical life of imagination. He read -everything which fell into his hands.</p> - -<p>On Wednesday or Saturday afternoon the eleven-year-old boy could be -seen in a dressing-gown and cap which his father had given him, with -a long tobacco-pipe in his mouth, his fingers stuck in his ears, and -buried in a book, preferably one about Indians. He had already read -five different versions of <i>Robinson Crusoe</i>, and derived an incredible -amount of delight from them. But in reading Campe's edition he had, -like all children, skipped the moralisings. Why do all children hate -moral applications? Are they immoral by nature? "Yes," answer modern -moralists, "for they are still animals, and do not recognise social -conventions." That is true, but the social law as taught to children -informs them only of their duties, not of their rights; it is therefore -unjust towards the child, and children hate injustice. Besides this, -he had arranged an herbarium, and made collections of insects and -minerals. He had also read Liljenblad's <i>Flora</i>, which he had found -in his father's bookcase. He liked this book better than the school -botany, because it contained a quantity of information regarding -the use of various plants, while the other spoke only of stamens and -pistils.</p> - -<p>When his brothers deliberately disturbed him in reading, he would -run at them and threaten to strike them. They said his nerves were -overstrained. He dissolved the ties which bound him to the realities of -life, he lived a dream-life in foreign lands and in his own thoughts, -and was discontented with the grey monotony of everyday life and of his -surroundings, which ever became more uncongenial to him. His father, -however, would not leave him entirely to his own fancies, but gave him -little commissions to perform, such as fetching the paper and carrying -letters. These he looked upon as encroachments on his private life, and -always performed them unwillingly.</p> - -<p>In the present day much is said about truth and truth-speaking as -though it were a difficult matter, which deserved praise. But, apart -from the question of praise, it is undoubtedly difficult to find out -the real facts about anything.</p> - -<p>A person is not always what rumour reports him or her to be; a whole -mass of public opinion may be false; behind each thought there lurks -a passion; each judgment is coloured by prejudice. But the art -of separating fact from fancy is extremely difficult, <i>e.g.</i>, six -newspaper reporters will describe a king's coronation robe as being of -six different colours. New ideas do not find ready entrance into brains -which work in a groove; elderly people believe only themselves, and the -uneducated believe that they can trust their own eyes. This, however, -owing to the frequency of optical illusions, is not the case.</p> - -<p>In John's home truth was revered. His father was in the habit of -saying, "Tell the truth, happen what may," and used at the same time -to tell a story about himself. He had once promised a customer to send -home a certain piece of goods by a given day. He forgot it, but must -have had means of exculpating himself, for when the furious customer -came into the office and overwhelmed him with reproaches, John's father -humbly acknowledged his forgetfulness, asked for forgiveness, and -declared himself ready to make good the loss. The result was that the -customer was astonished, reached him his hand, and expressed his regard -for him. People engaged in trade, he said, must not expect too much of -each other.</p> - -<p>Well! his father had a sound intelligence, and as an elderly man felt -sure of his conclusions.</p> - -<p>John, who could never be without some occupation, had discovered that -one could profitably spend some time in loitering on the high-road -which led to and from school. He had once upon the Hollandergata, which -had no pavement, found an iron screw-nut. That pleased him, for it made -an excellent sling-stone when tied to a string. After that he always -walked in the middle of the street and picked up all the pieces of -iron which he saw. Since the streets were ill-paved and rapid driving -was forbidden, the vehicles which passed through them had a great deal -of rough usage. Accordingly an observant passer-by could be sure of -finding every day a couple of horse-shoe nails, a waggon-pin, or at any -rate a screw-nut, and sometimes a horse-shoe. John's favourite find was -screw-nuts which he had made his specialty. In the course of two months -he had collected a considerable quantity of them.</p> - -<p>One evening he was playing with them when his father entered the room.</p> - -<p>"What have you there?" he asked in astonishment.</p> - -<p>"Screw-nuts," John answered confidently.</p> - -<p>"Where did you get them from?"</p> - -<p>"I found them."</p> - -<p>"Found them? Where?"</p> - -<p>"On the street."</p> - -<p>"In one place?"</p> - -<p>"No, in several—by walking down the middle of the street and looking -about."</p> - -<p>"Look here! I don't believe that. You are lying. Come in here. I have -something to say to you." The something was a caning.</p> - -<p>"Will you confess now?"</p> - -<p>"I have found them on the street."</p> - -<p>The cane was again plied in order to make him "confess." What should -he confess? Pain, and fear that the scene would continue indefinitely, -forced the following lie from him:</p> - -<p>"I have stolen them."</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>Now he did not know to which part of a carriage the screw-nuts -belonged, but he guessed it was the under part.</p> - -<p>"Under the carriages."</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>His fancy suggested a place, where many carriages used to stand -together. "By the timber-yard opposite the lane by the smith's."</p> - -<p>This specification of the place lent an air of probability to his -story. His father was now certain that he had elicited the truth from -him. He continued:</p> - -<p>"And how could you get them off merely with your fingers?"</p> - -<p>He had not expected this question, but his eye fell on his father's -tool-box.</p> - -<p>"With a screw-driver."</p> - -<p>Now one cannot take hold of nuts with a screw-driver, but his father -was excited, and let himself be deceived.</p> - -<p>"But that is abominable! You are really a thief. Suppose a policeman -had come by."</p> - -<p>John thought for a moment of quieting him by telling him that the whole -affair was made up, but the prospect of getting another caning and no -supper held him mute. When he had gone to bed in the evening, and his -mother had come and told him to say his evening prayer, he said in a -pathetic tone and raising his hand:</p> - -<p>"May the deuce take me, if I have stolen the screw-nuts."</p> - -<p>His mother looked long at him, and then she said, "You should not swear -so."</p> - -<p>The corporal punishment had sickened and humbled him; he was angry with -God, his parents, and especially his brothers, who had not spoken up -for him, though they knew the real state of the case. That evening he -did not say his prayers, but he wished that the house would take fire -without his having to light it. And then to be called a thief!</p> - -<p>From that time he was suspected, or rather his bad reputation was -confirmed, and he felt long the sting of the memory of a charge of -theft which he had not committed. Another time he caught himself in a -lie, but through an inadvertency which for a long time he could not -explain. This incident is related for the consideration of parents. -A school-fellow with his sister came one Sunday morning in the early -part of the year to him and asked him whether he would accompany them -to the Haga Park. He said, "Yes," but he must first ask his mother's -permission. His father had gone out.</p> - -<p>"Well, hurry up!" said his friend.</p> - -<p>He wanted to show his herbarium, but the other said, "Let us go now."</p> - -<p>"Very well, but I must first ask mother."</p> - -<p>His little brother then came in and wanted to play with his herbarium. -He stopped the interruption and showed his friend his minerals. In the -meantime he changed his blouse. Then he took a piece of bread out of -the cupboard. His mother came and greeted his friends, and talked of -this and that domestic matter. John was in a hurry, begged his mother's -permission, and took his friends into the garden to see the frog-pond.</p> - -<p>At last they went to the Haga Park. He felt quite sure that he had -asked his mother's leave to do so.</p> - -<p>When his father came home, he asked John on his return, "Where have you -been?"</p> - -<p>"With friends to the Haga Park."</p> - -<p>"Did you have leave from mother?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>His mother denied it. John was dumb with astonishment.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you are beginning to lie again."</p> - -<p>He was speechless. He was quite sure he had asked his mother's leave, -especially as there was no reason to fear a refusal. He had fully meant -to do it, but other matters had intervened; he had forgotten, but was -willing to die, if he had told a lie. Children as a rule are afraid to -lie, but their memory is short, their impressions change quickly, and -they confuse wishes and resolves with completed acts. Meanwhile the boy -long continued to believe that his mother had told a falsehood. But -later, after frequent reflections on the incident, he came to think -she had forgotten or not heard his request. Later on still he began to -suspect that his memory might have played him a trick. But he had been -so often praised for his good memory, and there was only an interval of -two or three hours between his going to the Haga Park and his return.</p> - -<p>His suspicions regarding his mother's truthfulness (and why should she -not tell an untruth, since women so easily confuse fancies and facts?) -were shortly afterwards confirmed. The family had bought a set of -furniture—a great event. The boys just then happened to be going to -their aunt's. Their mother still wished to keep the novelty a secret -and to surprise her sister on her next visit. Therefore she asked the -children not to speak of the matter. On their arrival at their aunt's, -the latter asked at once:</p> - -<p>"Has your mother bought the yellow furniture?"</p> - -<p>His brothers were silent, but John answered cheerfully, "No."</p> - -<p>On their return, as they sat at table, their mother asked, "Well, did -aunt ask about the furniture?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"What did you say?"</p> - -<p>"I said 'No,'" answered John.</p> - -<p>"So, then, you dared to lie," interrupted his father.</p> - -<p>"Yes, mother said so," the boy answered.</p> - -<p>His mother turned pale, and his father was silent. This in itself -was harmless enough, but, taken in connection with other things, not -without significance. Slight suspicions regarding the truthfulness of -"others" woke in the boy's mind and made him begin to carry on a silent -siege of adverse criticism. His coldness towards his father increased, -he began to have a keen eye for instances of oppression, and to make -small attempts at revolt.</p> - -<p>The children were marched to church every Sunday; and the family had -a key to their pew. The absurdly long services and incomprehensible -sermons soon ceased to make any impression. Before a system of heating -was introduced, it was a perfect torture to sit in the pew in winter -for two hours at a stretch with one's feet freezing; but still they -were obliged to go, whether for their souls' good, or for the sake of -discipline, or in order to have quiet in the house—who knows? His -father personally was a theist, and preferred to read Wallin's sermons -to going to church. His mother began to incline towards pietism.</p> - -<p>One Sunday the idea occurred to John, possibly in consequence of an -imprudent Bible exposition at school, which had touched upon freedom of -the spirit, or something of the sort, not to go to church. He simply -remained at home. At dinner, before his father came home, he declared -to his brothers and sisters and aunts that no one could compel the -conscience of another, and that therefore he did not go to church. This -seemed original, and therefore for this once he escaped a caning, but -was sent to church as before.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The social intercourse of the family, except with relatives, could -not be large, because of the defective form of his father's marriage. -But companions in misfortune draw together, and so intercourse was -kept up with an old friend of their father's who also had contracted -a <i>mésalliance</i>, and had therefore been repudiated by his family. He -was a legal official. With him they met another family in the same -circumstances owing to an irregular marriage. The children naturally -knew nothing of the tragedy below the surface. There were children -in both the other families, but John did not feel attracted to them. -After the sufferings he had undergone at home and school, his shyness -and unsociability had increased, and his residence on the outside of -the town and in the country had given him a distaste for domestic -life. He did not wish to learn dancing, and thought the boys silly who -showed off before the girls. When his mother on one occasion told him -to be polite to the latter, he asked, "Why?" He had become critical, -and asked this question about everything. During a country excursion -he tried to rouse to rebellion the boys who carried the girls' shawls -and parasols. "Why should we be these girls' servants?" he said; but -they did not listen to him. Finally, he took such a dislike to going -out that he pretended to be ill, or dirtied his clothes in order to be -obliged to stay at home as a punishment. He was no longer a child, and -therefore did not feel comfortable among the other children, but his -elders still saw in him only a child. He remained solitary.</p> - -<p>When he was twelve years old, he was sent in the summer to another -school kept by a parish clerk at Mariefred. Here there were many -boarders, all of so-called illegitimate birth. Since the parish clerk -himself did not know much, he was not able to hear John his lessons. At -the first examination in geometry, he found that John was sufficiently -advanced to study best by himself. Now he felt himself a grandee, and -did his lessons alone. The parish clerk's garden adjoined the park of -the lord of the manor, and here he took his walks free from imposed -tasks and free from oversight. His wings grew, and he began to feel -himself a man.</p> - -<p>In the course of the summer he fell in love with the twenty-year-old -daughter of the inspector who often came to the parish clerk's. He -never spoke to her, but used to spy out her walks, and often went -near her house. The whole affair was only a silent worship of her -beauty from a distance, without desire, and without hope. His feeling -resembled a kind of secret trouble, and might as well have been -directed towards anyone else, if girls had been numerous there. It was -a Madonna-worship which demanded nothing except to bring the object of -his worship some great sacrifice, such as drowning himself in the water -under her eyes. It was an obscure consciousness of his own inadequacy -as a half man, who did not wish to live without being completed by his -"better half."</p> - -<p>He continued to attend church-services, but they made no impression on -him; he found them merely tedious.</p> - -<p>This summer formed an important stage in his development, for it broke -the links with his home. None of his brothers were with him. He had -accordingly no intermediary bond of flesh and blood with his mother. -This made him more complete in himself, and hardened his nerves; but -not all at once, for sometimes he had severe attacks of homesickness. -His mother's image rose up in his mind in its usual ideal shape of -protectiveness and mildness, as the source of warmth and the preserver.</p> - -<p>In summer, at the beginning of August, his eldest brother Gustav was -going to a school in Paris, in order to complete his business studies -and to learn the language. But previous to that, he was to spend a -month in the country and say good-bye to his brother. The thought of -the approaching parting, the reflected glory of the great town to which -his brother was going, the memory of his brother's many heroic feats, -the longing for home and the joy to see again someone of his own flesh -and blood,—all combined to set John's emotion and imagination at work. -During the week in which he expected his brother, he described him to a -friend as a sort of superman to whom he looked up. And Gustav certainly -was, as a man, superior to him. He was a plucky, lively youth, two -years older than John, with strong, dark features; he did not brood, -and had an active temperament; he was sagacious, could keep silence -when necessary, and strike when occasion demanded it. He understood -economy, and was sparing of his money. "He was very wise," thought the -dreaming John. He learned his lessons imperfectly, for he despised -them, but he understood the art of life.</p> - -<p>John needed a hero to worship, and wished to form an ideal out of some -other material than his own weak clay, round which his own aspirations -might gather, and now he exercised his art for eight days. He prepared -for his brother's arrival by painting him in glowing colours before his -friends, praised him to the teacher, sought out playing-places with -little surprises, contrived a spring-board at the bathing-place, and so -on.</p> - -<p>On the day before his brother's arrival he went into the wood and -plucked cloud-berries and blue-berries for him. He covered a table -with white paper, on which he spread out the berries, yellow and blue -alternately, and in the centre he arranged them in the shape of a large -G, and surrounded the whole with flowers.</p> - -<p>His brother arrived, cast a hasty look at the design and ate the -berries, but either did not notice the dexterously-contrived initial, -or thought it a piece of childishness. As a matter of fact, in their -family every ebullition of feeling was regarded as childish.</p> - -<p>Then they went to bathe. The minute after Gustav had taken off his -shirt, he was in the water, and swam immediately out to the buoy. John -admired him and would have gladly followed him, but this time it gave -him more pleasure to think that his brother obtained the reputation -of being a good swimmer, and that he was only second-best. At dinner -Gustav left a fat piece of bacon on his plate—a thing which no one -before had ever dared to do. But he dared everything. In the evening, -when the time came to ring the bells for church, John gave up his -turn of ringing to Gustav, who rang violently. John was frightened, -as though the parish had been exposed to danger thereby, and half in -alarm and half laughing, begged him to stop.</p> - -<p>"What the deuce does it matter?" said Gustav.</p> - -<p>Then he introduced him to his friend the big son of the carpenter, who -was about fifteen. An intimacy at once sprang up between the two of -equal age, and John's friend abandoned him as being too small. But John -felt no bitterness, although the two elder ones jested at him, and went -out alone together with their guns in their hands. He only wished to -give, and he would have given his betrothed away, had he possessed one. -He did actually inform his brother about the inspector's daughter, and -the latter was pleased with her. But, instead of sighing behind the -trees like John, Gustav went straight up to her and spoke to her in an -innocent boyish way. This was the most daring thing which John had ever -seen done in his life, and he felt as if it had added a foot to his own -stature. He became visibly greater, his weak soul caught a contagion of -strength from his brother's strong nerves, and he identified himself -with him. He felt as happy as if he had spoken with the girl himself. -He made suggestions for excursions and boating expeditions and his -brother carried them out. He discovered birds' nests and his brother -climbed the trees and plundered them.</p> - -<p>But this lasted only for a week. On the last day before they were to -leave, John said to Gustav: "Let us buy a fine bouquet for mother."</p> - -<p>"Very well," replied his brother.</p> - -<p>They went to the nursery-man, and Gustav gave the order that the -bouquet should be a fine one. While it was being made up, he went into -the garden and plucked fruit quite openly. John did not venture to -touch anything.</p> - -<p>"Eat," said his brother. No, he could not. When the bouquet was ready, -John paid twenty-four shillings for it. Not a sign came from Gustav. -Then they parted.</p> - -<p>When John came home, he gave his mother the bouquet as from Gustav, -and she was touched. At supper-time the flowers attracted his father's -attention. "Gustav sent me those," said his mother. "He is always a -kind boy," and John received a sad look because he was so cold-hearted. -His father's eyes gleamed behind his glasses.</p> - -<p>John felt no bitterness. His youthful, enthusiastic love of sacrifice -had found vent, the struggle against injustice had made him a -self-tormentor, and he kept silent. He also said nothing when his -father sent Gustav a present of money, and with unusual warmth of -expression said how deeply he had been touched by this graceful -expression of affection.</p> - -<p>In fact, he kept silence regarding this incident during his whole -life, even when he had occasion to feel bitterness. Not till he had -been over-powered and fallen in the dirty sand of life's arena, with a -brutal foot placed upon his chest and not a hand raised to plead in his -behalf, did he say anything about it. Even then, it was not mentioned -from a feeling of revenge, but as the self-defence of a dying man.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Gata = street.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="V" id="V">V.</a></h4> - -<h3>CONTACT WITH THE UPPER CLASSES</h3> - - -<p>The private schools had been started in opposition to the terrorising -sway of the public schools. Since their existence depended on the -goodwill of the pupils, the latter enjoyed great freedom, and were -treated humanely. Corporal punishment was forbidden, and the pupils -were accustomed to express their thoughts, to ask questions, to defend -themselves against charges, and, in a word, were treated as reasonable -beings. Here for the first time John felt that he had rights. If -a teacher made a mistake in a matter of fact, the pupils were not -obliged to echo him, and swear by his authority; he was corrected -and spiritually lynched by the class who convinced him of his error. -Rational methods of teaching were also employed. Few lessons were set -to be done at home. Cursory explanations in the languages themselves -gave the pupils an idea of the object aimed at, <i>i.e.</i>, to be able -to translate. Moreover, foreign teachers were appointed for modern -languages, so that the ear became accustomed to the correct accent, and -the pupils acquired some notion of the right pronunciation.</p> - -<p>A number of boys had come from the state schools into this one, and -John also met here many of his old comrades from the Clara School. He -also found some of the teachers from both the Clara and Jacob Schools. -These cut quite a different figure here, and played quite another part. -He understood now that they had been in the same hole as their victims, -for they had had the headmaster and the School Board over them. At last -the pressure from above was relaxed, his will and his thoughts obtained -a measure of freedom, and he had a feeling of happiness and well-being.</p> - -<p>At home he praised the school, thanked his parents for his liberation, -and said that he preferred it to any former one. He forgot former acts -of injustice, and became more gentle and unreserved in his behaviour. -His mother began to admire his erudition. He learned five languages -besides his own. His eldest brother was already in a place of business, -and the second in Paris. John received a kind of promotion at home -and became a companion to his mother. He gave her information from -books on history and natural history, and she, having had no education, -listened with docility. But after she had listened awhile, whether it -was that she wished to raise herself to his level, or that she really -feared worldly knowledge, she would speak of the only knowledge which, -she said, could make man happy. She spoke of Christ; John knew all -this very well, but she understood how to make a personal application. -He was to beware of intellectual pride, and always to remain simple. -The boy did not understand what she meant by "simple," and what she -said about Christ did not agree with the Bible. There was something -morbid in her point of view, and he thought he detected the dislike -of the uncultured to culture. "Why all this long school course," he -asked himself, "if it was to be regarded as nothing in comparison with -the mysterious doctrine of Christ's Atonement?" He knew also that -his mother had caught up this talk from conversations with nurses, -seamstresses, and old women, who went to the dissenting chapels. -"Strange," he thought, "that people like that should grasp the highest -wisdom of which neither the priest in the church nor the teacher in -the school had the least notion!" He began to think that these humble -pietists had a good deal of spiritual pride, and that their way to -wisdom was an imaginary short-cut. Moreover, among his school-fellows -there were sons of barons and counts, and, when in his stories out of -school he mentioned noble titles, he was warned against pride.</p> - -<p>Was he proud? Very likely; but in school he did not seek the company -of aristocrats, though he preferred looking at them rather than at the -others, because their fine clothes, their handsome faces, and their -polished finger-nails appealed to his æsthetic sense. He felt that -they were of a different race and held a position which he would never -reach, nor try to reach, for he did not venture to demand anything of -life. But when, one day, a baron's son asked for his help in a lesson, -he felt himself in this matter, at any rate, his equal or even his -superior. He had thereby discovered that there was something which -could set him by the side of the highest in society, and which he could -obtain for himself, <i>i.e.</i>, knowledge.</p> - -<p>In this school, because of the liberal spirit which was present, there -prevailed a democratic tone, of which there had been no trace in the -Clara School. The sons of counts and barons, who were for the most part -idle, had no advantage above the rest. The headmaster, who himself was -a peasant's son from Smaland, had no fear of the nobility, nor, on the -other hand, had he any prejudice against them or wish to humiliate -them. He addressed them all, small and big ones, familiarily, studied -them individually, called them by their Christian names, and took a -personal interest in them. The daily intercourse of the townspeople's -sons with those of the nobility led to their being on familiar terms -with one another. There were no flatterers, except in the upper -division, where the adolescent aristocrats came into class with their -riding-whips and spurs, while a soldier held their horses outside. The -precociously prudent boys, who had already an insight into the art of -life, courted these youths, but their intercourse was for the most part -superficial. In the autumn term some of the young grandees returned -from their expeditions as supernumerary naval cadets. They then -appeared in class with uniform and dirk. Their fellows admired them, -many envied them, but John, with the slave blood in his veins, was -never presumptuous enough to think of rivalling them; he recognised -their privileges, never dreamed of sharing them, guessed that he would -meet with humiliations among them, and therefore never intruded into -their circle. But he <i>did</i> dream of reaching equal heights with theirs -through merit and hard work. And when in the spring those who were -leaving came into the classes to bid farewell to their teachers, when -he saw their white students' caps, their free and easy manners and -ways, then he noticed that they were also an object of admiration to -the naval cadets.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In his family life there was now a certain degree of prosperity. They -had gone back to the Norrtullsgata, where it was more homely than the -Sabbatsberg, and the landlord's sons were his school-fellows. His -father no longer rented a garden, and John busied himself for the most -part with his books. He led the life of a well-to-do-youth. Things -were more cheerful at home; grown-up cousins and the clerks from his -father's office came on Sundays for visits, and John, in spite of his -youth, made one of the company. He now wore a coat, took care of his -personal appearance, and, as a promising scholar, was thought more -highly of than one of his years would otherwise have been. He went -for walks in the garden, but the berries and the apple-trees no longer -tempted him.</p> - -<p>From time to time there came letters from his brother in Paris. They -were read aloud, and listened to with great attention. They were also -read to friends and acquaintances, and that was a triumph for the -family. At Christmas his brother sent a photograph of himself in a -French school uniform. That was the climax. John had now a brother who -wore a uniform and spoke French! He exhibited the photograph in the -school, and rose in the social scale thereby. The naval cadets were -envious, and said it was not a proper uniform, for he had no dirk. But -he had a "kepi," and shining buttons, and some gold lace on his collar.</p> - -<p>At home they had also stereoscopic pictures from Paris to show, and -they now seemed to live in Paris. They were as familiar with the -Tuileries and the Arc de Triomphe as with the castle and statue of -Gustavus Adolphus. The proverb that a father "lives in his children" -really seemed to be justified. Life now lay open before the youth; the -pressure he had formerly been subjected to had diminished, and perhaps -he would have traversed a smooth and easy path through life if a -change of circumstances had not thrown him back.</p> - -<p>His mother had passed through twelve confinements, and consequently -had become weak. Now she was obliged to keep her bed, and only -rose occasionally. She was more given to moods than before, and -contradictions would set her cheek aflame. The previous Christmas she -had fallen into a violent altercation with her brother regarding the -pietist preachers. While sitting at the dinner-table, the latter had -expressed his preference for Fredman's <i>Epistles</i> as exhibiting deeper -powers of thought than the sermons of the pietists. John's mother took -fire at this, and had an attack of hysteria. That was only a symptom.</p> - -<p>Now, during the intervals when she got up, she began to mend the -children's linen and clothes, and to clear out all the drawers. She -often talked to John about religion and other high matters. One day she -showed him some gold rings. "You boys will get these, when Mamma is -dead," she said. "Which is mine?" asked John, without stopping to think -about death. She showed him a plaited girl's ring with a heart. It made -a deep impression on the boy, who had never possessed anything of gold, -and he often thought of the ring.</p> - -<p>About that time a nurse was hired for the children. She was young and -good-looking, taciturn, and smiled in a critical sort of way. She had -served in a count's mansion in the Tradgardsgatan, and probably thought -that she had come into a poverty-stricken house. She was supposed -to look after the children and the servant-maids, but was on almost -intimate terms with the latter. There were now three servants—a -housekeeper, a man-servant, and a girl from Dalecarlia. The girls had -their lovers, and a cheerful life went on in the great kitchen, where -polished copper and tin vessels shone brightly. There was eating and -drinking, and the boys were invited in. They were called "sir," and -their health was drunk. Only the man-servant was not there; he thought -it was "vulgar" to live like that, while the mistress of the house was -ill. The home seemed to be undergoing a process of dissolution, and -John's father had had many difficulties with the servants since his -mother had been obliged to keep her bed. But she remained the servants' -friend till death, and took their side by instinct, but they abused her -partiality. It was strictly forbidden to excite the patient, but the -servants intrigued against each other, and against their master. One -day John had melted lead in a silver spoon. The cook blabbed of it to -his mother, who was excited and told his father. But his father was -only-annoyed with the tell-tale. He went to John and said in a friendly -way, as though he were compelled to make a complaint: "You should not -melt lead in silver spoons. I don't care about the spoon; that can be -repaired; but this devil of a cook has excited mother. Don't tell the -girls when you have done something stupid, but tell me, and we will put -it right."</p> - -<p>He and his father were now friends for the first time, and he loved him -for his condescension.</p> - -<p>One night his father's voice awoke him from sleep. He started up, -and found it dark in the room. Through the darkness he heard a deep -trembling voice, "Come to mother's death-bed!" It went through him like -a flash of lightning. He froze and shivered while he dressed, the skin -of his head felt ice-cold, his eyes were wide-open and streaming with -tears, so that the flame of the lamp looked like a red bladder.</p> - -<p>Then they stood round the sick-bed and wept for one, two, three hours. -The night crept slowly onward. His mother was unconscious and knew no -one. The death-struggle, with rattling in the throat, and cries for -help, had commenced. The little ones were not aroused. John thought -of all the sins which he had committed, and found no good deeds to -counterbalance them. After three hours his tears ceased, and his -thoughts began to take various directions. The process of dying was -over. "How will it be," he asked himself, "when mother is no longer -there?" Nothing but emptiness and desolation, without comfort or -compensation—a deep gloom of wretchedness in which he searched for -some point of light. His eye fell on his mother's chest of drawers, on -which stood a plaster statuette of Linnæus with a flower in his hand. -There was the only advantage which this boundless misfortune brought -with it—he would get the ring. He saw it in imagination on his hand. -"That is in memory of my mother," he would be able to say, and he -would weep at the recollection of her, but he could not suppress the -thought, "A gold ring looks fine after all." Shame! Who could entertain -such thoughts at his mother's death-bed? A brain that was drunk with -sleep? A child which had wept itself out? Oh, no, an heir. Was he more -avaricious than others? Had he a natural tendency to greed? No, for -then he would never have related the matter, but he bore it in memory -his whole life long; it kept on turning up, and when he thought of it -in sleepless nights, and hours of weariness, he felt the flush mount -into his cheeks. Then he instituted an examination of himself and his -conduct, and blamed himself as the meanest of all men. It was not till -he was older and had come to know a great number of men, and studied -the processes of thought, that he came to the conclusion that the -brain is a strange thing which goes its own way, and there is a great -similarity among men in the double life which they lead, the outward -and the inward, the life of speech and that of thought.</p> - -<p>John was a compound of romanticism, pietism, realism, and naturalism. -Therefore he was never anything but a patchwork. He certainly did not -exclusively think about the wretched ornament. The whole matter was -only a momentary distraction of two minutes' duration after months -of sorrow, and when at last there was stillness in the room, and -his father said, "Mother is dead," he was not to be comforted. He -shrieked like one drowning. How can death bring such profound despair -to those who hope to meet again? It must needs press hard on faith -when the annihilation of personality takes place with such inflexible -consistency before our eyes. John's father, who generally had the -outward imperturbability of the Icelander, was now softened. He took -his sons by the hands and said: "God has visited us; we will now hold -together like friends. Men go about in their self-sufficiency, and -believe they are enough for themselves; then comes a blow, and we see -how <i>we</i> all need one another. We will be sincere and considerate with -each other."</p> - -<p>The boy's sorrow was for a moment relieved. He had found a friend, a -strong, wise, manly friend whom he admired.</p> - -<p>White sheets were now hung up at the windows of the house in sign of -mourning. "You need not go to school, if you don't want to," said -his father. "If you don't want"—that was acknowledgment that he had -a will of his own. Then came aunts, cousins, relations, nurses, old -servants, and all called down blessings on the dead. All offered their -help in making the mourning clothes—there were four small and three -elder children. Young girls sat by the sickly light that fell through -the sheeted windows and sewed, while they conversed in undertones. That -was melancholy, and the period of mourning brought a whole chain of -peculiar experiences with it. Never had the boy been the object of so -much sympathy, never had he felt so many warm hands stretched out, nor -heard so many friendly words.</p> - -<p>On the next Sunday his father read a sermon of Wallin's on the text -"Our friend is not dead, but she sleeps." With what extraordinary faith -he took these words literally, and how well he understood how to open -the wounds and heal them again! "She is not dead, but she sleeps," -he repeated cheerfully. The mother really slept there in the cold -anteroom, and no one expected to see her awake.</p> - -<p>The time of burial approached; the place for the grave was bought. -His father's sister-in-law helped to sew the suits of mourning; she -sewed and sewed, the old mother of seven penniless children, the once -rich burgher's wife, sewed for the children of the marriage which her -husband had cursed.</p> - -<p>One day she stood up and asked her brother-in-law to speak with her -privately. She whispered with him in a corner of the room. The two old -people embraced each other and wept. Then John's father told them that -their mother would be laid in their uncle's family grave. This was a -much-admired monument in the new churchyard, which consisted of an iron -pillar surmounted by an urn. The boys knew that this was an honour for -their mother, but they did not understand that by her burial there a -family quarrel had been extinguished, and justice done after her death -to a good and conscientious woman who had been despised because she -became a mother before her marriage.</p> - -<p>Now all was peace and reconciliation in the house, and they vied with -one another in acts of friendliness. They looked frankly at each other, -avoided anything that might cause disturbance, and anticipated each -other's wishes.</p> - -<p>Then came the day of the funeral. When the coffin had been screwed -down and was carried through the hall, which was filled with mourners -dressed in black, one of John's little sisters began to cry and flung -herself in his arms. He took her up and pressed her to himself, as -though he were her mother and wished to protect her. When he felt how -her trembling little body clung close to him, he grew conscious of a -strength which he had not felt for a long time. Comfortless himself he -could bestow comfort, and as he quieted the child he himself grew calm. -The black coffin and the crowd of people had frightened her—that was -all; for the smaller children hardly missed their mother; they did -not weep for her, and had soon forgotten her. The tie between mother -and child is not formed so quickly, but only through long personal -acquaintance. John's real sense of loss hardly lasted for a quarter -of a year. He mourned for her indeed a long time, but that was more -because he wished to continue in that mood, though it was only an -expression of his natural melancholy, which had taken the special form -of mourning for his mother.</p> - -<p>After the funeral there followed a long summer of leisure and freedom. -John occupied two rooms with his eldest brother, who did not return -from business till the evening. His father was out the whole day, -and when they met they were silent. They had laid aside enmity, but -intimacy was impossible. John was now his own master; he came and -went, and did what he liked. His father's housekeeper was sympathetic -with him, and they never quarrelled. He avoided intercourse with his -school-fellows, shut himself in his room, smoked, read, and meditated. -He had always heard that knowledge was the best thing, a capital fund -which could not be lost, and which afforded a footing, however low -one might sink in the social scale. He had a mania for explaining -and knowing everything. He had seen his eldest brother's drawings and -heard them praised. In school he had drawn only geometrical figures. -Accordingly, he wished to draw, and in the Christmas holidays he copied -with furious diligence all his brother's drawings. The last in the -collection was a horse. When he had finished it, and saw that it was -unsatisfactory, he had done with drawing.</p> - -<p>All the children except John could play some instrument. He heard -scales and practising on the piano, violin, and violoncello, so that -music was spoiled for him and became a nuisance, like the church-bells -had formerly been. He would have gladly played, but he did not wish -to practise scales. He took pieces of music when no one was looking -and played them—as might be supposed—very badly, but it pleased him. -As a compensation for his vanity, he determined to learn technically -the pieces which his sisters played, so that he surpassed them in the -knowledge of musical technique. Once they wanted someone to copy the -music of the <i>Zauberflöte</i> arranged for a quartette. John offered to do -so.</p> - -<p>"Can you copy notes?" he was asked.</p> - -<p>"I'll try," he said.</p> - -<p>He practised copying for a couple of days, and then copied out the four -parts. It was a long, tedious piece of work, and he nearly gave it up, -but finally completed it. His copy was certainly inaccurate in places, -but it was usable. He had no rest till he had learned to know all the -varieties of plants included in the Stockholm Flora. When he had done -so he dropped the subject. A botanical excursion afforded him no more -interest; roamings through the country showed him nothing new. He could -not find any plant which he did not know. He also knew the few minerals -which were to be found, and had an entomological collection. He could -distinguish birds by their notes, their feathers, and their eggs. But -all these were only outward phenomena, mere names for things, which -soon lost their interest. He wanted to reach what lay behind them. He -used to be blamed for his destructiveness, for he broke toys, watches, -and everything that fell into his hands. Accidently he heard in the -Academy of Sciences a lecture on Chemistry and Physics, accompanied by -experiments. The unusual instruments and apparatus fascinated him. The -Professor was a magician, but one who explained how the miracles took -place. This was a novelty for him, and he wished himself to penetrate -these secrets.</p> - -<p>He talked with his father about his new hobby, and the latter, who -had himself studied electricity in his youth, lent him books from -his bookcase—Fock's <i>Physics</i>, Girardin's <i>Chemistry</i>, Figuier's -<i>Discoveries and Inventions</i>, and the <i>Chemical Technology</i> of Nyblæus. -In the attic was also a galvanic battery constructed on the old -Daniellian copper and zinc system. This he got hold of when he was -twelve years old, and made so many experiments with sulphuric acid as -to ruin handkerchiefs, napkins, and clothes. After he had galvanised -everything which seemed a suitable object, he laid this hobby also -aside. During the summer he took up privately the study of chemistry -with enthusiasm. But he did not wish to carry out the experiments -described in the text-book; he wished to make discoveries. He had -neither money nor any chemical apparatus, but that did not hinder him. -He had a temperament which must carry out its projects in spite of -every difficulty, and on the spot. This was still more the case, since -he had become his own master, after his mother's death. When he played -chess, he directed his plan of campaign against his opponent's king. -He went on recklessly, without thinking of defending himself, sometimes -gained the victory by sheer recklessness, but frequently also lost the -game.</p> - -<p>"If I had had one move more, you would have been checkmated," he said -on such occasions.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but you hadn't, and therefore <i>you</i> are checkmated," was the -answer.</p> - -<p>When he wished to open a locked drawer, and the key was not at hand, he -took the tongs and broke the lock, so that, together with its screws, -it came loose from the wood.</p> - -<p>"Why did you break the lock?" they asked.</p> - -<p>"Because I wished to get at the drawer."</p> - -<p>This impetuosity revealed a certain pertinacity, but the latter only -lasted while the fit was on him. For example: On one occasion he wished -to make an electric machine. In the attic he found a spinning-wheel. -From it he broke off whatever he did not need, and wanted to replace -the wheel with a round pane of glass. He found a double window, and -with a splinter of quartz cut a pane out. But it had to be round and -have a whole in the middle. With a key he knocked off one splinter of -glass after another, each not larger than a grain of sand, this took -him several days, but at last he had made the pane round. But how was -he to make a hole in it? He contrived a bow-drill. In order to get -the bow, he broke an umbrella, took a piece of whale-bone out, and -with that and a violin-string made his bow. Then he rubbed the glass -with the splinter of quartz, wetted it with turpentine, and bored. But -he saw no result. Then he lost patience and reflection, and tried to -finish the job with a piece of cracking-coal. The pane of glass split -in two. Then he threw himself, weak, exhausted, hopeless, on the bed. -His vexation was intensified by a consciousness of poverty. If he had -only had money. He walked up and down before Spolander's shop in the -Vesterlanggata and looked at the various sets of chemical apparatus -there displayed. He would have gladly ascertained their price, but -dared not go in. What would have been the good? His father gave him no -money.</p> - -<p>When he had recovered from this failure, he wanted to make what no one -has made hitherto, and no one can make—a machine to exhibit "perpetual -motion." His father had told him that for a long time past a reward -had been offered to anyone who should invent this impossibility. This -tempted him. He constructed a waterfall with a "Hero's fountain,"<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -which worked a pump; the waterfall was to set the pump in motion, and -the pump was to draw up the water again out of the "Hero's fountain." -He had again to make a raid on the attic. After he had broken -everything possible in order to collect material, he began his work. A -coffee-making machine had to serve as a pipe; a soda-water machine as a -reservoir; a chest of drawers furnished planks and wood; a bird-cage, -iron wire; and so on. The day of testing it came. Then the housekeeper -asked him if he would go with his brothers and sisters to their -mother's grave. "No," he said, "he had no time." Whether his conscience -now smote him, and spoiled his work, or whether he was nervous—anyhow, -it was a failure. Then he took the whole apparatus, without trying to -put right what was wrong in it, and hurled it against the tiled stove. -There lay the work, on which so many useful things had been wasted, and -a good while later on the ruin was discovered in the attic. He received -a reproof, but that had no longer an effect on him.</p> - -<p>In order to have his revenge at home, where he was despised on -account of his unfortunate experiments, he made some explosions with -detonating gas, and contrived a Leyden jar. For this he took the skin -of a dead black cat which he had found on the Observatory Hill and -brought home in his pocket-handkerchief. One night, when his eldest -brother and he came home from a concert, they could find no matches, -and did not wish to wake anyone. John hunted up some sulphuric acid and -zinc, produced hydrogen, procured a flame by means of the electricity -conductor, and lighted the lamp. This established his reputation as a -scientific chemist. He also manufactured matches like those made at -Jönkoping. Then he laid chemistry aside for a time.</p> - -<p>His father's bookshelves contained a small collection of books which -were now at his disposal. Here, besides the above-mentioned works on -chemistry and physics, he found books on gardening, an illustrated -natural history, Meyer's <i>Universum</i>, a German anatomical treatise with -plates, an illustrated German history of Napoleon, Wallin's, Franzen's, -and Tegner's poems, <i>Don Quixote</i>, Frederika Bremer's romances, etc.</p> - -<p>Besides books about Indians and the <i>Thousand and One Nights</i>, John -had hitherto no acquaintance with pure literature. He had looked into -some romances and found them tedious, especially as they had no -illustrations. But after he had floundered about chemistry and natural -science, he one day paid a visit to the bookcase. He looked into the -poets; here he felt as though he were floating in the air and did not -know where he was. He did not understand it. Then he took Frederika -Bremer's <i>Pictures from Daily Life.</i> Here he found domesticity and -didacticism, and put them back. Then he seized hold of a collection -of tales and fairy stories called <i>Der Jungfrauenturm</i>. These dealt -with unhappy love, and moved him. But most important of all was the -circumstance that he felt himself an adult with these adult characters. -He understood what they said, and observed that he was no longer a -child. He, too, had been unhappy in love, had suffered and fought, but -he was kept back in the prison of childhood. And now he first became -aware that his soul was in prison. It had long been fledged, but they -had clipped its wings and put it in a cage. Now he sought his father -and wished to talk with him as a comrade, but his father was reserved -and brooded over his sorrow.</p> - -<p>In the autumn there came a new throw-back and check for him. He was -ripe for the highest class, but was kept back in the school because -he was too young. He was infuriated. For the second time he was held -fast by the coat when he wished to jump. He felt like an omnibus-horse -continually pressing forward and being as constantly held back. This -lacerated his nerves, weakened his will-power, and laid the foundation -for lack of courage in the future. He never dared to wish anything very -keenly, for he had seen how often his wishes were checked. He wanted to -be industrious and press on, but industry did not help him; he was too -young. No, the school course was too long. It showed the goal in the -distance, but set obstacles in the way of the runners. He had reckoned -on being a student when he was fifteen, but had to wait till he was -eighteen. In his last year, when he saw escape from his prison so near, -another year of punishment was imposed upon him by a rule being passed -that they were to remain in the highest class for two years.</p> - -<p>His childhood and youth had been extremely painful; the whole of life -was spoiled for him, and he sought comfort in heaven.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> An artificial fountain of water, worked by pressure of -air.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VI" id="VI">VI.</a></h4> - -<h3>THE SCHOOL OF THE CROSS</h3> - - -<p>Sorrow has the fortunate peculiarity that it preys upon itself. It dies -of starvation. Since it is essentially an interruption of habits, it -can be replaced by new habits. Constituting, as it does, a void, it is -soon filled up by a real "horror vacui."</p> - -<p>A twenty-years' marriage had come to an end. A comrade in the battle -against the difficulties of life was lost; a wife, at whose side her -husband had lived, had gone and left behind an old celibate; the -manager of the house had quitted her post. Everything was in confusion. -The small, black-dressed creatures, who moved everywhere like dark -blots in the rooms and in the garden, kept the feeling of loss fresh. -Their father thought they felt forlorn and believed them defenceless. -He often came home from his work in the afternoon and sat alone in a -lime-tree arbour, which looked towards the street. He had his eldest -daughter, a child of seven, on his knee, and the others played at his -feet. John often watched the grey-haired man, with his melancholy, -handsome features, sitting in the green twilight of the arbour. He -could not comfort him, and did not seek his company any more. He -saw the softening of the old man's nature, which he would not have -thought possible before. He watched how his fixed gaze lingered on his -little daughter as though in the childish lines of her face he would -reconstruct in imagination the features of the dead. From his window -John often watched this picture between the stems of the trees down the -long vista of the avenue; it touched him deeply, but he began to fear -for his father, who no longer seemed to be himself.</p> - -<p>Six months had passed, when his father one autumn evening came home -with a stranger. He was an elderly man of unusually cheerful aspect. -He joked good-naturedly, was friendly and kindly towards children and -servants, and had an irresistible way of making people laugh. He was -an accountant, had been a school friend of John's father, and was now -discovered to be living in a house close by. The two old men talked -of their youthful recollections, which afforded material to fill the -painful void John's father felt. His stern, set features relaxed, as he -was obliged to laugh at his friend's witty and humorous remarks. After -a week he and the whole family were laughing as only those can who have -wept for a long time. Their friend was a wit of the first water, and -more, could play the violin and guitar, and sing Bellman's<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> songs. A -new atmosphere seemed to pervade the house, new views of things sprang -up, and the melancholy phantoms of the mourning period were dissipated. -The accountant had also known trouble; he had lost his betrothed, and -since then remained a bachelor. Life had not been child's play for him, -but he had taken things as they came.</p> - -<p>Soon after John's brother Gustav returned from Paris in uniform, mixing -French words with Swedish in his talk, brisk and cheerful. His father -received him with a kiss on the forehead, and was somewhat depressed -again by the recollection that this son had not been at his mother's -death-bed. But he soon cheered up again and the house grew lively. -Gustav entered his father's business, and the latter had someone now -with whom he could talk on matters which interested him.</p> - -<p>One evening, late in autumn, after supper, when the accountant was -present and the company sat together, John's father stood up and -signified his wish to say a few words: "My boys and my friend," he -began, and then announced his intention of giving his little children a -new mother, adding that the time of youthful passion was past for him, -and that only thoughts for the children had led to the resolve to make -Fräulein—his wife.</p> - -<p>She was the housekeeper. He made the announcement in a somewhat -authoritative tone, as though he would say, "You have really nothing to -do with it; however, I let you know." Then the housekeeper was fetched -to receive their congratulations, which were hearty on the part of the -accountant, but of a somewhat mixed nature on the part of the three -boys. Two of them had rather an uncomfortable conscience on the matter, -for they had strongly but innocently admired her; but the third, -John, had latterly been on bad terms with her. Which of them was most -embarrassed would be difficult to decide.</p> - -<p>There ensued a long pause, during which the youths examined themselves, -mentally settled their accounts, and thought of the possible -consequences of this unexpected event. John must have been the first to -realise what the situation demanded, for he went the same evening into -the nursery straight to the housekeeper. It seemed dark before his eyes -as he repeated the following speech, which he had hastily composed and -learned by heart in his father's fashion:</p> - -<p>"Since our relations with each other will hence-forward be on a -different footing," he said, "allow me to ask you to forget the past -and to be friends." This was a prudent utterance, sincerely meant, and -had no <i>arrière pensée</i> behind it. It was also a balancing of accounts -with his father, and the expression of a wish to live harmoniously -together for the future. At noon the next day John's father came up to -his room, thanked him for his kindness towards the housekeeper, and, as -a token of his pleasure at it, gave him a small present, but one which -he had long desired. It was a chemical apparatus. John felt ashamed to -take the present, and made little of his kindness. It was a natural -result of his father's announcement, and a prudent thing to do, but -his father and the housekeeper must have seen in it a good augury for -their wedded happiness. They soon discovered their mistake, which was -naturally laid at the boy's door.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt that the old man married again for his children's -sake, but it is also certain that he loved the young woman. And why -should he not? It is nobody's affair except that of the persons -concerned, but it is a fact of constant occurrence, both that widowers -marry again, however galling the bonds of matrimony may have been, and -that they also feel they are committing a breach of trust against the -dead. Dying wives are generally tormented with the thought that the -survivor will marry again.</p> - -<p>The two elder brothers took the affair lightly, and accommodated -themselves to it. They regarded their father with veneration, and never -doubted the rightness of what he did. They had never considered that -fatherhood is an accident which may happen to anyone.</p> - -<p>But John doubted. He fell into endless disputes with his brothers, and -criticised his father for becoming engaged before the expiration of the -year of mourning. He conjured up his mother's shade, prophesied misery -and ruin, and let himself go to unreasonable lengths.</p> - -<p>The brothers' argument was: "We have nothing to do with father's -acts." "It was true," retorted John, "that it was not their business to -judge; still, it concerned them deeply." "Word-catcher!" they replied, -not seeing the distinction.</p> - -<p>One evening, when John had come home from school, he saw the house lit -up and heard music and talking. He went to his room in order to study. -The servant came up and said that his father wished him to come down as -there were guests present.</p> - -<p>"Who?" asked John.</p> - -<p>"The new relations."</p> - -<p>John replied that he had no time. Then one of his brothers appeared. He -first abused John, then he begged him to come, saying that he ought to -for his father's sake, even if it were only for a moment; he could soon -go up again.</p> - -<p>John said he would consider the matter.</p> - -<p>At last he went down; he saw the room full of ladies and gentlemen: -three aunts, a new grandmother, an uncle, a grandfather. The aunts -were young girls. He made a bow in the centre of the room politely but -stiffly.</p> - -<p>His father was vexed, but did not wish to show it. He asked John -whether he would have a glass of punch. John took it. Then the old man -asked ironically whether he had really so much work for the school. -John said "Yes," and returned to his room. Here it was cold and dark, -and he could not work when the noise of music and dancing ascended to -him. Then the cook came up to fetch him to supper. He would not have -any. Hungry and angry he paced up and down the room. At intervals he -wanted to go down where it was warm, light, and cheerful, and several -times took hold of the door-handle. But he turned back again, for he -was shy. Timid as he was by nature, this last solitary summer had made -him still more uncivilised. So he went hungry to bed, and considered -himself the most unfortunate creature in the world.</p> - -<p>The next day his father came to his room and told him he had not been -honest when he had asked the housekeeper's pardon.</p> - -<p>"Pardon!" exclaimed John, "he had nothing to ask pardon for." But -now his father wanted to humble him. "Let him try," thought John to -himself. For a time no obvious attempts were made in that direction, -but John stiffened himself to meet them, when they should come.</p> - -<p>One evening his brother was reading by the lamp in the room upstairs. -John asked, "What are you reading?" His brother showed him the title -on the cover; there stood in old black-letter type on a yellow cover -the famous title: <i>Warning of a Friend of Youth against the most -Dangerous Enemy of Youth</i>.</p> - -<p>"Have you read it?" asked Gustav.</p> - -<p>John answered "Yes," and drew back. After Gustav had done reading, he -put the book in his drawer and went downstairs. John opened the drawer -and took out the mysterious work. His eyes glanced over the pages -without venturing to fix on any particular spot. His knees trembled, -his face became bloodless, his pulses froze. He was, then, condemned -to death or lunacy at the age of twenty-five! His spinal marrow and -his brain would disappear, his hair would fall out, his hands would -tremble—it was horrible! And the cure was—Christ! But Christ could -not heal the body, only the soul. The body was condemned to death -at five-and-twenty; the only thing left was to save the soul from -everlasting damnation.</p> - -<p>This was Dr. Kapff's famous pamphlet, which has driven so many youths -into a lunatic asylum in order to increase the adherents of the -Protestant Jesuits. Such a dangerous work should have been prosecuted, -confiscated, and burnt, or, at any rate, counteracted by more -intelligent ones. One of the latter sort fell into John's hands later, -and he did his best to circulate it, as it was excellent. The title -was Uncle Palle's <i>Advice to Young Sinners,</i> and its authorship was -attributed to the medical councillor, Dr. Westrand. It was a cheerfully -written book, which took the matter lightly, and declared that the -dangers of the evil habit had been exaggerated; it also gave practical -advice and hygienic directions. But even to the present time Kapff's -absurd pamphlet is in vogue, and doctors are frequently visited by -sinners, who with beating hearts make their confessions.<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>For half a year John could find no word of comfort in his great -trouble. He was, he thought, condemned to death; the only thing left -was to lead a virtuous and religious life, till the fatal hour should -strike. He hunted up his mother's pietistic books and read them. He -considered himself merely as a criminal and humbled himself. When on -the next day he passed through the street, he stepped off the pavement -in order to make room for everyone he met. He wished to mortify -himself, to suffer for the allotted period, and then to enter into the -joy of his Lord.</p> - -<p>One night he awoke and saw his brothers sitting by the lamplight. They -were discussing the subject. He crept under the counterpane and put his -fingers in his ears in order not to hear. But he heard all the same. He -wished to spring up to confess, to beg for mercy and help, but dared -not, to hear the confirmation of his death sentence. Had he spoken, -perhaps he would have obtained help and comfort, but he kept silence. -He lay still, with perspiration breaking out, and prayed. Wherever -he went he saw the terrible word written in old black letters on a -yellow ground, on the walls of the houses, on the carpets of the room. -The chest of drawers in which the book lay contained the guillotine. -Every time his brother approached the drawer he trembled and ran away. -For hours at a time he stood before the looking-glass in order to see -if his eyes had sunk in, his hair had fallen out, and his skull was -projecting. But he looked ruddy and healthy.</p> - -<p>He shut himself up in himself, was quiet and avoided all society. -His father imagined that by this behaviour he wished to express his -disapproval of the marriage; that he was proud, and wanted to humble -him. But he was humbled already, and as he silently yielded to the -pressure his father congratulated himself on the success of his -strategy.</p> - -<p>This irritated the boy, and sometimes he revolted. Now and then there -arose a faint hope in him that his body might be saved. He went to the -gymnasium, took cold baths, and ate little in the evening.</p> - -<p>Through home-life, intercourse with school-fellows, and learning, he -had developed a fairly complicated ego, and when he compared himself -with the simpler egos of others, he felt superior. But now religion -came and wanted to kill this ego. That was not so easy and the battle -was fierce. He saw also that no one else denied himself. Why, then, in -heaven's name, should he do so?</p> - -<p>When his father's wedding-day came, he revolted. He did not go to kiss -the bride like his brothers and sisters, but withdrew from the dancing -to the toddy-drinkers, and got a little intoxicated. But a punishment -was soon to follow on this, and his ego was to be broken.</p> - -<p>He became a collegian, but this gave him no joy. It came too late, -like a debt that had been long due. He had had the pleasure of it -beforehand. No one congratulated him, and he got no collegian's cap. -Why? Did they want to humble him or did his father not wish to sec an -outward sign of his learning? At last it was suggested that one of his -aunts should embroider the college wreath on velvet, which could then -be sewn on to an ordinary black cap. She embroidered an oak and laurel -branch, but so badly that his fellow-students laughed at him. He was -the only collegian for a long time who had not worn the proper cap. The -only one—pointed at, and passed over!</p> - -<p>Then his breakfast-money, which hitherto had been five öre, was reduced -to four. This was an unnecessary cruelty, for they were not poor at -home, and a boy ought to have more food. The consequence was that John -had no breakfast at all, for he spent his weekly money in tobacco. He -had a keen appetite and was always hungry. When there was salt cod-fish -for dinner, he ate till his jaws were weary, but left the table hungry. -Did he then really get too little to eat? No; there are millions -of working-men who have much less, but the stomachs of the upper -classes must have become accustomed to stronger and more concentrated -nourishment. His whole youth seemed to him in recollection a long -fasting period.</p> - -<p>Moreover, under the step-mother's rule the scale of diet was reduced, -the food was inferior, and he could change his linen only once instead -of twice a week. This was a sign that one of the lower classes was -guiding the household. The youth was not proud in the sense that he -despised the housekeeper's low birth, but the fact that she who had -formerly been beneath him tried to oppress him, made him revolt—but -now Christianity came in and bade him turn the other cheek.</p> - -<p>He kept growing, and had to go about in clothes which he had outgrown. -His comrades jeered at his short trousers. His school-books were old -editions out of date, and this caused him much annoyance in the school.</p> - -<p>"So it is in my book," he would say to the teacher.</p> - -<p>"Show me your book."</p> - -<p>Then the teacher was scandalised, and told him to get the newest -edition, which he never did.</p> - -<p>His shirt-sleeves reached only half-way down his arm and could not be -buttoned. In the gymnasium, therefore, he always kept his jacket on. -One day in his capacity as leader of the troop he was having a special -lesson from the teacher of gymnastics.</p> - -<p>"Take off your jackets, boys, we want to put our backs into it," said -the instructor.</p> - -<p>All besides John did so.</p> - -<p>"Well, are you ready?"</p> - -<p>"No, I am freezing," answered John.</p> - -<p>"You will soon be warm," said the instructor; "off with your jacket."</p> - -<p>He refused. The instructor came up to him in a friendly way and pulled -at his sleeves. He resisted. The instructor looked at him. "What is -this?" he said. "I ask you kindly and you won't oblige me. Then go!"</p> - -<p>John wished to say something in his defence; he looked at the friendly -man, with whom he had always been on good terms, with troubled -eyes—but he kept silence and went. What depressed him was poverty -imposed as a cruelty, not as a necessity. He complained to his -brothers, but they said he should not be proud. Difference of education -had opened a gulf between him and them. They belonged to a different -class of society, and ranged themselves with the father who was of -their class and the one in power.</p> - -<p>Another time he was given a jacket which had been altered from a blue -frock-coat with bright buttons. His school-fellows laughed at him as -though he were pretending to be a cadet, but this was the last idea in -his mind, for he always plumed himself on being rather than seeming. -This jacket cost him untold suffering.</p> - -<p>After this a systematic plan of humbling him was pursued. John -was waked up early in the mornings to do domestic tasks before he -went to school. He pleaded his school-work as an excuse, but it -did not help him at all. "You learn so easily," he was told. This -was quite unnecessary, as there was a man-servant, besides several -other servants, in the house. He saw that it was merely meant as a -chastisement. He hated his oppressors and they hated him.</p> - -<p>Then there began a second course of discipline. He had to get up in -the morning and drive his father to the town before he went to school, -then return with the horse and trap, take out the horse, feed it, and -sweep the stable. The same manoeuvre was repeated at noon. So, besides -his school-work, he had domestic work and must drive twice daily to -and from Riddarholm. In later years he asked himself whether this had -been done with forethought; whether his wise father saw that too -much activity of brain was bad for him, and that physical work was -necessary. Or perhaps it was an economical regulation in order to save -some of the man-servant's work time. Physical exertion is certainly -useful for boys, and should be commended to the consideration of all -parents, but John could not perceive any beneficent intention in the -matter, even though it may have existed. The whole affair seemed -so dictated by malice and an intention to cause pain, that it was -impossible for him to discover any good purpose in it, though it may -have existed along with the bad one.</p> - -<p>In the summer holidays the driving out degenerated into stable-work. -The horse had to be fed at stated hours, and John was obliged to stay -at home in order not to miss them. His freedom was at an end. He felt -the great change which had taken place in his circumstances, and -attributed them to his stepmother. Instead of being a free person who -could dispose of his own time and thoughts, he had become a slave, to -do service in return for his food. When he saw that his brothers were -spared all such work, he became convinced that it was imposed on him -out of malice. Straw-cutting, room-sweeping, water-carrying, etc., -are excellent exercises, but the motive spoiled everything. If his -father had told him it was good for his health, he would have done -it gladly, but now he hated it. He feared the dark, for he had been -brought up like all children by the maid-servants, and he had to do -violence to himself when he went up to the hay-loft every evening. He -cursed it every time, but the horse was a good-natured beast with whom -he sometimes talked. He was, moreover, fond of animals, and possessed -canaries of which he took great care.</p> - -<p>He hated his domestic tasks because they were imposed upon him by the -former housekeeper, who wished to revenge herself on him and to show -him her superiority. He hated her, for the tasks were exacted from -him as payment for his studies. He had seen through the reason why he -was being prepared for a learned career. They boasted of him and his -learning; he was not then being educated out of kindness.</p> - -<p>Then he became obstinate, and on one occasion damaged the springs of -the trap in driving. When they alighted at Riddarhustorg, his father -examined it. He observed that a spring was broken.</p> - -<p>"Go to the smith's," he said.</p> - -<p>John was silent.</p> - -<p>"Did you hear?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I heard."</p> - -<p>He had to go to the Malargata, where the smith lived. The latter said -it would take three hours to repair the damage. What was to be done? -He must take the horse out, lead it home and return. But to lead a -horse in harness, while wearing his collegian's cap, through the -Drottningsgata, perhaps to meet the boys by the observatory who envied -him for his cap, or still worse, the pretty girls on the Norrtullsgata -who smiled at him—No! he would do anything rather than that. He then -thought of leading the horse through the Rorstrandsgata, but then he -would have to pass Karlberg, and here he knew the cadets. He remained -in the courtyard, sitting on a log in the sunshine and cursed his lot. -He thought of the summer holidays which he had spent in the country, -of his friends who were now there, and measured his misfortune by that -standard. But had he thought of his brothers who were now shut up for -ten hours a day in the hot and gloomy office without hope of a single -holiday, his meditations on his lot would have taken a different turn; -but he did not do that. Just now he would have willingly changed -places with them. They, at any rate, earned their bread, and did not -have to stay at home. They had a definite position, but he had not. Why -did his parents let him smell at the apple and then drag him away? He -longed to get away—no matter where. He was in a false position, and -he wished to get out of it, to be either above or below and not to be -crushed between the wheels.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, one day he asked his father for permission to leave the -school. His father was astonished, and asked in a friendly way his -reason. He replied that everything was spoiled for him, he was learning -nothing, and wished to go out into life in order to work and earn his -own living.</p> - -<p>"What do you want to be?" asked his father.</p> - -<p>He said he did not know, and then he wept.</p> - -<p>A few days later his father asked him whether he would like to be -a cadet. A cadet! His eyes lighted up, but he did not know what to -answer. To be a fine gentleman with a sword! His boldest dreams had -never reached so far.</p> - -<p>"Think over it," said his father. He thought about it the whole -evening. If he accepted, he would now go in uniform to Karlberg, where -he had once bathed and been driven away by the cadets. To become an -officer—that meant to get power; the girls would smile on him and -no one would oppress him. He felt life grow brighter, the sense of -oppression vanished from his breast and hope awoke. But it was too much -for him. It neither suited him nor his surroundings. He did not wish to -mount and to command; he wished only to escape the compulsion to blind -obedience, the being watched and oppressed. The stoicism which asks -nothing of life awoke in him. He declined the offer, saying it was too -much for him.</p> - -<p>The mere thought that he could have been what perhaps all boys long -to be, was enough for him. He renounced it, descended, and took up -his chain again. When, later on, he became an egotistic pietist, he -imagined that he had renounced the honour for Christ's sake. That was -not true, but, as a matter of fact, there was some asceticism in his -sacrifice. He had, moreover, gained clearer insight into his parents' -game; they wished to get honour through him. Probably the cadet idea -had been suggested by his stepmother.</p> - -<p>But there arose more serious occasions of contention. John thought that -his younger brothers and sisters were worse dressed than before, and -he had heard cries from the nursery.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" he said to himself, "she beats them."</p> - -<p>Now he kept a sharp look-out. One day he noticed that the servant -teased his younger brother as he lay in bed. The little boy was angry -and spat in her face. His step-mother wanted to interfere, but John -intervened. He had now tasted blood. The matter was postponed till his -father's return. After dinner the battle was to begin. John was ready. -He felt that he represented his dead mother. Then it began! After a -formal report, his father took hold of Pelle, and was about to beat -him. "You must not beat him!" cried John in a threatening tone, and -rushed towards his father as though he would have seized him by the -collar.</p> - -<p>"What in heaven's name are you saying?"</p> - -<p>"You should not touch him. He is innocent."</p> - -<p>"Come in here and let me talk to you; you are certainly mad," said his -father.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I will come," said the generally timid John, as though he were -possessed.</p> - -<p>His father hesitated somewhat on hearing his confident tone, and his -sound intelligence must have told him that there was something queer -about the matter.</p> - -<p>"Well, what have you to say to me?" asked his father, more quietly but -still distrustfully.</p> - -<p>"I say that it is Karin's fault; she did wrong, and if mother had -lived——"</p> - -<p>That struck home. "What are you talking nonsense about your mother for? -You have now a new mother. Prove what you say. What has Karin done?"</p> - -<p>That was just the trouble; he could not say it, for he feared by -doing so to touch a sore point. He was silent. A thousand thoughts -coursed through his mind. How should he express them? He struggled for -utterance, and finally came out with a stupid saying which he had read -somewhere in a school-book.</p> - -<p>"Prove!" he said. "There are clear matters of fact which can neither be -proved nor need to be proved." (How stupid! he thought to himself, but -it was too late.)</p> - -<p>"Now you are simply stupid," said his father.</p> - -<p>John was beaten, but he still wished to continue the conflict. A new -repartee learned at school occurred to him.</p> - -<p>"If I am stupid, that is a natural fault, which no one has the right to -reproach me with."</p> - -<p>"Shame on you for talking such rubbish! Go out and don't let me see you -any more!" And he was put out.</p> - -<p>After this scene all punishments took place in John's absence. It was -believed he would spring at their throats if he heard any cries, and -that was probable enough.</p> - -<p>There was yet another method of humbling him—a hateful method which -is often employed in families. It consisted of arresting his mental and -moral growth by confining him to the society of his younger brothers -and sisters. Children are often obliged to play with their brothers and -sisters whether they are congenial to them or not. That is tyranny. But -to compel an elder child to go about with the younger ones is a crime -against nature; it is the mutilation of a young growing tree. John had -a younger brother, a delightful child of seven, who trusted everyone -and worried no one. John loved him and took good care that he was not -ill-treated. But to have intimate intercourse with such a young child, -who did not understand the talk and conversation of its elders, was -impossible.</p> - -<p>But now he was obliged to do so. On the first of May, when John had -hoped to go out with his friends, his father said, as a matter of -course, "Take Pelle and go with him to the Zoölogical Gardens, but take -good care of him." There was no possibility of remonstrance. They went -into the open plain, where they met some of his comrades, and John felt -the presence of his little brother like a clog on his leg. He took -care that no one hurt him, but he wished the little boy was at home. -Pelle talked at the top of his voice and pointed with his finger at -passers-by; John corrected him, and as he felt his solidarity with him, -felt ashamed on his account. Why must he be ashamed because of a fault -in etiquette which he had not himself committed? He became stiff, cold, -and hard. The little boy wanted to see some sight but John would not -go, and refused all his little brother's requests. Then he felt ashamed -of his hardness; he cursed his selfishness, he hated and despised -himself, but could not get rid of his bad feelings. Pelle understood -nothing; he only looked troubled, resigned, patient, and gentle. "You -are proud," said John to himself; "you are robbing the child of a -pleasure." He felt remorseful, but soon afterwards hard again.</p> - -<p>At last the child asked him to buy some gingerbread nuts. John felt -himself insulted by the request. Suppose one of his fellow-collegians -who sat in the restaurant and drank punch saw him buying gingerbread -nuts! But he bought some, and stuffed them in his brother's pocket. -Then they went on. Two cadets, John's acquaintances, came towards him. -At this moment a little hand reached him a gingerbread nut—"Here's one -for you, John!" He pushed the little hand away, and simultaneously saw -two blue faithful eyes looking up to him plaintively and questioningly. -He felt as if he could weep, take the hurt child in his arms, and ask -his forgiveness in order to melt the ice which had crystallised round -his heart. He despised himself for having pushed his brother's hand -away. They went home.</p> - -<p>He wished to shake the recollection of his misdeed from him, but could -not. But he laid the blame of it partly at the door of those who had -caused this sorry situation. He was too old to stand on the same level -with the child, and too young to be able to condescend to it.</p> - -<p>His father, who had been rejuvenated by his marriage with a young wife, -ventured to oppose John's learned authorities, and wished to humble -him in this department also. After supper one evening, they were -sitting at table, his father with his three papers, the <i>Aftonbladet, -Allehanda</i>, and <i>Post-tidningen</i>, and John with a school-book. -Presently his father stopped reading.</p> - -<p>"What are you reading?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Philosophy."</p> - -<p>A long pause. The boys always used to call logic "philosophy."</p> - -<p>"What is philosophy, really?"</p> - -<p>"The science of thought."</p> - -<p>"Hm! Must one learn how to think? Let me see the book." He put his -pince-nez on and read. Then he said, "Do you think the peasant members -of the Riks-Dag"<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> (he hated the peasants, but now used them for the -purpose of his argument) "have learned philosophy? I don't, and yet -they manage to corner the professors delightfully. You learn such a lot -of useless stuff!" Thus he dismissed philosophy.</p> - -<p>His father's parsimoniousness also sometimes placed John in very -embarrassing situations. Two of his friends offered during the holidays -to give him lessons in mathematics. John asked his father's permission.</p> - -<p>"All right," he said, "as far as I am concerned."</p> - -<p>When the time came for them to receive an honorarium, his father was of -the opinion that they were so rich that one could not give them money.</p> - -<p>"But one might make them a present," said John.</p> - -<p>"I won't give anything," was the answer.</p> - -<p>John felt ashamed for a whole year and realised for the first time the -unpleasantness of a debt. His two friends gave at first gentle and then -broad hints. He did not avoid them, but crawled after them in order to -show his gratitude. He felt that they possessed a part of his soul and -body; that he was their slave and could not be free. Sometimes he made -them promises, because he imagined he could fulfil them, but they could -not be fulfilled, and the burden of the debt was increased by their -being broken. It was a time of infinite torment, probably more bitter -at the time than it seemed afterwards.</p> - -<p>Another step in arresting his progress was the postponement of his -Confirmation. He learned theology at school, and could read the Gospels -in Greek, but was not considered mature enough for Confirmation.</p> - -<p>He felt the grinding-down process at home all the more because his -position in the school was that of a free man. As a collegian he had -acquired certain rights. He was not made to stand up in class, and -went out when he wished without asking permission; he remained sitting -when the teachers asked questions, and disputed with them. He was the -youngest in the class but sat among the oldest and tallest. The teacher -now played the part of a lecturer rather than of a mere hearer of -lessons. The former ogre from the Clara School had become an elderly -man who expounded Cicero's <i>De Senectute</i> and <i>De Amicitia</i> without -troubling himself much about the commentaries. In reading Virgil, he -dwelt on the meeting of Æneas and Dido, enlarged on the topic of love, -lost the thread of his discourse, and became melancholy. (The boys -found out that about this time he had been wooing an old spinster.) He -no longer assumed a lofty tone, and was magnanimous enough to admit -a mistake he had made (he was weak in Latin) and to acknowledge that -he was not an authority in that subject. From this he drew the moral -that no one should come to school without preparation, however clever -he might be. This produced a great effect upon the boys. He won more -credit as a man than he lost as a teacher.</p> - -<p>John, being well up in the natural sciences, was the only one out -of his class elected to be a member of the "Society of Friends of -Science." He was now thrown with school-fellows in the highest class, -who the next year would become students. He had to give a lecture, and -talked about it at home. He wrote an essay on the air, and read it to -the members. After the lecture, the members went into a restaurant in -the Haymarket and drank punch. John was modest before the big fellows, -but felt quite at his ease. It was the first time he had been lifted -out of the companionship of those of his own age. Others related -improper anecdotes; he shyly related a harmless one. Later on, some -of the members visited him and took away some of his best plants and -chemical apparatus.</p> - -<p>By an accident John found a new friend in the school. When he was top -of the first class the Principal came in one day with a tall fellow in -a frock-coat, with a beard, and wearing a pince-nez.</p> - -<p>"Here, John!" he said, "take charge of this youth; he is freshly come -from the country, and show him round." The wearer of the pince-nez -looked down disdainfully at the boy in the jacket. They sat next each -other; John took the book and whispered to him; the other, however, -knew nothing, but talked about cards and cafés.</p> - -<p>One day John played with his friend's pince-nez and broke the spring. -His friend was vexed. John promised to have it repaired, and took the -pince-nez home. It weighed upon his mind, for he did not know whence -he should get the money in order to have it mended. Then he determined -to mend it himself. He took out the screws, bored holes in an old -clock-spring, but did not succeed. His friend jogged his memory; John -was in despair. His father would never pay for it. His friend said, -"I will have it repaired, and you must pay." The repair cost fifty -öre. On Monday John handed over twelve coppers, and promised to pay -the rest the following Monday. His friend smelt a rat. "That is your -breakfast-money," he said; "do you get only twelve coppers a week?" -John blushed and begged him to take the money. The next Monday he -handed over the remainder. His friend resisted, but he pressed it on -him.</p> - -<p>The two continued together as school-fellows till they went to the -university at Upsala and afterwards. John's friend had a cheerful -temperament and took the world as it came. He did not argue much with -John, but always made him laugh. In contrast to his dreary home, John -found the school a cheerful refuge from domestic tyranny. But this -caused him to lead a double life, which was bound to produce moral -dislocation.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_4" id="Footnote_1_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_4"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Famous Swedish poet.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_5" id="Footnote_2_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_5"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> In a later work, <i>Legends</i> (1898), Strindberg says: "When -I wrote that youthful confession (<i>The Son of a Servant</i>) the liberal -tendency of that period seems to have induced me to use too bright -colours, with the pardonable object of freeing from fear young men who -have fallen into precocious sin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_6" id="Footnote_3_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_6"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The Swedish Parliament.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a></h4> - -<h3>FIRST LOVE</h3> - - -<p>If the character of a man is the stereotyped rôle which he plays in the -comedy of social life, John at this time had no character, <i>i.e.</i>, he -was quite sincere. He sought, but found nothing, and could not remain -in any fixed groove. His coarse nature, which flung off all fetters -that were imposed upon it, could not adapt itself; and his brain, which -was a revolutionary's from birth, could not work automatically. He was -a mirror which threw back all the rays which struck it, a compendium of -various experiences, of changing impressions, and full of contradictory -elements. He possessed a will which worked by fits and starts and with -fanatical energy; but he really did not will anything deeply; he was -a fatalist, and believed in destiny; he was sanguine, and hoped all -things. Hard as ice at home, he was sometimes sensitive to the point -of sentimentality; he would give his last shirt to a poor man, and -could weep at the sight of injustice. He was a pietist, and as sincere -an one as is possible for anyone who tries to adopt an old-world point -of view. His home-life, where everything threatened his intellectual -and personal liberty, compelled him to be this. In the school he was a -cheerful worldling, not at all sentimental, and easy to get on with. -Here he felt he was being educated for society and possessed rights. -At home he was like an edible vegetable, cultivated for the use of the -family, and had no rights.</p> - -<p>He was also a pietist from spiritual pride, as all pietists are. -Beskow, the repentant lieutenant, had come home from his pilgrimage -to the grave of Christ. His <i>Journal</i> was read at home by John's -step-mother, who inclined to pietism. Beskow made pietism gentlemanly, -and brought it into fashion, and a considerable portion of the lower -classes followed this fashion. Pietism was then what spiritualism is -now—a presumably higher knowledge of hidden things. It was therefore -eagerly taken up by all women and uncultivated people, and finally -found acceptance at Court.</p> - -<p>Did all this spring from some universal spiritual need? Was the period -so hopelessly reactionary that one had to be a pessimist? No! The -king led a jovial life in Ulriksdal, and gave society a bright and -liberal tone. Strong agitations were going on in the political world, -especially regarding representation in parliament. The Dano-German -war aroused attention to what was going on beyond our boundaries; the -volunteer movement awoke town and country with drums and music; the new -Opposition papers, <i>Dagens Nyheter</i> and the powerful <i>Sondags-Nisse</i>, -were vent-holes for the confined steam which must find an outlet; -railways were constructed everywhere, and brought remote and sparsely -inhabited places into connection with the great motor nerve-centres. It -was no melancholy age of decadence, but, on the contrary, a youthful -season of hope and awakening. Whence then, came this strong breath of -pietism? Perhaps it was a short-cut for those who were destitute of -culture, by which they saved themselves from the pressure of knowledge -from above; there was a certain democratic element in it, since all -high and low had thereby access to a certain kind of wisdom which -abolished class-distinctions. Now, when the privileges of birth were -nearing their end, the privileges of culture asserted themselves, and -were felt to be oppressive. But it was believed that they could be -nullified at a stroke through pietism.</p> - -<p>John became a pietist from many motives. Bankrupt on earth, since he -was doomed to die at twenty-five without spinal marrow or a nose, he -made heaven the object of his search. Melancholy by nature, but full -of activity, he loved what was melancholy. Tired of text-books, which -contained no living water because they did not come into contact with -life, he found more nourishment in a religion which did so at every -turn. Besides this, there was the personal motive, that his stepmother, -aware of his superiority in culture, wished to climb above him on the -Jacob's ladder of religion. She conversed with his eldest brother -on the highest subjects, and when John was near, he was obliged to -hear how they despised his worldly wisdom. This irritated him, and he -determined to catch up with them in religion. Moreover, his mother -had left a written message behind in which she warned him against -intellectual pride. The end was that he went regularly every Sunday to -church, and the house was flooded with pietistic writings.</p> - -<p>His step-mother and eldest brother used to go over afterwards in memory -the sermons they had heard in church. One Sunday after service John -wrote out from memory the whole sermon which they admired. He could -not deny himself the pleasure of presenting it to his step-mother. But -his present was not received with equal pleasure; it was a blow for -her. However, she did not yield a hair-breadth. "God's word should be -written in the heart and not on paper," she said. It was not a bad -retort, but John believed he detected pride in it. She considered -herself further on in the way of holiness than he, and as already a -child of God.</p> - -<p>He began to race with her, and frequented the pietist meetings. But -his attendance was frowned upon, for he had not yet been confirmed, -and was not therefore ripe for heaven. John continued religious -discussions with his elder brother; he maintained that Christ had -declared that even children belonged to the kingdom of heaven. The -subject was hotly contested. John cited Norbeck's <i>Theology</i>, but -that was rejected without being looked at. He also quoted Krummacher, -Thomas à Kempis, and all the pietists on his side. But it was no -use. "It must be so," was the reply. "How?" he asked. "As I have it, -and as you cannot get it." "As I!" There we have the formula of the -pietists—self-righteousness.</p> - -<p>One day John said that all men were God's children. "Impossible!" was -the reply; "then there would be no difficulty in being saved. Are all -going to be saved?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly!" he replied. "God is love and wishes no one's destruction."</p> - -<p>"If all are going to be saved, what is the use of chastising oneself?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is just what I question."</p> - -<p>"You are then a sceptic, a hypocrite?"</p> - -<p>"Quite possibly they all are."</p> - -<p>John now wished to take heaven by storm, to become a child of God, -and perhaps by doing so defeat his rivals. His step-mother was not -consistent. She went to the theatre and was fond of dancing. One -Saturday evening in summer it was announced that the whole family -would make an excursion into the country the next day—Sunday. All -were expected to go. John considered it a sin, did not want to go, and -wished to use the opportunity and seek in solitude the Saviour whom -he had not yet found. According to what he had been told, conversion -should come like a flash of lightning, and be accompanied by the -conviction that one was a child of God, and then one had peace.</p> - -<p>While his father was reading his paper in the evening, John begged -permission to remain at home the next day.</p> - -<p>"Why?" his father asked in a friendly tone.</p> - -<p>John was silent. He felt ashamed to say.</p> - -<p>"If your religious conviction forbids you to go, obey your conscience."</p> - -<p>His step-mother was defeated. She had to desecrate the Sabbath, not he.</p> - -<p>The others went. John went to the Bethlehem Church to hear Rosenius. It -was a weird, gloomy place, and the men in the congregation looked as -if they had reached the fatal twenty-fifth year, and lost their spinal -marrow. They had leaden-grey faces and sunken eyes. Was it possible -that Dr. Kapff had frightened them all into religion? It seemed strange.</p> - -<p>Rosenius looked like peace itself, and beamed with heavenly joy. He -confessed that he had been an old sinner, but Christ had cleansed him, -and now he was happy. He looked happy. Is it possible that there is -such a thing as a happy man? Why, then, are not all pietists?</p> - -<p>In the afternoon John read à Kempis and Krummacher. Then he went out -to the Haga Park and prayed the whole length of the Norrtullsgata -that Jesus would seek him. In the Haga Park there sat little groups -of families picnicking, with the children playing about. Is it -possible that all these must go to hell? he thought. Yes, certainly. -"Nonsense!" answered his intelligence. But it is so. A carriage full of -excursionists passed by: and these are all condemned already! But they -seemed to be amusing themselves, at any rate. The cheerfulness of other -people made him still more depressed, and he felt a terrible loneliness -in the midst of the crowd. Wearied with his thoughts, he went home as -depressed as a poet who has looked for a thought without being able to -find one. He laid down on his bed and wished he was dead.</p> - -<p>In the evening his brothers and sisters came home joyful and noisy, and -asked him if he had had a good time.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said. "And you?"</p> - -<p>They gave him details of the excursion, and each time he envied them he -felt a stab in his heart. His step-mother did not look at him, for she -had broken the Sabbath. That was his comfort. He must by this time soon -have detected his self-deceit and thrown it off, but a new powerful -element entered into his life, which stirred up his asceticism into -fanaticism, till it exploded and disappeared.</p> - -<p>His life during these years was not so uniformly monotonous as it -appeared in retrospect later on, when there were enough dark points to -give a grey colouring to the whole. His boyhood, generally speaking, -was darkened by his being treated as a child when arrived at puberty, -the uninteresting character of his school-work, his expectation of -death at twenty-five, the uncultivated minds of those around him, and -the impossibility of being understood.</p> - -<p>His step-mother had brought three young girls, her sisters, into the -house. They soon made friends with the step-sons, and they all took -walks, played games, and made sledging excursions together. The girls -tried to bring about a reconciliation between John and his step-mother. -They acknowledged their sister's faults before him, and this pacified -him so that he laid aside his hatred. The grandmother also played the -part of a mediator, and finally revealed herself as a decided friend of -John's. But a fatal chance robbed him of this friend also. His father's -sister had not welcomed the new marriage, and, as a consequence, had -broken off communications with her brother. This vexed the old man -very much. All intercourse ceased between the families. It was, of -course, pride on his sister's part. But one day John met her daughter, -an elegantly-dressed girl, older than himself, on the street. She was -eager to hear something of the new marriage, and walked with John along -the Drottningsgata.</p> - -<p>When he got home, his grandmother rebuked him sharply for not having -saluted her when she passed, but, of course, she added, he had been -in too grand company to take notice of an old woman! He protested his -innocence, but in vain. Since he had only a few friends, the loss of -her friendship was painful to him.</p> - -<p>One summer he spent with his step-mother at one of her relatives', a -farmer in Östergötland. Here he was treated like a gentleman, and lived -on friendly terms with his step-mother. But it did not last long, and -soon the flames of strife were stirred up again between them. And thus -it went on, up and down, and to and fro.</p> - -<p>About this time, at the age of fifteen, he first fell in love, if it -really was love, and not rather friendship. Can friendship commence -and continue between members of opposite sexes? Only apparently, for -the sexes are born enemies and remain always opposed to each other. -Positive and negative streams of electricity are mutually hostile, but -seek their complement in each other. Friendship can exist only between -persons with similar interests and points of view. Man and woman by the -conventions of society are born with different interests and different -points of view. Therefore a friendship between the sexes can arise only -in marriage where the interests are the same. This, however, can be -only so long as the wife devotes her whole interest to the family for -which the husband works. As soon as she gives herself to some object -outside the family, the agreement is broken, for man and wife then have -separate interests, and then there is an end to friendship. Therefore -purely spiritual marriages are impossible, for they lead to the slavery -of the man, and consequently to the speedy dissolution of the marriage.</p> - -<p>The fifteen-year old boy fell in love with a woman of thirty. He could -truthfully assert that his love was entirely ideal. How came he to love -her? As generally is the case, from many motives, not from one only.</p> - -<p>She was the landlord's daughter, and had, as such, a superior position; -the house was well-appointed and always open for visitors. She was -cultivated, admired, managed the house, and spoke familiarly to her -mother; she could play the hostess and lead the conversation; she was -always surrounded by men who courted her. She was also emancipated -without being a man-hater; she smoked and drank, but was not without -taste. She was engaged to a man whom her father hated and did not -wish to have for his son-in-law. Her <i>fiancé</i> stayed abroad and wrote -seldom. Among the visitors to this hotel were a district judge, a man -of letters, students, clerics, and townsmen who all hovered about her. -John's father admired her, his step-mother feared her, his brothers -courted her. John kept in the background and observed her. It was a -long time before she discovered him. One evening, after she had set all -the hearts around her aflame, she came exhausted into the room in which -John sat.</p> - -<p>"Heavens! how tired I am!" she said to herself, and threw herself on a -sofa.</p> - -<p>John made a movement and she saw him. He had to say something.</p> - -<p>"Are you so unhappy, although you are always laughing? You are -certainly not as unhappy as I am."</p> - -<p>She looked at the boy; they began a conversation and became friends. He -felt lifted up. From that time forward she preferred his conversation -to that of others. He felt embarrassed when she left a circle of grown -men to sit down near him. He questioned her regarding her spiritual -condition, and made remarks on it which showed that he had observed -keenly and reflected much. He became her conscience. Once, when she -had jested too freely, she came to the youth to be punished. That was -a kind of flagellation as pleasant as a caress. At last her admirers -began to tease her about him.</p> - -<p>"Can you imagine it," she said one evening, "they declare I am in love -with you!"</p> - -<p>"They always say that of two persons of opposite sexes who are friends."</p> - -<p>"Do you believe there can be a friendship between man and woman?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am sure of it," he answered.</p> - -<p>"Thanks," she said, and reached him her hand. "How could I, who am -twice as old as you, who am sick and ugly, be in love with you? -Besides, I am engaged."</p> - -<p>After this she assumed an air of superiority and became motherly. This -made a deep impression on him; and when later on she was rallied on -account of her liking for him, she felt herself almost embarrassed, -banished all other feelings except that of motherliness, and began to -labour for his conversion, for she also was a pietist.</p> - -<p>They both attended a French conversation class, and had long walks -home together, during which they spoke French. It was easier to speak -of delicate matters in a foreign tongue. He also wrote French essays, -which she corrected. His father's admiration for the old maid lessened, -and his step-mother did not like this French conversation, which she -did not understand. His elder brother's prerogative of talking French -was also neutralised thereby. This vexed his father, so that one day he -said to John, that it was impolite to speak a foreign language before -those who did not understand it, and that he could not understand -that Fräulein X., who was otherwise so cultivated, could commit such -a <i>bêtise</i>. But, he added, cultivation of the heart was not gained by -book-learning.</p> - -<p>They no longer endured her presence in the house, and she was -"persecuted." At last her family left the house altogether, so that now -there was little intercourse with them. The day after their removal, -John felt lacerated. He could not live without her daily companionship, -without this support which had lifted him out of the society of those -of his own age to that of his elders. To make himself ridiculous by -seeking her as a lover—that he could not do. The only thing left was -to write to her. They now opened a correspondence, which lasted for -a year. His step-mother's sister, who idolised the clever, bright -spinster, conveyed the letters secretly. They wrote in French, so that -their letters might remain unintelligible if discovered; besides, they -could express themselves more freely in this medium. Their letters -treated of all kinds of subjects. They wrote about Christ, the battle -against sin, about life, death and love, friendship and scepticism. -Although she was a pietist, she was familiar with free-thinkers, and -suffered from doubts on all kinds of subjects. John was alternately her -stern preceptor and her reprimanded son. One or two translations of -John's French essays will give some idea of the chaotic state of the -minds of both.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: center; margin-top: 2em;"><i>Is Man's Life a Life of Sorrow</i>? 1864</p> - -<p>"Man's life is a battle from beginning to end. We are all born into -this wretched life under conditions which are full of trouble and -grief. Childhood to begin with has its little cares and disagreeables; -youth has its great temptations, on the victorious resistance to which -the whole subsequent life depends; mature life has anxieties about the -means of existence and the fulfilment of duties; finally, old age has -its thorns in the flesh, and its frailty. What are all enjoyments and -all joys, which are regarded by so many men as the highest good in -life? Beautiful illusions! Life is a ceaseless struggle with failures -and misfortunes, a struggle which ends only in death.</p> - -<p>"But we will consider the matter from another side. Is there no reason -to be joyful and contented? I have a home and parents who care for -my future; I live in fairly favourable circumstances, and have good -health—ought I not then to be contented and happy? Yes, and yet I -am not. Look at the poor labourer, who, when his day's work is done, -returns to his simple cottage where poverty reigns; he is happy and -even joyful. He would be made glad by a trifle which I despise. I envy -thee, happy man, who hast true joy!</p> - -<p>"But I am melancholy. Why? 'You are discontented,' you answer. No, -certainly not; I am quite contented with my lot and ask for nothing. -Well, what is it then? Ah! now I know; I am not contented with myself -and my heart, which is full of anger and malice. Away from me, evil -thoughts! I will, with God's help, be happy and contented. For one is -happy only when one is at peace with oneself, one's heart, and one's -conscience."</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>John's friend did not approve of his self-contentment, but asserted -in contradiction to the last sentence, that one ought to remain -discontented with life. She wrote: "We are not happy till our -consciousness tells us that we have sought and found the only Good -Physician, who can heal the wounds of all hearts, and when we are ready -to follow His advice with sincerity."</p> - -<p>This assertion, together with long conversations, caused the rapid -conversion of the youth to the true faith, <i>i.e.</i>, that of his friend, -and gave occasion for the following effusion in which he expressed his -idea of faith and works:</p> - - -<p style="text-align: center; margin-top: 2em;"><i>No Happiness without Virtue; no Virtue without Religion</i>. 1864</p> - -<p>"What is happiness? Most worldlings regard the possession of great -wealth and worldly goods, happiness, because they afford them the -means of satisfying their sinful desires and passions. Others who -are not so exacting find happiness in a mere sense of well-being, in -health, and domestic felicity. Others, again, who do not expect worldly -happiness at all, and who are poor, and enjoy but scanty food earned -by hard work, are yet contented with their lot, and even happy. They -can even think 'How happy I am in comparison with the rich, who are -never contented.' Meanwhile, <i>are</i> they really happy, because they are -contented? No, there is no happiness without virtue. No one is happy -except the man who leads a really virtuous life. Well, but there are -many really virtuous men. There are men who have never fallen into -gross sin, who are modest and retiring, who injure no one, who are -placable, who fulfil their duties conscientiously, and who are even -religious. They go to church every Sunday, they honour God and His Holy -Word, but yet they have not been born again of the Holy Spirit. Now, -are they happy, since they are virtuous? There is no virtue without -<i>real religion</i>. These virtuous worldlings are, as a matter of fact, -much worse than the most wicked men. They slumber in the security -of mere morality. They think themselves better than other men, and -righteous in the eyes of the Most Holy. These Pharisees, full of -self-love, think to win everlasting salvation by their good deeds. But -what are our good deeds before a Holy God? Sin, and nothing but sin. -These self-righteous men are the hardest of all to convert, because -they think they need no Mediator, since they wish to win heaven by -their deeds. An 'old sinner,' on the other hand, once he is awakened, -can realise his sinfulness and feel his need of a Saviour. True -happiness consists in having 'Peace in the heart with God through Jesus -Christ.' One can find no peace till one confesses that one is the chief -of sinners, and flies to the Saviour. How foolish of us to push such -happiness away! We all know where it is to be found, but instead of -seeking it, seek unhappiness, under the pretence of seeking happiness."</p> - -<p>Under this his friend wrote: "Very well written." They were her own -thoughts, or, at any rate, her own words which she had read.</p> - -<p>But sometimes doubt worried him, and he examined himself carefully. He -wrote as follows on a subject which he had himself chosen:</p> - -<p style="text-align: center; margin-top: 2em;"><i>Egotism is the Mainspring of all our Actions</i></p> - -<p>"People commonly say, 'So-and-so is so kind and benevolent towards -his neighbours; he is virtuous, and all that he does springs from -compassion and love of the true and right.' Very well, open your heart -and examine it. You meet a beggar in the street; the first thought -that occurs to you is certainly as follows: 'How unfortunate this man -is; I will do a good deed and help him.' You pity him and give him a -coin. But haven't you some thought of this kind?—'Oh, how beautiful -it is to be benevolent and compassionate; it does one's heart good to -give alms to a poor man.' What is the real motive of your action? Is it -really love or compassion? Then your dear 'ego' gets up and condemns -you. You did it for your own sake, in order to set at rest <i>your</i> heart -and to placate <i>your</i> conscience.</p> - -<p>"It was for some time my intention to be a preacher, certainly a good -intention. But what was my motive? Was it to serve my Redeemer, and to -work for Him, or only out of love to Him? No, I was cowardly, and I -wished to escape my burden and lighten my cross, and avoid the great -temptations which met me everywhere. I feared men—that was the motive. -The times alter. I saw that I could not lead a life in Christ in the -society of companions to whose godless speeches I must daily listen, -and so I chose another path in life where I could be independent, or at -any rate——"</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>Here the essay broke off, uncorrected. Other essays deal with the -Creator, and seem to have been influenced by Rousseau, extracts from -whose works were contained in Staaff's <i>French Reading Book</i>. They -mention, for example, flocks and nightingales, which the writer had -never seen or heard.</p> - -<p>He and his friend also had long discussions regarding their relation to -one another. Was it love or friendship? But she loved another man, of -whom she scarcely ever spoke. John noticed nothing in her but her eyes, -which were deep and expressive. He danced with her once, but never -again. The tie between them was certainly only friendship, and her soul -and body were virile enough to permit of a friendship existing and -continuing. A spiritual marriage can take place only between those who -are more or less sexless, and there is always something abnormal about -it. The best marriages, <i>i.e.</i>, those which fulfil their real object -the best, are precisely those which are "<i>mal assortis</i>."</p> - -<p>Antipathy, dissimilarity of views, hate, contempt, can accompany true -love. Diverse intelligences and characters can produce the best endowed -children, who inherit the qualities of both.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the meantime his Confirmation approached. It had been postponed as -long as possible, in order to keep him back among the children. But the -Confirmation itself was to be used as a means of humiliating him. His -father, at the same time that he announced his decision that it should -take place, expressed the hope that the preparation for it might melt -the ice round John's heart.</p> - -<p>So John found himself again among lower-class children. He felt -sympathy with them, but did not love them, nor could nor would be on -intimate terms with them. His education had alienated him from them, as -it had alienated him from his family.</p> - -<p>He was again a school-boy, had to learn by heart, stand up when -questioned, and be scolded along with the rest. The assistant pastor, -who taught them, was a pietist. He looked as though he had an -infectious disease or had read Dr. Kapff. He was severe, merciless, -emotionless, without a word of grace or comfort. Choleric, irritable, -nervous, this young rustic was petted by the ladies.</p> - -<p>He made an impression by dint of perpetual repetition. He preached -threateningly, cursed the theatre and every kind of amusement. John -and his friend resolved to alter their lives, and not to dance, go to -the theatre, or joke any more. He now infused a strong dash of pietism -into his essays, and avoided his companions in order not to hear their -frivolous stories.</p> - -<p>"Why, you are a pietist!" one of his school-fellows said one day to him.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am," he answered. He would not deny his Redeemer. The school -grew intolerable to him. He suffered martyrdom there, and feared the -enticements of the world, of which he was already in some degree -conscious. He considered himself already a man, wished to go into the -world and work, earn his own living and marry. Among his other dreams -he formed a strange resolve, which was, however, not without its -reasons; he resolved to find a branch of work which was easy to learn, -would soon provide him with a maintenance, and give him a place where -he would not be the last, nor need he stand especially high—a certain -subordinate place which would let him combine an active life in the -open air with adequate pecuniary profit. The opportunity for plenty of -exercise in the open air was perhaps the principal reason why he wished -to be a subaltern in a cavalry regiment, in order to escape the fatal -twenty-fifth year, the terrors of which the pastor had described. The -prospect of wearing a uniform and riding a horse may also have had -something to do with it. He had already renounced the cadet uniform, -but man is a strange creature.</p> - -<p>His friend strongly dissuaded him from taking such a step; she -described soldiers as the worst kind of men in existence. He stood -firm, however, and said that his faith in Christ would preserve him -from all moral contagion, yes! he would preach Christ to the soldiers -and purify them all. Then he went to his father. The latter regarded -the whole matter as a freak of imagination, and exhorted him to be -ready for his approaching final examination, which would open the whole -world to him.</p> - -<p>A son had been born to his step-mother. John instinctively hated him as -a rival to whom his younger brothers and sisters would have to yield. -But the influence of his friend and of pietism was so strong over him, -that by way of mortifying himself he tried to love the newcomer. He -carried him on his arm and rocked him.</p> - -<p>"Nobody saw you do it," said his step-mother later on, when he adduced -this as a proof of his goodwill. Exactly so; he did it in secret, as he -did not wish to gain credit for it, or perhaps he was ashamed of it. He -had made the sacrifice sincerely; when it became disagreeable, he gave -it up.</p> - -<p>The Confirmation took place, after countless exhortations in the -dimly-lit chancel, and a long series of discourses on the Passion of -Christ and self-mortification, so that they were wrought up to a most -exalted mood. After the catechising, he scolded his friend whom he had -seen laughing.</p> - -<p>On the day on which they were to receive the Holy Communion, the senior -pastor gave a discourse. It was the well-meaning counsel of a shrewd -old man to the young; it was cheering and comforting, and did not -contain threats or denunciations of past sins. Sometimes during the -sermon John felt the words fall like balm on his wounded heart, and was -convinced that the old man was right. But in the act of Communion, -he did not get the spiritual impression he had hoped for. The organ -played and the choir sang, "O Lamb of God, have mercy upon us!" The -boys and girls wept and half-fainted as though they were witnessing an -execution. But John had become too familiar with sacred things in the -parish-clerk's school. The matter seemed to him driven to the verge of -absurdity. His faith was ripe for falling. And it fell.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He now wore a high hat, and succeeded to his elder brother's cast-off -clothes. Now his friend with the pince-nez took him in hand. He had not -deserted him during his pietistic period. He treated the matter lightly -and good-humouredly, with a certain admiration of John's asceticism -and firm faith. But now he intervened. He took him for a mid-day -walk, pointed out by name the actors they saw at the corner of the -Regeringsgata, and the officers who were reviewing the troops. John was -still shy, and had no self-reliance.</p> - -<p>It was about twelve o'clock, the time for going to the gymnasium. -John's friend said, "Come along! we will have lunch in the 'Three -Cups.'"</p> - -<p>"No," said John, "we ought to go to the Greek class."</p> - -<p>"Ah! we will dispense with Greek to-day."</p> - -<p>It would be the first time he cut it, thought John, and he might take a -little scolding for once. "But I have no money," he said.</p> - -<p>"That does not matter; you are my guest;" his friend seemed hurt. They -entered the restaurant. An appetising odour of beefsteaks greeted them; -the waiter received their coats and hung up their hats.</p> - -<p>"Bring the bill of fare, waiter," said his friend in a confident tone, -for he was accustomed to take his meals here. "Will you have beefsteak?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered John; he had tasted beefsteak only twice in his life.</p> - -<p>His friend ordered butter, cheese, brandy and beer, and without asking, -filled John's glass with brandy.</p> - -<p>"But I don't know whether I ought to," said John.</p> - -<p>"Have you never drunk it before?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, go ahead! it tastes good."</p> - -<p>He drank. Ah! his body glowed, his eyes watered, and the room swam -in a light mist; but he felt an access of strength, his thoughts -worked freely, new ideas rose in his mind, and the gloomy past seemed -brighter. Then came the juicy beefsteak. That was something like -eating! His friend ate bread, butter, and cheese with it. John said, -"What will the restaurant-keeper say?"</p> - -<p>His friend laughed, as if he were an elderly uncle.</p> - -<p>"Eat away; the bill will be just the same."</p> - -<p>"But butter and cheese with beef-steak! That is too luxurious! But it -tastes good all the same." John felt as though he had never eaten -before. Then he drank beer. "Is each of us to drink half a bottle?" he -asked his friend. "You are really mad!"</p> - -<p>But at any rate it was a meal,—and not such an empty enjoyment either, -as anæmic ascetics assert. No, it is a real enjoyment to feel strong -blood flowing into one's half-empty veins, strengthening the nerves for -the battle of life. It is an enjoyment to feel vanished virile strength -return, and the relaxed sinews of almost perished will-power braced -up again. Hope awoke, and the mist in the room became a rosy cloud, -while his friend depicted for him the future as it is imagined by -youthful friendship. These youthful illusions about life, from whence -do they come? From superabundance of energy, people say. But ordinary -intelligence, which has seen so many childish hopes blighted, ought to -be able to infer the absurdity of expecting a realisation of the dreams -of youth.</p> - -<p>John had not learned to expect from life anything more than freedom -from tyranny and the means of existence. That would be enough for him. -He was no Aladdin and did not believe in luck. He had plenty of power, -but did not know it. His friend had to discover him to himself.</p> - -<p>"You should come and amuse yourself with us," he said, "and not sit in -a corner at home."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but that costs money, and I don't get any."</p> - -<p>"Give lessons."</p> - -<p>"Lessons! What? Do you think I could give lessons?"</p> - -<p>"You know a lot. You would not find it difficult to get pupils."</p> - -<p>He knew a lot! That was a recognition or a piece of flattery, as the -pietists call it, and it fell on fertile soil.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I have no acquaintances or connections."</p> - -<p>"Tell the headmaster! I did the same!"</p> - -<p>John hardly dared to believe that he could get the chance of earning -money. But he felt strange when he heard that others could, and -compared himself with them. <i>They</i> certainly had luck. His friend urged -him on, and soon he obtained a post as teacher in a girls' school.</p> - -<p>Now his self-esteem awoke. The servants at home called him Mr. John, -and the teachers in the school addressed the class as "Gentlemen." At -the same time he altered his course of study at school. He had for a -long time, but in vain, asked his father to let him give up Greek. He -did it now on his own responsibility, and his father first heard of -it at the examination. In its place he substituted mathematics, after -he had learned that a Latin scholar had the right to dispense with a -testamur in that subject. Moreover, he neglected Latin, intending to -revise it all a month before the examination. During the lessons he -read French, German, and English novels. The questions were asked each -pupil in turn, and he sat with his book in his hand till the questions -came and he could be ready for them. Modern languages and natural -science were now his special subjects.</p> - -<p>Teaching his juniors was a new and dangerous retrograde movement for -him, but he was paid for it. Naturally, the boys who required extra -lessons were those with a certain dislike of learning. It was hard -work for his active brain to accommodate himself to them. They were -impossible pupils, and did not know how to attend. He thought they -were obstinate. The truth was they lacked the will-power to become -attentive. Such boys are wrongly regarded as stupid. They are, on the -contrary, wide awake. Their thoughts are concerned with realities, and -they seem already to have seen through the absurdity of the subjects -they are taught. Many of them became useful citizens when they grew -up, and many more would have become so if they had not been compelled -by their parents to do violence to their natures and to continue their -studies.</p> - -<p>Now ensued a new conflict with his lady friend against his altered -demeanour. She warned him against his other friend who, she -said, flattered him, and against young girls of whom he spoke -enthusiastically. She was jealous. She reminded him of Christ, but John -was distracted by other subjects, and withdrew from her society.</p> - -<p>He now led an active and enjoyable life. He took part in evening -concerts, sang in a quartette, drank punch, and flirted moderately -with waitresses. All this time religion was in abeyance, and only a -weak echo of piety and asceticism remained. He prayed out of habit, but -without hoping for an answer, since he had so long sought the divine -friendship which people say is so easily found, if one but knocks -lightly at the door of grace. Truth to say, he was not very anxious to -be taken at his word. If the Crucified had opened the door and bidden -him enter, he would not have rejoiced. His flesh was too young and -sound to wish to be mortified.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VIII" id="VIII">VIII</a></h4> - -<h3>THE SPRING THAW</h3> - - -<p>The school educates, not the family. The family is too narrow; its -aims are too petty, selfish, and anti-social. In the case of a -second marriage, such abnormal relations are set up, that the only -justification of the family comes to an end. The children of a deceased -mother should simply be taken away, if the father marries again. This -would best conduce to the interests of all parties, not least to those -of the father, who perhaps is the one who suffers most in a second -marriage.</p> - -<p>In the family there is only one (or two) ruling wills without appeal; -therefore justice is impossible. In the school, on the other hand, -there is a continual watchful jury, which rigorously judges boys as -well as teachers. The boys become more moral; brutality is tamed; -social instincts awaken; they begin to see that individual interests -must be generally furthered by means of compromises. There cannot be -tyranny, for there usually are enough to form parties and to revolt. A -teacher who is badly treated by a pupil can soonest obtain justice by -appealing to the other pupils. Moreover, about this time there was much -to arouse their sympathy in great universal interests.</p> - -<p>During the Danish-German War of 1864 a fund was raised in the school -for the purchase of war-telegrams. These were fastened on the -blackboard and read with great interest by both teachers and pupils. -They gave rise to familiar talks and reflections on the part of the -teachers regarding the origin and cause of the war. They were naturally -all one-sidedly Scandinavian, and the question was judged from the -point of view of the students' union. Seeds of hatred towards Russia -and Germany for some future war were sown, and at the burial of the -popular teacher of gymnastics, Lieutenant Betzholtz, this reached a -fanatical pitch.</p> - -<p>The year of the Reform Bill,<a name="FNanchor_1_7" id="FNanchor_1_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_7" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> 1865, approached. The teacher of -history, a man of kindliness and fine feeling, and an aristocrat of -high birth, tried to interest the pupils in the subject. The class had -divided into opposite parties, and the son of a speaker in the Upper -House, a Count S., universally popular, was the chief of the opposition -against reform. He was sprung from an old German family of knightly -descent; was poor, and lived on familiar terms with his classmates, but -had a keen consciousness of his high birth. Battles more in sport than -in earnest took place in the class, and tables and forms were thrown -about indiscriminately.</p> - -<p>The Reform Bill passed. Count S. remained away from the class. -The history teacher spoke with emotion of the sacrifice which the -nobility had laid upon the altar of the fatherland by renouncing -their privileges. The good man did not know yet that privileges are -not rights, but advantages which have been seized and which can be -recovered like other property, even by illegal means.</p> - -<p>The teacher bade the class to be modest over their victory and not to -insult the defeated party. The young count on his return to the class -was received with elaborate courtesy, but his feelings so overcame him -at the sight of the involuntary elevation of so many pupils of humble -birth, that he burst into tears and had to leave the class again.</p> - -<p>John understood nothing of politics. As a topic of general interest, -they were naturally banished from family discussions, where only -topics of private interest were regarded, and that in a very one-sided -way. Sons were so brought up that they might remain sons their whole -lives long, without any regard to the fact that some day they might be -fathers. But John already possessed the lower-class instinct which told -him, with regard to the Reform Bill, that now an injustice had been -done away with, and that the higher scale had been lowered, in order -that it might be easier for the lower one to rise to the same level. He -was, as might be expected, a liberal, but since the king was a liberal, -he was also a royalist.</p> - -<p>Parallel with the strong reactionary stream of pietism ran that of the -new rationalism, but in the opposite direction. Christianity, which, at -the close of the preceding century, had been declared to be mythical, -was again received into favour, and as it enjoyed State protection, -the liberals could not prevent themselves being reinoculated by its -teaching. But in 1835 Strauss's <i>Life of Christ</i> had made a new -breach, and even in Sweden fresh water trickled into the stagnant -streams. The book was made the subject of legal action, but upon it -as a foundation the whole work of the new reformation was built up by -self-appointed reformers, as is always the case.</p> - -<p>Pastor Cramer had the honour of being the first. As early as 1859 -he published his <i>Farewell to the Church</i>, a popular but scientific -criticism of the New Testament. He set the seal of sincerity on his -belief by seceding from the State Church and resigning his office. His -book produced a great effect, and although Ingell's writings had more -vogue among the theologians, they did not reach the younger generation. -In the same year appeared Rydberg's <i>The Last Athenian</i>. The influence -of this book was hindered by the fact that it was hailed as a literary -success, and transplanted to the neutral territory of belles-lettres. -Ryllberg's <i>The Bible Doctrine of Christ</i> made a deeper impression. -Renan's <i>Life of Jesus</i> in Ignell's translation had taken young and old -by storm, and was read in the schools along with Cramer, which was not -the case with <i>The Bible Doctrine of Christ</i>. And by Boström's attack -on the <i>Doctrine of Hell</i> (1864), the door was opened to rationalism -or "free-thought," as it was called. Boström's really insignificant -work had a great effect, because of his fame as a Professor at Upsala -and former teacher in the Royal Family. The courageous man risked his -reputation, a risk which no one incurred after him, when it was no -longer considered an honour to be a free-thinker or to labour for the -freedom and the right of thinking.</p> - -<p>In short, everything was in train, and it needed only a breath to blow -down John's faith like a house of cards. A young engineer crossed his -path. He was a lodger in the house of John's female friend. He watched -John a long while before he made any approaches. John felt respect for -him, for he had a good head, and was also somewhat jealous. John's -friend prepared him for the acquaintance he was likely to make, and -at the same time warned him. She said the engineer was an interesting -man of great ability, but dangerous. It was not long before John met -him. He hailed from Wermland, was strongly built, with coarse, honest -features, and a childlike laugh, when he did laugh, which occurred -rarely. They were soon on familiar terms. The first evening only a -slight skirmish took place on the question of faith and knowledge. -"Faith must kill reason," said John (echoing Krummacher). "No," replied -his friend. "Reason is a divine gift, which raises man above the -brutes. Shall man lower himself to the level of the brutes by throwing -away this divine gift?"</p> - -<p>"There are things," said John (echoing Norbeck), "which we can very -well believe, without demanding a proof for them. We believe the -calendar, for example, without possessing a scientific knowledge of the -movement of the planets."</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered his friend, "we believe it, because our reason does not -revolt against it."</p> - -<p>"But," said John, "in Galileo's time they revolted against the idea -that the earth revolves round the sun. 'He is possessed by a spirit of -contradiction,' they said, 'and wishes to be thought original.'"</p> - -<p>"We don't live in Galileo's age," returned his friend, "and the -enlightened reason of our time rejects the Deity of Christ and -everlasting punishment."</p> - -<p>"We won't dispute about these things," said John.</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"They are out of the reach of reason."</p> - -<p>"Just what I said two years ago when I was a believer."</p> - -<p>"You have been——a pietist?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Hm! and now you have peace?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have peace."</p> - -<p>"How is that?"</p> - -<p>"I learned through a preacher to realise the spirit of true -Christianity."</p> - -<p>"You are a Christian then?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I acknowledge Christ."</p> - -<p>"But you don't believe that he was God?"</p> - -<p>"He never said so himself. He called himself God's son, and we are all -God's sons."</p> - -<p>John's lady friend interrupted the conversation, which was a type of -many others in the year 1865. John's curiosity was aroused. There were -then, he said to himself, men who did not believe in Christ and yet had -peace. Mere criticism would not have disturbed his old ideas of God; -the "horror vacui" held him back, till Theodore Parker fell into his -hands. Sermons without Christ and hell were what he wanted. And fine -sermons they were. It must be confessed that he read them in extreme -haste, as he was anxious that his friends and relatives should enjoy -them that he might escape their censures. He could not distinguish -between the disapproval of others and his own bad conscience, and was -so accustomed to consider others right that he fell into conflict with -himself.</p> - -<p>But in his mind the doctrine of Christ the Judge, the election of -grace, the punishments of the last day, all collapsed, as though they -had been tottering for a long time. He was astonished at the rapidity -of their disappearance. It was as though he laid aside clothes he had -outgrown and put on new ones.</p> - -<p>One Sunday morning he went with the engineer to the Haga Park. It was -spring. The hazel bushes were in bloom, and the anemones were opening. -The weather was fairly clear, the air soft and mild after a night's -rain. He and his friend discussed the freedom of the will. The pietists -had a very wavering conception of the matter. No one had, they said, -the power to become a child of God of his own free will. The Holy -Spirit must seek one, and thus it was a matter of predestination. John -wished to be converted but he could not. He had learned to pray, "Lord, -create in me a new will." But how could he be held responsible for his -evil will? Yes, he could, answered the pietist, through the Fall, for -when man endowed with free will chose the evil, his posterity inherited -his evil will, which became perpetually evil and ceased to be free. -Man could be delivered from this evil will only through Christ and -the gracious work of the Holy Spirit. The New Birth, however, did not -depend upon his own will, but on the grace of God. Thus he was not free -and at the same time was responsible! Therein lay the false inference.</p> - -<p>Both the engineer and John were nature worshippers. What is this -nature worship which in our days is regarded as so hostile to culture? -A relapse into barbarism, say some; a healthy reaction against -over-culture, say others. When a man has discovered society to be an -institution based on error and injustice, when he perceives that, in -exchange for petty advantages society suppresses too forcibly every -natural impulse and desire, when he has seen through the illusion that -he is a demi-god and a child of God, and regards himself more as a kind -of animal—then he flees from society, which is built on the assumption -of the divine origin of man, and takes refuge with nature. Here he -feels in his proper environment as an animal, sees himself as a detail -in the picture, and beholds his origin—the earth and the meadow. -He sees the interdependence of all creation as if in a summary—the -mountains becoming earth, the sea becoming rain, the plain which is a -mountain crumbled, the woods which are the children of the mountains -and the water. He sees the ocean of air which man and all creatures -breathe, he hears the birds which live on the insects, he sees the -insects which fertilise the plants, he sees the mammalia which supply -man with nourishment, and he feels at home. And in our time, when -all things are seen from the scientific point of view, a lonely hour -with nature, where we can see the whole evolution-history in living -pictures, can be the only substitute for divine worship.</p> - -<p>But our optimistic evolutionists prefer a meeting in a large hall -where they can launch their denunciations against this same society -which they admire and despise. They praise it as the highest stage of -development, but wish to overthrow it, because it is irreconcilable -with the true happiness of the animal. They wish to reconstruct and -develop it, say some. But their reconstruction involves the destruction -of all existing arrangements. Do not these people recognise that -society as it exists is a case of miscarriage in evolution, and is -itself simultaneously hostile to culture and to nature?</p> - -<p>Society, like everything else, is a natural product, they say, and -civilisation is nature. Yes, but it is degenerate nature, nature on -the down-grade, since it works against its own object—happiness. It -was, however, the engineer, John's leader, and a nature-worshipper like -himself, who revealed to him the defects of civilised society, and -prepared the way for his reception of the new views of man's origin. -Darwin's <i>Origin of Species</i> had appeared as early as 1859, but its -influence had not yet penetrated far, much less had it been able to -fertilise other minds.<a name="FNanchor_2_8" id="FNanchor_2_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_8" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Moleschott's influence was then in the -ascendant, and materialism was the watchword of the day. Armed with -this and with his geology, the engineer pulled to pieces the Mosaic -story of the Creation. He still spoke of the Creator, for he was a -theist and saw God's wisdom and goodness reflected in His works.</p> - -<p>While they were walking in the park, the church bells in the city began -to ring. John stood still and listened. There were the terrible bells -of the Clara Church, which rang through his melancholy childhood; the -bells of the Adolf-Fredrik, which had frightened him to the bleeding -breast of the Crucified, and the bells of St. John's, which, on -Saturdays, when he was in the Jacob School, had announced the end of -the week. A gentle south wind bore the sound of the bells thither from -the city, and it echoed like a warning under the high firs.</p> - -<p>"Are you going to church?" asked his friend.</p> - -<p>"No," answered John, "I am not going to church any more."</p> - -<p>"Follow your conscience," said the engineer.</p> - -<p>It was the first time that John had remained away from church. He -determined to defy his father's command and his own conscience. He got -excited, inveighed against religion and domestic tyranny, and talked of -the church of God in nature; he spoke with enthusiasm of the new gospel -which proclaimed salvation, happiness, and life to all. But suddenly he -became silent.</p> - -<p>"You have a bad conscience," said his friend.</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered John; "one should either not do what one repents of, or -not repent of what one does."</p> - -<p>"The latter is the better course."</p> - -<p>"But I repent all the same. I repent a good deed, for it would be wrong -to play the hypocrite in this old idol-temple. My new conscience tells -me that I am wrong. I can find no more peace."</p> - -<p>And that was true. His new ego revolted against this old one, and they -lived in discord, like an unhappy married couple, during the whole of -his later life, without being able to get a separation.</p> - -<p>The reaction in his mind against his old views, which he felt should -be eradicated, broke out violently. The fear of hell had disappeared, -renunciation seemed silly, and the youth's nature demanded its rights. -The result was a new code of morality, which he formulated for himself -in the following fashion: What does not hurt any of my fellow-men -is permitted to me. He felt that the domestic pressure at home did -him harm, and no one else any good, and revolted against it. He now -showed his real feelings to his parents, who had never shown him love, -but insisted on his being grateful, because they had given him his -legal rights as a matter of favour, and accompanied by humiliations. -They were antipathetic to him, and he was cold to them. To their -ceaseless attacks on free-thinking he gave frank and perhaps somewhat -impertinent answers. His half-annihilated will began to stir, and he -saw that he was entitled to make demands of life.</p> - -<p>The engineer was regarded as John's seducer, and was anathematised. -But he was open to the influence of John's lady friend, who had formed -a friendship with his step-mother. The engineer was not of a radical -turn of mind; he had accepted Theodore Parker's compromise, and still -believed in Christian self-denial. One should, he said, be amiable and -patient, follow Christ's example, and so forth. Urged on by John's lady -friend, for whom he had a concealed tenderness, and alarmed by the -consequences of his own teaching, he wrote John the following letter. -It was inspired by fear of the fire which he had kindled, by regard for -the lady, and by sincere conviction:</p> - -<p>"To MY FRIEND JOHN,—How joyfully we greet the spring when it appears, -to intoxicate us with its wealth of verdure and its divine freshness! -The birds begin their light and cheerful melodies, and the anemones -peep shyly forth under the whispering branches of the pines——"</p> - -<p>"It is strange," thought John, "that this unsophisticated man, who -talks so simply and sincerely, should write in such a stilted style. -It rings false."</p> - -<p>The letter continued: "What breast, whether old or young, does not -expand in order to inhale the fresh perfumes of the spring, which -spread heavenly peace in each heart, accompanied by a longing which -seems like a foretaste of God and of His love? At such a time can any -malice remain in our hearts? Can we not forgive? Ah yes, we must, -when we see how the caressing rays of the spring sun have kissed away -the icy cover from nature and our hearts. Just as we expect to see -the ground, freed from snow, grow green again, so we long to see the -warmth of a kindly heart manifest itself in loving deeds, and peace and -happiness spread through all nature——"</p> - -<p>"Forgive?" thought John. "Yes, certainly he would, if they would only -alter their behaviour and let him be free. But <i>they</i> did not forgive -him. With what right did they demand forbearance on his part? It must -be mutual."</p> - -<p>"John," went on the letter, "you think you have attained to a higher -conception of God through the study of nature and through reason -than when you believed in the Deity of Christ and the Bible, but you -do not realise the tendency of your own thoughts. You think that a -true thought can of itself ennoble a man, but in your better moments -you see that it cannot. You have only grasped the shadow which the -light throws, but not the chief matter, not the light itself. When -you held your former views you could pass over a fault in one of your -fellow-men, you could take a charitable view of an action in spite of -appearances, but how is it with you now? You are violent and bitter -against a loving mother; you condemn and are discontented with the -actions of a tender, experienced, grey-headed father——"</p> - -<p>(As a matter of fact, when he held his former views, John could not -pardon a fault in anyone, least of all in himself. Sometimes, indeed, -he did pardon others; but that was stupid, that was lax morality. A -loving mother, forsooth! Yes, very loving! How did his friend Axel -come to think so? And a tender father? But why should he not judge his -actions? In self-defence one must meet hardness with hardness, and no -more turn the left cheek when the right cheek is smitten.)</p> - -<p>"Formerly you were an unassuming, amiable child, but now you are an -egotistical, conceited youth——"</p> - -<p>("Unassuming!" Yes, and that was why he had been trampled down, but -now he was going to assert his just claims. "Conceited!" Ha! the -teacher felt himself outstripped by his ungrateful pupil.)</p> - -<p>"The warm tears of your mother flow over her cheeks——"</p> - -<p>("Mother!" he had no mother, and his stepmother only cried when she was -angry! Who the deuce had composed the letter?)</p> - -<p>"—when she thinks in solitude about your hard heart——"</p> - -<p>(What the dickens has she to do with my heart when she has the -housekeeping and seven children to look after?)</p> - -<p>"—your unhappy spiritual condition——"</p> - -<p>(That's humbug! My soul has never felt so fresh and lively as now.)</p> - -<p>"—and your father's heart is nearly breaking with grief and -anxiety——"</p> - -<p>(That's a lie. He is himself a theist and follows Wallin; besides, -he has no time to think about me. He knows that I am industrious and -honest, and not immoral. Indeed, he praised me only a day or two ago.)</p> - -<p>"You do not notice your mother's sad looks——"</p> - -<p>(There are other reasons for that, for her marriage is not a happy one.)</p> - -<p>"—nor do you regard the loving warnings of your father. You are like -a crevasse above the snow-line, in which the kiss of the spring sun -cannot melt the snow, nor turn a single atom of ice into a drop of -water——"</p> - -<p>(The writer must have been reading romances. As a matter of fact John -was generally yielding towards his school-fellows. But towards his -domestic enemies he had become cold. That was their fault.)</p> - -<p>"What can your friends think of your new religion, when it produces -such evil fruit? They will curse it, and your views give them the right -to do so——"</p> - -<p>(Not the right, but the occasion.)</p> - -<p>"They will hate the mean scoundrel who has instilled the hellish poison -of his teaching into your innocent heart——"</p> - -<p>(There we have it! The mean scoundrel!)</p> - -<p>"Show now by your actions that you have grasped the truth better than -heretofore. Try to be forbearing——"</p> - -<p>(That's the step-mother!)</p> - -<p>"Pass over the defects and failings of your fellow-men with love and -gentleness——"</p> - -<p>(No, he would not! They had tortured him into lying; they had snuffed -about in his soul, and uprooted good seeds as though they were weeds; -they wished to stifle his personality, which had just as good a right -to exist as their own; they had never been forbearing with his faults, -why should he be so with theirs? Because Christ had said.... That had -become a matter of complete indifference, and had no application to -him now. For the rest, he did not bother about those at home, but shut -himself up in himself. They were unsympathetic to him, and could not -obtain his sympathy. That was the whole thing in a nutshell. They had -faults and wanted him to pardon them. Very well, he did so, if they -would only leave him in peace!)</p> - -<p>"Learn to be grateful to your parents, who spare no pains in promoting -your true welfare and happiness (hm!), and that this may be brought -about through love to God your Creator, who has caused you to be born -in this improving (hm! hm!) environment, for obtaining peace and -blessedness is the prayer of your anxious but hopeful</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 19.5em;">"AXEL."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"I have had enough of father confessors and inquisitors," thought John; -he had escaped and felt himself free. They stretched their claws after -him, but he was beyond their reach. His friend's letter was insincere -and artificial; "the hands were the hands of Esau." He returned no -answer to it, but broke off all intercourse with both his friends.</p> - -<p>They called him ungrateful. A person who insists on gratitude is worse -than a creditor, for he first makes a present on which he plumes -himself, and then sends in the account—an account which can never be -paid, for a service done in return does not seem to extinguish the debt -of gratitude; it is a mortgage on a man's soul, a debt which cannot -be paid, and which stretches over the whole subsequent life. Accept -a service from your friend, and he will expect you to falsify your -opinion of him and to praise his own evil deeds, and those of his wife -and children.</p> - -<p>But gratitude is a deep feeling which honours a man and at the same -time humiliates him. Would that a time may come when it will not be -necessary to fetter ourselves with gratitude for a benefit, which -perhaps is a mere duty.</p> - -<p>John felt ashamed of the breach with his friends, but they hindered -and oppressed him. After all, what had they given him in social -intercourse which he had not given back?</p> - -<p>Fritz, as his friend with the pince-nez was called, was a prudent man -of the world. These two epithets "prudent" and "man of the world" had -a bad significance at that time. To be prudent in a romantic period, -when all were a little cracked, and to be cracked was considered a mark -of the upper classes, was almost synonymous with being bad. To be a -man of the world when all attempted, as well as they could, to deceive -themselves in religion, was considered still worse. Fritz was prudent. -He wished to lead his own life in a pleasant way and to make a career -for himself. He therefore sought the acquaintance of those in good -social position. That was prudent, because they had power and money. -Why should he not seek them? How did he come to make friends with John? -Perhaps through a sort of animal sympathy, perhaps through long habit. -John could not do any special service for him except to whisper answers -to him in the class and to lend him books. For Fritz did not learn his -lessons, and spent in punch the money which was intended for books.</p> - -<p>Now when he saw that John was inwardly purified, and that his outer -man was presentable, he introduced him to his own coterie. This was a -little circle of young fellows, some of them rich and some of them of -good rank belonging to the same class as John. The latter was a little -shy at first, but soon stood on a good footing with them. One day, at -drill time, Fritz told him that he had been invited to a ball.</p> - -<p>"I to a ball? Are you mad? I would certainly be out of place there."</p> - -<p>"You are a good-looking fellow, and will have luck with the girls."</p> - -<p>Hm! That was a new point of view with regard to himself. Should he go? -What would they say at home, where he got nothing but blame?</p> - -<p>He went to the ball. It was in a middle-class house. Some of the girls -were anæmic; others red as berries. John liked best the pale ones who -had black or blue rings round their eyes. They looked so suffering and -pining, and cast yearning glances towards him. There was one among them -deathly pale, whose dark eyes were deep-set and burning, and whose lips -were so dark that her mouth looked almost like a black streak. She made -an impression on him, but he did not venture to approach her, as she -already had an admirer. So he satisfied himself with a less dazzling, -softer, and gentler girl. He felt quite comfortable at the ball and in -intercourse with strangers, without seeing the critical eyes of any -relative. But he found it very difficult to talk with the girls.</p> - -<p>"What shall I say to them?" he asked Fritz.</p> - -<p>"Can't you talk nonsense with them? Say 'It is fine weather. Do you -like dancing? Do you skate?' One must learn to be versatile."</p> - -<p>John went and soon exhausted his repertoire of conversation. His palate -became dry, and at the third dance he got tired of it. He felt in a -rage with himself and was silent.</p> - -<p>"Isn't dancing amusing?" asked Fritz. "Cheer up, old coffin-polisher!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, dancing is all right, if one only had not to talk. I don't know -what to say."</p> - -<p>So it was, as a matter of fact. He liked the girls, and dancing with -them seemed manly, but as to talking with them!—he felt as though he -were dealing with another kind of the species <i>Homo</i>, in some cases a -higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired his gentle little -partner, and would have liked her for a wife.</p> - -<p>His fondness for reflection and his everlasting criticism of his -thoughts had robbed him of the power of being simple and direct. When -he talked with a girl, he heard his own voice and words and criticised -them. This made the whole ball seem tedious. And then the girls? What -was it really that they lacked? They had the same education as himself; -they learned history and modern languages, read Icelandic, studied -algebra, etc. They had accordingly the same culture, and yet he could -not talk with them.</p> - -<p>"Well, talk nonsense with them," said Fritz.</p> - -<p>But he could not. Besides, he had a higher opinion of them. He wanted -to give up the balls altogether, since he had no success, but he was -taken there in spite of himself. It flattered him to be invited, and -flattery has always something pleasant about it. One day he was paying -a visit to an aristocratic family. The son of the house was a cadet. -Here he met two actresses. With them he felt he could speak. They -danced with him but did not answer him. So he listened to Fritz's -conversation. The latter said strange things in elegant phrases, and -the girls were delighted with him. That, then, was the way to get on -with them!</p> - -<p>The balls were followed by serenades and "punch evenings." John had a -great longing for strong drinks; they seemed to him like concentrated -liquid nourishment. The first time he was intoxicated was at a -students' supper at Djurgårdsbrunn. He felt happy, joyful, strong, and -mild, but far from mad. He talked nonsense, saw pictures on the plates -and made jokes. This behaviour made him for the moment like his elder -brother, who, though deeply melancholy in his youth, had a certain -reputation afterwards as a comic actor. They had both played at acting -in the attic; but John was embarrassed; he acted badly and was only -successful when he was given the part of some high personage to play. -As a comic actor he was impossible.</p> - -<p>About this time there entered two new factors into his development—Art -and Literature.</p> - -<p>John had found in his father's bookcase Lenstrom's <i>Æsthetics</i>, -Boije's <i>Dictionary of Painters,</i> and Oulibischeff's <i>Life of Mozart</i>, -besides the authors previously mentioned. Through the scattering of -the family of a deceased relative, a large number of books came into -the house, which increased John's knowledge of belles-lettres. Among -them were several copies of Talis Qualis's poems, which he did not -enjoy; he found no pleasure in Strandberg's translation of Byron's -<i>Don Juan</i>, for he hated descriptive poetry; he always skipped verse -quotations when they occurred in books. Tasso's <i>Jerusalem Delivered</i>, -in Kullberg's translation, he found tedious; Karl von Zeipel's <i>Tales</i>, -impossible. Sir Walter Scott's novels were too long, especially the -descriptions. He therefore did not understand at first the greatness -of Zola, when many years later he read his elaborate descriptions; the -perusal of Lessing's <i>Laokoön</i> had already convinced him that such -descriptions cannot convey an adequate impression of the whole. Dickens -infused life even into inanimate objects and harmonised the scenery -and situations with the characters. That he understood better. He -thought Eugène Sue's <i>Wandering Jew</i> magnificent; he did not regard it -as a novel; for novels, he thought, were only to be found in lending -libraries. This, on the other hand, was a historical poem of universal -interest, whose Socialistic teaching he quickly imbibed. Alexandre -Dumas's works seemed to him like the boys' books about Indians. These -he did not care for now; he wanted books with some serious purpose. -He swallowed Shakespeare whole, in Hagberg's translation. But he had -always found it hard to read plays where the eye must jump from the -names of the <i>dramatis personæ</i>, to the text. He was disappointed in -<i>Hamlet</i>, of which he had expected much, and the comedies seemed to him -sheer nonsense.</p> - -<p>John could not endure poetry. It seemed to him artificial and untrue. -Men did not speak like that, and they seldom thought so beautifully. -Once he was asked to write a verse in Fanny's album.</p> - -<p>"You can screw yourself up to do that," said his friend.</p> - -<p>John sat up at night, but only managed to hammer out two lines. -Besides, he did not know what to say. One could not expose one's -feelings to common observation. Fritz offered his help, and together -they produced six or eight rhyming lines, for which Snoilsky's <i>A -Christmas Eve in Rome</i> supplied the motive.</p> - -<p>"Genius" often formed the subject of their discussions. Their teacher -used to say "Geniuses" ranked above all else, like "Excellencies." John -thought much about this, and believed that it was possible without -high birth, without money, and without a career to get on the same -level as Excellencies. But what a genius was he did not know. Once -in a weak moment he said to his lady friend that he would rather be -a genius than a child of God, and received a sharp reproof from her. -Another time he told Fritz that he would like to be a professor, as -they can dress like scarecrows and behave as they like without losing -respect. But when someone else asked him what he wished to be, he said, -"A clergyman"; for all peasants' sons can be that, and it seemed a -suitable calling for him also. After he had become a free-thinker, he -wished to take a university degree. But he did not wish to be a teacher -on any account.</p> - -<p>In the theatre <i>Hamlet</i> made a deeper impression on him than -Offenbach's operas, which were then being acted. Who is this Hamlet -who first saw the footlights in the era of John III., and has still -remained fresh? He is a figure which has been much exploited and used -for many purposes. John forthwith determined to use him for his own.</p> - -<p>The curtain rises to the sound of cheerful music, showing the king and -his court in glittering array. Then there enters the pale youth in -mourning garb and opposes his step-father. Ah! he has a step-father. -"That is as bad as having a stepmother," thought John. "That's the -man for me!" And then they try to oppress him and squeeze sympathy -out of him for the tyrant. The youth's ego revolts, but his will is -paralysed; he threatens, but he cannot strike.</p> - -<p>Anyhow, he chastises his mother—a pity that it was not his -step-father. But now he goes about with pangs of conscience. Good! -Good! He is sick with too much thought, he gropes in his in-side, -inspects his actions till they dissolve into nothing. And he loves -another's betrothed; that resembles John's life completely. He begins -to doubt whether he is an exception after all. That, then, is a common -story in life! Very well! He did not need then to worry about himself, -but he had lost his consciousness of originality. The conclusion, which -had been mangled, was unimpressive, but was partly redeemed by the fine -speech of Horatio. John did not observe the unpardonable mistake of -the adapter in omitting the part of Fortinbras, but Horatio, who was -intended to form a contrast to Hamlet, was no contrast. He is as great -a coward as the latter, and says only "yes" and "no." Fortinbras was -the man of action, the conqueror, the claimant to the throne, but he -does not appear, and the play ends in gloom and desolation.</p> - -<p>But it is fine to lament one's destiny, and to see it lamented. -At first Hamlet was only the step-son; later on he becomes the -introspective brooder, and lastly the son, the sacrifice to family -tyranny. Schwarz had represented him as the visionary and idealist who -could not reconcile himself to reality, and satisfied contemporary -taste accordingly. A future matter-of-fact generation, to whom the -romantic appears simply ridiculous, may very likely see the part of -Hamlet, like that of Don Quixote, taken by a comic actor. Youths -like Hamlet have been for a long time the subject of ridicule, for -a new generation has secretly sprung up, a generation which thinks -without seeing visions, and acts accordingly. The neutral territory -of belles-lettres and the theatre, where morality has nothing to say, -and the unrealities of the drama with its reconstruction of a better -world than the present, were taken by John as something more than mere -imagination. He confused poetry and reality, while he fancied that life -outside his parent's house was ideal and that the future was a garden -of Eden.</p> - -<p>The prospect of soon going to the University of Upsala seemed to him -like a flight into liberty. There one might be ill-dressed, poor, and -still a student, <i>i.e.</i>, a member of the higher classes; one could sing -and drink, come home intoxicated, and fight with the police without -losing one's reputation. That is an ideal land! How had he found that -out? From the students' songs which he sang with his brother. But he -did not know that these songs reflected the views of the aristocracy; -that they were listened to, piece by piece, by princes and future -kings; that the heroes of them were men of family. He did not consider -that borrowing was not so dangerous, when there was a rich aunt in the -background; that the examination was not so hard if one had a bishop -for an uncle; and that the breaking of a window had not got to be too -dearly paid for if one moved in good society. But, at any rate, his -thoughts were busy with the future; his hopes revived, and the fatal -twenty-fifth year did not loom so ominously before him.</p> - -<p>About this time the volunteer movement was at its height. It was a -happy idea which gave Sweden a larger army than she had hitherto -had—40,000 men instead of 37,000. John went in for it energetically, -wore a uniform, drilled, and learned to shoot. He came thereby into -contact with young men of other classes of society. In his company -there were apprentices, shop attendants, office clerks, and young -artists who had not yet achieved fame. He liked them, but they -remained distant. He sought to approach them, but they did not receive -him. They had their own language, which he did not understand. Now he -noticed how his education had separated him from the companions of his -childhood. They took for granted that he was proud. But, as a matter of -fact, he looked up to them in some things. They were frank, fearless, -independent, and pecuniarily better circumstanced than himself, for -they always had money.</p> - -<p>Accompanying the troops on long marches had a soothing effect on him. -He was not born to command, and obeyed gladly, if the person who -commanded did not betray pride or imperiousness. He had no ambition -to become a corporal, for then he would have had to think, and what -was still worse, decide for others. He remained a slave by nature and -inclination, but he was sensitive to the injustice of tyrants, and -observed them narrowly.</p> - -<p>At one important manoeuvre he could not help expostulating with regard -to certain blunders committed, <i>e.g.</i>, that the infantry of the guard -should be ranged up at a landing-place against the cannon of the fleet -which covered the barges on which they were standing. The cannon -played about their ears from a short distance, but they remained -unmoved. He expostulated and swore, but obeyed, for he had determined -beforehand to do so.</p> - -<p>On one occasion, while they were halting at Tyreso, he wrestled in -sport with a comrade. The captain of the company stepped forward and -forbade such rough play. John answered sharply that they were off duty, -and that they were playing.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but play may become earnest," said the captain.</p> - -<p>"That depends on us," answered John, and obeyed. But he thought him -fussy for interfering in such trifles, and believed that he noticed a -certain dislike in his superior towards himself. The former was called -"magister," because he wrote for the papers, but he was not even a -student. "There it is," he thought, "he wants to humiliate me." And -from that time he watched him closely. Their mutual antipathy lasted -through their lives.</p> - -<p>The volunteer movement was in the first place the result of the -Danish-German War, and, though transitory, was in some degree -advantageous. It kept the young men occupied, and did away, to a -certain extent, with the military prestige of the army, as the lower -classes discovered that soldiering was not such a difficult matter -after all. The insight thus gained caused a widespread resistance to -the introduction of the Prussian system of compulsory service which was -much mooted at the time, since Oscar II., when visiting Berlin, had -expressed to the Emperor William his hope that Swedish and Prussian -troops would once more be brothers-in-arms.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_7" id="Footnote_1_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_7"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See <i>Encyclopedia Britannica</i>, art. "Sweden."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_8" id="Footnote_2_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_8"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> In 1910 Strindberg wrote: "I keep my Bible Christianity -for private use, to tame my somewhat barbarised nature—barbarised by -the veterinary philosophy of Darwinism, in which, as a student. I was -educated."—<i>Tal till Svenska nationen</i>.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IX" id="IX">IX</a></h4> - -<h3>WITH STRANGERS</h3> - - -<p>One of his bold dreams had been fulfilled: he had found a situation for -the summer. Why had he not found one sooner? He had not dared to hope -for it, and, therefore, had never sought it, from fear of meeting with -a refusal. A disappointed hope was the worst thing he could imagine. -But now, all at once, Fortune shook her cornucopia over him; the post -he had obtained was in the finest situation that he knew—the Stockholm -archipelago—on the most beautiful of all the islands, Sotaskär. He -now liked aristocrats. His step-mother's ill-treatment of him, his -relations' perpetual watching to discover arrogance in him, where there -was only superiority of intelligence, generosity, and self-sacrifice, -the attempts of his volunteer comrades to oppress him, had driven him -out of the class to which he naturally belonged. He did not think or -feel any more as they did; he had another religion, and another view -of life. The well-regulated behaviour and confident bearing of his -aristocratic friends satisfied his æsthetic sense; his education had -brought him nearer to them, and alienated him from the lower classes. -The aristocrats seemed to him less proud than the middle class. They -did not oppress, but prized culture and talent; they were democratic in -their behaviour towards him, for they treated him as an equal, whereas -his own relatives regarded him as a subordinate and inferior. Fritz, -for example, who was the son of a miller in the country, visited at the -house of a lord-in-waiting, and played in a comedy with his sons before -the director of the Theatre Royal, who offered him an engagement. -No one asked whose son he was. But when Fritz came to a dance at -John's house, he was carefully inspected behind and before, and great -satisfaction was caused when some relative imparted the information -that his father had once been a miller's servant.</p> - -<p>John had become aristocratic in his views, without, however, ceasing to -sympathise with the lower classes, and since about the year 1865 the -nobility were fairly liberal in politics, condescending and popular -for the time, he let himself be duped.</p> - -<p>Fritz began to give him instructions how he should behave. One should -not be cringing, he said, but be yielding; should not say all that one -thought, for no one wished to know that; it was good if one could say -polite things, without indulging in too gross flattery; one should -converse, but not argue, above all things not dispute, for one never -got the best of it. Fritz was certainly a wise youth. John thought the -advice terribly hard, but stored it up in his mind. What he wanted to -get was a salary, and perhaps the chance of a tour abroad to Rome or -Paris with his pupils; that was the most he hoped for from his noble -friends, and what he intended to aim at.</p> - -<p>One Sunday he visited the wife of the baron, his future employer, as -she was in the town. She seemed like the portrait of a mediæval lady; -she had an aquiline nose, great brown eyes, and curled hair, which hung -over her temples. She was somewhat sentimental, talked in a drawling -manner, and with a nasal twang. John did not think her aristocratic, -and the house was a poorer one than his own home, but they had, -besides, an estate and a castle. However, she pleased him, for she had -a certain resemblance to his mother. She examined him, talked with him, -and let her ball of wool fall. John sprang up and gave it to her, with -a self-satisfied air which seemed to say, "I can do that, for I have -often picked up ladies' handkerchiefs." Her opinion of him after the -examination was a favourable one, and he was engaged. On the morning of -the day on which they were to leave the city he called again. The royal -secretary, for so the gentleman of the house was called, was standing -in his shirt-sleeves before the mirror and tying his cravat. He looked -proud and melancholy, and his greeting was curt and cold. John took -a seat uninvited, and tried to commence a conversation, but was not -particularly successful in keeping it up, especially as the secretary -turned his back to him, and gave only short answers.</p> - -<p>"He is not an aristocrat," thought John; "he is a boor."</p> - -<p>The two were antipathetic to each other, as two members of the lower -class, who looked askance at each other in their clamber laboriously -upwards.</p> - -<p>The carriage was before the door; the coachman was in livery, and -stood with his hat in his hand. The secretary asked John whether he -would sit in the carriage or on the box, but in such a tone that John -determined to be polite and to accept the invitation to sit on the -box. So he sat next the coachman. As the whip cracked, and the horses -started, he had only one thought, "Away from home! Out into the world!"</p> - -<p>At the first halting-place John got down from the box and went to -the carriage window. He asked in an easy, polite, perhaps somewhat -confidential tone, how his employers were. The baron answered curtly, -in a tone in a way which cut off all attempts at a nearer approach. -What did that mean?</p> - -<p>They took their seats again. John lighted a cigar, and offered the -coachman one. The latter, however, whispered in reply that he dared -not smoke on the box. He then pumped the coachman, but cautiously, -regarding the baron's friends, and so on. Towards evening they reached -the estate. The house stood on a wooded hill, and was a white stone -building with outside blinds. The roof was flat, and its rounded -comers gave the building a somewhat Italian aspect, but the blinds, -with their white and red borders, were elegance itself. John, with his -three pupils, was installed in one wing, which consisted of an isolated -building with two rooms; the other of which was occupied by the -coachman.</p> - -<p>After eight days John discovered that he was a servant, and in a very -unpleasant position. His father's man-servant had a better room all to -himself; and for several hours of the day was master of his own person -and thoughts. But John was not. Night and day he had to be with the -boys, teach them, and play and bathe with them. If he allowed himself -a moment's liberty, and was seen about, he was at once asked, "Where -are the children?" He lived in perpetual anxiety lest some accident -should happen to them. He was responsible for the behaviour of four -persons—his own and that of his three pupils. Every criticism of them -struck him. He had no companion of his own age with whom he could -converse. The steward was almost the whole day at work, and hardly ever -visible.</p> - -<p>But there were two compensations: the scenery and the sense of being -free from the bondage in his parent's house. The baroness treated -him confidentially, almost in a motherly way; she liked discussing -literature with him. At such times he felt on the same level with -her, and superior to her in point of erudition, but as soon as the -secretary came home he sank to the position of children's nurse again.</p> - -<p>The scenery of the islands had for him a greater charm than the banks -of the Mälar, and his magic recollections of Drottningholm faded. In -the past year he had climbed up a hill in Tyreso with the volunteer -sharpshooters. It was covered with a thick fir-wood. They crawled -through bilberry and juniper bushes till they reached a steep, rocky -plateau. From this they viewed a panorama which thrilled him with -delight: water and islands, water and islands stretched away into -infinite distance. Although born in Stockholm he had never seen the -islands, and did not know where he was. The view made a deep impression -on him, as if he had rediscovered a land which had appeared to him in -his fairest dreams or in a former existence—in which he believed, but -about which he knew nothing. The troop of sharpshooters drew off into -the wood, but John remained upon the height and worshipped—that is -the right word. The attacking troop approached and fired; the bullets -whistled about his ears; he hid himself, but he could not go away. That -was his land-scape and proper environment—barren, rugged gray rocks -surrounding wide stormy bays, and the endless sea in the distance as -a background. He remained faithful to this love, which could not be -explained by the fact that it was his first love. Neither the Alps of -Switzerland, nor the olive groves of the Mediterranean, nor the steep -coast of Normandy, could dethrone this rival from his heart.</p> - -<p>Now he was in Paradise, though rather too deep in it; the shore of -Sotaskär consisted of green pasturage overshadowed by oaks, and the -bay opened out to the fjord in the far distance. The water was pure -and salt; that was something new. In one of his excursions with his -rifle, the dogs, and the boys, he came one fine sunny day down to the -water's edge. On the other side of the bay stood a castle, a large, -old-fashioned stone edifice. He had discovered that his employer only -rented the estate.</p> - -<p>"Who lives in the castle?" he asked the boys.</p> - -<p>"Uncle Wilhelm," they answered.</p> - -<p>"What is his title?"</p> - -<p>"Baron X."</p> - -<p>"Do you never go there?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes; sometimes."</p> - -<p>So there was a castle here with a baron! John's walks now regularly -took the direction of the shore, from which he could see the castle. -It was surrounded by a park and garden. At home they had no garden.</p> - -<p>One fine day the baroness told him that he must accompany the boys on -the morrow to the baron's, and remain there for the day. She and her -husband would stay at home; "he would therefore represent the house," -she added jestingly.</p> - -<p>Then he asked what he was to wear. He could go in his summer suit, she -said, take his black coat on his arm, and change for dinner in the -little tapestry-room on the ground floor. He asked whether he should -wear gloves. She laughed, "No, he needed no gloves." He dreamt the -whole night about the baron, the castle, and the tapestry-room. In the -morning a hay-waggon came to the house to fetch them. He did not like -this; it reminded him of the parish clerk's school.</p> - -<p>And so they went off. They came to a long avenue of lime trees, -drove into the courtyard, and stopped before the castle. It was a -real castle, and looked as if it had been built in the Middle Ages. -From an arbour there came the well-known click of a draught-board. A -middle-aged gentleman in an ill-fitting, holland suit came out. His -face was not aristocratic, but rather of the middle-class type, with -a seaman's beard of a gray-yellow colour. He also wore earrings. John -held his hat in his hand and introduced himself. The baron greeted -him in a friendly way, and bade him enter the arbour. Here stood a -table with a draught-board, by which sat a little old man who was very -amiable in his manner. He was introduced as the pastor of a small town. -John was given a glass of brandy, and asked about the Stockholm news. -Since he was familiar with theatrical gossip and similar things, he was -listened to with greater attention. "There it is," he thought, "the -real aristocrats are much more democratic than the sham ones."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said the Baron. "Pardon me, Mr.——, I did not catch the name. -Yes, that is it. Are you related to Oscar Strindberg?"</p> - -<p>"He is my father."</p> - -<p>"Good heavens! is it possible? He is an old friend of mine from my -youthful days, when I was pilot on the Strengnas."</p> - -<p>John did not believe his ears. The baron had been pilot on a steamer! -Yes, indeed, he had. But he wished to hear about his friend Oscar. -John looked around him, and asked himself if this really was the baron. -The baroness now appeared; she was as simple and friendly as the baron. -The bell rang for dinner. "Now we will get something to drink," said -the baron. "Come along."</p> - -<p>John at first made a vain attempt to put on his frock-coat behind a -door in the hall, but finally succeeded, as the baroness had said that -he ought to wear it. Then they entered the dining-hall. Yes, that was a -real castle; the floor was paved with stone, the ceiling was of carved -wood; the window-niches were so deep that they seemed to form little -rooms; the fire place could hold a barrow-load of wood; there was a -three-footed piano, and the walls were covered with dark paintings.</p> - -<p>John felt quite at home during dinner. In the afternoon he played with -the baron, and drank toddy. All the courteous usages he had expected -were in evidence, and he was well pleased with the day when it was -over. As he went down the long avenue, he turned round and contemplated -the castle. It looked now less stately and almost poverty stricken. It -pleased him all the better, though it had been more romantic to look -at it as a fairy-tale castle from the other shore. Now he had nothing -more to which he could look up. But he himself, on the other hand, was -no more below. Perhaps, after all, it is better to have something to -which one <i>can</i> look up.</p> - -<p>When he came home, he was examined by the baroness. "How did he like -the baron?" John answered that he was pleasant and condescending. -He was also prudent enough to say nothing of the baron's friendship -with his father. "They will learn it anyhow," he thought. Meanwhile -he already felt more at home, and was no more so timid. One day he -borrowed a horse, but he rode it so roughly that he was not allowed to -borrow one again. Then he hired one from a peasant. It looked so fine -to sit high on a horse and gallop; he felt his strength grow at the -same time.</p> - -<p>His illusions were dispelled, but to feel on the same level with those -about him, without wishing to pull anyone down, that had something -soothing about it. He wrote a boasting letter to his brother at home, -but received an answer calculated to set him down. Since he was quite -alone, and had no one with whom he could talk, he wrote letters in -diary-form to his friend Fritz. The latter had obtained a post with -a merchant by the Mälar Lake, where there were young girls, music, -and good eating. John sometimes wished to be in his place. In his -diary-letter he tried to idealise the realities around him, and -succeeded in arousing his friend's envy.</p> - -<p>The story of the baron's acquaintance with John's father spread, and -the baroness felt herself bound to speak ill of her brother. John had, -nevertheless, intelligence enough to perceive that here there was -something to do with the tragedy of an estate in tail. Since he had -nothing to do with the matter, he took no trouble to inquire into it.</p> - -<p>During a visit which John paid to the pastor's house, the assistant -pastor happened to hear of his idea of being a pastor himself. Since -the senior pastor, on account of old age and weakness, no longer -preached, his assistant was John's only acquaintance. The assistant -found the work heavy, so he was very glad to come across young students -who wished to make their debuts as preachers. He asked John whether he -would preach. Upon John's objecting that he was not a student yet, he -answered, "No matter." John said he would consider.</p> - -<p>The assistant did not let him consider long. He said that many -students and collegians had preached here before, and that the church -had a certain fame since the actor Knut Almlöf had preached here in his -youth. John had seen him act as Menelaus in <i>The Beautiful Helen</i>, and -admired him. He consented to his friend's request, began to search for -a text, borrowed some homilies, and promised to have his trial sermon -ready by Friday. So, then, only a year after his Confirmation, he -would preach in the pulpit, and the baron and the ladies and gentlemen -would sit as devout hearers! So soon at the goal, without a clerical -examination—yes, even without his final college examination! They -would lend him a gown and bands; he would pray the Lord's Prayer and -read the Commandments! His head began to swell, and he walked home -feeling a foot taller, with the full consciousness that he was no -longer a boy.</p> - -<p>But as he came home he began to think seriously. He was a free-thinker. -Is it honourable to play the hypocrite? No, no. But must he then give -up the sermon? That would be too great a sacrifice. He felt ambitious, -and perhaps he would be able to sow some seeds of free-thought, which -would spring up later. Yes, but it was dishonest. With his old -egotistic morality he always regarded the motive of the actor, not the -beneficial or injurious effect of the action. It was profitable for him -to preach; it would not hurt others to hear something new and true. But -it was not honest. He could not get away from that objection. He took -the baroness into his confidence.</p> - -<p>"Do you believe that preachers believe all they say?" she asked.</p> - -<p>That was the preachers' affair, but John could not act a double part. -Finally, he walked to the assistant pastor's house, and consulted him. -It vexed the assistant to have to hear about it.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "but you believe in God, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, certainly I do."</p> - -<p>"Very well! don't speak of Christ. Bishop Wallin never mentioned the -name of Christ in his sermons. But don't bother any more. I don't want -to hear about it."</p> - -<p>"I will do my best," said John, glad to have saved his honesty and his -prospect of distinction at the same time. They had a glass of wine, and -the matter was settled.</p> - -<p>There was something intoxicating for him in sitting over his books and -homilies, and in hearing the baron ask for him, and the servant answer: -"The tutor is writing his sermon."</p> - -<p>He had to expound the text: "Jesus said, Now is the son of man -glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God be glorified in him, God -shall glorify him in himself, and shall straightway glorify him."</p> - -<p>That was all. He turned the sentence this way and that, but could find -no meaning in it. "It is obscure," he thought. But it touched the -most delicate point—the Deity of Christ. If he had the courage to -explain away that, he would certainly have done something important. -The prospect enticed him, and with Theodore Parker's help he composed -a prose poem on Christ as the Son of God, and then put forward very -cautiously the assertion that we are all God's sons, but that Christ is -His chosen and beloved Son, whose teaching we must obey. But that was -only the introduction, and the gospel is read after the introduction. -About what, then, should he preach? He had already pacified his -conscience by plainly stating his views regarding the Deity of Christ. -He glowed with excitement, his courage grew, and he felt that he had a -mission to fulfil. He would draw his sword against dogmas, against the -doctrine of election and pietism.</p> - -<p>When he came to the place where, after reading the text, he ought to -have said, "The text we have read gives us occasion for a short time -to consider the following subject," he wrote: "Since the text of the -day gives no further occasion for remark, we will, for a short time, -consider what is of greater importance." And so he dealt with God's -work in conversion. He made two attacks: one on the custom of preaching -from the text, and the second against the Church's teaching on the -subject of grace.</p> - -<p>First he spoke of conversion as a serious matter, which required a -sacrifice, and depended on the free-will of man (he was not quite -clear about that). He ignored the doctrine of election, and finally -flung open for all the doors of the kingdom of heaven: "Come unto me -all ye that are weary and heavy laden." "To-day shalt thou be with me -in Paradise." That is the gospel of Christ for all, and no one is to -believe that the key of heaven is committed to him (that was a hit at -the pietists), but that the doors of grace are open for all without -exception.</p> - -<p>He was very much in earnest, and felt like a missionary. On Friday he -betook himself to the church, and read certain passages of his sermon -from the pulpit. He chose the most harmless ones. Then he repeated the -prayers, while the assistant pastor stood under the choir gallery and -called to him, "Louder! Slower!" He was approved, and they had a glass -of wine together.</p> - -<p>On Sunday the church was full of people. John put on his gown and bands -in the vestry. For a moment he felt it comical, but then was seized -with anxiety. He prayed to the only true God for help, now that he was -to draw the sword against age-long error, and when the last notes of -the organ were silent, he entered the pulpit with confidence.</p> - -<p>Everything went well. But when he came to the place, "Since the text -of the day gives no occasion for remark," and saw a movement among the -faces of the congregation, which looked like so many white blurs, he -trembled. But only for a moment. Then he plucked up courage and read -his sermon in a fairly strong and confident voice. When he neared the -end, he was so moved by the beautiful truths which he proclaimed, that -he could scarcely see the writing on the paper for tears. He took a -long breath, and read through all the prayers, till the organ began -and he left the pulpit. The pastor thanked him, but said one should -not wander from the text; it would be a bad look-out if the Church -Consistory heard of it. But he hoped no one had noticed it. He had no -fault to find with the contents of the sermon. They had dinner at the -pastor's house, played and danced with the girls, and John was the hero -of the day. The girls said, "It was a very fine sermon, for it was so -short." He had read much too fast, and had left out a prayer.</p> - -<p>In the autumn John returned with the boys to the town, in order to live -with them and look after their school-work. They went to the Clara -School, so that, like a crab, he felt he was going backwards. The same -school, the same headmaster, the same malicious Latin teacher. John -worked conscientiously with his pupils, heard their lessons, and could -swear that they had been properly learned. None the less, in the report -books which they took home, and which their father read, it was stated -that such and such lessons had not been learned.</p> - -<p>"That is a lie," said John.</p> - -<p>"Well, but it is written here," answered the boys' father.</p> - -<p>It was hard work, and he was preparing at the same time for his own -examination. In the autumn holidays they went back to the country. -They sat by the stove and cracked nuts, a whole sackful, and read the -<i>Frithiof Saga, Axel</i>, and <i>Children of the Lord's Supper</i>.<a name="FNanchor_1_9" id="FNanchor_1_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_9" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The -evenings were intolerably long. But John discovered a new steward, who -was treated almost like a servant. This provoked John to make friends -with him, and in his room they brewed punch and played cards. The -baroness ventured to remark that the steward was not a suitable friend -for John.</p> - -<p>"Why not?" asked the latter.</p> - -<p>"He has no education."</p> - -<p>"That is not so dangerous."</p> - -<p>She also said that she preferred that the tutor should spend his time -with the family in the evening, or, at any rate, stay in the boys' -room. He chose the latter, for it was very stuffy in the drawing-room, -and he was tired of the reading aloud and the conversation. He now -stayed in his own and the boys' room. The steward came there, and -they played their game of cards. The boys asked to be allowed to take -a hand. Why should they not? John had played whist at home with his -father and brothers, and the innocent recreation had been regarded -as a means of education for teaching self-discipline, carefulness, -attention, and fairness; he had never played for money; each dishonest -trick was immediately exposed, untimely exultation at a victory -silenced, sulkiness at a defeat ridiculed.</p> - -<p>At that time the boys' parents made no objections, for they were glad -that the youngsters were occupied. But they did not like their being -on intimate terms with the steward. John had, in the summer, formed -a little military troop from his pupils and the workmen's children, -and drilled them in the open air. But the baroness forbade this close -intercourse with the latter. "Each class should keep to itself," she -said.</p> - -<p>But John could not understand why that should be, since in the year -1865 class distinctions had been done away with.</p> - -<p>In the meantime a storm was brewing, and a mere trifle was the occasion -of its outbreak.</p> - -<p>One morning the baron was storming about a pair of his driving-gloves -which had disappeared. He suspected his eldest boy. The latter denied -having taken them, and accused the steward, specifying the time when -he said he had taken them. The steward was called.</p> - -<p>"You have taken my driving-gloves, sir! What is the meaning of this?" -said the baron.</p> - -<p>"No, sir, I have not."</p> - -<p>"What! Hugo says you did."</p> - -<p>John, who happened to be present, stepped forward unsolicited, and -said, "Then Hugo lies. He himself has had the gloves."</p> - -<p>"What do you say?" said the baron, motioning to the steward to go.</p> - -<p>"I say the truth."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean, sir, by accusing my son in the presence of a -servant?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. X. is not a servant, and, besides, he is innocent."</p> - -<p>"Yes, very innocent—playing cards together and drinking with the boys! -That's a nice business, eh?"</p> - -<p>"Why did you not mention it before? Then you would have found out that -I do not drink with the boys."</p> - -<p>"'You,' you d—d hobbledehoy! What do you mean by calling me 'you.'"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Secretary can look for another 'hobbledehoy' to teach his boys, -since Mr. Secretary is too covetous to engage a grown person." So -saying, John departed.</p> - -<p>On the next day they were to return to the town, for the Christmas -holidays were at an end. So he would have to go home again—back into -hell, to be despised and oppressed, and it would be a thousand times -worse after he had boasted of his new situation, and compared it with -his parents' house to the disadvantage of the latter. He wept for -anger, but after such an insult there was no retreat.</p> - -<p>He was summoned to the baroness, but said she must wait awhile. Then -a messenger came again for him. In a sullen mood he went up to her. -She was quite mild, and asked him to stay some days with them till -they had found another tutor. He promised, since she had asked him so -pressingly. She said she would drive with the boys into the town.</p> - -<p>The sleigh came to the door, and the baron stood by, and said, "You can -sit on the box."</p> - -<p>"I know my place," said John. At the first halting-place the baroness -asked him to get into the sleigh, but he would not.</p> - -<p>They stayed in the town eight days. In the meanwhile John had written a -somewhat arrogant letter, in an independent tone, home, which did not -please his father, although he had flattered him in it. "I think you -should have first asked if you could come home," he said. In that he -was right. But John had never thought otherwise of his parents' house -than of an hotel, where he could get board and lodging without paying.</p> - -<p>So he was home again. Through an incomprehensible simplicity he had -let himself be persuaded to continue to go through his former pupils' -school-work with them, though he received nothing for it. One evening -Fitz wanted to take him to a café.</p> - -<p>"No," said John, "I must give some lessons."</p> - -<p>"Where?"</p> - -<p>"To the Secretary's boys."</p> - -<p>"What! haven't you done with them yet?"</p> - -<p>"No, I have promised to help them till they get a new teacher."</p> - -<p>"What do you get for it?"</p> - -<p>"What do I get? I have had board and lodging."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but what do you get now, when you don't board and lodge with -them?"</p> - -<p>"Hm! I didn't think of that."</p> - -<p>"You are a lunatic—teaching rich peoples' children gratis. Well, you -come along with me, and don't cross their threshold again."</p> - -<p>John had a struggle with himself on the pavement. "But I promised them."</p> - -<p>"You should not promise. Come now and write a letter withdrawing your -offer."</p> - -<p>"I must go and take leave of them."</p> - -<p>"It is not necessary. They promised you a present at Christmas, but you -got nothing; and now you let yourself be treated like a servant. Come -now and write."</p> - -<p>He was dragged to the café. The waitress brought paper and ink, and, -at his friend's dictation, he wrote a letter to the effect that, in -consequence of his approaching examination, he would have no more -leisure for teaching.</p> - -<p>He was free! "But I feel ashamed," he said.</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because I have been impolite."</p> - -<p>"Rubbish! Waitress, bring half a punch."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_9" id="Footnote_1_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_9"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Three poems by Tegner—the last translated by Longfellow.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="X" id="X">X</a></h4> - -<h3>CHARACTER AND DESTINY</h3> - - -<p>About this time the free-thought movement was at its height. After -preaching his sermon, John believed it was his mission and duty to -spread and champion the new doctrines. He therefore began to stay away -from prayers, and stayed behind when the rest of the class went to the -prayer-room. The headmaster came in and wished to drive him, and those -who had remained with him, out. John answered that his religion forbade -him to take part in an alien form of worship. The headmaster said -one must observe law and order. John answered that Jews were excused -attendance at prayers. The headmaster then asked him for the sake of -example and their former friendship to be present. John yielded. But he -and those who shared his views did not take part in the singing of the -psalms. Then the headmaster was infuriated, and gave them a scolding; -he especially singled out John, and upbraided him. John's answer was -to organise a strike. He and those who shared his views came regularly -so late to school that prayers were over when they entered. If they -happened to come too early, they remained in the corridor and waited, -sitting on the wooden boxes and chatting with the teachers. In order -to humble the rebels, the headmaster hit upon the idea, at the close -of prayers, when the whole school was assembled, to open the doors and -call them in. These then defiled past with an impudent air and under -a hail of reproaches through the prayer-room without remaining there. -Finally, they became quite used to enter of their own accord, and -take their scolding as they walked through the room. The headmaster -conceived a spite against John, and seemed to have the intention of -making him fail in his examination. John, on the other hand, worked day -and night in order to be sure of succeeding.</p> - -<p>His theological lessons degenerated into arguments with his teacher. -The latter was a pastor and theist, and tolerant of objections, but -he soon got tired of them, and told John to answer according to the -text-book.</p> - -<p>"How many Persons are in the Godhead?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"One," answered John.</p> - -<p>"What does Norbeck say?"</p> - -<p>"Norbeck says three!"</p> - -<p>"Well, then, you say three, too!"</p> - -<p>At home things went on quietly. John was left alone. They saw that he -was lost, and that it was too late for any effectual interference. One -Sunday his father made an attempt in the old style, but John was not at -a loss for an answer.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you go to church any more?" his father asked.</p> - -<p>"What should I do there?"</p> - -<p>"A good sermon can always do one some good."</p> - -<p>"I can make sermons myself."</p> - -<p>And there was an end of it.</p> - -<p>The pietists had a special prayer offered for John in the Bethlehem -Church after they had seen him one Sunday morning in volunteer uniform.</p> - -<p>In May, 1867, he passed his final examination. Strange things came to -light on that occasion. Great fellows with beards and pince-nez called -the Malay Peninsula Siberia, and believed that India was Arabia. Some -candidates obtained a testimonial in French who pronounced "en" like -"y," and could not conjugate the auxiliary verbs. It was incredible. -John believed he had been stronger in Latin three years before this. In -history everyone of them would have failed, if they had not known the -questions beforehand. They had read too much and learned too little.</p> - -<p>The examination closed with a prayer which a free-thinker was obliged -to offer. He repeated the Lord's Prayer stammeringly, and this was -wrongly attributed to his supposed state of excitement. In the evening -John was taken by his companions to Storkyrkobrinken, where they bought -him a student's white cap, for he had no money. Then he went to his -father's office to give him the good news. He met him in the hall.</p> - -<p>"Well! Have you passed?" said his father.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"And already bought the cap."</p> - -<p>"I got it on credit."</p> - -<p>"Go to the cashier, and have it paid for."</p> - -<p>So they parted. No congratulation! No pressure of the hand! That -was his father's Icelandic nature which could not give vent to any -expressions of tenderness.</p> - -<p>John came home as they were all sitting at supper. He was in a merry -mood, and had drunk punch. But his spirits were soon damped. All -were silent. His brothers and sisters did not congratulate him. Then -he became out of humour and silent also. He left the table and went -to rejoin his comrades in the town. There there was joy, childish, -exaggerated joy, and all too great hopes.</p> - -<p>During the summer he remained at home and gave lessons. With the money -earned he hoped to go in the autumn to the University at Upsala. -Theology attracted him no more. He had done with it, and, moreover, it -went against his conscience to take the ordination vow.</p> - -<p>In the autumn he went to Upsala. Old Margaret packed his box, and -put in cooking utensils, and a knife and fork. Then she obliged him -to borrow fifteen kronas<a name="FNanchor_1_10" id="FNanchor_1_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_10" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> from her. From his father he got a case -of cigars, and an exhortation to help himself. He himself had eighty -kronas, which he had earned by giving lessons, and with which he must -manage to get through his first term at the university.</p> - -<p>The world stood open for him; he had the ticket of admission in his -hand. He had nothing to do but to enter. Only that!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"A man's character is his destiny." That was then a common and -favourite proverb. Now that John had to go into the world, he employed -much time in attempting to cast his horoscope from his own character, -which he thought was already fully formed. People generally bestow the -name of "a character" on a man who has sought and found a position, -taken up a rôle, excogitated certain principles of behaviour, and acts -accordingly in an automatic way.</p> - -<p>A man with a so-called character is often a simple piece of mechanism; -he has often only one point of view for the extremely complicated -relationships of life; he has determined to cherish perpetually -certain fixed opinions of certain matters; and in order not to be -accused of "lack of character," he never changes his opinion, however -foolish or absurd it may be. Consequently, a man with a character is -generally a very ordinary individual, and what may be called a little -stupid. "Character" and automaton seem often synonymous. Dickens's -famous characters are puppets, and the characters on the stage must be -automata. A well-drawn character is synonymous with a caricature. John -had formed the habit of "proving himself" in the Christian fashion, -and asked himself whether he had such a character as befitted a man who -wished to make his way in the world.</p> - -<p>In the first place, he was revengeful. A boy had once openly said, by -the Clara Churchyard, that John's father had stood in the pillory. -That was an insult to the whole family. Since John was weaker than his -opponent, he caused his elder brother to execute vengeance with him on -the culprit, by bombarding him with snowballs. They carried out their -revenge so thoroughly, that they thrashed the culprit's younger brother -who was innocent.</p> - -<p>So he must be revengeful. That was a serious charge. He began to -consider the matter more closely. Had he revenged himself on his father -or his step-mother for the injustice they had done him? No; he forgot -all, and kept out of the way.</p> - -<p>Had he revenged himself on his school teachers by sending them boxes -full of stones at Christmas? No. Was he really so severe towards -others, and so hair-splitting in his judgment of their conduct towards -him? Not at all; he was easy to get on with, was credulous, and could -be led by the nose in every kind of way, provided he did not detect any -tyrannous wish to oppress in the other party. By various promises of -exchange his school-fellows had cajoled away from him his herbarium, -his collection of beetles, his chemical apparatus, his adventure books. -Had he abused or dunned them for payment? No; he felt ashamed on their -account, but let them be. At the end of one vacation the father of a -boy whom John had been teaching forgot to pay him. He felt ashamed to -remind him, and it was not till half a year had elapsed, that, at the -instigation of his own father, he demanded payment.</p> - -<p>It was a peculiar trait of John's character, that he identified himself -with others, suffered for them, and felt ashamed on their behalf. -If he had lived in the Middle Ages, he would have been marked with -the stigmata. If one of his brothers did something vulgar or stupid, -John felt ashamed for him. In church he once heard a boys' choir sing -terribly out of tune. He hid himself in the pew with a feeling of -vicarious shame.</p> - -<p>Once he fought with a school-fellow, and gave him a violent blow on -the chest, but when he saw the boy's face distorted with pain, he -burst into tears and reached him his hand. If anyone asked him to do -something which he was very unwilling to do, he suffered on behalf of -the one with whose request he could not comply.</p> - -<p>He was cowardly, and could let no one go away unheard for fear of -causing discontent. He was still afraid of the dark, of dogs, horses, -and strangers. But he could also be courageous if necessary, as he -had shown by rebelling in school, when the matter concerned his final -examination, and by opposing his father.</p> - -<p>"A man without religion is an animal," say the old copybooks. Now -that it has been discovered that animals are the most religious of -creatures, and that he who has knowledge does not need religion, the -practical efficacy of the latter has been much reduced. By placing the -source of his strength outside himself, he had lost strength and faith -in himself. Religion had devoured his ego. He prayed always, and at -all hours, when he was in need. He prayed at school when he was asked -questions; at the card-table when the cards were dealt out. Religion -had spoilt him, for it had educated him for heaven instead of earth; -family life had ruined him by educating him for the family instead of -for society; and school had educated him for the university instead of -for life.</p> - -<p>He was irresolute and weak. When he bought tobacco, he asked his friend -what sort he should buy. Thus he fell into his friends' power. The -consciousness of being popular drove away his fear of the unknown, and -friendship strengthened him.</p> - -<p>He was a prey to capricious moods. One day, when he was a tutor in the -country, he came into the town in order to visit Fritz. When he got -there he did not proceed any further, but remained at home, debating -with himself whether he should go to Fritz or not. He knew that his -friend expected him, and he himself much wished to see him. But he did -not go. The next day he returned to the country, and wrote a melancholy -letter to his friend, in which he tried to explain himself. But Fritz -was angry, and did not understand caprices.</p> - -<p>In all his weakness he sometimes was aware of enormous resources of -strength, which made himself believe himself capable of anything. When -he was twelve his brother brought home a French boys' book from Paris. -John said, "We will translate that, and bring it out at Christmas." -They did translate it, but as they did not know what further steps to -take, the matter dropped.</p> - -<p>An Italian grammar fell into his hands, and he learned Italian. -When he was a tutor in the country, as there was no tailor there, he -undertook to alter a pair of trousers. He opened the seams, altered and -stitched the trousers, and ironed them with the great stable key. He -also mended his boots. When he heard his sisters and brothers play in a -quartette, he was never satisfied with the performance. He would have -liked to jump up, to snatch the instruments from them, and to show them -how they ought to play.</p> - -<p>John had learned to speak the truth. Like all children, he lied in his -defence or in answer to impertinent questions, but he found a brutal -enjoyment, during a conversation, when people were trying to conceal -the truth, to say exactly what all thought. At a ball, where he was -very taciturn, a lady asked him if he liked dancing.</p> - -<p>"No, not at all," he answered.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, why do you dance?"</p> - -<p>"Because I am obliged to."</p> - -<p>He had stolen apples, like all boys, and that did not trouble him; he -made no secret of it. It was a prescriptive right. In the school he had -never done any real mischief. Once, on the last day before the close -of the term, he and some other boys had broken off some clothes-pegs -and torn up some old exercise-books. He was the only one seized on the -occasion. It was a mere outbreak of animal spirits, and was not taken -seriously.</p> - -<p>Now, when he was passing his own character under review, he collected -other people's judgments on himself, and was astonished at the -diversity of opinion displayed. His father considered him hard; his -step-mother, malicious; his brothers, eccentric. Every servant-maid in -the house had a different opinion of him; one of them liked him, and -thought that his parents treated him ill; his lady friend thought him -emotional; the engineer regarded him as an amiable child, and Fritz -considered him melancholy and self-willed. His aunts believed he had a -good heart; his grandmother that he had character; the girl he loved -idolised him; his teachers did not know what to make of him. Towards -those who treated him roughly, he was rough; towards his friends, -friendly.</p> - -<p>John asked himself whether it was he that was so many-sided, or the -opinions about him. Was he false? Did he behave to some differently -from what he did to others? "Yes," said his step-mother. When she heard -anything good about him, she always declared that he was acting a part.</p> - -<p>Yes, but all acted parts! His step-mother was friendly towards her -husband, hard towards her step-children, soft towards her own child, -humble towards the landlord, imperious towards the servants, polite to -the powerful, rough to the weak.</p> - -<p>That was the "law of accommodation," of which John was as yet unaware. -It was a trait in human nature, a tendency to adapt oneself—to be a -lion towards enemies, and a lamb towards friends,—which rested on -calculation.</p> - -<p>But when is one true, and when is one false? And where is to be found -the central "ego,"—the core of character? The "ego" was a complex of -impulses and desires, some of which were to be restrained, and others -unfettered. John's individuality was a fairly rich but chaotic complex; -he was a cross of two entirely different strains of blood, with a good -deal of book-learning, and a variety of experience. He had not yet -found what rôle he was to play, nor his position in life, and therefore -continued to be characterless. He had not yet determined which of -his impulses must be restrained, and how much of his "ego" must be -sacrificed for the society into which he was preparing to enter.</p> - -<p>If he had really been able to view himself objectively, he would have -found that most of the words he spoke were borrowed from books or from -school-fellows, his gestures from teachers and friends, his behaviour -from relatives, his temperament from his mother and wet-nurse, his -tastes from his father, perhaps from his grandfather. His face had no -resemblance to that of his father or mother. Since he had not seen his -grand-parents, he could not judge whether there was any resemblance -to them. What, then, had he of his own? Nothing. But he had two -fundamental characteristics, which largely determined his life and his -destiny.</p> - -<p>The first was Doubt. He did not receive ideas without criticism, but -developed and combined them. Therefore he could not be an automaton, -nor find a place in ordered society.</p> - -<p>The second was—Sensitiveness to pressure. He always tried to lessen -this last, in the first place, by raising his own level; in the second, -by criticising what was above him, in order to observe that it was not -so high after all, nor so much worth striving after.</p> - -<p>So he stepped out into life—in order to develop himself, and still -ever to remain as he was!</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_10" id="Footnote_1_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_10"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A krona is worth about twenty-seven cents.</p></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - -***** This file should be named 44109-h.htm or 44109-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44109/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Son of a Servant - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44109] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -THE SON OF A SERVANT - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "ZONES OF THE SPIRIT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - -WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH - -G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS - -NEW YORK AND LONDON - -The Knickerbocker Press - -1913 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. Fear and Hunger - II. Breaking-In - III. Away from Home - IV. Intercourse with the Lower Classes - V. Contact with the Upper Classes - VI. The School of the Cross - VII. First Love - VIII. The Spring Thaw - IX. With Strangers - X. Character and Destiny - - - - -AUGUST STRINDBERG AS NOVELIST - - -_From the Publication of "The Son of a Servant" to "The Inferno"_ -(1886-1896) - -A celebrated statesman is said to have described the biography of a -cardinal as being like the Judgment Day. In reading August Strindberg's -autobiographical writings, as, for example, his _Inferno_, and the book -for which this study is a preface, we must remember that he portrays -his own Judgment Day. And as his works have come but lately before the -great British public, it may be well to consider what attitude should -be adopted towards the amazing candour of his self-revelation. In most -provinces of life other than the comprehension of our fellows, the art -of understanding is making great progress. We comprehend new phenomena -without the old strain upon our capacity for readjusting our point of -view. But do we equally well understand our fellow-being whose way of -life is not ours? We are patient towards new phases of philosophy, -new discoveries in science, new sociological facts, observed in other -lands; but in considering an abnormal type of man or woman, hasty -judgment or a too contracted outlook is still liable to cloud the -judgment. - -Now, it is obvious that if we would understand any worker who has -accomplished what his contemporaries could only attempt to do, we -must have a sufficiently wide knowledge of his work. Neither the -inconsequent gossip attaching to such a personality, nor the chance -perusal of a problem-play, affords an adequate basis for arriving at -a true estimate of the man. Few writers demand, to the same degree as -August Strindberg, those graces of judgment, patience, and reverence. -And for this reason first of all: most of us live sheltered lives. They -are few who stand in the heart of the storm made by Europe's progress. -Especially is this true in Southern Europe, where tradition holds its -secular sway, where such a moulding energy as constitutional practice -exerts its influence over social life, where the aims and ends of human -attainment are defined and sanctioned by a consciousness developing -with the advancement of civilisation. There is often engendered under -such conditions a nervous impatience towards those who, judged from -behind the sheltered walls of orthodoxy, are more or less exposed to -the criticism of their fellows. The fault lies in yielding to this -impatience. The proof that August Strindberg was of the few who must -stand in the open, and suffer the full force of all the winds that -blow, cannot now be attempted. Our sole aim must be to enable the -reader of _The Son of a Servant_ to take up a sympathetic standpoint. -This book forms _part_ of the autobiography of a most gifted man, -through whose life the fierce winds of Europe's opinions blew into -various expression. - -The second reason for the exercise of impartiality, is that -Strindberg's recent death has led to the circulation through Europe of -certain phrases which are liable to displace the balance of judgment -in reviewing his life and work. There are passages in his writings, -and phases of his autobiography, that raise questions of Abnormal -Psychology. Hence pathological terms are used to represent the whole -man and his work. Again, from the jargon of a prevalent Nietzschianism -a doctrine at once like and unlike the teaching of that solitary -thinker descriptions of the Superman are borrowed, and with these -Strindberg is labelled. Or again, certain incidents in his domestic -affairs are seized upon to prove him a decadent libertine. The facts of -this book, _The Son of a Servant_, are true: Strindberg lived them. His -_Inferno_, in like manner, is a transcript of a period of his life. And -if these books are read as they should be read, they are neither more -nor less than the records of the progress of a most gifted life along -the Dolorous Way. - -The present volume is the record of the early years of Strindberg's -life, and the story is incomparably told. For the sympathetic reader it -will represent the history of a temperament to which the world could -not come in easy fashion, and for which circumstances had contrived a -world where it would encounter at each step tremendous difficulties. -We find in Strindberg the consciousness of vast powers thwarted by -neglect, by misunderstanding, and by the shackles of an ignominious -parentage. He sets out on life as a viking, sailing the trackless seas -that beat upon the shores of unknown lands, where he must take the -sword to establish his rights of venture, and write fresh pages in some -Heimskringla of a later age. - -A calm reading of the book may induce us to suggest that this is often -the fate of genius. The man of great endowments is made to walk where -hardship lies on every side. And though a recognition of the hardness -of the way is something, it must be borne in mind that while some are -able to pass along it in serenity, others face it in tears, and others -again in terrible revolt. Revolt was the only possible attitude for the -Son of a Servant. - -How true this is may be realised by recalling the fact that towards -the end of the same year in which _The Son of a Servant_ appeared, -viz., 1886, our author published the second part of a series of stories -entitled _Marriage_, in which that relationship is subjected to -criticism more intense than is to be found in any of the many volumes -devoted to this subject in a generation eminently given to this form -of criticism. Side by side with this fact should be set the contents -of one such story from his pen. Here he has etched, with acid that -bites deeper than that of the worker in metal, the story of a woman's -pettiness and inhumanity towards the husband who loves her. By his -art her weakness is made to dominate every detail of the domestic -_menage_, and what was once a woman now appears to be the spirit of -neglect, whose habitation is garnished with dust and dead flowers. -Her great weakness calls to the man's pity, and we are told how, into -this disorder, he brings the joy of Christmastide, and the whispered -words of life, like a wind from some flower-clad hill. The natural -conclusion, as regards both his autobiographical works and his volume -of stories, is this: that Strindberg finds the Ideal to be a scourge, -and not a Pegasus. And this is a distinction that sharply divides man -from man, whether endowed for the attainment of saintship, for the -apprehension of the vision, or with powers that enable him to wander -far over the worlds of thought. - -Had Strindberg intended to produce some more finished work to qualify -the opinion concerning his pessimism, he could have done no better -than write the novel that comes next in the order of his works, _Hemso -Folk_, which was given to the world in the year 1887. It is the first -of his novels to draw on the natural beauties of the rocky coast and -many tiny islands which make up the splendour of the Fjord whose -crown is Stockholm, and which, continuing north and south, provide -fascinating retreats, still unspoilt and unexplored by the commercial -agent. It may be noticed here that this northern Land of Faery has -not long since found its way into English literature through a story -by Mr. Algernon Blackwood, in his interesting volume, _John Silence_. -The adequate description of this region was reserved for August -Strindberg, and among his prose writings there are none to compare with -those that have been inspired by the islands and coast he delighted -in. Among them, _Hemso Folk_ ranks first. In this work he shows his -mastery, not of self-portraiture, but of the portraiture of other men, -and his characters are painted with a mastery of subject and material -which in a sister art would cause one to think of Velasquez. Against -a background of sea and sky stand the figures of a schoolmaster and -a priest--the portraits of both depicted with the highest art,--and -throughout the book may be heard the authentic speech of the soul of -Strindberg's North. He may truly be claimed to be most Swedish here; -but he may also with equal truth be claimed to be most universal, since -_Hemso Folk_ is true for all time, and in all places. - -In the following year (1888) was published another volume of tales by -Strindberg, entitled _Life on the Skerries_, and again the sea, and -the sun, and the life of men who commune with the great waters are the -sources of his virile inspiration. Other novels of a like kind were -written later, but at this hour of his life he yielded to the command -of the idea--a voice which called him more strongly than did the -magnificence of Nature, whose painter he could be when he had respite -from the whirlwind. - -_Tschandala_, his next book, was the fruit of a holiday in the country. -This novel was written to show a man of uncommon powers of mind in the -toils of inferior folk--the proletariat of soul bent on the ruin of -the elect in soul. Poverty keeps him in chains. He is forced to deal -with neighbours of varying degrees of degradation. A landlady deceives -her husband for the sake of a vagrant lover. This person attempts to -subordinate the uncommon man; who, however, discovers that he can be -dominated through his superstitious fears. He is enticed one night -into a field, where the projections from a lantern, imagined as -supernatural beings, so play upon his fears that he dies from fright. -In this book we evidently have the experimental upsurging of his -imagination: supposing himself the victim of a sordid environment, -he can see with unveiled eyes what might happen to him. Realistic in -his apprehension of outward details, he sees the idea in its vaguest -proportions. This creates, this informs his pictures of Nature; this -also makes his heaven and hell. Inasmuch as a similar method is used -by certain modern novelists, the curious phrase "a novel of ideas" has -been coined. As though it were a surprising feature to find an idea -expressed in novels! And not rarely such works are said to be lacking -in warmth, because they are too full of thought. - -After _Tschandala_ come two or three novels of distinctly controversial -character--books of especial value in essaying an understanding of -Strindberg's mind. The pressure of ideas from many quarters of Europe -was again upon him, and caused him to undertake long and desperate -pilgrimages. _In the Offing_ and _To Damascus_ are the suggestive -titles of these books. Seeing, however, that a detailed sketch of the -evolution of Strindberg's opinions is not at this moment practicable, -we merely mention these works, and the years 1890 and 1892. - -Meanwhile our author has passed through two intervals in his life of a -more peaceful character than was usually his lot. The first of these -was spent among his favourite scenes in the vicinity of the Gulf of -Bothnia, where he lived like a hermit, writing poetry and painting -pictures. He might have become a painter of some note, had it not come -so natural to him to use the pen. At any rate, during the time that he -wielded the brush he put on canvas the scenes which he succeeded in -reproducing so marvellously in his written works. The other period of -respite was during a visit to Ola Hansson, a Swedish writer of rare -distinction, then living near Berlin. The author of _Sensitiva Amorosa_ -was the antithesis of Strindberg. A consummate artist, with a wife of -remarkable intellectual power, the two enfolded him in their peace, and -he was able to give full expression to his creative faculty. - -Strindberg now enters upon the period which culminates in the writing -of _The Inferno_. From the peace of Ola Hansson's home he set out -on his wedding tour, and during the early part of it came over to -England. In a remarkable communication to a Danish man of letters, -Strindberg answers many questions concerning his personal tastes, among -them several regarding his English predilections. We may imagine them -present to him as he looks upon the sleeping city from London Bridge, -in the greyness of a Sunday morning, after a journey from Gravesend. -His favourite English writer is Dickens, and of his works the most -admired is _Little Dorrit_. A novel written in the period described in -_The Son of a Servant_, and which first brought him fame, was inspired -by the reading of _David Copperfield_! His favourite painter is Turner. -These little sidelights upon the personality of the man are very -interesting, throwing into relief as they do the view of him adopted by -the writer of the foregoing pages. London, however, he disliked, and a -crisis in health compelled him to leave for Paris, from which moment -begins his journey through the "Inferno." - -A play of Strindberg's has been performed in Paris--the height of his -ambition. Once attained, it was no longer to be desired; accordingly, -he turned from the theatre to Science. He takes from their hiding-place -some chemical apparatus he had purchased long before. Drawing the -blinds of his room he bums pure sulphur until he believes that he has -discovered in it the presence of carbon. His sentences are written -in terse, swift style. A page or two of the book is turned over, and -we find his pen obeying the impulse of his penetrating sight.... -Separation from his wife; the bells of Christmas; his visit to a -hospital, and the people he sees there, begin to occupy him. Gratitude -to the nursing sister, and the reaching forward of his mind into the -realm of the alchemical significance of his chemical studies, arouse -in him a spirit of mystical asceticism. Pages of _The Inferno_ might -be cited to show their resemblance to documents which have come to us -from the Egyptian desert, or from the narrow cell of a recluse. Theirs -is the search for a spiritual union: his is the quest of a negation -of self, that his science might be without fault. A notion of destiny -is grafted upon his mysticism of science. He wants to be led, as did -the ascetic, though for him the goal is lore hidden from mortal eyes. -He now happens upon confirmation of his scientific curiosity, in -the writings of an older chemist. Then he meets with Balzac's novel -_Seraphita_, and a new ecstasy is added to his outreaching towards the -knowledge he aspires to. Vivid temptations assail him; he materialises -as objective personalities the powers that appear to place obstacles -in the way of his researches. Again we observe the same phenomena as -in the soul of the monk, yet always with this difference: Strindberg -is the monk of science. Curious little experiences--that others would -brush into that great dust-bin, Chance--are examined with a rare -simplicity to see if they may hold significance for the order of his -life. These details accumulate as we turn the pages of _The Inferno_, -and force one to the conclusion that they are akin to the material -which we have only lately begun to study as phenomena peculiar to the -psychology of the religious life. Their summary inclusion under the -heading of "Abnormal Psychology" will, however, lead to a shallow -interpretation of Strindberg. The voluntary isolation of himself from -the relations of life and the world plays havoc with his health. Soon -he is established under a doctor's care in a little southern Swedish -town, with its memories of smugglers and pirates; and he immediately -likens the doctor's house to a Buddhist cloister. The combination is -typically Strindbergian! He begins to be haunted with the terrible -suspicion that he is being plotted against. Nature is exacting heavy -dues from his overwrought system. After thirty days' treatment he -leaves the establishment with the reflection that whom the Lord loveth -he chasteneth. - -Dante wrote his Divine Comedy; Strindberg his Mortal Comedy. There are -three great stages in each, and the literary vehicle of their perilous -journeyings is aptly chosen. Readers of the wonderful Florentine will -recall the familiar words: - - "Surge ai mortali per diverse foci - la lucerna de mondo."[1] - -And they have found deeper content in Strindberg's self-discoveries. -The first part of his _Inferno_ tells of his Purgatory; the second -part closes with the poignant question, Whither? If, for a moment, -we step beyond the period of his life with which this study deals, -we shall find him telling of his Paradise in a mystery-play entitled -_Advent_, where he, too, had a starry vision of "un simplice lume," -a simple flame that ingathers the many and scattered gleams of the -universe's revelation. His guide through Hell is Swedenborg. Once more -the note is that of the anchorite; for at the outset of his acceptance -of Swedenborg's guidance he is tempted to believe that even his guide's -spiritual teaching may weaken his belief in a God who chastens. He -desires to deny himself the gratification of the sight of his little -daughter, because he appears to consider her prattle, that breaks -into the web of his contemplation, to be the instrument of a strange -power. From step to step he goes until his faith is childlike as a -peasant's. How he is hurled again into the depths of his own Hell, the -closing pages of his book will tell us. Whatever views the reader may -hold, it seems impossible that he should see in this Mortal Comedy the -utterances of deranged genius. Rather will his charity of judgment have -led him to a better understanding of one who listened to the winds that -blow through Europe, and was buffeted by their violence. - -We may close this brief study by asking the question: What, then, -is Strindberg's legacy for the advancement of Art, as found in this -decade of his life? It will surely be seen that Strindberg's realism -is of a peculiarly personal kind. Whatever his sympathy with Zola -may have been, or Zola's with him, Strindberg has never confounded -journalism with Art. He has also recognised in his novels that there -is a difference between the function of the camera and the eye of the -artist. More than this--and it is important if Strindberg is to be -understood--his realism has always been subservient to the idea. And -it is this power that has essentially rendered Strindberg's realism -peculiarly personal; that is to say, incapable of being copied or -forming a school. It can only be used by such as he who, standing -in the maelstrom of ideas, is fashioned and attuned by the whirling -storms, as they strive for complete expression. Not always, however, -is he subservient to their dominion. Sometimes cast down from the high -places whence the multitudinous voice can be heard, he may say and do -that which raises fierce criticism. A patient study of Strindberg will -lay bare such matters; but their discovery must not blind our eyes -to the truth that these are moments of insensitiveness towards, or -rejection of, the majestic power which is ceaselessly sculpturing our -highest Western civilisation. - -HENRY VACHER-BURCH. - - -[1] "There riseth up to mortals through diverse trials the light of the -world." - - - - -The Son of a Servant - - - - -I - -FEAR AND HUNGER - - -In the third story of a large house near the Clara Church in -Stockholm, the son of the shipping agent and the servant-maid awoke -to self-consciousness. The child's first impressions were, as he -remembered afterwards, fear and hunger. He feared the darkness and -blows, he feared to fall, to knock himself against something, or to -go in the streets. He feared the fists of his brothers, the roughness -of the servant-girl, the scolding of his grandmother, the rod of -his mother, and his father's cane. He was afraid of the general's -man-servant, who lived on the ground-floor, with his skull-cap and -large hedge-scissors; he feared the landlord's deputy, when he played -in the courtyard with the dust-bin; he feared the landlord, who was -a magistrate. Above him loomed a hierarchy of authorities wielding -various rights, from the right of seniority of his brothers to the -supreme tribunal of his father. And yet above his father was the -deputy-landlord, who always threatened him with the landlord. This last -was generally invisible, because he lived in the country, and perhaps, -for that reason, was the most feared of all. But again, above all, even -above the man-servant with the skull-cap, was the general, especially -when he sallied forth in uniform wearing his plumed three-cornered hat. -The child did not know what a king looked like, but he knew that the -general went to the King. The servant-maids also used to tell stories -of the King, and showed the child his picture. His mother generally -prayed to God in the evening, but the child could form no distinct idea -of God, except that He must certainly be higher than the King. - -This tendency to fear was probably not the child's own peculiarity, -but due to the troubles which his parents had undergone shortly before -his birth. And the troubles had been great. Three children had been -born before their marriage and John soon after it. Probably his birth -had not been desired, as his father had gone bankrupt just before, so -that he came to the light in a now pillaged house, in which was only a -bed, a table, and a couple of chairs. About the same time his father's -brother had died in a state of enmity with him, because his father -would not give up his wife, but, on the contrary, made the tie stronger -by marriage. His father was of a reserved nature, which perhaps -betokened a strong will. He was an aristocrat by birth and education. -There was an old genealogical table which traced his descent to a noble -family of the sixteenth century. His paternal ancestors were pastors -from Zemtland, of Norwegian, possibly Finnish blood. It had become -mixed by emigration. His mother was of German birth, and belonged to a -carpenter's family. His father was a grocer in Stockholm, a captain of -volunteers, a freemason, and adherent of Karl Johann. - -John's mother was a poor tailor's daughter, sent into domestic service -by her step-father. She had become a waitress when John's father met -her. She was democratic by instinct, but she looked up to her husband, -because he was of "good family," and she loved him; but whether as -deliverer, as husband, or as family-provider, one does not know, and it -is difficult to decide. - -He addressed his man-servant and maid as "thou," and she called him -"sir." In spite of his come-down in the world, he did not join the -party of malcontents, but fortified himself with religious resignation, -saying, "It is God's will," and lived a lonely life at home. But he -still cherished the hope of being able to raise himself again. - -He was, however, fundamentally an aristocrat, even in his habits. His -face was of an aristocratic type, beardless, thin-skinned, with hair -like Louis Philippe. He wore glasses, always dressed elegantly, and -liked clean linen. The man-servant who cleaned his boots had to wear -gloves when doing so, because his hands were too dirty to be put into -them. - -John's mother remained a democrat at heart. Her dress was always simple -but clean. She wished the children to be clean and tidy, nothing more. -She lived on intimate terms with the servants, and punished a child, -who had been rude to one of them, upon the bare accusation, without -investigation or inquiry. She was always kind to the poor, and however -scanty the fare might be at home, a beggar was never sent empty away. -Her old nurses, four in number, often came to see her, and were -received as old friends. The storm of financial trouble had raged -severely over the whole family, and its scattered members had crept -together like frightened poultry, friends and foes alike, for they felt -that they needed one another for mutual protection. An aunt rented two -rooms in the house. She was the widow of a famous English discoverer -and manufacturer, who had been ruined. She received a pension, -on which she lived with two well-educated daughters. She was an -aristocrat, having formerly possessed a splendid house, and conversed -with celebrities. She loved her brother, though disapproving of his -marriage, and had taken care of his children when the storm broke. -She wore a lace cap, and the children kissed her hand. She taught -them to sit straight on their chairs, to greet people politely, and -to express themselves properly. Her room had traces of bygone luxury, -and contained gifts from many rich friends. It had cushioned rose-wood -furniture with embroidered covers in the English style. It was adorned -with the picture of her deceased husband dressed as a member of the -Academy of Sciences and wearing the order of Gustavus Vasa. On the -wall there hung a large oil-painting of her father in the uniform of a -major of volunteers. This man the children always regarded as a king, -for he wore many orders, which later on they knew were freemasonry -insignia. The aunt drank tea and read English books. Another room was -occupied by John's mother's brother, a small trader in the New Market, -as well as by a cousin, the son of the deceased uncle, a student in the -Technological Institute. - -In the nursery lived the grandmother. She was a stem old lady who -mended hose and blouses, taught the ABC, rocked the cradle, and pulled -hair. She was religious, and went to early service in the Clara Church. -In the winter she carried a lantern, for there were no gas-lamps at -that time. She kept in her own place, and probably loved neither her -son-in-law nor his sister. They were too polite for her. He treated her -with respect, but not with love. - -John's father and mother, with seven children and two servants, -occupied three rooms. The furniture mostly consisted of tables and -beds. Children lay on the ironing boards and the chairs, children in -the cradles and the beds. The father had no room for himself, although -he was constantly at home. He never accepted an invitation from his -many business friends, because he could not return it. He never went to -the restaurant or the theatre. He had a wound which he concealed and -wished to heal. His recreation was the piano. One of the nieces came -every other evening and then Haydn's symphonies were played _a quatre -mains_, later on Mozart, but never anything modern. Afterwards he had -also another recreation as circumstances permitted. He cultivated -flowers in window-boxes, but only pelargoniums. Why pelargoniums? When -John had grown older and his mother was dead, he fancied he always saw -her standing by one. She was pale, she had had twelve confinements and -suffered from lung-complaint. Her face was like the transparent white -leaves of the pelargonium with its crimson veins, which grow darker -towards the pistil, where they seemed to form an almost black eye, like -hers. - -The father appeared only at meal-times. He was melancholy, weary, -strict, serious, but not hard. He seemed severer than he really was, -because on his return home he always had to settle a number of things -which he could not judge properly. Besides, his name was always used to -frighten the children. "I will tell papa that," signified a thrashing. -It was not exactly a pleasant role which fell to his share. Towards -the mother he was always gentle. He kissed her after every meal and -thanked her for the food. This accustomed the children, unjustly -enough, to regard her as the giver of all that was good, and the father -as the dispenser of all that was evil. They feared him. When the cry -"Father is coming!" was heard, all the children ran and hid themselves, -or rushed to the nursery to be combed and washed. At the table there -was deathly silence, and the father spoke only a little. - -The mother had a nervous temperament. She used to become easily -excited, but soon quieted down again. She was relatively content with -her life, for she had risen in the social scale, and had improved her -position and that of her mother and brother. She drank her coffee in -bed in the mornings, and had her nurses, two servants, and her mother -to help her. Probably she did not over-exert herself. - -But for the children she played the part of Providence itself. She cut -overgrown nails, tied up injured fingers, always comforted, quieted, -and soothed when the father punished, although she was the official -accuser. The children did not like her when she "sneaked," and she -did not win their respect. She could be unjust, violent, and punish -unseasonably on the bare accusation of a servant; but the children -received food and comfort from her, therefore they loved her. The -father, on the other hand, always remained a stranger, and was regarded -rather as a foe than a friend. - -That is the thankless position of the father in the family--the -provider for all, and the enemy of all. If he came home tired, hungry, -and ill-humoured, found the floor only just scoured and the food -ill-cooked, and ventured a remark, he received a curt reply. He lived -in his own house as if on sufferance, and the children hid away from -him. He was less content than his wife, for he had come down in the -world, and was obliged to do without things to which he had formerly -been accustomed. And he was not pleased when he saw those to whom he -had given life and food discontented. - -But the family is a very imperfect arrangement. It is properly an -institution for eating, washing, and ironing, and a very uneconomical -one. It consists chiefly of preparations for meals, market-shopping, -anxieties about bills, washing, ironing, starching, and scouring. Such -a lot of bustle for so few persons! The keeper of a restaurant, who -serves hundreds, hardly does more. - -The education consisted of scolding, hair-pulling, and exhortations to -obedience. The child heard only of his duties, nothing of his rights. -Everyone else's wishes carried weight; his were suppressed. He could -begin nothing without doing wrong, go nowhere without being in the way, -utter no word without disturbing someone. At last he did not dare to -move. His highest duty and virtue was to sit on a chair and be quiet. -It was always dinned into him that he had no will of his own, and so -the foundation of a weak character was laid. - -Later on the cry was, "What will people say?" And thus his will was -broken, so that he could never be true to himself, but was forced to -depend on the wavering opinions of others, except on the few occasions -when he felt his energetic soul work independently of his will. - -The child was very sensitive. He wept so often that he received a -special nickname for doing so. He felt the least remark keenly, and -was in perpetual anxiety lest he should do something wrong. He was -very awake to injustice, and while he had a high ideal for himself, -he narrowly watched the failings of his brothers. When they were -unpunished, he felt deeply injured; when they were undeservedly -rewarded, his sense of justice suffered. He was accordingly considered -envious. He then complained to his mother. Sometimes she took his part, -but generally she told him not to judge so severely. But they judged -him severely, and demanded that he should judge himself severely. -Therefore he withdrew into himself and became bitter. His reserve and -shyness grew on him. He hid himself if he received a word of praise, -and took a pleasure in being overlooked. He began to be critical and to -take a pleasure in self-torture; he was melancholy and boisterous by -turns. - -His eldest brother was hysterical; if he became vexed during some game, -he often had attacks of choking with convulsive laughter. This brother -was the mother's favourite, and the second one the father's. In all -families there are favourites; it is a fact that one child wins more -sympathy than another. John was no one's favourite. He was aware of -this, and it troubled him. But the grandmother saw it, and took his -part; he read the ABC with her and helped her to rock the cradle. But -he was not content with this love; he wanted to win his mother; he -tried to flatter her, but did it clumsily and was repulsed. - -Strict discipline prevailed in the house; falsehood and disobedience -were severely punished. Little children often tell falsehoods because -of defective memories. A child is asked, "Did you do it?" It happened -only two hours ago, and his memory does not reach back so far. Since -the act appeared an indifferent matter to the child, he paid it no -attention. Therefore little children can lie unconsciously, and this -fact should be remembered. They also easily lie out of self-defence; -they know that a "no" can free them from punishment, and a "yes" -bring a thrashing. They can also lie in order to win an advantage. -The earliest discovery of an awakening consciousness is that a -well-directed "yes" or "no" is profitable to it. The ugliest feature -of childish untruthfulness is when they accuse one another. They know -that a misdeed must be visited by punishing someone or other, and a -scapegoat has to be found. That is a great mistake in education. Such -punishment is pure revenge, and in such cases is itself a new wrong. - -The certainty that every misdeed will be punished makes the child -afraid of being accused of it, and John was in a perpetual state of -anxiety lest some such act should be discovered. - -One day, during the mid-day meal, his father examined his sister's -wine-flask. It was empty. - -"Who has drunk the wine?" he asked, looking round the circle. No one -answered, but John blushed. - -"It is you, then," said his father. - -John, who had never noticed where the wine-flask was hidden, burst into -tears and sobbed, "I didn't drink the wine." - -"Then you lie too. When dinner is over, you will get something." - -The thought of what he would get when dinner was over, as well as the -continued remarks about "John's secretiveness," caused his tears to -flow without pause. They rose from the table. - -"Come here," said his father, and went into the bedroom. His mother -followed. "Ask father for forgiveness," she said. His father had taken -out the stick from behind the looking-glass. - -"Dear papa, forgive me!" the innocent child exclaimed. But now it was -too late. He had confessed the theft, and his mother assisted at the -execution. He howled from rage and pain, but chiefly from a sense of -humiliation. "Ask papa now for forgiveness," said his mother. - -The child looked at her and despised her. He felt lonely, deserted -by her to whom he had always fled to find comfort and compassion, but -so seldom justice. "Dear papa, forgive," he said, with compressed and -lying lips. - -And then he stole out into the kitchen to Louise the nursery-maid, who -used to comb and wash him, and sobbed his grief out in her apron. - -"What have you done, John?" she asked sympathetically. - -"Nothing," he answered. "I have done nothing." - -The mother came out. - -"What does John say?" she asked Louise. "He says that he didn't do it." -"Is he lying still?" - -And John was fetched in again to be tortured into the admission of what -he had never done. - -Splendid, moral institution! Sacred family! Divinely appointed, -unassailable, where citizens are to be educated in truth and virtue! -Thou art supposed to be the home of the virtues, where innocent -children are tortured into their first falsehood, where wills are -broken by tyranny, and self-respect killed by narrow egoism. Family! -thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for -comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for -children. - -After this John lived in perpetual disquiet. He dared not confide in -his mother, or Louise, still less his brothers, and least of all his -father. Enemies everywhere! God he knew only through hymns. He was an -atheist, as children are, but in the dark, like savages and animals, he -feared evil spirits. - -"Who drank the wine?" he asked himself; who was the guilty one for whom -he suffered? New impressions and anxieties caused him to forget the -question, but the unjust treatment remained in his memory. He had lost -the confidence of his parents, the regard of his brothers and sisters, -the favour of his aunt; his grandmother said nothing. Perhaps she -inferred his innocence on other grounds, for she did not scold him, and -was silent. She had nothing to say. He felt himself disgraced--punished -for lying, which was so abominated in the household, and for theft, -a word which could not be mentioned, deprived of household rights, -suspected and despised by his brothers because he had been caught. All -these consequences, which were painful and real for him, sprang out of -something which never existed--his guilt. - - * * * * * - -It was not actual poverty which reigned in the house, but there was -overcrowding. Baptisms, and burials followed each other in rapid -succession. Sometimes there were two baptisms without a burial -between them. The food was carefully distributed, and was not exactly -nourishing. They had meat only on Sundays, but John grew sturdy and -was tall for his age. He used now to be sent to play in the "court," a -well-like, stone-paved area in which the sun never shone. The dust-bin -which resembled an old bureau with a flap-cover and a coating of tar, -but burst, stood on four legs by the wall. Here slop-pails were emptied -and rubbish thrown, and through the cracks a black stream flowed over -the court. Great rats lurked under the dust-bin and looked out now -and then, scurrying off to hide themselves in the cellar. Woodsheds -and closets lined one side of the court. Here there was dampness, -darkness, and an evil smell. John's first attempt to scrape out the -sand between the great paving-stones was frustrated by the irascible -landlord's deputy. The latter had a son with whom John played, but -never felt safe. The boy was inferior to him in physical strength and -intelligence, but when disputes arose he used to appeal to his father. -His superiority consisted in having an authority behind him. - -The baron on the ground-floor had a staircase with iron banisters. John -liked playing on it, but all attempts to climb on the balustrade were -hindered by the servant who rushed out. - -He was strictly forbidden to go out in the street. But when he looked -through the doorway, and saw the churchyard gate, he heard the children -playing there. He had no longing to be with them, for he feared -children; looking down the street, he saw the Clara lake and the -drawbridges. That looked novel and mysterious, but he feared the water. -On quiet winter evenings he had heard cries for help from drowning -people. These, indeed, were often heard. As they were sitting by the -lamp in the nursery, one of the servant-maids would say, "Hush!" and -all would listen while long, continuous cries would be heard.... "Now -someone is drowning," one of the girls said. They listened till all was -still, and then told stories of others who had been drowned. - -The nursery looked towards the courtyard, and through the window one -saw a zinc roof and a pair of attics in which stood a quantity of old -disused furniture and other household stuff. This furniture, without -any people to use it, had a weird effect. The servants said that the -attics were haunted. What "haunted" meant they could not exactly say, -only that it had something to do with dead men going about. Thus are -we all brought up by the lower classes. It is an involuntary revenge -which they take by inoculating our children with superstitions which -we have cast aside. Perhaps this is what hinders development so much, -while it somewhat obliterates the distinction between the classes. -Why does a mother let this most important duty slip from her hands--a -mother who is supported by the father in order that she may educate her -children? John's mother only occasionally said his evening prayer with -him; generally it was the maidservant. The latter had taught him an old -Catholic prayer which ran as follows: - - "Through our house an angel goes, - In each hand a light he shows." - -The other rooms looked out on the Clara churchyard. Above the -lime-trees the nave of the church rose like a mountain, and on the -mountain sat the giant with a copper hat, who kept up a never-ceasing -clamour in order to announce the flight of time. He sounded the quarter -hours in soprano, and the hours in bass. He rang for early morning -prayer with a tinkling sound, for matins at eight o'clock and vespers -at seven. He rang thrice during the forenoon, and four times during -the afternoon. He chimed all the hours from ten till four at night; he -tolled in the middle of the week at funerals, and often, at the time I -speak of, during the cholera epidemic. On Sundays he rang so much that -the whole family was nearly reduced to tears, and no one could hear -what the other said. The chiming at night, when John lay awake, was -weird; but worst of all was the ringing of an alarm when a fire broke -out. When he heard the deep solemn boom in the middle of the night for -the first time he shuddered feverishly and wept. On such occasions -the household always awoke, and whisperings were heard: "There is a -fire!"--"Where?" They counted the strokes, and then went to sleep -again; but he kept awake and wept. Then his mother came upstairs, -tucked him up, and said: "Don't be afraid; God protects unfortunate -people!" He had never thought that of God before. In the morning the -servant-girls read in the papers that there had been a fire in Soder, -and that two people had been killed. "It was God's will," said the -mother. - -His first awakening to consciousness was mixed with the pealing, -chiming, and tolling of bells. All his first thoughts and impressions -were accompanied by the ringing for funerals, and the first years of -his life were counted out by strokes of the quarter. The effect on him -was certainly not cheerful, even if it did not decidedly tell on his -nervous system. But who can say? The first years are as important as -the nine months which precede them. - -The recollections of childhood show how the senses first partly awaken -and receive the most vivid impressions, how the feelings are moved by -the lightest breath, how the faculty of observation first fastens on -the most striking outward appearances and, later, on moral relations -and qualities, justice and injustice, power and pity. - -These memories lie in confusion, unformed and undefined, like pictures -in a thaumatrope. But when it is made to revolve, they melt together -and form a picture, significant or insignificant as the case may be. - -One day the child sees splendid pictures of emperors and kings in blue -and red uniforms, which the servant-girls hang up in the nursery. He -sees another representing a building which flies in the air and is -full of Turks. Another time he hears someone read in a newspaper how, -in a distant land, they are firing cannon at towns and villages, and -remembers many details--for instance, his mother weeping at hearing -of poor fishermen driven out of their burning cottages with their -children. These pictures and descriptions referred to Czar Nicholas and -Napoleon III., the storming of Sebastopol, and the bombardment of the -coast of Finland. On another occasion his father spends the whole day -at home. All the tumblers in the house are placed on the window-ledges. -They are filled with sand in which candles are inserted and lit at -night. All the rooms are warm and bright. It is bright too in the Clara -school-house and in the church and the vicarage; the church is full of -music. These are the illuminations to celebrate the recovery of King -Oscar. - -One day there is a great noise in the kitchen. The bell is rung and his -mother called. There stands a man in uniform with a book in his hand -and writes. The cook weeps, his mother supplicates and speaks loud, but -the man with the helmet speaks still louder. It is the policeman! The -cry goes all over the house, and all day long they talk of the police. -His father is summoned to the police-station. Will he be arrested? No; -but he has to pay three rix-dollars and sixteen skillings, because the -cook had emptied a utensil in the gutter in the daytime. - -One afternoon he sees them lighting the lamps in the street. A cousin -draws his attention to the fact that they have no oil and no wicks, but -only a metal burner. They are the first gas-lamps. - -For many nights he lies in bed, without getting up by day. He is tired -and sleepy. A harsh-voiced man comes to the bed, and says that he must -not lay his hands outside the coverlet. They give him evil-tasting -stuff with a spoon; he eats nothing. There is whispering in the room, -and his mother weeps. Then he sits again at the window in the bedroom. -Bells are tolling the whole day long. Green biers are carried over the -churchyard. Sometimes a dark mass of people stand round a black chest. -Gravediggers with their spades keep coming and going. He has to wear a -copper plate suspended by a blue silk ribbon on his breast, and chew -all day at a root. That is the cholera epidemic of 1854. - -One day he goes a long way with one of the servants--so far that he -becomes homesick and cries for his mother. The servant takes him into -a house; they sit in a dark kitchen near a green water-butt. He thinks -he will never see his home again. But they still go on, past ships and -barges, past a gloomy brick house with long high walls behind which -prisoners sit. He sees a new church, a new alley lined with trees, a -dusty high-road along whose edges dandelions grow. Now the servant -carries him. At last they come to a great stone building hard by which -is a yellow wooden house with a cross, surrounded by a large garden. -They see limping, mournful-looking people dressed in white. They reach -a great hall where are nothing but beds painted brown, with old women -in them. The walls are whitewashed, the old women are white, and the -beds are white. There is a very bad smell. They pass by a row of beds, -and in the middle of the room stop at a bed on the right side. In it -lies a woman younger than the rest with black curly hair confined by -a night-cap. She lies half on her back; her face is emaciated, and -she wears a white cloth over her head and ears. Her thin hands are -wrapped up in white bandages and her arms shake ceaselessly so that her -knuckles knock against each other. When she sees the child, her arms -and knees tremble violently, and she bursts into tears. She kisses his -head, but the boy does not feel comfortable. He is shy, and not far -from crying himself. "Don't you know Christina again?" she says; but he -does not. Then she dries her eyes and describes her sufferings to the -servant, who is taking eatables out of a basket. - -The old women in white now begin to talk in an undertone, and Christina -begs the servant not to show what she has in the basket, for they are -so envious. Accordingly the servant pushes surreptitiously a yellow -rix-dollar into the psalm-book on the table. The child finds the whole -thing tedious. His heart says nothing to him; it does not tell him that -he has drunk this woman's milk, which really belonged to another; it -does not tell him that he had slept his best sleep on that shrunken -bosom, that those shaking arms had cradled, carried, and dandled him; -his heart says nothing, for the heart is only a muscle, which pumps -blood indifferent as to the source it springs from. But after receiving -her last fervent kisses, after bowing to the old women and the nurse, -and breathing freely in the courtyard after inhaling the close air -of the sick-ward, he becomes somehow conscious of a debt, which can -only be paid by perpetual gratitude, a few eatables, and a rix-dollar -slipped into a psalm-book, and he feels ashamed at being glad to get -away from the brown-painted beds of the sufferers. - -It was his wet-nurse, who subsequently lay for fifteen years in the -same bed, suffering from fits of cramp and wasting disease, till she -died. Then he received his portrait in a schoolboy's cap, sent back by -the directors of the Sabbatsberg infirmary, where it had hung for many -years. During that time the growing youth had only once a year given -her an hour of indescribable joy, and himself one of some uneasiness -of conscience, by going to see her. Although he had received from her -inflammation in his blood, and cramp in his nerves, still he felt he -owed her a debt, a representative debt. It was not a personal one, for -she had only given him what she had been obliged to sell. The fact that -she had been compelled to sell it was the sin of society, and as a -member of society he felt himself in a certain degree guilty. - -Sometimes the child went to the churchyard, where everything seemed -strange. The vaults with the stone monuments bearing inscriptions and -carved figures, the grass on which one might not step, the trees with -leaves which one might not touch. One day his uncle plucked a leaf, -but the police were instantly on the spot. The great building in the -middle was unintelligible to him. People went in and out of it, and one -heard singing and music, ringing and chiming. It was mysterious. At the -east end was a window with a gilded eye. That was God's eye. He did not -understand that, but at any rate it was a large eye which must see far. - -Under the window was a grated cellar-opening. His uncle pointed out to -him the polished coffins below. "Here," he said, "lives Clara the Nun." -Who was she? He did not know, but supposed it must be a ghost. - -One day he stands in an enormous room and does not know where he is; -but it is beautiful, everything in white and gold. Music, as if from a -hundred pianos, sounds over his head, but he cannot see the instrument -or the person who plays it. There stand long rows of benches, and quite -in front is a picture, probably of some Bible story. Two white-winged -figures are kneeling, and near them are two large candlesticks. Those -are probably the angels with the two lights who go about our house. -The people on the benches are bowed down as though they were sleeping. -"Take your caps off," says his uncle, and holds his hat before his -face. The boys look round, and see close beside them a strange-looking -seat on which are two men in grey mantles and hoods. They have iron -chains on their hands and feet, and policemen stand by them. - -"Those are thieves," whispers their uncle. - -All this oppresses the boy with a sense of weirdness, strangeness, and -severity. His brothers also feel it, for they ask their uncle to go, -and he complies. - -Strange! Such are the impressions made by that form of worship which -was intended to symbolise the simple truths of Christianity. But it was -not like the mild teaching of Christ. The sight of the thieves was the -worst--in iron chains, and such coats! - - * * * * * - -One day, when the sun shines warmly, there is a great stir in the -house. Articles of furniture are moved from their place, drawers are -emptied, clothes are thrown about everywhere. A morning or two after, -a waggon comes to take away the things, and so the journey begins. -Some of the family start in a boat from "the red shop," others go in -a cab. Near the harbour there is a smell of oil, tar, and coal smoke; -the freshly painted steamboats shine in gay colours and their flags -flutter in the breeze; drays rattle past the long row of lime-trees; -the yellow riding-school stands dusty and dirty near a woodshed. They -are going on the water, but first they go to see their father in his -office. John is astonished to find him looking cheerful and brisk, -joking with the sunburnt steamer captains and laughing in a friendly, -pleasant way. Indeed, he seems quite youthful, and has a bow and arrows -with which the captains amuse themselves by shooting at the window of -the riding-school. The office is small, but they can go behind the -green partition and drink a glass of porter behind a curtain. The -clerks are attentive and polite when his father speaks to them. John -had never before seen his father at work, but only known him in the -character of a tired, hungry provider for his family, who preferred to -live with nine persons in three rooms, than alone in two. He had only -seen his father at leisure, eating and reading the paper when he came -home in the evening, but never in his official capacity. He admired -him, but he felt that he feared him now less, and thought that some day -he might come to love him. - -He fears the water, but before he knows where he is he finds himself -sitting in an oval room ornamented in white and gold, and containing -red satin sofas. Such a splendid room he has never seen before. But -everything rattles and shakes. He looks out of a little window, and -sees green banks, bluish-green waves, sloops carrying hay, and steamers -passing by. It is like a panorama or something seen at a theatre. On -the banks move small red and white houses, outside which stand green -trees with a sprinkling of snow upon them; larger green meadows rush -past with red cows standing in them, looking like Christmas toys. The -sun gets high, and now they reach trees with yellow foliage and brown -caterpillars, bridges with sailing-boats flying flags, cottages with -fowls pecking and dogs barking. The sun shines on rows of windows which -lie on the ground, and old men and women go about with water-cans and -rakes. Then appear green trees again bending over the water, and yellow -and white bath-houses; overhead a cannon-shot is fired; the rattling -and shaking cease; the banks stand still; above him he sees a stone -wall, men's coats and trousers and a multitude of boots. He is carried -up some steps which have a gilded rail, and sees a very large castle. -Somebody says, "Here the King lives." - -It was the castle of Drottningholm--the most beautiful memory of his -childhood, even including the fairy-tale books. - -Their things are unpacked in a little white house on a hill, and now -the children roll on the grass, on real green grass without dandelions, -like that in the Clara churchyard. It is so high and bright, and the -woods and fiords are green and blue in the distance. - -The dust-bin is forgotten, the schoolroom with its foul atmosphere has -disappeared, the melancholy church-bells sound no more, and the graves -are far away. But in the evening a bell rings in a little belfry quite -near at hand. With astonishment he sees the modest little bell which -swings in the open air, and sends its sound far over the park and bay. -He thinks of the terrible deep-toned bell in the tower at home, which -seemed to him like a great black maw when he looked into it, as it -swung, from below. In the evening, when he is tired and has been washed -and put to bed, he hears how the silence seems to hum in his ears, and -waits in vain to hear the strokes and chiming of the bell in the tower. - -The next morning he wakes to get up and play. He plays day after -day for a whole week. He is in nobody's way, and everything is so -peaceful. The little ones sleep in the nursery, and he is in the open -air all day long. His father does not appear; but on Saturday he comes -out from the town and pinches the boys' cheeks because they have grown -and become sunburnt. "He does not beat us now any more," thinks the -child; but he does not trace this to the simple fact that here outside -the city there is more room and the air is purer. - -The slimmer passes gloriously, as enchanting as a fairy-tale; through -the poplar avenues run lackeys in silver-embroidered livery, on the -water float sky-blue dragon-ships with real princes and princesses, -on the roads roll golden chaises and purple-red coaches drawn by Arab -horses four-in-hand, and the whips are as long as the reins. - -Then there is the King's castle with the polished floors, the gilt -furniture, marble-tiled stoves and pictures; the park with its -avenues like long lofty green churches, the fountains ornamented with -unintelligible figures from story-books; the summer-theatre that -remained a puzzle to the child, but was used as a maze; the Gothic -tower, always closed and mysterious, which had nothing else to do but -to echo back the sound of voices. - -He is taken for a walk in the park by a cousin whom he calls "aunt." -She is a well-dressed maiden just grown up, and carries a parasol. -They come into a gloomy wood of sombre pines; here they wander for a -while, ever farther. Presently they hear a murmur of voices, music, and -the clatter of plates and forks; they find themselves before a little -castle; figures of dragons and snakes wind down from the roof-ridge, -other figures of old men with yellow oval faces, black slanting eyes -and pigtails, look from under them; letters which he cannot read, and -which are unlike any others he has seen, run along the eaves. But below -on the ground-floor of the castle royal personages sit at table by the -open windows and eat from silver dishes and drink wine. - -"There sits the King," says his aunt. - -The child becomes alarmed, and looks round to see whether he has not -trodden on the grass, or is not on the point of doing something wrong. -He believes that the handsome King, who looks friendly, sees right -through him, and he wants to go. But neither Oscar I. nor the French -field-marshals nor the Russian generals trouble themselves about him, -for they are just now discussing the Peace of Paris, which is to make -an end of the war in the East. On the other hand, police-guards, -looking like roused lions, are marching about, and of them he has -an unpleasant recollection. He needs only to see one, and he feels -immediately guilty and thinks of the fine of three rix-dollars and -sixteen skillings. However, he has caught a glimpse of the highest form -of authority--higher than that of his brother, his mother, his father, -the deputy-landlord, the landlord, the general with the plumed helmet, -and the police. - -On another occasion, again with his aunt, he passes a little house -close to the castle. In a courtyard strewn with sand there stands a -man in a panama hat and a summer suit. He has a black beard and looks -strong. Round him there runs a black horse held by a long cord. The man -springs a rattle, cracks a whip, and fires shots. - -"That is the Crown Prince," says his aunt. - -He looked like any other man, and was dressed like his uncle Yanne. - -Another time, in the park, deep in the shade of some trees, a mounted -officer meets them. He salutes the boy's aunt, makes his horse stop, -talks to her, and asks his name. The boy answers, but somewhat shyly. -The dark-visaged man with the kind eyes looks at him, and he hears a -loud peal of laughter. Then the rider disappears. It was the Crown -Prince again. The Crown Prince had spoken to him! He felt elevated, and -at the same time more sure of himself. The dangerous potentate had been -quite pleasant. - -One day he learns that his father and aunt are old acquaintances of a -gentleman who lives in the great castle and wears a three-cornered hat -and a sabre. The castle thenceforward assumes a more friendly aspect. -He is also acquainted with people in it, for the Crown Prince has -spoken with him, and his father calls the chamberlain "thou." Now he -understands that the gorgeous lackeys are of inferior social rank to -him, especially when he hears that the cook goes for walks with one of -them in the evenings. He discovers that he is, at any rate, not on the -lowest stair in the social scale. - -Before he has had time to realise it, the fairy-tale is over. The -dust-bin and the rats are again there, but the deputy-landlord does -not use his authority any more when John wants to dig up stones, for -John has spoken with the Crown Prince, and the family have been for a -summer holiday. The boy has seen the splendour of the upper classes in -the distance. He longs after it, as after a home, but the menial blood -he has from his mother rebels against it. From instinct he reveres the -upper classes, and thinks too much of them ever to be able to hope to -reach them. He feels that he belongs neither to them nor to the menial -class. That becomes one of the struggles in his life. - - - - -II - -BREAKING-IN - - -The storm of poverty was now over. The members of the family who had -held together for mutual protection could now all go their own way. But -the overcrowding and unhappy circumstances of the family continued. -However, death weeded them out. Black papers which had contained sweets -distributed at the funeral were being continually gummed on the nursery -walls. The mother constantly went about in a jacket; all the cousins -and aunts had already been used up as sponsors, so that recourse had -now to be made to the clerks, ships' captains, and restaurant-keepers. - -In spite of all, prosperity seemed gradually to return. Since there -was too little space, the family removed to one of the suburbs, and -took a six-roomed house in the Norrtullsgata. At the same time John -entered the Clara High School at the age of seven. It was a long way -for short legs to go four times a day, but his father wished that -the children should grow hardy. That was a laudable object, but so -much unnecessary expenditure of muscular energy should have been -compensated for by nourishing food. However, the household means did -not allow of that, and the monotonous exercise of walking and carrying -a heavy school-satchel provided no sufficient counterpoise to excessive -brain-work. There was, consequently, a loss of moral and physical -equilibrium and new struggles resulted. In winter the seven-year-old -boy and his brothers are waked up at 6 A.M. in pitch darkness. He has -not been thoroughly rested, but still carries the fever of sleep in -his limbs. His father, mother, younger brothers and sisters, and the -servants are still asleep. He washes himself in cold water, drinks a -cup of barley-coffee, eats a French roll, runs over the endings of the -Fourth Declension in _Rabe's Grammar_, repeats a piece of "Joseph sold -by his brethren," and memorises the Second Article with its explanation. - -Then the books are thrust in the satchel and they start. In the street -it is still dark. Every other oil-lantern sways on the rope in the cold -wind, and the snow lies deep, not having been yet cleared away before -the houses. A little quarrel arises among the brothers about the rate -they are to march. Only the bakers' carts and the police are moving. -Near the Observatory the snow is so deep that their boots and trousers -get wet through. In Kungsbacken Street they meet a baker and buy their -breakfast, a French roll, which they usually eat on the way. - -In Haymarket Street he parts from his brothers, who go to a private -school. When at last he reaches the corner of Berg Street the fatal -clock in the Clara Church strikes the hour. Fear lends wings to his -feet, his satchel bangs against his back, his temples beat, his brain -throbs. As he enters the churchyard gate he sees that the class-rooms -are empty; it is too late! - -In the boy's case the duty of punctuality took the form of a given -promise, a _force majeure,_ a stringent necessity from which nothing -could release him. A ship-captain's bill of lading contains a clause -to the effect that he binds himself to deliver the goods uninjured by -such and such a date "if God wills." If God sends snow or storm, he is -released from his bond. But for the boy there are no such conditions -of exemption. He has neglected his duty, and will be punished: that is -all. - -With a slow step he enters the hall. Only the school porter is there, -who laughs at him, and writes his name on the blackboard under the -heading "Late." A painful hour follows, and then loud cries are heard -in the lower school, and the blows of a cane fall thickly. It is the -headmaster, who has made an onslaught on the late-comers or takes his -exercise on them. John bursts into tears and trembles all over--not -from fear of pain but from a feeling of shame to think that he should -be fallen upon like an animal doomed to slaughter, or a criminal. Then -the door opens. He starts up, but it is only the chamber-maid who comes -in to trim the lamp. - -"Good-day, John," she says. "You are too late; you are generally so -punctual. How is Hanna?" - -John tells her that Hanna is well, and that the snow was very deep in -the Norrtullsgata. - -"Good heavens! You have not come by Norrtullsgata?" - -Then the headmaster opens the door and enters. - -"Well, you!" - -"You must not be angry with John, sir! He lives in Norrtullsgata." - -"Silence, Karin!" says the headmaster, "and go.--Well," he continues: -"you live in the Norrtullsgata. That is certainly a good way. But still -you ought to look out for the time." - -Then he turns and goes. John owed it to Karin that he escaped -a flogging, and to fate that Hanna had chanced to be Karin's -fellow-servant at the headmaster's. Personal influence had saved him -from an injustice. - -And then the school and the teaching! Has not enough been written about -Latin and the cane? Perhaps! In later years he skipped all passages in -books which dealt with reminiscences of school life, and avoided all -books on that subject. When he grew up his worst nightmare, when he had -eaten something indigestible at night or had a specially troublesome -day, was to dream that he was back at school. - -The relation between pupil and teacher is such, that the former gets -as one-sided a view of the latter as a child of its parent. The first -teacher John had looked like the ogre in the story of Tom Thumb. He -flogged continually, and said he would make the boys crawl on the floor -and "beat them to pulp" if they did their exercises badly. - -He was not, however, really a bad fellow, and John and his -school-fellows presented him with an album when he left Stockholm. -Many thought well of him, and considered him a fine character. He ended -as a gentleman farmer and the hero of an Ostgothland idyll. - -Another was regarded as a monster of malignity. He really seemed to -beat the boys because he liked it. He would commence his lesson by -saying, "Bring the cane," and then try to find as many as he could -who had an ill-prepared lesson. He finally committed suicide in -consequence of a scathing newspaper article. Half a year before that, -John, then a student, had met him in Uggelvikswald, and felt moved by -his old teacher's complaints over the ingratitude of the world. A year -previous he had received at Christmas time a box of stones, sent from -an old pupil in Australia. But the colleagues of the stern teacher -used to speak of him as a good-natured fool at whom they made jests. -So many points of view, so many differing judgments! But to this day -old boys of the Clara School cannot meet each other without expressing -their horror and indignation at his unmercifulness, although they all -acknowledge that he was an excellent teacher. - -These men of the old school knew perhaps no better. They had themselves -been brought up on those lines, and we, who learn to understand -everything, are bound also to pardon everything. - -This, however, did not prevent the first period of school life from -appearing to be a preparation for hell and not for life. The teachers -seemed to be there only to torment, not to punish; our school life -weighed upon us like an oppressive nightmare day and night; even having -learned our lessons well before we left home did not save us. Life -seemed a penal institution for crimes committed before we were born, -and therefore the boy always went about with a bad conscience. - -But he learned some social lessons. The Clara School was a school for -the children of the better classes, for the people of the district -were well off. The boy wore leather breeches and greased leather boots -which smelt of train-oil and blacking. Therefore, those who had velvet -jackets did not like sitting near him. He also noticed that the poorly -dressed boys got more floggings than the well-dressed ones, and that -pretty boys were let off altogether. If he had at that time studied -psychology and aesthetics, he would have understood this, but he did not -then. - -The examination day left a pleasant, unforgettable memory. The old -dingy rooms were freshly scoured, the boys wore their best clothes, -and the teachers frock-coats with white ties; the cane was put away, -all punishments were suspended. It was a day of festival and jubilee, -on which one could tread the floor of the torture-chambers without -trembling. The change of places in each class, however, which had -taken place in the morning, brought with it certain surprises, and -those who had been put lower made certain comparisons and observations -which did not always redound to the credit of the teacher. The school -testimonials were also rather hastily drawn up, as was natural. But -the holidays were at hand, and everything else was soon forgotten. At -the conclusion, in the lower schoolroom, the teachers received the -thanks of the Archbishop, and the pupils were reproved and warned. -The presence of the parents, especially the mothers, made the chilly -rooms seem warm, and a sigh involuntarily rose in the boys' hearts, -"Why cannot it be always like to-day?" To some extent the sigh has -been heard, and our present-day youth no longer look upon school as a -penal institute, even if they do not recognise much use in the various -branches of superfluous learning. - -John was certainly not a shining light in the school, but neither was -he a mere good-for-nothing. On account of his precocity in learning he -had been allowed to enter the school before the regulation age, and -therefore he was always the youngest. Although his report justified his -promotion into a higher class, he was still kept a year in his present -one. This was a severe pull-back in his development; his impatient -spirit suffered from having to repeat old lessons for a whole year. -He certainly gained much spare time, but his appetite for learning -was dulled, and he felt himself neglected. At home and school alike -he was the youngest, but only in years; in intelligence he was older -than his school-fellows. His father seemed to have noticed his love -for learning, and to have thought of letting him become a student. He -heard him his lessons, for he himself had had an elementary education. -But when the eight-year-old boy once came to him with a Latin exercise, -and asked for help, his father was obliged to confess that he did not -know Latin. The boy felt his superiority in this point, and it is not -improbable that his father was conscious of it also. He removed John's -elder brother, who had entered the school at the same time, abruptly -from it, because the teacher one day had made the younger, as monitor, -hear the elder his lessons. This was stupid on the part of the -teacher, and it was wise of his father to prevent it. - -His mother was proud of his learning, and boasted of it to her friends. -In the family the word "student" was often heard. At the students' -congress in the fifties, Stockholm was swarming with white caps. - -"Think if you should wear a white cap some day," said his mother. - -When the students' concerts took place, they talked about it for days -at a time. Acquaintances from Upsala sometimes came to Stockholm and -talked of the gay students' life there. A girl who had been in service -in Upsala called John "the student." - -In the midst of his terribly mysterious school life, in which the -boy could discover no essential connection between Latin grammar and -real life, a new mysterious factor appeared for a short time and then -disappeared again. The nine-year-old daughter of the headmaster came to -the French lessons. She was purposely put on the last bench, in order -not to be seen, and to look round was held to be a great misdemeanour. -Her presence, however, was felt in the class-room. The boy, and -probably the whole class, fell in love. The lessons always went well -when she was present; their ambition was spurred, and none of them -wanted to be humiliated or flogged before her. She was, it is true, -ugly, but well dressed. Her gentle voice vibrated among the breaking -voices of the boys, and even the teacher had a smile on his severe face -when he spoke to her. How beautifully her name sounded when he called -it out--one Christian name among all the surnames. - -John's love found expression in a silent melancholy. He never spoke to -her, and would never have dared to do it. He feared and longed for her. -But if anyone had asked him what he wanted from her, he could not have -told them. He wanted nothing from her. A kiss? No; in his family there -was no kissing. To hold her? No! Still less to possess her. Possess? -What should he do with her? He felt that he had a secret. This plagued -him so that he suffered under it, and his whole life was overclouded. -One day at home he seized a knife and said, "I will cut my throat." His -mother thought he was ill. He could not tell her. He was then about -nine years old. - -Perhaps if there had been as many girls as boys in the school -present in all the classes, probably innocent friendships would -have been formed, the electricity would have been carried off, the -Madonna-worship brought within its proper limits, and wrong ideas of -woman would not have followed him and his companions through life. - - * * * * * - -His father's contemplative turn of mind, his dislike of meeting -people after his bankruptcy, the unfriendly verdict of public opinion -regarding his originally illegal union with his wife, had induced him -to retire to the Norrtullsgata. Here he had rented a house with a large -garden, wide-stretching fields, with a pasture, stables, farmyard, and -conservatory. He had always liked the occupations of a country life -and agriculture. Before this he had possessed a piece of land outside -the town, but could not look after it. Now he rented a garden for his -own sake and the children's, whose education a little resembled that -described in Rousseau's _Emile_. The house was separated from its -neighbours by a long fence. The Norrtullsgata was an avenue lined with -trees which as yet had no pavement, and had been but little built upon. -The principal traffic consisted of peasants and milk-carts on their way -to the hay market. Besides these there were also funerals moving slowly -along to the "New Churchyard," sledging parties to Brunnsvik, and -young people on their way to Norrbucka or Stallmastergarden. - -The garden which surrounded the little one-storied house was very -spacious. Long alleys with at least a hundred apple-trees and -berry-bearing bushes crossed each other. Here and there were thick -bowers of lilac and jasmine, and a huge aged oak still stood in a -corner. There was plenty of shade and space, and enough decay to make -the place romantic. East of the garden rose a gravel-hill covered with -maples, beeches, and ash-trees; on the summit of it stood a temple -belonging to the last century. The back of the hill had been dug away -in parts in an unsuccessful attempt to take away gravel, but it had -picturesque little dells filled with osier and thorn bushes. From -this side neither the street nor the house was visible. From here one -obtained a view over Bellevue, Cedardalsberg, and Lilljanskog. One saw -only single scattered houses in the far distance, but on the other hand -numberless gardens and drying-houses for tobacco. - -Thus all the year round they enjoyed a country life, to which they had -no objection. Now the boy could study at first-hand the beauty and -secrets of plant life, and his first spring there was a period of -wonderful surprises. When the freshly turned earth lay black under the -apple-tree's white and pink canopy, when the tulips blazed in oriental -pomp of colour, it seemed to him as he went about in the garden as -if he were assisting at a solemnity more even than at the school -examination, or in church, the Christmas festival itself not excepted. - -But he had also plenty of hard bodily exercise. The boys were sent -with ships' scrapers to clear the moss from the trees; they weeded the -ground, swept the paths, watered and hoed. In the stable there was -a cow with calves; the hay-loft became a swimming school where they -sprang from the beams, and they rode the horses to water. - -They had lively games on the hill, rolled down blocks of stone, climbed -to the tops of the trees, and made expeditions. They explored the woods -and bushes in the Haga Park, climbed up young trees in the ruins, -caught bats, discovered edible wood-sorrel and ferns, and plundered -birds' nests. Soon they laid their bows and arrows aside, discovered -gunpowder, and shot little birds on the hills. They came to be somewhat -uncivilised. They found school more distasteful and the streets more -hateful than ever. Boys' books also helped in this process. _Robinson -Crusoe_ formed an epoch in his life; the _Discovery of America_, -the _Scalp-Hunter_, and others aroused in him a sincere dislike of -school-books. - -During the long summer holidays their wildness increased so much that -their mother could no longer control the unruly boys. As an experiment -they were sent at first to the swimming school in Riddarholm, but it -was so far that they wasted half the day on the road thither. Finally, -their father resolved to send the three eldest to a boarding-school in -the country, to spend the rest of the summer there. - - - - -III - -AWAY FROM HOME - - -Now he stands on the deck of a steamer far out at sea. He has had so -much to look at on the journey that he has not felt any tedium. But -now it is afternoon, which is always melancholy, like the beginning -of old age. The shadows of the sun fall and alter everything without -hiding everything, like the night. He begins to miss something. He -has a feeling of emptiness, of being deserted, broken off. He wants -to go home, but the consciousness that he cannot do so at once fills -him with terror and despair and he weeps. When his brothers ask him -why, he says he wants to go home to his mother. They laugh at him, but -her image recurs to his mind, serious, mild, and smiling. He hears -her last words at parting: "Be obedient and respectful to all, take -care of your clothes, and don't forget your evening prayer." He thinks -how disobedient he has been to her, and wonders whether she may be -ill. Her image seems glorified, and draws him with unbreakable cords -of longing. This feeling of loneliness and longing after his mother -followed him all through his life. Had he come perhaps too early and -incomplete into the world? What held him so closely bound to his mother? - -To this question he found no answer either in books or in life. But -the fact remained: he never became himself, was never liberated, never -a complete individuality. He remained, as it were, a mistletoe, which -could not grow except upon a tree; he was a climbing plant which must -seek a support. He was naturally weak and timid, but he took part in -all physical exercises; he was a good gymnast, could mount a horse when -on the run, was skilled in the use of all sorts of weapons, was a bold -shot, swimmer, and sailor, but only in order not to appear inferior -to others. If no one watched him when bathing, he merely slipped -into the water; but if anyone _was_ watching, he plunged into it, -head-over-heels, from the roof of the bathing-shed. He was conscious -of his timidity, and wished to conceal it. He never attacked his -school-fellows, but if anyone attacked him, he would strike back even a -stronger boy than himself. He seemed to have been born frightened, and -lived in continual fear of life and of men. - -The ship steams out of the bay and there opens before them a blue -stretch of sea without a shore. The novelty of the spectacle, the -fresh wind, the liveliness of his brothers, cheer him up. It has just -occurred to him that they have come eighteen miles by sea when the -steamboat turns into the Nykopingsa river. - -When the gangway has been run out, there appears a middle-aged man with -blond whiskers, who, after a short conversation with the captain, takes -over charge of the boys. He looks friendly, and is cheerful. It is the -parish clerk of Vidala. On the shore there stands a waggon with a black -mare, and soon they are above in the town and stop at a shopkeeper's -house which is also an inn for the country people. It smells of -herrings and small beer, and they get weary of waiting. The boy cries -again. At last Herr Linden comes in a country cart with their baggage, -and after many handshakes and a few glasses of beer they leave the -town. Fallow fields and hedges stretch in a long desolate perspective, -and over some red roofs there rises the edge of a wood in the distance. -The sun sets, and they have to drive for three miles through the dark -wood. Herr Linden talks briskly in order to keep up their spirits. He -tells them about their future school-fellows, the bathing-places, and -strawberry-picking. John sleeps till they have reached an inn where -there are drunken peasants. The horses are taken out and watered. Then -they continue their journey through dark woods. In one place they have -to get down and climb up a hill. The horses steam with perspiration -and snort, the peasants on the baggage-cart joke and drink, the parish -clerk chats with them and tells funny stories. Still they go on -sleeping and waking, getting down and resting alternately. Still there -are more woods, which used to be haunted by robbers, black pine woods -under the starry sky, cottages and hedges. The boy is quite alarmed, -and approaches the unknown with trembling. - -At last they are on a level road; the day dawns, and the waggon stops -before a red house. Opposite it is a tall dark building--a church--once -more a church. An old woman, as she appears to him, tall and thin, -comes out, receives the boys, and conducts them into a large room on -the ground-floor, where there is a cover-table. She has a sharp voice -which does not sound friendly, and John is afraid. They eat in the -gloom, but do not relish the unusual food, and one of them has to choke -down tears. Then they are led in the dark into an attic. No lamp is -lit. The room is narrow; pallets and beds are laid across chairs and -on the floor, and there is a terrible odor. There is a stirring in the -beds, and one head rises, and then another. There are whispers and -murmurs, but the new-comers can see no faces. The eldest brother gets -a bed to himself, but John and the second brother lie foot to foot. It -is a new thing for them, but they creep into bed and draw the blankets -over them. His elder brother stretches himself out at his ease, but -John protests against this encroachment. They push each other with -their feet, and John is struck. He weeps at once. The eldest brother is -already asleep. Then there comes a voice from a corner on the ground: -"Lie still, you young devils, and don't fight!" - -"What do you say?" answers his brother, who is inclined to be impudent. - -The bass voice answers, "What do I say? I say--Leave the youngster -alone." - -"What have you to do with that?" - -"A good deal. Come here, and I'll thrash you." - -"_You_ thrash _me_!" - -His brother stands up in his night-shirt. The owner of the bass voice -comes towards him. All that one can see is a short sturdy figure with -broad shoulders. A number of spectators sit upright in their beds. - -They fight, and the elder brother gets the worst of it. - -"No! don't hit him! don't hit him!" - -The small brother throws himself between the combatants. He could not -see anyone of his own flesh and blood being beaten or suffering without -feeling it in all his nerves. It was another instance of his want of -independence and consciousness of the closeness of the blood-tie. - -Then there is silence and dreamless sleep, which Death is said to -resemble, and therefore entices so many to premature rest. - -Now there begins a new little section of life--an education without his -parents, for the boy is out in the world among strangers. He is timid, -and carefully avoids every occasion of being blamed. He attacks no -one, but defends himself against bullies. There are, however, too many -of them for the equilibrium to be maintained. Justice is administered -by the broad-shouldered boy mentioned above, who is humpbacked, and -always takes the weaker one's part when unrighteously attacked. - -In the morning they do their lessons, bathe before dinner, and do -manual labour in the afternoon. They weed the garden, fetch water from -the spring, and keep the stable clean. It is their father's wish that -the boys should do physical work, although they pay the usual fees. - -But John's obedience and conscientiousness do not suffice to render -his life tolerable. His brothers incur all kinds of reprimands, and -under them he also suffers much. He is keenly conscious of their -solidarity, and is in this summer only as it were the third part of a -person. There are no other punishments except detention, but even the -reprimands disquiet him. Manual labour makes him physically strong, but -his nerves are just as sensitive as before. Sometimes he pines for his -mother, sometimes he is in extremely high spirits and indulges in risky -amusements, such as piling up stones in a limestone quarry and lighting -a fire at the bottom of it, or sliding down steep hills on a board. He -is alternately timid and daring, overflowing with spirits or brooding, -but without proper balance. - -The church stands on the opposite side of the way, and with its black -roof and white walls throws a shadow across the summer-like picture. -Daily from his window he sees monumental crosses which rise above the -churchyard wall. The church clock does not strike day and night as -that in the Clara Church did, but in the evenings at six o'clock one -of the boys is allowed to pull the bell-rope which hangs in the tower. -It was a solemn moment when, for the first time, his turn came. He -felt like a church official, and when he counted three times the three -bell-strokes, he thought that God, the pastor, and the congregation -would suffer harm if he rang one too many. On Sundays the bigger boys -were allowed to ring the bells. Then John stood on the dark wooden -staircase and wondered. - -In the course of the summer there arrived a black-bordered proclamation -which caused great commotion when read aloud in church. King Oscar was -dead. Many good things were reported of him, even if no one mourned -him. And now the bells rang daily between twelve and one o'clock. In -fact, church-bells seemed to follow him. - -The boys played in the churchyard among the graves and soon grew -familiar with the church. On Sundays they were all assembled in the -organ-loft. When the parish clerk struck up the psalm, they took their -places by the organ-stops, and when he gave them a sign, all the stops -were drawn out and they marched into the choir. That always made a -great impression on the congregation. - -But the fact of his having to come in such proximity to holy things, -and of his handling the requisites of worship, etc., made him familiar -with them, and his respect for them diminished. For instance, he did -not find the Lord's Supper edifying when on Saturday evening he had -eaten some of the holy bread in the parish clerk's kitchen, where it -was baked and stamped with the impression of a crucifix. The boys ate -these pieces of bread, and called them wafers. Once after the Holy -Communion he and the churchwarden were offered the rest of the wine in -the vestry. - -Nevertheless, after he had been parted from his mother, and felt -himself surrounded by unknown threatening powers, he felt a profound -need of having recourse to some refuge and of keeping watch. He prayed -his evening prayer with a fair amount of devotion; in the morning, when -the sun shone, and he was well rested, he did not feel the need of it. - -One day when the church was being aired the boys were playing in -it. In an access of high spirits they stormed the altar. But John, -who was egged on to something more daring, ran up into the pulpit, -reversed the hour-glass, and began to preach out of the Bible. This -made a great sensation. Then he descended, and ran along the tops of -the pews through the whole church. When he had reached the pew next -to the altar, which belonged to a count's family, he stepped too -heavily on the reading-desk, which fell with a crash to the ground. -There was a panic, and all the boys rushed out of church. He stood -alone and desolate. In other circumstances he would have run to his -mother, acknowledged his fault, and implored her help. But she was -not there. Then he thought of God; he fell on his knees before the -altar, and prayed through the Paternoster. Then, as though inspired -with a thought from above, he arose calmed and strengthened, examined -the desk, and found that its joints were not broken. He took a clamp, -dovetailed the joints together, and, using his boot as a hammer, with -a few well-directed blows repaired the desk. He tried it, and found it -firm. Then he went greatly relieved out of the church. "How simple!" -he thought to himself, and felt ashamed of having prayed the Lord's -Prayer. Why? Perhaps he felt dimly that in this obscure complex which -we call the soul there lives a power which, summoned to self-defence at -the hour of need, possesses a considerable power of extricating itself. -He did not fall on his knees and thank God, and this showed that he did -not believe it was He who had helped him. That obscure feeling of shame -probably arose from the fact of his perceiving that he had crossed a -river to fetch water, _i.e._, that his prayer had been superfluous. - -But this was only a passing moment of self-consciousness. He continued -to be variable and capricious. Moodiness, caprice, or _diables noirs,_ -as the French call it, is a not completely explained phenomenon. The -victim of them is like one possessed; he wants something, but does -the opposite; he suffers from the desire to do himself an injury, and -finds almost a pleasure in self-torment. It is a sickness of the soul -and of the will, and former psychologists tried to explain it by the -hypothesis of a duality in the brain, the two hemispheres of which, -they thought, under certain conditions could operate independently -each for itself and against the other. But this explanation has been -rejected. Many have observed the phenomenon of duplex personality, and -Goethe has handled this theme in _Faust_. In capricious children who -"do not know what they want," as the saying is, the nerve-tension ends -in tears. They "beg for a whipping," and it is strange that on such -occasions a slight chastisement restores the nervous equilibrium and -is almost welcomed by the child, who is at once pacified, appeased, -and not at all embittered by the punishment, which in its view must -have been unjust. It really had asked for a beating as a medicine. But -there is also another way of expelling the "black dog." One takes the -child in one's arms so that it feels the magnetism of friendship and is -quieted. That is the best way of all. - -John suffered from similar attacks of caprice. When some treat was -proposed to him, a strawberry-picking expedition for example, he asked -to be allowed to remain at home, though he knew he would be bored to -death there. He would have gladly gone, but he insisted on remaining at -home. Another will stronger than his own commanded him to do so. The -more they tried to persuade him, the stronger was his resistance. But -then if someone came along jovially and with a jest seized him by the -collar, and threw him into the haycart, he obeyed and was relieved to -be thus liberated from the mysterious will that mastered him. Generally -speaking, he obeyed gladly and never wished to put himself forward -or be prominent. So much of the slave was in his nature. His mother -had served and obeyed in her youth, and as a waitress had been polite -towards everyone. - -One Sunday they were in the parsonage, where there were young girls. -He liked them, but he feared them. All the children went out to pluck -strawberries. Someone suggested that they should collect the berries -without eating them, in order to eat them at home with sugar. John -plucked diligently and kept the agreement; he did not eat one, but -honestly delivered up his share, though he saw others cheating. On -their return home the berries were divided by the pastor's daughter, -and the children pressed round her in order that each might get a full -spoonful. John kept as far away as possible; he was forgotten and -berryless. - -He had been passed over! Full of the bitter consciousness of this, -he went into the garden and concealed himself in an arbour. He felt -himself to be the last and meanest. He did not weep, however, but was -conscious of something hard and cold rising within, like a skeleton of -steel. After he had passed the whole company under critical review, he -found that he was the most honest, because he had not eaten a single -strawberry outside; and then came the false inference--he had been -passed over because he was better than the rest. The result was that he -really regarded himself as such, and felt a deep satisfaction at having -been overlooked. - -He had also a special skill in making himself invisible, or keeping -concealed so as to be passed over. One evening his father brought -home a peach. Each child received a slice of the rare fruit, with the -exception of John, and his otherwise just father did not notice it. He -felt so proud at this new reminder of his gloomy destiny that later in -the evening he boasted of it to his brothers. They did not believe him, -regarding his story as improbable. The more improbable the better, he -thought. He was also plagued by antipathies. One Sunday in the country -a cart full of boys came to the parish clerk's. A brown-complexioned -boy with a mischievous and impudent face alighted from it. John -ran away at the first sight of him, and hid himself in the attic. -They found him out: the parish clerk cajoled him, but he remained -sitting in his corner and listened to the children playing till the -brown-complexioned boy had gone away. - -Neither cold baths, wild games, nor hard physical labour could harden -his sensitive nerves, which at certain moments became strung up to the -highest possible pitch. He had a good memory, and learned his lessons -well, especially practical subjects such as geography and natural -science. He liked arithmetic, but hated geometry; a science which -seemed to deal with unrealities disquieted him. It was not till later, -when a book of land mensuration came into his hands and he had obtained -an insight into the practical value of geometry, that the subject -interested him. He then measured trees and houses, the garden and its -avenues, and constructed cardboard models. - -He was now entering his tenth year. He was broad-shouldered, with -a sunburnt complexion; his hair was fair, and hung over a sickly -looking high and prominent forehead, which often formed a subject of -conversation and caused his relatives to give him the nickname of "the -professor." He was no more an automaton, but began to make his own -observations and to draw inferences. He was approaching the time when -he would be severed from his surroundings and go alone. Solitude had -to take for him the place of desert-wandering, for he had not a strong -enough individuality to go his own way. His sympathies for men were -doomed not to be reciprocated, because their thoughts did not keep pace -with his. He was destined to go about and offer his heart to the first -comer; but no one would take it, because it was strange to them, and so -he would retire into himself, wounded, humbled, overlooked, and passed -by. - - * * * * * - -The summer came to an end, and when the school-term began he returned -to Stockholm. The gloomy house by the Clara churchyard seemed doubly -depressing to him now, and when he saw the long row of class-rooms -through which he must work his way in a fixed number of years in order -to do laboriously the same through another row of class-rooms in the -High School, life did not seem to him particularly inviting. At the -same time his self-opinionatedness began to revolt against the lessons, -and consequently he got bad reports. A term later, when he had been -placed lower in his class, his father took him from the Clara School -and placed him in the Jacob School. At the same time they left the -Norrtullsgata and took a suburban house in the Stora Grabergsgata near -the Sabbatsberg. - - - - -IV - -INTERCOURSE WITH THE LOWER CLASSES - - -Christinenberg, so we will call the house, had a still more lonely -situation than that in the Norrtullsgata.[1] The Grabergsgata had no -pavement. Often for hours at a time one never saw more than a single -pedestrian in it, and the noise of a passing cart was an event which -brought people to their windows. The house stood in a courtyard with -many trees, and resembled a country parsonage. It was surrounded by -gardens and tobacco plantations; extensive fields with ponds stretched -away to Sabbatsberg. But their father rented no land here, so that -the boys spent their time in loafing about. Their playfellows now -consisted of the children of poorer people, such as the miller's and -the milkman's. Their chief playground was the hill on which the mill -stood, and the wings of the windmill were their playthings. - -The Jacob School was attended by the poorer class of children. Here -John came in contact with the lower orders. The boys were ill dressed; -they had sores on their noses, ugly features, and smelt bad. His own -leather breeches and greased boots produced no bad effect here. In -these surroundings, which pleased him, he felt more at his ease. He -could be on more confidential terms with these boys than with the proud -ones in the Clara School. But many of these children were very good at -their lessons, and the genius of the school was a peasant boy. At the -same time there were so-called "louts" in the lower classes, and these -generally did not get beyond the second class. He was now in the third, -and did not come into contact with them, nor did they with those in the -higher classes. These boys worked out of school, had black hands, and -were as old as fourteen or fifteen. Many of them were employed during -the summer on the brig _Carl Johann_, and then appeared in autumn with -tarry trousers, belts, and knives. They fought with chimney-sweeps and -tobacco-binders, took drams, and visited restaurants and coffee-houses. -These boys were liable to ceaseless examinations and expulsions and -were generally regarded, but with great injustice, as a bad lot. Many -of them grew up to be respectable citizens, and one who had served on -the "louts' brig" finally became an officer of the Guard. He never -ventured to talk of his sea voyages, but said that he used to shudder -when he led the watch to relieve guard at Nybrohanm, and saw the -notorious brig lying there. - -One day John met a former school-fellow from the Clara School, and -tried to avoid him. But the latter came directly towards him, and asked -him what school he was attending. "Ah, yes," he said, on being told, -"you are going to the louts' school." - -John felt that he had come down, but he had himself wished it. He did -not stand above his companions, but felt himself at home with them, -on friendly terms, and more comfortable than in the Clara School, -for here there was no pressure on him from above. He himself did not -wish to climb up and press down others, but he suffered himself from -being pressed down. He himself did not wish to ascend, but he felt a -need that there should be none above him. But it annoyed him to feel -that his old school-fellows thought that he had gone down. When at -gymnastic displays he appeared among the grimy-looking troop of the -Jacobites, and met the bright files of the Clara School in their -handsome uniforms and clean faces, then he was conscious of a class -difference, and when from the opposite camp the word "louts" was heard, -then there was war in the air. The two schools fought sometimes, but -John took no part in these encounters. He did not wish to see his old -friends, and to show how he had come down. - -The examination day in the Jacob School made a very different -impression from that in the Clara School. Artisans, poorly clad old -women, restaurant-keepers dressed up for the occasion, coach-men, and -publicans formed the audience. And the speech of the school inspector -was quite other than the flowery one of the Archbishop. He read out the -names of the idle and the stupid, scolded the parents because their -children came too late or did not turn up at all, and the hall reechoed -the sobs of poor mothers who were probably not at all to blame for the -easily explained non-attendances, and who in their simplicity believed -that they had bad sons. It was always the well-to-do citizens' sons who -had had the leisure to devote themselves exclusively to their tasks, -who were now greeted as patterns of virtue. - -In the moral teaching which the boy received he heard nothing of his -rights, only of his duties. Everything he was taught to regard as a -favour; he lived by favour, ate by favour, and went as a favour to -school. And in this poor children's school more and more was demanded -of them. It was demanded from them, for instance, that they should have -untorn clothes--but from whence were they to get them? - -Remarks were made upon their hands because they had been blackened -by contact with tar and pitch. There was demanded of them attention, -good morals, politeness, _i.e._, mere impossibilities. The aesthetic -susceptibilities of the teachers often led them to commit acts of -injustice. Near John sat a boy whose hair was never combed, who had -a sore under his nose, and an evil-smelling flux from his ears. His -hands were dirty, his clothes spotted and torn. He rarely knew his -lessons, and was scolded and caned on the palms of his hands. One day -a school-fellow accused him of bringing vermin into the class. He was -then made to sit apart in a special place. He wept bitterly, ah! so -bitterly, and then kept away from school. - -John was sent to look him up at his house. He lived in the Undertakers' -street. The painter's family lived with the grandmother and many small -children in one room. When John went there he found George, the boy in -question, holding on his knee, a little sister, who screamed violently. -The grandmother carried a little one on her arm. The father and mother -were away at work. In this room, which no one had time to clean, and -which could not be cleaned, there was a smell of sulphur fumes from the -coals and from the uncleanliness of the children. Here the clothes were -dried, food was cooked, oil-colours were rubbed, putty was kneaded. -Here were laid bare the grounds of George's immorality. "But," perhaps -a moralist may object, "one is never so poor that one cannot keep -oneself clean and tidy." _Sancta simplicitas!_ As if to pay for sewing -(when there was anything whole to sew), soap, clothes-washing, and time -cost nothing. Complete cleanliness and tidiness is the highest point to -which the poor can attain; George could not, and was therefore cast out. - -Some younger moralists believe they have made the discovery that the -lower classes are more immoral than the higher. By "immoral" they -mean that they do not keep social contracts so well as the upper -classes. That is a mistake, if not something worse. In all cases, in -which the lower classes are not compelled by necessity, they are more -conscientious than the upper ones. They are more merciful towards their -fellows, gentler to children, and especially more patient. How long -have they allowed their toil to be exploited by the upper classes, till -at last they begin to be impatient! - -Moreover, the social laws have been kept as long as possible in a state -of instability and uncertainty. Why are they not clearly defined and -printed like civil and divine laws? Perhaps because an honestly written -moral law would have to take some cognizance of rights as well as -duties. - -John's revolt against the school-teaching increased. At home he learned -all he could, but he neglected the school-lessons. The principal -subjects taught in the school were now Latin and Greek, but the method -of teaching was absurd. Half a year was spent in explaining a campaign -in _Cornelius_. The teacher had a special method of confusing the -subject by making the scholar analyse the "grammatical construction" of -the sentence. But he never explained what this meant. It consisted in -reading the words of the text in a certain order, but he did not say in -which. It did not agree with the Swedish translation, and when John had -tried to grasp the connection, but failed, he preferred to be silent. -He was obstinate, and when he was called upon to explain something he -was silent, even when he knew his lesson. For as soon as he began to -read, he was assailed with a storm of reproaches for the accent he put -on the words, the pace at which he read, his voice, everything. - -"Cannot you, do not you understand?" the teacher shouted, beside -himself. - -The boy was silent, and looked at the pedant contemptuously. - -"Are you dumb?" - -He remained silent. He was too old to be beaten; besides, this form of -punishment was gradually being disused. He was therefore told to sit -down. - -He could translate the text into Swedish, but not in the way the -teacher wished. That the teacher only permitted one way of translating -seemed to him silly. He had already rushed through _Cornelius_ in a few -weeks, and this deliberate, unreasonable crawling when one could run, -depressed him. He saw no sense in it. - -The same kind of thing happened in the history lessons. "Now, John," -the teacher would say, "tell me what you know about Gustav I." - -The boy stands up, and his vagrant thoughts express themselves as -follows: "What I know about Gustav I. Oh! a good deal. But I knew that -when I was in the lowest class (he is now in the fourth), and the -master knows it too. What is the good of repeating it all again?" - -"Well! is that all you know?" - -He had not said a word about Gustav I., and his school-fellows laughed. -Now he felt angry, and tried to speak, but the words stuck in his -throat. How should he begin? Gustav was born at Lindholm, in the -province of Roslagen. Yes, but he and the teacher knew that long ago. -How stupid to oblige him to repeat it. - -"Ah, well!" continues the teacher, "you don't know your lesson, you -know nothing of Gustav I." Now he opens his mouth, and says curtly and -decidedly: "Yes, I know his history well." - -"If you do, why don't you answer?" - -The master's question seems to him a very stupid one, and now he will -not answer. He drives away all thoughts about Gustav I. and forces -himself to think of other things, the maps on the wall, the lamp -hanging from the ceiling. He pretends to be deaf. - -"Sit down, you don't know your lesson," says the master. He sits down, -and lets his thoughts wander where they will, after he has settled in -his own mind that the master has told a falsehood. - -In this there was a kind of aphasia, an incapability or unwillingness -to speak, which followed him for a long time through life till the -reaction set in in the form of garrulousness, of incapacity to shut -one's mouth, of an impulse to speak whatever came into his mind. He -felt attracted to the natural sciences, and during the hour when -the teacher showed coloured pictures of plants and trees the gloomy -class-room seemed to be lighted up; and when the teacher read out of -Nilsson's _Lectures on Animal Life_, he listened and impressed all on -his memory. But his father observed that he was backward in his other -subjects, especially in Latin. Still, John had to learn Latin and -Greek. Why? He was destined for a scholar's career. His father made -inquiries into the matter. After hearing from the teacher of Latin that -the latter regarded his son as an idiot, his _amour propre_ must have -been hurt, for he determined to send his son to a private school, where -more practical methods of instruction were employed. Indeed, he was so -annoyed that he went so far in private as to praise John's intelligence -and to say some severe things regarding his teacher. - -Meanwhile, contact with the lower classes had aroused in the boy a -decided dislike to the higher ones. In the Jacob School a democratic -spirit prevailed, at any rate among those of the same age. None of them -avoided each other's society except from feelings of personal dislike. -In the Clara School, on the other hand, there were marked distinctions -of class and birth. Though in the Jacob School the possession of -money might have formed an aristocratic class, as a matter of fact -none of them were rich. Those who were obviously poor were treated -by their companions sympathetically without condescension, although -the beribboned school inspector and the academically educated teacher -showed their aversion to them. - -John felt himself identified and friendly with his school-fellows; he -sympathised with them, but was reserved towards those of the higher -class. He avoided the main thoroughfares, and always went through -the empty Hollandergata or the poverty stricken Badstugata. But his -school-fellows' influence made him despise the peasants who lived here. -That was the aristocratism of town-people, with which even the meanest -and poorest city children are imbued. - -These angular figures in grey coats which swayed about on milk-carts or -hay-waggons were regarded as fair butts for jests, as inferior beings -whom to snowball was no injustice. To mount behind on their sledges was -regarded as the boys' inherent privilege. A standing joke was to shout -to them that their waggon-wheels were going round, and to make them get -down to contemplate the wonder. - -But how should children, who see only the motley confusion of society, -where the heaviest sinks and the lightest lies on the top, avoid -regarding that which sinks as the worse of the two? Some say we are -all aristocrats by instinct. That is partly true, but it is none the -less an evil tendency, and we should avoid giving way to it. The -lower classes are really more democratic than the higher ones, for -they do not want to mount up to them, but only to attain to a certain -level; whence the assertion is commonly made that they wish to elevate -themselves. - -Since there was now no longer physical work to do at home, John -lived exclusively an inner, unpractical life of imagination. He read -everything which fell into his hands. - -On Wednesday or Saturday afternoon the eleven-year-old boy could be -seen in a dressing-gown and cap which his father had given him, with -a long tobacco-pipe in his mouth, his fingers stuck in his ears, and -buried in a book, preferably one about Indians. He had already read -five different versions of _Robinson Crusoe_, and derived an incredible -amount of delight from them. But in reading Campe's edition he had, -like all children, skipped the moralisings. Why do all children hate -moral applications? Are they immoral by nature? "Yes," answer modern -moralists, "for they are still animals, and do not recognise social -conventions." That is true, but the social law as taught to children -informs them only of their duties, not of their rights; it is therefore -unjust towards the child, and children hate injustice. Besides this, -he had arranged an herbarium, and made collections of insects and -minerals. He had also read Liljenblad's _Flora_, which he had found -in his father's bookcase. He liked this book better than the school -botany, because it contained a quantity of information regarding -the use of various plants, while the other spoke only of stamens and -pistils. - -When his brothers deliberately disturbed him in reading, he would -run at them and threaten to strike them. They said his nerves were -overstrained. He dissolved the ties which bound him to the realities of -life, he lived a dream-life in foreign lands and in his own thoughts, -and was discontented with the grey monotony of everyday life and of his -surroundings, which ever became more uncongenial to him. His father, -however, would not leave him entirely to his own fancies, but gave him -little commissions to perform, such as fetching the paper and carrying -letters. These he looked upon as encroachments on his private life, and -always performed them unwillingly. - -In the present day much is said about truth and truth-speaking as -though it were a difficult matter, which deserved praise. But, apart -from the question of praise, it is undoubtedly difficult to find out -the real facts about anything. - -A person is not always what rumour reports him or her to be; a whole -mass of public opinion may be false; behind each thought there lurks -a passion; each judgment is coloured by prejudice. But the art -of separating fact from fancy is extremely difficult, _e.g._, six -newspaper reporters will describe a king's coronation robe as being of -six different colours. New ideas do not find ready entrance into brains -which work in a groove; elderly people believe only themselves, and the -uneducated believe that they can trust their own eyes. This, however, -owing to the frequency of optical illusions, is not the case. - -In John's home truth was revered. His father was in the habit of -saying, "Tell the truth, happen what may," and used at the same time -to tell a story about himself. He had once promised a customer to send -home a certain piece of goods by a given day. He forgot it, but must -have had means of exculpating himself, for when the furious customer -came into the office and overwhelmed him with reproaches, John's father -humbly acknowledged his forgetfulness, asked for forgiveness, and -declared himself ready to make good the loss. The result was that the -customer was astonished, reached him his hand, and expressed his regard -for him. People engaged in trade, he said, must not expect too much of -each other. - -Well! his father had a sound intelligence, and as an elderly man felt -sure of his conclusions. - -John, who could never be without some occupation, had discovered that -one could profitably spend some time in loitering on the high-road -which led to and from school. He had once upon the Hollandergata, which -had no pavement, found an iron screw-nut. That pleased him, for it made -an excellent sling-stone when tied to a string. After that he always -walked in the middle of the street and picked up all the pieces of -iron which he saw. Since the streets were ill-paved and rapid driving -was forbidden, the vehicles which passed through them had a great deal -of rough usage. Accordingly an observant passer-by could be sure of -finding every day a couple of horse-shoe nails, a waggon-pin, or at any -rate a screw-nut, and sometimes a horse-shoe. John's favourite find was -screw-nuts which he had made his specialty. In the course of two months -he had collected a considerable quantity of them. - -One evening he was playing with them when his father entered the room. - -"What have you there?" he asked in astonishment. - -"Screw-nuts," John answered confidently. - -"Where did you get them from?" - -"I found them." - -"Found them? Where?" - -"On the street." - -"In one place?" - -"No, in several--by walking down the middle of the street and looking -about." - -"Look here! I don't believe that. You are lying. Come in here. I have -something to say to you." The something was a caning. - -"Will you confess now?" - -"I have found them on the street." - -The cane was again plied in order to make him "confess." What should -he confess? Pain, and fear that the scene would continue indefinitely, -forced the following lie from him: - -"I have stolen them." - -"Where?" - -Now he did not know to which part of a carriage the screw-nuts -belonged, but he guessed it was the under part. - -"Under the carriages." - -"Where?" - -His fancy suggested a place, where many carriages used to stand -together. "By the timber-yard opposite the lane by the smith's." - -This specification of the place lent an air of probability to his -story. His father was now certain that he had elicited the truth from -him. He continued: - -"And how could you get them off merely with your fingers?" - -He had not expected this question, but his eye fell on his father's -tool-box. - -"With a screw-driver." - -Now one cannot take hold of nuts with a screw-driver, but his father -was excited, and let himself be deceived. - -"But that is abominable! You are really a thief. Suppose a policeman -had come by." - -John thought for a moment of quieting him by telling him that the whole -affair was made up, but the prospect of getting another caning and no -supper held him mute. When he had gone to bed in the evening, and his -mother had come and told him to say his evening prayer, he said in a -pathetic tone and raising his hand: - -"May the deuce take me, if I have stolen the screw-nuts." - -His mother looked long at him, and then she said, "You should not swear -so." - -The corporal punishment had sickened and humbled him; he was angry with -God, his parents, and especially his brothers, who had not spoken up -for him, though they knew the real state of the case. That evening he -did not say his prayers, but he wished that the house would take fire -without his having to light it. And then to be called a thief! - -From that time he was suspected, or rather his bad reputation was -confirmed, and he felt long the sting of the memory of a charge of -theft which he had not committed. Another time he caught himself in a -lie, but through an inadvertency which for a long time he could not -explain. This incident is related for the consideration of parents. -A school-fellow with his sister came one Sunday morning in the early -part of the year to him and asked him whether he would accompany them -to the Haga Park. He said, "Yes," but he must first ask his mother's -permission. His father had gone out. - -"Well, hurry up!" said his friend. - -He wanted to show his herbarium, but the other said, "Let us go now." - -"Very well, but I must first ask mother." - -His little brother then came in and wanted to play with his herbarium. -He stopped the interruption and showed his friend his minerals. In the -meantime he changed his blouse. Then he took a piece of bread out of -the cupboard. His mother came and greeted his friends, and talked of -this and that domestic matter. John was in a hurry, begged his mother's -permission, and took his friends into the garden to see the frog-pond. - -At last they went to the Haga Park. He felt quite sure that he had -asked his mother's leave to do so. - -When his father came home, he asked John on his return, "Where have you -been?" - -"With friends to the Haga Park." - -"Did you have leave from mother?" - -"Yes." - -His mother denied it. John was dumb with astonishment. - -"Ah, you are beginning to lie again." - -He was speechless. He was quite sure he had asked his mother's leave, -especially as there was no reason to fear a refusal. He had fully meant -to do it, but other matters had intervened; he had forgotten, but was -willing to die, if he had told a lie. Children as a rule are afraid to -lie, but their memory is short, their impressions change quickly, and -they confuse wishes and resolves with completed acts. Meanwhile the boy -long continued to believe that his mother had told a falsehood. But -later, after frequent reflections on the incident, he came to think -she had forgotten or not heard his request. Later on still he began to -suspect that his memory might have played him a trick. But he had been -so often praised for his good memory, and there was only an interval of -two or three hours between his going to the Haga Park and his return. - -His suspicions regarding his mother's truthfulness (and why should she -not tell an untruth, since women so easily confuse fancies and facts?) -were shortly afterwards confirmed. The family had bought a set of -furniture--a great event. The boys just then happened to be going to -their aunt's. Their mother still wished to keep the novelty a secret -and to surprise her sister on her next visit. Therefore she asked the -children not to speak of the matter. On their arrival at their aunt's, -the latter asked at once: - -"Has your mother bought the yellow furniture?" - -His brothers were silent, but John answered cheerfully, "No." - -On their return, as they sat at table, their mother asked, "Well, did -aunt ask about the furniture?" - -"Yes." - -"What did you say?" - -"I said 'No,'" answered John. - -"So, then, you dared to lie," interrupted his father. - -"Yes, mother said so," the boy answered. - -His mother turned pale, and his father was silent. This in itself -was harmless enough, but, taken in connection with other things, not -without significance. Slight suspicions regarding the truthfulness of -"others" woke in the boy's mind and made him begin to carry on a silent -siege of adverse criticism. His coldness towards his father increased, -he began to have a keen eye for instances of oppression, and to make -small attempts at revolt. - -The children were marched to church every Sunday; and the family had -a key to their pew. The absurdly long services and incomprehensible -sermons soon ceased to make any impression. Before a system of heating -was introduced, it was a perfect torture to sit in the pew in winter -for two hours at a stretch with one's feet freezing; but still they -were obliged to go, whether for their souls' good, or for the sake of -discipline, or in order to have quiet in the house--who knows? His -father personally was a theist, and preferred to read Wallin's sermons -to going to church. His mother began to incline towards pietism. - -One Sunday the idea occurred to John, possibly in consequence of an -imprudent Bible exposition at school, which had touched upon freedom of -the spirit, or something of the sort, not to go to church. He simply -remained at home. At dinner, before his father came home, he declared -to his brothers and sisters and aunts that no one could compel the -conscience of another, and that therefore he did not go to church. This -seemed original, and therefore for this once he escaped a caning, but -was sent to church as before. - - * * * * * - -The social intercourse of the family, except with relatives, could -not be large, because of the defective form of his father's marriage. -But companions in misfortune draw together, and so intercourse was -kept up with an old friend of their father's who also had contracted -a _mesalliance_, and had therefore been repudiated by his family. He -was a legal official. With him they met another family in the same -circumstances owing to an irregular marriage. The children naturally -knew nothing of the tragedy below the surface. There were children -in both the other families, but John did not feel attracted to them. -After the sufferings he had undergone at home and school, his shyness -and unsociability had increased, and his residence on the outside of -the town and in the country had given him a distaste for domestic -life. He did not wish to learn dancing, and thought the boys silly who -showed off before the girls. When his mother on one occasion told him -to be polite to the latter, he asked, "Why?" He had become critical, -and asked this question about everything. During a country excursion -he tried to rouse to rebellion the boys who carried the girls' shawls -and parasols. "Why should we be these girls' servants?" he said; but -they did not listen to him. Finally, he took such a dislike to going -out that he pretended to be ill, or dirtied his clothes in order to be -obliged to stay at home as a punishment. He was no longer a child, and -therefore did not feel comfortable among the other children, but his -elders still saw in him only a child. He remained solitary. - -When he was twelve years old, he was sent in the summer to another -school kept by a parish clerk at Mariefred. Here there were many -boarders, all of so-called illegitimate birth. Since the parish clerk -himself did not know much, he was not able to hear John his lessons. At -the first examination in geometry, he found that John was sufficiently -advanced to study best by himself. Now he felt himself a grandee, and -did his lessons alone. The parish clerk's garden adjoined the park of -the lord of the manor, and here he took his walks free from imposed -tasks and free from oversight. His wings grew, and he began to feel -himself a man. - -In the course of the summer he fell in love with the twenty-year-old -daughter of the inspector who often came to the parish clerk's. He -never spoke to her, but used to spy out her walks, and often went -near her house. The whole affair was only a silent worship of her -beauty from a distance, without desire, and without hope. His feeling -resembled a kind of secret trouble, and might as well have been -directed towards anyone else, if girls had been numerous there. It was -a Madonna-worship which demanded nothing except to bring the object of -his worship some great sacrifice, such as drowning himself in the water -under her eyes. It was an obscure consciousness of his own inadequacy -as a half man, who did not wish to live without being completed by his -"better half." - -He continued to attend church-services, but they made no impression on -him; he found them merely tedious. - -This summer formed an important stage in his development, for it broke -the links with his home. None of his brothers were with him. He had -accordingly no intermediary bond of flesh and blood with his mother. -This made him more complete in himself, and hardened his nerves; but -not all at once, for sometimes he had severe attacks of homesickness. -His mother's image rose up in his mind in its usual ideal shape of -protectiveness and mildness, as the source of warmth and the preserver. - -In summer, at the beginning of August, his eldest brother Gustav was -going to a school in Paris, in order to complete his business studies -and to learn the language. But previous to that, he was to spend a -month in the country and say good-bye to his brother. The thought of -the approaching parting, the reflected glory of the great town to which -his brother was going, the memory of his brother's many heroic feats, -the longing for home and the joy to see again someone of his own flesh -and blood,--all combined to set John's emotion and imagination at work. -During the week in which he expected his brother, he described him to a -friend as a sort of superman to whom he looked up. And Gustav certainly -was, as a man, superior to him. He was a plucky, lively youth, two -years older than John, with strong, dark features; he did not brood, -and had an active temperament; he was sagacious, could keep silence -when necessary, and strike when occasion demanded it. He understood -economy, and was sparing of his money. "He was very wise," thought the -dreaming John. He learned his lessons imperfectly, for he despised -them, but he understood the art of life. - -John needed a hero to worship, and wished to form an ideal out of some -other material than his own weak clay, round which his own aspirations -might gather, and now he exercised his art for eight days. He prepared -for his brother's arrival by painting him in glowing colours before his -friends, praised him to the teacher, sought out playing-places with -little surprises, contrived a spring-board at the bathing-place, and so -on. - -On the day before his brother's arrival he went into the wood and -plucked cloud-berries and blue-berries for him. He covered a table -with white paper, on which he spread out the berries, yellow and blue -alternately, and in the centre he arranged them in the shape of a large -G, and surrounded the whole with flowers. - -His brother arrived, cast a hasty look at the design and ate the -berries, but either did not notice the dexterously-contrived initial, -or thought it a piece of childishness. As a matter of fact, in their -family every ebullition of feeling was regarded as childish. - -Then they went to bathe. The minute after Gustav had taken off his -shirt, he was in the water, and swam immediately out to the buoy. John -admired him and would have gladly followed him, but this time it gave -him more pleasure to think that his brother obtained the reputation -of being a good swimmer, and that he was only second-best. At dinner -Gustav left a fat piece of bacon on his plate--a thing which no one -before had ever dared to do. But he dared everything. In the evening, -when the time came to ring the bells for church, John gave up his -turn of ringing to Gustav, who rang violently. John was frightened, -as though the parish had been exposed to danger thereby, and half in -alarm and half laughing, begged him to stop. - -"What the deuce does it matter?" said Gustav. - -Then he introduced him to his friend the big son of the carpenter, who -was about fifteen. An intimacy at once sprang up between the two of -equal age, and John's friend abandoned him as being too small. But John -felt no bitterness, although the two elder ones jested at him, and went -out alone together with their guns in their hands. He only wished to -give, and he would have given his betrothed away, had he possessed one. -He did actually inform his brother about the inspector's daughter, and -the latter was pleased with her. But, instead of sighing behind the -trees like John, Gustav went straight up to her and spoke to her in an -innocent boyish way. This was the most daring thing which John had ever -seen done in his life, and he felt as if it had added a foot to his own -stature. He became visibly greater, his weak soul caught a contagion of -strength from his brother's strong nerves, and he identified himself -with him. He felt as happy as if he had spoken with the girl himself. -He made suggestions for excursions and boating expeditions and his -brother carried them out. He discovered birds' nests and his brother -climbed the trees and plundered them. - -But this lasted only for a week. On the last day before they were to -leave, John said to Gustav: "Let us buy a fine bouquet for mother." - -"Very well," replied his brother. - -They went to the nursery-man, and Gustav gave the order that the -bouquet should be a fine one. While it was being made up, he went into -the garden and plucked fruit quite openly. John did not venture to -touch anything. - -"Eat," said his brother. No, he could not. When the bouquet was ready, -John paid twenty-four shillings for it. Not a sign came from Gustav. -Then they parted. - -When John came home, he gave his mother the bouquet as from Gustav, -and she was touched. At supper-time the flowers attracted his father's -attention. "Gustav sent me those," said his mother. "He is always a -kind boy," and John received a sad look because he was so cold-hearted. -His father's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. - -John felt no bitterness. His youthful, enthusiastic love of sacrifice -had found vent, the struggle against injustice had made him a -self-tormentor, and he kept silent. He also said nothing when his -father sent Gustav a present of money, and with unusual warmth of -expression said how deeply he had been touched by this graceful -expression of affection. - -In fact, he kept silence regarding this incident during his whole -life, even when he had occasion to feel bitterness. Not till he had -been over-powered and fallen in the dirty sand of life's arena, with a -brutal foot placed upon his chest and not a hand raised to plead in his -behalf, did he say anything about it. Even then, it was not mentioned -from a feeling of revenge, but as the self-defence of a dying man. - - -[1] Gata = street. - - - - -V. - -CONTACT WITH THE UPPER CLASSES - - -The private schools had been started in opposition to the terrorising -sway of the public schools. Since their existence depended on the -goodwill of the pupils, the latter enjoyed great freedom, and were -treated humanely. Corporal punishment was forbidden, and the pupils -were accustomed to express their thoughts, to ask questions, to defend -themselves against charges, and, in a word, were treated as reasonable -beings. Here for the first time John felt that he had rights. If -a teacher made a mistake in a matter of fact, the pupils were not -obliged to echo him, and swear by his authority; he was corrected -and spiritually lynched by the class who convinced him of his error. -Rational methods of teaching were also employed. Few lessons were set -to be done at home. Cursory explanations in the languages themselves -gave the pupils an idea of the object aimed at, _i.e._, to be able -to translate. Moreover, foreign teachers were appointed for modern -languages, so that the ear became accustomed to the correct accent, and -the pupils acquired some notion of the right pronunciation. - -A number of boys had come from the state schools into this one, and -John also met here many of his old comrades from the Clara School. He -also found some of the teachers from both the Clara and Jacob Schools. -These cut quite a different figure here, and played quite another part. -He understood now that they had been in the same hole as their victims, -for they had had the headmaster and the School Board over them. At last -the pressure from above was relaxed, his will and his thoughts obtained -a measure of freedom, and he had a feeling of happiness and well-being. - -At home he praised the school, thanked his parents for his liberation, -and said that he preferred it to any former one. He forgot former acts -of injustice, and became more gentle and unreserved in his behaviour. -His mother began to admire his erudition. He learned five languages -besides his own. His eldest brother was already in a place of business, -and the second in Paris. John received a kind of promotion at home -and became a companion to his mother. He gave her information from -books on history and natural history, and she, having had no education, -listened with docility. But after she had listened awhile, whether it -was that she wished to raise herself to his level, or that she really -feared worldly knowledge, she would speak of the only knowledge which, -she said, could make man happy. She spoke of Christ; John knew all -this very well, but she understood how to make a personal application. -He was to beware of intellectual pride, and always to remain simple. -The boy did not understand what she meant by "simple," and what she -said about Christ did not agree with the Bible. There was something -morbid in her point of view, and he thought he detected the dislike -of the uncultured to culture. "Why all this long school course," he -asked himself, "if it was to be regarded as nothing in comparison with -the mysterious doctrine of Christ's Atonement?" He knew also that -his mother had caught up this talk from conversations with nurses, -seamstresses, and old women, who went to the dissenting chapels. -"Strange," he thought, "that people like that should grasp the highest -wisdom of which neither the priest in the church nor the teacher in -the school had the least notion!" He began to think that these humble -pietists had a good deal of spiritual pride, and that their way to -wisdom was an imaginary short-cut. Moreover, among his school-fellows -there were sons of barons and counts, and, when in his stories out of -school he mentioned noble titles, he was warned against pride. - -Was he proud? Very likely; but in school he did not seek the company -of aristocrats, though he preferred looking at them rather than at the -others, because their fine clothes, their handsome faces, and their -polished finger-nails appealed to his aesthetic sense. He felt that -they were of a different race and held a position which he would never -reach, nor try to reach, for he did not venture to demand anything of -life. But when, one day, a baron's son asked for his help in a lesson, -he felt himself in this matter, at any rate, his equal or even his -superior. He had thereby discovered that there was something which -could set him by the side of the highest in society, and which he could -obtain for himself, _i.e._, knowledge. - -In this school, because of the liberal spirit which was present, there -prevailed a democratic tone, of which there had been no trace in the -Clara School. The sons of counts and barons, who were for the most part -idle, had no advantage above the rest. The headmaster, who himself was -a peasant's son from Smaland, had no fear of the nobility, nor, on the -other hand, had he any prejudice against them or wish to humiliate -them. He addressed them all, small and big ones, familiarily, studied -them individually, called them by their Christian names, and took a -personal interest in them. The daily intercourse of the townspeople's -sons with those of the nobility led to their being on familiar terms -with one another. There were no flatterers, except in the upper -division, where the adolescent aristocrats came into class with their -riding-whips and spurs, while a soldier held their horses outside. The -precociously prudent boys, who had already an insight into the art of -life, courted these youths, but their intercourse was for the most part -superficial. In the autumn term some of the young grandees returned -from their expeditions as supernumerary naval cadets. They then -appeared in class with uniform and dirk. Their fellows admired them, -many envied them, but John, with the slave blood in his veins, was -never presumptuous enough to think of rivalling them; he recognised -their privileges, never dreamed of sharing them, guessed that he would -meet with humiliations among them, and therefore never intruded into -their circle. But he _did_ dream of reaching equal heights with theirs -through merit and hard work. And when in the spring those who were -leaving came into the classes to bid farewell to their teachers, when -he saw their white students' caps, their free and easy manners and -ways, then he noticed that they were also an object of admiration to -the naval cadets. - - * * * * * - -In his family life there was now a certain degree of prosperity. They -had gone back to the Norrtullsgata, where it was more homely than the -Sabbatsberg, and the landlord's sons were his school-fellows. His -father no longer rented a garden, and John busied himself for the most -part with his books. He led the life of a well-to-do-youth. Things -were more cheerful at home; grown-up cousins and the clerks from his -father's office came on Sundays for visits, and John, in spite of his -youth, made one of the company. He now wore a coat, took care of his -personal appearance, and, as a promising scholar, was thought more -highly of than one of his years would otherwise have been. He went -for walks in the garden, but the berries and the apple-trees no longer -tempted him. - -From time to time there came letters from his brother in Paris. They -were read aloud, and listened to with great attention. They were also -read to friends and acquaintances, and that was a triumph for the -family. At Christmas his brother sent a photograph of himself in a -French school uniform. That was the climax. John had now a brother who -wore a uniform and spoke French! He exhibited the photograph in the -school, and rose in the social scale thereby. The naval cadets were -envious, and said it was not a proper uniform, for he had no dirk. But -he had a "kepi," and shining buttons, and some gold lace on his collar. - -At home they had also stereoscopic pictures from Paris to show, and -they now seemed to live in Paris. They were as familiar with the -Tuileries and the Arc de Triomphe as with the castle and statue of -Gustavus Adolphus. The proverb that a father "lives in his children" -really seemed to be justified. Life now lay open before the youth; the -pressure he had formerly been subjected to had diminished, and perhaps -he would have traversed a smooth and easy path through life if a -change of circumstances had not thrown him back. - -His mother had passed through twelve confinements, and consequently -had become weak. Now she was obliged to keep her bed, and only -rose occasionally. She was more given to moods than before, and -contradictions would set her cheek aflame. The previous Christmas she -had fallen into a violent altercation with her brother regarding the -pietist preachers. While sitting at the dinner-table, the latter had -expressed his preference for Fredman's _Epistles_ as exhibiting deeper -powers of thought than the sermons of the pietists. John's mother took -fire at this, and had an attack of hysteria. That was only a symptom. - -Now, during the intervals when she got up, she began to mend the -children's linen and clothes, and to clear out all the drawers. She -often talked to John about religion and other high matters. One day she -showed him some gold rings. "You boys will get these, when Mamma is -dead," she said. "Which is mine?" asked John, without stopping to think -about death. She showed him a plaited girl's ring with a heart. It made -a deep impression on the boy, who had never possessed anything of gold, -and he often thought of the ring. - -About that time a nurse was hired for the children. She was young and -good-looking, taciturn, and smiled in a critical sort of way. She had -served in a count's mansion in the Tradgardsgatan, and probably thought -that she had come into a poverty-stricken house. She was supposed -to look after the children and the servant-maids, but was on almost -intimate terms with the latter. There were now three servants--a -housekeeper, a man-servant, and a girl from Dalecarlia. The girls had -their lovers, and a cheerful life went on in the great kitchen, where -polished copper and tin vessels shone brightly. There was eating and -drinking, and the boys were invited in. They were called "sir," and -their health was drunk. Only the man-servant was not there; he thought -it was "vulgar" to live like that, while the mistress of the house was -ill. The home seemed to be undergoing a process of dissolution, and -John's father had had many difficulties with the servants since his -mother had been obliged to keep her bed. But she remained the servants' -friend till death, and took their side by instinct, but they abused her -partiality. It was strictly forbidden to excite the patient, but the -servants intrigued against each other, and against their master. One -day John had melted lead in a silver spoon. The cook blabbed of it to -his mother, who was excited and told his father. But his father was -only-annoyed with the tell-tale. He went to John and said in a friendly -way, as though he were compelled to make a complaint: "You should not -melt lead in silver spoons. I don't care about the spoon; that can be -repaired; but this devil of a cook has excited mother. Don't tell the -girls when you have done something stupid, but tell me, and we will put -it right." - -He and his father were now friends for the first time, and he loved him -for his condescension. - -One night his father's voice awoke him from sleep. He started up, -and found it dark in the room. Through the darkness he heard a deep -trembling voice, "Come to mother's death-bed!" It went through him like -a flash of lightning. He froze and shivered while he dressed, the skin -of his head felt ice-cold, his eyes were wide-open and streaming with -tears, so that the flame of the lamp looked like a red bladder. - -Then they stood round the sick-bed and wept for one, two, three hours. -The night crept slowly onward. His mother was unconscious and knew no -one. The death-struggle, with rattling in the throat, and cries for -help, had commenced. The little ones were not aroused. John thought -of all the sins which he had committed, and found no good deeds to -counterbalance them. After three hours his tears ceased, and his -thoughts began to take various directions. The process of dying was -over. "How will it be," he asked himself, "when mother is no longer -there?" Nothing but emptiness and desolation, without comfort or -compensation--a deep gloom of wretchedness in which he searched for -some point of light. His eye fell on his mother's chest of drawers, on -which stood a plaster statuette of Linnaeus with a flower in his hand. -There was the only advantage which this boundless misfortune brought -with it--he would get the ring. He saw it in imagination on his hand. -"That is in memory of my mother," he would be able to say, and he -would weep at the recollection of her, but he could not suppress the -thought, "A gold ring looks fine after all." Shame! Who could entertain -such thoughts at his mother's death-bed? A brain that was drunk with -sleep? A child which had wept itself out? Oh, no, an heir. Was he more -avaricious than others? Had he a natural tendency to greed? No, for -then he would never have related the matter, but he bore it in memory -his whole life long; it kept on turning up, and when he thought of it -in sleepless nights, and hours of weariness, he felt the flush mount -into his cheeks. Then he instituted an examination of himself and his -conduct, and blamed himself as the meanest of all men. It was not till -he was older and had come to know a great number of men, and studied -the processes of thought, that he came to the conclusion that the -brain is a strange thing which goes its own way, and there is a great -similarity among men in the double life which they lead, the outward -and the inward, the life of speech and that of thought. - -John was a compound of romanticism, pietism, realism, and naturalism. -Therefore he was never anything but a patchwork. He certainly did not -exclusively think about the wretched ornament. The whole matter was -only a momentary distraction of two minutes' duration after months -of sorrow, and when at last there was stillness in the room, and -his father said, "Mother is dead," he was not to be comforted. He -shrieked like one drowning. How can death bring such profound despair -to those who hope to meet again? It must needs press hard on faith -when the annihilation of personality takes place with such inflexible -consistency before our eyes. John's father, who generally had the -outward imperturbability of the Icelander, was now softened. He took -his sons by the hands and said: "God has visited us; we will now hold -together like friends. Men go about in their self-sufficiency, and -believe they are enough for themselves; then comes a blow, and we see -how _we_ all need one another. We will be sincere and considerate with -each other." - -The boy's sorrow was for a moment relieved. He had found a friend, a -strong, wise, manly friend whom he admired. - -White sheets were now hung up at the windows of the house in sign of -mourning. "You need not go to school, if you don't want to," said -his father. "If you don't want"--that was acknowledgment that he had -a will of his own. Then came aunts, cousins, relations, nurses, old -servants, and all called down blessings on the dead. All offered their -help in making the mourning clothes--there were four small and three -elder children. Young girls sat by the sickly light that fell through -the sheeted windows and sewed, while they conversed in undertones. That -was melancholy, and the period of mourning brought a whole chain of -peculiar experiences with it. Never had the boy been the object of so -much sympathy, never had he felt so many warm hands stretched out, nor -heard so many friendly words. - -On the next Sunday his father read a sermon of Wallin's on the text -"Our friend is not dead, but she sleeps." With what extraordinary faith -he took these words literally, and how well he understood how to open -the wounds and heal them again! "She is not dead, but she sleeps," -he repeated cheerfully. The mother really slept there in the cold -anteroom, and no one expected to see her awake. - -The time of burial approached; the place for the grave was bought. -His father's sister-in-law helped to sew the suits of mourning; she -sewed and sewed, the old mother of seven penniless children, the once -rich burgher's wife, sewed for the children of the marriage which her -husband had cursed. - -One day she stood up and asked her brother-in-law to speak with her -privately. She whispered with him in a corner of the room. The two old -people embraced each other and wept. Then John's father told them that -their mother would be laid in their uncle's family grave. This was a -much-admired monument in the new churchyard, which consisted of an iron -pillar surmounted by an urn. The boys knew that this was an honour for -their mother, but they did not understand that by her burial there a -family quarrel had been extinguished, and justice done after her death -to a good and conscientious woman who had been despised because she -became a mother before her marriage. - -Now all was peace and reconciliation in the house, and they vied with -one another in acts of friendliness. They looked frankly at each other, -avoided anything that might cause disturbance, and anticipated each -other's wishes. - -Then came the day of the funeral. When the coffin had been screwed -down and was carried through the hall, which was filled with mourners -dressed in black, one of John's little sisters began to cry and flung -herself in his arms. He took her up and pressed her to himself, as -though he were her mother and wished to protect her. When he felt how -her trembling little body clung close to him, he grew conscious of a -strength which he had not felt for a long time. Comfortless himself he -could bestow comfort, and as he quieted the child he himself grew calm. -The black coffin and the crowd of people had frightened her--that was -all; for the smaller children hardly missed their mother; they did -not weep for her, and had soon forgotten her. The tie between mother -and child is not formed so quickly, but only through long personal -acquaintance. John's real sense of loss hardly lasted for a quarter -of a year. He mourned for her indeed a long time, but that was more -because he wished to continue in that mood, though it was only an -expression of his natural melancholy, which had taken the special form -of mourning for his mother. - -After the funeral there followed a long summer of leisure and freedom. -John occupied two rooms with his eldest brother, who did not return -from business till the evening. His father was out the whole day, -and when they met they were silent. They had laid aside enmity, but -intimacy was impossible. John was now his own master; he came and -went, and did what he liked. His father's housekeeper was sympathetic -with him, and they never quarrelled. He avoided intercourse with his -school-fellows, shut himself in his room, smoked, read, and meditated. -He had always heard that knowledge was the best thing, a capital fund -which could not be lost, and which afforded a footing, however low -one might sink in the social scale. He had a mania for explaining -and knowing everything. He had seen his eldest brother's drawings and -heard them praised. In school he had drawn only geometrical figures. -Accordingly, he wished to draw, and in the Christmas holidays he copied -with furious diligence all his brother's drawings. The last in the -collection was a horse. When he had finished it, and saw that it was -unsatisfactory, he had done with drawing. - -All the children except John could play some instrument. He heard -scales and practising on the piano, violin, and violoncello, so that -music was spoiled for him and became a nuisance, like the church-bells -had formerly been. He would have gladly played, but he did not wish -to practise scales. He took pieces of music when no one was looking -and played them--as might be supposed--very badly, but it pleased him. -As a compensation for his vanity, he determined to learn technically -the pieces which his sisters played, so that he surpassed them in the -knowledge of musical technique. Once they wanted someone to copy the -music of the _Zauberfloete_ arranged for a quartette. John offered to do -so. - -"Can you copy notes?" he was asked. - -"I'll try," he said. - -He practised copying for a couple of days, and then copied out the four -parts. It was a long, tedious piece of work, and he nearly gave it up, -but finally completed it. His copy was certainly inaccurate in places, -but it was usable. He had no rest till he had learned to know all the -varieties of plants included in the Stockholm Flora. When he had done -so he dropped the subject. A botanical excursion afforded him no more -interest; roamings through the country showed him nothing new. He could -not find any plant which he did not know. He also knew the few minerals -which were to be found, and had an entomological collection. He could -distinguish birds by their notes, their feathers, and their eggs. But -all these were only outward phenomena, mere names for things, which -soon lost their interest. He wanted to reach what lay behind them. He -used to be blamed for his destructiveness, for he broke toys, watches, -and everything that fell into his hands. Accidently he heard in the -Academy of Sciences a lecture on Chemistry and Physics, accompanied by -experiments. The unusual instruments and apparatus fascinated him. The -Professor was a magician, but one who explained how the miracles took -place. This was a novelty for him, and he wished himself to penetrate -these secrets. - -He talked with his father about his new hobby, and the latter, who -had himself studied electricity in his youth, lent him books from -his bookcase--Fock's _Physics_, Girardin's _Chemistry_, Figuier's -_Discoveries and Inventions_, and the _Chemical Technology_ of Nyblaeus. -In the attic was also a galvanic battery constructed on the old -Daniellian copper and zinc system. This he got hold of when he was -twelve years old, and made so many experiments with sulphuric acid as -to ruin handkerchiefs, napkins, and clothes. After he had galvanised -everything which seemed a suitable object, he laid this hobby also -aside. During the summer he took up privately the study of chemistry -with enthusiasm. But he did not wish to carry out the experiments -described in the text-book; he wished to make discoveries. He had -neither money nor any chemical apparatus, but that did not hinder him. -He had a temperament which must carry out its projects in spite of -every difficulty, and on the spot. This was still more the case, since -he had become his own master, after his mother's death. When he played -chess, he directed his plan of campaign against his opponent's king. -He went on recklessly, without thinking of defending himself, sometimes -gained the victory by sheer recklessness, but frequently also lost the -game. - -"If I had had one move more, you would have been checkmated," he said -on such occasions. - -"Yes, but you hadn't, and therefore _you_ are checkmated," was the -answer. - -When he wished to open a locked drawer, and the key was not at hand, he -took the tongs and broke the lock, so that, together with its screws, -it came loose from the wood. - -"Why did you break the lock?" they asked. - -"Because I wished to get at the drawer." - -This impetuosity revealed a certain pertinacity, but the latter only -lasted while the fit was on him. For example: On one occasion he wished -to make an electric machine. In the attic he found a spinning-wheel. -From it he broke off whatever he did not need, and wanted to replace -the wheel with a round pane of glass. He found a double window, and -with a splinter of quartz cut a pane out. But it had to be round and -have a whole in the middle. With a key he knocked off one splinter of -glass after another, each not larger than a grain of sand, this took -him several days, but at last he had made the pane round. But how was -he to make a hole in it? He contrived a bow-drill. In order to get -the bow, he broke an umbrella, took a piece of whale-bone out, and -with that and a violin-string made his bow. Then he rubbed the glass -with the splinter of quartz, wetted it with turpentine, and bored. But -he saw no result. Then he lost patience and reflection, and tried to -finish the job with a piece of cracking-coal. The pane of glass split -in two. Then he threw himself, weak, exhausted, hopeless, on the bed. -His vexation was intensified by a consciousness of poverty. If he had -only had money. He walked up and down before Spolander's shop in the -Vesterlanggata and looked at the various sets of chemical apparatus -there displayed. He would have gladly ascertained their price, but -dared not go in. What would have been the good? His father gave him no -money. - -When he had recovered from this failure, he wanted to make what no one -has made hitherto, and no one can make--a machine to exhibit "perpetual -motion." His father had told him that for a long time past a reward -had been offered to anyone who should invent this impossibility. This -tempted him. He constructed a waterfall with a "Hero's fountain,"[1] -which worked a pump; the waterfall was to set the pump in motion, and -the pump was to draw up the water again out of the "Hero's fountain." -He had again to make a raid on the attic. After he had broken -everything possible in order to collect material, he began his work. A -coffee-making machine had to serve as a pipe; a soda-water machine as a -reservoir; a chest of drawers furnished planks and wood; a bird-cage, -iron wire; and so on. The day of testing it came. Then the housekeeper -asked him if he would go with his brothers and sisters to their -mother's grave. "No," he said, "he had no time." Whether his conscience -now smote him, and spoiled his work, or whether he was nervous--anyhow, -it was a failure. Then he took the whole apparatus, without trying to -put right what was wrong in it, and hurled it against the tiled stove. -There lay the work, on which so many useful things had been wasted, and -a good while later on the ruin was discovered in the attic. He received -a reproof, but that had no longer an effect on him. - -In order to have his revenge at home, where he was despised on -account of his unfortunate experiments, he made some explosions with -detonating gas, and contrived a Leyden jar. For this he took the skin -of a dead black cat which he had found on the Observatory Hill and -brought home in his pocket-handkerchief. One night, when his eldest -brother and he came home from a concert, they could find no matches, -and did not wish to wake anyone. John hunted up some sulphuric acid and -zinc, produced hydrogen, procured a flame by means of the electricity -conductor, and lighted the lamp. This established his reputation as a -scientific chemist. He also manufactured matches like those made at -Joenkoping. Then he laid chemistry aside for a time. - -His father's bookshelves contained a small collection of books which -were now at his disposal. Here, besides the above-mentioned works on -chemistry and physics, he found books on gardening, an illustrated -natural history, Meyer's _Universum_, a German anatomical treatise with -plates, an illustrated German history of Napoleon, Wallin's, Franzen's, -and Tegner's poems, _Don Quixote_, Frederika Bremer's romances, etc. - -Besides books about Indians and the _Thousand and One Nights_, John -had hitherto no acquaintance with pure literature. He had looked into -some romances and found them tedious, especially as they had no -illustrations. But after he had floundered about chemistry and natural -science, he one day paid a visit to the bookcase. He looked into the -poets; here he felt as though he were floating in the air and did not -know where he was. He did not understand it. Then he took Frederika -Bremer's _Pictures from Daily Life._ Here he found domesticity and -didacticism, and put them back. Then he seized hold of a collection -of tales and fairy stories called _Der Jungfrauenturm_. These dealt -with unhappy love, and moved him. But most important of all was the -circumstance that he felt himself an adult with these adult characters. -He understood what they said, and observed that he was no longer a -child. He, too, had been unhappy in love, had suffered and fought, but -he was kept back in the prison of childhood. And now he first became -aware that his soul was in prison. It had long been fledged, but they -had clipped its wings and put it in a cage. Now he sought his father -and wished to talk with him as a comrade, but his father was reserved -and brooded over his sorrow. - -In the autumn there came a new throw-back and check for him. He was -ripe for the highest class, but was kept back in the school because -he was too young. He was infuriated. For the second time he was held -fast by the coat when he wished to jump. He felt like an omnibus-horse -continually pressing forward and being as constantly held back. This -lacerated his nerves, weakened his will-power, and laid the foundation -for lack of courage in the future. He never dared to wish anything very -keenly, for he had seen how often his wishes were checked. He wanted to -be industrious and press on, but industry did not help him; he was too -young. No, the school course was too long. It showed the goal in the -distance, but set obstacles in the way of the runners. He had reckoned -on being a student when he was fifteen, but had to wait till he was -eighteen. In his last year, when he saw escape from his prison so near, -another year of punishment was imposed upon him by a rule being passed -that they were to remain in the highest class for two years. - -His childhood and youth had been extremely painful; the whole of life -was spoiled for him, and he sought comfort in heaven. - - -[1] An artificial fountain of water, worked by pressure of air. - - - - -VI. - -THE SCHOOL OF THE CROSS - - -Sorrow has the fortunate peculiarity that it preys upon itself. It dies -of starvation. Since it is essentially an interruption of habits, it -can be replaced by new habits. Constituting, as it does, a void, it is -soon filled up by a real "horror vacui." - -A twenty-years' marriage had come to an end. A comrade in the battle -against the difficulties of life was lost; a wife, at whose side her -husband had lived, had gone and left behind an old celibate; the -manager of the house had quitted her post. Everything was in confusion. -The small, black-dressed creatures, who moved everywhere like dark -blots in the rooms and in the garden, kept the feeling of loss fresh. -Their father thought they felt forlorn and believed them defenceless. -He often came home from his work in the afternoon and sat alone in a -lime-tree arbour, which looked towards the street. He had his eldest -daughter, a child of seven, on his knee, and the others played at his -feet. John often watched the grey-haired man, with his melancholy, -handsome features, sitting in the green twilight of the arbour. He -could not comfort him, and did not seek his company any more. He -saw the softening of the old man's nature, which he would not have -thought possible before. He watched how his fixed gaze lingered on his -little daughter as though in the childish lines of her face he would -reconstruct in imagination the features of the dead. From his window -John often watched this picture between the stems of the trees down the -long vista of the avenue; it touched him deeply, but he began to fear -for his father, who no longer seemed to be himself. - -Six months had passed, when his father one autumn evening came home -with a stranger. He was an elderly man of unusually cheerful aspect. -He joked good-naturedly, was friendly and kindly towards children and -servants, and had an irresistible way of making people laugh. He was -an accountant, had been a school friend of John's father, and was now -discovered to be living in a house close by. The two old men talked -of their youthful recollections, which afforded material to fill the -painful void John's father felt. His stern, set features relaxed, as he -was obliged to laugh at his friend's witty and humorous remarks. After -a week he and the whole family were laughing as only those can who have -wept for a long time. Their friend was a wit of the first water, and -more, could play the violin and guitar, and sing Bellman's[1] songs. A -new atmosphere seemed to pervade the house, new views of things sprang -up, and the melancholy phantoms of the mourning period were dissipated. -The accountant had also known trouble; he had lost his betrothed, and -since then remained a bachelor. Life had not been child's play for him, -but he had taken things as they came. - -Soon after John's brother Gustav returned from Paris in uniform, mixing -French words with Swedish in his talk, brisk and cheerful. His father -received him with a kiss on the forehead, and was somewhat depressed -again by the recollection that this son had not been at his mother's -death-bed. But he soon cheered up again and the house grew lively. -Gustav entered his father's business, and the latter had someone now -with whom he could talk on matters which interested him. - -One evening, late in autumn, after supper, when the accountant was -present and the company sat together, John's father stood up and -signified his wish to say a few words: "My boys and my friend," he -began, and then announced his intention of giving his little children a -new mother, adding that the time of youthful passion was past for him, -and that only thoughts for the children had led to the resolve to make -Fraeulein--his wife. - -She was the housekeeper. He made the announcement in a somewhat -authoritative tone, as though he would say, "You have really nothing to -do with it; however, I let you know." Then the housekeeper was fetched -to receive their congratulations, which were hearty on the part of the -accountant, but of a somewhat mixed nature on the part of the three -boys. Two of them had rather an uncomfortable conscience on the matter, -for they had strongly but innocently admired her; but the third, -John, had latterly been on bad terms with her. Which of them was most -embarrassed would be difficult to decide. - -There ensued a long pause, during which the youths examined themselves, -mentally settled their accounts, and thought of the possible -consequences of this unexpected event. John must have been the first to -realise what the situation demanded, for he went the same evening into -the nursery straight to the housekeeper. It seemed dark before his eyes -as he repeated the following speech, which he had hastily composed and -learned by heart in his father's fashion: - -"Since our relations with each other will hence-forward be on a -different footing," he said, "allow me to ask you to forget the past -and to be friends." This was a prudent utterance, sincerely meant, and -had no _arriere pensee_ behind it. It was also a balancing of accounts -with his father, and the expression of a wish to live harmoniously -together for the future. At noon the next day John's father came up to -his room, thanked him for his kindness towards the housekeeper, and, as -a token of his pleasure at it, gave him a small present, but one which -he had long desired. It was a chemical apparatus. John felt ashamed to -take the present, and made little of his kindness. It was a natural -result of his father's announcement, and a prudent thing to do, but -his father and the housekeeper must have seen in it a good augury for -their wedded happiness. They soon discovered their mistake, which was -naturally laid at the boy's door. - -There is no doubt that the old man married again for his children's -sake, but it is also certain that he loved the young woman. And why -should he not? It is nobody's affair except that of the persons -concerned, but it is a fact of constant occurrence, both that widowers -marry again, however galling the bonds of matrimony may have been, and -that they also feel they are committing a breach of trust against the -dead. Dying wives are generally tormented with the thought that the -survivor will marry again. - -The two elder brothers took the affair lightly, and accommodated -themselves to it. They regarded their father with veneration, and never -doubted the rightness of what he did. They had never considered that -fatherhood is an accident which may happen to anyone. - -But John doubted. He fell into endless disputes with his brothers, and -criticised his father for becoming engaged before the expiration of the -year of mourning. He conjured up his mother's shade, prophesied misery -and ruin, and let himself go to unreasonable lengths. - -The brothers' argument was: "We have nothing to do with father's -acts." "It was true," retorted John, "that it was not their business to -judge; still, it concerned them deeply." "Word-catcher!" they replied, -not seeing the distinction. - -One evening, when John had come home from school, he saw the house lit -up and heard music and talking. He went to his room in order to study. -The servant came up and said that his father wished him to come down as -there were guests present. - -"Who?" asked John. - -"The new relations." - -John replied that he had no time. Then one of his brothers appeared. He -first abused John, then he begged him to come, saying that he ought to -for his father's sake, even if it were only for a moment; he could soon -go up again. - -John said he would consider the matter. - -At last he went down; he saw the room full of ladies and gentlemen: -three aunts, a new grandmother, an uncle, a grandfather. The aunts -were young girls. He made a bow in the centre of the room politely but -stiffly. - -His father was vexed, but did not wish to show it. He asked John -whether he would have a glass of punch. John took it. Then the old man -asked ironically whether he had really so much work for the school. -John said "Yes," and returned to his room. Here it was cold and dark, -and he could not work when the noise of music and dancing ascended to -him. Then the cook came up to fetch him to supper. He would not have -any. Hungry and angry he paced up and down the room. At intervals he -wanted to go down where it was warm, light, and cheerful, and several -times took hold of the door-handle. But he turned back again, for he -was shy. Timid as he was by nature, this last solitary summer had made -him still more uncivilised. So he went hungry to bed, and considered -himself the most unfortunate creature in the world. - -The next day his father came to his room and told him he had not been -honest when he had asked the housekeeper's pardon. - -"Pardon!" exclaimed John, "he had nothing to ask pardon for." But -now his father wanted to humble him. "Let him try," thought John to -himself. For a time no obvious attempts were made in that direction, -but John stiffened himself to meet them, when they should come. - -One evening his brother was reading by the lamp in the room upstairs. -John asked, "What are you reading?" His brother showed him the title -on the cover; there stood in old black-letter type on a yellow cover -the famous title: _Warning of a Friend of Youth against the most -Dangerous Enemy of Youth_. - -"Have you read it?" asked Gustav. - -John answered "Yes," and drew back. After Gustav had done reading, he -put the book in his drawer and went downstairs. John opened the drawer -and took out the mysterious work. His eyes glanced over the pages -without venturing to fix on any particular spot. His knees trembled, -his face became bloodless, his pulses froze. He was, then, condemned -to death or lunacy at the age of twenty-five! His spinal marrow and -his brain would disappear, his hair would fall out, his hands would -tremble--it was horrible! And the cure was--Christ! But Christ could -not heal the body, only the soul. The body was condemned to death -at five-and-twenty; the only thing left was to save the soul from -everlasting damnation. - -This was Dr. Kapff's famous pamphlet, which has driven so many youths -into a lunatic asylum in order to increase the adherents of the -Protestant Jesuits. Such a dangerous work should have been prosecuted, -confiscated, and burnt, or, at any rate, counteracted by more -intelligent ones. One of the latter sort fell into John's hands later, -and he did his best to circulate it, as it was excellent. The title -was Uncle Palle's _Advice to Young Sinners,_ and its authorship was -attributed to the medical councillor, Dr. Westrand. It was a cheerfully -written book, which took the matter lightly, and declared that the -dangers of the evil habit had been exaggerated; it also gave practical -advice and hygienic directions. But even to the present time Kapff's -absurd pamphlet is in vogue, and doctors are frequently visited by -sinners, who with beating hearts make their confessions.[2] - -For half a year John could find no word of comfort in his great -trouble. He was, he thought, condemned to death; the only thing left -was to lead a virtuous and religious life, till the fatal hour should -strike. He hunted up his mother's pietistic books and read them. He -considered himself merely as a criminal and humbled himself. When on -the next day he passed through the street, he stepped off the pavement -in order to make room for everyone he met. He wished to mortify -himself, to suffer for the allotted period, and then to enter into the -joy of his Lord. - -One night he awoke and saw his brothers sitting by the lamplight. They -were discussing the subject. He crept under the counterpane and put his -fingers in his ears in order not to hear. But he heard all the same. He -wished to spring up to confess, to beg for mercy and help, but dared -not, to hear the confirmation of his death sentence. Had he spoken, -perhaps he would have obtained help and comfort, but he kept silence. -He lay still, with perspiration breaking out, and prayed. Wherever -he went he saw the terrible word written in old black letters on a -yellow ground, on the walls of the houses, on the carpets of the room. -The chest of drawers in which the book lay contained the guillotine. -Every time his brother approached the drawer he trembled and ran away. -For hours at a time he stood before the looking-glass in order to see -if his eyes had sunk in, his hair had fallen out, and his skull was -projecting. But he looked ruddy and healthy. - -He shut himself up in himself, was quiet and avoided all society. -His father imagined that by this behaviour he wished to express his -disapproval of the marriage; that he was proud, and wanted to humble -him. But he was humbled already, and as he silently yielded to the -pressure his father congratulated himself on the success of his -strategy. - -This irritated the boy, and sometimes he revolted. Now and then there -arose a faint hope in him that his body might be saved. He went to the -gymnasium, took cold baths, and ate little in the evening. - -Through home-life, intercourse with school-fellows, and learning, he -had developed a fairly complicated ego, and when he compared himself -with the simpler egos of others, he felt superior. But now religion -came and wanted to kill this ego. That was not so easy and the battle -was fierce. He saw also that no one else denied himself. Why, then, in -heaven's name, should he do so? - -When his father's wedding-day came, he revolted. He did not go to kiss -the bride like his brothers and sisters, but withdrew from the dancing -to the toddy-drinkers, and got a little intoxicated. But a punishment -was soon to follow on this, and his ego was to be broken. - -He became a collegian, but this gave him no joy. It came too late, -like a debt that had been long due. He had had the pleasure of it -beforehand. No one congratulated him, and he got no collegian's cap. -Why? Did they want to humble him or did his father not wish to sec an -outward sign of his learning? At last it was suggested that one of his -aunts should embroider the college wreath on velvet, which could then -be sewn on to an ordinary black cap. She embroidered an oak and laurel -branch, but so badly that his fellow-students laughed at him. He was -the only collegian for a long time who had not worn the proper cap. The -only one--pointed at, and passed over! - -Then his breakfast-money, which hitherto had been five oere, was reduced -to four. This was an unnecessary cruelty, for they were not poor at -home, and a boy ought to have more food. The consequence was that John -had no breakfast at all, for he spent his weekly money in tobacco. He -had a keen appetite and was always hungry. When there was salt cod-fish -for dinner, he ate till his jaws were weary, but left the table hungry. -Did he then really get too little to eat? No; there are millions -of working-men who have much less, but the stomachs of the upper -classes must have become accustomed to stronger and more concentrated -nourishment. His whole youth seemed to him in recollection a long -fasting period. - -Moreover, under the step-mother's rule the scale of diet was reduced, -the food was inferior, and he could change his linen only once instead -of twice a week. This was a sign that one of the lower classes was -guiding the household. The youth was not proud in the sense that he -despised the housekeeper's low birth, but the fact that she who had -formerly been beneath him tried to oppress him, made him revolt--but -now Christianity came in and bade him turn the other cheek. - -He kept growing, and had to go about in clothes which he had outgrown. -His comrades jeered at his short trousers. His school-books were old -editions out of date, and this caused him much annoyance in the school. - -"So it is in my book," he would say to the teacher. - -"Show me your book." - -Then the teacher was scandalised, and told him to get the newest -edition, which he never did. - -His shirt-sleeves reached only half-way down his arm and could not be -buttoned. In the gymnasium, therefore, he always kept his jacket on. -One day in his capacity as leader of the troop he was having a special -lesson from the teacher of gymnastics. - -"Take off your jackets, boys, we want to put our backs into it," said -the instructor. - -All besides John did so. - -"Well, are you ready?" - -"No, I am freezing," answered John. - -"You will soon be warm," said the instructor; "off with your jacket." - -He refused. The instructor came up to him in a friendly way and pulled -at his sleeves. He resisted. The instructor looked at him. "What is -this?" he said. "I ask you kindly and you won't oblige me. Then go!" - -John wished to say something in his defence; he looked at the friendly -man, with whom he had always been on good terms, with troubled -eyes--but he kept silence and went. What depressed him was poverty -imposed as a cruelty, not as a necessity. He complained to his -brothers, but they said he should not be proud. Difference of education -had opened a gulf between him and them. They belonged to a different -class of society, and ranged themselves with the father who was of -their class and the one in power. - -Another time he was given a jacket which had been altered from a blue -frock-coat with bright buttons. His school-fellows laughed at him as -though he were pretending to be a cadet, but this was the last idea in -his mind, for he always plumed himself on being rather than seeming. -This jacket cost him untold suffering. - -After this a systematic plan of humbling him was pursued. John -was waked up early in the mornings to do domestic tasks before he -went to school. He pleaded his school-work as an excuse, but it -did not help him at all. "You learn so easily," he was told. This -was quite unnecessary, as there was a man-servant, besides several -other servants, in the house. He saw that it was merely meant as a -chastisement. He hated his oppressors and they hated him. - -Then there began a second course of discipline. He had to get up in -the morning and drive his father to the town before he went to school, -then return with the horse and trap, take out the horse, feed it, and -sweep the stable. The same manoeuvre was repeated at noon. So, besides -his school-work, he had domestic work and must drive twice daily to -and from Riddarholm. In later years he asked himself whether this had -been done with forethought; whether his wise father saw that too -much activity of brain was bad for him, and that physical work was -necessary. Or perhaps it was an economical regulation in order to save -some of the man-servant's work time. Physical exertion is certainly -useful for boys, and should be commended to the consideration of all -parents, but John could not perceive any beneficent intention in the -matter, even though it may have existed. The whole affair seemed -so dictated by malice and an intention to cause pain, that it was -impossible for him to discover any good purpose in it, though it may -have existed along with the bad one. - -In the summer holidays the driving out degenerated into stable-work. -The horse had to be fed at stated hours, and John was obliged to stay -at home in order not to miss them. His freedom was at an end. He felt -the great change which had taken place in his circumstances, and -attributed them to his stepmother. Instead of being a free person who -could dispose of his own time and thoughts, he had become a slave, to -do service in return for his food. When he saw that his brothers were -spared all such work, he became convinced that it was imposed on him -out of malice. Straw-cutting, room-sweeping, water-carrying, etc., -are excellent exercises, but the motive spoiled everything. If his -father had told him it was good for his health, he would have done -it gladly, but now he hated it. He feared the dark, for he had been -brought up like all children by the maid-servants, and he had to do -violence to himself when he went up to the hay-loft every evening. He -cursed it every time, but the horse was a good-natured beast with whom -he sometimes talked. He was, moreover, fond of animals, and possessed -canaries of which he took great care. - -He hated his domestic tasks because they were imposed upon him by the -former housekeeper, who wished to revenge herself on him and to show -him her superiority. He hated her, for the tasks were exacted from -him as payment for his studies. He had seen through the reason why he -was being prepared for a learned career. They boasted of him and his -learning; he was not then being educated out of kindness. - -Then he became obstinate, and on one occasion damaged the springs of -the trap in driving. When they alighted at Riddarhustorg, his father -examined it. He observed that a spring was broken. - -"Go to the smith's," he said. - -John was silent. - -"Did you hear?" - -"Yes, I heard." - -He had to go to the Malargata, where the smith lived. The latter said -it would take three hours to repair the damage. What was to be done? -He must take the horse out, lead it home and return. But to lead a -horse in harness, while wearing his collegian's cap, through the -Drottningsgata, perhaps to meet the boys by the observatory who envied -him for his cap, or still worse, the pretty girls on the Norrtullsgata -who smiled at him--No! he would do anything rather than that. He then -thought of leading the horse through the Rorstrandsgata, but then he -would have to pass Karlberg, and here he knew the cadets. He remained -in the courtyard, sitting on a log in the sunshine and cursed his lot. -He thought of the summer holidays which he had spent in the country, -of his friends who were now there, and measured his misfortune by that -standard. But had he thought of his brothers who were now shut up for -ten hours a day in the hot and gloomy office without hope of a single -holiday, his meditations on his lot would have taken a different turn; -but he did not do that. Just now he would have willingly changed -places with them. They, at any rate, earned their bread, and did not -have to stay at home. They had a definite position, but he had not. Why -did his parents let him smell at the apple and then drag him away? He -longed to get away--no matter where. He was in a false position, and -he wished to get out of it, to be either above or below and not to be -crushed between the wheels. - -Accordingly, one day he asked his father for permission to leave the -school. His father was astonished, and asked in a friendly way his -reason. He replied that everything was spoiled for him, he was learning -nothing, and wished to go out into life in order to work and earn his -own living. - -"What do you want to be?" asked his father. - -He said he did not know, and then he wept. - -A few days later his father asked him whether he would like to be -a cadet. A cadet! His eyes lighted up, but he did not know what to -answer. To be a fine gentleman with a sword! His boldest dreams had -never reached so far. - -"Think over it," said his father. He thought about it the whole -evening. If he accepted, he would now go in uniform to Karlberg, where -he had once bathed and been driven away by the cadets. To become an -officer--that meant to get power; the girls would smile on him and -no one would oppress him. He felt life grow brighter, the sense of -oppression vanished from his breast and hope awoke. But it was too much -for him. It neither suited him nor his surroundings. He did not wish to -mount and to command; he wished only to escape the compulsion to blind -obedience, the being watched and oppressed. The stoicism which asks -nothing of life awoke in him. He declined the offer, saying it was too -much for him. - -The mere thought that he could have been what perhaps all boys long -to be, was enough for him. He renounced it, descended, and took up -his chain again. When, later on, he became an egotistic pietist, he -imagined that he had renounced the honour for Christ's sake. That was -not true, but, as a matter of fact, there was some asceticism in his -sacrifice. He had, moreover, gained clearer insight into his parents' -game; they wished to get honour through him. Probably the cadet idea -had been suggested by his stepmother. - -But there arose more serious occasions of contention. John thought that -his younger brothers and sisters were worse dressed than before, and -he had heard cries from the nursery. - -"Ah!" he said to himself, "she beats them." - -Now he kept a sharp look-out. One day he noticed that the servant -teased his younger brother as he lay in bed. The little boy was angry -and spat in her face. His step-mother wanted to interfere, but John -intervened. He had now tasted blood. The matter was postponed till his -father's return. After dinner the battle was to begin. John was ready. -He felt that he represented his dead mother. Then it began! After a -formal report, his father took hold of Pelle, and was about to beat -him. "You must not beat him!" cried John in a threatening tone, and -rushed towards his father as though he would have seized him by the -collar. - -"What in heaven's name are you saying?" - -"You should not touch him. He is innocent." - -"Come in here and let me talk to you; you are certainly mad," said his -father. - -"Yes, I will come," said the generally timid John, as though he were -possessed. - -His father hesitated somewhat on hearing his confident tone, and his -sound intelligence must have told him that there was something queer -about the matter. - -"Well, what have you to say to me?" asked his father, more quietly but -still distrustfully. - -"I say that it is Karin's fault; she did wrong, and if mother had -lived----" - -That struck home. "What are you talking nonsense about your mother for? -You have now a new mother. Prove what you say. What has Karin done?" - -That was just the trouble; he could not say it, for he feared by -doing so to touch a sore point. He was silent. A thousand thoughts -coursed through his mind. How should he express them? He struggled for -utterance, and finally came out with a stupid saying which he had read -somewhere in a school-book. - -"Prove!" he said. "There are clear matters of fact which can neither be -proved nor need to be proved." (How stupid! he thought to himself, but -it was too late.) - -"Now you are simply stupid," said his father. - -John was beaten, but he still wished to continue the conflict. A new -repartee learned at school occurred to him. - -"If I am stupid, that is a natural fault, which no one has the right to -reproach me with." - -"Shame on you for talking such rubbish! Go out and don't let me see you -any more!" And he was put out. - -After this scene all punishments took place in John's absence. It was -believed he would spring at their throats if he heard any cries, and -that was probable enough. - -There was yet another method of humbling him--a hateful method which -is often employed in families. It consisted of arresting his mental and -moral growth by confining him to the society of his younger brothers -and sisters. Children are often obliged to play with their brothers and -sisters whether they are congenial to them or not. That is tyranny. But -to compel an elder child to go about with the younger ones is a crime -against nature; it is the mutilation of a young growing tree. John had -a younger brother, a delightful child of seven, who trusted everyone -and worried no one. John loved him and took good care that he was not -ill-treated. But to have intimate intercourse with such a young child, -who did not understand the talk and conversation of its elders, was -impossible. - -But now he was obliged to do so. On the first of May, when John had -hoped to go out with his friends, his father said, as a matter of -course, "Take Pelle and go with him to the Zoological Gardens, but take -good care of him." There was no possibility of remonstrance. They went -into the open plain, where they met some of his comrades, and John felt -the presence of his little brother like a clog on his leg. He took -care that no one hurt him, but he wished the little boy was at home. -Pelle talked at the top of his voice and pointed with his finger at -passers-by; John corrected him, and as he felt his solidarity with him, -felt ashamed on his account. Why must he be ashamed because of a fault -in etiquette which he had not himself committed? He became stiff, cold, -and hard. The little boy wanted to see some sight but John would not -go, and refused all his little brother's requests. Then he felt ashamed -of his hardness; he cursed his selfishness, he hated and despised -himself, but could not get rid of his bad feelings. Pelle understood -nothing; he only looked troubled, resigned, patient, and gentle. "You -are proud," said John to himself; "you are robbing the child of a -pleasure." He felt remorseful, but soon afterwards hard again. - -At last the child asked him to buy some gingerbread nuts. John felt -himself insulted by the request. Suppose one of his fellow-collegians -who sat in the restaurant and drank punch saw him buying gingerbread -nuts! But he bought some, and stuffed them in his brother's pocket. -Then they went on. Two cadets, John's acquaintances, came towards him. -At this moment a little hand reached him a gingerbread nut--"Here's one -for you, John!" He pushed the little hand away, and simultaneously saw -two blue faithful eyes looking up to him plaintively and questioningly. -He felt as if he could weep, take the hurt child in his arms, and ask -his forgiveness in order to melt the ice which had crystallised round -his heart. He despised himself for having pushed his brother's hand -away. They went home. - -He wished to shake the recollection of his misdeed from him, but could -not. But he laid the blame of it partly at the door of those who had -caused this sorry situation. He was too old to stand on the same level -with the child, and too young to be able to condescend to it. - -His father, who had been rejuvenated by his marriage with a young wife, -ventured to oppose John's learned authorities, and wished to humble -him in this department also. After supper one evening, they were -sitting at table, his father with his three papers, the _Aftonbladet, -Allehanda_, and _Post-tidningen_, and John with a school-book. -Presently his father stopped reading. - -"What are you reading?" he asked. - -"Philosophy." - -A long pause. The boys always used to call logic "philosophy." - -"What is philosophy, really?" - -"The science of thought." - -"Hm! Must one learn how to think? Let me see the book." He put his -pince-nez on and read. Then he said, "Do you think the peasant members -of the Riks-Dag"[3] (he hated the peasants, but now used them for the -purpose of his argument) "have learned philosophy? I don't, and yet -they manage to corner the professors delightfully. You learn such a lot -of useless stuff!" Thus he dismissed philosophy. - -His father's parsimoniousness also sometimes placed John in very -embarrassing situations. Two of his friends offered during the holidays -to give him lessons in mathematics. John asked his father's permission. - -"All right," he said, "as far as I am concerned." - -When the time came for them to receive an honorarium, his father was of -the opinion that they were so rich that one could not give them money. - -"But one might make them a present," said John. - -"I won't give anything," was the answer. - -John felt ashamed for a whole year and realised for the first time the -unpleasantness of a debt. His two friends gave at first gentle and then -broad hints. He did not avoid them, but crawled after them in order to -show his gratitude. He felt that they possessed a part of his soul and -body; that he was their slave and could not be free. Sometimes he made -them promises, because he imagined he could fulfil them, but they could -not be fulfilled, and the burden of the debt was increased by their -being broken. It was a time of infinite torment, probably more bitter -at the time than it seemed afterwards. - -Another step in arresting his progress was the postponement of his -Confirmation. He learned theology at school, and could read the Gospels -in Greek, but was not considered mature enough for Confirmation. - -He felt the grinding-down process at home all the more because his -position in the school was that of a free man. As a collegian he had -acquired certain rights. He was not made to stand up in class, and -went out when he wished without asking permission; he remained sitting -when the teachers asked questions, and disputed with them. He was the -youngest in the class but sat among the oldest and tallest. The teacher -now played the part of a lecturer rather than of a mere hearer of -lessons. The former ogre from the Clara School had become an elderly -man who expounded Cicero's _De Senectute_ and _De Amicitia_ without -troubling himself much about the commentaries. In reading Virgil, he -dwelt on the meeting of AEneas and Dido, enlarged on the topic of love, -lost the thread of his discourse, and became melancholy. (The boys -found out that about this time he had been wooing an old spinster.) He -no longer assumed a lofty tone, and was magnanimous enough to admit -a mistake he had made (he was weak in Latin) and to acknowledge that -he was not an authority in that subject. From this he drew the moral -that no one should come to school without preparation, however clever -he might be. This produced a great effect upon the boys. He won more -credit as a man than he lost as a teacher. - -John, being well up in the natural sciences, was the only one out -of his class elected to be a member of the "Society of Friends of -Science." He was now thrown with school-fellows in the highest class, -who the next year would become students. He had to give a lecture, and -talked about it at home. He wrote an essay on the air, and read it to -the members. After the lecture, the members went into a restaurant in -the Haymarket and drank punch. John was modest before the big fellows, -but felt quite at his ease. It was the first time he had been lifted -out of the companionship of those of his own age. Others related -improper anecdotes; he shyly related a harmless one. Later on, some -of the members visited him and took away some of his best plants and -chemical apparatus. - -By an accident John found a new friend in the school. When he was top -of the first class the Principal came in one day with a tall fellow in -a frock-coat, with a beard, and wearing a pince-nez. - -"Here, John!" he said, "take charge of this youth; he is freshly come -from the country, and show him round." The wearer of the pince-nez -looked down disdainfully at the boy in the jacket. They sat next each -other; John took the book and whispered to him; the other, however, -knew nothing, but talked about cards and cafes. - -One day John played with his friend's pince-nez and broke the spring. -His friend was vexed. John promised to have it repaired, and took the -pince-nez home. It weighed upon his mind, for he did not know whence -he should get the money in order to have it mended. Then he determined -to mend it himself. He took out the screws, bored holes in an old -clock-spring, but did not succeed. His friend jogged his memory; John -was in despair. His father would never pay for it. His friend said, -"I will have it repaired, and you must pay." The repair cost fifty -oere. On Monday John handed over twelve coppers, and promised to pay -the rest the following Monday. His friend smelt a rat. "That is your -breakfast-money," he said; "do you get only twelve coppers a week?" -John blushed and begged him to take the money. The next Monday he -handed over the remainder. His friend resisted, but he pressed it on -him. - -The two continued together as school-fellows till they went to the -university at Upsala and afterwards. John's friend had a cheerful -temperament and took the world as it came. He did not argue much with -John, but always made him laugh. In contrast to his dreary home, John -found the school a cheerful refuge from domestic tyranny. But this -caused him to lead a double life, which was bound to produce moral -dislocation. - - -[1] Famous Swedish poet. - -[2] In a later work, _Legends_ (1898), Strindberg says: "When I wrote -that youthful confession (_The Son of a Servant_) the liberal tendency -of that period seems to have induced me to use too bright colours, with -the pardonable object of freeing from fear young men who have fallen -into precocious sin." - -[3] The Swedish Parliament. - - - - -VII - -FIRST LOVE - - -If the character of a man is the stereotyped role which he plays in the -comedy of social life, John at this time had no character, _i.e._, he -was quite sincere. He sought, but found nothing, and could not remain -in any fixed groove. His coarse nature, which flung off all fetters -that were imposed upon it, could not adapt itself; and his brain, which -was a revolutionary's from birth, could not work automatically. He was -a mirror which threw back all the rays which struck it, a compendium of -various experiences, of changing impressions, and full of contradictory -elements. He possessed a will which worked by fits and starts and with -fanatical energy; but he really did not will anything deeply; he was -a fatalist, and believed in destiny; he was sanguine, and hoped all -things. Hard as ice at home, he was sometimes sensitive to the point -of sentimentality; he would give his last shirt to a poor man, and -could weep at the sight of injustice. He was a pietist, and as sincere -an one as is possible for anyone who tries to adopt an old-world point -of view. His home-life, where everything threatened his intellectual -and personal liberty, compelled him to be this. In the school he was a -cheerful worldling, not at all sentimental, and easy to get on with. -Here he felt he was being educated for society and possessed rights. -At home he was like an edible vegetable, cultivated for the use of the -family, and had no rights. - -He was also a pietist from spiritual pride, as all pietists are. -Beskow, the repentant lieutenant, had come home from his pilgrimage -to the grave of Christ. His _Journal_ was read at home by John's -step-mother, who inclined to pietism. Beskow made pietism gentlemanly, -and brought it into fashion, and a considerable portion of the lower -classes followed this fashion. Pietism was then what spiritualism is -now--a presumably higher knowledge of hidden things. It was therefore -eagerly taken up by all women and uncultivated people, and finally -found acceptance at Court. - -Did all this spring from some universal spiritual need? Was the period -so hopelessly reactionary that one had to be a pessimist? No! The -king led a jovial life in Ulriksdal, and gave society a bright and -liberal tone. Strong agitations were going on in the political world, -especially regarding representation in parliament. The Dano-German -war aroused attention to what was going on beyond our boundaries; the -volunteer movement awoke town and country with drums and music; the new -Opposition papers, _Dagens Nyheter_ and the powerful _Sondags-Nisse_, -were vent-holes for the confined steam which must find an outlet; -railways were constructed everywhere, and brought remote and sparsely -inhabited places into connection with the great motor nerve-centres. It -was no melancholy age of decadence, but, on the contrary, a youthful -season of hope and awakening. Whence then, came this strong breath of -pietism? Perhaps it was a short-cut for those who were destitute of -culture, by which they saved themselves from the pressure of knowledge -from above; there was a certain democratic element in it, since all -high and low had thereby access to a certain kind of wisdom which -abolished class-distinctions. Now, when the privileges of birth were -nearing their end, the privileges of culture asserted themselves, and -were felt to be oppressive. But it was believed that they could be -nullified at a stroke through pietism. - -John became a pietist from many motives. Bankrupt on earth, since he -was doomed to die at twenty-five without spinal marrow or a nose, he -made heaven the object of his search. Melancholy by nature, but full -of activity, he loved what was melancholy. Tired of text-books, which -contained no living water because they did not come into contact with -life, he found more nourishment in a religion which did so at every -turn. Besides this, there was the personal motive, that his stepmother, -aware of his superiority in culture, wished to climb above him on the -Jacob's ladder of religion. She conversed with his eldest brother -on the highest subjects, and when John was near, he was obliged to -hear how they despised his worldly wisdom. This irritated him, and he -determined to catch up with them in religion. Moreover, his mother -had left a written message behind in which she warned him against -intellectual pride. The end was that he went regularly every Sunday to -church, and the house was flooded with pietistic writings. - -His step-mother and eldest brother used to go over afterwards in memory -the sermons they had heard in church. One Sunday after service John -wrote out from memory the whole sermon which they admired. He could -not deny himself the pleasure of presenting it to his step-mother. But -his present was not received with equal pleasure; it was a blow for -her. However, she did not yield a hair-breadth. "God's word should be -written in the heart and not on paper," she said. It was not a bad -retort, but John believed he detected pride in it. She considered -herself further on in the way of holiness than he, and as already a -child of God. - -He began to race with her, and frequented the pietist meetings. But -his attendance was frowned upon, for he had not yet been confirmed, -and was not therefore ripe for heaven. John continued religious -discussions with his elder brother; he maintained that Christ had -declared that even children belonged to the kingdom of heaven. The -subject was hotly contested. John cited Norbeck's _Theology_, but -that was rejected without being looked at. He also quoted Krummacher, -Thomas a Kempis, and all the pietists on his side. But it was no -use. "It must be so," was the reply. "How?" he asked. "As I have it, -and as you cannot get it." "As I!" There we have the formula of the -pietists--self-righteousness. - -One day John said that all men were God's children. "Impossible!" was -the reply; "then there would be no difficulty in being saved. Are all -going to be saved?" - -"Certainly!" he replied. "God is love and wishes no one's destruction." - -"If all are going to be saved, what is the use of chastising oneself?" - -"Yes, that is just what I question." - -"You are then a sceptic, a hypocrite?" - -"Quite possibly they all are." - -John now wished to take heaven by storm, to become a child of God, -and perhaps by doing so defeat his rivals. His step-mother was not -consistent. She went to the theatre and was fond of dancing. One -Saturday evening in summer it was announced that the whole family -would make an excursion into the country the next day--Sunday. All -were expected to go. John considered it a sin, did not want to go, and -wished to use the opportunity and seek in solitude the Saviour whom -he had not yet found. According to what he had been told, conversion -should come like a flash of lightning, and be accompanied by the -conviction that one was a child of God, and then one had peace. - -While his father was reading his paper in the evening, John begged -permission to remain at home the next day. - -"Why?" his father asked in a friendly tone. - -John was silent. He felt ashamed to say. - -"If your religious conviction forbids you to go, obey your conscience." - -His step-mother was defeated. She had to desecrate the Sabbath, not he. - -The others went. John went to the Bethlehem Church to hear Rosenius. It -was a weird, gloomy place, and the men in the congregation looked as -if they had reached the fatal twenty-fifth year, and lost their spinal -marrow. They had leaden-grey faces and sunken eyes. Was it possible -that Dr. Kapff had frightened them all into religion? It seemed strange. - -Rosenius looked like peace itself, and beamed with heavenly joy. He -confessed that he had been an old sinner, but Christ had cleansed him, -and now he was happy. He looked happy. Is it possible that there is -such a thing as a happy man? Why, then, are not all pietists? - -In the afternoon John read a Kempis and Krummacher. Then he went out -to the Haga Park and prayed the whole length of the Norrtullsgata -that Jesus would seek him. In the Haga Park there sat little groups -of families picnicking, with the children playing about. Is it -possible that all these must go to hell? he thought. Yes, certainly. -"Nonsense!" answered his intelligence. But it is so. A carriage full of -excursionists passed by: and these are all condemned already! But they -seemed to be amusing themselves, at any rate. The cheerfulness of other -people made him still more depressed, and he felt a terrible loneliness -in the midst of the crowd. Wearied with his thoughts, he went home as -depressed as a poet who has looked for a thought without being able to -find one. He laid down on his bed and wished he was dead. - -In the evening his brothers and sisters came home joyful and noisy, and -asked him if he had had a good time. - -"Yes," he said. "And you?" - -They gave him details of the excursion, and each time he envied them he -felt a stab in his heart. His step-mother did not look at him, for she -had broken the Sabbath. That was his comfort. He must by this time soon -have detected his self-deceit and thrown it off, but a new powerful -element entered into his life, which stirred up his asceticism into -fanaticism, till it exploded and disappeared. - -His life during these years was not so uniformly monotonous as it -appeared in retrospect later on, when there were enough dark points to -give a grey colouring to the whole. His boyhood, generally speaking, -was darkened by his being treated as a child when arrived at puberty, -the uninteresting character of his school-work, his expectation of -death at twenty-five, the uncultivated minds of those around him, and -the impossibility of being understood. - -His step-mother had brought three young girls, her sisters, into the -house. They soon made friends with the step-sons, and they all took -walks, played games, and made sledging excursions together. The girls -tried to bring about a reconciliation between John and his step-mother. -They acknowledged their sister's faults before him, and this pacified -him so that he laid aside his hatred. The grandmother also played the -part of a mediator, and finally revealed herself as a decided friend of -John's. But a fatal chance robbed him of this friend also. His father's -sister had not welcomed the new marriage, and, as a consequence, had -broken off communications with her brother. This vexed the old man -very much. All intercourse ceased between the families. It was, of -course, pride on his sister's part. But one day John met her daughter, -an elegantly-dressed girl, older than himself, on the street. She was -eager to hear something of the new marriage, and walked with John along -the Drottningsgata. - -When he got home, his grandmother rebuked him sharply for not having -saluted her when she passed, but, of course, she added, he had been -in too grand company to take notice of an old woman! He protested his -innocence, but in vain. Since he had only a few friends, the loss of -her friendship was painful to him. - -One summer he spent with his step-mother at one of her relatives', a -farmer in Oestergoetland. Here he was treated like a gentleman, and lived -on friendly terms with his step-mother. But it did not last long, and -soon the flames of strife were stirred up again between them. And thus -it went on, up and down, and to and fro. - -About this time, at the age of fifteen, he first fell in love, if it -really was love, and not rather friendship. Can friendship commence -and continue between members of opposite sexes? Only apparently, for -the sexes are born enemies and remain always opposed to each other. -Positive and negative streams of electricity are mutually hostile, but -seek their complement in each other. Friendship can exist only between -persons with similar interests and points of view. Man and woman by the -conventions of society are born with different interests and different -points of view. Therefore a friendship between the sexes can arise only -in marriage where the interests are the same. This, however, can be -only so long as the wife devotes her whole interest to the family for -which the husband works. As soon as she gives herself to some object -outside the family, the agreement is broken, for man and wife then have -separate interests, and then there is an end to friendship. Therefore -purely spiritual marriages are impossible, for they lead to the slavery -of the man, and consequently to the speedy dissolution of the marriage. - -The fifteen-year old boy fell in love with a woman of thirty. He could -truthfully assert that his love was entirely ideal. How came he to love -her? As generally is the case, from many motives, not from one only. - -She was the landlord's daughter, and had, as such, a superior position; -the house was well-appointed and always open for visitors. She was -cultivated, admired, managed the house, and spoke familiarly to her -mother; she could play the hostess and lead the conversation; she was -always surrounded by men who courted her. She was also emancipated -without being a man-hater; she smoked and drank, but was not without -taste. She was engaged to a man whom her father hated and did not -wish to have for his son-in-law. Her _fiance_ stayed abroad and wrote -seldom. Among the visitors to this hotel were a district judge, a man -of letters, students, clerics, and townsmen who all hovered about her. -John's father admired her, his step-mother feared her, his brothers -courted her. John kept in the background and observed her. It was a -long time before she discovered him. One evening, after she had set all -the hearts around her aflame, she came exhausted into the room in which -John sat. - -"Heavens! how tired I am!" she said to herself, and threw herself on a -sofa. - -John made a movement and she saw him. He had to say something. - -"Are you so unhappy, although you are always laughing? You are -certainly not as unhappy as I am." - -She looked at the boy; they began a conversation and became friends. He -felt lifted up. From that time forward she preferred his conversation -to that of others. He felt embarrassed when she left a circle of grown -men to sit down near him. He questioned her regarding her spiritual -condition, and made remarks on it which showed that he had observed -keenly and reflected much. He became her conscience. Once, when she -had jested too freely, she came to the youth to be punished. That was -a kind of flagellation as pleasant as a caress. At last her admirers -began to tease her about him. - -"Can you imagine it," she said one evening, "they declare I am in love -with you!" - -"They always say that of two persons of opposite sexes who are friends." - -"Do you believe there can be a friendship between man and woman?" - -"Yes, I am sure of it," he answered. - -"Thanks," she said, and reached him her hand. "How could I, who am -twice as old as you, who am sick and ugly, be in love with you? -Besides, I am engaged." - -After this she assumed an air of superiority and became motherly. This -made a deep impression on him; and when later on she was rallied on -account of her liking for him, she felt herself almost embarrassed, -banished all other feelings except that of motherliness, and began to -labour for his conversion, for she also was a pietist. - -They both attended a French conversation class, and had long walks -home together, during which they spoke French. It was easier to speak -of delicate matters in a foreign tongue. He also wrote French essays, -which she corrected. His father's admiration for the old maid lessened, -and his step-mother did not like this French conversation, which she -did not understand. His elder brother's prerogative of talking French -was also neutralised thereby. This vexed his father, so that one day he -said to John, that it was impolite to speak a foreign language before -those who did not understand it, and that he could not understand -that Fraeulein X., who was otherwise so cultivated, could commit such -a _betise_. But, he added, cultivation of the heart was not gained by -book-learning. - -They no longer endured her presence in the house, and she was -"persecuted." At last her family left the house altogether, so that now -there was little intercourse with them. The day after their removal, -John felt lacerated. He could not live without her daily companionship, -without this support which had lifted him out of the society of those -of his own age to that of his elders. To make himself ridiculous by -seeking her as a lover--that he could not do. The only thing left was -to write to her. They now opened a correspondence, which lasted for -a year. His step-mother's sister, who idolised the clever, bright -spinster, conveyed the letters secretly. They wrote in French, so that -their letters might remain unintelligible if discovered; besides, they -could express themselves more freely in this medium. Their letters -treated of all kinds of subjects. They wrote about Christ, the battle -against sin, about life, death and love, friendship and scepticism. -Although she was a pietist, she was familiar with free-thinkers, and -suffered from doubts on all kinds of subjects. John was alternately her -stern preceptor and her reprimanded son. One or two translations of -John's French essays will give some idea of the chaotic state of the -minds of both. - - -_Is Man's Life a Life of Sorrow_? 1864 - -"Man's life is a battle from beginning to end. We are all born into -this wretched life under conditions which are full of trouble and -grief. Childhood to begin with has its little cares and disagreeables; -youth has its great temptations, on the victorious resistance to which -the whole subsequent life depends; mature life has anxieties about the -means of existence and the fulfilment of duties; finally, old age has -its thorns in the flesh, and its frailty. What are all enjoyments and -all joys, which are regarded by so many men as the highest good in -life? Beautiful illusions! Life is a ceaseless struggle with failures -and misfortunes, a struggle which ends only in death. - -"But we will consider the matter from another side. Is there no reason -to be joyful and contented? I have a home and parents who care for -my future; I live in fairly favourable circumstances, and have good -health--ought I not then to be contented and happy? Yes, and yet I -am not. Look at the poor labourer, who, when his day's work is done, -returns to his simple cottage where poverty reigns; he is happy and -even joyful. He would be made glad by a trifle which I despise. I envy -thee, happy man, who hast true joy! - -"But I am melancholy. Why? 'You are discontented,' you answer. No, -certainly not; I am quite contented with my lot and ask for nothing. -Well, what is it then? Ah! now I know; I am not contented with myself -and my heart, which is full of anger and malice. Away from me, evil -thoughts! I will, with God's help, be happy and contented. For one is -happy only when one is at peace with oneself, one's heart, and one's -conscience." - -John's friend did not approve of his self-contentment, but asserted -in contradiction to the last sentence, that one ought to remain -discontented with life. She wrote: "We are not happy till our -consciousness tells us that we have sought and found the only Good -Physician, who can heal the wounds of all hearts, and when we are ready -to follow His advice with sincerity." - -This assertion, together with long conversations, caused the rapid -conversion of the youth to the true faith, _i.e._, that of his friend, -and gave occasion for the following effusion in which he expressed his -idea of faith and works: - - -_No Happiness without Virtue; no Virtue without Religion_. 1864 - -"What is happiness? Most worldlings regard the possession of great -wealth and worldly goods, happiness, because they afford them the -means of satisfying their sinful desires and passions. Others who -are not so exacting find happiness in a mere sense of well-being, in -health, and domestic felicity. Others, again, who do not expect worldly -happiness at all, and who are poor, and enjoy but scanty food earned -by hard work, are yet contented with their lot, and even happy. They -can even think 'How happy I am in comparison with the rich, who are -never contented.' Meanwhile, _are_ they really happy, because they are -contented? No, there is no happiness without virtue. No one is happy -except the man who leads a really virtuous life. Well, but there are -many really virtuous men. There are men who have never fallen into -gross sin, who are modest and retiring, who injure no one, who are -placable, who fulfil their duties conscientiously, and who are even -religious. They go to church every Sunday, they honour God and His Holy -Word, but yet they have not been born again of the Holy Spirit. Now, -are they happy, since they are virtuous? There is no virtue without -_real religion_. These virtuous worldlings are, as a matter of fact, -much worse than the most wicked men. They slumber in the security -of mere morality. They think themselves better than other men, and -righteous in the eyes of the Most Holy. These Pharisees, full of -self-love, think to win everlasting salvation by their good deeds. But -what are our good deeds before a Holy God? Sin, and nothing but sin. -These self-righteous men are the hardest of all to convert, because -they think they need no Mediator, since they wish to win heaven by -their deeds. An 'old sinner,' on the other hand, once he is awakened, -can realise his sinfulness and feel his need of a Saviour. True -happiness consists in having 'Peace in the heart with God through Jesus -Christ.' One can find no peace till one confesses that one is the chief -of sinners, and flies to the Saviour. How foolish of us to push such -happiness away! We all know where it is to be found, but instead of -seeking it, seek unhappiness, under the pretence of seeking happiness." - -Under this his friend wrote: "Very well written." They were her own -thoughts, or, at any rate, her own words which she had read. - -But sometimes doubt worried him, and he examined himself carefully. He -wrote as follows on a subject which he had himself chosen: - -_Egotism is the Mainspring of all our Actions_ - -"People commonly say, 'So-and-so is so kind and benevolent towards -his neighbours; he is virtuous, and all that he does springs from -compassion and love of the true and right.' Very well, open your heart -and examine it. You meet a beggar in the street; the first thought -that occurs to you is certainly as follows: 'How unfortunate this man -is; I will do a good deed and help him.' You pity him and give him a -coin. But haven't you some thought of this kind?--'Oh, how beautiful -it is to be benevolent and compassionate; it does one's heart good to -give alms to a poor man.' What is the real motive of your action? Is it -really love or compassion? Then your dear 'ego' gets up and condemns -you. You did it for your own sake, in order to set at rest _your_ heart -and to placate _your_ conscience. - -"It was for some time my intention to be a preacher, certainly a good -intention. But what was my motive? Was it to serve my Redeemer, and to -work for Him, or only out of love to Him? No, I was cowardly, and I -wished to escape my burden and lighten my cross, and avoid the great -temptations which met me everywhere. I feared men--that was the motive. -The times alter. I saw that I could not lead a life in Christ in the -society of companions to whose godless speeches I must daily listen, -and so I chose another path in life where I could be independent, or at -any rate----" - -Here the essay broke off, uncorrected. Other essays deal with the -Creator, and seem to have been influenced by Rousseau, extracts from -whose works were contained in Staaff's _French Reading Book_. They -mention, for example, flocks and nightingales, which the writer had -never seen or heard. - -He and his friend also had long discussions regarding their relation to -one another. Was it love or friendship? But she loved another man, of -whom she scarcely ever spoke. John noticed nothing in her but her eyes, -which were deep and expressive. He danced with her once, but never -again. The tie between them was certainly only friendship, and her soul -and body were virile enough to permit of a friendship existing and -continuing. A spiritual marriage can take place only between those who -are more or less sexless, and there is always something abnormal about -it. The best marriages, _i.e._, those which fulfil their real object -the best, are precisely those which are "_mal assortis_." - -Antipathy, dissimilarity of views, hate, contempt, can accompany true -love. Diverse intelligences and characters can produce the best endowed -children, who inherit the qualities of both. - - * * * * * - -In the meantime his Confirmation approached. It had been postponed as -long as possible, in order to keep him back among the children. But the -Confirmation itself was to be used as a means of humiliating him. His -father, at the same time that he announced his decision that it should -take place, expressed the hope that the preparation for it might melt -the ice round John's heart. - -So John found himself again among lower-class children. He felt -sympathy with them, but did not love them, nor could nor would be on -intimate terms with them. His education had alienated him from them, as -it had alienated him from his family. - -He was again a school-boy, had to learn by heart, stand up when -questioned, and be scolded along with the rest. The assistant pastor, -who taught them, was a pietist. He looked as though he had an -infectious disease or had read Dr. Kapff. He was severe, merciless, -emotionless, without a word of grace or comfort. Choleric, irritable, -nervous, this young rustic was petted by the ladies. - -He made an impression by dint of perpetual repetition. He preached -threateningly, cursed the theatre and every kind of amusement. John -and his friend resolved to alter their lives, and not to dance, go to -the theatre, or joke any more. He now infused a strong dash of pietism -into his essays, and avoided his companions in order not to hear their -frivolous stories. - -"Why, you are a pietist!" one of his school-fellows said one day to him. - -"Yes, I am," he answered. He would not deny his Redeemer. The school -grew intolerable to him. He suffered martyrdom there, and feared the -enticements of the world, of which he was already in some degree -conscious. He considered himself already a man, wished to go into the -world and work, earn his own living and marry. Among his other dreams -he formed a strange resolve, which was, however, not without its -reasons; he resolved to find a branch of work which was easy to learn, -would soon provide him with a maintenance, and give him a place where -he would not be the last, nor need he stand especially high--a certain -subordinate place which would let him combine an active life in the -open air with adequate pecuniary profit. The opportunity for plenty of -exercise in the open air was perhaps the principal reason why he wished -to be a subaltern in a cavalry regiment, in order to escape the fatal -twenty-fifth year, the terrors of which the pastor had described. The -prospect of wearing a uniform and riding a horse may also have had -something to do with it. He had already renounced the cadet uniform, -but man is a strange creature. - -His friend strongly dissuaded him from taking such a step; she -described soldiers as the worst kind of men in existence. He stood -firm, however, and said that his faith in Christ would preserve him -from all moral contagion, yes! he would preach Christ to the soldiers -and purify them all. Then he went to his father. The latter regarded -the whole matter as a freak of imagination, and exhorted him to be -ready for his approaching final examination, which would open the whole -world to him. - -A son had been born to his step-mother. John instinctively hated him as -a rival to whom his younger brothers and sisters would have to yield. -But the influence of his friend and of pietism was so strong over him, -that by way of mortifying himself he tried to love the newcomer. He -carried him on his arm and rocked him. - -"Nobody saw you do it," said his step-mother later on, when he adduced -this as a proof of his goodwill. Exactly so; he did it in secret, as he -did not wish to gain credit for it, or perhaps he was ashamed of it. He -had made the sacrifice sincerely; when it became disagreeable, he gave -it up. - -The Confirmation took place, after countless exhortations in the -dimly-lit chancel, and a long series of discourses on the Passion of -Christ and self-mortification, so that they were wrought up to a most -exalted mood. After the catechising, he scolded his friend whom he had -seen laughing. - -On the day on which they were to receive the Holy Communion, the senior -pastor gave a discourse. It was the well-meaning counsel of a shrewd -old man to the young; it was cheering and comforting, and did not -contain threats or denunciations of past sins. Sometimes during the -sermon John felt the words fall like balm on his wounded heart, and was -convinced that the old man was right. But in the act of Communion, -he did not get the spiritual impression he had hoped for. The organ -played and the choir sang, "O Lamb of God, have mercy upon us!" The -boys and girls wept and half-fainted as though they were witnessing an -execution. But John had become too familiar with sacred things in the -parish-clerk's school. The matter seemed to him driven to the verge of -absurdity. His faith was ripe for falling. And it fell. - - * * * * * - -He now wore a high hat, and succeeded to his elder brother's cast-off -clothes. Now his friend with the pince-nez took him in hand. He had not -deserted him during his pietistic period. He treated the matter lightly -and good-humouredly, with a certain admiration of John's asceticism -and firm faith. But now he intervened. He took him for a mid-day -walk, pointed out by name the actors they saw at the corner of the -Regeringsgata, and the officers who were reviewing the troops. John was -still shy, and had no self-reliance. - -It was about twelve o'clock, the time for going to the gymnasium. -John's friend said, "Come along! we will have lunch in the 'Three -Cups.'" - -"No," said John, "we ought to go to the Greek class." - -"Ah! we will dispense with Greek to-day." - -It would be the first time he cut it, thought John, and he might take a -little scolding for once. "But I have no money," he said. - -"That does not matter; you are my guest;" his friend seemed hurt. They -entered the restaurant. An appetising odour of beefsteaks greeted them; -the waiter received their coats and hung up their hats. - -"Bring the bill of fare, waiter," said his friend in a confident tone, -for he was accustomed to take his meals here. "Will you have beefsteak?" - -"Yes," answered John; he had tasted beefsteak only twice in his life. - -His friend ordered butter, cheese, brandy and beer, and without asking, -filled John's glass with brandy. - -"But I don't know whether I ought to," said John. - -"Have you never drunk it before?" - -"No." - -"Oh, well, go ahead! it tastes good." - -He drank. Ah! his body glowed, his eyes watered, and the room swam -in a light mist; but he felt an access of strength, his thoughts -worked freely, new ideas rose in his mind, and the gloomy past seemed -brighter. Then came the juicy beefsteak. That was something like -eating! His friend ate bread, butter, and cheese with it. John said, -"What will the restaurant-keeper say?" - -His friend laughed, as if he were an elderly uncle. - -"Eat away; the bill will be just the same." - -"But butter and cheese with beef-steak! That is too luxurious! But it -tastes good all the same." John felt as though he had never eaten -before. Then he drank beer. "Is each of us to drink half a bottle?" he -asked his friend. "You are really mad!" - -But at any rate it was a meal,--and not such an empty enjoyment either, -as anaemic ascetics assert. No, it is a real enjoyment to feel strong -blood flowing into one's half-empty veins, strengthening the nerves for -the battle of life. It is an enjoyment to feel vanished virile strength -return, and the relaxed sinews of almost perished will-power braced -up again. Hope awoke, and the mist in the room became a rosy cloud, -while his friend depicted for him the future as it is imagined by -youthful friendship. These youthful illusions about life, from whence -do they come? From superabundance of energy, people say. But ordinary -intelligence, which has seen so many childish hopes blighted, ought to -be able to infer the absurdity of expecting a realisation of the dreams -of youth. - -John had not learned to expect from life anything more than freedom -from tyranny and the means of existence. That would be enough for him. -He was no Aladdin and did not believe in luck. He had plenty of power, -but did not know it. His friend had to discover him to himself. - -"You should come and amuse yourself with us," he said, "and not sit in -a corner at home." - -"Yes, but that costs money, and I don't get any." - -"Give lessons." - -"Lessons! What? Do you think I could give lessons?" - -"You know a lot. You would not find it difficult to get pupils." - -He knew a lot! That was a recognition or a piece of flattery, as the -pietists call it, and it fell on fertile soil. - -"Yes, but I have no acquaintances or connections." - -"Tell the headmaster! I did the same!" - -John hardly dared to believe that he could get the chance of earning -money. But he felt strange when he heard that others could, and -compared himself with them. _They_ certainly had luck. His friend urged -him on, and soon he obtained a post as teacher in a girls' school. - -Now his self-esteem awoke. The servants at home called him Mr. John, -and the teachers in the school addressed the class as "Gentlemen." At -the same time he altered his course of study at school. He had for a -long time, but in vain, asked his father to let him give up Greek. He -did it now on his own responsibility, and his father first heard of -it at the examination. In its place he substituted mathematics, after -he had learned that a Latin scholar had the right to dispense with a -testamur in that subject. Moreover, he neglected Latin, intending to -revise it all a month before the examination. During the lessons he -read French, German, and English novels. The questions were asked each -pupil in turn, and he sat with his book in his hand till the questions -came and he could be ready for them. Modern languages and natural -science were now his special subjects. - -Teaching his juniors was a new and dangerous retrograde movement for -him, but he was paid for it. Naturally, the boys who required extra -lessons were those with a certain dislike of learning. It was hard -work for his active brain to accommodate himself to them. They were -impossible pupils, and did not know how to attend. He thought they -were obstinate. The truth was they lacked the will-power to become -attentive. Such boys are wrongly regarded as stupid. They are, on the -contrary, wide awake. Their thoughts are concerned with realities, and -they seem already to have seen through the absurdity of the subjects -they are taught. Many of them became useful citizens when they grew -up, and many more would have become so if they had not been compelled -by their parents to do violence to their natures and to continue their -studies. - -Now ensued a new conflict with his lady friend against his altered -demeanour. She warned him against his other friend who, she -said, flattered him, and against young girls of whom he spoke -enthusiastically. She was jealous. She reminded him of Christ, but John -was distracted by other subjects, and withdrew from her society. - -He now led an active and enjoyable life. He took part in evening -concerts, sang in a quartette, drank punch, and flirted moderately -with waitresses. All this time religion was in abeyance, and only a -weak echo of piety and asceticism remained. He prayed out of habit, but -without hoping for an answer, since he had so long sought the divine -friendship which people say is so easily found, if one but knocks -lightly at the door of grace. Truth to say, he was not very anxious to -be taken at his word. If the Crucified had opened the door and bidden -him enter, he would not have rejoiced. His flesh was too young and -sound to wish to be mortified. - - - - -VIII - -THE SPRING THAW - - -The school educates, not the family. The family is too narrow; its -aims are too petty, selfish, and anti-social. In the case of a -second marriage, such abnormal relations are set up, that the only -justification of the family comes to an end. The children of a deceased -mother should simply be taken away, if the father marries again. This -would best conduce to the interests of all parties, not least to those -of the father, who perhaps is the one who suffers most in a second -marriage. - -In the family there is only one (or two) ruling wills without appeal; -therefore justice is impossible. In the school, on the other hand, -there is a continual watchful jury, which rigorously judges boys as -well as teachers. The boys become more moral; brutality is tamed; -social instincts awaken; they begin to see that individual interests -must be generally furthered by means of compromises. There cannot be -tyranny, for there usually are enough to form parties and to revolt. A -teacher who is badly treated by a pupil can soonest obtain justice by -appealing to the other pupils. Moreover, about this time there was much -to arouse their sympathy in great universal interests. - -During the Danish-German War of 1864 a fund was raised in the school -for the purchase of war-telegrams. These were fastened on the -blackboard and read with great interest by both teachers and pupils. -They gave rise to familiar talks and reflections on the part of the -teachers regarding the origin and cause of the war. They were naturally -all one-sidedly Scandinavian, and the question was judged from the -point of view of the students' union. Seeds of hatred towards Russia -and Germany for some future war were sown, and at the burial of the -popular teacher of gymnastics, Lieutenant Betzholtz, this reached a -fanatical pitch. - -The year of the Reform Bill,[1] 1865, approached. The teacher of -history, a man of kindliness and fine feeling, and an aristocrat of -high birth, tried to interest the pupils in the subject. The class had -divided into opposite parties, and the son of a speaker in the Upper -House, a Count S., universally popular, was the chief of the opposition -against reform. He was sprung from an old German family of knightly -descent; was poor, and lived on familiar terms with his classmates, but -had a keen consciousness of his high birth. Battles more in sport than -in earnest took place in the class, and tables and forms were thrown -about indiscriminately. - -The Reform Bill passed. Count S. remained away from the class. -The history teacher spoke with emotion of the sacrifice which the -nobility had laid upon the altar of the fatherland by renouncing -their privileges. The good man did not know yet that privileges are -not rights, but advantages which have been seized and which can be -recovered like other property, even by illegal means. - -The teacher bade the class to be modest over their victory and not to -insult the defeated party. The young count on his return to the class -was received with elaborate courtesy, but his feelings so overcame him -at the sight of the involuntary elevation of so many pupils of humble -birth, that he burst into tears and had to leave the class again. - -John understood nothing of politics. As a topic of general interest, -they were naturally banished from family discussions, where only -topics of private interest were regarded, and that in a very one-sided -way. Sons were so brought up that they might remain sons their whole -lives long, without any regard to the fact that some day they might be -fathers. But John already possessed the lower-class instinct which told -him, with regard to the Reform Bill, that now an injustice had been -done away with, and that the higher scale had been lowered, in order -that it might be easier for the lower one to rise to the same level. He -was, as might be expected, a liberal, but since the king was a liberal, -he was also a royalist. - -Parallel with the strong reactionary stream of pietism ran that of the -new rationalism, but in the opposite direction. Christianity, which, at -the close of the preceding century, had been declared to be mythical, -was again received into favour, and as it enjoyed State protection, -the liberals could not prevent themselves being reinoculated by its -teaching. But in 1835 Strauss's _Life of Christ_ had made a new -breach, and even in Sweden fresh water trickled into the stagnant -streams. The book was made the subject of legal action, but upon it -as a foundation the whole work of the new reformation was built up by -self-appointed reformers, as is always the case. - -Pastor Cramer had the honour of being the first. As early as 1859 -he published his _Farewell to the Church_, a popular but scientific -criticism of the New Testament. He set the seal of sincerity on his -belief by seceding from the State Church and resigning his office. His -book produced a great effect, and although Ingell's writings had more -vogue among the theologians, they did not reach the younger generation. -In the same year appeared Rydberg's _The Last Athenian_. The influence -of this book was hindered by the fact that it was hailed as a literary -success, and transplanted to the neutral territory of belles-lettres. -Ryllberg's _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_ made a deeper impression. -Renan's _Life of Jesus_ in Ignell's translation had taken young and old -by storm, and was read in the schools along with Cramer, which was not -the case with _The Bible Doctrine of Christ_. And by Bostroem's attack -on the _Doctrine of Hell_ (1864), the door was opened to rationalism -or "free-thought," as it was called. Bostroem's really insignificant -work had a great effect, because of his fame as a Professor at Upsala -and former teacher in the Royal Family. The courageous man risked his -reputation, a risk which no one incurred after him, when it was no -longer considered an honour to be a free-thinker or to labour for the -freedom and the right of thinking. - -In short, everything was in train, and it needed only a breath to blow -down John's faith like a house of cards. A young engineer crossed his -path. He was a lodger in the house of John's female friend. He watched -John a long while before he made any approaches. John felt respect for -him, for he had a good head, and was also somewhat jealous. John's -friend prepared him for the acquaintance he was likely to make, and -at the same time warned him. She said the engineer was an interesting -man of great ability, but dangerous. It was not long before John met -him. He hailed from Wermland, was strongly built, with coarse, honest -features, and a childlike laugh, when he did laugh, which occurred -rarely. They were soon on familiar terms. The first evening only a -slight skirmish took place on the question of faith and knowledge. -"Faith must kill reason," said John (echoing Krummacher). "No," replied -his friend. "Reason is a divine gift, which raises man above the -brutes. Shall man lower himself to the level of the brutes by throwing -away this divine gift?" - -"There are things," said John (echoing Norbeck), "which we can very -well believe, without demanding a proof for them. We believe the -calendar, for example, without possessing a scientific knowledge of the -movement of the planets." - -"Yes," answered his friend, "we believe it, because our reason does not -revolt against it." - -"But," said John, "in Galileo's time they revolted against the idea -that the earth revolves round the sun. 'He is possessed by a spirit of -contradiction,' they said, 'and wishes to be thought original.'" - -"We don't live in Galileo's age," returned his friend, "and the -enlightened reason of our time rejects the Deity of Christ and -everlasting punishment." - -"We won't dispute about these things," said John. - -"Why not?" - -"They are out of the reach of reason." - -"Just what I said two years ago when I was a believer." - -"You have been----a pietist?" - -"Yes." - -"Hm! and now you have peace?" - -"Yes, I have peace." - -"How is that?" - -"I learned through a preacher to realise the spirit of true -Christianity." - -"You are a Christian then?" - -"Yes, I acknowledge Christ." - -"But you don't believe that he was God?" - -"He never said so himself. He called himself God's son, and we are all -God's sons." - -John's lady friend interrupted the conversation, which was a type of -many others in the year 1865. John's curiosity was aroused. There were -then, he said to himself, men who did not believe in Christ and yet had -peace. Mere criticism would not have disturbed his old ideas of God; -the "horror vacui" held him back, till Theodore Parker fell into his -hands. Sermons without Christ and hell were what he wanted. And fine -sermons they were. It must be confessed that he read them in extreme -haste, as he was anxious that his friends and relatives should enjoy -them that he might escape their censures. He could not distinguish -between the disapproval of others and his own bad conscience, and was -so accustomed to consider others right that he fell into conflict with -himself. - -But in his mind the doctrine of Christ the Judge, the election of -grace, the punishments of the last day, all collapsed, as though they -had been tottering for a long time. He was astonished at the rapidity -of their disappearance. It was as though he laid aside clothes he had -outgrown and put on new ones. - -One Sunday morning he went with the engineer to the Haga Park. It was -spring. The hazel bushes were in bloom, and the anemones were opening. -The weather was fairly clear, the air soft and mild after a night's -rain. He and his friend discussed the freedom of the will. The pietists -had a very wavering conception of the matter. No one had, they said, -the power to become a child of God of his own free will. The Holy -Spirit must seek one, and thus it was a matter of predestination. John -wished to be converted but he could not. He had learned to pray, "Lord, -create in me a new will." But how could he be held responsible for his -evil will? Yes, he could, answered the pietist, through the Fall, for -when man endowed with free will chose the evil, his posterity inherited -his evil will, which became perpetually evil and ceased to be free. -Man could be delivered from this evil will only through Christ and -the gracious work of the Holy Spirit. The New Birth, however, did not -depend upon his own will, but on the grace of God. Thus he was not free -and at the same time was responsible! Therein lay the false inference. - -Both the engineer and John were nature worshippers. What is this -nature worship which in our days is regarded as so hostile to culture? -A relapse into barbarism, say some; a healthy reaction against -over-culture, say others. When a man has discovered society to be an -institution based on error and injustice, when he perceives that, in -exchange for petty advantages society suppresses too forcibly every -natural impulse and desire, when he has seen through the illusion that -he is a demi-god and a child of God, and regards himself more as a kind -of animal--then he flees from society, which is built on the assumption -of the divine origin of man, and takes refuge with nature. Here he -feels in his proper environment as an animal, sees himself as a detail -in the picture, and beholds his origin--the earth and the meadow. -He sees the interdependence of all creation as if in a summary--the -mountains becoming earth, the sea becoming rain, the plain which is a -mountain crumbled, the woods which are the children of the mountains -and the water. He sees the ocean of air which man and all creatures -breathe, he hears the birds which live on the insects, he sees the -insects which fertilise the plants, he sees the mammalia which supply -man with nourishment, and he feels at home. And in our time, when -all things are seen from the scientific point of view, a lonely hour -with nature, where we can see the whole evolution-history in living -pictures, can be the only substitute for divine worship. - -But our optimistic evolutionists prefer a meeting in a large hall -where they can launch their denunciations against this same society -which they admire and despise. They praise it as the highest stage of -development, but wish to overthrow it, because it is irreconcilable -with the true happiness of the animal. They wish to reconstruct and -develop it, say some. But their reconstruction involves the destruction -of all existing arrangements. Do not these people recognise that -society as it exists is a case of miscarriage in evolution, and is -itself simultaneously hostile to culture and to nature? - -Society, like everything else, is a natural product, they say, and -civilisation is nature. Yes, but it is degenerate nature, nature on -the down-grade, since it works against its own object--happiness. It -was, however, the engineer, John's leader, and a nature-worshipper like -himself, who revealed to him the defects of civilised society, and -prepared the way for his reception of the new views of man's origin. -Darwin's _Origin of Species_ had appeared as early as 1859, but its -influence had not yet penetrated far, much less had it been able to -fertilise other minds.[2] Moleschott's influence was then in the -ascendant, and materialism was the watchword of the day. Armed with -this and with his geology, the engineer pulled to pieces the Mosaic -story of the Creation. He still spoke of the Creator, for he was a -theist and saw God's wisdom and goodness reflected in His works. - -While they were walking in the park, the church bells in the city began -to ring. John stood still and listened. There were the terrible bells -of the Clara Church, which rang through his melancholy childhood; the -bells of the Adolf-Fredrik, which had frightened him to the bleeding -breast of the Crucified, and the bells of St. John's, which, on -Saturdays, when he was in the Jacob School, had announced the end of -the week. A gentle south wind bore the sound of the bells thither from -the city, and it echoed like a warning under the high firs. - -"Are you going to church?" asked his friend. - -"No," answered John, "I am not going to church any more." - -"Follow your conscience," said the engineer. - -It was the first time that John had remained away from church. He -determined to defy his father's command and his own conscience. He got -excited, inveighed against religion and domestic tyranny, and talked of -the church of God in nature; he spoke with enthusiasm of the new gospel -which proclaimed salvation, happiness, and life to all. But suddenly he -became silent. - -"You have a bad conscience," said his friend. - -"Yes," answered John; "one should either not do what one repents of, or -not repent of what one does." - -"The latter is the better course." - -"But I repent all the same. I repent a good deed, for it would be wrong -to play the hypocrite in this old idol-temple. My new conscience tells -me that I am wrong. I can find no more peace." - -And that was true. His new ego revolted against this old one, and they -lived in discord, like an unhappy married couple, during the whole of -his later life, without being able to get a separation. - -The reaction in his mind against his old views, which he felt should -be eradicated, broke out violently. The fear of hell had disappeared, -renunciation seemed silly, and the youth's nature demanded its rights. -The result was a new code of morality, which he formulated for himself -in the following fashion: What does not hurt any of my fellow-men -is permitted to me. He felt that the domestic pressure at home did -him harm, and no one else any good, and revolted against it. He now -showed his real feelings to his parents, who had never shown him love, -but insisted on his being grateful, because they had given him his -legal rights as a matter of favour, and accompanied by humiliations. -They were antipathetic to him, and he was cold to them. To their -ceaseless attacks on free-thinking he gave frank and perhaps somewhat -impertinent answers. His half-annihilated will began to stir, and he -saw that he was entitled to make demands of life. - -The engineer was regarded as John's seducer, and was anathematised. -But he was open to the influence of John's lady friend, who had formed -a friendship with his step-mother. The engineer was not of a radical -turn of mind; he had accepted Theodore Parker's compromise, and still -believed in Christian self-denial. One should, he said, be amiable and -patient, follow Christ's example, and so forth. Urged on by John's lady -friend, for whom he had a concealed tenderness, and alarmed by the -consequences of his own teaching, he wrote John the following letter. -It was inspired by fear of the fire which he had kindled, by regard for -the lady, and by sincere conviction: - -"To MY FRIEND JOHN,--How joyfully we greet the spring when it appears, -to intoxicate us with its wealth of verdure and its divine freshness! -The birds begin their light and cheerful melodies, and the anemones -peep shyly forth under the whispering branches of the pines----" - -"It is strange," thought John, "that this unsophisticated man, who -talks so simply and sincerely, should write in such a stilted style. -It rings false." - -The letter continued: "What breast, whether old or young, does not -expand in order to inhale the fresh perfumes of the spring, which -spread heavenly peace in each heart, accompanied by a longing which -seems like a foretaste of God and of His love? At such a time can any -malice remain in our hearts? Can we not forgive? Ah yes, we must, -when we see how the caressing rays of the spring sun have kissed away -the icy cover from nature and our hearts. Just as we expect to see -the ground, freed from snow, grow green again, so we long to see the -warmth of a kindly heart manifest itself in loving deeds, and peace and -happiness spread through all nature----" - -"Forgive?" thought John. "Yes, certainly he would, if they would only -alter their behaviour and let him be free. But _they_ did not forgive -him. With what right did they demand forbearance on his part? It must -be mutual." - -"John," went on the letter, "you think you have attained to a higher -conception of God through the study of nature and through reason -than when you believed in the Deity of Christ and the Bible, but you -do not realise the tendency of your own thoughts. You think that a -true thought can of itself ennoble a man, but in your better moments -you see that it cannot. You have only grasped the shadow which the -light throws, but not the chief matter, not the light itself. When -you held your former views you could pass over a fault in one of your -fellow-men, you could take a charitable view of an action in spite of -appearances, but how is it with you now? You are violent and bitter -against a loving mother; you condemn and are discontented with the -actions of a tender, experienced, grey-headed father----" - -(As a matter of fact, when he held his former views, John could not -pardon a fault in anyone, least of all in himself. Sometimes, indeed, -he did pardon others; but that was stupid, that was lax morality. A -loving mother, forsooth! Yes, very loving! How did his friend Axel -come to think so? And a tender father? But why should he not judge his -actions? In self-defence one must meet hardness with hardness, and no -more turn the left cheek when the right cheek is smitten.) - -"Formerly you were an unassuming, amiable child, but now you are an -egotistical, conceited youth----" - -("Unassuming!" Yes, and that was why he had been trampled down, but -now he was going to assert his just claims. "Conceited!" Ha! the -teacher felt himself outstripped by his ungrateful pupil.) - -"The warm tears of your mother flow over her cheeks----" - -("Mother!" he had no mother, and his stepmother only cried when she was -angry! Who the deuce had composed the letter?) - -"--when she thinks in solitude about your hard heart----" - -(What the dickens has she to do with my heart when she has the -housekeeping and seven children to look after?) - -"--your unhappy spiritual condition----" - -(That's humbug! My soul has never felt so fresh and lively as now.) - -"--and your father's heart is nearly breaking with grief and -anxiety----" - -(That's a lie. He is himself a theist and follows Wallin; besides, -he has no time to think about me. He knows that I am industrious and -honest, and not immoral. Indeed, he praised me only a day or two ago.) - -"You do not notice your mother's sad looks----" - -(There are other reasons for that, for her marriage is not a happy one.) - -"--nor do you regard the loving warnings of your father. You are like -a crevasse above the snow-line, in which the kiss of the spring sun -cannot melt the snow, nor turn a single atom of ice into a drop of -water----" - -(The writer must have been reading romances. As a matter of fact John -was generally yielding towards his school-fellows. But towards his -domestic enemies he had become cold. That was their fault.) - -"What can your friends think of your new religion, when it produces -such evil fruit? They will curse it, and your views give them the right -to do so----" - -(Not the right, but the occasion.) - -"They will hate the mean scoundrel who has instilled the hellish poison -of his teaching into your innocent heart----" - -(There we have it! The mean scoundrel!) - -"Show now by your actions that you have grasped the truth better than -heretofore. Try to be forbearing----" - -(That's the step-mother!) - -"Pass over the defects and failings of your fellow-men with love and -gentleness----" - -(No, he would not! They had tortured him into lying; they had snuffed -about in his soul, and uprooted good seeds as though they were weeds; -they wished to stifle his personality, which had just as good a right -to exist as their own; they had never been forbearing with his faults, -why should he be so with theirs? Because Christ had said.... That had -become a matter of complete indifference, and had no application to -him now. For the rest, he did not bother about those at home, but shut -himself up in himself. They were unsympathetic to him, and could not -obtain his sympathy. That was the whole thing in a nutshell. They had -faults and wanted him to pardon them. Very well, he did so, if they -would only leave him in peace!) - -"Learn to be grateful to your parents, who spare no pains in promoting -your true welfare and happiness (hm!), and that this may be brought -about through love to God your Creator, who has caused you to be born -in this improving (hm! hm!) environment, for obtaining peace and -blessedness is the prayer of your anxious but hopeful - - "AXEL." - -"I have had enough of father confessors and inquisitors," thought John; -he had escaped and felt himself free. They stretched their claws after -him, but he was beyond their reach. His friend's letter was insincere -and artificial; "the hands were the hands of Esau." He returned no -answer to it, but broke off all intercourse with both his friends. - -They called him ungrateful. A person who insists on gratitude is worse -than a creditor, for he first makes a present on which he plumes -himself, and then sends in the account--an account which can never be -paid, for a service done in return does not seem to extinguish the debt -of gratitude; it is a mortgage on a man's soul, a debt which cannot -be paid, and which stretches over the whole subsequent life. Accept -a service from your friend, and he will expect you to falsify your -opinion of him and to praise his own evil deeds, and those of his wife -and children. - -But gratitude is a deep feeling which honours a man and at the same -time humiliates him. Would that a time may come when it will not be -necessary to fetter ourselves with gratitude for a benefit, which -perhaps is a mere duty. - -John felt ashamed of the breach with his friends, but they hindered -and oppressed him. After all, what had they given him in social -intercourse which he had not given back? - -Fritz, as his friend with the pince-nez was called, was a prudent man -of the world. These two epithets "prudent" and "man of the world" had -a bad significance at that time. To be prudent in a romantic period, -when all were a little cracked, and to be cracked was considered a mark -of the upper classes, was almost synonymous with being bad. To be a -man of the world when all attempted, as well as they could, to deceive -themselves in religion, was considered still worse. Fritz was prudent. -He wished to lead his own life in a pleasant way and to make a career -for himself. He therefore sought the acquaintance of those in good -social position. That was prudent, because they had power and money. -Why should he not seek them? How did he come to make friends with John? -Perhaps through a sort of animal sympathy, perhaps through long habit. -John could not do any special service for him except to whisper answers -to him in the class and to lend him books. For Fritz did not learn his -lessons, and spent in punch the money which was intended for books. - -Now when he saw that John was inwardly purified, and that his outer -man was presentable, he introduced him to his own coterie. This was a -little circle of young fellows, some of them rich and some of them of -good rank belonging to the same class as John. The latter was a little -shy at first, but soon stood on a good footing with them. One day, at -drill time, Fritz told him that he had been invited to a ball. - -"I to a ball? Are you mad? I would certainly be out of place there." - -"You are a good-looking fellow, and will have luck with the girls." - -Hm! That was a new point of view with regard to himself. Should he go? -What would they say at home, where he got nothing but blame? - -He went to the ball. It was in a middle-class house. Some of the girls -were anaemic; others red as berries. John liked best the pale ones who -had black or blue rings round their eyes. They looked so suffering and -pining, and cast yearning glances towards him. There was one among them -deathly pale, whose dark eyes were deep-set and burning, and whose lips -were so dark that her mouth looked almost like a black streak. She made -an impression on him, but he did not venture to approach her, as she -already had an admirer. So he satisfied himself with a less dazzling, -softer, and gentler girl. He felt quite comfortable at the ball and in -intercourse with strangers, without seeing the critical eyes of any -relative. But he found it very difficult to talk with the girls. - -"What shall I say to them?" he asked Fritz. - -"Can't you talk nonsense with them? Say 'It is fine weather. Do you -like dancing? Do you skate?' One must learn to be versatile." - -John went and soon exhausted his repertoire of conversation. His palate -became dry, and at the third dance he got tired of it. He felt in a -rage with himself and was silent. - -"Isn't dancing amusing?" asked Fritz. "Cheer up, old coffin-polisher!" - -"Yes, dancing is all right, if one only had not to talk. I don't know -what to say." - -So it was, as a matter of fact. He liked the girls, and dancing with -them seemed manly, but as to talking with them!--he felt as though he -were dealing with another kind of the species _Homo_, in some cases a -higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired his gentle little -partner, and would have liked her for a wife. - -His fondness for reflection and his everlasting criticism of his -thoughts had robbed him of the power of being simple and direct. When -he talked with a girl, he heard his own voice and words and criticised -them. This made the whole ball seem tedious. And then the girls? What -was it really that they lacked? They had the same education as himself; -they learned history and modern languages, read Icelandic, studied -algebra, etc. They had accordingly the same culture, and yet he could -not talk with them. - -"Well, talk nonsense with them," said Fritz. - -But he could not. Besides, he had a higher opinion of them. He wanted -to give up the balls altogether, since he had no success, but he was -taken there in spite of himself. It flattered him to be invited, and -flattery has always something pleasant about it. One day he was paying -a visit to an aristocratic family. The son of the house was a cadet. -Here he met two actresses. With them he felt he could speak. They -danced with him but did not answer him. So he listened to Fritz's -conversation. The latter said strange things in elegant phrases, and -the girls were delighted with him. That, then, was the way to get on -with them! - -The balls were followed by serenades and "punch evenings." John had a -great longing for strong drinks; they seemed to him like concentrated -liquid nourishment. The first time he was intoxicated was at a -students' supper at Djurgardsbrunn. He felt happy, joyful, strong, and -mild, but far from mad. He talked nonsense, saw pictures on the plates -and made jokes. This behaviour made him for the moment like his elder -brother, who, though deeply melancholy in his youth, had a certain -reputation afterwards as a comic actor. They had both played at acting -in the attic; but John was embarrassed; he acted badly and was only -successful when he was given the part of some high personage to play. -As a comic actor he was impossible. - -About this time there entered two new factors into his development--Art -and Literature. - -John had found in his father's bookcase Lenstrom's _AEsthetics_, -Boije's _Dictionary of Painters,_ and Oulibischeff's _Life of Mozart_, -besides the authors previously mentioned. Through the scattering of -the family of a deceased relative, a large number of books came into -the house, which increased John's knowledge of belles-lettres. Among -them were several copies of Talis Qualis's poems, which he did not -enjoy; he found no pleasure in Strandberg's translation of Byron's -_Don Juan_, for he hated descriptive poetry; he always skipped verse -quotations when they occurred in books. Tasso's _Jerusalem Delivered_, -in Kullberg's translation, he found tedious; Karl von Zeipel's _Tales_, -impossible. Sir Walter Scott's novels were too long, especially the -descriptions. He therefore did not understand at first the greatness -of Zola, when many years later he read his elaborate descriptions; the -perusal of Lessing's _Laokooen_ had already convinced him that such -descriptions cannot convey an adequate impression of the whole. Dickens -infused life even into inanimate objects and harmonised the scenery -and situations with the characters. That he understood better. He -thought Eugene Sue's _Wandering Jew_ magnificent; he did not regard it -as a novel; for novels, he thought, were only to be found in lending -libraries. This, on the other hand, was a historical poem of universal -interest, whose Socialistic teaching he quickly imbibed. Alexandre -Dumas's works seemed to him like the boys' books about Indians. These -he did not care for now; he wanted books with some serious purpose. -He swallowed Shakespeare whole, in Hagberg's translation. But he had -always found it hard to read plays where the eye must jump from the -names of the _dramatis personae_, to the text. He was disappointed in -_Hamlet_, of which he had expected much, and the comedies seemed to him -sheer nonsense. - -John could not endure poetry. It seemed to him artificial and untrue. -Men did not speak like that, and they seldom thought so beautifully. -Once he was asked to write a verse in Fanny's album. - -"You can screw yourself up to do that," said his friend. - -John sat up at night, but only managed to hammer out two lines. -Besides, he did not know what to say. One could not expose one's -feelings to common observation. Fritz offered his help, and together -they produced six or eight rhyming lines, for which Snoilsky's _A -Christmas Eve in Rome_ supplied the motive. - -"Genius" often formed the subject of their discussions. Their teacher -used to say "Geniuses" ranked above all else, like "Excellencies." John -thought much about this, and believed that it was possible without -high birth, without money, and without a career to get on the same -level as Excellencies. But what a genius was he did not know. Once -in a weak moment he said to his lady friend that he would rather be -a genius than a child of God, and received a sharp reproof from her. -Another time he told Fritz that he would like to be a professor, as -they can dress like scarecrows and behave as they like without losing -respect. But when someone else asked him what he wished to be, he said, -"A clergyman"; for all peasants' sons can be that, and it seemed a -suitable calling for him also. After he had become a free-thinker, he -wished to take a university degree. But he did not wish to be a teacher -on any account. - -In the theatre _Hamlet_ made a deeper impression on him than -Offenbach's operas, which were then being acted. Who is this Hamlet -who first saw the footlights in the era of John III., and has still -remained fresh? He is a figure which has been much exploited and used -for many purposes. John forthwith determined to use him for his own. - -The curtain rises to the sound of cheerful music, showing the king and -his court in glittering array. Then there enters the pale youth in -mourning garb and opposes his step-father. Ah! he has a step-father. -"That is as bad as having a stepmother," thought John. "That's the -man for me!" And then they try to oppress him and squeeze sympathy -out of him for the tyrant. The youth's ego revolts, but his will is -paralysed; he threatens, but he cannot strike. - -Anyhow, he chastises his mother--a pity that it was not his -step-father. But now he goes about with pangs of conscience. Good! -Good! He is sick with too much thought, he gropes in his in-side, -inspects his actions till they dissolve into nothing. And he loves -another's betrothed; that resembles John's life completely. He begins -to doubt whether he is an exception after all. That, then, is a common -story in life! Very well! He did not need then to worry about himself, -but he had lost his consciousness of originality. The conclusion, which -had been mangled, was unimpressive, but was partly redeemed by the fine -speech of Horatio. John did not observe the unpardonable mistake of -the adapter in omitting the part of Fortinbras, but Horatio, who was -intended to form a contrast to Hamlet, was no contrast. He is as great -a coward as the latter, and says only "yes" and "no." Fortinbras was -the man of action, the conqueror, the claimant to the throne, but he -does not appear, and the play ends in gloom and desolation. - -But it is fine to lament one's destiny, and to see it lamented. -At first Hamlet was only the step-son; later on he becomes the -introspective brooder, and lastly the son, the sacrifice to family -tyranny. Schwarz had represented him as the visionary and idealist who -could not reconcile himself to reality, and satisfied contemporary -taste accordingly. A future matter-of-fact generation, to whom the -romantic appears simply ridiculous, may very likely see the part of -Hamlet, like that of Don Quixote, taken by a comic actor. Youths -like Hamlet have been for a long time the subject of ridicule, for -a new generation has secretly sprung up, a generation which thinks -without seeing visions, and acts accordingly. The neutral territory -of belles-lettres and the theatre, where morality has nothing to say, -and the unrealities of the drama with its reconstruction of a better -world than the present, were taken by John as something more than mere -imagination. He confused poetry and reality, while he fancied that life -outside his parent's house was ideal and that the future was a garden -of Eden. - -The prospect of soon going to the University of Upsala seemed to him -like a flight into liberty. There one might be ill-dressed, poor, and -still a student, _i.e._, a member of the higher classes; one could sing -and drink, come home intoxicated, and fight with the police without -losing one's reputation. That is an ideal land! How had he found that -out? From the students' songs which he sang with his brother. But he -did not know that these songs reflected the views of the aristocracy; -that they were listened to, piece by piece, by princes and future -kings; that the heroes of them were men of family. He did not consider -that borrowing was not so dangerous, when there was a rich aunt in the -background; that the examination was not so hard if one had a bishop -for an uncle; and that the breaking of a window had not got to be too -dearly paid for if one moved in good society. But, at any rate, his -thoughts were busy with the future; his hopes revived, and the fatal -twenty-fifth year did not loom so ominously before him. - -About this time the volunteer movement was at its height. It was a -happy idea which gave Sweden a larger army than she had hitherto -had--40,000 men instead of 37,000. John went in for it energetically, -wore a uniform, drilled, and learned to shoot. He came thereby into -contact with young men of other classes of society. In his company -there were apprentices, shop attendants, office clerks, and young -artists who had not yet achieved fame. He liked them, but they -remained distant. He sought to approach them, but they did not receive -him. They had their own language, which he did not understand. Now he -noticed how his education had separated him from the companions of his -childhood. They took for granted that he was proud. But, as a matter of -fact, he looked up to them in some things. They were frank, fearless, -independent, and pecuniarily better circumstanced than himself, for -they always had money. - -Accompanying the troops on long marches had a soothing effect on him. -He was not born to command, and obeyed gladly, if the person who -commanded did not betray pride or imperiousness. He had no ambition -to become a corporal, for then he would have had to think, and what -was still worse, decide for others. He remained a slave by nature and -inclination, but he was sensitive to the injustice of tyrants, and -observed them narrowly. - -At one important manoeuvre he could not help expostulating with regard -to certain blunders committed, _e.g._, that the infantry of the guard -should be ranged up at a landing-place against the cannon of the fleet -which covered the barges on which they were standing. The cannon -played about their ears from a short distance, but they remained -unmoved. He expostulated and swore, but obeyed, for he had determined -beforehand to do so. - -On one occasion, while they were halting at Tyreso, he wrestled in -sport with a comrade. The captain of the company stepped forward and -forbade such rough play. John answered sharply that they were off duty, -and that they were playing. - -"Yes, but play may become earnest," said the captain. - -"That depends on us," answered John, and obeyed. But he thought him -fussy for interfering in such trifles, and believed that he noticed a -certain dislike in his superior towards himself. The former was called -"magister," because he wrote for the papers, but he was not even a -student. "There it is," he thought, "he wants to humiliate me." And -from that time he watched him closely. Their mutual antipathy lasted -through their lives. - -The volunteer movement was in the first place the result of the -Danish-German War, and, though transitory, was in some degree -advantageous. It kept the young men occupied, and did away, to a -certain extent, with the military prestige of the army, as the lower -classes discovered that soldiering was not such a difficult matter -after all. The insight thus gained caused a widespread resistance to -the introduction of the Prussian system of compulsory service which was -much mooted at the time, since Oscar II., when visiting Berlin, had -expressed to the Emperor William his hope that Swedish and Prussian -troops would once more be brothers-in-arms. - - -[1] See _Encyclopedia Britannica_, art. "Sweden." - -[2] In 1910 Strindberg wrote: "I keep my Bible Christianity for -private use, to tame my somewhat barbarised nature--barbarised by the -veterinary philosophy of Darwinism, in which, as a student. I was -educated."--_Tal till Svenska nationen_. - - - - -IX - -WITH STRANGERS - - -One of his bold dreams had been fulfilled: he had found a situation for -the summer. Why had he not found one sooner? He had not dared to hope -for it, and, therefore, had never sought it, from fear of meeting with -a refusal. A disappointed hope was the worst thing he could imagine. -But now, all at once, Fortune shook her cornucopia over him; the post -he had obtained was in the finest situation that he knew--the Stockholm -archipelago--on the most beautiful of all the islands, Sotaskaer. He -now liked aristocrats. His step-mother's ill-treatment of him, his -relations' perpetual watching to discover arrogance in him, where there -was only superiority of intelligence, generosity, and self-sacrifice, -the attempts of his volunteer comrades to oppress him, had driven him -out of the class to which he naturally belonged. He did not think or -feel any more as they did; he had another religion, and another view -of life. The well-regulated behaviour and confident bearing of his -aristocratic friends satisfied his aesthetic sense; his education had -brought him nearer to them, and alienated him from the lower classes. -The aristocrats seemed to him less proud than the middle class. They -did not oppress, but prized culture and talent; they were democratic in -their behaviour towards him, for they treated him as an equal, whereas -his own relatives regarded him as a subordinate and inferior. Fritz, -for example, who was the son of a miller in the country, visited at the -house of a lord-in-waiting, and played in a comedy with his sons before -the director of the Theatre Royal, who offered him an engagement. -No one asked whose son he was. But when Fritz came to a dance at -John's house, he was carefully inspected behind and before, and great -satisfaction was caused when some relative imparted the information -that his father had once been a miller's servant. - -John had become aristocratic in his views, without, however, ceasing to -sympathise with the lower classes, and since about the year 1865 the -nobility were fairly liberal in politics, condescending and popular -for the time, he let himself be duped. - -Fritz began to give him instructions how he should behave. One should -not be cringing, he said, but be yielding; should not say all that one -thought, for no one wished to know that; it was good if one could say -polite things, without indulging in too gross flattery; one should -converse, but not argue, above all things not dispute, for one never -got the best of it. Fritz was certainly a wise youth. John thought the -advice terribly hard, but stored it up in his mind. What he wanted to -get was a salary, and perhaps the chance of a tour abroad to Rome or -Paris with his pupils; that was the most he hoped for from his noble -friends, and what he intended to aim at. - -One Sunday he visited the wife of the baron, his future employer, as -she was in the town. She seemed like the portrait of a mediaeval lady; -she had an aquiline nose, great brown eyes, and curled hair, which hung -over her temples. She was somewhat sentimental, talked in a drawling -manner, and with a nasal twang. John did not think her aristocratic, -and the house was a poorer one than his own home, but they had, -besides, an estate and a castle. However, she pleased him, for she had -a certain resemblance to his mother. She examined him, talked with him, -and let her ball of wool fall. John sprang up and gave it to her, with -a self-satisfied air which seemed to say, "I can do that, for I have -often picked up ladies' handkerchiefs." Her opinion of him after the -examination was a favourable one, and he was engaged. On the morning of -the day on which they were to leave the city he called again. The royal -secretary, for so the gentleman of the house was called, was standing -in his shirt-sleeves before the mirror and tying his cravat. He looked -proud and melancholy, and his greeting was curt and cold. John took -a seat uninvited, and tried to commence a conversation, but was not -particularly successful in keeping it up, especially as the secretary -turned his back to him, and gave only short answers. - -"He is not an aristocrat," thought John; "he is a boor." - -The two were antipathetic to each other, as two members of the lower -class, who looked askance at each other in their clamber laboriously -upwards. - -The carriage was before the door; the coachman was in livery, and -stood with his hat in his hand. The secretary asked John whether he -would sit in the carriage or on the box, but in such a tone that John -determined to be polite and to accept the invitation to sit on the -box. So he sat next the coachman. As the whip cracked, and the horses -started, he had only one thought, "Away from home! Out into the world!" - -At the first halting-place John got down from the box and went to -the carriage window. He asked in an easy, polite, perhaps somewhat -confidential tone, how his employers were. The baron answered curtly, -in a tone in a way which cut off all attempts at a nearer approach. -What did that mean? - -They took their seats again. John lighted a cigar, and offered the -coachman one. The latter, however, whispered in reply that he dared -not smoke on the box. He then pumped the coachman, but cautiously, -regarding the baron's friends, and so on. Towards evening they reached -the estate. The house stood on a wooded hill, and was a white stone -building with outside blinds. The roof was flat, and its rounded -comers gave the building a somewhat Italian aspect, but the blinds, -with their white and red borders, were elegance itself. John, with his -three pupils, was installed in one wing, which consisted of an isolated -building with two rooms; the other of which was occupied by the -coachman. - -After eight days John discovered that he was a servant, and in a very -unpleasant position. His father's man-servant had a better room all to -himself; and for several hours of the day was master of his own person -and thoughts. But John was not. Night and day he had to be with the -boys, teach them, and play and bathe with them. If he allowed himself -a moment's liberty, and was seen about, he was at once asked, "Where -are the children?" He lived in perpetual anxiety lest some accident -should happen to them. He was responsible for the behaviour of four -persons--his own and that of his three pupils. Every criticism of them -struck him. He had no companion of his own age with whom he could -converse. The steward was almost the whole day at work, and hardly ever -visible. - -But there were two compensations: the scenery and the sense of being -free from the bondage in his parent's house. The baroness treated -him confidentially, almost in a motherly way; she liked discussing -literature with him. At such times he felt on the same level with -her, and superior to her in point of erudition, but as soon as the -secretary came home he sank to the position of children's nurse again. - -The scenery of the islands had for him a greater charm than the banks -of the Maelar, and his magic recollections of Drottningholm faded. In -the past year he had climbed up a hill in Tyreso with the volunteer -sharpshooters. It was covered with a thick fir-wood. They crawled -through bilberry and juniper bushes till they reached a steep, rocky -plateau. From this they viewed a panorama which thrilled him with -delight: water and islands, water and islands stretched away into -infinite distance. Although born in Stockholm he had never seen the -islands, and did not know where he was. The view made a deep impression -on him, as if he had rediscovered a land which had appeared to him in -his fairest dreams or in a former existence--in which he believed, but -about which he knew nothing. The troop of sharpshooters drew off into -the wood, but John remained upon the height and worshipped--that is -the right word. The attacking troop approached and fired; the bullets -whistled about his ears; he hid himself, but he could not go away. That -was his land-scape and proper environment--barren, rugged gray rocks -surrounding wide stormy bays, and the endless sea in the distance as -a background. He remained faithful to this love, which could not be -explained by the fact that it was his first love. Neither the Alps of -Switzerland, nor the olive groves of the Mediterranean, nor the steep -coast of Normandy, could dethrone this rival from his heart. - -Now he was in Paradise, though rather too deep in it; the shore of -Sotaskaer consisted of green pasturage overshadowed by oaks, and the -bay opened out to the fjord in the far distance. The water was pure -and salt; that was something new. In one of his excursions with his -rifle, the dogs, and the boys, he came one fine sunny day down to the -water's edge. On the other side of the bay stood a castle, a large, -old-fashioned stone edifice. He had discovered that his employer only -rented the estate. - -"Who lives in the castle?" he asked the boys. - -"Uncle Wilhelm," they answered. - -"What is his title?" - -"Baron X." - -"Do you never go there?" - -"Oh, yes; sometimes." - -So there was a castle here with a baron! John's walks now regularly -took the direction of the shore, from which he could see the castle. -It was surrounded by a park and garden. At home they had no garden. - -One fine day the baroness told him that he must accompany the boys on -the morrow to the baron's, and remain there for the day. She and her -husband would stay at home; "he would therefore represent the house," -she added jestingly. - -Then he asked what he was to wear. He could go in his summer suit, she -said, take his black coat on his arm, and change for dinner in the -little tapestry-room on the ground floor. He asked whether he should -wear gloves. She laughed, "No, he needed no gloves." He dreamt the -whole night about the baron, the castle, and the tapestry-room. In the -morning a hay-waggon came to the house to fetch them. He did not like -this; it reminded him of the parish clerk's school. - -And so they went off. They came to a long avenue of lime trees, -drove into the courtyard, and stopped before the castle. It was a -real castle, and looked as if it had been built in the Middle Ages. -From an arbour there came the well-known click of a draught-board. A -middle-aged gentleman in an ill-fitting, holland suit came out. His -face was not aristocratic, but rather of the middle-class type, with -a seaman's beard of a gray-yellow colour. He also wore earrings. John -held his hat in his hand and introduced himself. The baron greeted -him in a friendly way, and bade him enter the arbour. Here stood a -table with a draught-board, by which sat a little old man who was very -amiable in his manner. He was introduced as the pastor of a small town. -John was given a glass of brandy, and asked about the Stockholm news. -Since he was familiar with theatrical gossip and similar things, he was -listened to with greater attention. "There it is," he thought, "the -real aristocrats are much more democratic than the sham ones." - -"Oh!" said the Baron. "Pardon me, Mr.----, I did not catch the name. -Yes, that is it. Are you related to Oscar Strindberg?" - -"He is my father." - -"Good heavens! is it possible? He is an old friend of mine from my -youthful days, when I was pilot on the Strengnas." - -John did not believe his ears. The baron had been pilot on a steamer! -Yes, indeed, he had. But he wished to hear about his friend Oscar. -John looked around him, and asked himself if this really was the baron. -The baroness now appeared; she was as simple and friendly as the baron. -The bell rang for dinner. "Now we will get something to drink," said -the baron. "Come along." - -John at first made a vain attempt to put on his frock-coat behind a -door in the hall, but finally succeeded, as the baroness had said that -he ought to wear it. Then they entered the dining-hall. Yes, that was a -real castle; the floor was paved with stone, the ceiling was of carved -wood; the window-niches were so deep that they seemed to form little -rooms; the fire place could hold a barrow-load of wood; there was a -three-footed piano, and the walls were covered with dark paintings. - -John felt quite at home during dinner. In the afternoon he played with -the baron, and drank toddy. All the courteous usages he had expected -were in evidence, and he was well pleased with the day when it was -over. As he went down the long avenue, he turned round and contemplated -the castle. It looked now less stately and almost poverty stricken. It -pleased him all the better, though it had been more romantic to look -at it as a fairy-tale castle from the other shore. Now he had nothing -more to which he could look up. But he himself, on the other hand, was -no more below. Perhaps, after all, it is better to have something to -which one _can_ look up. - -When he came home, he was examined by the baroness. "How did he like -the baron?" John answered that he was pleasant and condescending. -He was also prudent enough to say nothing of the baron's friendship -with his father. "They will learn it anyhow," he thought. Meanwhile -he already felt more at home, and was no more so timid. One day he -borrowed a horse, but he rode it so roughly that he was not allowed to -borrow one again. Then he hired one from a peasant. It looked so fine -to sit high on a horse and gallop; he felt his strength grow at the -same time. - -His illusions were dispelled, but to feel on the same level with those -about him, without wishing to pull anyone down, that had something -soothing about it. He wrote a boasting letter to his brother at home, -but received an answer calculated to set him down. Since he was quite -alone, and had no one with whom he could talk, he wrote letters in -diary-form to his friend Fritz. The latter had obtained a post with -a merchant by the Maelar Lake, where there were young girls, music, -and good eating. John sometimes wished to be in his place. In his -diary-letter he tried to idealise the realities around him, and -succeeded in arousing his friend's envy. - -The story of the baron's acquaintance with John's father spread, and -the baroness felt herself bound to speak ill of her brother. John had, -nevertheless, intelligence enough to perceive that here there was -something to do with the tragedy of an estate in tail. Since he had -nothing to do with the matter, he took no trouble to inquire into it. - -During a visit which John paid to the pastor's house, the assistant -pastor happened to hear of his idea of being a pastor himself. Since -the senior pastor, on account of old age and weakness, no longer -preached, his assistant was John's only acquaintance. The assistant -found the work heavy, so he was very glad to come across young students -who wished to make their debuts as preachers. He asked John whether he -would preach. Upon John's objecting that he was not a student yet, he -answered, "No matter." John said he would consider. - -The assistant did not let him consider long. He said that many -students and collegians had preached here before, and that the church -had a certain fame since the actor Knut Almloef had preached here in his -youth. John had seen him act as Menelaus in _The Beautiful Helen_, and -admired him. He consented to his friend's request, began to search for -a text, borrowed some homilies, and promised to have his trial sermon -ready by Friday. So, then, only a year after his Confirmation, he -would preach in the pulpit, and the baron and the ladies and gentlemen -would sit as devout hearers! So soon at the goal, without a clerical -examination--yes, even without his final college examination! They -would lend him a gown and bands; he would pray the Lord's Prayer and -read the Commandments! His head began to swell, and he walked home -feeling a foot taller, with the full consciousness that he was no -longer a boy. - -But as he came home he began to think seriously. He was a free-thinker. -Is it honourable to play the hypocrite? No, no. But must he then give -up the sermon? That would be too great a sacrifice. He felt ambitious, -and perhaps he would be able to sow some seeds of free-thought, which -would spring up later. Yes, but it was dishonest. With his old -egotistic morality he always regarded the motive of the actor, not the -beneficial or injurious effect of the action. It was profitable for him -to preach; it would not hurt others to hear something new and true. But -it was not honest. He could not get away from that objection. He took -the baroness into his confidence. - -"Do you believe that preachers believe all they say?" she asked. - -That was the preachers' affair, but John could not act a double part. -Finally, he walked to the assistant pastor's house, and consulted him. -It vexed the assistant to have to hear about it. - -"Well," he said, "but you believe in God, I suppose?" - -"Yes, certainly I do." - -"Very well! don't speak of Christ. Bishop Wallin never mentioned the -name of Christ in his sermons. But don't bother any more. I don't want -to hear about it." - -"I will do my best," said John, glad to have saved his honesty and his -prospect of distinction at the same time. They had a glass of wine, and -the matter was settled. - -There was something intoxicating for him in sitting over his books and -homilies, and in hearing the baron ask for him, and the servant answer: -"The tutor is writing his sermon." - -He had to expound the text: "Jesus said, Now is the son of man -glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God be glorified in him, God -shall glorify him in himself, and shall straightway glorify him." - -That was all. He turned the sentence this way and that, but could find -no meaning in it. "It is obscure," he thought. But it touched the -most delicate point--the Deity of Christ. If he had the courage to -explain away that, he would certainly have done something important. -The prospect enticed him, and with Theodore Parker's help he composed -a prose poem on Christ as the Son of God, and then put forward very -cautiously the assertion that we are all God's sons, but that Christ is -His chosen and beloved Son, whose teaching we must obey. But that was -only the introduction, and the gospel is read after the introduction. -About what, then, should he preach? He had already pacified his -conscience by plainly stating his views regarding the Deity of Christ. -He glowed with excitement, his courage grew, and he felt that he had a -mission to fulfil. He would draw his sword against dogmas, against the -doctrine of election and pietism. - -When he came to the place where, after reading the text, he ought to -have said, "The text we have read gives us occasion for a short time -to consider the following subject," he wrote: "Since the text of the -day gives no further occasion for remark, we will, for a short time, -consider what is of greater importance." And so he dealt with God's -work in conversion. He made two attacks: one on the custom of preaching -from the text, and the second against the Church's teaching on the -subject of grace. - -First he spoke of conversion as a serious matter, which required a -sacrifice, and depended on the free-will of man (he was not quite -clear about that). He ignored the doctrine of election, and finally -flung open for all the doors of the kingdom of heaven: "Come unto me -all ye that are weary and heavy laden." "To-day shalt thou be with me -in Paradise." That is the gospel of Christ for all, and no one is to -believe that the key of heaven is committed to him (that was a hit at -the pietists), but that the doors of grace are open for all without -exception. - -He was very much in earnest, and felt like a missionary. On Friday he -betook himself to the church, and read certain passages of his sermon -from the pulpit. He chose the most harmless ones. Then he repeated the -prayers, while the assistant pastor stood under the choir gallery and -called to him, "Louder! Slower!" He was approved, and they had a glass -of wine together. - -On Sunday the church was full of people. John put on his gown and bands -in the vestry. For a moment he felt it comical, but then was seized -with anxiety. He prayed to the only true God for help, now that he was -to draw the sword against age-long error, and when the last notes of -the organ were silent, he entered the pulpit with confidence. - -Everything went well. But when he came to the place, "Since the text -of the day gives no occasion for remark," and saw a movement among the -faces of the congregation, which looked like so many white blurs, he -trembled. But only for a moment. Then he plucked up courage and read -his sermon in a fairly strong and confident voice. When he neared the -end, he was so moved by the beautiful truths which he proclaimed, that -he could scarcely see the writing on the paper for tears. He took a -long breath, and read through all the prayers, till the organ began -and he left the pulpit. The pastor thanked him, but said one should -not wander from the text; it would be a bad look-out if the Church -Consistory heard of it. But he hoped no one had noticed it. He had no -fault to find with the contents of the sermon. They had dinner at the -pastor's house, played and danced with the girls, and John was the hero -of the day. The girls said, "It was a very fine sermon, for it was so -short." He had read much too fast, and had left out a prayer. - -In the autumn John returned with the boys to the town, in order to live -with them and look after their school-work. They went to the Clara -School, so that, like a crab, he felt he was going backwards. The same -school, the same headmaster, the same malicious Latin teacher. John -worked conscientiously with his pupils, heard their lessons, and could -swear that they had been properly learned. None the less, in the report -books which they took home, and which their father read, it was stated -that such and such lessons had not been learned. - -"That is a lie," said John. - -"Well, but it is written here," answered the boys' father. - -It was hard work, and he was preparing at the same time for his own -examination. In the autumn holidays they went back to the country. -They sat by the stove and cracked nuts, a whole sackful, and read the -_Frithiof Saga, Axel_, and _Children of the Lord's Supper_.[1] The -evenings were intolerably long. But John discovered a new steward, who -was treated almost like a servant. This provoked John to make friends -with him, and in his room they brewed punch and played cards. The -baroness ventured to remark that the steward was not a suitable friend -for John. - -"Why not?" asked the latter. - -"He has no education." - -"That is not so dangerous." - -She also said that she preferred that the tutor should spend his time -with the family in the evening, or, at any rate, stay in the boys' -room. He chose the latter, for it was very stuffy in the drawing-room, -and he was tired of the reading aloud and the conversation. He now -stayed in his own and the boys' room. The steward came there, and -they played their game of cards. The boys asked to be allowed to take -a hand. Why should they not? John had played whist at home with his -father and brothers, and the innocent recreation had been regarded -as a means of education for teaching self-discipline, carefulness, -attention, and fairness; he had never played for money; each dishonest -trick was immediately exposed, untimely exultation at a victory -silenced, sulkiness at a defeat ridiculed. - -At that time the boys' parents made no objections, for they were glad -that the youngsters were occupied. But they did not like their being -on intimate terms with the steward. John had, in the summer, formed -a little military troop from his pupils and the workmen's children, -and drilled them in the open air. But the baroness forbade this close -intercourse with the latter. "Each class should keep to itself," she -said. - -But John could not understand why that should be, since in the year -1865 class distinctions had been done away with. - -In the meantime a storm was brewing, and a mere trifle was the occasion -of its outbreak. - -One morning the baron was storming about a pair of his driving-gloves -which had disappeared. He suspected his eldest boy. The latter denied -having taken them, and accused the steward, specifying the time when -he said he had taken them. The steward was called. - -"You have taken my driving-gloves, sir! What is the meaning of this?" -said the baron. - -"No, sir, I have not." - -"What! Hugo says you did." - -John, who happened to be present, stepped forward unsolicited, and -said, "Then Hugo lies. He himself has had the gloves." - -"What do you say?" said the baron, motioning to the steward to go. - -"I say the truth." - -"What do you mean, sir, by accusing my son in the presence of a -servant?" - -"Mr. X. is not a servant, and, besides, he is innocent." - -"Yes, very innocent--playing cards together and drinking with the boys! -That's a nice business, eh?" - -"Why did you not mention it before? Then you would have found out that -I do not drink with the boys." - -"'You,' you d--d hobbledehoy! What do you mean by calling me 'you.'" - -"Mr. Secretary can look for another 'hobbledehoy' to teach his boys, -since Mr. Secretary is too covetous to engage a grown person." So -saying, John departed. - -On the next day they were to return to the town, for the Christmas -holidays were at an end. So he would have to go home again--back into -hell, to be despised and oppressed, and it would be a thousand times -worse after he had boasted of his new situation, and compared it with -his parents' house to the disadvantage of the latter. He wept for -anger, but after such an insult there was no retreat. - -He was summoned to the baroness, but said she must wait awhile. Then -a messenger came again for him. In a sullen mood he went up to her. -She was quite mild, and asked him to stay some days with them till -they had found another tutor. He promised, since she had asked him so -pressingly. She said she would drive with the boys into the town. - -The sleigh came to the door, and the baron stood by, and said, "You can -sit on the box." - -"I know my place," said John. At the first halting-place the baroness -asked him to get into the sleigh, but he would not. - -They stayed in the town eight days. In the meanwhile John had written a -somewhat arrogant letter, in an independent tone, home, which did not -please his father, although he had flattered him in it. "I think you -should have first asked if you could come home," he said. In that he -was right. But John had never thought otherwise of his parents' house -than of an hotel, where he could get board and lodging without paying. - -So he was home again. Through an incomprehensible simplicity he had -let himself be persuaded to continue to go through his former pupils' -school-work with them, though he received nothing for it. One evening -Fitz wanted to take him to a cafe. - -"No," said John, "I must give some lessons." - -"Where?" - -"To the Secretary's boys." - -"What! haven't you done with them yet?" - -"No, I have promised to help them till they get a new teacher." - -"What do you get for it?" - -"What do I get? I have had board and lodging." - -"Yes, but what do you get now, when you don't board and lodge with -them?" - -"Hm! I didn't think of that." - -"You are a lunatic--teaching rich peoples' children gratis. Well, you -come along with me, and don't cross their threshold again." - -John had a struggle with himself on the pavement. "But I promised them." - -"You should not promise. Come now and write a letter withdrawing your -offer." - -"I must go and take leave of them." - -"It is not necessary. They promised you a present at Christmas, but you -got nothing; and now you let yourself be treated like a servant. Come -now and write." - -He was dragged to the cafe. The waitress brought paper and ink, and, -at his friend's dictation, he wrote a letter to the effect that, in -consequence of his approaching examination, he would have no more -leisure for teaching. - -He was free! "But I feel ashamed," he said. - -"Why?" - -"Because I have been impolite." - -"Rubbish! Waitress, bring half a punch." - - -[1] Three poems by Tegner--the last translated by Longfellow. - - - - -X - -CHARACTER AND DESTINY - - -About this time the free-thought movement was at its height. After -preaching his sermon, John believed it was his mission and duty to -spread and champion the new doctrines. He therefore began to stay away -from prayers, and stayed behind when the rest of the class went to the -prayer-room. The headmaster came in and wished to drive him, and those -who had remained with him, out. John answered that his religion forbade -him to take part in an alien form of worship. The headmaster said -one must observe law and order. John answered that Jews were excused -attendance at prayers. The headmaster then asked him for the sake of -example and their former friendship to be present. John yielded. But he -and those who shared his views did not take part in the singing of the -psalms. Then the headmaster was infuriated, and gave them a scolding; -he especially singled out John, and upbraided him. John's answer was -to organise a strike. He and those who shared his views came regularly -so late to school that prayers were over when they entered. If they -happened to come too early, they remained in the corridor and waited, -sitting on the wooden boxes and chatting with the teachers. In order -to humble the rebels, the headmaster hit upon the idea, at the close -of prayers, when the whole school was assembled, to open the doors and -call them in. These then defiled past with an impudent air and under -a hail of reproaches through the prayer-room without remaining there. -Finally, they became quite used to enter of their own accord, and -take their scolding as they walked through the room. The headmaster -conceived a spite against John, and seemed to have the intention of -making him fail in his examination. John, on the other hand, worked day -and night in order to be sure of succeeding. - -His theological lessons degenerated into arguments with his teacher. -The latter was a pastor and theist, and tolerant of objections, but -he soon got tired of them, and told John to answer according to the -text-book. - -"How many Persons are in the Godhead?" he asked. - -"One," answered John. - -"What does Norbeck say?" - -"Norbeck says three!" - -"Well, then, you say three, too!" - -At home things went on quietly. John was left alone. They saw that he -was lost, and that it was too late for any effectual interference. One -Sunday his father made an attempt in the old style, but John was not at -a loss for an answer. - -"Why don't you go to church any more?" his father asked. - -"What should I do there?" - -"A good sermon can always do one some good." - -"I can make sermons myself." - -And there was an end of it. - -The pietists had a special prayer offered for John in the Bethlehem -Church after they had seen him one Sunday morning in volunteer uniform. - -In May, 1867, he passed his final examination. Strange things came to -light on that occasion. Great fellows with beards and pince-nez called -the Malay Peninsula Siberia, and believed that India was Arabia. Some -candidates obtained a testimonial in French who pronounced "en" like -"y," and could not conjugate the auxiliary verbs. It was incredible. -John believed he had been stronger in Latin three years before this. In -history everyone of them would have failed, if they had not known the -questions beforehand. They had read too much and learned too little. - -The examination closed with a prayer which a free-thinker was obliged -to offer. He repeated the Lord's Prayer stammeringly, and this was -wrongly attributed to his supposed state of excitement. In the evening -John was taken by his companions to Storkyrkobrinken, where they bought -him a student's white cap, for he had no money. Then he went to his -father's office to give him the good news. He met him in the hall. - -"Well! Have you passed?" said his father. - -"Yes." - -"And already bought the cap." - -"I got it on credit." - -"Go to the cashier, and have it paid for." - -So they parted. No congratulation! No pressure of the hand! That -was his father's Icelandic nature which could not give vent to any -expressions of tenderness. - -John came home as they were all sitting at supper. He was in a merry -mood, and had drunk punch. But his spirits were soon damped. All -were silent. His brothers and sisters did not congratulate him. Then -he became out of humour and silent also. He left the table and went -to rejoin his comrades in the town. There there was joy, childish, -exaggerated joy, and all too great hopes. - -During the summer he remained at home and gave lessons. With the money -earned he hoped to go in the autumn to the University at Upsala. -Theology attracted him no more. He had done with it, and, moreover, it -went against his conscience to take the ordination vow. - -In the autumn he went to Upsala. Old Margaret packed his box, and -put in cooking utensils, and a knife and fork. Then she obliged him -to borrow fifteen kronas[1] from her. From his father he got a case -of cigars, and an exhortation to help himself. He himself had eighty -kronas, which he had earned by giving lessons, and with which he must -manage to get through his first term at the university. - -The world stood open for him; he had the ticket of admission in his -hand. He had nothing to do but to enter. Only that! - - * * * * * - -"A man's character is his destiny." That was then a common and -favourite proverb. Now that John had to go into the world, he employed -much time in attempting to cast his horoscope from his own character, -which he thought was already fully formed. People generally bestow the -name of "a character" on a man who has sought and found a position, -taken up a role, excogitated certain principles of behaviour, and acts -accordingly in an automatic way. - -A man with a so-called character is often a simple piece of mechanism; -he has often only one point of view for the extremely complicated -relationships of life; he has determined to cherish perpetually -certain fixed opinions of certain matters; and in order not to be -accused of "lack of character," he never changes his opinion, however -foolish or absurd it may be. Consequently, a man with a character is -generally a very ordinary individual, and what may be called a little -stupid. "Character" and automaton seem often synonymous. Dickens's -famous characters are puppets, and the characters on the stage must be -automata. A well-drawn character is synonymous with a caricature. John -had formed the habit of "proving himself" in the Christian fashion, -and asked himself whether he had such a character as befitted a man who -wished to make his way in the world. - -In the first place, he was revengeful. A boy had once openly said, by -the Clara Churchyard, that John's father had stood in the pillory. -That was an insult to the whole family. Since John was weaker than his -opponent, he caused his elder brother to execute vengeance with him on -the culprit, by bombarding him with snowballs. They carried out their -revenge so thoroughly, that they thrashed the culprit's younger brother -who was innocent. - -So he must be revengeful. That was a serious charge. He began to -consider the matter more closely. Had he revenged himself on his father -or his step-mother for the injustice they had done him? No; he forgot -all, and kept out of the way. - -Had he revenged himself on his school teachers by sending them boxes -full of stones at Christmas? No. Was he really so severe towards -others, and so hair-splitting in his judgment of their conduct towards -him? Not at all; he was easy to get on with, was credulous, and could -be led by the nose in every kind of way, provided he did not detect any -tyrannous wish to oppress in the other party. By various promises of -exchange his school-fellows had cajoled away from him his herbarium, -his collection of beetles, his chemical apparatus, his adventure books. -Had he abused or dunned them for payment? No; he felt ashamed on their -account, but let them be. At the end of one vacation the father of a -boy whom John had been teaching forgot to pay him. He felt ashamed to -remind him, and it was not till half a year had elapsed, that, at the -instigation of his own father, he demanded payment. - -It was a peculiar trait of John's character, that he identified himself -with others, suffered for them, and felt ashamed on their behalf. -If he had lived in the Middle Ages, he would have been marked with -the stigmata. If one of his brothers did something vulgar or stupid, -John felt ashamed for him. In church he once heard a boys' choir sing -terribly out of tune. He hid himself in the pew with a feeling of -vicarious shame. - -Once he fought with a school-fellow, and gave him a violent blow on -the chest, but when he saw the boy's face distorted with pain, he -burst into tears and reached him his hand. If anyone asked him to do -something which he was very unwilling to do, he suffered on behalf of -the one with whose request he could not comply. - -He was cowardly, and could let no one go away unheard for fear of -causing discontent. He was still afraid of the dark, of dogs, horses, -and strangers. But he could also be courageous if necessary, as he -had shown by rebelling in school, when the matter concerned his final -examination, and by opposing his father. - -"A man without religion is an animal," say the old copybooks. Now -that it has been discovered that animals are the most religious of -creatures, and that he who has knowledge does not need religion, the -practical efficacy of the latter has been much reduced. By placing the -source of his strength outside himself, he had lost strength and faith -in himself. Religion had devoured his ego. He prayed always, and at -all hours, when he was in need. He prayed at school when he was asked -questions; at the card-table when the cards were dealt out. Religion -had spoilt him, for it had educated him for heaven instead of earth; -family life had ruined him by educating him for the family instead of -for society; and school had educated him for the university instead of -for life. - -He was irresolute and weak. When he bought tobacco, he asked his friend -what sort he should buy. Thus he fell into his friends' power. The -consciousness of being popular drove away his fear of the unknown, and -friendship strengthened him. - -He was a prey to capricious moods. One day, when he was a tutor in the -country, he came into the town in order to visit Fritz. When he got -there he did not proceed any further, but remained at home, debating -with himself whether he should go to Fritz or not. He knew that his -friend expected him, and he himself much wished to see him. But he did -not go. The next day he returned to the country, and wrote a melancholy -letter to his friend, in which he tried to explain himself. But Fritz -was angry, and did not understand caprices. - -In all his weakness he sometimes was aware of enormous resources of -strength, which made himself believe himself capable of anything. When -he was twelve his brother brought home a French boys' book from Paris. -John said, "We will translate that, and bring it out at Christmas." -They did translate it, but as they did not know what further steps to -take, the matter dropped. - -An Italian grammar fell into his hands, and he learned Italian. -When he was a tutor in the country, as there was no tailor there, he -undertook to alter a pair of trousers. He opened the seams, altered and -stitched the trousers, and ironed them with the great stable key. He -also mended his boots. When he heard his sisters and brothers play in a -quartette, he was never satisfied with the performance. He would have -liked to jump up, to snatch the instruments from them, and to show them -how they ought to play. - -John had learned to speak the truth. Like all children, he lied in his -defence or in answer to impertinent questions, but he found a brutal -enjoyment, during a conversation, when people were trying to conceal -the truth, to say exactly what all thought. At a ball, where he was -very taciturn, a lady asked him if he liked dancing. - -"No, not at all," he answered. - -"Well, then, why do you dance?" - -"Because I am obliged to." - -He had stolen apples, like all boys, and that did not trouble him; he -made no secret of it. It was a prescriptive right. In the school he had -never done any real mischief. Once, on the last day before the close -of the term, he and some other boys had broken off some clothes-pegs -and torn up some old exercise-books. He was the only one seized on the -occasion. It was a mere outbreak of animal spirits, and was not taken -seriously. - -Now, when he was passing his own character under review, he collected -other people's judgments on himself, and was astonished at the -diversity of opinion displayed. His father considered him hard; his -step-mother, malicious; his brothers, eccentric. Every servant-maid in -the house had a different opinion of him; one of them liked him, and -thought that his parents treated him ill; his lady friend thought him -emotional; the engineer regarded him as an amiable child, and Fritz -considered him melancholy and self-willed. His aunts believed he had a -good heart; his grandmother that he had character; the girl he loved -idolised him; his teachers did not know what to make of him. Towards -those who treated him roughly, he was rough; towards his friends, -friendly. - -John asked himself whether it was he that was so many-sided, or the -opinions about him. Was he false? Did he behave to some differently -from what he did to others? "Yes," said his step-mother. When she heard -anything good about him, she always declared that he was acting a part. - -Yes, but all acted parts! His step-mother was friendly towards her -husband, hard towards her step-children, soft towards her own child, -humble towards the landlord, imperious towards the servants, polite to -the powerful, rough to the weak. - -That was the "law of accommodation," of which John was as yet unaware. -It was a trait in human nature, a tendency to adapt oneself--to be a -lion towards enemies, and a lamb towards friends,--which rested on -calculation. - -But when is one true, and when is one false? And where is to be found -the central "ego,"--the core of character? The "ego" was a complex of -impulses and desires, some of which were to be restrained, and others -unfettered. John's individuality was a fairly rich but chaotic complex; -he was a cross of two entirely different strains of blood, with a good -deal of book-learning, and a variety of experience. He had not yet -found what role he was to play, nor his position in life, and therefore -continued to be characterless. He had not yet determined which of -his impulses must be restrained, and how much of his "ego" must be -sacrificed for the society into which he was preparing to enter. - -If he had really been able to view himself objectively, he would have -found that most of the words he spoke were borrowed from books or from -school-fellows, his gestures from teachers and friends, his behaviour -from relatives, his temperament from his mother and wet-nurse, his -tastes from his father, perhaps from his grandfather. His face had no -resemblance to that of his father or mother. Since he had not seen his -grand-parents, he could not judge whether there was any resemblance -to them. What, then, had he of his own? Nothing. But he had two -fundamental characteristics, which largely determined his life and his -destiny. - -The first was Doubt. He did not receive ideas without criticism, but -developed and combined them. Therefore he could not be an automaton, -nor find a place in ordered society. - -The second was--Sensitiveness to pressure. He always tried to lessen -this last, in the first place, by raising his own level; in the second, -by criticising what was above him, in order to observe that it was not -so high after all, nor so much worth striving after. - -So he stepped out into life--in order to develop himself, and still -ever to remain as he was! - - -[1] A krona is worth about twenty-seven cents. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of a Servant, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SON OF A SERVANT *** - -***** This file should be named 44109.txt or 44109.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44109/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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