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diff --git a/44107-0.txt b/44107-0.txt index 53c3e57..9192a3f 100644 --- a/44107-0.txt +++ b/44107-0.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44107 *** +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44107 *** GROWTH OF A SOUL @@ -6486,5 +6486,4 @@ Strindberg takes the opposite view to that expressed here. End of Project Gutenberg's The Growth of a Soul, by August Strindberg - *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44107 *** diff --git a/44107-0.zip b/44107-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 544514a..0000000 --- a/44107-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/44107-8.txt b/44107-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index de5f74e..0000000 --- a/44107-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6875 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Growth of a Soul, 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 Growth of a Soul - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44107] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -GROWTH OF A SOUL - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - - -NEW YORK - -McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY - -1914 - - - - CONTENTS - - I IN THE FORECOURT - II BELOW AND ABOVE - III THE DOCTOR - IV IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - V JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - VI BEHIND THE CURTAIN - VII JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - VIII THE "RUNA" CLUB - IX BOOKS AND THE STAGE - X TORN TO PIECES - XI IDEALISM AND REALISM - XII A KING'S PROTÉGÉ - XIII THE WINDING UP - XIV AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - XV THE RED ROOM - - - -THE GROWTH OF A SOUL - - - -CHAPTER I - -IN THE FORECOURT - -(1867) - - -The steamer had passed Flottsund and Domstyrken and the university -buildings of Upsala began to appear. "Now begins the real -stone-throwing!" exclaimed one of his companions,--an expression -borrowed from the street-riots of 1864. The hilarity induced by punch -and breakfast abated; one felt that things were now serious and that -the battle of life was beginning. No vows of perpetual friendship were -made, no promises of helping each other. The young men had awakened -from their romantic dreams; they knew that they would part at the -gang-way, new interests would scatter the company which the school-room -had united; competition would break the bonds which had united them and -all else would be forgotten. The "real stone-throwing" was about to -begin. - -John and his friend Fritz hired a room in the Klostergränden. It -contained two beds, two tables, two chairs and a cupboard. The rent was -30 kronas[1] a term,--15 kronas each. Their midday meal was brought -by the servant for 12 kronas a month,--6 kronas each. For breakfast -and supper they had a glass of milk and some bread and butter. That -was all. They bought wood in the market,--a small bundle for 4 kronas. -John had also received a bottle of petroleum from home as a present, -and he could send his washing to Stockholm. He had 80 kronas in his -table-drawer with which to meet all the expenses of the term. - -It was a new and peculiar society into which he now entered, quite -unlike any other. It had privileges like the old house of peers and a -jurisdiction of its own; but it was a "little Pedlington" and reeked -of rusticity. All the professors were country-born; not a single one -hailed from Stockholm. The houses and streets were like those of -Nyköping. And it was here that the head-quarters of culture had been -placed, owing to an inconsistency of the government which certainly -regarded Stockholm as answering to that description. - -The students were regarded as the upper class in the town and the -citizens were stigmatised by the contemptuous epithet of "Philistines." -The students were outside and above the civic law. To smash windows, -break down fences, tussle with the police, disturb the peace of the -streets,--all was allowed to them and went unpunished; at most they -received a reprimand, for the old lock-up in the castle was no more -used. For their militia-service they had a special uniform of their -own which carried privileges with it. Thus they were systematically -educated as aristocrats, a new order of nobility after the fall of the -house of peers. - -What would have been a crime in a citizen was a "practical joke" in a -student. Just at this time the students' spirits were at a high pitch, -as a band of student-singers had gone to Paris, had been successful -there, and were acclaimed as conquerors on their return. - -John now wished to work for his degree but did not possess a single -book. "During the first term one must take one's bearings" was the -saying. John went to the student's club. The constitution of the club -was antiquated,--so much so that the annexed provinces Skåne, Halland -and Blekinge were not represented in it. It was well arranged and -divided into classes, not according to merit, but according to age -and certain dubious qualities. In the list the title "nobilis" still -stood after the names of those of high birth. There were several ways -of gaining influence in the club, through an aristocratic name, family -influence, money, talent, pluck and adaptability, but the last quality -by itself was not enough among these intelligent and sceptical youths. -On the first evening in the club John made his observations. There were -several of his old companions from the Clara School present, but he -avoided them as much as possible and they him. He had deserted them and -gone by a short cut through the private school, while they had tramped -along the regular course through the state school. They all seemed -to him somewhat conventional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the -aristocrats and obtained introductions, made acquaintances easily and -got on well. - -As they went home in the evening John asked him who was the "snob" in -the velvet jacket with stirrups painted on his collar. Fritz answered -that he was not a snob, and that it was as stupid to judge people by -fine clothes as by poor ones. John with his democratic ideas did not -understand this and stuck to his opinion. Fritz asserted that the youth -referred to was a very fine fellow and the senior in the club, and -in order to rouse John further, added that he had expressed himself -satisfied with the newcomers' appearance and manners; he was reported -to have said "they had an air about them; formerly the fellows from -Stockholm when they came there, looked like workmen." - -John was ruffled at this information and felt that something had come -in between him and his friend. Fritz's father had been a miller's -servant, but his mother had been of noble birth. He had inherited from -his mother what John had from his. - -The days passed on. Fritz put on his frock coat every morning and went -to pay his respects to the professors. He intended to be a jurist; -that was a proper career, for lawyers were the only ones who obtained -real knowledge which was of use in public life, who tried to obtain -deeper insight into social organisation and to keep in touch with the -practical business of everyday life. They were realists. - -John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaintances. - -"Borrow my coat," said Fritz. - -"No, I will not go and pay court to the professors," said John. - -"You are stupid," answered Fritz, and in that he was right, for the -professors gave real though somewhat hazy information regarding the -courses of study. It was a piece of pride in John that he did not -wish to owe his progress to anything but his own work, and what was -worse, he thought it ignominious to be regarded as a flunkey. Would -not an old professor at once perceive that he was flattering him for -his own purposes? To submit himself to his superiors was, in his mind, -synonymous with grovelling. - -Moreover everything was too indefinite. The university which he had -imagined to be an institution for free investigation, was only one for -tasks and examinations. The professors gave lectures for the sake of -appearances or to maintain their income, but it was useless to go up -for an examination without taking private lessons. John resolved to -attend those lectures for which no fee was necessary. He went to the -Gustavianum to hear a lecture on the history of philosophy. For the -three-quarters of an hour during which the lecture lasted the professor -went through the introduction to Aristotle's Ethics. John calculated -that with three lectures a week he would require forty years to go -through the history of philosophy. "Forty years," he thought, "that is -too long for me." And did not go again. It was the same everywhere. -An assistant-professor expounded Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_ with the -commentary, in English, to an audience of five. John went there a few -times, but reckoned that it would be ten years before _Henry VIII_ was -finished. - -It began to dawn upon him what the requirements of the degree -examination were. The first was to write a Latin essay; therefore he -must learn more Latin, which he did not like. He had chosen æsthetics -and modern languages as his chief subject. Æsthetics comprised the -study of Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the -various systems of æsthetics. That was work enough for a lifetime. The -modern languages were French, German, English, Italian and Spanish, -with comparative grammar. How was he to obtain the requisite books? And -he had not the means of paying for private lessons. - -Meanwhile he set to work at Æsthetics. He found that one could borrow -books from the club and so he took out the volumes of Atterbom's -_Prophets and Poets_ which happened to be there. These unfortunately -only dealt with Swedenborg and contained Thorild's epistles. Swedenborg -seemed to him crazy, and Thorild's epistles did not interest him. -Swedenborg and Thorild were two arrogant Swedes who had lived in -retirement and fallen a prey to megalomania, the special disease -of solitary people. It is remarkable how often outbreaks of this -hallucination occur in Sweden, owing probably to the isolated position -of the country and to the fact that a sparse population is scattered -over enormous distances. Megalomania is apparent in the imperial -projects of Gustavus Adolphus, in Charles X's ambition of becoming -a great European power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in -Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and in Swedenborg's and Thorild's dreams of -storming heaven and of world-conflagrations. John thought them mad and -threw them aside. Was that the sort of stuff he was expected to read? - -He began to reflect over his situation. What did he expect to do in -Upsala? To support himself for six years on 80 kronas till he took -his degree. And then? his thoughts did not stretch further; he had no -higher plan or ambition than to take his degree--the laurel crown, the -graduate's coat, and then to teach the catechism in the Jakob school -till his death. No, he did not wish to do that. - -Time went on, and Christmas approached. The little stock of money in -his table-drawer diminished slowly but surely. And then? It was not so -easy for students to obtain employment as private teachers since the -railways had made communication easier between remote country places -and the towns where schools were. He felt that he had embarked upon a -foolish undertaking. When he found he could get no more books, he began -to make visits among his fellow-students and discovered companions in -misfortune. Among them were two who had spent the whole term playing -chess and possessed nothing between them but a hymn-book which the -mother of one had placed in his box. They were also asking themselves -the question "What have we to do here?" The way to the degree -examination was not easy; one was compelled to seek out secret ways, -bribe door-keepers, creep through holes, run into debt for books, be -seen at lectures and much more besides. - -In order to fill up the time, he learnt to play the B-cornet in the -band of the students' club by the advice of Fritz who played the -trombone. But the practices were very irregular and began to cause -disputes. John also played backgammon, which Fritz hated, and so he -wandered about to acquaintances with his backgammon board and played -with them. He found it as dull as reading Swedenborg. - -"Why do you not study?" Fritz often asked him. - -"I have no books," answered John. That was a good reason. He could -not visit the restaurants, for he had no money, and lived very -quietly. At the midday meal he drank only water, and when on Sundays -he and Fritz drank half a bottle of beer, they remained sitting at -table half-fuddled and telling each other, perhaps for the hundredth -time, old school adventures. The term crept along intolerably slow, -uneventful and torpid. John perceived that, as one of the lower class, -he could plod on thus far but no further. The economic question brought -his plans to a standstill. Or was it that he was tired of living a -one-sided mental life without muscular exercise? Trifling experiences -for which he ought to have been prepared contributed to embitter him. -One day Fritz entered their room with a young count. He introduced -John to him, and the count tried to remember whether they had not been -comrades at the Clara School. John seemed to remember something of -the kind. The old friends and intimate companions addressed each other -as "count" and "sir." Then John remembered how he and the young count -had once played as boys in a tobacco store on the Sabbatsberg, and how -something had made him prophesy, "In a few years, old fellow, we shall -not know each other any more." The young count had protested strongly -against this and felt hurt. Why did John remember this just then -particularly, since it is quite natural that comrades should become -strangers to each other when intercourse has been so long broken off? -Because at the sight of the noble, he felt the slave blood seethe in -his veins. This kind of feeling has been ascribed to the difference of -races. But that is not so, for then the stronger plebeian race would -feel superior to the weaker aristocratic. It is simply class-hatred. - -The count in question was a pale, tall, slender youth of no striking -appearance. He was very poor and looked half-starved. He was -intelligent, industrious, and not at all proud. Later on in life -John came across him again and found him to be a sociable, pleasant -man, leading an inconspicuous life as an official, amid difficulties -resembling John's own. Why should he hate him? And then they both -laughed at their youthful stupidity. That was possible then, for John -seemed to have "got ahead" as the saying is; otherwise he would not -have laughed at all. "Stand up that I may sit down," this was the -more malicious than luminous way of expressing the aspiration of the -lower orders in those days. But it was a misunderstanding. Formerly -one strove to elbow one's way up to the other; now one would rather -pull the other down to save oneself the trouble of clambering up where -nothing is to be found. "Move a little so that we can both sit" would -now be the proper formula. - -It has been said that those who are "above" are there by a law of -necessity and would be there under all circumstances; competition -is free and each can ascend if he likes, and if the conditions were -changed, the same race would begin again. "Good!" say the lower -classes, "let us race again, but come down here and stand where I -do. You have got a start with privileges and capital, but now let us -be weighed with carriage harness and racing saddle after the modern -fashion. You have got ahead by cheating. The race is therefore declared -null and void and we will run it again, unless we come to an agreement -to do away with all racing, as an antiquated sport of ancient times." - -Fritz saw things from another point of view. He did not wish to pull -those above down, but to become an aristocrat himself, climb up to -them and be like them. He began to lisp and made elegant gestures with -his hands, greeted people as though he were a cabinet minister, and -threw his head back as though he had a private income. But he respected -himself too much to become ridiculous and satirised himself and his -ambition. The fact was that the aristocrats whom he wished to resemble -had simple, easy, unaffected manners,--some of them indeed quite like -the middle class, while Fritz was fashioning himself after an ancient -theatrical pattern which no longer existed. He did not therefore -become what he expected in life though he had dozed away many a summer -in the castles of his friends, and ended in a very modest official -post. He was received as a student in their guest-rooms but came no -further; as a district judge he was not introduced in the salons which -as a student he had entered without introduction. - -The effects of the different circles in which John and Fritz moved -began now to be apparent, first in mutual coldness, then in hostility. -One evening it broke out at the card-table. - -Fritz one day towards the end of the term said to John, "You should not -go about with such bounders as you do." - -"What is the matter with them?" - -"Nothing, but it would be better if you went with me to my friends." - -"They don't suit me." - -"Well, they suit me, but they think you are proud." - -"I?" - -"Yes; and to show you are not, come with me this evening and drink -punch." - -John went though unwillingly. They were a solid-looking set of -law-students who played cards. They discussed the stakes for which they -should play, and John succeeded in reducing them to a minimum, though -they made sour faces. Then a game of "knack" was proposed. John said -that he never played it. - -"On principle?" he was asked. - -"Yes," he answered. - -"How long ago did you make that resolve," asked Fritz sarcastically. - -"Just this minute." - -"Just now, here?" - -"Yes, just now, here!" answered John. - -They exchanged hostile looks and that was the end. They went home -silent; went to bed silent; and got up silent. For five weeks they ate -their dinner at the same table and never spoke to each other. A gulf -had opened between them and their friendship was ended; they had no -more intercourse with each other and there was nothing to bring them -together again. How had that come about? - -These two characters so opposed to each other had held together for -five years through habit, through comradeship in the class-room, -and common interests; they had felt drawn to each other by common -recollections, defeats and victories. It was a compromise between fire -and water which must cease sooner or later and might cease at any -moment. Now they flew asunder as if by an explosion; the masks fell; -they did not become enemies, but simply discovered that they _were_ -born enemies, _i.e._ two oppositely-disposed natures which must go, -each its own way. They did not close accounts with a quarrel or useless -accusations, but simply made an end without more ado. An unnatural -silence prevailed at their midday meal; sometimes in lifting dishes -their hands crossed but their looks avoided each other; now and then -Fritz's lips moved, as though he wished to say something, but his -larynx remained closed. What should he say after all. There was nothing -to say but what the silence expressed: "We have nothing more in common." - -And yet there was something left after all. Sometimes Fritz came home -in the evening, cheerful, and obviously prepared to say, "Come! cheer -up old fellow!" But then he stood still in the middle of the room, -petrified by John's icy manner, and went out again. Sometimes also -it occurred to John, who suffered under the breach of friendship to -say to his friend, "How stupid we are!" But then he felt frozen again -by Fritz's indifferent manner. They had worn out their friendship by -living together. They knew each other by heart, all one another's -secrets and weaknesses, and precisely what answer either would give. -That was the end. Nothing more remained. - -A miserable torpid time followed. Tom away from the common life of -school where he had worked like part of a machine in unison with -others, and abandoned to himself, he ceased to live in the proper sense -of the word. Without books, papers or social intercourse, he remained -empty; for the brain produces of itself very little, perhaps nothing; -in order to make combinations it must be supplied with material from -without. Now nothing came; the channels were stopped, the ways blocked, -and his soul pined away. Sometimes he took Fritz's books and looked -into them; among them he came across Geijer's History for the first -time. Geijer was a great name and known through his "Kolargossen," -"Sista Kampen," "Vikingen" and other poems. John now read his history -of Gustav Vasa. He was astonished to find no illuminating point of -view nor any fresh information. The style, which he had heard praised, -was pedestrian. It was like a mere memorial sketch, this history of a -long-lived king's reign, and cursory also like a text-book. Printed in -small type, and without notes, the history of this important king would -not have been longer than a small pamphlet. One day John asked some of -his friends what they thought of Geijer. - -"He is devilish dull," they answered. - -That was the common opinion before jubilee-commemorations and the -erection of statues prevented people saying plainly what they thought. - -John then looked for a little into law-books, but was alarmed at the -idea of having to study that sort of thing. His home life and religious -education had given him a distaste for everything that concerned the -common interests of people. Through the ceaseless repetition of the -maxim that young men should not interfere with politics, that is to -say, with the common weal, and through Christian individualism and -introspection, John had become a consistent egoist. - -"Let every one mind his own business" was the first command of this -egotistic morality. Therefore he read no papers and troubled little how -things were going on about him, what was happening in the world, how -the destinies of men were being shaped, or what were the thoughts of -the leading minds of the time. Therefore it never occurred to him to -go to the meetings of the club where questions of common interest were -dealt with. "There were enough to look after those things," he thought. - -He was not alone in that opinion, so that the meetings of the club were -managed by a few energetic fellows, who were regarded perhaps wrongly, -as egoists and managed public business in their own interests. John who -let the affairs of the little society go as they liked, was perhaps a -greater egoist, occupied as he was with the affairs of his own soul. -But in his own defence and on behalf of many of his countrymen it must -be said that he and they were shy. This shyness, however, should have -been got rid of at school by practice in public speaking. In this -shyness there was also a degree of cowardice, the fear of opposition -or ridicule, and especially the fear of being thought presumptuous or -wishing to push oneself forward. Every youth who did so, was at once -suppressed, for here the aristocracy of seniority prevailed in a very -high degree. - -When he found the room too stuffy, he went out of the town. But the -depressing landscape with its endless expanse of clay made him sad. He -was no plain-dweller, but had his roots in the undulating scenery of -Stockholm, diversified by water channels. The flat country depressed -him and he suffered from homesickness to such a degree that when he -returned to Stockholm at Christmas and saw again the smiling contours -of the coast of Brunsvik, he was moved to the point of sentimentality. -When he saw once more the gentle curves of the woods of Haga Park he -felt his soul, as it were, attuned again, after having been so long -out of tune. To such a degree were his nerves affected by his natural -surroundings. - -Under other circumstances, the society of a smaller town like Upsala -would have been more congenial to him than that of the great town -which he hated. Had the small town been but a developed form of the -village, preserving the simple rustic appliances for health and -comfort, with fragments of landscape between the houses, it would have -been far preferable to the great town. But now the small town was -merely a shabby pretentious copy of the great town with its mistakes, -and therefore the more offensive. It also reeked with provinciality. -Every one mentioned their birthplace, "My name is Pettersson, from -Ostgothland," "Mine is Andersson, from Småland." There was a keen -rivalry between the members of different provinces. Those from -Stockholm regarded themselves as the first and were therefore envied -and despised by the "peasants." There was much dispute as to whom the -first place really belonged. The Wormlanders boasted of having produced -Geijer whose portrait hung in their hall, while the Smålanders had -Tegner, Berzelius and Linnæus. The Stockholm students who had only -Bergfalk and Bellmann were called "gutter-snipes." This was not a very -brilliant piece of wit especially as it emanated from a Kalmar student -who was thereupon asked "whether there were no gutters in Kalmar?" - -There was something pettifogging also in the way in which the -professors fought for advancement by means of pamphlets and newspaper -articles. The election to any particular professorial chair rested in -the last resource with the Chancellor of the University who lived at -Stockholm. - -In 1867 the University had no especially distinguished teachers. Some -of them were merely old decayed tipplers. Others were young immature -dilettantes who had obtained advancement through their wives and the -modicum of talent which they possessed. The only one who enjoyed a -certain reputation was Swedelius. This, however, was rather due to -his bonhomie and the anecdotes which gathered round him, then to his -own talent. His learned activity was confined to the composition in -an austere style of textbooks and memorial addresses. These were not -strictly scientific, but showed traces of original research. - -On the whole all the subjects of study were introduced from abroad, -for the most part from Germany. The textbooks in most departments -were in German or French. Very few were in English which was little -known. Even the Professor of Literary History could not pronounce -English and began his lectures with an apology for not being able -to do so. There was no doubt that he knew the language for he had -published translations of Swedish poems. "But why did he not learn -the pronunciation?" the students asked. Most of the dissertations for -degrees were mere compilations from the German; occasionally they were -direct translations which caused a scandal. - -The fact was that the period had no special feature to characterise -it. There is no such thing as Swedish culture any more than there is -Belgian, Swiss, or Hungarian. Sweden had indeed produced a Linnæus and -a Berzelius, but they had had no successors. - -John had no spirit of enterprise. At school his work had been settled -for him; at the university it was all left to him. He was overcome by -lethargy and listlessness and worried by not knowing what to do at the -end of the term. He saw that he must seek for a position in which he -could support himself. A friend had told him that one might become an -elementary teacher in the country without passing any more examinations -and could very well support oneself in such a post. Now it was John's -dream to live in the country. He had a natural dislike to towns though -he had been born in the metropolis. He could not accustom himself -to live without light and air, nor flourish in these streets and -market-places, where the outward signs of a higher or lower position in -the absurd social scale counted for so much, _e.g._ such subordinate -things as dress and manner. He had hostility to culture in his blood -and could never conceive of himself as anything else than a natural -product, which did not wish to be severed from its organic connection -with the earth. He was like a plant vainly feeling with its roots -between the pavement-stones for some soil; like an animal pining for -the forest. - -There is a fish which climbs up trees, and an eel can go on land to -look for a pease-field, but both of them return to the water. Fowls -have been domesticated so long that their ancestral characteristics -have died out, but they preserve the habit of sleeping on a perch which -represents the branch on which the black-cock and the wood-grouse -roost. Geese become restless in autumn, for an instinct in their blood -tells them that it is migrating time. So in spite of accommodation to -new circumstances there is always a tendency to go back. - -Thus is it also with men. The dweller in the north, so long as he -preserves civilised habits, has not been able to acclimatise himself -thoroughly, and is still liable to consumption. His stomach, nerves, -heart and skin were able to accommodate themselves, but not his lungs. -The Eskimo on the other hand, originally a southerner, succeeded in -acclimatising himself but had to give up civilised habits. - -And what is the meaning of the northerner's longing for the south -unless it be the wish to return to his first home, the land of the -sun, the bank of the Ganges where he was cradled? And the dislike -of children to meat, their longing for fruit and love of climbing, -what is it all but "reversion to type?" Therefore civilisation means -a continual strain and struggle to combat this backward tendency. -Education winds up the clock, but when the mainspring is not strong -enough it snaps and the works run down, till quiet ensues. As -civilisation advances the strain is ever greater and the statistics -of insanity show a perpetual increase. One cannot swim against the -stream of civilisation, but one may escape to land. Modern Socialism -which wishes to bring down the upper classes with their worthless -and dangerous motto "Higher!" is a backward movement in a healthy -direction. The strain will decrease as the pressure from above -decreases, and thereby a great deal of superfluous luxury will be got -rid of. In certain parts of German Switzerland there is already a -certain relative quiet. There we find no restless hunting after honours -and distinctions because there are none to be had. A millionaire -lives in a large cottage and laughs at the bedizened townsfolk,--a -good-natured laugh without any envy in it, for he knows that he could -buy up their finery for ready cash, if he chose. But he will not, for -luxury has no value in his neighbours' eyes. - -Men could therefore be happier if competition were not so keen and -they will yet be so, for the chief constituent of happiness is peace -along with less toil and less luxury. It is not the railways which are -to be blamed, but the superabundance of them. In Arcadian Switzerland -railways have ruined whole districts where no freightage is required -and people usually go on foot. To this day distances are reckoned by -pedestrian measures. - -"It is eight hours to Zurich," says some one. - -"Eight! is it possible?" - -"Yes, certainly." - -"By the railway?" - -"Oh! by the railway,--that is only an hour and a half." - -In Sweden there is a railway which carries regularly three passengers -in its three classes, a factory-owner, a bailiff and a clerk. We may -live to see them shut up the railway stations for want of coal when -the coal strikes have sent up the price, for want of guards when wages -rise, and for want of freight when wood and oats can no longer be -procured; iron is already too dear to be used for railways, and the old -water-ways ought to be tried. - -It is no use to preach against civilisation,--that one knows well, but -if we observe the currents of the time we shall see that a return to -nature is in process of going on. Turgenieff has already described this -by the word "simplification." That is the mistake of the evolutionists -that in everything which is in motion or course of development they -see a progress towards human happiness, forgetting that a sickness may -develop to death or recovery. - -After all, what a superficial appendage civilisation is! Make a -nobleman drunk and he can become like a savage; let a child loose in -a wood without any one to look after it (provided that it can feed -itself) and it will not learn to speak of itself. Out of a peasant's -son who is generally considered so low in the social scale, one -can make in a single generation a man of science, a minister, an -arch-bishop, or an artist. Here there can be no talk of heredity, for -the peasant-father who stood apparently at such a low level, could not -have inherited anything from cultivated brains. On the other hand, the -children of a genius inherit usually nothing but used-up brains, except -occasionally a skill in their father's line of work, which they have -acquired by daily intercourse with their father. - -The town is the fire-place whither the living fuel from the country is -brought and devoured; it is to keep the present social machinery at -work, it is true, but in the long run the fuel will prove too dear, and -the machine come to a standstill. The society of the future will not -need this machine in order to work or they will be more sparing of the -fuel. But it is a mistake to conjecture the needs of a future state of -society from the present one. - -Our present society is perhaps a natural product, but inorganic; the -future society will be an organic product and a higher one, for it -will not deprive men of the first conditions for an organic existence. -There will be the same difference between these two forms of society as -between paved streets and grass meadows. - -The youth's dream often left artificial society to wander at large -in nature. Society had been formed by men doing violence to natural -laws, just as one may bleach a plant under a flower-pot and produce an -edible salad, but the plant's capacity to live healthily and propagate -itself as a plant is destroyed. Such a plant is the civilised man -made by artificial bleaching useful for an anæmic society, but, as -an individual, wretched and unhealthy. Must the process of bleaching -continue in order to insure the existence of this decayed society? -Must the individual remain wretched in order to maintain an unhealthy -society? For how can society be healthy when its individual members -are ailing? A single individual cannot demand that society should be -sacrificed for his sake, but a majority of individuals have a right to -bring about such changes in the society, which they themselves compose, -as may be beneficial to themselves. - -Under the simpler conditions of country life John believed he could -be happy in an obscure post, without feeling that he had sunk in the -social scale. But he could not be so in the town where he would be -continually reminded of the height from which he had fallen. To come -down voluntarily is not painful if the onlookers can be persuaded that -it _is_ voluntarily, but to fall is bitter, especially as a fall always -arouses satisfaction in those standing below. To mount, strive upwards -and better one's position has become a social instinct, and the youth -felt the force of it, though in his view the "upper" was not always -higher. - -John wished now to realise some result,--an active life which should -bring him an income. He looked through many advertisements for teachers -in elementary schools. Positions were advertised to which were attached -salaries of 300 or 600 kronas, a house, a meadow and a garden. He tried -for one of these places after another but obtained no answer. - -When the term was over and his 80 kronas spent, he returned home, not -knowing whither to turn, what he should become, or how he should live. -He had glanced in the forecourt and seen that there was no room in it -for him. - - -[1] A krona = 1s. _2d_. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -BELOW AND ABOVE - - -"Are you a complete scholar now?" With this and similar questions John -was greeted ironically on his return home. His father took the matter -seriously and strove to frame plans without coming to any result. John -was a student; that was a fact; but what was to follow? - -It was winter, and so the white student cap could not bestow on him -a mild halo of glory or bring any honour to the family. Some one has -asserted that war would cease if uniforms were done away with; and it -is certain there would not be so many students if they had no outward -sign to parade. In Paris where they have none, they disappear in the -crowd, and no one makes a fuss about them; in Berlin on the other hand, -they have a privileged place by the side of officers. Therefore also -Germany is a land of professors and France of the bourgeois. - -John's father now saw that he had educated a good-for-nothing for -society who could not dig, but perhaps was not ashamed to beg. The -world stood open for the youth to starve or to perish in. His father -did not like his idea of becoming an elementary school-teacher. Was -that to be the only result of so much work? His ambitious dreams -received a shock from the idea of such a come-down. An elementary -school-teacher was on a level with a sergeant, oil a plane from which -there was no hope of mounting. Climb one must as long as others did; -one must climb till one broke one's neck, so long as society was -divided into ranks and classes. John had not passed the student's -examination for the sake of knowledge, but of belonging to the upper -class, and now he seemed to be meditating a descent to the lower. - -It became painful for him at home for he felt as though he were eating -the bread of charity when Christmas was over, and he could no longer be -regarded as a Christmas guest. - -One day he accidentally met in the street a school-teacher whom he -knew, and whom he had not seen for a long time. They talked about the -future and John's friend suggested to him a post in the Stockholm -elementary school as suitable for him while reading for his degree. He -would get a thousand kronas salary and have an hour to himself daily. -John objected "Anywhere except in Stockholm." His friend replied that -several students had been teachers in the elementary school, "Really! -then he would have companions in misfortune." Yes, and one had come -from the New Elementary School where he was a teacher. John went, made -an application, and was appointed with a salary of 900 kronas. His -father approved his decision when he heard that it would help him to -read for his degree, and John undertook to live as a boarder at home. -One winter morning at half-past eight, John went down the Nordtullsgata -to the Clara School, exactly as he had done when he was eight years -old. There were the same streets and the same Clara bells, and he was -to teach the lowest class! It was like being put back to learn a lesson -of eleven years ago. Just as afraid as then,--yes, more afraid of -coming too late he entered the large class-room, where together with -two female teachers he was to have the oversight of a hundred children. -There they sat,--children like those in the Jakob School, but younger. -Ugly, stunted, pale, swollen, sickly, with cast-down looks, in coarse -clothes and heavy shoes. Suffering, most probably, suffering from the -consciousness that others were more fortunate, and would always be -so, as one then believed, had impressed on their faces the stamp of -pain, which neither religious resignation nor the hope of heaven could -obliterate. The upper classes avoided them with a bad conscience, built -themselves houses outside the town, and left it to the professional -over-seers of the poor to come in contact with these outcasts. - -A hymn was sung, the Lord's Prayer was read; everything was as before; -no progress had been made except that the forms had been exchanged for -seats and desks, and the room was light and airy. John had to fold his -hands and join in the hymn, thus already being obliged to do violence -to his conscience. Prayers over, the head-master entered. He spoke to -John in a fatherly way and as his superintendent gave him instruction -and advice. This class, he said, was the worst, and the teacher must -be strict. - -So John took his class into a special room to begin the lesson. The -room was exactly like that in the Clara School, and there stood the -dreadful desk with steps, which resembled a scaffold and was painted -red as though stained with blood. A stick was put into his hand with -which he might rap or strike as he chose. He mounted the scaffold. He -felt shy before the thirsty faces of girls and boys opposite who looked -curiously at him, to see if he were going to worry them. - -"What is your lesson?" he asked. - -"The first commandment," the whole class exclaimed. - -"Only one must answer at a time. You, top boy what is your name?" - -"Hallberg," cried the whole class. - -"No, only one at a time,--the one I ask." - -The children giggled. "He is not dangerous," they thought. - -"Well, then, what is the first commandment?" John asked the top boy. - -"Thou shalt have no other gods but Me." He knew that then. - -"What is that?" John asked again, trying to lay as little emphasis -as possible on the "that." Then he asked fifteen children the same -question and a quarter of an hour had passed. John thought this -idiotic. What should he do now? Say what he knew about God? But the -common point of view then was, that nothing was known about Him. John -was a theist, and still believed in a personal God, but could say -nothing more. He would have liked to have attacked the divinity of -Christ, but would have been dismissed had he done so. - -A pause followed. There was an unnatural stillness while he reflected -on his false position and the foolish method of teaching. If he had -now said that nothing was known of God, the whole catechism and Bible -instruction would have been superfluous. They knew that they must not -steal or lie. Why then make such a fuss? He felt a mad wish to make -friends and fellow-sinners of the children. - -"What shall we do now?" he said. - -The whole class looked at each other and giggled. - -"This is a jolly sort of teacher," they thought. - -"What must the teacher do when he has heard the lesson?" he asked the -top boy. - -"Hm! he generally explains it," he and one or two others answered. - -John could certainly explain the origin and growth of the conception of -God, but that would not do. - -"You need not do any more," he said, "but don't make a noise." - -The children looked at him, and he at them mutually smiling. - -"Don't you think this is absurd," he felt inclined to say, but checked -himself and only smiled. But he collected himself when he saw that they -were laughing at him. "This method would not do," he thought. So he -commanded attention and went through the first commandment again till -each child had had a question. After extraordinary exertions on his -part, the clock at last struck nine, and the lesson was over. - -Then the three divisions of the class were assembled in the great -hall to prepare for going into the play-ground to get fresh air. -"Prepare" is the right word for such a simple affair as going into the -play-ground demanded a long preparation. An exact description would -fill a whole printed page, and perhaps be regarded as a caricature; we -will be content with giving a hint. - -In the first place, all the hundred children had to sit motionless, -absolutely motionless, and silent, absolutely silent, in their seats as -though they were to be photographed. From the master's desk the whole -assembly looked like a grey carpet with bright patterns, but the next -moment one of them moved the head; the offender had to rise from his -seat and stand by the wall. The total effect was now disturbed, and -there had to be a good many raps with the cane before two hundred arms -lay parallel on the desks and a hundred heads were at right angles -with their collar-bones. When quiet was in some degree restored a new -rapping began which demanded absolute quiet. But at the very moment -when the absolute was all but attained, some muscle grew tired, some -nerve slackened, some sinew relaxed. Again there was confusion, cries, -blows, and a new attempt to reach the absolute. It generally ended by -the female teacher (the males did not drive it so far) closing one eye -and pretending that the absolute had been reached. - -Then came the important moment, when, at a given signal the whole -hundred must spring from their seats and stand in order, but nothing -more. It was a ticklish moment when slates fell down and rulers -clattered. Then they had to sit down and begin all over again by -keeping perfectly still. - -When they had really got on their legs, they were marched off in -divisions but on tip-toe without exception. Otherwise they had to turn -round and sit down again, get up again and so on. They had to go on -tip-toe in wooden sabots and water-boots. It was a great mistake; it -accustomed the children to stealthiness and gave their whole appearance -something cat-like and deceitful. In the play-ground a teacher had -to arrange those who wanted to drink in a straight line before the -water-tap by the entrance; at the same time the lavatories at the -other end of the play-ground had to be inspected, and games had to be -organised and watched over. Then the children were again drawn up and -marched into school. If it was not done quietly, they had to go out -again. - -Then another lesson began. The children read out of a patriotic -reading-book the principal object of which seemed to be to instil -respect for the upper classes and to represent Sweden as the best -country in Europe, although as regards climate and social economy, -it is one of the worst, its culture is borrowed from abroad, and all -its kings were of foreign origin. They did not venture to give such -teaching to the children of the upper classes in the Clara School and -the Lyceum, but in the Jakob School they had sufficient courage to -make poor children sing a patriotic song about the Duke of Ostgothland. -In this occurred a verse addressed to the crew of the fleet, saying -victory was sure in the battle they wished for "because Prince Oscar -leads us on," or something of the sort. - -Meanwhile the reading-lesson began. But just at that moment the -head-master came in. John wished to stop but the head-master beckoned -to him to go on. The children who had lost their respect for him after -the catechism-lesson were inattentive. John scolded them, but without -result. Then the head-master came forward with a cane; took the book -from John and made a little speech, to the effect that this division -was the worst, but now their teacher should see how to deal with them. -The exercise which followed seemed to have as its object the attainment -of perfect attention. The absolute again seemed to be the standard by -which these children were to be trained in this incomplete world of -relativity. - -The boy who was reading was interrupted, and another name called at -random out of the class. To follow attentively was assumed to be the -easiest thing in the world by this old man who certainly must have -experienced how thoughts wander their own way while the eyes pass -over the printed page. The inattentive one was dragged by his hair or -clothes and caned till he fell howling on the ground. - -Then the head-master departed after recommending John to use the cane -diligently. There remained nothing but to follow this method or to go; -the latter did not suit John's plans, therefore he remained. He made a -speech to the children and referred to the head-master. "Now," he said, -"you know how you must behave if you want to escape a thrashing. He who -gets one, has himself to thank. Don't blame me. Here is the stick, and -there is your lesson. Learn your lesson or you will get the stick,--and -it isn't my fault." - -That was cunningly put, but it was unmerciful, for one ought to have -first ascertained how far the children could do their work. They could -not, for they were the most lively and therefore the most inattentive. -So the cane was kept going all day, accompanied by cries of pain, and -fear on the faces of the innocent. It was terrible! To pay attention -is not in the power of the will, and therefore all this punishment was -mere torture. John felt the absurdity of the part he had to play, but -he had to do his duty. Sometimes he was tired and let things go as they -liked, but then his colleagues, male and female, came and made friendly -representations. Sometimes he found the whole thing so ridiculous -that he could not help smiling with the children while he caned them. -Both sides saw that they were working at something impossible and -unnecessary. - -Ibsen, who does not believe in the aristocracy of birth or of wealth, -has lately (1886) expressed his belief that the industrial class -are the true nobility. But why should they necessarily be so? If to -do no manual labour tends to degeneration, perhaps degeneration is -brought about even more quickly by excessive labour and want. All -these children born of manual labourers looked more sickly, weak and -stupid than the upper-class children which he had seen. One or the -other muscle might be more strongly developed,--a shoulder-blade, a -hand, or a foot,--but they looked anæmic under their pale skins. -Many had extraordinarily large heads which seemed to be swollen with -water, their ears and noses ran, their hands were frost-bitten. The -various professional diseases of town-labourers seemed to have been -inherited; one saw in miniature the gas-worker's lungs and blood spoilt -by sulphur-fumes, the smith's shoulders and feet bent out-wards, the -painter's brain atrophied by varnishes and poisonous colours, the -scrofulous eruption of the chimney sweeper, the contracted chest of -the book-binder; here one heard the cough of the workers in metal -and asphalt, smelt the poisons of the paper-stainer, observed the -watch-maker's short-sightedness, in second editions, so to speak. In -truth this was no race to which the future belonged, or on which the -future could build; nor was it a race which could permanently increase, -for the ranks of the workers are continually recruited from the country. - -It was not till about two o'clock that the great school-room was -emptied, for it took them about an hour with blows and raps to get out -of it into the street. The most unpractical part of it was that the -children had to march into the hall in troops to get their overcoats -and cloaks, and then march into the school-room again, instead of -going straight home. When John got into the street, he asked himself -"Is that the celebrated education which they have given to the lower -classes with so much sacrifice?" He could ask, and he was answered, -"Can it be done in any other way?" "No," he was obliged to answer. "If -it is your intention to educate a slavish lower class, always ready to -obey, train them with the stick,--if you mean to bring up a proletariat -to demand nothing of life, tell them lies about heaven. Tell them that -your method of teaching is ridiculous, let them begin to criticise -or get their way in one point and you have taken a step towards the -dissolution of society. But society is built up upon an obedient -conscientious lower class; therefore keep them down from the first; -deprive them of will and reason, and teach them to hope for nothing but -to be content." There was method in this madness. - -As regards the instruction in the elementary school, there was both -a good and bad side to it; the good was that they had introduced -object-teaching after the example of Pestalozzi, Rousseau's disciple; -the bad, that the students who taught in the elementary schools had -introduced "scientific" teaching. The simple learning by heart of the -multiplication table was not enough; it, together with fractions, -had to be understood. Understood? And yet an engineer who has been -through the technical high school cannot explain "why" a fraction -can be diminished by three if the sum of the figures is divisible by -three. On this principle seamen would not be allowed to use logarithm -tables, because they cannot calculate logarithms. To be always -relaying the foundation instead of building on what is already laid is -an educational luxury and leads to the over-multiplication of lessons -in schools. - -Some one may object that John should first have reformed himself -as teacher, before he set about reforming the system of education; -but he could not; he was a passive instrument in the hands of the -superintendent and the school authorities. The best teachers, that is -to say, those who forced the worst (in this case the best) results out -of the pupils were the uneducated ones who came from the Seminary. They -were not sceptical about the methods in use and had no squeamishness -about caning, but the children respected them the most. A great coarse -fellow who had formerly been a carriage-maker had the bigger boys -completely under his thumb. The lower class seem to have really more -fear and respect for those of their own rank than the upper class. -Bailiffs and foremen are more awe-imposing than superintendents and -teachers. Do the lower classes see that the superior who has come out -of their ranks understands their affairs better, and therefore pay him -more respect? The female teachers also enjoyed more respect than the -male. They were pedantic, demanded absolute perfection, and were not at -all soft-hearted, but rather cruel. They were fond of practising the -refined cruelty of blows on the palm of the hand and showed in so doing -a want of intelligence which the most superficial study of physiology -would have remedied. When a child by involuntary reflex action, drew -his fingers back, he was punished all the more for not keeping his -fingers still. As if one could prevent blinking, when something blew -into one's eye! The female teachers had the advantage of knowing very -little about teaching and were plagued with no doubts. It was not true -that they had less pay than the men teachers. They had relatively more; -and if after passing a paltry teacher's examination they had received -more than the students, that would have been unjust. They were treated -with partiality, regarded as miracles, when they were competent, and -received allowances for travelling abroad. - -As comrades, they were friendly and helpful if one was polite and -submissive and let them hold the reins. There was not the slightest -trace of flirtation; the men saw them in anything but becoming -situations, and under an aspect which women do not usually show to -the other sex, viz. that of jailers. They made notes of everything, -prepared themselves for their lessons, were narrow-minded and content, -and saw through nothing. It was a very suitable occupation for them -under existing circumstances. - -When John was thoroughly sick of caning, or could not manage a boy, or -was in despair generally, he sent the black sheep to a female teacher, -who willingly undertook the unpleasant rôle of executioner. - -What it is that makes the competent teacher is not clear. Some produced -an effect by their quiet manner, others by their nervousness; some -seemed to magnetise the children, others beat them; some imposed on -them by their age or their manly appearance, etc. The women worked as -women, _i.e._ through a half-forgotten tradition of a past matriarchate. - -John was not competent. He looked too young and was only just nineteen; -he was sceptical about the methods employed and everything else; with -all his seriousness he was playful and boyish. The whole matter to him -was only an employment by the way, for he was ambitious and wished to -advance, but did not know in which direction. - -Moreover he was an aristocrat like his contemporaries. Through -education his habits and senses had been refined, or spoilt, as one may -choose to call it; he found it hard to tolerate unpleasant smells, ugly -objects, distorted bodies, coarse expressions, torn clothes. Life had -given him much, and these daily reminders of poverty plagued him like -an evil conscience. He himself might have been one of the lower class -if his mother had married one of her own position. - -"He was proud" a shop-boy would have said, who had mounted to the -position of editor of a paper and boasted that he was content with his -lot, forgetting that he might well be content since he had risen from -a low position. "He was proud" a master shoemaker would have said, who -would have rather thrown himself into the sea than become an apprentice -again. John _was_ proud, of that there was no doubt, as proud as the -master shoemaker, but not in such a high degree, as he had descended -from the level of the student to the elementary school-teacher. That, -however, was no virtue, but a necessity, and he did not therefore boast -of his step downward, nor give himself the air of being a friend of -the people. One cannot command sympathies and antipathies, and for the -lower class to demand love and self-sacrifice from the upper class is -mere idealism. The lower class is sacrificed for the upper class, but -they have offered themselves willingly. They have the right to take -back their rights, but they should do it themselves. No one gives up -his position willingly, therefore the lower class should not wait for -kings and the upper class to go. "Pull us down! but all together." - -If an intelligent man of the upper class help in such an operation, -those below should be thankful to him especially since such an act is -liable to the imputation of being inspired by impure motives. Therefore -the lower class should not too narrowly inspect the motives of those -who help them; the result is in all eases the same. The aristocrats -seem to have seen this and therefore regard one of themselves who sides -with the proletariat as a traitor. He is a traitor to his class, that -is true; and the lower class should put it to his credit. - -John was not an aristocrat in the sense that he used the word "mob" or -despised the poor. Through his mother he was closely allied to them, -but circumstances had estranged him from them. That was the fault of -class-education. This fault might be done away with for the future, if -elementary schools were reformed by the inclusion of the knowledge of -civil duties in their programme, and by their being made obligatory for -all, without exception, as the militia-schools are. Then it would be no -longer a disgrace to become an elementary school-teacher as it now is, -and made a matter of reproach to a man that he has been one. - -John, in order to keep himself above, applied himself to his future -work. To this end he studied Italian grammar in his spare time at the -school. He could now buy books and did so. He was honest enough not to -construe these efforts at climbing up as an ideal thirst for knowledge -or a striving for the good of humanity. He simply read for his degree. - -But the meagre diet he had lived on in Upsala, his midday meals at 6 -kronas, the milk and the bread had undermined his strength, and he -was now in the pleasure-seeking period of youth. It was tedious at -home, and in the afternoons he went to the café or the restaurant, -where he met friends. Strong drinks invigorated him and he slept well -after them. The desire for alcohol seems to appear regularly in each -adolescent. All northerners are born of generations of drinkers from -the early heathen times, when beer and mead was drunk, and it is quite -natural that this desire should be felt as a necessity. With John it -was an imperious need the suppression of which resulted in a diminution -of strength. It may be questioned whether abstinence for us may not -involve the same risk, as the giving up of poison for an arsenic-eater. -Probably the otherwise praiseworthy temperance movement will merely -end in demanding moderation; that is a virtue and not a mere exhibition -of will power which results in boasting and self-righteousness. - -John who had hitherto only worn east-off suits, began to wear fine -clothes. His salary seemed to him extraordinarily great and in the -magnifying-glass of his fancy assumed huge proportions, with the result -that he soon ran into debt. Debt which grew and grew and could never be -paid, became the vulture gnawing at his life, the object of his dreams, -the wormwood which poisoned his content. What foolish hopefulness, what -colossal self-deceit it was to incur debts! What did he expect? To gain -an academic dignity. And then? To become a teacher with a salary of 750 -kronas! Less than he had now! Not the least trying part of his work was -to accommodate his brain to the capacity of the children. That meant -to come down to the level of the younger and less intelligent, and to -screw down the hammer so that it might hit the anvil,--an operation -which injured the machine. - -On the other hand he derived real profit from his observations in -the families of the children, whom his duty required him to visit on -Sundays. There was one boy in his class who was the most difficult of -all. He was dirty and ill-dressed, grinned continually, smelt badly, -never knew his lessons and was always being caned. He had a very large -head and staring eyes which rolled and turned about continually. John -had to visit his parents in order to find out the reason of his -irregular attendance at school and bad behaviour. He therefore went -to the Apelbergsgata where they kept a public-house. He found that -the father had gone to work, but the mother was at the counter. The -public-house was dark and evil-smelling, filled with men who looked -threateningly at John as he entered probably taking him for a plain -clothes policeman. He gave his message to the mother and was asked -into a room behind the counter. One glance at it sufficed to explain -everything. The mother blamed her son and excused him alternately and -she had some reason for the latter. The boy was accustomed to "lick the -glasses,"--that was the explanation and that was enough. What could be -done in such a case? A change of dwelling, better food, a nurse to look -after him and so on. All these were questions of money! - -Afterwards he came to the Clara poor-house, which was empty of its -usual occupants and provisionally opened to families because of the -want of houses. In a great hall lay and stood quite a dozen families, -who had divided the floor with strokes of chalk. There stood a -carpenter with his planing-bench, here sat a shoemaker with his board; -round about on both sides of the chalk-line women sat and children -crawled. What could John do there? Send in a report on a matter which -was perfectly well known, distribute wood-tickets and orders for meat -and clothing. - -In Kungsholmsbergen he came across specimens of proud poverty. There he -was shown the door, "God be thanked, we have no need of charity. We -are all right." - -"Indeed! Then you should not let your boy go in torn boots in winter." - -"That is not your business, sir," and the door was slammed. - -Sometimes he saw sad scenes,--a child sick, the room full of sulphur -fumes of coke, and all coughing from the grandmother down to the -youngest. What could he do except feel dispirited and make his escape? -At that period there was no other means of help except charity; writers -who described the state of things, contented themselves with lamenting -it; no one saw any hope. Therefore there was nothing to do except to be -sorry, help temporarily, and fly in order not to despair. - -All this lay like a heavy cloud upon him, and he lost pleasure in -study. He felt there was something wrong here, but nothing could be -done said all the newspapers and books and people. It must be so but -every one is free to climb. You climb too! - -Time went on and spring approached. John's closest acquaintance -was a teacher from the Slöjd School. He was a poet, well-versed -in literature, and also musical. They generally walked to the -Stallmastergarden restaurant, discussed literature, and ate their -supper there. While John was paying his attentions to the waitress, -his friend played the piano. Sometimes the latter amused himself by -writing comic verses to girls. John was seized with a craze for writing -verse but could not. The gift must be born with one, he thought, and -inspiration descend all of a sudden, as in the case of conversion. -He was evidently not one of the elect, and felt himself neglected by -nature and maimed. - -One evening when John was sitting and chatting with the girl, she said -quite suddenly to him, "Friday is my birthday; you must write some -verses for me." - -"Yes," answered John, "I will." - -Later on when he met his friend, he told him of his hasty promise. - -"I will write them for you," he said. The next day he brought a poem, -copied out in a fine hand-writing and composed in John's name. It was -piquant and amusing. John dispatched it on the morning of the birthday. - -In the evening of the same day both the friends came to eat their -supper and to congratulate the girl. She did not appear for an hour for -she had to serve guests. The teachers' meal was brought and they began -to eat. - -Then the girl appeared in the doorway and beckoned John. She looked -almost severe. John went to her and they ascended a flight of stairs. -"Have you written the verses?" she asked. - -"No," said John. - -"Ah, I thought so. The lady behind the buffet said she had read them -two years ago when the teacher sent them to Majke who was an ugly girl. -For shame, John!" - -He took his cap and wanted to rush out, but the girl caught hold of him -and tried to keep him back for she saw that he looked deathly pale -and beside himself. But he wrenched himself free and hastened into -the Bellevue Park. He ran into the wood leaving the beaten tracks. -The branches of the bushes flew into his face, stones rolled over his -feet, and frightened birds rose up. He was quite wild with shame, and -instinctively sought the wood in order to hide himself. It is a curious -phenomenon that at the utmost pitch of despair a man runs into the -wood before he plunges into the water. The wood is the penultimate and -the water the ultimate resource. It is related of a famous author, who -had enjoyed a twenty years' popularity quietly and proudly, that he -was suddenly cast down from his position. He was as though struck by a -thunderbolt, went half-mad and sought the shelter of the woods where -he recovered himself. The wood is the original home of the savage and -the enemy of the plough and therefore of culture. When a civilised man -suddenly strips off the garb of civilisation, the artistically woven -fabric of his repute, he becomes in a moment a savage or a wild beast. -When a man becomes mad, he begins to throw off his clothes. What is -madness? A relapse? Yes, many think animals mad. - -It was evening when John entered the wood. In the midst of some -bushes he laid down on a great block of stone. He was ashamed of -himself,--that was the chief impression on his mind. An emotional man -is more severe with himself than others think. He scourged himself -unmercifully. He had wished to shine in borrowed plumage, and so lied; -and in the second place he had insulted an innocent girl. The first -part of the accusation affected him in a very sensitive point,--his -want of poetic capacity. He wished to do more than he could. He was -discontent with the position which nature and society had assigned -him. Yes, but (and now his self-defence began after the evening air -had cooled his blood), in the school one had been always exhorted to -strive upwards; those who did so were praised, and discontent with -the position one might happen to be in, was justified. Yes but (here -the scourge descended!) he had tried to deceive. To deceive! That was -unpardonable. He was ashamed, stripped and unmasked without any means -of retreat. Deception, falsity, cheating! So it was! - -As a quondam Christian, John was most afraid of having a fault, and -as a member of society he feared lest it should be visible. Everybody -knew that one had faults, but to acknowledge them was regarded as a -piece of cynicism, for society always wishes to appear better than it -is. Sometimes, however, society demanded that one should confess one's -fault if one wished for forgiveness, but that was a trick. Society -wished for confession in order to enjoy the punishment, and was very -deceitful. John had confessed his fault, been punished, and still his -conscience was uneasy. - -The second point regarding the girl was also difficult. She had loved -him purely and he had insulted her. How coarse and vulgar! Why should -he think that a waitress could not love innocently? His own mother had -been in the same position as that girl. He had insulted her. Shame -upon him! - -Now he heard shouts in the park, and his name being called. The girl's -voice and his friend's echoed among the trees, but he did not answer -them. For a moment the scourge fell out of his hands; he became sobered -and thought, "I will go back, we will have supper, call Riken and drink -a glass with her, and it will be all over." But no! He was too high up -and one cannot descend all at once. - -The voices became silent. He lay back in a state of semi-stupefaction -and ground his double crime between the mill-stones of rumination. He -had lied and hurt her feelings. - -It began to grow dark. There was a rustling in the bushes; he started -and a sweat broke out upon him. Then he went out and sat upon a seat -till the dew fell. He shivered and felt poorly. Then he got up and went -home. - -Now his head was clear and he could think. What a stupid business it -all was! He did not really mean that she should take him for a poet, -and had been quite ready to explain the whole trick. It was all a joke. -His friend had made a fool of him, but it did not matter. - -When he got home he found his friend sleeping in his bed. He wanted -to rise but John would not let him. He wished to scourge himself once -more. He lay on the floor, put a cigar-box under his head and drew a -volunteer's cloak over him. In the morning when he awoke, John asked in -trembling tones, "How did she take it?" - -"Ah, she laughed; then we drank a glass, and it was over. She liked the -verses." - -"She laughed! Was she not angry?" - -"Not at all." - -"Then she only humbugged me." - -John wished to hear no more. This trifle had kept him on the rack for a -whole dreadful night. He felt ashamed of having asked whether she was -disquieted about him. But since she had laughed and drunk punch she -could not have been. Not even anxious about his life! - -He dressed himself and went down to the school. - -The habit of self-criticism derived from his religious training had -accustomed him to occupy himself with his ego, to fondle and cherish -it, as though it were a separate and beloved personality. So cherished -the ego expanded and kept continually looking within instead of -without upon the world. It was an interesting personal acquaintance, a -friend who must be flattered, but who must also hear the truth and be -corrected. - -It was the mental malady of the time reduced to a system by Fichte, -who taught that everything took place in the ego and through the ego, -without which there was no reality. It was the formula for romanticism -and for subjective idealism. - -"I stood on the shore under the king's castle," "I dwell in the cave -of the mountain," "I, small boy, watch the door," "I think of the -beautiful times,"--all these phrases struck the same note. Was this "I" -really so proud. Was not the poet's "I" more modest than the editor's -royal "we"? - -This absorption in self, or the new malady of culture, of which much -is written nowadays, has been common with all men who have not worked -with their bodies. The brain is only an organ for imparting movement -to the muscles. Now when in a civilised man the brain cannot act upon -the muscles, nor bring its power into play, there results a disturbance -of equilibrium. The brain begins to dream; too full of juices which -cannot be absorbed by muscular activity, it converts them involuntarily -into systems, into thought-combinations, into the hallucinations which -haunt painters, sculptors and poets. If no outlet can be found, there -follows stagnation, violent outbreaks, depression, and at last madness. -Schools which are often vestibules for asylums, have recourse to -gymnastics, but with what result? There is no connection between the -pupil's cerebral activity and the muscular activity called into play by -gymnastics; the latter is only directed by another's will through the -word of command. - -All studious youths are aware of this tendency to congestion of the -brain. It is a good thing that they often go out to improve or to -beautify society, but it would be better if the equilibrium were -restored, and a sound mind dwelt in a sound body. It has been sought to -introduce physical work into schools as a remedy. It would be better -to let elementary knowledge be acquired at home, to make the school -a day-school, and to let every one look after himself. For the rest -the emancipation of the lower classes will compel the higher classes -to undertake some of the physical labour now carried on by domestics -and so the equilibrium will be restored. That such labour does not -blunt the intelligence can be easily seen by observing that some of -the strongest minds of the time have had such daily contact with -reality, _e.g._ Mill the civil service official, Spencer, the civil -engineer, Edison the telegraphist. The student period of life, the most -unwholesome because not under discipline, is also the most dangerous. -The brain continually takes in, without producing anything, not even -anything intellectual, while the whole muscular system is unoccupied. - -John at this time was suffering from an over-production of thought and -imagination. The mechanical school-work continually revolving in the -same circle with the same questions and answers afforded no relief. -It increased on the other hand his stock of observations of children -and teachers. There lay and fermented in his mind a quantity of -experiences, perceptions, criticisms and thoughts without any order. He -therefore sought for society in order to speak his mind out. But it was -not sufficient, and as he did not find any one who was willing to act -as a sounding-board, he took to declaiming poetry. - -In the early sixties declamation was much the fashion. In families they -used to read aloud "The Kings of Salamis." In the numerous volunteer -concerts the same pieces were declaimed over and over again. These -declamations were what the quartette singing had been, an outlet for -all the hope and enthusiasm called forth by the awakening of 1865. -Since Swedes are neither born nor trained orators, they became singers -and reciters, perhaps because their want of originality sought a -ready-made means of expression. They could execute but not create. The -same want of originality showed itself in the bachelor's gatherings -where reciters of anecdotes were much in request. This feeble and -tedious form of amusement was superseded when the new questions of the -day provided food for conversation and discussion. - -One day John came to his friend the elementary school-teacher whom he -found together with another young colleague. When the conversation -began to slacken, his friend produced a volume of Schiller, whose poems -had just then appeared in a cheap edition and were bought mostly for -that reason. They opened "The Robbers" and read round in turn, John -taking the part of Karl Moor. The first scene of the first act took -place between old Moor and Franz. Then came the second scene: John -read, "I am sick of this quill-driving age when I read of great men -in Plutarch." He did not know the play and had never seen bandits. -At first he read absent-mindedly, but his interest was soon aroused. -The play struck a new note. He found his obscure dreams expressed -in words; his rebellious criticisms printed. Here then was another, -a great and famous author who felt the same disgust at the whole -course of education in school and university as he did, who would -rather be Robinson Crusoe or a bandit than be enrolled in this army -which is called society. He read on; his voice shook, his cheeks -glowed, his breast heaved: "They bar out healthy nature with tasteless -conventionalities."... There it stood all in black and white. "And that -is Schiller!" he exclaimed, "the same Schiller who wrote the tedious -history of the Thirty Years' War, and the tame drama "Wallenstein" -which is read in schools!" Yes, it was the same man. Here (in "The -Robbers") he preached revolt, revolt against law, society, morals -and religion. That was in the revolt of 1781 eight years before the -great revolution. That was the anarchists' programme a hundred years -before its time, and Karl Moor was a nihilist. The drama came out with -a lion on the title-page and with the inscription "In Tyrannos." The -author then (1781) aged two-and-twenty had to fly. There was no doubt -therefore about the intention of the piece. There was also another -motto from Hippocrates which showed this intention as plainly; "What is -not cured by medicine must be cured by iron; what is not cured by iron -must be cured by fire." - -That was clear enough! But in the preface the author apologised and -recanted. He disclaimed all sympathy with Franz Moor's sophisms and -said that he wished to exhibit the punishment of wickedness in Karl -Moor. Regarding religion he said, "Just now it is the fashion to make -religion a subject for one's wit to play upon as Voltaire and Frederick -the Great did, and a man is scarcely reckoned a genius unless he can -make the holiest truths the object of his godless satire...." I hope -I have exacted no ordinary revenge for religion and sound morality in -handing over these obstinate despisers of Scripture in the person of -this scoundrelly bandit, to public contumely. Was then Schiller true -when he wrote the drama, and false when he wrote the preface? True in -both cases, for man is a complex creature, and sometimes appears in his -natural sometimes in his artificial character. At his writing-table -in loneliness, when the silent letters were being written down on -paper, Schiller seems like other young authors to have worked under the -influence of a blind natural impulse without regard to mens' opinion, -without thinking of the public, or laws, or constitutions. The veil -was lifted for a moment and the falsity of society seen through in its -whole extent. The silence of the night when literary work--especially -in youth,--is carried on, causes one to forget the noisy artificial -life outside, and darkness hides the heaps of stones over which animals -which are ill-adapted to their environment stumble. Then comes the -morning, the light of day, the street noises, men, friends, police, -clocks striking, and the seer is afraid of his own thoughts. Public -opinion raises its cry, newspapers sound the alarm, friends drop off, -it becomes lonely round one, and an irresistible terror seizes the -attacker of society. "If you will not be with us," society says, "then -go into the woods. If you are an animal ill-adapted to its environment, -or a savage, we will deport you to a lower state of society which -you will suit." And from its own point of view society is right and -always will be right. But the society of the future will celebrate the -revolter, the individual, who has brought about social improvement, and -the revolter is justified long after his death. - -In every intelligent youth's life there comes a moment when he is in -the transition stage between family life and that of society, when -he feels disgusted at artificial civilisation and breaks out. If he -remains in society, he is soon suppressed by the united wet-blankets -of sentiment and anxiety about living; he becomes tired, dazzled, -drops off and leaves other young men to continue the fight. This -unsophisticated glance into things, this outbreak of a healthy nature -which must of necessity take place in an unspoilt youth, has been -stigmatised by a name which is intended to depreciate the idealistic -impulses of youth. It is called "spring fever" by which is meant that -it is only a temporary illness of childhood, a rising of the vernal -sap, which produces stoppage of the circulation and giddiness. But who -knows whether the youth did not see right before society put out his -eyes? And why do they despise him afterwards? - -Schiller had to creep into a public post for the sake of a living and -even eat the bread of charity from a duke's hand. Therefore his writing -degenerated, though perhaps not from an æsthetic or subordinate point -of view. But his hatred of tyrants is everywhere manifest. It declares -itself against Philip II of Spain, Dorea of Genoa, Gessler of Austria, -but therefore ceases to be effective. Schiller's rebellion which was in -the first instance directed against society, was afterwards directed -against the monarchy alone. He closes his career with the following -advice to a world reformer (not, however, till he had seen the reaction -which followed the French Revolution). "For rain and dew and for the -welfare of mankind, let heaven care to-day, my friend, as it has always -done." Heaven, the unfortunate old heaven will care for it, just as -well as it has done before. - -Just as a man once does his militia duty at the age of twenty-one, so -Schiller did his. How many have shirked it! - -John did not take the preface to "The Robbers" very seriously or rather -ignored it; but he took Karl Moor literally for he was congenial. He -did not imitate him, for he was so like him that he had no need to do -so. He was just as mutinous, just as wavering, and just as ready at an -alarm to go and deliver himself into the hands of justice. - -His disgust at everything continually increased and he began to make -plans for flight from organised society. Once it occurred to him to -journey to Algiers and enlist in the Foreign Legion. That would be -fine he thought to live in the desert in a tent, to shoot at half-wild -men or perhaps be shot by them. But circumstances occurred at the -right moment, to reconcile him again with his environment. Through the -recommendation of a friend he was offered the post of tutor to two -girls in a rich and cultured family. The children were to be educated -in a new and liberal-minded method and neither to go to a girls' school -nor have a governess. That was an important task to which he was -called and John did not feel himself adequate to it; besides which he -objected that he was only an elementary school-teacher. He was answered -that his future employers knew that, but were liberal-minded. How -liberal-minded people were at that time! - -Now there commenced a new double life for him. From the penal -institution of the elementary school with its compulsory catechism and -Bible, its poverty, wretchedness, and cruelty, he went to dinner at -one o'clock, which he swallowed in a quarter of an hour, and then by -two o'clock was at his post as private tutor. The house was one of the -finest at that time in Stockholm with a porter, Pompeian stair-cases -and painted windows in the hall. In a handsome, large, well-lighted -corner room with flowers, bird-cages and an aquarium he was to give -lessons to two well-dressed, washed and combed little girls, who -looked cheerful and satisfied after their dinner. Here he could give -expression to his own thoughts. The catechism was banished, and only -select Bible stories were to be read together with broad-minded -explanations of the life and teachings of the Ideal Man, for the -children were not to be confirmed, but brought up after a new model. -They read Schiller and were enthusiastic for William Tell and the -fortunate little land of freedom. John taught them all that he knew and -spent more time in talking than in asking questions; he roused in them -the hopes of a better future which he shared himself. - -Here he obtained an insight into a social circle hitherto unknown to -him, that of the rich and cultured. Here he found liberal-mindedness, -courage and the desire for truth. Down below in the elementary school -they were cowardly, conservative and untruthful. Would the parents of -the children be willing to have religious teaching done away with, -even if the school authorities recommended it? Probably not. Must -then illumination come from the upper classes? Certainly, though not -from the highest class of all, but from the republic of truth-seeking -scientists. John saw that one must get an upper place in order to be -heard; therefore he must strive upwards or pull culture down and cast -the sparks of it among all. One needed to be economically independent -in order to be liberally minded; a position was necessary in order to -give one's words weight; thus aristocracy ruled in this sphere also. - -There was at that time a group of young doctors, men of science and -letters, and members of parliament who formed a liberal league without -constituting themselves a formal society. They gave popular lectures, -engaged not to receive any honorary decorations, cherished liberal -views on the subject of the State Church and wrote in the papers. Among -them were Axel Key, Nordenskiöld, Christian Loven, Harald Wieselgren, -Hedlund, Victor Rydberg, Meijerberg, Jolin, and many less-known names. -These, with one or two exceptions, worked quietly without creating -excitement. After the reaction of 1872 they fell off and became tired; -they could not join any political party which was rather an advantage -than otherwise for the country party had already begun to be corrupted -by yearly visiting Stockholm and attendance at the court. They now all -belong to the moderate or respectable liberal party, except those of -them who have joined the indifferents, a fact not to be wondered at, -after they had for so many years fought uselessly for nothing. - -Through the family of his pupils John came into external touch with -this group, obtained a closer view of them, and heard their speeches at -dinners and suppers. To John they sometimes seemed the very men whom -the time needed, who would first spread enlightenment and then work -for reform. Here he met the superintendent of the elementary school -and was surprised at finding him among the liberals. But he had the -school authorities over him and was as good as powerless. At a cheerful -dinner, when John had plucked up heart, he wished to have an intimate -talk with him and to come to an understanding. "Here," he thought, -"we can play the part of augurs and laugh with each other over our -champagne." But the superintendent did not want to laugh and asked him -to postpone the conversation till they met in the school. No, John did -not want to do that, for in the school both would have other views, and -speak of something else. - -John's debts increased and so did his work. He was in the school from -eight till one; then he ate his dinner and went to give his private -lessons within half-an-hour, arriving out of breath, with food half -digested, and sleepy; then he taught till four o'clock going out -afterwards to give more lessons in the Nordtullsgata; he returned to -his girl pupils in the evening, and then read far into the night for -his examination after ten hours' teaching. That was over-work. The -pupil thinks his work hard, but he is only the carriage while the -teacher is the horse. Teaching is decidedly harder than standing by a -screw or the crane of a machine, and equally monotonous. - -His brain, dulled by work and disturbed digestion, needed to be roused, -and his strength needed replenishing. He chose the shortest and best -method by going into a café, drinking a glass of wine, and sitting for -a while. It was good that there were such places of recreation, where -young men could meet and fathers of families recruit themselves over a -newspaper and talk of something else than business. - -The following summer he went out to a summer settlement outside the -city. There he read daily for a couple of hours with his girl pupils -and a whole number of children besides them. The summer settlement -afforded rich and varied opportunities of social intercourse. It was -divided into three camps,--the learned, the æsthetic and the civic. -John belonged to all three. It has been asserted that loneliness -injures the development of character (into an automaton), and if -has been also asserted that much social intercourse is bad for the -development of character. Everything can be said and can be true; it -all depends upon the point of view. But no doubt for the development -of the soul into a rich and free life much social intercourse is -necessary. The more men one sees and talks with, the more points -of view and experiences one gains. Every one conceals a grain of -originality in himself, every individual has his own history. John got -on equally well with all; he spoke on learned matters with the learned, -discussed art and literature with the æsthetes, sang quartettes and -danced with the young people, taught the children and botanised, -sailed, rode and swam with them. But after he had spent some time in -the rush, he withdrew into solitude for a day or two to digest his -impressions. Those who were really happy were the townsmen. They came -from their work in the town, shook off their cares and played in the -evening. Old wholesale merchants played in the ring and sang and danced -like children. The learned and the æsthetic on the other hand sat -on chairs, spoke of their work, were worried by their thoughts as by -nightmares and never seemed to be really happy. They could not free -themselves from the tyranny of thought. The tradesmen, however, had -preserved a little green spot in their hearts which neither the thirst -for gain nor speculation nor competition had been able to parch up. -There was something emotional and hearty about them which John was -inclined to call "nature." They could laugh like lunatics, scream like -savages, and be swayed by the emotions of the moment. They wept over -a friend's misfortune or death, embraced each other when delighted -and could be carried out of themselves by a beautiful sunset. The -professors sat in chairs and could not see the landscape because of -their eye-glasses, their looks were directed inwards, and they never -showed their feelings. They talked in syllogisms and formulas; their -laughter was bitter, and all their learning seemed like a puppet play. -Is that then the highest point of view? It is not a defect to have let -a whole region of the soul's life lie fallow? - -It was the third camp with which John was on the most intimate -terms. This was a little clique consisting of a doctor's family and -their friends. There sang the renowned tenor W. while Professor M. -accompanied him; there played and sang the composer J.; there the -old Professor P. talked about his journeys to Rome in the company -of painters of high birth. Here the emotions had full play, but -were under the control of good taste. They enjoyed the sunsets, but -analysed the lights and shades and talked of lines and "values." The -more noisy enjoyments of the tradesmen were regarded as disturbing -and unæsthetic. They were enthusiasts for art. John spent some hours -pleasantly with these amiable people, but when he heard the sound of -quartette singing and dance-music from the villa close by, he longed to -be there. That was certainly more lively. - -In hours of solitude he read, and now for the first time, became really -acquainted with Byron. "Don Juan," which he already knew, he had found -merely frivolous. It really dealt with nothing and the descriptions -of scenery were intolerably long. The work seemed merely a string of -adventures and anecdotes. In "Manfred" he renewed acquaintance with -Karl Moor in another dress. Manfred was no hater of men; he hated -himself more, and went to the Alps in order to fly himself, but always -found his guilty self beside him, for John guessed at once that he had -been guilty of incest. Nowadays it is generally believed that Byron -hinted at this crime, which was purely imaginary, in order to make -himself appear interesting. To become interesting as a romanticist at -whatever price would at the present time be called "differentiating -oneself, going beyond and above the others." Crime was regarded as -a sign of strength, therefore it was considered desirable to have a -crime to boast about, but not such a one as could be punished. They did -not want to have anything to do with the police and penal servitude. -There was certainly a spirit of opposition to law and morality in this -boasting of crime. - -Manfred's discontent with heaven and the government of Providence -pleased John. Manfred's denunciations of men were really levelled at -society, though society as we now understand it, had not then been -discovered. Rousseau, Byron and the rest were by no means discontented -misogynists. It was only primitive Christianity which demanded that men -should love men. To say that one was interested in them would be more -modest and truthful. One who has been overreached and thrust aside in -the battle of life may well fear men, but one cannot hate them when -one realises one's solidarity with humanity and that human intercourse -is the greatest pleasure in life. Byron was a spirit who awoke before -the others and might have been expected to hate his contemporaries, but -none the less strove and suffered for the good of all. - -When John saw that the poem was written in blank verse he tried to -translate it, but had not got far, before he discovered that he could -not write verse. He was not "called." Sometimes melancholy, sometimes -frisky, John felt at times an uncontrollable desire to quench the -burning fire of thought in intoxication and bring the working of his -brain to a standstill. Though he was shy, he felt occasionally impelled -to step forward, to make himself impressive, to collect hearers and -appear on a stage. When he had drunk a good deal, he wanted to declaim -poetry in the grand style. But in the middle of the piece, when his -ecstasy was at its highest, he heard his own voice, became nervous and -embarrassed, found himself ridiculous, suddenly dropped into a prosaic -and comic tone and ended with a grimace; he could be pathetic, but -only for a while; then came self-criticism and he laughed at his own -overwrought feelings. The romantic was in his blood, but the realistic -side of him was about to wake up. - -He was also liable to attacks of caprice and self-punishment. Thus he -remained away from a dinner to which he had been invited and lay in his -room hungry till the evening. He excused himself by saying that he had -overslept. - -The summer approached its end and he looked forward to the beginning of -the autumn term in the elementary school with dread. He had now been -in circles where poverty never showed its emaciated face; he had tasted -the enticing wine of culture and did not wish to become sober again. - -His depression increased; he retired into himself and withdrew from the -circle of his friends. But one evening, there was a knock at his door; -the old doctor who had been his most intimate friend and lived in the -same villa, stepped in. - -"How are the moods?" he asked, and sat down with the air of an old -fatherly friend. - -John did not wish to confess. How was he to say that he was -discontented with his position, and acknowledge that he was ambitious -and wished to advance in life? But the doctor had seen and understood -all. "You must be a doctor," he said. "That is a practical vocation -which will suit you, and bring you into touch with real life. You have -a lively imagination which you must hold in check, or it will do harm. -Now are you inclined to this? Have I guessed right?" - -He had. Through his intercourse from afar with these new prophets who -succeeded the priests and confessors, John had come to see in their -practical knowledge of men's lives, the highest pitch of human wisdom. -To become a wise man who could solve the riddles of life,--that was for -a while his dream. For a while, for he did not really wish to enter any -career in which he could be enrolled as a regular member of society. -It was not from dislike of work, for he worked strenuously and was -unhappy when unoccupied, but he had a strong objection to be enrolled. -He did not wish to be a cypher, a cog-wheel, or a screw in the social -machine. He wished to stand outside and contemplate, learn and preach. -A doctor was in a certain sense free; he was not an official, had no -superiors, set in no public office, was not tied by the clock. That was -a fairly enticing prospect, and John was enticed. But how was he to -take a medical degree, which required eight years' study? His friend, -however, had seen a way out of this difficulty. "Live with us and teach -my boys," he said. - -This was certainly a business-like offer which carried with it no sense -of accepting a humiliating favour. But what about his place in the -school? Should he give it up? - -"That is not your place!" the doctor cut him short. "Every one should -work where his talents can have free scope, and yours cannot in the -elementary school, where you have to teach, as prescribed by the school -authorities." - -John found this reasonable, but he had been so imbued with ascetic -teaching that he felt a pang of conscience. He wanted to leave the -school, but a strange feeling of duty and obligation held him back. He -felt quite ashamed of being suspected of such a natural weakness as -ambition. And his place, as the son of a servant, had been assigned to -him below. But his father had literally pulled him up, why should he -sink and strike his roots down there again? - -He fought a short bloody conflict, then accepted the offer thankfully, -and sent in his resignation as a school-teacher. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE DOCTOR - -(1868) - - -John now found his new home with the homeless, the Israelites. He -was immediately surrounded by a new atmosphere. Here there was no -recollection of Christianity; one neither plagued oneself or others; -there was no grace at meals, no going to church, no catechism. - -"It is good to be here," thought John. "These are liberal-minded men -who have brought the best of foreign culture home, without being -obliged to take what is bad." Here for the first time, he encountered -foreign influences. The family had journeyed much, had relatives -abroad, spoke all languages, and received foreign guests. Both the -small and great affairs of the country were spoken about, and light -thrown on them by comparison with their originals abroad. By this means -John's mental horizon was widened and he was enabled to estimate his -native country better. - -The patriarchal constitution of the family had not assumed the form of -domestic tyranny. On the contrary the children treated their parents -more as their equals, and the parents were gentle with them without -losing their dignity. Placed in an unfriendly part of the world, -surrounded by half-enemies, the members of the family helped each other -and held together. To be without a native country, which is regarded -as such a hard-ship, has this advantage that it keeps the intelligence -alive and vigorous. Men who are wanderers have to watch unceasingly, -observe continually, and gain new and rich experiences, while those who -sit at home become lazy and lean upon others. - -The children of Israel occupy a peculiar and exceptional position from -a social point of view. They have forgotten the Messianic promise and -do not believe in it. In most European countries they have remained -among the middle classes; to join the lower classes was for the most -part denied them, though not so widely as is generally believed. Nor -could they join the upper classes; therefore they feel related to -neither of the latter. They are aristocrats from habit and inclination, -but have the same interests as the lower classes, _i.e_. they wish to -roll away the stone which lies upon and presses them. But they fear the -proletariat who have no religious sense and who do not love the rich. -Therefore the children of Abraham rather aspire to those above them, -than seek sympathy from those below. - -About this time (1868) the question of Jewish emancipation began to be -raised. All liberals supported it and it was practically a discarding -of Christianity. Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, confirmation, -church attendance were all declared to be unnecessary conditions for -membership in a Christian community. Such apparently small reforms -make an impression on the state, like the dropping of water on a rock. - -At that time a cheerful tone prevailed in the family, the sons having a -brighter future in prospect than their fathers, whose academic course -had been hindered by State regulations. - -A liberal table was kept in the house; everything was of the best -quality, and there was plenty of it. The servants managed the house -and were allowed a free hand in everything; they were not regarded as -servants. The housemaid was a pietist and allowed to be so, as much -as she pleased. She was good-natured and humorous, and, illogically -enough, adopted the jesting tone of the cheerful paganism which reigned -in the house. On the other hand, no one laughed at her belief. John -himself was treated as an intimate friend and a child alternately and -lived with the boys. His work was easy and he was rather required to -keep the boys company than to give them lessons. Meanwhile he became -somewhat "spoiled" as people, who have the usual idea of keeping youth -in the background, call it. Though only nineteen, he was received -on an equal footing among well-known and mature artists, doctors, -_littérateurs_ and officials. He became accustomed to regard himself as -grown up, and therefore the set-backs he encountered afterwards, were -the harder to bear. - -His medical career began with chemical experiments in the technological -institute. There he obtained a closer view of some of the glories he -had dreamed of in his childhood. But how dry and tedious were the -rudiments of science! To stand and pour acids on salts and to watch the -solution change colour, was not pleasant; to produce salts from two or -more solutions was not very interesting. But later on, when the time -came for analysis, the mysterious part began. To fill a glass about -the size of a punch-bowl with a liquid as clear as water and then to -exhibit in the filter the possibly twenty elements it contained,--this -really seemed like penetrating into nature's secrets. When he was alone -in the laboratory he made small experiments on his own account, and it -was not long before with some danger he had prepared a little phial -of prussic acid. To have death enclosed in a few drops under a glass -stopper was a curiously pleasant feeling. - -At the same time he studied zoology, anatomy, botany, physic and -Latin,--still more Latin! To read and master a subject was congenial to -him, but to learn by heart he hated. His head was already filled with -so many subjects, that it was hard for anything more to enter, but it -was obliged to. - -A worse drawback was that so many other interests began to vie in his -mind with his medical studies. The theatre was only a stone's throw -from the doctor's house and he went there twice a week. He had a -standing place at the end of the third row. From thence he saw elegant -and cheerful French comedies played on a Brussels carpet. The light -Gallic humour, admired by the melancholy Swedes as their missing -complement, completely captivated him. What a mental equilibrium, what -a power of resistance to the blows of fate were possessed by this -race of a southern sunnier land! His thoughts became still more gloomy -as he grew conscious of his Germanic "Weltschmerz" lying like a veil -over everything, which a hundred years of French education could not -have lifted. But he did not know that Parisian theatrical life differs -widely from that of the industrious and thrifty Parisian at the desk -and the counter. French comedies were written for the parvenus of -the Second Empire; politics and religion were subject to the censor, -but not morals. French comedy was aristocratic in tone, but had a -liberating effect on the mind as it was in touch with reality, though -it did not interfere in social questions. It accustomed the public to -sympathise with and feel at home in this superfine world; one came to -forget the lower everyday world, and when one left the theatre it felt -as though one had been at supper with a friendly duke. - -As chance fell out, the doctor's wife possessed a good library in -which all the best literature of the world was represented. It was -indeed a treasure to have all these at one's elbow! Moreover the doctor -possessed a number of pictures by Swedish masters and a valuable -collection of engravings. There was an efflorescence of æstheticism -on all sides, even in the schools, where lectures on literature were -delivered. The conversation in the family circle mostly turned on -pictures, dramas, actors, books, authors, and the doctor felt from time -to time impelled to flavour it with details of his practice. - -Now and then John began to read the papers. Political and social life -with their various questions opened up before him, but at first with a -repelling effect, as he was an æsthete and domestic egoist. Politics -did not seem to touch him at all; he considered it a special branch of -knowledge like any other. - -He continued his lessons to the girls and his intercourse with -their family. Outside the house he met grown up relatives, who were -tradesmen, and their acquaintances. His circle was therefore widened, -and he saw life from more than one point of view. But this constant -occupation with children had a hampering effect on his development. He -never felt himself older, and he could not treat the young with an air -of superiority. He already noticed that they were in advance of him, -that they were born with new thoughts, and that they built on, where he -had ceased. When later on in life, he met grown-up pupils, he looked up -to them as though they were the older. - -The autumn of 1865 had commenced. There had been so much miscalculation -as to the effects of the new State constitution that there was -widespread discontent. Society was turned topsy-turvy. The peasant -threatened the civilised town-dwellers and there was a general feeling -of bitterness. - -Has the last word regarding the agrarian party yet been said? Probably -not. It began with a democratic and reforming programme and its attack -on the Civil List was the boldest stroke which had yet been seen. It -was a legal attempt to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of supply -was screwed down to the lowest possible, the king would go. It was a -simple and at the same time a clever stroke. - -At a period which proclaims the right of the majority, one would not -have expected the peasants' cause would encounter resistance. Sweden -was a kingdom of peasants, for the country population numbered four -millions, which in a population of four and a half millions, is -certainly the majority. Should then the half million rule the four or -vice versa? The latter course seemed the fairer. Now naturally the -townsmen talk of the egotism and tyranny of the peasants, but have the -labour party in the town a single item in their programme to improve -the condition of the peasants and cottagers? It is so stupid to talk -of egotism when every one now sees that he profits the whole, in -proportion as he profits himself. - -Meanwhile, in 1868, the malcontents discovered a party which could be -opposed to the constitutional majority and whose programme contained -all kinds of thorough-going reforms. That was the new liberal party, -consisting for the most part of authors, some artisans, a professor, -etc. By means of this handful of people who had none of the weighty -interests which landed property involves, and whose social position -was so insecure that a single unfavourable harvest could turn them -into members of the proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society. -What did the artisans know about society? How did they wish it to be -constituted? Did they wish it to be remodelled in their interest, -although the peasantry should be ruined? But that meant cutting off -their own legs, for Sweden is not a land of exporting industries. -Therefore the four million consumers in the land, as soon as their -purchasing power was diminished, would involuntarily ruin the -industries and leave the artisans stranded. That the artisans should -advance is a necessity, but to wish to make all men industrial workers -as the industrial socialists do, is much more unreasonable than to make -them all peasants as the agrarian socialists purpose doing. Capital, -which the labour party now attack, is the foundation of industry and if -that is touched, industry is overthrown, and then the workmen must go -back whence they came and still daily come,--to the country. - -Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet corrupted by intercourse with -aristocrats; it was neither conservative nor did it make compromises. -The war seemed to be between the country and the town. The atmosphere -was electric and the smallest cause might produce a thunderstorm. - -In the capital there prevailed a general desire to erect a statue to -Charles XII. Why? Was this last knight of the Middle Ages the ideal -of the age? Bid the character of the idol of Gustav IV, Adolf, and -Charles XV suitably express the spirit of the new peaceful period -which now commenced? Or did the idea originate, as so often is the -case in the sculptor's studio? Who knows? The statue was ready and the -unveiling was to take place. Stands were erected for the spectators, -but so unskilfully that the ceremony could not be witnessed by the -general public, and the space railed off could only contain the -invited guests, the singers and those who paid for their seats. But -the subscription had been national and all believed they had a right -to see. The arrangements were obnoxious to the people. Petitions were -made to have the stands removed, but without success. The crowd began -to make attempts to tear them down, but the military intervened. The -doctor that day was giving a dinner to the Italian Opera Company. They -had just risen from dessert when a noise was heard from the street; it -was at first like rain falling on an iron roof, but then cries were -distinctly audible. John listened, but for the moment nothing more was -to be heard. The wine-glasses clinked amid Italian and French phrases -which flew hither and thither over the table; there was such a noise of -jests and laughter that those at the table could hardly hear themselves -speak. But now there came a roar from the street, followed immediately -by the tramp of horses, the rattle of weapons and harness. There was -silence in the room for a moment, and one and another turned pale. - -"What is it?" asked the prima donna. - -"The mob making a noise," answered a professor. - -John stood up from the table, went into his room, took his hat and -stick and hurried out. "The mob!"--the words rang in his ear while -he went down the street. "The mob!" They were his mother's former -associates, his own school-mates and afterwards his pupils; they formed -the dark background against which the society he had just quitted, -stood out like a brilliant picture. He felt again as though he were a -deserter, and had done wrong in working his way up. But he must get -above if he was to do anything for those below. Yes many had said -that, but when once they did get above, they found it so pleasant, -that they forgot those below. These cavalrymen, for instance, whose -origin was of the humblest, what airs they gave themselves! With what -unmixed pleasure they cut down their former comrades, though it must -be confessed they would have even more enjoyed cutting down the "black -hats." - -He went on and came to the market-place. The stands for the spectators -stood out against the November sky like gigantic market booths, and -the space below swarmed with men. From the opening of the Arsenal -street the tramp of horses was heard only a short way off. Then they -came riding forth, the blue guardsmen, the support of society, on whom -the upper class relied. John was seized with a wild desire to dash -against this mass of horses, men and sabres, as though he saw in them -oppression incarnate. That was the enemy! very well--at them! The troop -rode on and John stationed himself in the middle of the street. Whence -had he derived this hatred against the supporters of law and order, who -some day would protect him and his rights after he had clambered up, -and was in a position to oppress others? If the mob with whom he now -felt his solidarity had had their hands free, they would probably have -thrown the first stone through the window, behind which he had sat with -four wine-glasses in front of him. Certainly, but that did not prevent -his taking their side just as the upper class often, inconsistently -enough, takes sides against the police. This mania for freedom in the -abstract is probably the natural man's small revolt against society. - -He was going against the cavalry with a vague idea of striking them -all to the ground or something of the sort, when fortunately some one -seized him by the arm firmly but in a friendly way. He was brought back -to the doctor's who had sent out to seek for him. After he had given -his word of honour not to go out again he sank on a sofa, and lay all -the evening in fever. - -On the day of the unveiling of Charles XII's statue, he was one of the -student singers, therefore among the elect, the "upper ten thousand," -and had no reason to be discontented with his lot. When the ceremony -was over, the people rushed forward. The police forced them back, and -then they began to throw stones. The mounted police drew their sabres -and struck, arresting some and assaulting others. - -John had entered the market in front of the Jakob's church when he saw -a policeman lay hold of a man, under a shower of stones which knocked -off the constables' helmets. Without hesitation he sprang on the -policeman, seized him by the collar, shook him and shouted, "Let the -fellow go!" - -The policeman looked at his assailant in astonishment. - -"Who are you?" he asked irresolutely. - -"I am Satan, and I will take you, if you don't let him go." - -He actually did let him go and tried to seize John. At the same instant -a stone knocked off his three-cornered hat. John tore himself loose; -the crowd were now driven back by bayonets towards the guard-house in -the Gustaf Adolf market. After them followed a swarm of well-dressed -men, obviously members of the upper classes, shouting wildly, and as it -seemed, resolved to free the prisoners. John ran with them; it was as -though they were all impelled by a storm-wind. Men who had not been -molested or oppressed at all, who had high positions in society, rushed -blindly forward, risking their position, their domestic happiness, -their living, everything. John felt a hand grasp his. He returned the -pressure, and saw close beside him a middle-aged man, well-dressed, -with distorted features. They did not know each other, nor did they -speak together, but ran hand in hand, as if seized by one impulse. -They came across a third in whom John recognised an old school-fellow, -subsequently a civil service official, son of the head of a department. -This young man had never sided with the opposition party in school, -but on the contrary, was looked upon as a re-actionary with a future -in front of him. He was now as white as a corpse, his cheeks were -bloodless, the muscles of his forehead swollen, and his face resembled -a skull in which two eyes were burning. They could not speak, but -took each other's hands and ran on against the guards whom they were -attacking. The human waves advanced till they were met by the bayonets, -and then as always, dispersed in foam. Half-an-hour later John was -discussing a beefsteak with some students in the Opera restaurant. He -spoke of his adventure as though it were something which had happened -independently of him and his will. Nay, he even jested at it. That -may have been fear of public opinion, but also it may have been the -case that he regarded his outbreak objectively and now quietly judged -it as a member of society. The trap-door had opened for a moment, the -prisoner had put his head out, and then it had closed again. - -His unknown fellow-criminal, as he discovered later, was a pronounced -conservative, a wholesale tradesman. He always avoided meeting John's -eye, when they met after this. One time they met on a narrow pavement, -and had to look at each other, but did not smile. - -While they were sitting in the restaurant, came the news of the death -of Blanche. The students took it fairly coolly, the artists and middle -class citizens more warmly, but the lower classes talked of murder. -They knew that he had personally besought Charles XV to have the -spectators' stands taken down; they knew also, that though he was -very prosperous himself, he had always thought of them and they were -thankful. Stupid people objected, as is usual in such cases, that it -required no great skill on his part to speak on behalf of the poor, -when he was rich and celebrated. Did it not? It required the greatest. - -It is remarkable that the chief outbreak of discontent was directed, -not as elsewhere against the King, but against the governor and the -police. Charles XV was a _persona grata_; he could do as he liked -without becoming unpopular. He was neither condescending nor democratic -in his tastes, but rather proud. Stories were told of some of his -favourites having fallen into disgrace for want of respect on some -mirthful occasion. He could put tobacco into his soldiers' mouths, -but he scolded officers who did not at once fall in with his moods. -He could box people's ears at a fire, and did not laugh when he was -caricatured in a comic paper, as was supposed. He was a ruler and -believed he was also a warrior and a statesman; he interfered in the -government and could snub specialists with a "You don't understand -that!" But he was popular and remained so. Swedes, who do not like to -see a man's will slackening, admired this will and bowed before it. -It was also strange, that they forgave his irregular life; perhaps it -was because he made no secret of it. He had laid down a standard of -morality for himself and lived according to it. Therefore he lived at -harmony with himself, and harmony is always pleasant to contemplate. - -People might be revolters by instinct, but they did not believe in the -transition form to a better social constitution, _i.e_. a republic. -They had seen how two French republics had been followed by new -monarchies. There were secret anarchists, but no republicans, and they -had persuaded themselves that the monarchy offered no barrier to the -progress of liberty. - -These were the ideas of the younger men. The elder men with Blanche -thought a republic the only means of social salvation and therefore in -our days the old liberal school has become conservative-republican. - - * * * * * - -When the doctor saw that his wife's literary books threatened to -encroach upon John's medical studies, he resolved to give him a -glimpse into the secrets of his profession, and to allow him such a -foretaste of real work as should entice him to overcome the tedious -preliminary studies which he himself thought too extensive. John now -knew more chemistry and physics than the doctor, and the latter thought -it was merely malicious to hinder a rival's course by imposing too -hard preliminary studies. Why should he not, as in America, commence -dissection, which was a special branch of study? Now after the -theoretical study of anatomy, he could begin practice as an assistant. -That was a new life full of variety and reality. One went for instance -into a dark alley and came into a porter's room, where a woman lay, -sick of fever, surrounded by poor children, the grandmother and other -relations, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the doctor's verdict. -The malodorous ragged bed-cover would be lifted, a sunken heaving chest -exposed to view, and a prescription written. Then one went to the -Tvädgårdsgatan and was conducted over soft carpets through splendid -rooms into a bed-chamber which looked liked a temple; one lifted a -blue silk coverlet and put in splints the leg of an angelic-looking -child, dressed in lace. On the way out one looked at a collection of -paintings, and talked about artists. This was something novel and -interesting, but what connection had it with Titus Livius and the -history of philosophy? - -But then came the details of surgery. One was roused at seven o'clock -in the morning, came into the doctor's dark room, and manually assisted -at the cauterising of a syphilitic sore. The room reeked of human -flesh, and was repugnant to an empty stomach. Or he had to hold a -patient's head and felt it twitch with pain while the doctor with a -fork extracted glands from his throat. - -"One soon gets accustomed to that," said the doctor, and that was true, -but John's thoughts were busy with Goethe's Faust, Wieland's Epicurean -romances, George Sand's social phantasies, Chateaubriand's soliloquies -with nature, and Lessing's common-sense theories. His imagination -was set in motion and his memory refused to work; the reality of -cauterisations and flowing blood was ugly; æstheticism had laid hold -of him, and actual life seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His -intercourse with artists had opened his eyes to a new world, a free -society within Society. They would come to a well-spread table where -cultivated people were sitting with badly-fitting clothes, black nails, -and dirty linen, as if they were not merely equal, but superior to the -rest,--in what? - -They could scarcely write their names, they borrowed money without -repaying it, and their talk was coarse. Everything was permitted to -them, which was not permitted to others. Why? They could paint. They -studied at the Academy, and the Academy did not ask whether all who -enrolled themselves as students were geniuses. How was it known that -they were geniuses? Was painting greater than knowledge and science? - -They also had, as was well recognised, a peculiar morality of their -own. They opened studios, hired models, and boasted of their paramours, -while other men were ashamed of theirs and incurred disapproval on -account of them. They laughed at what were very serious matters for -other men, nay, it seemed to be part of an artist's equipment to be a -"scoundrel," as any one else would be called for similar conduct. - -"That was a glad free world," thought John, and one in which he could -thrive, without conventional fetters or social obligations, and above -all, without contact with banal realities. But he was not a genius? -How should he get the entrée to it? Should he learn to paint and so be -initiated? No! that would not do; he had never thought of painting; -that demanded a special vocation, he thought, and painting would not -express all he had to say, when once he began to speak. If he _had_ -to find a medium for self-expression it would be the theatre. An actor -could step forward, and say all kinds of truths, however bitter they -might be, without being brought to book for them. That was certainly a -tempting career. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -John's proposal to transfer the university from Upsala to Stockholm was -destined to have consequences, and his comrades had warned him of them. -When he went up early in spring in order to write the obligatory Latin -essay he had sent the professor by post the three test-essays and the -15 krona fee. So he could carry out his purpose unhindered and enrolled -himself. - -But now in May he wished to go and pass the preliminary examination in -chemistry. In order to be well prepared, he had himself tested by the -assistant-professor at the technological institute. The latter did so -and declared that he already knew more than was needed for the medical -examination. Thus prepared, he went up to Upsala. His first visit was -to a comrade, who had already passed the preliminary examination in -chemistry, and knew the "tips" for it. - -John began: "I can do synthesis and analysis, and have studied organic -chemistry." - -"That is very well, for we only need synthesis; however, it is no use -for you have not studied in the professor's laboratory." - -"That is true; but the course at the Institute is much better." - -"No matter,--it is not his." - -"We shall see," said John, "whether knowledge does not tell in any -ease." - -"If you are so sure, then try, but consider first what I say. You must -first go to the assistant-professor and get a 'tip'." - -"What do you mean?" - -"For a krona he will give you an hour's polishing, and ask you all the -important questions which the professor has put during the past year. -Just now he is in the habit of asking whether matches can be made out -of his carcase and ammonia from your old boots. But that you will -learn from the assistant. Secondly, you must not go to be examined -in a frock coat and white tie; least of all, dressed as well as you -are now. Therefore you must borrow my riding-coat, which is green in -the shoulders and red in the seams, and my top-boots, for he does not -like elastic boots." - -John followed his friend's instructions and went first to the -assistant-professor who gave him the questions which had been last -asked. In return John promised that under all circumstances he would -return and tell him the questions which he himself had been asked, as a -means of enlarging his catechism. - -The next day John went to his friend to array himself. His trousers -were drawn up so that the tops of the boots should be seen and his -loose collar turned on one side, so that the skin should show between -the tie and the collar. Thus equipped, he went up for his first trial. - -The professor of chemistry had formerly been a fortification officer, -and had received in his time a not very cordial welcome from the -learned staff in Upsala. He was a soldier, not academically cultivated, -and thus a kind of "Philistine." This had galled him and made him -bilious. In order to efface the effect of his laymen-like exterior, he -affected the airs of an over-read and blunt professor. He went about -ill-dressed and behaved eccentrically. Though many hundreds besides -himself had been pupils of Berzelius, he was fond of mentioning the -fact; it was his trump card. Berzelius, among other things, went about -in shabby trousers, therefore a hole in one's clothes was the sign of a -learned chemist, and so on. Hence all these peculiarities. - -John presented himself, was regarded with suspicion and bidden to come -again in a week. He replied that he had come from Stockholm and was -too poor to support himself for a week in the town. He managed to get -permission to present himself the next day. "It would be soon over," -said the old man. - -The next day he sat on a seat opposite the professor. It was a sunny -afternoon in May, and the old man seemed to have digested his dinner -badly. He looked grim as he threw out his first question from his -rocking-chair. The answers were correct at the beginning. Then the -questions became more tortuous like snakes. - -"If I have an estate, where I suspect the presence of saltpetre, how -shall I begin to construct a saltpetre factory?" - -John suggested a saltpetre analysis. - -"No." - -"Well, then, I don't know anything else." - -There was silence and the flies buzzed,--a long and terrible silence. -"Now will come the question about the boots or the matches," thought -John, "and there I shall shine." He coughed by way of rousing the -professor, but the silence continued. John wondered whether he had been -seen through and whether the old man recognised the "examination coat." - -Then came a new question which was unanswered, and then another. - -"You have come too soon," said the old man, and rose up. - -"Yes, but I have worked a whole year in the laboratory, and can do -chemical analysis." - -"Yes, you know how to make up prescriptions, but you have not digested -your knowledge. In the Institute only manual dexterity is necessary, -but here scientific knowledge is required." - -As a matter of fact the case was exactly the reverse for the medical -students in Upsala complained that they had to stand like cooks and -make up mixtures and salts, without having time to look at an analysis, -which last was just what a doctor ought to do while synthesis was the -apothecary's work. But now the proposal made some years before whether -the university had not better be transferred to Stockholm had roused a -feeling in Upsala against the capital. Moreover the laboratory of the -newly-built technological institute was as famous for its excellent -equipment, as that of Upsala was notorious for its poor one. Here, -therefore, petty prejudices were at work and John felt the unfairness -of it. "I do not then get a certificate?" he asked. - -"No, sir, not this year; but come again next year." - -The professor was ashamed to say, "Go to my only soul-saving -laboratory." - -John went out furious. Here then again neither diligence nor knowledge -prevailed, but only cash and cringing! Had he tried short cuts? No, -on the contrary, he had been obliged to travel by painful circuitous -paths, while others had gone the direct road, and the directest is the -shortest. - -He went to the Carolina Park, as angry as an irritated bee. He did -not wish to return at once to the town, but sat down on a seat. If he -could only set this devil's hole on fire! Another year? No, never! Why -read so much unnecessary stuff, which would only be forgotten, and be -of no practical use? And slave in order to enter this dirty profession -where one had to analyse urine, pick about in vomit, poke about in all -the recesses of the body? Faugh! Just as he was sitting there, a group -of cheerful-looking people came by, and stood laughing outside the -Carolina library. They looked up to the window's, through which long -rows of books were visible, shelf after shelf. They laughed,--the men -and women laughed at the books. He thought he recognised them. Yes, -they were Levasseur's French actors, whom he had seen in Stockholm and -who were now visiting Upsala. They laughed at the books! Lucky people -who could be importers of genius and culture without books. Perhaps -every soul had something to give which was not in books, but would be -there some day. Yes, certainly it was so. He himself possessed stories -of experience and thoughts, which could enrich anthropology, and were -ready to be throw out. - -Again there stole upon him the thought of entering this privileged -profession, which stood outside and above petty social conventions -which ignored distinctions of rank, and in which one need never be -conscious of belonging to the lower classes. There one could appeal to -the universal judgment, and work in full publicity instead of being -hung up here in a remote dark hole, without a verdict, examination, or -witnesses. - -Strengthened by this new idea, he stood up, east a glance at the books -above, and went down to the town resolved to go home and seek for an -engagement in the Theatre Royal. - -Every townsman has probably felt once in his life the wish to appear -as an actor. This is probably due to the impulse of the cultivated -man to magnify and make himself something, to identify himself with -great and celebrated personalities. John, who was a romanticist, had -also the desire to step forward and harangue the public. He believed -that he could choose his proper rôle, and he knew beforehand which it -would be. The fact that he, like all others, believed that he had the -capacity to become an actor, sprang from the superfluity of unused -force, produced by a want of sufficient physical exercise, and from the -tendency to megalomania connected with mental over-exertion. He saw no -difficulties in the profession itself, but expected opposition from -another quarter. - -To attribute his being stage-struck to hereditary tendencies would -perhaps be hasty, since we have just remarked that it is an almost -universal impulse. But his paternal grandfather, a Stockholm citizen, -had written dramatic pieces for an amateur theatre, and a young -distant relative still lived as a warning example. The latter had been -an engineer, had been through a course of instruction in the Motala -iron-works, and had a post on the Köping-Hult railway. He therefore had -fine prospects in front of him, but suddenly threw them up, and became -an actor. This step of his was an incessant trouble to his family. Up -to this time the young man had become nothing but was still travelling -about with an obscure theatrical company. The danger of becoming like -him was the difficult point. "Yes," said John to himself, "but I shall -have luck." Why? Because he believed it; and he believed it because he -wished it. - -Some might be inclined to derive this strong impulse on John's part -from the fact that he loved to play, as a child, with a toy theatre, -but that is not sufficient, as all children do the same and he had got -the taste from seeing them do it. The theatre was an unreal better -world which enticed one out of the tedious real one. The latter would -not have seemed so tedious if his education had been more harmonious -and realistic and not given him such a strong tendency to romance. -Enough; his resolution was taken; and without saying anything to any -one, he went to the director of the Theatrical Academy the dramaturgist -of the Theatre Royal. - -When he heard the sound of his own words "I want to be an actor," -he shuddered. He felt as though he tore down the veil of his inborn -modesty, and did violence to his own nature. - -The director asked what he was doing at present. - -"Studying medicine." - -"And you want to give up such a career, for one that is the hardest and -the worst of all?" - -"Yes." - -All actors called their profession the "hardest and the worst" though -they had such a good time of it. That was in order to frighten away -aspirants. - -John asked for private lessons in order that he might make his début. -The director replied that he was now going to the country for the -theatrical season was at an end, but he told John to come again on the -1st of September when the theatre opened, and the board of management -came again to the town. That was a definite appointment and he saw his -way clear. - -When he went down the street, he walked with his eyes wide open, as -though he gazed into a brilliant future; victory was already his; he -felt its intoxicating eating fumes, and hurried, though with unsteady -steps, down the street. - -He said nothing to the doctor nor to any one else. He had still three -months in front of him in which to train and prepare himself, but in -secret, for he was shy and timid. He was afraid of annoying his father -and the doctor, afraid of the whole town knowing that he thought -himself capable of being an actor, afraid of his relatives' scorn, his -friends' grimaces and efforts to dissuade him. This was the fruit of -his education, the fear,--"What will people say?" His imagination made -the act seem like a crime. It was certainly an interference with other -people's peace of mind for relations and friends feel a shock, when -they see a link torn out of the social chain. He felt it himself, and -had to shake off the scruples of conscience. - -For his début he had chosen the rôles of Karl Moor and Wijkander's -Lucidor. This was no mere chance but perfectly logical. In both of -these characters he had found the expression of his inner experience, -and therefore he wished to speak with their tongues. He conceived of -Lucidor as a higher nature undermined and ruined by poverty. A higher -nature of course! In his enthusiasm for the theatre he felt again what -he had felt when he had preached, and when he had revolted against the -school prayers,[1] something of the proclaimer, the prophet, and the -soothsayer. - -What most of all elevated his ideas of the great significance of the -theatre was the perusal of Schiller's essay, "The theatre regarded -as an instrument of moral education." Sentences like the following -show how lofty was the goal at which Schiller aimed. "The stage is -the chief channel through which the light of wisdom descends from -the better, thinking portion of the populace in order to spread its -beneficent light over the whole state." "In this world of art we -dream ourselves away from the real one, we find ourselves again, our -feelings are roused, wholesome emotions stir our slumbering nature and -drive our blood in swift currents. The unhappy here forget their own -sorrows in watching those of others, the happy become sober, and the -self-confident, reflective. The effeminate weakling is hardened into a -man, the coarse and callous here begin to feel. And then finally,--what -a triumph for thee O Nature, so often trodden down and so often -re-arisen,--when men of all climates and conditions, casting away all -fetters of convention and fashion, set free from the iron hand of fate, -fraternising in one all-embracing sympathy, dissolved into _one_ race, -forget themselves and the world, and approach their heavenly origin. -Each individual enjoys the delight of all, which is mirrored back to -him strengthened and beautified from a hundred eyes, and his breast has -only room for one aspiration,--to be a man!" - -Thus wrote the young Schiller at twenty-five, and the youth of twenty -subscribed it. - -The theatre is certainly still a means of culture for young people and -the middle class who can still feel the illusion of actors and painted -canvas. For older and cultivated people it is a recreation in which the -actor's art is the chief object of attention. Therefore old critics -are almost invariably discontent and crabbed. They have lost their -illusions and do not pass over any mistake in the acting. - -Modern times have overprised the theatre, especially the actor's art in -an exaggerated degree, and a re-action has followed. Actors have tried -to ply their art independently of the dramatist, believing that they -could stand on their own legs. Therefore particular "stars" become the -objects of homage and therefore also opposition has been aroused. In -Paris, where people had gone to the greatest lengths, a reaction first -showed itself. The _Figaro_ called the heroes of the Théâtre-Français -to order, and reminded them that they were only the author's puppets. - -The decay of all the great European theatres shows that the actor's -art has lost its interest. Cultivated people no more go to the -theatre because their sense for reality has been developed, and -their imagination which is a relic of the savage has diminished; the -uncultivated lack the time, and the money to go. The future seems to -belong to the variety theatre, which amuses without instructing, for it -is mere play and recreation. All important writers choose another, more -suitable form in which to handle important questions. Ibsen's dramas -have always produced their effect in book form before they were played; -and when they are played, the spectators' interest is generally -concentrated on the _manner_ of their performance; consequently it is a -secondary interest. - -John committed the usual mistake of youth, _i.e._ of confusing the -actor with the author; the actor is the mere enunciator of the -sentiments for which the author who stands behind him, is responsible. - -In the spring John resigned his post as tutor to the two girls, and -now he had leisure during the summer to study his art in secret, -and on his own responsibility. He had scoffed at books, and now the -first things he sought were books. They contained the thoughts and -experiences of men with whom, though most of them were dead, he could -converse familiarly, without being betrayed. He had heard that in the -castle there was a library which belonged to the State, and from which -one could borrow books. He obtained a surety and went there. It was a -solemn place with small rooms full of books where grey-haired silent -old men sat and read. He got his books and went shyly and happily home. - -He wished to study the matter thoroughly in all its aspects, as was his -custom. In Schiller he found the assurance that the theatre was of deep -significance; in Goethe he found a whole treatise on the histrionic -art with directions how one should walk and stand, behave oneself, sit -down, come in and go out; in Lessing's _Hamburgische Dramaturgie_ he -found a whole volume of theatrical critiques filled with the closest -observations. Lessing especially roused his hopes, for he went so far -as to declare that the theatre had come down owing to the inferiority -of the actors, and said that it would be better to employ amateurs -from the cultivated classes who would play better than the drilled and -often uncultured actors. He also read Raymond de St. Albin, whose often -quoted observations on the actor's art are of great value. - -At the same time he exercised himself practically. At the doctor's he -arranged a stage when the boys were out. He practised entrances and -exits; he arranged the stage for "The Robbers," dressed himself like -Karl Moor, and played that part. He went to the National Museum and -studied gestures of antique sculptures and gave up using his walking -stick in order to accustom himself to walk freely. He did violence -to his shyness, which had almost produced in him "agoraphobia," or -the dread of crossing open places, and accustomed himself to walk -across Karl XIII's square where great crowds used to be found. He did -gymnastics every day at home, and fenced with his pupils. He gave -attention to every movement of the muscles; practised walking with head -erect and chest expanded, with arms hanging free and hands loosely -clenched, as Goethe directs. - -The chief difficulty he found was in the cultivation of his voice, -for he was overheard when he declaimed in the house. Then it occurred -to him to go outside the town. The only place where he could be -undisturbed was the Ladugårdsgärdet. There he could look over the plain -for a great distance and see whether any one was coming; there sounds -died away so quickly that it cost him an effort to hear himself. This -strengthened his voice. - -Every day he went out there, and declaimed against heaven and earth. -The town whose church tower rose opposite Ladugårdsgärdet symbolised -society, while he stood out here alone with Nature. He shook his fist -at the castle, the churches, and the barracks, and stormed at the -troops who during their manoeuvres often came too close to him. There -was something fanatical in his work and he spared himself no pains in -order to make his unwilling muscles obedient. - - -[1] _Vide_ the _Son of a Servant_. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - -(1869) - - -Among those who frequented the doctor's house was a young man who -studied sculpture. He had come from the lower strata of society, had -been a smith's apprentice, and had now entered the Academy, where he -was a probationary student. He was happy and always cheerful, believed -himself called by providence to his new career, and narrated how he -had been aroused and impelled by the spirit to work in the service -of the Beautiful. John liked him because he was not introspective or -self-critical and quite free from self-consciousness. Moreover he was a -fellow culprit, who was making the same daring attempt as John to work -his way out of the lower class, but entirely lacked the consciousness -of guilt which persecuted the latter. - -One day this friend, whose name was Albert, came to him and said -that he was going to Copenhagen to visit Thorwaldsen's Museum. An -enterprising speculator had arranged a trip there through the canal -and back by sea for a very small fare. "You come too," he said, and it -was soon settled that John should accompany him with one of the boys. -The occasion of the expedition was the crown princess's entry into -Copenhagen, but that was a secondary object in the eyes of the pilgrims -to Thorwaldsen's tomb. - -On an August evening John sat on the poop of the steamer with the -sculptor, one of the boys and a school friend of his. In the twilight -which had already fallen one saw ladies and gentlemen coming on board. -The society seemed to be first-class. Stout fathers of families with -field-glasses and tourist knapsacks, ladies in summer dresses and hats -of the latest fashion. There was a bustle and stir, as each sought a -sleeping-place which was guaranteed to all. John and his companions sat -quietly waiting. They had their provisions and rugs and feared nothing. -When the steamer had started and the confusion had ceased, John said, -"Now we will have some bread and butter before we lie down." - -They looked for their knapsacks and the provision basket, but they were -not to be found. They discovered that they had not come with them. This -was a hard blow, for they had only a little cash and they had counted -on the excellent provisions which the doctor's wife had put up for -them. Accordingly they had to eat from the sculptor's box, which only -contained poor dry victuals. - -Then they wanted to lie down. On all sides people were asking for -sleeping-places, but could not find any. The passengers were in an -uproar and there was a storm of curses. They had therefore to sit on -deck; there were inquiries for the organiser of the expedition, but he -was not on board. John lay down on the bare deck and the boys drew a -tarpaulin over themselves, for the dew was falling and it was bitterly -cold. They awoke at Södertelje, freezing, for the sailors had taken -away the tarpaulin. - -On the canal bank there now appeared the organiser of the excursion, -who was an upholsterer. The passengers rushed at him, drew him on -board, and loaded him with reproaches. He defended himself and tried -to land again, but in vain. A court martial was held; they resolved -to continue their journey, but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. -The steamer went on through the canal, but as it was passing through a -lock, the man-swung himself up on the dam and disappeared amid a hail -of curses. - -The journey was continued and by midday they were in the Gotha canal. -Dinner was laid on the poop. John and his companions ensconced -themselves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a simple meal out -of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, who had slept on a bale do mu in -the luggage-hold, was in a good humour and knew all the passengers' -characters and names. - -The dinner-table was now crowded. It was presided over by a master -chimney-sweep with his family. Then there came pawnbrokers, -public-house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with their families, -a number of young shop boys and some girls. John suffered when he saw -stewed perch and strawberries together with claret and sherry, for he -had been so spoilt by luxury that simple food made him poorly. This -was the "upper class" among the passengers. The master chimney-sweep -played the grand gentleman, he made a grimace at the claret and scolded -the waitress who said that the restaurant-keeper was responsible. The -porter from the Record Office affected the learned man, and as an -official seemed to look down on the "Philistines." - -While the sherry circulated, speeches were made. The lower class -from the fore-deck hung on the gunwales and hand-rails and listened. -The pariahs in the lifeboat were ignored. People knew that they were -there, but did not see them. They may very likely have wished the -"white cap" away, for there were two eyes under its peak, which saw -that they were no better than himself. John felt that. He had just -emerged from this class to which he belonged by birth, but he had no -food and was nothing. He felt his inferiority and his superiority; and -their superiority. They had worked; therefore they ate. Yes, but he -had worked as much as they, though not in the same way. He had derived -honour from his work, while they took the good eating and dispensed -with the honour. One could not have both. - -The people sat there satisfied and happy, drank their coffee and -liqueurs, and occupied the whole poop. They now became bold and made -remarks over those in the lifeboat, who could only suffer in silence, -because the others were in the majority and the upper class, for they -were consumers. - -John felt himself in an element which was not his. There was an -atmosphere of hostility about him, and he felt depressed. There were -no police on board to help him, no arbitration to appeal to, and if -there were a quarrel, all would condemn him. There only needed a sharp -retort on his part, and he would be struck. "The deuce!" he thought, -"it would be better to obey officers and officials; they would never -be such tyrants as these democrats." Later on, at Albert's advice, he -sought to approach them, but they were inaccessible. - -Further on during the voyage between Venersborg and Göteborg the -explosion came. John and his companions' hunger increased so much that -one day they determined to go down to the dining-saloon and eat some -bread and butter. It was so full of people eating and drinking that -they could hardly find room. John's pupil, according to the custom of -his class, kept his hat on. The master chimney-sweep noticed this. -"Hullo!" he said, "is the ceiling too high for you?" - -The boy seemed not to understand him. - -"Take your hat off, boy!" he shouted again. - -The hat remained as it was. A shop assistant knocked it off. The boy -picked up the hat, and put it again on his head. Then the storm burst. -They all rushed on him like one man and knocked the hat off. Then they -went for John, "And such a young devil has a tutor who cannot teach -boys to know their proper place! We know well enough who _you_ are." -Then they rained abuse on his parents. John tried to inform them that -in the social circles to which the boy belonged, it was the custom to -keep one's hat on in public places, and that he had not intended any -expression of contempt by it. But his explanation was ill-received. -What did he mean by "those circles"? What nonsense he talked! Did he -want to teach them manners? And so on. - -Yes, he could; for it was precisely from these circles that they had -learnt five-and-twenty years ago to take their hats off, which was no -longer the custom, and he could have told them that in twenty-five -years more they would keep their hats on as soon as they got wind that -_that_ was the fashion. But they had not discovered it yet. - -John and his friends went again on deck. "One cannot argue with these -people," he said. - -His nerves were shaken by the scene just witnessed. He had seen an -outbreak of class-hatred and the flashing eyes of people whom he had -not injured; he had felt the foot of the upper class of the future upon -his breast. They had become his enemies; the bridge between him and -them was broken down; but the tie of blood remained and he cherished -the same hatred towards aristocratic society, and its unjust ascendency -as they did; he felt the same grudge against the conventions before -which they all had to bow; yes, he had Karl Moor's replies in his mind, -but those who had just defeated him were all Spiegelbergers.[1] If they -got the upper hand they would trample on all,--great and small; if he -got the upper hand, he would only trample on the great. That was the -difference between them. It was, however, education which had made him -more democratic than they; he would therefore side with the educated. -They would work for those below, but from a distance, and from above. -One could not handle this raw uncouth mass. - -The stay on board was now intolerable. An outbreak might take place at -any moment. And it came. - -They were now in the Kattegat, and John was sitting on the upper deck -when he heard a loud noise beneath him of voices and cries. He thought -he recognised his pupil's voice, and rushed down. On the middle deck -stood the accused surrounded by a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms -about and shouted. John asked what the matter was. - -"He has stolen my cap," shouted the pawnbroker. - -"I don't believe it possible," said John. - -"Yes, I saw it; he has put it in this clothes bag." - -It was John's bag. "That is mine," said John. "You can look into it -yourself." He opened the bag and there lay the pawnbroker's cap! There -was general excitement. John stood convicted and a storm was on the -point of breaking out against the two thieves. A student who stole! -That was a bonne bouche. How had it happened? Now John remembered. He -had a grey cap similar to the pawnbroker's which he used to sleep in -at night. He had told the boy to put it in his bag; the boy had taken -the wrong one. John turned to the foredeck passengers: "Gentlemen," he -began, "do you think it likely that a rich man's son would go and take -a greasy cap when he has a perfectly new one? Do you not see that there -has been a mistake?" - -"Yes," said the plebeians, "there has." - -Only the pawnbroker was obstinate and stuck to his statement. - -"Then it only remains for me to beg this gentleman's pardon for the -mistake, and I ask my pupil to do the same." - -The latter did so, though unwillingly. There was general satisfaction -and a murmured opinion that he had "spoken like a gentleman." The -matter was fortunately settled. - -"You see," said John to the boy, "the people are open to reason after -all!" - -"Bah! That was only because they felt flattered at being called -gentlemen,--the cursed rabble!" - -"Perhaps," answered John, who felt that he had been sufficiently -humiliated for such a trifle. - -At last they reached Copenhagen. Hungry, freezing, and in the worst of -humours they sat in the rain outside the Thorwaldsen Museum, which was -closed on account of the festivities. But Albert swore he would get -in. After they had waited for an hour with the master chimney-sweep, -the public-house keeper, and all the other passengers there came an -old man who looked learned and wished to enter. Albert rushed after -him, mentioned the name of Molins, the Swedish sculptor, and they got -in, leaving the other passengers outside. Albert was delighted, and -could not help making a face at the master chimney-sweep who remained -outside. But the one who enjoyed it most was the young sinner, who -hated the mob. - -"Now we are gentlemen," he said. - -John was not in the mood to enjoy Thorwaldsen's works. He regarded -him as an average artist talented enough to win fame. Albert found -the antiques too elaborate, but did not dare to criticise them. -They did not witness the royal entry, but sat on the tower of the -Fruekirke and looked at the view. At nightfall, when they felt tired -and exhausted, they wanted to go down to the steamer to sleep, but it -had gone to Malmö. They stood in the street in the rain. They could -not go to an hotel, for they had no money. Albert resolved to go to a -public-house and ask for a night's lodging. They found a sailors' inn -near the public-house. The landlord said it was only for seamen, but -they answered that they must have shelter. They were taken into a back -room where there were two camp-beds, but a basin was not to be seen. -The walls were unpapered and looked shabby. In one of the beds lay a -sailor. Who was to be his bed-fellow? Albert undertook that, and slept -with the stranger, who was a Dutchman. So they all went to sleep, John -cursing the whole adventure, for the bed-clothes were malodorous. - -The return voyage home by sea was one long penance. Without provisions -and hardly any money they had to sustain life on raw eggs which they -bought in the small towns they touched at. These along with stale -bread and brandy, composed their diet for three days. Albert alone -was cheerful and enjoyed himself. He slept on the poop with the -passengers and amused them with stories; he was akin to them, and knew -their language. He drank with them and got hot food; he even went into -the kitchen sometimes and begged himself a plate of soup. "How easily -he takes life!" thought John. "He does not miss luxuries, for he has -never known them; he will never be expelled as an intruder when he -approaches people; he feasts while others starve, and sees only friends -everywhere. But his day will come when he will no longer be one of the -lower class, when luxury and refined habits will make him as helpless -and unfortunate as me." - -When he got home he was furious. So it was everywhere. Those who were -above trampled on those below, and those who were below tried to -pull one back when one tried to mount. What was the meaning of all -this talk about aristocrats and democrats? The lower class spoke of -their democratic way of thinking, as though it were a virtue. What -virtue is there in hating those who are above? What is the meaning of -"aristocrat"? [Greek: Aristos] means the best, and [Greek: krateo] "I -rule." Therefore an aristocrat is one who wishes that the best should -rule and a democrat one who wishes that the worst should do so. But -then comes the question: Who are really the best? Are a low social -position, poverty and ignorance things that make men better? No, for -then one would not try to do away with poverty and ignorance. Into -whose hands then should men commit political power, with the knowledge -that it would be in the hands of the least mischievous? Into the hands -of those who knew most? Then one would have professorial government, -and Upsala would be--no, not the professors! To whom then should power -be given? He could not answer, but certainly not to the chimney-sweep -and cab-owner who were on the steamer. - -On this occasion he did not go deeper into the matter, for the question -had not yet been raised whether the same culture could not be imparted -to every one, or whether there need be any governing body at all. - -He had come across the worst aristocracy of all, the upper stratum -of the lower class, or, to name them by their usual ugly title, "the -Philistines." They were a bad copy of the aristocracy; they sided with -the powerful, aped the habits of their superiors, grew rich by others' -labours, quoted authorities and hated opposition with the exception of -their silent opposition to those above them. The master chimney-sweep -made money through the toil of the abjectly poor, the cab-owner through -the wretched cabbies and hacks, the pawnbroker wrung unrighteous -gain from the need of the poverty-stricken, and so on, everywhere. -A teacher, on the other hand, a doctor, an artist, could not depute -slaves to his work; he must do it himself, and was therefore not such -a shark as those below. If, then, culture brought men happiness and -made them better, then the aristocracy were justified and beneficent, -and could regard themselves as better than those below. Yes, but one -could buy culture for money, could beg or borrow the means for it, -as so many students did, and there was no virtue in that at any rate. -Yet one could not help feeling superior to others when one knew more -and observed the laws of social life so as to injure no one. All that -remained for the real democracy was to reduce everything to a dead -level, so that no one need feel themselves below, and no one could -think they were above. - - -[1] _Vide_ Schiller's "Robbers." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -BEHIND THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -The Swedish theatre was at this time exposed to many attacks, and when -is a theatre not in that condition? The theatre is a miniature society -within society, with a monarch, ministers, officials, and a whole -number of classes, ranged above one another in ranks. Is it any wonder -that this society is always exposed to the attacks of the malcontents? -But at this period the attacks had a more practical object. A former -provincial actor had written a pamphlet against the Theatre Royal, of -little real importance, but with the result that the author was invited -to a seat on the board of directors. This aroused imitators, and many -published treatises in order to attain the same result. - -As a matter of fact, the Theatre Royal was neither better nor worse -than it had been before. "But," it was asked, "if the theatre is -an institution supported by subscriptions for forwarding culture, -why set an uncultivated person at the head of it?" To this it was -answered, "We have just had one of the most learned men in the country -as director, and how did that answer? Although he had the advantage -of plebeian birth he was worried to death by the democratic press, -which incessantly carped at him." At last, in our time, the utopia of -self-government has been realised, the theatre has a man from the lower -classes at its head, and there is general satisfaction. - -On the day fixed, John went to the theatre in order to announce his -intention of making his début. After some delay, he was sent for and -asked his business. - -"I want to make my début." - -"Oh! have you studied any special character?" - -"Karl Moor in 'The Robbers,'" he answered more defiantly than was -necessary. - -They looked at each other and smiled. "But one must have three rôles; -have you got no other to suggest?" - -"Lucidor!" - -There was a consultation, and John was informed that these dramas were -not now in the repertory of the theatre. He objected that this was not -a sufficient reason for his not undertaking those rôles, but received -the perfectly fair answer, that the theatre could not stage such -important dramas and disarrange its programme for untried débutants. -Then the director proposed to John that he should take the rôle of the -"Warrior of Ravenna." But after the great success which had attended -the last actor of that part, he dared not. They finally suggested that -he should have a talk with the literary manager. Then began a battle -which was probably not the first or the last which had taken place in -that room. - -"Be reasonable, sir; one must study this profession like all others. No -one becomes an adept all of a sudden. Creep before you walk. Undertake -at first a minor rôle." - -"No, the rôle must be great enough to sustain me. In a minor rôle one -must be a great artist in order to attract attention." - -"Yes, but listen to me, sir; I have experience." - -"Yes, but others have made their début in leading parts, without having -been on the stage before." - -"But you will break your neck." - -"Very well, then! I will!" - -"Yes, but the board of directors will not give the best stage in the -country to the first chance aspirant to make experiments on." - -That seemed reasonable. He therefore consented to undertake a minor -rôle. He was given the part of Härved Boson in Hedberg's _Marriage of -Ulfosa_. - -John read over the part at home, and was astonished. It was quite -insignificant. He only had a few quarrels with his brother-in-law and -then embraced his wife. But he had to undertake the part, as he had -agreed to do. - -The rehearsals began. To have to shout out empty words without meaning -was repugnant to him. - -After some trials the teacher declared that he had no more time and -recommended John to take lessons in the Dramatic Academy. - -"But I won't be a pupil," he said. - -"No, of course." - -They talked of the Dramatic Academy, as of an elementary or Sunday -School; all kinds of pupils were accepted whether they had any -education or not. John did not intend to become a pupil, but went -just to listen. He went there reluctantly. Accustomed to be a teacher -himself, he was received as a sort of honorary guest, and sat down, but -attracted an uncomfortable amount of attention. The hour was passed in -reciting "Vintergatan," which he knew by heart, and some other pieces -of verse. - -"But one can't learn anything for the stage here," he ventured to say -to the teacher. - -"Well! come on the stage, and try before the footlights." - -"How can I do that?" - -"As a supernumerary actor." - -"Supernumerary! H'm! That is like going downhill before beginning," -thought John. But he determined to go through with it. One morning he -received an invitation to try a part in Björnson's _Maria Stuart_. -The theatre messenger gave him a little blue note-book on which was -written, "A nobleman," and inside, on a white sheet of paper, "The -Lords have sent an intermediary with a challenge to Count Both well." -That was the whole part! Such was to be his début! - -At the appointed time he went up the little back stairs, passed the -door-keeper and came on the stage. It was the first time that he was -behind the scenes, and saw the reverse of the medal. The stage looked -like a great warehouse with black walls; a cracked and dirty floor like -that of a hay loft, and grey linen screens mounted on rough wood. - -It was here that he had seen represented majestic scenes from the -world's history; here Masaniello had shouted "Death to Tyrants" while -John stood trembling at the end of the fourth row among the audience; -here Hamlet had given vent to his scorn and suffered his sorrows, and -from here Karl Moor had defied society and the whole world. John felt -alarmed. How could one preserve the illusion hero in sight of the -unpainted wood and the grey canvas? Everything looked dusty and dirty; -the workmen were poor melancholy devils, and the actors and actresses -looked insignificant in their ordinary clothes. - -He was led into the lobby where they were going to dance for -half-an-hour the gavotte, which introduced the play. It was broad -daylight. The old music teacher sat on a chair and played the viol. The -ballet-master shouted, struck his hands together and arranged them in -their places. "I didn't bargain for this," thought John, but it was too -late. So he found himself in the midst of a complicated dance which he -did not know, and was pushed about and scolded. "No, I am not going to -do this," he thought, but he could not get out of it. - -A feeling of shame came over him. Dancing in the day-time was not a -seemly occupation. And then to descend from teacher to pupil, and be -the last here; he had never before gone back so far. - -The bell rang for the rehearsal, and they were driven on the stage. -Then they were arranged for the gavotte. By the footlights stood the -chief actors who had the important rôles; and behind them the rest in -two lines occupied the background. - -The orchestra struck up and the dance began in slow solemn rhythm. From -the footlights were heard the deep voices of the two Puritans lamenting -the depravity of the court. - -_Lindsay_. "Look! the dancing lines wind like snakes in the sun. -Listen! the music plays with the flames of hell! The devil's roar of -laughter is in it." - -_Andrew Kerr_. "Hush, hush; the penalty will overwhelm them as the sea -overwhelmed Pharaoh's army." - -_Lindsay_. "Look, how they whisper! The infecting breath of sin! See -their voluptuous smiles; see the ladies' frivolous gowns." - -_Citizen_. "All that Knox preaches is wasted on this court." - -_Lindsay_. "He is as the prophet in Israel, he does not speak in vain; -for the Lord Himself shall perform His word upon the ungodly race." - -The piece had an arresting effect, and John felt it. The men actors had -their hats, overcoats and sticks, and the women their cloaks and muffs, -but still the drama was impressive in its simple greatness. He stood in -the wings and listened to the whole of it; Mary Stuart did not please -him; she was cruel and coquettish; Bothwell was too rough and strong; -his favourite was Darnley, the weak, Hamlet-like man whose love to this -woman continued to burn in spite of unfaithfulness, scorn, malice and -everything. Knox was as hard as stone with his Puritanism and gloomy -Christianity. - -It was after all something to step forward and enact a piece of history -in the garb of such persons. There was something solemn about it as he -had felt before in the church. After he had gone on the stage and made -his speech he went away firmly resolved to bear all on behalf of sacred -art. - -He had thus taken the decisive step. To his father he had written a -high-flown letter, and declared that he would either become something -great in the career which he had now entered or would retire from it -altogether; he had resolved not to go home till he had succeeded. The -doctor was sorry but made no fuss, for he saw it was impossible to -stop him. But he had other secret plans for saving him which he now -began to set in motion. In the first place he induced John to translate -one or two medical pamphlets for which he had found a publisher. Now -he came with a proposal that they should together write articles for -the _Aftonbladet (Evening New's_). John for his part had translated -Schiller's essay, _The Theatre Regarded as a Moral Institution_, and as -the subject of the theatre had now conic up in the Reichstag the doctor -wrote an introduction to it in which he seriously expostulated with -the Agrarian party on their indifference to culture. The whole article -was inserted. Another day the doctor came with a member of the medical -journal, the _Lancet_, which treated of the question whether women were -fit for a medical career. Without hesitation and instinctively John -decided against it. He had an indescribable reverence for women as -woman, mother and wife, but as a matter of fact, society was founded -upon the man regarded as provider for the family, and upon the woman -as wife and mother; thus man had a full right to his work-market and -all the duties involved in it. Every occupation taken from the man -would mean a marriage less or one more overworked family-provider, for -the impulse to marry was so strong in men that they would not cease -to marry, however great the difficulties in which they might become -involved. Moreover women had abundant opportunities of work; they -could become servants, house-keepers, governesses, teachers, midwives, -seamstresses, actresses, artists, authoresses, queens, empresses, -besides wives and mothers. Many of these vocations were also open to -the unmarried. Anything more than this was an encroachment on the man's -territory. If the woman did that, the man should be free from the cares -of providing for the family, and inquiries after paternity should not -be made. But society would not consent to that. On the contrary it -began to persecute the prostitutes by way of forcing men to marry. Once -caught in the snares of the married women's property law, they would -sink to the level of domestic slaves. - -John instinctively took sides in this complicated problem, which was -destined to take many years to solve, and wrote against the women's -movement, which he saw would involve, if victorious, man's overthrow. -The movement for the emancipation of women had during the fifties, -assumed the wildest forms, and the war-cry, "No lords! No lords!" had -shown the true nature of the movement, which had also been ridiculed -by Rudolf Wall in his comedy, _Miss Garibaldi_. But while years went -on, the women had worked in silence. - -Great therefore was the surprise of the doctor and John when they found -their article in the _Aftonbladet_ so altered that it seemed in favour -of the movement. "The editor is under the thumbs of women," said the -doctor, and thereby the matter was explained. - -Meanwhile John's theatrical career approached a crisis. He had been -sent into a green room where brandy was drunk and everything was dirty, -to put on his clothes with the supernumeraries. "They want to humiliate -me," he thought, "but patience!" - -Now he was simply appointed as supernumerary in one opera after the -other. He declared that he feared neither the footlights nor the -public after having preached in church, but it was no good. The worst -was, having to lounge about at the rehearsals for hours together with -nothing to do. If he read a book, he was told he had no interest in the -play, and if he went away, an outcry was raised. - -In the Theatrical Academy roles were merely learnt by heart. Children -who had only gone through an elementary school, began to read Goethe's -_Faust_, naturally without understanding anything of it. But curiously -enough, their very boldness saved them; they got on so well that one -was inclined to think there was no need for an actor to understand -anything, if only he could say his piece fluently. After a few -months John was sick of it all. It was all mechanical. The greatest -actors were blasé and indifferent, never spoke of art, but only of -engagements and honorariums. There was no trace of the gay life behind -the scenes, of which so much had been written. They sat silent waiting -for their turns to come; the dancers and actresses in their costumes, -sewing and stitching. In the lobby the actors went about on tip-toe, -looked at the clock and put on their false beards, without speaking a -word. - -One evening, when _Maria Stuart_ was being acted, John sat alone in -the lobby reading a paper. The actor Dahlqvist, who was taking the -part of John Knox, came in. John, who cherished a deep admiration -for the great actor, stood up and bowed. If he could only speak with -such a man. He trembled at the very thought. Knox, with his venerable -long white hair, his black dress, and his great eyes half-sunk in his -powerful deeply-lined face, sat down at the table. He yawned. "What is -the time?" he asked in a sepulchral tone. John answered that it was -half-past ten, unbuttoning his Burgundian velvet jacket to look for the -watch which was not there. - -"The time is going devilish slow this evening," said Knox and yawned -again. Then he began to retail bits of gossip. He was only a ruin of -his former greatness when his acting of Karl Moor had cast all his -rivals into the shade. He too had seen through everything and was weary -of it all. And yet he had once thought so highly of his art. - -Since John had now the right of free entrance into the theatre he -tried to study acting from the auditorium. But behold! the illusion -was gone! There was Mr. So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so, there was the -background for _Quentin Durward_, there sat Högfelt, and there behind -the scenes, stood Boberg. There was no further possibility of illusion. - -He was sick of the wretched rôle which he had to repeat continually. -But he also felt remorse and feared that he could not retire from the -game honourably. At last he plucked up courage and demanded a leading -part. The piece in which it occurred had already been performed fifty -times, and the chief actors were tired of it, but they had to come. The -rehearsal took place without costumes or scenery. John was accustomed -to the declamatory manner usual then, and shouted like a preacher. It -was a failure. After the rehearsal the head of the theatrical academy -pronounced his verdict and advised John to enter it for a course of -training, but he would not. He wept for rage, went home and took an -opium pill which he had long kept by him, but without effect; then a -friend took him out and he got intoxicated. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - -(1869) - - -The next morning he felt in a state of complete collapse. His nerves -still trembled and his body felt the fever of shame and intoxication. -What should he do? He must save his honour. He must still hold out -for two or three months and try again. That day he remained at home -and read _The Stories of a Barber-Surgeon_. As he read it seemed -to him that they recorded his own experience; they were about the -reconciliation of a step-son to his step-mother. The breach in -his domestic life had always weighed upon him like a sin, and he -longed for reconciliation and peace. That day this longing took an -unusually melancholy form, and as he lay on the sofa, his brain began -to evolve various plans for smoothing away the domestic discord. A -woman-worshipper as he then was, and under the influence of the book he -had been reading, he thought that only a woman could reconcile him with -his father. This noble rôle he assigned to his step-mother. - -While thus tying on the sofa he felt an unusual degree of fever, -during which his brain seemed to work at arranging memories of the -past, cutting out some scenes, and adding others. New minor characters -entered; he saw them mixing in the action, and heard them speaking, -just as he had done on the stage. After one or two hours had passed, -he had a comedy in two acts ready in his head. This was both a painful -and pleasurable form of work if it could be called a work; for it went -forward of itself, without his will or co-operation. - -But now he had to write it. In four days the piece was ready. He kept -on going from the writing-table to the sofa and back; and in the -intervals of his work, he collapsed like a rag. When the work was -finished, he drew a deep sigh of relief, as though years of pain were -over, as though a tumour had been cut out. He was so glad, that he felt -as though some one was singing within him. Now he would offer his piece -to the theatre;--that was the way of salvation. The same evening he -sat down to write a note of congratulation to a relative who had found -a situation. When he had written the first line, it seemed to him to -read like a verse. Then he added the second line which rhymed with the -first. Was it no harder than that? Then with a single effort he wrote a -four-page letter in rhyme and discovered that he could write verse. Was -it no harder than that? Only a few months before he had asked a friend -to help him with some verses for a special occasion. He had, however, -received a negative but complimentary answer, in being told not to -drive in a hired carriage, when he had one of his own. - -One was not then born to write verses, he said to himself, nor did one -learn it, though all kinds of verse-measures were taught in school, -but it came,--or did not come. It seemed to him like the working of -the Holy Spirit. Had the psychical convulsion, which he had felt at -his defeat as an actor, been so strong that it had turned upside down -all the strata of his memories and impressions, and had the violent -impulse set his imagination to work? There had doubtless been a long -preparation going on. Was it not his imagination, which had conjured up -pictures, when as a child he had been afraid of the dark? Had he not -written essays in school and letters for years? Had he not formed his -style through reading, translating and writing for the papers? Yes, he -had, but it was not till now that he noticed in himself the so-called -creative power of the artist. - -The art of the actor was therefore not the one suited to his powers; -his having thought so was a mistake which could easily be rectified. -Meanwhile he must keep his authorship fairly secret and remain at the -theatre till the end of the season, so that his failure as an actor -might not be known, or at any rate till his piece was accepted, as it -naturally would be, for he thought it good. - -But he wished to make sure of it, and for that purpose invited two -of his learned friends outside the theatrical circle. In the evening -before they came, he arranged the lumber-room which he had hired in -the doctor's house. He tidied it up, lighted two candles instead of -the study lamp, covered the table with a clean cloth and set on it a -punch-bowl with glass, ash-trays and matches. This was the first time -he had entertained guests, and the experience was novel and strange. - -The work of an author has often been compared to childbirth, and the -comparison has something to justify it. He felt a kind of peace like -that which follows parturition; something or some one seemed to be -there which, or who, was not there before; there had been suffering and -crying and now there was silence and peace. He felt in a festival mood -as he used to do in the old times at home; the children were in their -Sunday best, and their father in his black frock coat cast a last look -round on the arrangements before the guests came. - -His friends arrived and he read the piece through in silence till the -end. They gave their verdict, and John was greeted by his elders as an -author. - -When they had gone, he fell on his knees on the floor, and thanked -God for having delivered him from difficulty and bestowed on him the -gift of poetry. His communion with God had been very irregular; it -was a curious fact, that in cases of great necessity he rallied his -powers within himself and did not cry to the Lord at all; but on joyful -occasions, on the other hand, he involuntarily felt the need of at once -thanking the Giver of all good. It was just the contrary to what it had -been in his childhood, and that was natural since his idea of God had -developed into that of the Author and Giver of all good things, whereas -the God of his childhood had been a God of terror whose hand was full -of misfortunes. - -At last he had found his calling, his true rôle in life and his -wavering character began to develop a backbone. He had a pretty good -idea now of what he wanted, and this gave him at least a rudder to -steer by. Now he pushed off from land to go for a long voyage, but -always ready to tack when he encountered too strong a head wind,--not, -however, to fall to leeward, but the next moment to luff his ship up to -the wind with bellying sails. - -By writing this comedy, he had now relieved himself of his domestic -troubles. He next described the religious conflicts he remembered so -vividly in a three-act play. This lightened the ship considerably. - -His creative energy during this period was immense. He had the writing -fever daily; within two months he composed two comedies and a rhymed -tragedy, besides occasional verses. The tragedy was his first real -"work of art," as the phrase is, for it did not deal with any of his -subjective experiences. "Sinking Hellas" was the not inconsiderable -theme. The composition was finished and clear, but the situations were -somewhat threadbare, and there was a good deal of declamation. The -only original elements in it were an austere moral tone and contempt -for uncultured demagogues. Thus, for instance, he introduced an old -man inveighing against the immorality and want of patriotism of the -youth of the time. He made Demosthenes speak disparagingly of a -demagogue, and express something of what he had felt towards the master -chimney-sweep and pawnbroker on the journey to Copenhagen. The head -of the Theatrical Academy also got a rap over the knuckles because -he had often lamented over John's "lack of culture." The piece was -aristocratic in tone, and the freedom celebrated in it was that which -was the object of aspiration in the sixties,--national freedom. - -Meanwhile he had sent his domestic comedy anonymously to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. While it was under consideration, he -went on cheerfully with his work as supernumerary actor. "Just you -wait!" he said to himself, "then my turn will come and I shall have a -word to say in the matter." He was now quite cool on the stage, and -felt, even when dressed as a peasant youth in _Wilhelm Tell_, like a -prince in disguise. "I am certainly no swineherd, though you may think -so," he hummed to himself. - -He had to wait long for an answer about his piece. At last he lost -patience and revealed himself as the author to the head of the -Theatrical Academy. The latter had read the piece and found talent in -it, but said it could not be played. This was not a great blow for him, -for he still had the tragedy in reserve. That was better received, but -he was told it needed remodelling here and there. - -One evening when the Academy closed, the head instructor expressed a -wish to speak with John. "Now we see what you are good for," he said. -"You have a fine career in front of you; why should you choose an -inferior one? You can become an actor probably if you work for some -years, but why toil at this thankless task? Go back to Upsala and take -your degree if you can. Then become an author, for one must first have -experiences in order to write well." - -To become an author,--that John agreed with, and also with the -suggestion that he should give up the theatre; but as for returning to -Upsala,--no! He hated the university, and did not see how the useless -things one learnt there could help him as an author; he rather needed -to study life at first hand. But then he began to reflect, and when -he considered that, at present, he could get no piece of his accepted -so as to serve as a plank to save himself by, he grasped at the other -straw,--Upsala. There was no disgrace in becoming a student again, and -at the theatre they knew that he was not only an unsuccessful débutant, -but also an author. - -At the same time he learnt that there was a legacy due to him from his -mother of a few hundred kronas. With them he could support himself for -a half-year at the university. He went to his father, not as a prodigal -son, but as a promising author, and as a creditor. There was a vehement -dispute between them which ended in John receiving his legacy. He had -now conceived the plan of a tragedy with the startling title "Jesus of -Nazareth." It dealt in dramatic form with the life of Christ, and was -intended, with one blow and once for all, to shatter the divine image -and eradicate Christianity. But when he had completed some scenes, he -saw that the subject-matter was too great and would demand prolonged -and tedious study. - -The theatrical season now approached its end. The Theatrical Academy -gave their customary stage performance. John had received no rôle in -it, but undertook the task of prompter. And his career as an actor -closed in the prompter's box. To this was reduced his ambition of -acting Karl Moor on the stage of the Great Theatre! Did he deserve this -fate? Was he worse equipped for acting than the rest? That was probably -not so, but the question was never decided. - -In the evening after the performance, a dinner was given to the -Academy pupils. John was invited and made a speech in verse in order -to make his exit seem as little like a fiasco as possible. He became -intoxicated, as usual, behaved foolishly and disappeared from the -scene. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE "RUNA" CLUB - -(1870) - - -The Upsala of the sixties showed signs of the end and dissolution of a -period which might be called the Boströmic.[1] In what relation does -the philosophic system which prevails in a given period stand to the -period itself? The system seems like a collection of the thoughts of -the period at a particular point of time. The philosopher does not -make the period, but the period makes the philosopher. He collects all -the thoughts of his period and thereby exercises an influence on it, -and with the close of the period his influence ends. The Boströmic -philosophy had three defects; it wished to be definitely Swedish; -it came too late; and it wished to outlive its period. To attempt -to construct a purely Swedish philosophy was absurd, for that meant -trying to break loose from the connection with the great mother-stem -which grows on the Continent and only sends out seeds towards the -Northern peninsula. The attempt came too late, for time is necessary to -construct a system, and before the system was constructed, the period -had passed. Boström, as a philosopher, was not, as it were, shot out -of a cannon. All knowledge is collecting-work, and is coloured by -the personality of the collector. Boström was a branch grown out of -Kant and Hegel, watered by Biberg and Grubbe, and finally producing -some offshoots of his own. That was all. He seems to have derived -his fundamental principle from Krause's Pantheism, which itself was -an attempt to unite the philosophy of Kant and Fichte with that of -Schelling and Hegel. This eclecticism had been already attempted by -Grubbe. Boström first studied theology, and this seemed to have a -hampering effect on his mind when he wrote about speculative theology. -His moral philosophy he derived from Kant. To call him an original -philosopher is provincial patriotism. His influence did not reach -beyond the frontiers of Sweden, nor did it outlast the sixties. His -political system was already antiquated in 1865, when the students out -of reverence for the philosopher, had still to declare, conformably to -his textbook, that the representation of the four estates was the only -reasonable one--a doctrine which was subsequently contradicted in the -college lectures. - -How did Boström come by such an idea? Can one draw an inference from -the accidental circumstance that he, a poor man's son from Norrland, -came into too close touch with King John and his court, in his capacity -of tutor to the princes? Could the philosopher escape the common lot -of generalising in _certain_ respects, from his own predilections and -current time-sanctioned ideas? Probably not. Boström as an idealist -was subjective--so subjective that he denied reality an independent -existence, declaring that, "to be is to be perceived (by men)." The -world of phenomena therefore, according to him, exists only in and -through our perceptions. The error of the deduction was overlooked, and -it was a double one. The system rested on an unproved assumption, and -had to be corrected; it is true that the phenomenal world only exists -for its through our perception, but that does not prevent its existing -for itself without our perception. In fact science has demonstrated -that the earth already existed with a very high degree of organic life, -before any one was there to perceive it. - -Boström broke with ecclesiastical Christianity, but, like Kant and -the later evolutionist philosophers, retained Christian morality. -Kant had been arrested in the bold progress of his thought by a want -of psychological knowledge, and had simply laid down as axioms the -categorical imperative and the practical postulate. The moral law, -which depends on the epoch and changes with it, received in his system -quite a Christian colouring as God's command. Boström was still -"under the law"; he judged the moral worth or baseness of an action -simply by its motives; according to him the only satisfactory motive -is that regard for the spiritual nature of duty which is revealed in -conscience. But there are as many consciences as there are religions -and races; therefore his moral system was quite sterile. - -Boström's importance for theological development only consisted in -his coming forward against Bishop Beckman in the discussion regarding -the doctrine of hell (1864), although that doctrine had recently been -rejected by the cultivated with the assistance of the rationalists. -On the other hand Boström was obstructive in his pamphlets _The -Irresponsibility and Divine Right of the King_ and _Are the Estates of -the Realm Justified in Resolving on and Carrying Out the Change in the -So-called (!) Representation of the People_? (1865). - -In his capacity as an idealist, Boström is, for the present generation, -not only without significance, but positively reactionary. He is -nothing but a necessary link in the worthless reactionary philosophy -which followed with such fatal obscurantism the "illuminative" -philosophy of the eighteenth century. He has lived and is dead. Peace -to his ashes! - -Literature ought to be another barometer for testing the atmosphere of -any given period. And in order to be that, it must be free to deal with -the questions of that period; but this, the then prevailing æsthetic -theories forbade. - -Poetry ought to be and was (according to Boström) a recreation like the -other fine arts. Under such a theory and influenced by the prevalent -idolatry of the "ego," poetry became merely lyrical, expressing -the poet's small personal feelings and inclination, and reflecting -therefore only some of the features of the period, and those perhaps, -not the most important. Only two names in the poetry of the sixties -were of importance--Snoilsky and Björck. Snoilsky was "awake," to use -a pietistic expression, Björck was dead. Both were born poets, as the -saying is; that is to say, their talents showed themselves earlier -than usual. Both attained distinction while still at school, early won -honour and renown, and by birth and position were enabled to view life -from its sunny heights. Snoilsky, without knowing it, was under the -power of the spirit of the new age. Freed from the fear of hell and -monkish morality, experiencing the retrenchment of his privileges as a -nobleman, he gave free play both to mind and body. In his first poems -he was a revolutionary and praised the cap of liberty; he preached the -emancipation of the flesh and had a certain dislike to over-culture as -a conventional restraint. But as a poet, he did not escape the poet's -tragic destiny--not to be taken seriously. Poetry in the eyes of the -public, was simply poetry, and Snoilsky was a poet. Björck had a mind -which was not capable of receiving strong impressions. At peace with -himself, languid, complete from the beginning, he lived his life sunk -in his own reflections or noticed only the trifling events of the -outer world and described them neatly and correctly. In the opinion of -the great majority who live the peaceful life of automata his poetry -shows a remarkable degree of philanthropy. But why does not this -philanthropy extend itself further to large circles of men, and to -humanity at large? In the writer's opinion Björck's philanthropy does -not extend beyond the limits of the personal quiet which the individual -attains when he ignores the duties of social life. He is satisfied -with the world because the world has been kind to him; he avoids -strife because it disturbs his own serenity. Björck is an example of -the fortunate man whose life is not in conflict with his upbringing, -but who rather builds up stone by stone, on the foundation already -laid; everything proceeds in a workmanlike way by level and rule; the -house is finished, as it was designed, without the plan undergoing any -alteration. Stunted by domestic tyranny, tasting early the sweets -of homage and reverence, he ceased to grow. He accepted Boström's -compromise with Christianity without examining it, and in doing so, he -had finished his life-work. His poetry is especially praised for its -purity and spiritual character. What is this "purity" which in our -days is so sharply contrasted with the sensual? The secret is, that he -did not get her; just as Dante's heavenly love for Beatrice was due to -the same involuntary cause. Björck therefore sang of the unattainable -with the quiet melancholy of unsatisfied love. But that, however, is no -virtue, and purity should be a virtue. - -In short, Björck and Snoilsky sang of water and drank wine, and in this -were just the opposite to the poets of our time, who are said to sing -of wine and drink water. A poet's life always seems to be at variance -with his teachings. Why? Is it that, in composing, he wishes to escape -from his own personality, and find another? Is it a wish to disguise -himself? Or is it modesty, the fear of giving himself away, and of -self-exposure? This is a weighty problem for future psychologists to -unravel. - -Björck composed poems both for the reformation of the constitution -in 1865, and for the restoration to power of the King. He saw harmony -everywhere, and when he celebrated the restored union between Sweden -and Norway in 1864, he was extremely melodious. He also praised -Abraham Lincoln; negro-emancipation and white slavery--that is the -ideal of freedom of the Holy Alliance! Revolution certainly, but legal -revolution by the will of God! Well, he knew no better, and few did at -that time. Therefore we do not judge the man but only his work, the -motives inspiring which are a matter of indifference to posterity. - -Young men read these poets, many of them with great edification. -They proclaimed no new era, but prophesied after the event that -now the millennium was come, the ideal realised, and lines of -demarcation obliterated once for all. They looked with satisfaction -on their creations, rubbed their hands, and found them all good. An -atmosphere of peace had spread itself over the whole of Upsala and -its neighbourhood; now one might sleep till Doomsday was the belief -of old and young. But then discordant sounds began to be heard, and -in the days of universal peace fire-beacons began to be seen on the -neighbouring mountain-tops. From Norway open water was signalled -and the revolving lights were kindled. Rome captured Greece, but -Greece re-captured Rome. Sweden had captured Norway, but now Norway -re-captured Sweden. Lorenz Dietrichson was appointed as professor -at the university of Upsala in 1861, and he was the forerunner of -Norwegian influence. He made Sweden acquainted with Danish and -Norwegian literature, then almost unknown, and founded the literary -society which produced poets like Snoilsky and Björck. - -After Norway had broken loose from the Danish monarchy and had ceased -to be a branch of the head office in Copenhagen, it was not grafted -into Sweden but retreated into itself. At the same time it opened -direct communication with the continent. Its awakening to independence -was coincident with a strong stream of foreign influence. It was -Björnson who first roused Norway to self-consciousness; but when this -degenerated into a narrow patriotism, Ibsen came with the pruning -shears. - -As the strife became fiercer and Christiania would not lend itself -to be a field of battle, the conflict was transferred to hospitable -Sweden. The Norwegian wine was well adapted for exportation; pamphlets -grew in size as they travelled and in Sweden became literature. -Thoughts came to the top and personalities settled at the bottom of -the vessel. Ibsen and Björnson broke into Sweden; Tidemand and Gude -took prizes in the art exhibition of 1866; Kierulf and Nordraak were -authorities in singing and music. Then came Ibsen's _Brand_. This had -appeared in 1866, but John did not see it till 1869. It made a deep -impression on the primitive Christian side of him, but it was gloomy -and severe. The final utterance in it regarding "Deus caritatis" was -not satisfying, and the poet seemed to have had too much sympathy with -his hero to have described his overthrow with cold irony. - -_Brand_ gave John a good deal of trouble. He (Brand) had dropped -Christianity but kept its stern ascetic morality; he demanded obedience -for his old doctrines though they were no more practicable; he despised -the tendency of the time towards humanity and compromise, but ended by -recommending the God of compromise. Brand was a fanatic, a pietist, -who dared to believe himself right against the whole world, and John -felt himself related to this terrible egoist who was wrong besides. No -half-measures! go straight on; break down everything that stands in the -way, for you only are right! John's tender conscience, which suffered -at every step he took lest it should vex his father or friends, was -stupefied by Brand. All ties of consideration and of love should be -torn asunder for the sake of "the cause." That John was no longer a -pietist was a piece of good fortune, otherwise he too would have been -overwhelmed by the avalanche.[2] But Brand gave him a belief in a -conscience which was purer than that which education had given him, and -a law which was higher than conventional law. And he needed this iron -backbone in his weak back, for he had long periods during which by -fits and starts and out of mildness he thought himself wrong, and the -first who came, right; therefore, he was also very easily misled. Brand -was the last Christian who followed an old ideal, therefore he could be -110 pattern for one who felt a vague inclination to revolt against all -old ideals. - -_Brand_ after all was a fine plant, but without any roots in its own -period; and, therefore, it belonged to the herbarium. Then came -_Peer Gynt_. This was rather obscure than deep and had its value as -an antidote against the national self-love. The fact that Ibsen was -neither banished nor persecuted after having said such bitter things -against the proud Norwegians, shows that in Norway they were more -honourable fighters than the Swedes afterwards showed themselves to be. - -Ibsen was at that time regarded as a misanthrope and as an enemy and -envier of Björnson. People were divided into two camps, and the dispute -as to which of the two was the greater was endless, for it concerned an -artistic problem--"contents or form." - -The influence of Norwegian on Swedish poetry has been great and partly -beneficent, but there was a peculiarly Norwegian element in it, which -was not adaptable to Sweden, a land with quite another development. -In the sequestered valleys of Norway there lived a people who, under -the pressure of need and poverty, found ready to their hand in the -Christian doctrine of renunciation an ascetic philosophy which promised -heaven as a compensation for earth's hardships. Nature in her most -gloomy and parsimonious aspect, a damp climate, long winters, great -distances between the villages,--all co-operated to preserve an -austere mediæval type of Christianity. There is something which may -be said to resemble insanity in the Norwegian character, of the same -kind as the English "spleen;" and possibly the intimate relations of -Norway with the hypochondriacal islanders may have impressed traces -on its civilisation. In Jonas Lie's _Clair-voyant_ this melancholy -is depleted, and in it one finds the same weird atmosphere as in the -Icelandic sagas, and the theme also is similar,--the struggle of the -spirit against physical darkness and cold. There we have depicted -the tragic lot of the Norseman banished from sunny lands to gloomy -wildernesses, and seeking relief by emigration, the ethnographical -significance of which has been overlooked in view of its economical -aspect. The Norwegian character is the result of many hundred years of -tyranny, of injustice, of hard struggling for a livelihood, of want of -gladness. - -Swedish literature should have avoided absorbing these national -peculiarities, but they have made it half-Norwegian. Brand still haunts -Swedish literature with his ideal demands, with which the romanticised -and cheerful Swede cannot sincerely sympathise. Therefore this foreign -garb suits him so badly; therefore modern Swedish music sounds so -unharmonious, like an echo of the violins of Hardanger, tuned over -again by Grieg; therefore the talk of greater moral purity sounds -discordant in the mouth of the vivacious Swede. He has not suffered -from long oppression and does not need to seek himself in the past; -melancholy has not so beset him in his open flat land of lakes and -rivers, and therefore a sour mien becomes him ill. - -When the Swedes received great and novel ideas by way of Norway or -direct from the Continent through Ibsen and Björnson, they should have -kept the kernel and thrown away the Norwegian husk. Even the _Doll's -House_ is Norwegian. Nora is related to the Icelandic women who wished -to set up a matriarchate; she belongs to the weird imperious women in -_Härmännen_ who again are pure Norse. In them the emotions have become -frozen or distorted by centuries of cognate marriages. - -The whole Swedish literature of feminism is ultra-Norwegian; it -contains the same immodest demands on the man and petting of the spoilt -woman. Several young authors have introduced the Norwegian style into -Swedish; one authoress has placed the scene of her book in Norway, and -made her hero talk Norwegian! Further one could not go! - -Let us welcome foreign influence which is cosmopolitan; but not -Norwegian, for that is provincial, and we have plenty of the same kind -ourselves. - - * * * * * - -So John found himself again in Upsala,--the same Upsala from which he -had fled nine months before, and to which he most unwillingly returned. -To be compelled to a course which he did not wish always made him feel -as though he were encountering a personal foe, who cajoled him out of -his wishes and antipathies, and forced him to bend. Since he still -believed himself under God's personal providence, he accepted that as -though it were for his best. Later on he had a feeling that there was -a malignant power; this developed into the belief that there were two -ruling powers, one good, one evil, which divided the empery, or ruled -alternately. - -He asked himself again, "What have you to do here?" To take his degree, -but especially to cover his retreat from the theatre. Privately he -wished to write a play, and, under the screen of its success, wriggle -out of the examination. - -At first he was not at all comfortable in his lonely attic. He had -become accustomed to luxury, a large room, a good table, attendance -and society. After having been habituated to be treated as a man and -to have intercourse with older and cultivated people, he found himself -again in a state of pupilage as a student. But he cast himself into -the crowd and soon found himself on social terms with three distinct -circles. The first consisted of friends whom he met by day, who were -students of medicine and natural history and atheists. From them he -heard for the first time the name of Darwin; but it passed by him like -a doctrine for which he was not yet ripe. His evening society consisted -of a priest and a lawyer with whom he played cards till deep in the -night. He considered himself now in Upsala merely to grow and get -older, and that it was a matter of indifference what he did, as long as -he killed the time. He drew up the scheme of a new tragedy, Eric XIV, -but found it poor, and burnt it, for his faculty of self-criticism had -awakened and was severer in its demands. - -Later on in the term he entered a third society, which formed his -special circle during the whole of his time at Upsala and for a long -while afterwards. One evening he chanced to meet a young companion -with whom he had been a pupil at the private school. They discussed -literature, and over a glass of toddy made the plan of forming some -young poets into a club for literary work. The plan was carried out. -Besides John and the other founder of the club, four young students -were elected to it. They were fine young fellows of an idealist turn of -mind, as the saying is, with high purposes and enthusiastic for vague -ideals. They had not yet come into contact with the hard realities of -life; they had all well-to-do parents, no cares, and knew nothing at -all of the struggle for a subsistence. John, on the other hand, had -just left the most unpleasant surroundings; he had seen people who -were always ready to quarrel, conceited, empty-headed pupils of the -Theatrical Academy. Here he found himself transplanted into an entirely -new world. There were these happy youths going to their well-supplied -tables, smoking fine cigars, taking walks, and poetising beautifully -over the beauty of life which they knew nothing of. - -Rules were drawn up for the club, which received the name "Runa," -_i.e_. "song." The choice of this title was probably due to the -Northern renaissance which came in with the Scandinavian movement. -Its chief ornaments were Karl XV in poetry, Winge and Malmström in -painting, and Molin in sculpture. Recently it had been quickened by -Björnson's and Ibsen's dramas on subjects from the old Norse life. -The study of Icelandic, which had been newly introduced into the -university, also lent strength to this movement. - -The number of members of the club was not to exceed nine; each of -them was known by a Runic sign. John was called "Frö" and the other -founder of the club, "Ur." Every variety of opinion was represented. -Ur was a great patriot and venerated Sweden with its memories. In his -opinion it had the most brilliant history in Europe, and had always -been free. For the rest he was a practically minded man with a special -faculty for statistics, politics, and biography; he was a severe and -clever critic, and also managed the affairs of the club. He was a -reliable friend, good company, helpful and hearty. Secondly, there -was a full-blooded romanticist who read Heine and drank absinthe--a -sensitive youth enthusiastic for all old ideals, but especially for -Heine. There was also a seraph who sang of the indescribably little, -especially the happiness of childhood; fourthly, a silent worshipper of -nature, and, lastly, an eclectic philosopher and improvisator, who had -an extraordinary faculty for improvising in any style whatever, when -requested. Two minutes after he had been asked, he would stand up and -speak or sing on the spur of the moment in the character of Anacreon, -Horace, the Edda, or any one else, and even in foreign languages. - -The first meeting of the club was at Thurs', who was lodged the most -comfortably in two rooms and had the best pipes. As one of the founders -of the club John first of all read his prologue, which, according -to the rules of the society, had to be in verse. It began by asking -after the ancient bard Brage and his harp which was now silent. Brage -represented the new Norse element, the resuscitation of which was -believed necessary. The whole programme of the idealists was called -"a trivial striving." All the great efforts of their contemporaries -after reality and for the improvement of the conditions of life was -"trivial." The spirit was taken prisoner in matter, and therefore -all that was material was to be regarded as the enemy. Such was the -teaching of the romanticists, and of John's prologue. Then the poet -went out into nature, listened to the bells of the cathedral, the -wind, the pines, and the singing of the birds in order to ask the very -natural question: "Nature sings; why should I then be silent?" He -resolved to be no longer silent but to sing,--about the joyous youthful -spring-time of life, its autumn, and about love to one's native soil. -Then (he said) came the wise man with the frozen heart, took his song, -dissected it and found that it was all nonsense. Thus the song was -killed by "overwiseness." - -It is not easy to say exactly now what John meant by "overwiseness" -in 1870. He probably had simply forebodings of future critics, and -the "wise man" was no other than the reviewer. Then he inveighed -against the wretched mercenary souls who worship the golden calf but -do not love songs. This had no connection with contemporary matters, -for the sixties were remarkable for bad harvests and consequently -for want of gold. The swindles by company-promoters began with the -seventies. But it was the custom of the contemporary poets to attack -money and the golden calf, and therefore John did so in his prologue. -Now began a life of poetic idleness. Every evening they met either in -a restaurant, or in each other's rooms. But the time was not wasted -in view of his future authorship. John could borrow books from the -well-stocked libraries of his friends, and the interchange of opinions -accustomed him to look at literature from different points of view. But -for them real life, public interests, contemporary politics did not -exist; they lived in dreams. Sometimes his lower-class consciousness -awoke, and he asked himself what he had to do among these rich youths. -But he soon stilled these scruples by drink and talk, and encouraged -himself to go forward and demand something of life, for he had in his -companions' opinion a good chance. - -His room was a wretched one; the rain came through the roof, and he had -no proper bed, but only a plank-bed, which in the day-time served as a -sofa. When time hung heavily on his hands and he grew weary of poetical -discussions he looked up his old school-fellow, the natural history -student. There he looked through the microscope, and heard of Darwin -and the new scientific views. His friend gave him well-meant practical -advice and recommended him to get out of his difficulties by writing a -one-act play in verse for the Theatre Royal. - -John objected that his dramatic talent had not scope enough in one act, -and said that he would rather write a tragedy in five. - -"Yes, but it is harder to get that accepted," replied his friend. -Finally he let himself be persuaded and determined to carry out a -small idea he had of a short play based on Thorwaldson's first visit -to Rome. His friend lent him books on Italy and John set to work. In -fourteen days the piece was ready. - -"That will be acted," said his friend. "It has dramatic points, you -see." - -Since it was still a long time to the next meeting of the club, John -hastened in the evening to Thurs and Rejd and read the piece to them. -They were both of the same opinion as the natural history student, -that the piece would be performed. They had a champagne supper, and -kept drinking till the morning, and then went to sleep on the floor of -Rejd's room with the punch-glasses by them. In a couple of hours they -awoke, finished their half-empty glasses at sunrise and went out to -continue the celebration of the occasion. - -The sympathy of John's friends was hearty, unselfish and warm, without -a trace of envy. He always remembered with pleasure this first success -as one of the brightest recollections of his youth. The enthusiastic, -devoted Rejd increased Hohn's debt of gratitude by copying out the -piece in his graceful hand-writing. Then it was sent to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. Spring arrived and they spent the -month of May in a continual carouse. The club had a small room in the -restaurant Lilia Förderfvet for their evening suppers. There they -talked, made speeches, and drank enormously. At last the term ended and -they had to part, but they arranged to meet once more at Stockholm, -and celebrate the festival day of the club by an excursion into the -country. - -At six o'clock one June morning the four members of the club met at -Skeppsholm, where they had hired a rowing-boat. The chest of the club, -a card-board box containing documents, was stowed away with baskets of -provisions and bottles of wine. After Os and Rejd had taken the oars, -they steered the boat to the canal leading through the Zoological -Gardens, in order to reach the place they had appointed, a promontory -of Liding Island. Thurs played airs on the flute to Bellmann's songs, -and Frö (John) accompanied him on a guitar which he had learnt to play -at Upsala. - -As soon as they landed, breakfast was laid in a meadow by the shore. -The club-chest adorned with leaves and flowers was set in the middle -of the table-cloth, and on it were set the brandy-bottles and glasses. -John, who had studied antiquities for his play, _Sinking Hellas_, -arranged the meal in the Greek style, so that they wore garlands, and -ate reclining. A fire was lit between some stones and coffee was made. -At nine o'clock in the morning they drank brandy and punch. - -John read his drama, _The Free-thinker_, which was duly criticised. -Then they gave full course to their eloquence. Thurs was the best -speaker; he could express emotions and thoughts rhythmically. Poems -were read and received with applause. John sang folk-songs to the -accompaniment of his guitar, some on sentimental subjects, and some on -improper ones. At noon they were still in high spirits but inclined to -be sleepy. - -In the afternoon when the sun was over Lilia Värtan they had a short -sleep, and then the carouse passed into a new phase. Thurs, the -Israelite, had recited a poem on the greatness of the North, and called -on the old gods of Scandinavia. Ur, the patriot, denied him the right -to appropriate other people's gods. The Jewish question came up; they -took fire and nearly quarrelled, but ended by embracing. - -Then began the sentimental stage. They had to weep, for alcohol has -this effect on the membranes of the stomach and the lachrymal duets. -Ur first felt this and unconsciously sought for a melancholy subject. -He burst into tears. When asked why, he did not know, but said at last -that he had been treated as a buffoon, which he always was. He declared -that he had a very serious nature and that he also had great troubles -which no one knew about, but now he unburdened his heart and told us a -domestic story. After he had done so, he became cheerful again. - -But the evening was long and they began to wish to go home. Their -brains were empty; they were tired of each other, and weary of play -and drinking. They began to reflect and examine the philosophy of -intoxication. From whence do men derive this desire to make themselves -senseless? What lies behind it? Is it the southern exile's longing -for a lost sunny existence in northern lands? There must be some felt -necessity underlying intoxication, for a vice like this would not -have laid hold of all mankind without reason. Is it that the member -of society in a state of intoxication throws away all the lies of -society? For the laws of social intercourse involuntarily forbid one to -speak out all one's thoughts. Otherwise whence comes the saying, _In -vino veritas_? Why did the Greeks honour Bacchus as one who improved -men and manners? Why did Dionysus love peace, and why was he said -to increase riches? Has wine, which is chiefly drunk by men, some -influence on the development of man's intelligence and activity, so -that he becomes superior to woman? And why do the Muhammadans who drink -no wine stand on what is regarded as a lower level of civilisation? -As salt is used as a daily nutrient to replace the salts which their -hunting forefathers found in the blood of beasts of the chase, does not -wine compensate for some lost nutritive matter belonging to earlier -stages, and, if so, which? Some idea or necessity must underlie so -singular a custom. - -Perhaps the need of losing consciousness justifies the axiom of the -pessimists that consciousness is the beginning of suffering. Wine makes -one naive and unconscious as a child; or even as an animal. Is it -the lost paradise which one wishes to recover? But the remorse which -follows it? Remorse and acidity of the stomach have the same symptoms. -Is there then a confusion, and are sensations called "remorse" which -are only heart-burn? Or does the drinker returned to consciousness -regret that he has exposed himself by daylight and betrayed his -secrets? There is something to feel remorse for in that! He is ashamed -that he has been taken by surprise, he feels afraid because he has -exposed himself and given away his weapons. Remorse and fear are close -neighbours. - -Yet once more the members of the club drowned their consciousness in -drink and then got into the boat to proceed home. John and Thurs began -a dispute about Bellmann[3] which lasted till they reached Skeppsholm, -and closed with sharp remarks on both sides. - -John had an old grudge against this poet. Once as a child, he had been -ill for a whole summer, and had by chance taken Bellmann's _Fredman's -Epistles_ out of his father's book-case. The book seemed to him silly, -but he was too young to form a well-grounded opinion on it. Later on, -it sometimes happened that his father sat at the piano, and hummed -Bellmann's songs. The boy found it incomprehensible that his father and -uncle admired them so much. Subsequently one Christmas he saw a violent -controversy break out between his mother and his uncle on the subject -of Bellmann. The latter set the poet above everything--Bible, sermons -and all. There were depths, he said, in Bellmann. Depths indeed! -Probably Atterbom's romanticist one-sided criticism had filtered -through the daily papers to the middle classes. As a school-boy and -student, John had sung "Up, Amaryllis" and other idylls of Bellmann's, -naturally without understanding them or thinking of the meaning of the -words. He sang in a quartette, or choir, for it sounded well. Finally, -in 1867, he read Ljunggren's lectures and a light broke upon him, but -not one of Ljunggren's kindling. He thought the latter mad. Bellmann -was a ballad-singer, that was true, but a great poet, the greatest poet -of the North?--impossible! - -Bellmann had sung his songs composed on the French model for the -Court and his own friends, but not for the common people, who would -not have understood "Amaryllis," "Eol," "The Tritons," "Fröja" and -all the rococo stock-in-trade. He died and was forgotten. Why had -he been disinterred by Atterbom? Because the pugnacious romantic -school required an embodiment of irregularity to set up against the -classicists, as they had nothing of their own to boast of. Thus the -romantic school gained the day; and when one considers how cowardly -most people are in the face of public opinion, and the tendency of the -middle-class to ape its superiors and reverence authority, one ceases -to be surprised at the elevation of Bellmann. Ljunggren and Eichhorn -outstripped Atterbom in finding beauty and genius in his writings they -were reinforced by the clerical element, and thus the idol was set up -for worship. Bystrom, the sculptor, had already magnified the little -lottery-secretary and court-poet into a Dionysus and lent him the -features of an antique bust of Bacchus. - -Bellmann's idylls are careless, extemporised compositions with forced -rhymes, and as disconnected as the thoughts in the brain of a drunkard. -One does not know whether it is day or night, the thunder rolls in the -sunshine, and the weaves beat while the boat is floating calmly on the -waters. They simply provide a text for music, and for that purpose -one might use a book of addresses. The meaning of the words does not -matter, as long as they sound well. - -According to his custom Thurs took the matter personally. It was an -attack on his good taste and on his honour, for John said that his -admiration of Bellmann was mere humbug; that he had read himself into -it, and that it was not genuine. Thurs on the other hand declared John -to be presumptuous, because he wished to criticise the greatest Swedish -poet. - -"Prove that he is the greatest," said John. - -"Tegner and Atterbom say so." - -"That is no proof." - -"Simply because you have a spirit of contradiction." - -"Doubt is the beginning of certainty, and absurd assertions must arouse -opposition in a healthy brain." - -And so on. - -Although there is no such thing as a judgment which holds good -universally, since every judgment is individualistic, there are, on the -other hand, judgments of a majority and of a party. By means of these -John was suppressed and kept silence on the subject of Bellmann for -many years. Only when later on the old historian Fryxell proved that -Bellmann was not the apostle of sobriety which Eichhorn and Ljunggren -had made him out to be, and also no god, but a mediocre ballad-singer, -did John see a gleam of hope that his individual opinion might become -some day the opinion of the majority. But he already saw the question -from another point of view; Sweden would have been neither unhappier -nor worse, if Bellmann had never lived. He would like to have said to -the patriots and democrats, "Bellmann was a poet of Stockholm and of -the Court, who jested very cruelly with poor people." He would like -to have said to the Good Templars who sang Bellmann's songs, "You are -singing drinking songs which were written during fits of intoxication -and celebrate drink." For his own part, John held that Bellmann's -songs were pleasant to sing because of the light French melodies which -accompanied them, and as for their French morality it did not vex him -at all--quite the contrary. But earlier, at the age of twenty-one, he -was vexed by it, for he was an idealist and desired purity in poetry, -just as the surviving idealists and admirers of Bellmann do at the -present time. - -These have used the word "humour" to save themselves and their -morality. But what do they mean by "humour"? Is it jest or earnest? -What is jest? The reluctance of the cowardly to speak out his mind? -Humour reflects the double nature of man,--the indifference of the -natural man to conventional morality, and the Christian's sigh over -immorality which is after all so enticing and seductive. Humour speaks -with two tongues,--one of the satyr, the other of the monk. The -humorist lets the mænad loose, but for old unsound reasons thinks that -he ought to flog her with rods. This is a transitional form of humour -which is passing away, and already at the last gasp. The greatest -modern writers have thrown away the rod, and play the hypocrite -no longer, but speak their minds plainly out. The old tippler's -sentimentality can no longer count for "a good heart," for it has been -discovered to be merely bad nerves. - -After arguing till they were weary, the members of the club landed in -Stockholm harbour. - -[1] Boström: Swedish Philosopher (1797-1866). - -[2] _Vide_ the end of _Brand_. - -[3] Famous Swedish poet. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -BOOKS AND THE STAGE - - -The history of the development of a soul can be sometimes written by -giving a simple bibliography; for a man who lives in a narrow circle -and never meets great men personally, seeks to make their acquaintance -through books. The fact that the same books do not make the same -impression, nor have the same effect upon all, shows their relative -powerlessness to convert anybody. For example, we call the criticism -with which we agree good; the criticism which contradicts our views is -bad. Thus we seem to be educated with preconceived views, and the book -which strengthens, expresses and develops these makes an impression -on us. The danger of a one-sided education through books is that most -books, especially those composed at the end of an era, and at the -university, are antiquated. The youth who has received old ideals from -his parents and teachers is accordingly necessarily out of date before -his education is completed. When he enters manhood, he is generally -obliged to fling away his whole stock of old ideas, and be born again, -as it were. Time has gone by him, while he was reading the old books, -and he finds himself a stranger among his contemporaries. - -John had spent his youth in accumulating antiquarian lore. He knew all -about Marathon and Cannae, the war of the Spanish succession and the -Thirty Years' War, the Middle Ages and antiquity; but when the war -between France and Germany broke out, he did not know the cause of it. -He read about it as he would have read a play, and was interested to -see what the result of it would be. - -In Kristineberg, where he spent the summer with his parents, he lay -out on the grass in the park and read Oehlenschläger. For his degree -examination, he had, besides his chief subject--æsthetics,--to -choose a special one, and, enticed by Dietrichson's lectures, he had -chosen Danish literature. In Oehlenschläger he had found the summit -of Northern poetry. That was for him the quintessence of poetry,--the -directness which he admired perhaps for the very reason that he had -not got it. The Danish language perhaps also contributed to this -result; it seemed to him an idealised Swedish, and sounded like his -mother-speech from the lips of a woman worshipped from afar. When he -read Oehlenschläger's _Helge_, Tegner's _Frithiof's Saga_ seemed to him -petty; he found it unwieldy, prosaic, clerical, unpoetic. - -Oehlenschläger's dramas were a book which had an influence on John by -way of a supplementary contrast. Perhaps the romantic element in them -found an echo in the youth's mind, which had now awoken* to poetic -activity, and looked upon poetry and romance as identical. Other -contributory circumstances were his liking for Norse antiquities which -Oehlenschläger had just discovered, and the unrequited love he had -just then for a blond maiden who was engaged to a lieutenant. But the -impression made by Oehlenschläger was only fleeting, and hardly lasted -a year; it was a light spring breeze which passed by. - -It fared worse with John's study of æsthetics as expounded by -Ljunggren in two closely printed volumes, containing the views of all -philosophers on the Beautiful, but giving no satisfactory definition of -it. - -John had studied the antique in the National Museum, and asked himself -how the pot-house scenes of the Dutch genre painters which, when -they occurred in reality, were called ugly, could be reckoned among -beautiful pictures, although they were in no way idealised. To this the -æsthetic philosophers gave no answer. They shirked the question and -set up one theory after another, but the only excuse they could find -for the admission of ugliness was that it acted as a foil, and provided -a comic element. But a strong suspicion had been aroused in John that -the "Beautiful" was not always beautiful. - -Furthermore, he was troubled by doubts whether it was possible to -have independent standards of taste. In the newly-founded paper, the -_Schwedische Zeitschrift_, he had read discussions about works of -art, and seen how disputants on both sides defended their position -with equally strong arguments. One sought beauty in form, another in -subject, and a third in the harmony between the two. Accordingly a -well-painted subject from still life can rank higher than the Niobe, -for this group of statuary is not beautiful in its outlines, the -arrangement of the drapery of the principal figure being especially -tasteless although the judgment of the majority regards the work as -sublime. Therefore the sublime does not necessarily consist in beauty -of form. - -Victor Hugo's romances had found a fertile soil in John's mind. The -revolt against society; the reverence paid to Nature by the poet living -on a lonely island; the scorn for the ever-prevalent stupidity; the -indignation against formal religion and the enthusiasm for God as the -Creator of all,--all that was germinating in the young man's mind began -to grow, but was stifled by the autumn leaf-drifts of old books. - -John's life in the domestic circle was now a quiet one. The storms -had subsided; his brothers and sisters were grown up. His father, who -still always sat over his account-ledgers, calculating the ways and -means of providing for his flock of children, had become older, and -now perceived that John was also older. They often discussed together -topics of common interest. As regards the Franco-German War they were -both fairly neutral. As Latinised Teutons they did not love the German. -They hated and feared him as a sort of uncle with a right of seniority -against the Swedes, and they did not forget that victorious Prussia had -once been a Swedish province. The Swede had become more French than he -was aware, and now he felt conscious of his relationship to _la grande -nation_. In the evenings when they sat in the garden and the noise of -traffic had ceased, they heard the singing of the Marseillaise from -Blanch's café, and the hurrahs which were soon to be silent. - -In August, when the theatres re-opened, John received the long-desired -news that his play had been accepted for the stage. That was the first -intoxicating success which he had experienced. To have a play accepted -at the Theatre Royal when he was only twenty-one was sufficient -compensation for all his misfortunes. His words would reach the public -from the first stage in the land; his failure as an actor would be -forgotten; his father would see that his son amid all his notorious -fluctuations had chosen right, and all would be well. In autumn, before -the university term began, the piece was performed. It was naive, -pious and full of reverence for art, but had one dramatic scene which -saved it in spite of its slightness--Thorwaldsen about to shatter -the statue of Jason with his hammer. But on the other hand the piece -contained a presumptuous outburst against contemporary rhymers. What -was the author's intention in that? How could a beginner who had so -many forced rhymes himself, cast a stone at another? It was a piece -of temerity which found its own punishment. John stole to the bottom -of the third row of seats to view the performance of his piece from a -standing position. Rejd was already there before him and the curtain -was up. John felt as though he stood under an electric machine. Every -nerve quivered, his legs shook, and his tears ran the whole time from -pure nervousness. Rejd had to hold his hand in order to quiet him. -Now and then there was applause, but John knew that it was mostly from -his relatives and friends, and did not let himself be deceived. Every -stupidity which had inadvertently escaped him now jarred on his ear, -and made him quiver; he saw nothing but crudeness in the piece; he felt -so ashamed that his ears burned; before the curtain fell he rushed away -out into the dark market-place. - -He felt as though annihilated. The attack on the priests was stupid and -unjust; the glorification of poverty and pride seemed to him false, his -description of the relationship between father and son was cynical. How -could he have shown off in this absurd way? It seemed to him as though -he had exposed his nakedness, and shame overpowered every other feeling. - -On the other hand he found the actors good; the _mise en scène_ was -more appropriate than he had expected. Everything was good except the -piece itself. He wandered down to the Norrstrom, and felt inclined -to drown himself. What most annoyed him was that he had so openly -exhibited his feelings. Whence came that? And why should one in general -be ashamed of such exhibitions? Why are the feelings so sacred? Perhaps -because the feelings in general are false, as they only express a -physical sensation, in which personality of the individual does not -fully participate. If it is really so, then John was ashamed as an -ordinary man, to have been untruthful in his writing and to have worn -disguise. - -To be moved at the sight of human suffering is regarded as a mark of -fine feeling and meritorious, but it is said to be only a natural -reflex-movement. One involuntarily transfers the sufferings of the -other to oneself and suffers for one's own sake. Another's tears could -bring one to weep just as another's yawning could make one yawn. That -was all. John felt ashamed that he had lied and caught himself in the -act, though the public had not caught him. - -No one is such a merciless critic as a dramatist who sees his own play -acted. He lets no single word pass through his sieve. He does not lay -the blame on the actors, but generally admires them for rendering his -stupidities with such taste. John found his play stupid. It had lain -by for half a year, and perhaps he had outgrown it. Another piece was -performed after it which lasted for two hours. During the whole time -he wandered about the streets in the darkness, feeling ashamed of -himself. He had made an appointment to drink a glass with some friends -and relatives after the performance in the Hôtel du Nord, but remained -away. He saw they were looking for him but did not wish to meet them. -So they went in again to see the second play. At last it was over. The -spectators streamed out and dispersed through the streets. He hastened -away in order not to hear their comments. - -At last he saw a single group standing under the portico of the -dramatic theatre. They were looking out in all directions and called -him. Finally he came forward as pale and melancholy as a corpse. - -They congratulated him on his success. The play had been applauded and -was very good. They repeated to him the verdicts of other spectators -and quieted him. Then they dragged him to a restaurant and compelled -him to eat and drink. "That will do you good, you old death's-head!" -said a shop-assistant. John was soon pulled down from his imaginative -flight. "What have you got to be melancholy for," he was asked, "when -you have had a play acted by the Theatre Royal?" He could not tell -them. His boldest ambition was fulfilled; but it was probably not -what he wanted. The thought that in any case it was an honour did not -comfort him. - -The next morning he went into a shop, and bought the morning paper -and read a criticism to the effect that the piece was written in -choice language, and (since it was anonymous) probably by a well-known -art-critic who had moved among artistic circles at Rome. That was -pleasant and cheered his spirits. - -At noon he started for Upsala. His father had engaged a room for him -in a boarding-house, kept by the widow of a clergyman, that he might -complete his studies under proper supervision. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -TORN TO PIECES - - -John's entrance into the boarding-house secured for him intercourse -with a large and varied circle,--perhaps too varied. There were -students of all ages, of all subjects, and from all districts, from -clergymen who were reading for their last examination to young medical -and law students. There were also ladies in the house, and John was -for the eighth time in love. Again the object of his affections -was unattainable, being engaged to another. The variety of this -social intercourse overloaded his brain with impressions from all -circles; his personality became relaxed and distracted through the -self-adaptation and compromises with other people's views which are -necessary in society. Besides this a great deal of drinking went on -nearly every evening. On one of the first days after his arrival -appeared a criticism of his play in one of the evening papers. It was -very sharp but just, and therefore hit John hard. He felt stripped -and seen through. The critic said that the author had concealed his -insignificant personality behind a great name--Thorwaldsen--but -that the disguise did not avail him and so on. John felt altogether -bankrupt. In such cases one tries to defend oneself, and he compared -his own with other bad plays, which the same severe critic had -praised. He felt treated unjustly, and indeed when compared with others -it was so, but not when he was regarded by himself alone. The fact that -the critic was worse did not make his piece better. - -John became shy and averse to company. This was increased by the -students' club starting a paper in which they made merry over him and -his play. He fancied he saw grimaces and contempt everywhere, and went -preferably by back streets on his walks. - -Then there came a yet severer blow. A friend had, on his own account, -published one of John's first plays,--the _Free-thinker_. While he was -spending an evening with Rejd an acquaintance brought in the hated -evening paper. It contained a scathing article on the play, which was -mocked at and cut to pieces. John was obliged to read the article in -the presence of his friends. He had, against his will, to admit that -the critic was not unjust, but it upset him terribly. - -Why is it so hard to hear the truth from others, while at the same -time one can be so severe against oneself? Probably because the social -masquerade in which we all take part makes every one fear being -unmasked, probably also because responsibility and unpleasantness are -involved in it. One feels oneself overreached and cheated. The critic -who sits at ease and unmasks others would feel himself equally scourged -and exposed if his secrets were betrayed. Social life is honeycombed -with falsity, but who likes to be discovered? That is why at times of -solitude, when the past rises up unescapably, we do not feel remorse -for our faults, but for our follies and necessary cruelties. Mistakes -were necessary and had some use, but follies were merely injurious and -should have been avoided. It is for this reason that men pay greater -honour to intelligence than to morality, for the former is a reality, -the latter an idea. - -Meanwhile John felt the same pains which he imagined a criminal must -feel. He felt impelled to obliterate as soon as possible the impression -made by his stupidity. But he felt also that a kind of injustice -had been done him since he had been criticised simply and solely as -a writer, although his production was a year old, and he himself, -therefore, maturer than it, by a year. But it was not the fault of the -critic that there was an incongruity between the criticism and the -_corpus delicti_. - -He began to compose another tragedy, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_. -This was intended to deal with Christendom in artistic form, and to -handle the same problem and the same questions as his former play. By -"artistic form" at that period was meant the laying of the scene of -the play in a past epoch. John wrote the piece under the influence of -Oehlenschläger and the Icelandic sagas which he had lately read in the -original. - -He had, however, a severe struggle with his conscience, for his father -had exacted a promise from him not to write for the stage till he had -passed his examination. It was, therefore, an act of deceit to take -help from his father and not to fulfil the conditions on which it was -granted. But he silenced his scruples by saying to himself, "Father -will be pleased enough if I have a speedy and great success." In that -he was not far wrong. - -But another element now entered into his life, and had a decided -influence both on his views of things and his work. This was his -acquaintance with two men,--an author and a remarkable personality. -Unfortunately they were both abnormal and therefore had only a -disturbing effect upon his development. - -The author was Kierkegaard,[1] whose book, _Either--Or_, John had -borrowed from a member of the Song Club, and read with fear and -trembling. His friends had also read it as a work of genius, had -admired the style, but not been specialty influenced by it,--a proof -that books have little effect, when they do not find readers in -sympathy with the author. But upon John the book made the impression -intended by the author. He read the first part containing "The -Confessions of an Æsthete." He felt sometimes carried away by it, but -always had an uncomfortable feeling as though present at a sick-bed. -The perusal of the first part left a feeling of emptiness and despair -behind it. The book agitated him. "The Diary of a Seducer" he regarded -as the fancies of an unclean imagination. Things were not like that in -real life. Moreover John was no sybarite, but on the contrary inclined -to asceticism and self-torment. Such egotistic sensuality as that of -the hero of Kierkegaard's work was absurd because the suffering he -caused by the satisfaction of his desires necessarily involved him in -suffering and, therefore, defeated his object. - -The second part of the work containing the philosopher's "Discourse on -Life as a Duty," made a deeper impression on John. It showed him that -he himself was an "æsthete" who had conceived of authorship as a form -of enjoyment. Kierkegaard said that it should be regarded as a calling. -Why? The proof was wanting, and John, who did not know that Kierkegaard -was a Christian, but thought the contrary, not having seen his -_Edifying Discourses_, imbibed unaware the Christian system of ethics -with its doctrine of self-sacrifice and duty Along with these the idea -of sin returned. Enjoyment was a sin, and one had to do one's duty. -Why? Was it for the sake of society to which one was under obligations? -No! merely because it was duty. That was simply Kant's categorical -imperative. When he reached the end of the work _Either--Or_ and found -the moral philosopher also in despair, and that all this teaching about -duty had only produced a Philistine, he felt broken in two. "Then," he -thought, "better be an æsthete." But one cannot be an æsthete if one -has been a Christian for five-sixths of one's life, and one cannot be -moral without Christ. Thus he was tossed to and fro like a ball between -the two, and ended in sheer despair. - -Had he now read Kierkegaard's discourses, he might possibly have -come a step nearer to Christianity--possibly--for it is difficult to -decide that now, but to receive Christianity again seemed to him like -replacing a tooth which had been torn out, and joyfully thrown into the -fire, along with the accompanying toothache. It was also possible that -if he had known that the book _Either--Or_ was intended to scourge one -to the Cross he might have thrown it away as a jesuitical writing and -been saved from his embarrassment. All that he felt now, however, was -a terrible discord. He had to choose and make the jump between ethics -and æsthetics, but choose how? and jump whither? He could not jump -out in space to embrace a paradox or Christ,--that would have been -self-destruction or madness. But Kierkegaard preached madness? Was -it the despair of the over-self-conscious at finding himself always -self-conscious? Was it the longing of one who sees too deeply for the -unconsciousness of intoxication? - -John knew well what the battle between his own will and the will of -others meant. He had given his father trouble enough when he crossed -his plans; but the trouble was mutual; the whole of life consisted of -a web of wills crossing one another. The death of one was life-breath -to another; no one could gain an advantage without hurting the one -he passed by. Life was a perpetual interchange and struggle between -pleasure and pain. His sensuality or desire for enjoyment had not -injured others nor caused them trouble. He had never seduced the -innocent, and had never enjoyed himself without paying the price. He -was moral from habit; from instinct, from fear of the consequences, -from good taste or from education, but the very fact that he did -not feel himself immoral, was a defect and a sin. After reading -_Either--Or_ he felt sinful. The categorical imperative stole on him -under a Latin name and without a cross on its back, and he let himself -be beguiled by it. He did not see that it was a two-thousand-years-old -Christianity in disguise. - -Kierkegaard would not have made so deep an impression on him, if a -number of concurrent circumstances had not contributed to that result. -In the letters of the æsthete, Kierkegaard expounded suffering as -enjoyment. John suffered from public contumely; he suffered from his -hard work; he suffered from unrequited affection; he suffered from -unsatisfied desires; he suffered from drink, for he was intoxicated -nearly every evening; he suffered as an artist from mental struggles -and doubts; he suffered from the ugly scenery of Upsala; he suffered -from the discomfort of his rooms; he suffered from examination-books; -he suffered from a bad conscience because he did not study but wrote -plays. But something else lay at the bottom of all this. He had been -brought up to fulfil hard tasks and duties. Now he lived well amid ease -and enjoyment. Study was an enjoyment; authorship, in spite of all its -pains, was a wonderful enjoyment; the life with his comrades was sheer -festivity and jollity. But his plebeian consciousness awoke and told -him that it was not right to enjoy while others worked; _his_ work was -an enjoyment, for it brought him a good deal of honour, and perhaps -money. This accounted for his persistently uneasy conscience which -persecuted him without a cause. Was it that he felt already the signs -of this awakening consciousness of tremendous guilt as regards the -lower classes, the slaves who toiled, while he enjoyed? Did he already -have a foreboding of that sense of justice, which in our days has laid -so strong a hold on many of the upper classes that they have restored -capital which was not quite honestly earned, have expended time and -toil for the liberation of the lower classes, and have worked from -impulse and instinct against their own interests, in order to do right? -Possibly. - -But Kierkegaard was not the man to resolve the discord. It was reserved -for the evolutionary philosophers to make peace between passion and -reason, between enjoyment and duty. They cancelled the deceptive -_Either_--_Or_, and substituted _Both--And,_ giving both flesh and -spirit their due. The real significance of Kierkegaard became clear -to John many years later. Then he saw in him the simple pietist, the -ultra-Christian who wished to realise in modern society oriental ideals -of two thousand years ago. But Kierkegaard was right in one point: if -we were to have Christianity, we ought to have it thoroughly; but his -_Either--Or_ was only valid for the priests of the church who called -themselves Christians. - -Kierkegaard saw no further, and from him who wrote his book in 1843, -and had a clerical education, one could not expect that he should say: -"Either a Christianity like this, or none!" In that case people would -probably have chosen none. Instead of that Kierkegaard said: "Whether -you are æsthetical or ethical you must cast yourself into the arms -of Christ." His mistake was to oppose ethics and æsthetics to each -other, for they can go very well together. But John did not succeed -in harmonising them till, after endless struggles, at the age of -thirty-seven, he attempted a compromise when he discovered that work -and duty are forms of enjoyment, and that enjoyment itself, well-used, -is a duty. - -But at that time, the book weighed on him like a nightmare. He was -angry when his friends wished to regard it as mere literature. He was -not pacified by their regarding it superior in richness, depth and -style to Goethe's _Faust_, which it certainly did surpass by far. John -could not at that time understand that the pillar-saint Kierkegaard had -himself known what enjoyment was when he wrote the first part, and that -the seducer and Don Juan were the author himself, who satisfied his -desires in imagination. No, he thought it was poetry. - -John had been already predisposed to receive Kierkegaard's influence, -and now came the other acquaintance, which would not have played a -great rôle in his life if circumstances had not prepared him for -that also. His companions merely regarded the person in question as -ludicrous. - -It came about in the following way. Thurs the Jew came one day and told -John that he had made the acquaintance of a genius who wished to join -their Song Club. - -"Ah, a genius!" - -None of the members of the club believed that they were geniuses, not -even John, and it is doubtful whether any poet has really believed -or felt that he was one. One can, when one makes comparisons, find -that one has produced better work than others, and a clever man -will naturally feel that he understands better than others, but -genius,--that is something else. This title is not generally bestowed -on any one till after death and is now dropping out of common use, -since the secret of the evolution of genius has been discovered. - -The novelty aroused attention, and the stranger was elected to the -club under the name of Is. He was not a poet, they were told, but very -learned and a powerful critic. - -One evening when the club-meeting was at Thurs' rooms he came--a -little thin person, without an overcoat, dressed like a labourer on -his holiday. His clothes looked as though they were borrowed, for -their elbows and knees were not in the right places. John, who used -to succeed to his elder brother's clothes, noticed this at once. In -his hand he held a dirty beer-soup-coloured hat, such as is only worn -by organ-grinders. His face looked like that of a southern rat-trap -seller. His black hair hung on his shoulders and a black beard fell on -his breast. - -"Is it possible?" they asked themselves. "Can he be a student?" He -looked forty, but was only thirty. He stood with his hat in his hand -at the door like a beggar, and hardly ventured to come forward. After -Thurs had drawn him into the room and introduced him, the meeting was -declared open. Is began to speak and they listened. His voice was like -a woman's and sank sometimes, without apology, to a whisper, as though -the speaker demanded perfect silence or spoke for his own satisfaction. -It would be difficult to repeat what he spoke of, for his speech ranged -over everything that he had read, and since he had read for ten years -more than the youths of twenty, they found his learning wonderful. - -After that, another member of the club read a poem. Is had to deliver -an opinion on it. He began with Kant, quoted Schopenhauer and -Thackeray, and finished with a lecture on George Sand. No one noticed -that he said nothing about the poem. - -Then they went into a restaurant to eat. Is talked philosophy, -æsthetics and history. He spoke sometimes with a melancholy expression -in his dark unfathomable eyes, which never rested on those present, as -though he sought an unseen audience far in the distance, in unknown -space. The club listened reverently with absorbed attention. - -John was to hear this man's opinion on his work. He, as well as one of -the most poetical members of the club, began to have serious doubts as -to their vocation. Often, when they had drunk a good deal, they asked -whether they still believed--meaning whether each thought the Other -called to be a poet. It was just the same sort of doubt which John had -felt when he had wondered whether he was a child of God. Is was to -read John's drama, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_, and to give his -opinion. - -One morning John went up to his room to hear his verdict. Is spoke -till noon. About what? About everything. But he had now taken hold of -John's soul. Through conversations with Thurs, he know which strings to -pull, and did so, as he chose. He burrowed in John's mind, not out of -sympathy, but from a spider-like curiosity. He did not speak directly -of John's play but suggested the plan of a new one after his own ideas. -He had the effect of a mesmeriser, and John was magnetised. But he -felt in a state of despair when he left him, as though his friend had -taken his soul, picked it to pieces and thrown them away after he had -satisfied his curiosity. - -But John came again, sat on the wise man's sofa, listened to his words -as though they were an oracle, and felt himself completely under his -power. Sometimes he thought it was a ghost who walked on the carpet -when his body disappeared in clouds of tobacco-smoke. The man exercised -what is called a "demonic" influence, _i.e_. inexplicable at first -sight. He had no blood in his veins, no feelings, no will, no desires. -He was a talking head. His standpoint was nothing and all at the same -time. He was a decoction of books, and the type of a book-worm who had -never lived. - -Often when the other members of the club were alone, they talked -about Is. Thurs was already tired of him and wondered whether he -had committed some crime, for he seemed driven about by a constant -restlessness. Then it was reported that he was a poet, but never would -show his poems, for he had such a high idea of the poetic art. They -also wondered why no one ever saw a book in the learned man's rooms. -It was also strange that he should seek the company of these youths, -to whom he was so superior, and whose poetry he must despise. They who -were themselves in the full bloom of romanticism did not detect the -anæmic romantic who had lost his footing on firm ground. They did not -see in his long hair and shabby hat the copy of Murger's Bohemian; they -did not know that this dilapidated condition was a Parisian fashion; -that this hollow wisdom was a web woven out of German metaphysics; that -this experimental psychology was derived from a peep into Kierkegaard; -and that that interesting air of hinting at uncommitted crimes and -secret griefs was Byronic in origin. All this they did not understand. -Therefore Is could play with John's soul and catch him in his snare. -Yes, John was so thoroughly taken by him that in a speech he called -himself Gamaliel, who sat at Paul's Is's feet to learn wisdom. - -The upshot of it all was that Julm, one fine evening, burnt his new -play. It was the work of three months which went up in flames. As he -collected the ashes, he wept. Is, without saying so directly, had shown -him that he was no poet. So everything was a mistake, this also! Then -he felt in despair, because he had deceived his father and could take -no work home to justify his neglect of his wishes. In a fit of remorse, -and in order to be able to point to some definite result, he entered -his name for the written examination in Latin, without, however, having -written any of the requisite preliminary exercises or essays. The Latin -professor saw his name in the list and did not know it. One Sunday -evening, when John had returned to his rooms in good spirits after a -supper, the university bedell appeared to summon him. John went boldly -to the professor and asked what he wanted. - -"You wish to take the written examination in Latin?" - -"Yes." - -"But I do not see your name on my list." - -"I entered myself before for the medical examination." - -"That has nothing to do with this. You must go by the rules." - -"I know no rules about the three essays." - -"I think you are impertinent, sir." - -"It may seem so----" - -"Out with you, sir!--or----" - -The door was opened, and John was ejected. He swore to himself he -would still go up for the written examination, but the next morning he -overslept himself. - -So even that last straw failed. - -Shortly afterwards one morning a friend came and woke him. - -"Do you know that W. is dead?" (W. sat at the same table in the -boarding-house.) - -"No!" - -"Yes! he has cut his throat." - -John started up, dressed himself, and hurried with his friend to the -Jernbrogatan where W. lived. They rushed up the stairs and came to a -dark attic. - -"Is it here?" - -"No, here!" - -John felt for a door; the door gave way and fell upon him. At the same -moment he saw a pool of blood on the ground. He turned round, let go -of the door, and was at the bottom of the stairs before the door fell -on the ground. This scene shook him terribly and woke his memory. Some -days previously John had gone into the Carolina Park to work at his -play in solitude. W. came up, greeted him, and asked whether he might -bear him company or whether he disturbed him. John answered sincerely -that he did disturb him, and W. went away with a melancholy air. Was -it a case of a lonely drowning man who sought a companion and was -repulsed? John felt almost guilty of his death. But he was not intended -for a comforter. Now the dead man seemed to haunt him; he dared not go -to his room, but slept with his friend. One night he slept with Rejd. -The latter had to keep a light burning and was woken several times in -the night by John, who could not sleep. - -One day Rejd found John with a bottle of prussic acid. He apparently -approved the idea of suicide, but first asked him to take a farewell -drink with him. They went to the restaurant and ordered eight glasses -of whisky, which were brought in on a tray. Each of them drank four -glasses in four pulls, with the desired result that John became dead -drunk. He was carried home, but since the house door was locked, he was -carried over an empty piece of ground and thrown over a fence. There he -remained lying in a snow-drift, till he recovered his senses, and crept -up into his room. - -The last night which he spent in Upsala some days later he slept on a -sofa in Thurs' rooms; his friends kept watch over him, and the room -was lighted up. They watched good-naturedly till morning, then they -accompanied him to the station, and put him in the coupé. When the -train had passed Bergsbrunna, John breathed again. He felt as though -he had left something dreadful and weird, like a northern winter night -with thirty degrees of cold, behind him, and registered a vow never -again to settle in this town, where men's souls, banished from life and -society, grew rotten from over-production of thought, were corroded -by stagnant waters which had no outlet, and took fire like millstones -which revolved without having anything to grind. - - -[1] Danish theologian. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IDEALISM AND REALISM - -(1871) - - -When John again reached his parents' house, he felt himself in shelter -like one who has reached land after a stormy sea-passage by night. -Again he had quiet nights in his old tent-bed in the brothers' room. -Here were quiet patient men, who came and went, worked and slept at -stated times without being disturbed by dreams or ambitious designs. -His sisters had grown up into young women and managed the house. All -were at work with the exception of himself. When he compared his -irregular, dissipated life, which knew no rest or peace, with theirs, -he considered them happier and better than himself. They took life -seriously, went about their work and fulfilled their duties without -noise or boasting. - -John now looked up his old acquaintances among the tradespeople, -clerks, and sea-captains, and found intercourse with them novel and -refreshing. They led his thoughts back to reality and he felt firm -ground once more under his feet. At the same time he began to despise -false ideality, and saw that it was vulgar of the students to look down -on the "Philistines." - -He now confessed quite simply and openly to his father, but without -remorse, the wretched life he had led at Upsala, and begged him to let -him stay at home and prepare for his examination there,--otherwise he -would be lost. His father granted permission, and now John prepared his -plan of campaign for the spring term. In the first place he meant to -take lessons in Latin composition with a good teacher in Stockholm, and -then go up in spring, and pass the examination. Furthermore he would -write his disquisition for a certificate in æsthetics and prepare for -the examination in that subject. With these resolutions he began a -quiet and industrious manner of life with the new year. - -But the failure of his play the _Free-thinker_ still weighed upon his -mind, and the questions of his friends as to whether they should soon -see something new from him, stirred him up to re-write, in the form -of a one-act play, the drama he had burnt. He finished it, and then -continued his studies. - -Shortly before April he wrote a test-composition for his teacher, who -declared that he would pass. His father did not disapprove of his plan -when he heard that John felt quite confident, but he suggested that it -would be more practical if he conformed to custom and wrote exercises -for the Upsala professor. "No," said John, "it was now a question of -principle and a matter of honour." So he went to Upsala. - -He called on the professor on his at-home day and waited till his turn -for an interview. When the latter saw him, he grew red in the face and -asked: - -"Are you here again?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you want?" - -"I want to go in for the Latin Composition examination." - -"Without having written a test-composition?" - -"I have done that in Stockholm--and I only want to ask whether the -statutes allow me to go up for the examination." - -"The statutes? Ask the dean about that; I only know what I require." - -John went straight to the dean, who was a young, lively and sympathetic -man. John made known his purpose and described what had passed. - -"Yes," said the dean, "the statutes say nothing about the matter, but -old P. can pluck you without their help." - -"Well, we shall see. Will you allow me, Mr. Dean, to go up for the -written examination, that is the question?" - -"Yes, I can't refuse that. You mean then to have your own way?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Arc you so sure about the matter?" - -"Yes." - -"Very well! Good luck to you!" said the Dean, and clapped him on the -shoulder. - -So John went up for the examination and after a week received a -telegram to say that he had passed. Some ascribed this result to -the professor's generosity and disapproved of John's rebellious -procedure; but John considered his success due to his own diligence -and knowledge, although he could not deny that the professor had acted -honourably in not plucking him when he had the power to do so. - -The examination in æsthetics was fixed for May. Contrary to all usage -John sent his disquisition by post to Upsala with the written request -that he might stand for the examination. - -His essay was entitled "Hakon Jarl," and treated of Idealism and -Realism. Its object was firstly to convince the professor that -the writer was well-read in æsthetics and particularly in Danish -literature, and secondly, to clear up to the writer himself his own -point of view. The essay, in imitation of Kierkegaard, was in the form -of a correspondence between A and B, criticising Oehlenschläger's -_Hakon Jarl_ and Kierkegaard's _Either--Or_. - -At the appointed time John appeared before the professor, who had -the reputation of being liberal-minded, but felt at once that he had -no sympathy with him. With an almost contemptuous air the professor -handed him back his essay and declared that it was best suited for the -female readers of the _Illustrated News_. He further stated that Danish -literature was not a subject of sufficient importance to be taken up as -a special branch of study. - -John felt annoyed, and asserted that Danish literature had greater -interest for Sweden than Boileau and Malesherbes, for example, on whom -students wrote essays. - -His examination then began and took the form of a violent argument. -It was continued in the afternoon and ended by the professor giving -him a certificate which was not so good as he had hoped, and telling -him that university studies could only be properly carried on at the -university. John replied that æsthetic studies could be best carried -on at Stockholm where one had the National Museum, Library, Theatre, -Academy of Music and Artists. - -"No," said the professor, "that is nonsense; one ought to study here." - -John let fall some remarks on college lectures, and they parted, not as -particularly good friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A KING'S PROTÉGÉ - -(1871) - - -During the whole of this time, John had been on pleasant terms with his -father, and the old man had shown himself to a certain extent willing -to be educated, but his tactless pride sometimes broke out and annoyed -John. The latter, who was now continually at home, spent many evening -hours with the old man in conversations on all sorts of subjects, and -finally on religion. One day John spoke for half-an-hour about Theodore -Parker, so that his father at last expressed a wish to read some of -him. He kept the book for several days, but said nothing, and John -found it again in his room. His father was too proud to acknowledge -that he liked the book, but John learned through one of his brothers -that he was especially delighted with the famous sermon "On Old Age." - -In the matter of John's opposition to the professor, his father -vacillated. His opinion was that right was always right, but he did -not like the disrespectful way in which John spoke of the professor. -Meanwhile John saw that he had won the game and that his father had a -lively interest in his success. - -But one day in spring John went into the country, telling the servant -that he would be absent for the day. When he returned the next morning -he had an unpleasant reception. - -"You go away without telling me?" - -"I told the servant." - -"I require you to ask permission of me as long as you eat my bread." - -"Ask permission! What nonsense!" - -John departed, borrowed three hundred kronas from a friendly tradesman, -and then with three of his club associates went to one of the islands -near Stockholm, where they hired rooms in a fisher's house at a rent -of thirty kronas per month. No one tried to stop him, and probably -this crisis was occasioned by the fact that John was exercising a -perceptible influence on his father, brothers and sisters in matters -concerning domestic arrangements. The mistress of the house feared that -the power would be taken out of her hands. - -He spent the summer in strenuously working for his examination, for -he had now no hope of receiving further supplies from home. It was -a healthy and ascetic life with innocent amusements. He went about -in dressing-gown, drawers and sea-boots, and the toilette of his -companions was still more scanty. They bathed, sailed, fenced, and -John gave himself over increasingly to a process of decivilisation. -There were almost always spirituous liquors on the table, and John -feared them, for they made him mad. But to this asceticism and industry -succeeded a desire to make converts of others, and a great amount of -self-satisfaction. The latter is always the case, whether the ascetic -feels that in this respect he is better than others, or whether he -makes the sacrifice in order to feel himself better. Therefore he -preached to one brother who drank, and moralised over the others who -did not work, but went to Dalarö to dance or to feast. Kierkegaard's -influence was strong upon him; he wished to be moral, and thundered -against æstheticism. - -He now studied philology, and went through Dante, Shakespeare and -Goethe. The last he hated because he was an æsthete. Behind all, like -a dark background, was the breach with his father. After their life -together during the last winter, he saw him as it were transfigured, -justified him with respect to all that had happened in the past, and -had forgotten all the petty troubles of his childhood. He missed most -of all his brothers and sisters, especially his sisters whom he -had really learnt to know. Toiling with a lexicon and investigating -roots of words had become painful to him, but he enjoyed this pain, -and disciplined his imagination by hard work, looking upon it as his -professional duty. - -Towards the end of the summer he was wild and shy. The clothes, winch -he rummaged out again, were too tight, his collar, which he had not -worn for months, tormented him as though it had been of iron, and his -shoes pinched him. Everything seemed to him constrained, conventional -and unnatural. Once he had been enticed to an evening party at Dalarö -but had immediately returned. He was shy and could not bear frivolity -and laughter. This time it was not the consciousness of belonging -to the lower classes, for he had ceased to regard himself as one of -them. Meanwhile the ascetic life he had been leading increased his -will-power and his activity. When the next term at Upsala commenced, -he took his travelling-bag and journeyed thither, without having more -than a krona to call his own, and without knowing where he would find a -room and something to eat. On his arrival he took up his quarters with -Rejd, and set about working. The first evening, feeling half famished, -he looked up Is, who had remained the whole summer alone in Upsala -and seemed more melancholy than usual. His appearance was that of a -shadow, and solitude had made him still more morbid. He went out with -John and invited him to supper at a restaurant. He spoke in his usual -style and mangled his prey, who, on the other hand, defended himself, -struck back, and attacked the æsthete. Is contemplated his hungry -companion while he ate, and intoxicated himself with the brandy-bottle. -He adopted a maternal air and offered to lend John money. The latter -was touched, thanked him, and borrowed about ten kronas, for, since he -believed he had a future before him, he borrowed without fear. Finally -Is became drunk and raved. He changed his attitude, called John an -egoist, and reproached him for having taken the ten kronas. - -To be suspected of egotism was the worst thing John knew, for Christ -had taught him that the "ego" must be crucified. His individuality had -grown since it had been freed from pressure and attained publicity. -Conspicuous persons obtain a greater individuality through the -attention they receive, or they attract attention for the simple reason -that they have a greater individuality. John felt that he was working -in the right way for his future; he pressed forward with energy and -will and the help of many friends, but not as a charlatan or schemer. -But Is's accusation struck him in the face, as it must all men who -have an "ego." He wished to return the money, but Is drew himself up -proudly, played the "gentleman" and continued to romance. It struck -John that this idealist was a mean fellow who behaved in this fantastic -way in order to conceal his vexation at the temporary loss of the ten -kronas. - -Now the students returned for the term, and all of them with money. -John wandered about with his travelling-bag and his books, and -discovered how soon a welcome is worn out when one lies upon somebody -else's sofa. He borrowed money to hire a room with. It was a real -rats' nest with a camp-bed without sheets or cushions. No candlestick, -nothing. But he lay in bed in his under-clothes and read by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle. His friends here and there provided him -with meals. But then came the winter. He used to go out after dark and -buy a quantity of wood, which he carried home in his bag. A scientific -friend taught him how to make a charcoal fire. Moreover, the shaft of -a chimney passed through his room and was warm every washing-day. He -stood beside it with his hands behind him and read out of a book which -he had placed on the chest of drawers, dragging the latter close to -him. In the meantime his drama had been played and coldly received. The -subject-matter was religious. It dealt with heathendom and Christendom, -the former being defended as an epoch-making movement, not as a creed. -Christ was placed on one side and the only true God exalted. The drama -also contained a domestic struggle, and, after the fashion of the -time, women were extolled at the expense of the men. In one passage -the author expressed his opinion as to the position of a poet in life. -"Are you a man, Orm?" asks the duke. "I am only a poet," answers Orm. -"Therefore you will never become anything," is the rejoinder. - -In fact, John believed now that the poet's life was a shadow existence, -that he had no individuality, but only lived in that of others. But is -it then so certain that the poet possesses no individuality because -he has more than one? Perhaps he is richer because he possesses more -than the others. And why is it better to have only one "ego," since -in any case a single "ego" is not more one's own than many "egos," -seeing that even one "ego" is a compound product derived from parents, -educators, social intercourse and books? Perhaps it is for this reason -that society, like a machine, demands that the single "egos" shall act -each like a wheel, screw, or separate piece of the machine in a limited -automatic way. But the poet is more than a piece of a machine, since he -is a whole machine in himself. - -In the drama John had incorporated himself in five persons;--in the -Jarl, who is at war with his contemporaries; in the Poet, who looks -over things and looks through them; in the Mother, who is angry and -revengeful but whose thirst for vengeance is counteracted by her -sympathy; in the Daughter, who for the sake of her faith breaks with -her father; in the Lover, whose love is ill-starred. John understood -the motives of all the dramatis personae; and spoke from their varying -points of view. But a drama written for the average man who has -ready-made views on all subjects, must at least take sides with one -of its characters in order to win the excitable and partisan public. -John could not do this, because he believed in no absolute right or -wrong, for the simple reason that all these ideas are relative. One may -be right as regards the future, and wrong as regards the present; one -may be wrong in one year and right in the next; a father may justify -his son while the mother condemns him; a daughter is right in loving -the man she loves, but in her father's view she is wrong in loving a -heathen. There comes in doubt: Why do men hate and despise the doubter? -Because doubt is the seed of development and progress, and the average -man hates development because it disturbs his quiet. Only the stupid -man is certain; only the ignorant one thinks he has found the truth. -Doubt undermines energy, they say. But it is better to act without -considering the consequences. The animal and the savage act blindly, -obeying desire and impulse; in that they resemble our "men of action"! - -When John returned to Upsala, he was again followed by disparaging -criticisms. To some extent they were true, _e.g._ the assertion that -the form of the piece was borrowed from the _Kongsemnerne,_ but only -to some extent, for John had taken the frigid tone and the rough -phraseology direct from the Icelandic sagas, and the views of life he -expressed were original. Scorn followed him, and he was regarded as a -man who was ambitious of being a poet, the worst suspicion under which -any one can fall. - -But in the midst of his toil and needy circumstances, a week after his -overthrow, there came a letter from the chamberlain of the Theatre -Royal at Stockholm, requesting him to go there immediately as the -king wished to see him. Morbidly suspicious he believed that it was a -practical joke, and took the letter to his wise friend--the student of -Natural History. The latter telegraphed in the evening to a well-known -actor of the Theatre Royal requesting him to ask the chamberlain -whether he had written to John. The latter spent a restless night, -tossed to and fro between hope and fear. The next morning the answer -came that it was indeed so and that John should come at once. He set -off forthwith. - -Why did he, a born rebel, accept the royal favour without hesitation? -For the simple reason that he did not belong to the democratic party; -he had never promised his father or mother not to receive a favour from -the king. Furthermore he believed in the aristocracy or the right of -the best to govern, and he considered the upper classes the best, as -he had shown in his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, in which he expressed -contempt for the demagogues. He hated tyrants, but this king was no -tyrant. Therefore there was no reason for hesitation within him or -without him. Accordingly he travelled to Stockholm and was received in -audience by the king. The latter was just now very ill, and looked so -emaciated as to make a painful impression. He stood with a benevolent -aspect, smoking his long tobacco-pipe, and smiled at the young -beardless author, walking awkwardly between the rows of aide-de-camps -and chamberlains. He thanked him for the pleasure which he had derived -from his drama, adding that he himself when young had competed for an -academical prize with a poem on the Vikings, and was fond of the old -Norse legends. He said that he wished to help the young student to take -his doctor's degree, and closed the interview by referring him to the -treasurer, who had been ordered to make him a first payment. Later on -he would receive more, and the king said he supposed there were still -two or three years to elapse before he took his degree. - -John's immediate future was now secure. He felt gratefully moved by -this kindness on the part of a king who had so many things to think -about. On his return to Upsala, he saw for two months how the court -sunshine had turned him into a star. The official who had paid him, -had asked him whether he thought later on of obtaining a post in some -public department or in the Royal Library. His ambition had never -soared so high and did not yet do so. - -The chief object of human existence seems to be, and must indeed be, to -spend one's life till death in the least unpleasant manner possible. -This aim does not exclude solicitude for the good of others, for -happiness includes the consciousness of not having infringed others' -rights unnecessarily. Therefore ill-gotten wealth cannot secure a -pleasant life, nor can any path which leads over the prostrate bodies -of others. Accordingly Utilitarianism, or the philosophy which aims at -the greatest happiness of the greatest number, is not immoral. - -In spite of all his asceticism John could not help feeling happy. -His happiness consisted in the half-consciousness that he could live -his life without the great anxiety which the insecurity of means -of existence causes. He had been threatened by penury and was now -secure; life had been restored to him, and it is a happy thing to be -able to live before one has done growing. His chest, which had been -narrowed by hunger and over-exertion, broadened itself; his back grew -straighter; life no longer seemed so melancholy. He was contented with -his lot; things took on a more cheerful aspect, and he would have been -ungrateful had he still remained among the malcontents. - -But this did not last long. When he saw his old comrades round him in -a position in which _his_ happiness had effected no change, he found -that there was a want of harmony between them. They had been accustomed -to help him as one in need and now he needed their help no longer. -They had liked him, because they protected him and were accustomed -to see him below them. But when he came upwards, near them and above -them, they found him necessarily altered by altered circumstances. The -necessitous man is not so bold in his opinions nor so stiff in the back -as the prosperous one. He was altered for them, but was he therefore -worse? Self-esteem under other circumstances is generally well thought -of. Enough! He annoyed others by the fact that he was fortunate, and -still more because he wished to help others to be so. - -The present he had received entailed obligations, and John gave -himself diligently to study. He passed his examinations in Philology, -Astronomy, and Political Science, but received in none of these -subjects such a good testimonial as he had expected. He had studied too -much in one way and too little in another. - -In examination time he generally had an attack of aphasia. -Physiologists usually ascribe this weakness to an injury in the left -temple. And as a matter of fact John had two scars above his left eye. -One was caused by the blow of an axe, the other by a rock against which -he had struck himself in jumping down the Observatory hill. He was -inclined to trace to this the great difficulty he had in delivering -public addresses and speaking foreign languages. - -Accordingly, during examinations, he would sit there, unable to give -an answer although he knew more than was asked. Then there came over -him a spirit of defiance, of self-torment, of ill-humour, and he felt -tempted to throw up the whole thing. He criticised the text-books and -felt dishonest in learning what he despised. The rôle assigned to him -began to oppress him; he longed to get away from it all to something -else, wherever it might be. It was not that he regarded the king's -present as a benefaction. It was a stipend, a reward for merit, such -as artists at all periods have received for the purpose of carrying -on their self-cultivation. His royal patron was not merely the king -but his personal friend and admirer. Therefore the gift exercised no -kind of restraint upon his rebellious thoughts; he only let himself be -temporarily deceived, and believed that all was right with the world, -because he prospered. His radicalism had been considerably mitigated; -he no longer thought that all which was wrong in the state was the -fault of the monarchy, nor did he believe with the pagans that better -harvests would follow if the king was sacrificed on an idol-altar. His -mother would have wept for joy at his distinction, had she lived, so -strong were her aristocratic leanings. - -All of us, including crown princes, are democrats, inasmuch as we wish -those above us to come down to our level; but when we ascend, we do -not wish to be pulled down. The question is only whether that winch -is "above" us is so in a spiritual sense, and whether it ought to be -there. That was what John began to be doubtful of. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE WINDING UP - -(1872) - - -At the beginning of the spring term, John took up his quarters with an -elder comrade in order to continue his studies. But when he had again -the old books before him which he had already studied so long, he felt -a distaste for them. His brain was full of impressions, of collected -literary material, and refused to take in any more; his imagination -and thought were busily at work and would not let memory be alone -active; he had fits of doubt and apathy and often remained the whole -day lying on the sofa. Then the desire would sometimes awake to be -altogether free and to plunge into the life of activity. But the royal -stipend held him fast in fetters and imposed on him obligations. Having -received it, he was bound to go on studying for his doctor's degree, -the course of reading for which he had half completed. So he applied -himself to philosophy, but when he read the history of it, he found all -systems equally valid or invalid, and his mind resisted all new ideas. - -In the literary club there was disunion and lethargy. All their -youthful poems had been read and no one produced any more, so that -they only met together to drink punch. Is had exposed himself, and -after a scene with another member, he had been thrown out. He drew his -knife and got well thrashed. He saved himself from worse by affecting -to treat the affair as a joke, and was now a mere laughing-stock, since -it had been discovered that his wisdom consisted in quotations from the -students' periodicals which the others had not had the wit to utilise. -At the beginning of term an Æsthetic Society had been founded by the -professor of Æsthetics, and this made their own literary society, the -"Runa," superfluous. - -At one of the meetings of the former, John's discontent with classical -authorities broke out. He had been drinking that evening and was -half-intoxicated. In conversation with the professor dangerous ground -was touched upon and John was enticed so far out of his reserve as to -declare Dante without significance for humanity and overestimated. John -had plenty of reasons to allege for his opinion, but could not express -them to advantage when the professor set upon him, and the whole -company gathered round the disputants, who were squeezed into a corner -by the stove. He wanted in the first place to say that the construction -of the _Divine Comedy_ was not original, but a very ordinary form which -had already been employed shortly before in the _Vision of Albericus_. -Furthermore his opinion was that in this poem Dante did not reflect -the culture and thoughts of his period, because he was so uncultured -that he did not even know Greek. He was not a philosopher, for he -hampered thought by the fetters of revelation, and therefore he was no -precursor of the Renaissance or the Reformation. He was no patriot, for -he venerated the German empire as established by God. He was at most a -local patriot of Florence. Nor was he a democrat, for he always dreamt -of a union of the empire and the papacy. He did not attack the papacy, -but only individual popes who lived immoral lives, as he himself -had done in his youth. He was a monk, a truly idiotic child of his -age, for he sent unbaptised children to hell. He was a narrow-minded -royalist who put Brutus next to Satan in the deepest hell. He was -entirely wanting in the power of selfcriticism;--while he reckons -ingratitude to friends and betrayal of one's fatherland among the worst -of crimes, he places his own friend and teacher, Brunetto Latini, in -hell, and supports the German Emperor, Henry VII, against his native -city Florence. He had bad literary taste, for he reckoned as the six -greatest poets of the world Homer, Horace, Lucan, Ovid, Virgil and -himself. How could modern critics who were so severe on all scandalous -literature praise Dante, who in his poem cast dishonour on so many -contemporary persons and families? He even scolds his own dear native -city, exclaiming when he finds five nobly-born Florentines in Hell: -"Rejoice! O Florence! for thy name is not only great over land and -sea, but also in hell. Five of thy citizens are in thieves' company; -my cheeks blush at the sight of them. But one thing I know; punishment -will light upon thee, Florence, and may it happen soon!" - -As is usual in such debates, the attacked and the attacker often -changed their ground. John wished to prove to the professor that from -his point of view the _Commedia_ was a political pamphlet, but then -the professor veered round, adopted the enemy's point of view and said -that _he_ should value it as such. Whereupon John answered that it was -exactly as such that he designated it, but not as a magnificent poem -of everlasting value, which the professor had declared it to be in his -lectures. Again the professor changed his ground, and said that the -poem should be judged by the standard of the period at which it was -composed. - -"Exactly so," answered John, "but you have judged it by the standard -of our time and all succeeding times, and therefore you are wrong. But -even with regard to its own time the work is not an epoch-making one; -it is not in advance of its period, but belongs strictly to it, or -rather lags behind it. It is a linguistic monument for Italy, nothing -more, and should never be read in a Swedish university, because the -language is antiquated, and finally because it is too insignificant to -be regarded as a link in the development of culture." - -The result of the controversy was that John was regarded as shameless -and half-cracked. - -After this explosion he was exhausted and incapable of work. The whole -of the life in a town where he did not feel at home was distasteful -to him. His companions advised him to take a thorough rest, for he -had worked too hard, and so, as a matter of fact, he had. Various -schemes again presented themselves to his mind, but without result. -The grey dirty town vexed him, the scenery around depressed him; he -lay on a sofa and looked at the illustrations in a German newspaper. -Views of foreign scenery had the same effect as music on his mind and -he felt a longing to see green trees and blue seas; he wished to go -into the country but it was still only February, the sky was as grey -as sack-cloth, the streets and roads were muddy. When he felt most -depressed, he went to his friend the natural science student. It -refreshed him to see his herbarium and microscope, his aquarium and -physiological preparations. Most of all he found a pleasure in the -society of the quiet, peaceable atheist, who let the world go its way, -for he knew that he worked better for the future, in his small measure, -than the poet with his excitable outbreaks. He had a little of the -artist left in him and painted in oils. To think that he could call up -as if by enchantment a green landscape amid the mists of this wintry -spring and hang it on his wall! - -"Is painting difficult?" he asked his friend. - -"No, indeed! It is easier than drawing. Try it!" - -John, who had already, with the greatest calm, composed a song with a -guitar-accompaniment, thought it not impossible for him to paint, and -he borrowed an easel, colours, and a paint-brush. Then he went home -and shut himself up in his room. From an illustrated paper he copied a -picture of a ruined castle. When he saw the clear blue of the sky he -felt sentimental, and when he had conjured up green bushes and grass -he felt unspeakably happy as though he had eaten haschish. His first -effort was successful. But now he wished to copy a painting. That was -harder. Everything was green and brown. He could not make his colours -harmonise with the original and felt in despair. - -One day when he had shut himself up he heard a visitor talking with his -friend in the next room. They whispered as though they were near a sick -person. "Now he is actually painting," said his friend in a depressed -tone. - -What did that mean? Did they consider him cracked? Yes. He began to -think about himself, and like all brooders came to the conclusion that -he was cracked. What was to be done? If they shut him up, he would -certainly go quite mad. "Better anticipate them," he thought, and as he -had heard of private asylums in the country, where the patients could -walk about and work in the garden, he wrote to the director of one of -them. After some time he received a friendly answer advising him to be -quiet. His correspondent had received information about John through -his friend and understood his state of mind. He told him it was only a -crisis which all sensitive natures must pass through, etc. - -_That_ danger, then, was over. But he wished to get out into active -life when ever it might be. - -One day he heard that a travelling theatrical company had come to the -town. He wrote a letter to the manager and solicited an engagement, -but he received no answer and did not call on the manager. Thus he -was tossed to and fro, till at last fate intervened and set him -free. Three months had passed and he had received no money from the -court-treasurer. His companions advised him to write and make a polite -inquiry. In reply he was told that it had never been his Majesty's -intention to pay him a regular pension, but only a single donation. -However, in consideration of his needy circumstances, by way of -exception, he had made him a grant of 200 kronas, which would shortly -be sent. - -John at first felt glad, for he was free, but afterwards the turn which -affairs had taken made him uneasy, for the papers had stated that -he was the king's stipendiary, and the king had really promised him -a stipend during the year that he must read for his degree. Besides -this the court-marshal had given him a sort of half promise for the -future which could hardly be considered as adequately fulfilled by -a donation of 200 kronas. Different opinions were expressed on the -matter. Some thought that the king had forgotten, others that the state -of his finances did not allow of a further gift, or that his good -wishes exceeded his powers. No one expressed disapproval, and John was -secretly glad, had he not felt a certain disgrace in the withdrawal -of the stipend, so that he might be suspected of having groundlessly -boasted of it. Those who believed that John was in disfavour at court -ascribed this to the fact that he had omitted to wait upon the king -in person when he was in Stockholm at Christmas and the New Year. -Others attributed it to the fact that he had not formally presented -his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, but had simply sent it to the palace, -instead of going with it, which his sense of independence forbade -him to do. Ten years later he heard quite a new explanation of this -disfavour. He was said to have composed a lampoon on the king. But this -was a pure legend, probably the only one of its obscure fabricator -which would reach posterity. Anyhow facts remained as they were and -his resolve was quickly taken. He would go to Stockholm and become -a literary man, an author if possible, should he prove to possess -sufficient capacity for that calling. - -The student who shared his room undertook to pay his return journey, -and alleged as a pretext that John must wait some time in Stockholm -lest the landlord should be uneasy. Meanwhile he could collect enough -money to pay the rent which was due at the end of the term. - -His friends gave John a farewell feast and John thanked them, -acknowledging the obligations which each owes to those he meets in -social intercourse. Every personality is not developed simply out -of itself, but derives something from each with whom it comes in -contact, just as the bee gathering her honey from a million flowers, -appropriates it and gives it out as her own. - -Thus he stepped into life, abandoning dreams and the past to live in -reality and the present. But he was ill-prepared and the university is -not the proper school for life. He felt also that the decisive hour had -come. In a clumsy speech he called the feast a "svensexa," _i.e_. a -farewell supper for a bachelor on the eve of his marriage, for he was -now to be a man and leave boyhood behind; he was to become a member of -society, a useful citizen and eat his own bread. - -So he believed at the time, but he soon discovered that his education -had unfitted him for society, and as he did not wish to be an outlaw -the doubt awoke in him whether society, of which after all school and -university were a part, was not to blame for his education, and whether -it had not serious defects which needed a remedy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - -(1872) - - -When John came to Stockholm, he borrowed money in order to hire a -room near the Ladugärdslandet. Always under the sway of sentiment, he -chose this quarter of the town because he always used to walk there -in his childhood on the 1st of May, and the High Street especially -had something of a holiday air about it. Moreover it soon opened into -the Zoological Gardens, which became his favourite place for walks. -The barracks with their drums and trumpets had something exhilarating -about them, and there were fine views over the sea which was close at -hand. There was plenty of light and air. When he went for his morning -walk he could choose his route according to his mood. If he was sad -and depressed, he went along the Sirishofsvägen; if he was cheerful -he turned off to the level ground of Manilla, where the paradisial -rose-valley exhaled joy and delight; if he was despairing and anxious -to avoid people he went out to Ladugärdsgardet, where no one could -disturb his self-communings and his prayers to God. Sometimes, when his -soul was in a tumult, he remained standing by the cross-ways above the -bridge near the Zoological Gardens, irresolute which way to take. On -such occasion a thousand forces seemed to pull him in all directions. - -His room was very simple and commanded no view. It smelt of poverty, -as the whole house did, in which the only person of standing was the -deputy-landlord, a policeman. John began his active career by painting, -out of a sense of need to give his feelings shape and to express them -in a palpable way, for the little letters huddled together on the paper -were dead and could not express his mind so plainly and simultaneously. -He did not think of being a painter in order to exhibit or sell -pictures. To step to the easel was for him just like sitting down and -singing. At the same time he renewed his acquaintance with his friend -the sculptor, who introduced him to a circle of young painters. These -were all discontent with the Academy and the antiquated methods which -could not express their vague dreams. They still preserved the Bohemian -type, so late did the waves of modern ideas beat on the far coasts of -the North. They wore long hair, slouched hats, brilliant cravats, and -lived like the birds of heaven. They read and quoted Byron and dreamt -of enormous canvases and subjects such as no studio could contain. A -sculptor and a Norwegian had conceived the idea of hewing a statue out -of the Dovre rock; a painter wished to paint the sea not merely as a -level, but with such a wide horizon as to show the convex curve of the -globe. - -This took John's fancy. One should give expression to one's inner -feelings and not depict mere sticks and stones which are meaningless in -themselves till they have passed through the alembic of a percipient -mind. Therefore the artists did not make studies out of doors, but -painted at home from their memory and imagination. John always painted -the sea with a coast in the foreground, some gnarled pine-trees, a -couple of rocky islets in the distance and a white-painted buoy. The -atmosphere was generally gloomy, with a weak or strong light on the -horizon; it was always sunset or moonlight, never clear daylight. - -But he was soon woken out of this dream-life partly by hunger, partly -by recollecting the reality which he had sought in order to save -himself from his dreams. - -Although John knew little of contemporary politics, he knew that the -democracy or peasant-class had arrived at power, that they had declared -war on the official and middle classes, and that they were hated in -Upsala. And now he himself was to enter the ranks of the combatants -and attack the old order of things. The only item of the knowledge -which he had brought with him from Upsala which was likely to be useful -here, was the small amount of political science which he had studied. -Of what use were Astronomy, Philology, Æsthetics, Latin and Chemistry -here? He knew something about the land-laws and communal-laws, but had -no idea of political economy, finance or jurisprudence. When he now -began to look about for a suitable paper to which to attach himself, -it did not occur to him to make use of his old connection with the -_Aftonbladet_, but he wrote for a small evening paper which had lately -appeared, which was regarded as radical and was issued by the New -Liberal Union. The editor held receptions in the La Croix Café, and -here John was introduced into the society of journalists. He felt ill -at ease among them. They did not think as he did, seemed uncultivated, -as indeed they were, and rather gossiped than discussed important -matters. They certainly busied themselves with facts, but these were -rather trifles than great questions. They were full of phrases, but -did not seem to have a proper command of their material. John, though -against his will, was too much of an academic aristocrat to sympathise -with these democrats, who for the most part had not chosen their -career, but been forced into it by the pressure of circumstances. He -found the atmosphere stifling for his idealism, and came no more to the -receptions after he had done his business, and been invited to write -for the paper. - -He made his début as an art-critic. His first criticism concerned -Winge's "Thor with the giants" and Rosen's "Eric XIV and Karin -Monsdotter." The young critic naturally wished to display his learning, -though all he had was what he had picked up in lectures and books. -Therefore his criticism of Winge was a mere eulogy. His remarks chiefly -regarded the subject of the picture as a Norse one and treated in the -grand style. The painters did not like this sort of criticism, as -they considered the only point to be criticised in a work of art was -the execution. "Eric the XIV" he judged from his monomaniacal point -of view, "aristocrat or democrat," and found fault with the incorrect -conception of Göran Persson, whom in his own tragedy _Eric XIV_ -(subsequently burnt) he had represented as an enemy of the nobility and -friend of the people. - -Descended from his own height as a promising student, author and royal -protégé to the then less regarded class of journalists, he felt himself -again one of the lower orders. - -After the editor had struck out his learned flourishes, the articles -were printed. The editor told him they were piquant, but advised him -to employ a more flowing style. He had not yet caught the journalistic -knack. - -Then John planned a series of articles in which, under the title -"Perspective," he treated of social and economic questions. In these he -attacked university life, the divisions of the classes, the injurious -over-reading and the unfortunate position of the students. Since the -labour-question at that time was not a burning one, he ventured on a -comparison between the prospects of a student and that of a workman, -declaring the latter to be far better off. The workman was generally -in good health, could support himself at eighteen and marry at twenty, -while the student could not think of marriage and making a livelihood -before thirty. As a remedy he recommended doing away with the final -examination as Jaabaek had already done in Norway, and the transference -of the university to Stockholm in order that the students might have -a chance of earning something during their course. As an example he -adduced the case of modern students at Athens who learn a trade while -they study. This was all clear to him as early as 1872, yet when he -made similar suggestions twelve years later, he was thought to have -conceived them on the spur of the moment. - -At the same time he took an engagement on a small illustrated ladies' -paper and wrote biographical notices and novelettes. The ladies were -very kind, but let him work too hard, and gave him all kinds of -commissions to execute. After he had spent two or three days in paying -visits, dived into a publisher's place of business, read biographical -romances in three or four volumes, made researches in the library, -run to the printing-office and finally written his columns carefully, -setting each person treated of in a proper historical light, and -analysing his career, he received, for all that work, fifteen kronas. -He calculated that this was less pay per hour than a servant earned. -The bread of the literary man was certainty hardly earned, and that -this is the common lot of authors does not make matters better. But the -profession was also despised, and John felt that in social position he -stood below his brothers who were tradesmen, below the actors, yes, -even below the elementary school-teachers. - -The journalists led a subterranean existence, but they styled -themselves "we" and wrote as though they were sovereigns of God's -appointment; they had men's weal or woe in their hand, since the chief -weapon in the struggle for existence in our civilised days is social -reputation. How was it that society had given these free lances such -terrible power without taking any guarantees? But when one comes -to think, what assurance is there for the capacity and insight of -the law-givers in parliament, in the ministry, on the throne? None -whatever! It is therefore the same all round. There were, however, two -classes of newspapers; the conservative, which wished to preserve the -social condition with all its defects, and the liberal, which wished -to improve it. The former enjoyed a certain respect, the latter, none -at all. John instinctively sided with the last, and at once felt that -he was regarded as every one's enemy. A liberal journalist and a -chronicler of scandals were synonymous terms. At home he had heard the -usual phrase that "no one was honourable whose name had not appeared -in the paper _Fatherland_." In the street they had pointed out to him -a man who looked like a bandit, with the mark of a dagger-stab between -his eyes, and said, "There goes the journalist X." In the Café La Croix -he felt depressed among his new colleagues, but none the less chose to -associate with this unpopular group. Did he choose really? One does not -choose one's impulses, and it is no virtue to be a democrat when one -hates the upper classes and has no pleasure in their company. - -Meanwhile for social intercourse he went to the artists. It was a -strange world in which they lived. There was so much nature among -these men who busied themselves with art. They dressed badly, lived -like beggars--one of them lived in the same room with the servant--and -ate what they could get; they could hardly read, and had no knowledge -of orthography. At the same time they talked like cultivated people, -they looked at things from an independent point of view, were keenly -observant and unfettered by dogmas. One of them four years previously -had minded geese, a second had wielded the smith's hammer, a third -had been a farmer's servant and walked behind the dung-cart, and a -fourth had been a soldier. They ate with knives, used their sleeves as -napkins, had no handkerchiefs and only one coat in winter. However, -John felt at home with them, though of late years he had been -conversant only with cultivated and well-to-do young people. It was not -that he was superior to them, for that they did not acknowledge, nor -was it any use to quote books to them, for they accepted no authority. -His doubts as regards books, especially text-books, began to be -aroused, and he began to suspect that old books may injure a modern -man's thinking powers. This doubt became a certainty when he met one of -the group whom all regarded as a genius. - -He was a painter about thirty years old, formerly a farmer's servant -who had come to the Academy in order to become an artist. After he -had spent some time in the painting school he came to the conclusion -that art was insufficient as a medium for expressing his thoughts, -and he lived now on nothing, while he busied himself by reflecting on -the questions of the time. Badly educated at an elementary school, he -had now flung himself on the most up-to-date books and had a start of -John, since he had begun where the latter had left off. Between John -and him there was the same difference as between a mathematician and -a pilot. The former can calculate in logarithms, the latter can turn -them to practical use. But Måns also was critically disposed and did -not believe in books blindly. He had no ready-made scheme or system -into which to fit his thoughts; he always thought freely, investigated, -sifted and only retained what he recognised as tenable. More free from -passions than John, he could draw more reckless inferences, even when -they went against his own wishes and interests, though with certain -matter-of-course limitations. He was more-over prudent, as indeed he -must have been to have worked himself up from such a low position, -and understood how to be silent as to certain conclusions, which, if -expressed tactlessly and in the wrong place, might have injured him. -As his literary adviser, he had a telegraph-assistant whose knowledge -Mans knew better how to use than its owner himself; the latter had not -a very lively intellect, although in his knowledge of languages he -possessed the key to the three great modern literatures. Passionless -and self-conscious, with a strong control over his impulses, he stood -outside everything, contemplating and smiling at the free play of -thought which he enjoyed as a work of art, with the accompanying -certainly that it was after all only an illusion. - -With both of these John had many friendly disputes. When he drew up -his schemes for the future of men and society he could rouse Måns' -enthusiasm and carry him along with him, but when he had taken his -hearer a certain way with his emotional and passionate descriptions, -the latter took out his microscope, found the weak spot where to -insert his knife, and cut. On such occasions John was impatient and -motioned his opponent away. "You are a pedant," he said, "and fasten -on details." But sometimes it turned out that the "detail" was a -premise the excision of which made the whole grand fabric of inference -collapse. John was always a poet, and had he continued as such -unhindered he might have brought it to something. The poet can speak -to the point like the preacher, and that is an advantageous position. -He can rattle on without being interrupted, and therefore he can -persuade if not convince. It was through these two unlearned men that -John learned a philosophy which was not known at Upsala. In the course -of conversation, his opponents often referred to an authority whom -they called "Buckle." John rejected an authority of whom he had heard -nothing in Upsala. But the name continually recurred and worried him to -such an extent that he at last asked his friends to lend him the book. -The effect of reading it was such that John regarded his acquaintance -with the book as the vestibule of his intellectual life. Here there -was an atmosphere of pure naked truth. So it should be and so it was. -Måns, like all other organised beings, was under the control of natural -laws; all so-called spiritual qualities rest on a material basis, and -chemical affinities are as spiritual as the sympathies of souls. The -whole of speculative philosophy which wished to evolve laws from the -inner consciousness was only a better kind of theology, and what was -worse, an inquisition, which wished to confine the many-sidedness -of the world-process within the limits of an individual system. "No -system" is Buckle's motto. Doubt is the beginning of all wisdom, doubt -means investigation and stimulates intellectual progress. The truth -which one seeks is simply the discovery of natural laws. Knowledge is -the highest, morality is only an accidental form of behaviour, which -depends upon different social conventions. Only knowledge can make men -happy, and the simple-minded or ignorant with their moral strivings, -their benevolence and their philanthropy are only injurious or useless. - -And now he drew the necessary conclusions. Heavenly love and its -result, marriage, is conditioned as to that result by such a prosaic -matter as the price of provisions; the rate of suicide varies with -wages, and religion is conditioned by natural scenery, climate and -soil. His mind was predisposed to receive the new doctrines, and now -they made their triumphant entry. John had always planted his feet -firmly on the earth, and neither the balloon-voyages of poetry nor the -will-o'-the-wisps of German philosophy had found a sincere adherent in -him. He had sat in despair over Kant's _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_, -and asked himself with curiosity, whether it was he who was so stupid -or Kant who was so obscure. The study of the history of philosophy, -in which he had seen how each philosopher pointed to his system as -the true one, and championed it against others, had left him amazed. -Now it was clear to him that the idealists who mingle their obscure -perceptions with dear presentations of facts were only savages or -children, and that the realists, who were alone capable of clear -perceptions, were the most highly developed in the scale of creation. -The poets and philosophers are somnambulists, and the religious who -always live in fear of the unknown are like animals in a forest who -fear every rustic in the bushes, or like primitive men who sacrificed -to the thunder instead of erecting lightning rods. - -Now he had a weapon in his hand to wield against the old authorities -and against the schools and universities which were enslaved by -patronage. Buckle himself had run away from school, had never been at -a university, and hated them. Apropos of Locke he remarks, "Were this -deep thinker now alive, he would inveigh against our great universities -and schools, where countless subjects are learnt which no one needs, -and which few take the trouble to remember." - -Accordingly Upsala had been wrong, and John right. He knew that there -were ignorant savants there, and that it was on account of their own -want of culture that the professors of philosophy could teach nothing -but German philosophy. They neither knew English nor French philosophy -for the simple reason that they only understood Latin and German. -Buckle's _History of Civilisation in England_ was written in 1857, but -did not reach Sweden till 1871-72. Even then the soil was not ready for -the seed. The learned critics were unfavourable to Buckle, and the seed -took root only in some young minds who had no authoritative voice. - -"No literature," says Buckle himself, "can be useful to a people, if -they are not prepared to receive it." Thus it was with Buckle and -his work, which preceded that of Darwin (1858) and contained all its -inferences--a proof that evolution in the world of thought is not so -strictly conditioned as has been believed. Buckle did not know Mill or -Spencer, whose thoughts now rule the world, but he said most of what -they said subsequently. - -Now, if John had had a character, _i.e_. if he had been ruled by -a single quiet purpose directed towards one object, he would have -extracted from Buckle all that answered his purpose and left out all -that told against it. But he was a truth-seeker and did not shrink from -looking into the abyss of contradictions, especially as Buckle never -asserted that he had found the truth, and because truth is relative -and it is often found on both sides. Doubt, criticism, inquiry are the -chief matter, and the only useful course to pursue, as they guarantee -liberty. Sermons, programmes, certainty, system, "truth" are various -forms of constraint and stupidity. But it is impossible to be a -consistent doubter when one is crammed full with "complete evidence," -and when one's judgment is swayed by class-prejudice, anxiety for a -living and struggles for a position. John became calm when he learnt -that all that was wrong in the world was wrong in accordance with -necessary law, but he became furious when he made the further discovery -that our social condition, our religion and morality were absurdities. -He wished to understand and pardon his opponents, since in their -actions they were no more free than he was, but he was in duty bound -to strangle them since they hindered the evolution of society towards -universal happiness, and that was the only and greatest crime that -could be committed. But as there were no criminals, how could one get -hold of the crime? - -He was rejoiced that the mistakes had now been discovered, but despair -oppressed him again when he saw that the discovery was premature. -Nothing could be done for many years to come. Social evolution was a -very slow process. Consequently he must lie at anchor in the roadstead -waiting for the tide. But this waiting was too long for him; he heard -an inner voice bidding him speak, for if one does not spread what -light one has, how can popular views be changed? Yes, but a premature -promulgation of new ideas can do no good. Thus he was tossed to and -fro. Everything round him now seemed so old and out of date that he -could not read a newspaper without getting an attack of cramp. _They_ -only had regard to the present moment; no one thought of the future. -His philosophical friend comforted and calmed him, through, among other -sayings, a sentence of La Bruyère, "Don't be angry because men are -stupid and bad, or you will have to be angry because a stone falls; -both are subject to the same laws; one must be stupid and the other -fall." - -"That is all very well," said John, "but think of having to be a -bird and live in a ditch! Air! light! I cannot breathe or see," he -exclaimed; "I suffocate!" - -"Write!" answered his friend. - -"Yes, but what?" - -Where should he begin? Buckle had already written everything, and -yet it was as though it had not been written. The worst thing was -that he felt he lacked the power. Hitherto he had only felt a very -moderate degree of ambition. He did not wish to march at the head, to -be a conqueror and so on. But to go in front with an axe as a simple -pioneer, to fell trees, root up thickets, and let others build bridges -and throw up redoubts, was enough for him. It is often observable that -great ambition is only the sign of great power. John was moderately -ambitious, because he was now only conscious of moderate powers. -Formerly when he was young and strong he had great confidence in -himself. He was a fanatic, _i.e_. his will was supported by powerful -passions, but his awakened insight and healthy doubt had sobered his -self-confidence. The work before him took the form of rock-walls which -must be pulled down, but he was not so simple as to venture on the task. - -Now he began to habituate himself forcibly to doubt in order to be -patient and not to explode. He entrenched himself in doubt as in a -fortress, and as a means of self-preservation he determined to depict -his struggles and doubts in a drama. The subject matter which he had -been turning over in his mind for a year he took from the history of -the Reformation in Sweden. Thus was composed the drama later on known -as _The Apostate_. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE RED ROOM - -(1872) - - -In autumn occurred the death of Charles XV. With the mourning, which -was fairly sincere and widespread, there mingled gloomy anxieties for -the future. One of the young painters who belonged to John's circle of -friends had just received a royal stipend and gone to Norway. He had -now to return quite destitute and without any prospects for the future. -John was accustomed to go with him into the Zoological Gardens in order -to paint, and occupy his mind while he was waiting for an answer from -the theatrical manager to whom he had sent his drama. - -There is indeed no occupation which so absorbs all the thoughts and -emotions so much as painting. John watched and enjoyed the delicate -harmonies of the lines in the branch-formation of the trees, in the -wave-like curves of the ground, but his paint-brush was too coarse to -reproduce the contours as he wished. Then he took his pen and made a -drawing in detail. But when he tried to transfer it to his canvas and -paint it, the whole appeared but a smudge. - -Pelle, on the other hand, was an impressionist and look no notice -of details. He took up the landscape at a stroke, so to speak, and -gave the colours their due value, but the various objects melted into -uncertain silhouettes. John thought Pelle's landscapes more beautiful -than the reality, although he cherished great reverence for the works -of the Creator. After he had wiled away about a month in painting, -he went one evening into the Café La Croix. The first person he met -was his former editor, who said, "I have just heard from X." (a young -author) "that the Theatre Royal has refused _The Apostate_." - -"I know nothing about it," answered John. He did not feel well and left -the company as soon as possible. The next day he went to his former -instructor to find how the matter stood. The latter began first to -praise, and then to criticise it, which is the right method. He said -that the characters of Olaus Petri and Gustav Wasa had been brought -down from their proper level and distorted. John, on the other hand, -held that he had given a realistic representation of them as they -probably were, before their figures had been idealised by patriotic -considerations. His friend replied that that was no good; the public -would never accept a new reading of their characters till critical -inquiry had done its preliminary work. - -That was true, but the blow was a heavy one, although dealt with as -much consideration as possible, and the author was invited to remodel -his drama. He had again been premature in his attempt. There was -nothing left for him but to wait and wile away the time. To think -of remodelling it now was not possible for him, for he saw, when he -read it through again, that it was all cast in one piece and that the -details could not be altered. He could not change it, unless he changed -his thoughts, and therefore he must wait. - -Now he took to reading again. Chance brought into his hand two of -"the best books which one can read." They were De Tocqueville's -_Democracy in America_ and Prévost-Paradol's _The New France._ The -former increased his doubts as to the possibility of democracy in -an uncultivated community. Written with sincere admiration for the -political institutions of America, which the author holds up as a -pattern for Europe, this work points out so sincerely the dangers of -democracy, as to make even a born hater of the aristocracy pause. - -John's theories received terrible blows, but this time his good sense -triumphed over his prejudices. His loss of faith in his own powers, -however, had a demoralising effect upon him, and he was soon ripe -for absolute scepticism. Sentences such as the following admitted -at that time of no contradiction: "The moral power of the majority -is based partly upon the conviction that a number of men have more -understanding, intelligence and wisdom than an individual, and a -great number of lawgivers more than a selection of them. That is the -principle of equality applied to intellectual gifts. This doctrine -attacks the pride of humanity in its innermost citadel." - -An individualist like John did not perceive that this pride can and -must be overcome. Nor did he see that wisdom and intelligence can be -spread by means of good schools among the masses. - -"When a man or a party in the United States suffers injustice, to whom -shall he turn? To public opinion? That is the opinion of the majority. -To the legislative officials? They are nominated by the majority -and obey it blindly. To the executive power? That is chosen by the -majority and serves it as a passive instrument. To the military forces -of the State? They are simply the majority under arms. To juries? -They are formed by a majority which possesses the right to judge." De -Tocqueville goes on to say that the happiness of the majority which -consists in maintaining its rights deserves recognition, and that it is -better for a minority to suffer from pressure than a majority, but the -sufferings which an intelligent minority suffer from an unintelligent -majority are much greater than those which an intelligent minority -inflict upon a majority. On the other hand, the minority understands -much better than the majority what conduces to their own and the -general happiness, and therefore the tyranny of the minority is not to -be compared with that of the majority. - -"Yes, but," thought John, "did not the European peoples generally -suffer from the tyranny of a minority?" The mere fact that there -were upper classes lay like a heavy cloud on the life of the masses. -Nowadays the question may be raised, "Why should a different -class-education result in an intelligent minority and an unintelligent -majority?" But such questions were not raised then. Moreover had such -a state really ever been seen in which an intelligent minority had the -power to "oppress"? No, for sovereigns, ministers and parliaments had -usually the due modicum of intelligence. - -That which more than anything else inclined John to fear the power of -the masses, was the fact noted by De Tocqueville that they tyrannised -over freedom of thought. - -"When one tries to ascertain," he says, "how much freedom of thought -there is in the United States it becomes apparent how much the tyranny -of the masses transcends any despotism known to Europe. I know no -country where there is, generally speaking, less independence of -opinion and real freedom of discussion than America. The majority -draw a terribly narrow circle round all thought. Within that circle -an author may say what he likes, but woe to him if he step across the -limit. He has no _auto-da-fé_ to fear, but he is made the mark for all -kinds of unpleasantness and daily persecutions. Every good quality is -denied him, even honour. Before he published his views, he thought he -had adherents; after he has made them known to all the world he sees -that he no longer has any, for his critics have raised an outcry, -and those who thought as he did, but lacked the courage to express -themselves, are silent and withdraw. He gives way; he finally collapses -under the strain of daily renewed effort, and resumes silence, as -though he regretted having spoken the truth, - -"In democratic republics, tyranny lets the body alone and attacks the -soul. In them the dominant power does not say, 'You must think as I -do, or die;' it says, 'You are free to differ from me in opinion; your -life and property will remain untouched, but from the day that you -express a different view from mine, you will be a stranger among us. -You will retain your rights and privileges as a citizen, but they will -be useless to you. You will remain among men, but be deprived of all -a man's rights. When you approach your equals they will flee you as -though you were a leper; even those who believe in your innocence will -abandon you, lest they should be themselves abandoned. Go in peace! -I grant you life, but a life which shall be harder and bitterer than -death!'" - -That is the true and credible picture which the noble De Tocqueville, -friend of the people and tyrant-hater as he was, has drawn of the -tyranny of the masses, those masses whose feet John had felt trampling -on him at home, at school, in the steamer and the theatre, those -masses whom he had satirised in the play _Sinking Hellas_, and whom -he had described as throwing the first stone at Olaus Petri just at -the moment when he was preaching to them of freedom! If it is thus in -America, how can one expect anything better in Europe. He found himself -in a cul-de-sac. His hereditary disposition prevented his becoming an -aristocrat, nor could he come to terms with the people. Had he not -himself suffered lately from an ignorant theatre-management behind -which stood the uncultivated public, and found the way blocked for -his new and liberal ideas. There was then already a mob-despotism in -Sweden, and the director of the Theatre Royal was only their servant. - -It was all absurdity! And even suppose society were ruled by those who -knew most. Then they would be under professors with their heads full of -antiquarian ideas. Even if the director had put his drama on the stage, -it would have certainly been hissed off by the tradesmen in the stalls, -and no critics could have helped him! - -His thoughts struggled like fishes in a net, and ended by being caught. -It was not worth the trouble of thinking about and he tried to banish -the thought, but could not. He felt a continual trouble and despair -in his mind that the world was going idiotically, majestically and -unalterably to the devil. "Unalterably," he thought, for as yet a large -number of strong minds had not attacked the problem, which was soluble -after all. Ten years later it was provisionally solved, when knowledge -on the subject of this sphinx-riddle had been so widely spread that -even a workman had obtained some insight into it, and in a public -meeting had declared that equality was impossible, for the block-heads -could not be equal to the sharp-sighted, and that the utmost one could -demand was equality of position. This workman was more of an aristocrat -than John dared to be in the year 1872, though he belonged to no party -which claimed the right to muzzle him. - -Prévost-Paradol had dealt with the same theme as Tocqueville, but -he suggested a secret device against the tyranny of the masses--the -cumulative vote or the privilege of writing the same name several times -on the ballot-paper. But John considered this method, which had been -tried in England, doubtful. - -He had set great hopes on his drama, and borrowed money on the strength -of them, and now felt much depressed. The disproportion between his -fancied and his real value galled him. Now he had to adopt a rôle, -learn it, and carry it out. He composed one for himself, consisting -of the sceptic, the materialist and the liar, and found that it -suited him excellently. This was for the simple reason that it was a -sceptical and materialistic period, and because he had unconsciously -developed into a man of his time. But he still believed that his -earlier discarded personality, ruled indeed by wild passions, but -cherishing ideals of a higher calling, love to mankind and similar -imaginations, was his true and better self which he hid from the world. -All men make similar mistakes when they value sickly sentimentality -above strong thought, when they look back to their youth and think -they were purer and more virtuous then, which is certainly untrue. -The world calls the weaker side of men their "better self," because -this weakness is more advantageous for the world and self-interest -seems to dictate its judgment. John found that in his new rôle he was -freed from all possible prejudices--religious, social, political and -moral. He had only one opinion,--that everything was absurd, only -one conviction,--that nothing could be done at present, and only one -hope,--that the time would come when one might effectively intervene, -and when there would be improvement. But from that time he altogether -gave up reading newspapers. To hear stupidity praised, selfish acts -lauded as philanthropic, and reason blasphemed,--that was too much for -a fanatical sceptic. Sometimes, however, he thought that the majority -were right in just being at the point of view where they were, and that -it was unnecessary that some few individuals, because of a specialised -education, should run far ahead of the rest. In quiet moments he -recognised that his mental development which had taken place so -rapidly, without his ever seeing an idea realised, could be a pattern -for such a slowly-working machine as society is. Why did he run so far -ahead? It was not the fault of the school or university, for they had -held him back equally with the majority. - -Yes, but those already out in the world, by their own hearths, had -already reached the stage of Buckle's scepticism as regards the social -order, so that he was not so far ahead after all. The slow rate of -progress was enough to make one despair. What Schiller's Karl Moor -had seen a hundred years previously, what the French Revolution had -actually brought about were now regarded as brand-new ideas. After -the Revolution, social development had gone backwards; religious -superstitions were revived, belief in a better state of things lost, -and economic and industrial progress was accompanied by sweating and -terrible poverty. It was absurd! All minds that were awake at all -had to suffer,--suffer like every living organism when hindered in -growth and pressed backward. The century had been inaugurated by the -destruction of hopes, and nothing has such a paralysing effect on the -soul as disappointed hope, which, as statistics show, is one of the -most frequent causes of madness. Therefore all great spirits were, -vulgarly speaking, mad. Chateaubriand was a hypochondriac, Musset a -lunatic, Victor Hugo a maniac. The automatic pygmies of everyday life -cannot realise what such suffering means, and yet believe themselves -capable of judging in the matter. - -The ancient poet is psychologically correct in representing -Prometheus as having his liver gnawed by a vulture. Prometheus was -the revolutionary who wished to spread mental illumination among -men. Whether he did it from altruistic motives, or from the selfish -one of wishing to breathe a purer mental atmosphere, may be left -undecided. John, who felt akin to this rebel, was aware of a pain which -resembled anxiety, and a perpetual boring "toothache in the liver." Was -Prometheus then a liver-patient who confusedly ascribed his pain to -causes outside himself? Probably not! But he was certainly embittered -when he saw that the world is a lunatic asylum in which the idiots go -about as they like, and the few who preserve reason are watched as -though dangerous to the public safety. Attacks of illness can certainly -colour men's views, and every one well knows how gloomy our thoughts -are when we have attacks of fever. But patients such as Samuel Oedmann -or Olaf Eneroth were neither sulky nor bitter, but, on the contrary, -mild, perhaps languid from want of strength. Voltaire, who was never -well, had an imperturbably good temper. And Musset did not write as he -did because he drank absinthe, but he drank from the same cause that -he wrote in that manner, _i.e_. from despair. Therefore it is not in -good faith that idealists who deny the existence of the body, ascribe -the discontent of many authors to causes such as indigestion, etc., the -supposition of which contradicts their own principles, but it must be -against their better knowledge, or with worse knowledge. Kierkegaard's -gloomy way of writing can be ascribed to an absurd education, -unfortunate family relations, dreary social surroundings, and alongside -of these to some organic defects, but not to the latter alone. - -Discontent with the existing state of things will always assert itself -among those who are in process of development, and discontent has -pushed the world forwards, while content has pushed it back. Content -is a virtue born of necessity, hopelessness or superfluity; it can be -cancelled with impunity. - -Catarrh of the stomach may cause ill temper, but it has never produced -a great politician, _i.e._ a great malcontent. But sickliness may -impart to a malcontent's energy a stronger colour and greater rapidity, -and therefore cannot be denied a certain influence. On the other hand, -a conscious insight into grievances can produce such a degree of mental -annoyance as can result in sickness. The loss of dear friends through -death, may in this way cause consumption, and the loss of a social -position or of property, madness. - -If every modern individual shows a geological stratification of the -stages of development through which his ancestors passed, so in every -European mind are found traces of the primitive Aryan,--class-feeling, -fixed family ideas, religious motives, etc. From the early Christians -we have the idea of equality, love to our neighbour, contempt for mere -earthly life; from the mediæval monks, self-castigation and hopes of -heaven. Besides these, we inherit traits from the sensuous cultured -pagans of the Renaissance, the religious and political fanatics of the -sixteenth century, the sceptics of the "illumination" period, and the -anarchists of the Revolution. Education should therefore consist in the -obliteration of old stains which continually reappear however often we -polish them away. - -John proceeded to obliterate the monk, the fanatic and the -self-tormentor in himself as well as he could, and took as the leading -principle of his provisional life (for it was only provisional till he -struck out a course for himself) the well-understood one of personal -advantage, which is actually, though unconsciously, employed by all, to -whatever creed they belong. - -He did not transgress the ordinary laws, because he did not wish -to appear in a court of justice; he encroached on no one's rights -because he wished his own not to be encroached upon. He met men -sympathetically, for he did not hate them, nor did he study them -critically till they had broken their promises and shown a want of -sympathy to him. He justified them all so long as he could, and when -he could not, well,--he could not, but he tried by working to place -himself in a position to be able to do so. He regarded his talent as a -capital sum, which, although at present it yielded no interest, gave -him the right and imposed on him the duty to live at any price. He was -not the kind of man to force his way into society in order to exploit -it for his own purposes, he was simply a man of capacity conscious of -his own powers, who placed himself at the disposal of society modestly, -and in the first place to be used as a dramatist. The theatre, as a -matter of fact, needed him to contribute to its Swedish repertory. - -After a solitary day's work, it was his habit to go to a café to meet -his acquaintances there. To seek "more elevated" recreations in family -circles such as meaningless gossip, card playing and such like had no -attraction for him. Whenever he entered a family circle he felt himself -surrounded by a musty atmosphere like that exhaled from stagnant -water. Married couples who had been badgering each other, were glad to -welcome him as a sort of lightning conductor, but he had no pleasure -in playing that part. Family life appeared to him as a prison in which -two captives spied on each other, as a place in which children were -tormented, and servant-girls quarrelled. It was something nasty from -which he ran away to the restaurants. In them there was a public room -where no one was guest and no one was host: one enjoyed plenty of -space and light, heard music, saw people and met friends. John and -his friends were accustomed to meet in a back room of Bern's great -restaurant which, because of the colour of the furniture, was called -the "red room." The little club consisted originally of John and a few -artistic and philosophical friends. But their circle was soon enlarged -by old friends whom they met again. They were first of all recruited -by the presentable former scholars of the Clara School,--a postal -clerk who was at the same time a bass singer, pianist and composer; a -secretary of the Court treasurer; and the trump card of the society,--a -lieutenant of artillery. To these were added later, the composer's -indispensable friend, a lithographer, who published his music, and a -notary who sang his compositions. The club was not homogeneous, but -they soon managed to shake down together. - -But since the laymen had no wish to hear discussions on art, literature -and philosophy, their conversations were only on general subjects. -John, who did not wish to discuss any more problems, adopted a -sceptical tone, and baffled all attempts at discussion by a play upon -words, a quibble or a question. His ultimate "why?" behind every -penultimate assertion threw a light on the too-sure conclusions of -stupidity, and let his hearer surmise that behind the usually accepted -commonplaces there were possibilities of truths stretching out in -endless perspective. These views of his must have germinated like seeds -in most of their brains, for in a short time they were all sceptics, -and began to use a special language of their own. This healthy -scepticism in the infallibility of each other's judgments had, as a -natural consequence, a brutal sincerity of speech and thought. It was -of no use to speak of one's feelings as though they were praise worthy, -for one was cut short with "Are you sentimental, poor devil? Take -bi-carbonate." - -If any one complained of toothache, all he received by way of answer -was, "That does not rouse my sympathy at all, for I have never had -toothache, and it has no effect upon my resolve to give a supper." - -They were disciples of Helvetius in believing that one must regard -egotism as the mainspring of all human actions, and therefore it was -no use pretending to finer emotions. To borrow money or to get goods -on credit without being certain of being able to pay, was rightly -regarded as cheating, and so designated. For instance, if a member of -the club appeared in a new overcoat which seemed to have been obtained -on credit, he was asked in a friendly way, "Whom have you cheated about -that coat?" Or on another occasion another would say, "To-day I have -done Samuel out of a new suit." - -Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, both overcoat and suit were -generally paid for, but as the purchaser at the time he took them was -not sure whether he would be able to pay, he regarded himself as a -potential swindler. This was severe morality and stern self-criticism. - -Once during such a conversation the lieutenant got up to go and attend -church-parade with his company. "Where are you going?" he was asked. -"To play the hypocrite," he answered truthfully. - -This tone of sincerity sometimes assumed the character of a deep -understanding of human nature and the nature of society. One day -the company were leaving John's lodgings for the restaurant. It was -winter, and Måns, who was generally ill-dressed, had no overcoat. The -lieutenant, who wore his uniform, was, it is true, somewhat uneasy, but -did not wish to hurt any one's feelings that day. When John opened the -door to go out, Måns said, "Go in front; I will come afterwards; I do -not want Jean to injure his position by going with me." - -John offered to walk with Måns one way while the others should go by -another, but Jean exclaimed, "Ah! don't pretend to be noble-minded! you -feel as embarrassed at going with Måns as I do." - -"True," replied John, "but...." - -"Why, then, do you play the hypocrite?" - -"I did not play the hypocrite; I only wished to try to be free from -prejudice." - -"The deuce! what is the good of being free from prejudice when no one -else is, and it does you harm? It would really show more freedom from -prejudice to tell Måns your mind than to deceive him." - -Måns had already departed, and arrived about the same time at the -restaurant as they did. He took part in the meal without betraying a -trace of ill-humour. "Your health, Måns, because you are a man of -sense," said the lieutenant to cheer him up. - -The habit of speaking out one's inner thoughts without any regard to -current opinion, resulted in the overthrow of all traditional verdicts. -The terrible confusion of thought in which men live, since freedom -of thought has been fettered by compulsory regulations, has made it -possible for antiquated views of men and things to continue. Thus, -to-day a number of works of art are considered unsurpassable in spite -of the great progress made in technique and artistic conception. John -considered that if in the nineteenth century he was to give his views -on Shakespeare, he was not at all bound to give the opinion of the -eighteenth century, but of his own nineteenth, as it had been modified -by new points of view. This aroused a great deal of opposition, perhaps -because people fear being regarded as uncultivated a great deal more -than they fear being regarded as godless. - -Every one attacked Christ, for He was thought to have been overthrown -by learned criticism, but they were afraid of attacking Shakespeare. -John, however, was not. Thoroughly understanding the works of the -poet, whose most important dramas he had read in the original and -whose chief commentators he had studied, he criticised the composition -and meagre character drawing of _Hamlet._ It is noteworthy that the -Swedish Shakespeare-worshipper, Shuck, through an inconsistency due to -the current confusion of thought and compulsory cowardice, made just -as severe criticisms of _Hamlet_ regarded as a work of art, though -he had previously extolled it above the skies. If John had at that -time been able to read the book of Professor Shuck, he would not have -needed courage in order to subscribe such criticisms as the following: -"_Hamlet_ is the most unsatisfactory of all ... the composition is -superficial and incoherent. After the action of the play has reached -its climax, it suddenly breaks off. Hamlet is suddenly sent to England, -but this journey does not in any way arouse the spectator's interest. -Still worse is the management of the catastrophe. It is a mere chance -that Hamlet's revenge is executed at all, and a similar caprice of -chance causes his overthrow. His killing Claudius just before his own -death has more the appearance of revenge for the attempt on his own -life, than that of a judgment executed in the name of injured morality." - -And then the obscurity which envelops the motives of the principal -persons in the play! "The spectator is left in uncertainty regarding -such an important point as Ophelia's and Hamlet's madness. Moreover -in _King Lear_, Edward's treachery is so palpable that not the most -ordinarily intelligent man could have been deceived by it!" - -If then the drama was defective precisely in the chief elements of a -drama, construction and characterisation, how could it be incomparable? -The reverence for what is ancient and celebrated is rooted in the -same instinct which creates gods; and pulling down the ancient has -the same effect as attacking the divine. Why else should a sensible -unprejudiced man fly in a rage when he hears some one express a -different opinion to his own (or what he thinks his own) about some old -classic? It ought to be a matter of indifference to him. The national -and intellectual Pantheon can be as angrily defended by atheists as by -monotheists, perhaps more so. People who are otherwise sincere, cringe -before a well-established reputation, and John had heard a pietistic -clergyman say that Shakespeare was a "pure" writer. In his mouth that -was certainly false. A determinist, on the other hand, would not -have used the words "pure" or "impure" because they would have been -meaningless to him. But the poor Christ-worshipper did not dare to bear -a cross for Shakespeare; he had enough already to bear for his own -Master. - -Meanwhile John's method of judging old things from the modern point of -view seemed to be justified, for it gained him a following. That was -the whole secret of what was so little understood later on by theistic -and atheistic theologians--his irreverent handling of ancient things -and persons; they thought in their simplicity quite innocently that -it was what one calls in children a spirit of contradiction. His aim -rather was to bring people's confused ideas into order, and to teach -them to apply logically their materialistic point of view. If they -were materialists, they should not borrow phrases from Christianity, -nor think like idealists. This gave rise to a catchword, which showed -how what was ancient was despised--"That is old!" As new men, they -must think new thoughts, and new thoughts demanded a new phraseology. -Anecdotes and old jokes were done away with; stereotyped phrases and -borrowed expressions were suppressed. One might be plain-spoken and -call things by their right names, but one might not be vulgar; the -latest opera was not to be quoted, nor jokes from the newest comic -paper repeated. Thereby each became accustomed to produce something -from his own stock of original observation and acquired the faculty of -judging from a fresh point of view. - -John had discovered that men in general were automata. All thought the -same; all judged in the same fashion; and the more learned they were, -the less independence of mind they displayed. This made him doubt the -whole value of book education. The graduates who came from Upsala -had, one and all, the same opinions on Rafael and Schiller, though -the differences in their characters would have led one to expect a -corresponding difference in their judgments. Therefore these men did -not think, although they called themselves free-thinkers, but merely -talked and were merely parrots. - -But John could not perceive that it was not books _quá_ books which had -turned these learned men into automata. He himself and his unlearned -philosophical friends had been aroused to self-consciousness through -books. The danger of the university education was that it was derived -from inferior books published under sanction of the government, and -written by the upper classes in the interest of the upper classes, -_i.e_. with the object of exalting what was old and established, and -therefore of hindering further development. - -Meanwhile John's scepticism had made him sterile. He had perceived -that art had nothing to do with social development, that it was simply -a reflection or phenomena, and was more perfect as art the more it -confined itself to this function. He still preserved the impulse to -re-mould things and it found expression in his painting. His poetic -art, on the other hand, went to pieces since it had to express thoughts -or serve a purpose. - -His failure to have his play accepted had an adverse effect on his -pecuniary circumstances. The friends from whom he had borrowed money -came one evening to John's rooms in order to hear the play read, but -they were so tired after the day's work that, after hearing the first -act, they asked him to put off the rest for another occasion. One of -the audience who had kept more awake than the others thought that there -were too many Biblical quotations in the piece, and that these were not -suitable for the stage. - -John's resources were dried up, and the spectre of want loomed upon -him, unbribeable and stone-deaf. After he had gone without his dinners -for a time, he began to feel weary of life, and looked about him for -the means of subsistence. How should he get bread in the wilderness? -The best means that suggested itself was to seek an engagement in a -provincial theatre. There mere nobodies often played leading roles -in tragedies, made themselves a name, and finished by getting an -appointment at the Theatre Royal. He quickly made his resolve, packed -his travelling bag, borrowed money for his fare, and went to Göteborg. -It was just about the time of the great November storm of 1872. - -Since the environment in which he had been living had had a great -effect on him, he conceived a great dislike to this town. Gloomy, -correct, expensive, proud, reserved it lay, pent in its circle of stone -hills, and depressed the lively native of Upper Sweden, accustomed -to the rich and smiling landscape of Stockholm. It was a copy of the -capital but on a small scale, and John, as one of the upper class, -felt alienated from its inhabitants, who were in a lower stage of -development. But he noticed that there was something here that was -wanting in the capital. When he went down to the harbour he saw ships -which were nearly all destined for foreign parts, and large vessels -kept up continual communication with the continent. The people and -buildings did not look so exclusively Swedish, the papers took more -account of the great movements which were going on in the world. What -a short way it was from here to Copenhagen, Christiania, London, -Hamburg, Havre! Stockholm should have been situated here in a harbour -of the North Sea, whereas it lay in a remote corner of the Baltic. -Here was in truth the nucleus of a new centre, and he now understood -that that position was no longer occupied by Stockholm, but that -Göteborg was about to be the centre of the north. At present, however, -this reflection had no comfort for him since he was only in the -insignificant position of an actor. - -John sought out the theatre-director and introduced himself as a -person who wished to do the theatre a service. The director, however, -considered himself very well served by his present staff. But he -allowed John to give a trial performance in the rôle in which he wished -to make his début. This was Dietrichson's _Workman_, the great success -of the day. John had discovered a certain likeness between Stephenson's -first locomotive and his rejected play; he wished to show how he, like -the engineer, had to face the ridicule of the ignorant crowd, the -apprehensions of the learned, and the fears of a wasted life on the -part of relatives. He gave his trial performance one evening by the -light of a candle and between bare walls. Naturally he felt hampered -and asked to repeat it in costume. But the director said it was not -necessary; he had heard enough. John, in his opinion, possessed talent, -but it was undeveloped. He offered him an engagement at twelve hundred -kronas yearly, to commence from the first of January. John considered: -Should he spend two months idly in Göteborg and then only have a -supernumerary's part in a provincial theatre? No! He would not! What -remained to be done? Nothing except to borrow money and return home, -which he did. - -Thus his efforts had again ended in failure. His friends had given -him a farewell feast, lent him journey money, done all they could to -help him, and now he came back without having settled anything. Again -he had to hear the old too true accusation that he was unstable. To -be unstable in an ordered society is the extreme of unpracticality. -There persistent and exclusive cultivation of some special branch of -industry or knowledge is necessary in order to outstrip competitors. -Every orderly member of society feels a certain discomfort when he sees -some one wandering from his proper place. This discomfort does not -necessarily spring from excessive egotism, but possibly from a feeling -of solidarity and solicitude for others. John saw that his countless -changes of plan disquieted his friends; he felt ashamed and suffered on -account of it, but could not act otherwise. - -So he found himself at home, and spent the long evenings in the "Red -Room," asking himself whether he really could find no place in a -society which for others opened up so many rich possibilities of a -career. - -At Christmas time John travelled again to Upsala, for he had been -invited thither as one of the contributors to a Literary Calendar which -had just appeared. The _Calendar_, which was received with universal -disapprobation, was not without significance as an exponent of the -state of literature. The reader who was desired to wade through these -elegant extracts, might justifiably ask, "What have I got to do with -them?" The poetry they contained, like that of Snoilsky and Björck, -might have been written fifty or a hundred years before. It was of -indifferent quality, and sometimes even bad,--bad because it gave no -sign that the poet had developed any powers of perception, indifferent -because it was not rooted in its own period. The date of the book -was 1872, but it contained no echo of the Jubilee of 1865, no hint -of 1870, not a whiff of the conflagration of 1871. Had these young -versifiers been asleep? Yes, certainly. The great mass of students were -realists, sceptics, mockers, as befitted the children of the time, but -the poets were credulous fools with the ideals of Snoilsky and Björck -in their hearts. Their poetry was that of superannuated idealists in -form and thought, for the new views of things had not reached these -isolated individualists who still lived the Bohemian life of the -Romantics. Their poetry consisted of nothing but echoes. In fact it -was a question whether Swedish poetry had hitherto been anything else, -or could be anything else. Was Tegner's poetry anything but an echo -of Schiller, Oehlenschläger, the Eddas and the old Norse sagas? Was -Atterbom anything else than a musical box pieced together out of Tieck, -Hoffmann, Wieland, Burger? And so on with all the Swedish poets. But -this Literary Calendar was composed of echoes of echoes and dreams of -dreams. Realism, which had already made a premature entry into Sweden -with Kraemer's _Diamonds in Coal_, and had subsequently triumphed -in Snoilsky, had left no trace on these young poets. The poetry of -Snoilsky's school had been the careless expression of a careless time, -but these poems simply displayed the incapacity of their writers. - -John had contributed to the _Calendar_ a free version of "An Basveig's -Saga." In this he had glorified himself as a kind of male Cinderella, -or ugly duckling of the family. He was moved to do this by the contempt -which had been evinced towards him by his patrons and middle-class -friends on account of his failure as an author. The language of the -piece was marked by a certain bluntness of expression and an attempt to -dignify low things, or at least to rub off the dirt from things which -were not really so, but were called so. Since the word Naturalism had -not yet come into fashion, his language was called coarse and vulgar. - -But an acquaintance which John happened to make during his stay in -Upsala was of greater importance than the _Calendar_ or Christmas -dinner. He lodged with a friend on whose writing-table he found one day -a number of the _Svensk Tidskrift_ containing a notice of Hartmann's -_Philosophy of the Unconscious_. It was an exposition of Hartmann's -system by a Finn, A.V. Bolin, and betrayed throughout a half-concealed -admiration of it. But the editor, Hans Forssell, had appended to the -essay a note written in his usual style when he came across something -that his brain could not take in. Hartmann's doctrine was pessimism. -Conscious life is suffering because unconscious will is the motive -power of evolution and consciousness obstructs this unconscious will. -It was the old myth of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It -was the kernel of the Buddhistic faith and the chief doctrine of -Christianity,--"Vanitas, vanitatum vanitas." - -Most of the greatest and conscious minds had been pessimists, and had -seen through and unmasked the illusions of life. Only wild animals, -children, and commonplace people could therefore be happy, because they -were unconscious of the illusion, or because they held their ears when -one wanted to tell them the truth and begged not to be robbed of their -illusions. - -John found all this quite natural, and had no important objection to -make. It was true then, what he had so often dreamt, that everything -was nothing! It was the suspicion of this which had governed his -point of view and made all the great and all greatness appear on a -reduced scale. This consciousness had lurked obscurely in him, when, -as a child, although well-formed, healthy and strong, he wept over -an unknown grief, the cause of which he could not find within him or -without. That was the secret of his life, that he could not admire -anything, could not hold to anything, could not live for anything; that -he was too wide awake to be subject to illusions. Life was a form of -suffering which could only be alleviated by removing as many obstacles -as possible from the path of one's will; his own life in particular -was so extremely painful because his social and economical position -constantly prevented his will from expressing itself. - -When he contemplated life and especially the course of history he saw -only cycles of errors and mistakes repeating themselves.[1] The men of -the present dreamt of a republic, as Greeks and Romans had done two -thousand years before; the civilisation of the Egyptians had decayed -when they perceived its futility; Asia was wrapped in an eternal sleep -after it had been impelled by an unconscious will to conquer the -world; all nations had invented narcotics and intoxicants in order to -quench consciousness; sleep was blessedness and death the greatest -happiness. But why not take the last step and commit suicide? Because -the unconscious Will continually enticed men to live through the -illusion of hope of a better life. Pessimism, regarded as a view of the -world's order, is more consistent than meliorism, which sees in natural -development a tendency which makes for men's happiness. This latter -view seems to be a disguised relic of belief in divine providence. Can -one believe that the mechanical blindly ruling laws of nature have any -regard for the development of human society when they produce glacial -periods, floods, and volcanic outbreaks? Must an intelligent man be -called "conservative" in a contemptuous sense because he has brought -under his yoke and rules the laws of nature as Stuart Mill facetiously -expresses it? Have men devised any certain preventives against -shipwreck, strokes of lightning, economic crises, losses of relatives -by death and sickness? Can men control at pleasure the inclination of -the earth's axis, and do away with cloud-formations which are likely -to injure harvests? In spite of the present advanced state of science, -have men been able to put an end to the grape pest, to stop floods, -eradicate, superstitions, remove despots, prevent war? Is it not -presumptuous or simple-minded to believe that man, himself governed by -chemical, physical, and physiological laws of nature, stands above them -because he understands how to use some of them to his own advantage, as -birds use the wind for their progress or beavers the pressure of the -stream in constructing their dams? Are not the wings of the falcon and -the fly more perfect means of locomotion than railways and steamers? -How can men be so simple as to think that they stand above nature when -they are themselves so subordinate to nature that they cannot will or -think freely? It looks like a residue of our primitive illusions. If -the present development of European society ends in atheism, that has -already been the case with the Buddhists; if in religious freedom, -that has already been witnessed in the early history of China; if in -polygamy, that already exists among the savages of Australia; if in -community of goods, this prevailed among primitive peoples. The fact is -that Europe has been the last of all the great ethnical groups to wake -to consciousness. It is now in the act of waking and turning itself, -not like some oriental nations, to torpid quietism, but to removing as -far as possible the pains and unpleasantnesses of earthly existence, -although the best way of doing so has not been yet discovered. The -mistake of the industrial socialists is that they, according to -the formula of the ambiguous evolution theory, wish to build upon -existing conditions, which they regard as the product of necessity, -and tending to the good of all. But existing conditions rather tend -to the happiness of the few, and are therefore something abnormal to -build on, which means erecting a house on ground from which the water -has not been drained off. Probably the form of society which they -desire, however absurd it is, is a necessary mistake through which men -must pass to reach a better. Both the danger and the hope of progress -consist in the fact that the socialistic system already has its -programme drawn up and consequently works automatically, _i.e_. like a -blind, irresistible mass. If it reconstitutes society after the pattern -of the working-class who are a minority, and makes all men mechanics, -one may venture to doubt, without being regarded as quite mad, whether -that will be happiness. Socialism as a social reform is inevitable, -for Europe in its self-idolatry has not perceived how far backward it -is. Provided with an Asiatic form of government, which interferes in -details, supporting ancient superstitions, living under the terrible -tyranny of capital, which is maintained by force of arms, it sets -on foot political and religious persecutions, it venerates embalmed -monarchs like mummies of the Pharaohs, it civilises savages with waste -goods and Krupp guns; it forgets that its civilisation came from the -east, and was better then than it is now. Hartmann and the pessimists -believe that the social reform which is called socialism will come, but -that afterwards, it will be succeeded by something else. - -The bourgeois is an optimist because he cannot see or think outside -the narrow circle of everyday occurrences. That is his good fortune, -but not his merit, for he has no choice in the matter. Nay, he does not -even understand what pessimism is, but thinks it means the opinion that -this is the worst of all worlds. How could any one have a well-grounded -view on that? Voltaire, who was no pessimist, wrote a whole book to -demonstrate that this world, at any rate, was not the best of worlds -for us, as Leibnitz imagined. It is naturally the best for itself, -although not for us, and the difference between the point of view of -the hypochondriac and the pessimist consists in the fact that the -former believes that the world is the worst possible for him, while -the pessimist disregards what it may be for the individual. Hartmann -is no hypochondriac as people have tried to make out, and he seeks to -alleviate the pain of life as much as possible by placing himself in a -state of unconsciousness. - -The men of the younger generation of to-day are sad, because they -have awoke to consciousness and lost many illusions. But they are not -hypochondriacal, and work at bringing the world forward into the last -stage of illusion or a new social system, as though hoping thereby to -alleviate their pain, and they work the more fanatically, the deeper -they feel it. - -Meanwhile, supposing that Hartmann's philosophy may be a mistake, and a -sceptic must be willing to entertain that possibility, although it has -every probability on its side, since the instinct of self-preservation, -the first condition of life, consists in the removal of pain, which -is the first motive-power,--we must seek to explain historically -how this philosophy has come to the birth and spread. Superficial -observers like the mystic Caro, do not hesitate, inconsistently -enough, to attribute it to bodily ill-health. The socialists, who -wished to arouse the expectation that their teaching was practicable, -explained it as the foreboding of overthrow in a class, of whom -Hartmann was the representative. But Hartmann believes in socialism -and the new social system, although only as transitional forms. He -is not despairing, not even melancholy. He seems to be the first -philosopher who, quite independently of Christianity, European culture -and idealism, tries to explain the world's progress from the purely -materialistic point of view. He states facts and processes exactly as -they are. From unconscious minerals we have developed into globules -of albumen, acquired conscious nerve-centres and finally brains -with ever-increasing self-consciousness. The more highly organised -the life, the greater the capacity for pain and susceptibility to -impressions. Not till our time did the cosmic brain succeed in arriving -at clear perception and, accordingly, at divining the order of the -world. Hartmann can therefore be regarded as one who arrived at the -highest degree of consciousness, and he will be remembered as the -great unmasker before whose keen gaze the bandages fell away. It is -consequently a mistake to call him "the prophet of despair." Idealists -may feel empty and despairing when confronted by the naked truth, but -the meliorist feels an inexpressible calm. Man will be modest when he -takes the measure of his littleness as an atom of the cosmic dust. -He will no longer build his happiness on a future life, but will be -impelled by pessimism to order the only life he has as well as he can -for himself and for others. He will see how useless it is to lament -over the misery of existence; he will accept pain as a fact, and -alleviate it as well as he can. Hartmann is a realist, and the title -"pessimist" in its old significance has been fastened on him out of -malice. He shudders at the misery of the world, but does not even call -it misery. He only shows that life is not so great and beautiful as men -like to make out, and pain in his view is not a mere bodily ailment, -but an impelling motive. His is a sound and healthy view of things in -contrast to which socialism may sometimes look like idealism, since it -wishes to remodel society according to its desires, not according to -the possibilities of the case. - -Meanwhile the review article on Hartmann had a quickening effect on -John. There was then a system in the apparent madness of the universe, -and his consciousness had rightly foreboded that the whole scheme of -things was something very insignificant. But a new philosophic system -is not absorbed by a brain in a day. It only left a certain deposit and -gave a keynote to his thoughts. As a theoretical point of view it was -still obscured by his idealistic education, darkened by his inborn and -acquired hatred of the upper class, and his natural tendency to seek -his point of equilibrium somewhere outside himself. Taken on the large -scale, life was meaningless, but if one wanted to live, one had to come -to grips with reality, and adopt an everyday point of view, which alas! -one very readily did. Enormous difficulties stood in the way of earning -a living or making a name. Honour, viewed absolutely, was nothing, but -in relation to the petty circumstances of life it was something great, -and worth striving for. The Philistines did not understand that, and -derived much amusement, when they saw him, pessimist as he was, toiling -after distinctions. They, with their clock-work brains, thought this -inconsistent, since they did not understand that the term "honour" has -two values, an absolute and a "relative." - - -[1] In his pamphlet "The Conscious Will in the World-history" (1903), -Strindberg takes the opposite view to that expressed here. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Growth of a Soul, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - -***** This file should be named 44107-8.txt or 44107-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44107/ - -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/44107.txt b/44107.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e930f22..0000000 --- a/44107.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6875 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Growth of a Soul, 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 Growth of a Soul - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44107] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -GROWTH OF A SOUL - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - - -NEW YORK - -McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY - -1914 - - - - CONTENTS - - I IN THE FORECOURT - II BELOW AND ABOVE - III THE DOCTOR - IV IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - V JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - VI BEHIND THE CURTAIN - VII JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - VIII THE "RUNA" CLUB - IX BOOKS AND THE STAGE - X TORN TO PIECES - XI IDEALISM AND REALISM - XII A KING'S PROTEGE - XIII THE WINDING UP - XIV AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - XV THE RED ROOM - - - -THE GROWTH OF A SOUL - - - -CHAPTER I - -IN THE FORECOURT - -(1867) - - -The steamer had passed Flottsund and Domstyrken and the university -buildings of Upsala began to appear. "Now begins the real -stone-throwing!" exclaimed one of his companions,--an expression -borrowed from the street-riots of 1864. The hilarity induced by punch -and breakfast abated; one felt that things were now serious and that -the battle of life was beginning. No vows of perpetual friendship were -made, no promises of helping each other. The young men had awakened -from their romantic dreams; they knew that they would part at the -gang-way, new interests would scatter the company which the school-room -had united; competition would break the bonds which had united them and -all else would be forgotten. The "real stone-throwing" was about to -begin. - -John and his friend Fritz hired a room in the Klostergraenden. It -contained two beds, two tables, two chairs and a cupboard. The rent was -30 kronas[1] a term,--15 kronas each. Their midday meal was brought -by the servant for 12 kronas a month,--6 kronas each. For breakfast -and supper they had a glass of milk and some bread and butter. That -was all. They bought wood in the market,--a small bundle for 4 kronas. -John had also received a bottle of petroleum from home as a present, -and he could send his washing to Stockholm. He had 80 kronas in his -table-drawer with which to meet all the expenses of the term. - -It was a new and peculiar society into which he now entered, quite -unlike any other. It had privileges like the old house of peers and a -jurisdiction of its own; but it was a "little Pedlington" and reeked -of rusticity. All the professors were country-born; not a single one -hailed from Stockholm. The houses and streets were like those of -Nykoeping. And it was here that the head-quarters of culture had been -placed, owing to an inconsistency of the government which certainly -regarded Stockholm as answering to that description. - -The students were regarded as the upper class in the town and the -citizens were stigmatised by the contemptuous epithet of "Philistines." -The students were outside and above the civic law. To smash windows, -break down fences, tussle with the police, disturb the peace of the -streets,--all was allowed to them and went unpunished; at most they -received a reprimand, for the old lock-up in the castle was no more -used. For their militia-service they had a special uniform of their -own which carried privileges with it. Thus they were systematically -educated as aristocrats, a new order of nobility after the fall of the -house of peers. - -What would have been a crime in a citizen was a "practical joke" in a -student. Just at this time the students' spirits were at a high pitch, -as a band of student-singers had gone to Paris, had been successful -there, and were acclaimed as conquerors on their return. - -John now wished to work for his degree but did not possess a single -book. "During the first term one must take one's bearings" was the -saying. John went to the student's club. The constitution of the club -was antiquated,--so much so that the annexed provinces Skane, Halland -and Blekinge were not represented in it. It was well arranged and -divided into classes, not according to merit, but according to age -and certain dubious qualities. In the list the title "nobilis" still -stood after the names of those of high birth. There were several ways -of gaining influence in the club, through an aristocratic name, family -influence, money, talent, pluck and adaptability, but the last quality -by itself was not enough among these intelligent and sceptical youths. -On the first evening in the club John made his observations. There were -several of his old companions from the Clara School present, but he -avoided them as much as possible and they him. He had deserted them and -gone by a short cut through the private school, while they had tramped -along the regular course through the state school. They all seemed -to him somewhat conventional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the -aristocrats and obtained introductions, made acquaintances easily and -got on well. - -As they went home in the evening John asked him who was the "snob" in -the velvet jacket with stirrups painted on his collar. Fritz answered -that he was not a snob, and that it was as stupid to judge people by -fine clothes as by poor ones. John with his democratic ideas did not -understand this and stuck to his opinion. Fritz asserted that the youth -referred to was a very fine fellow and the senior in the club, and -in order to rouse John further, added that he had expressed himself -satisfied with the newcomers' appearance and manners; he was reported -to have said "they had an air about them; formerly the fellows from -Stockholm when they came there, looked like workmen." - -John was ruffled at this information and felt that something had come -in between him and his friend. Fritz's father had been a miller's -servant, but his mother had been of noble birth. He had inherited from -his mother what John had from his. - -The days passed on. Fritz put on his frock coat every morning and went -to pay his respects to the professors. He intended to be a jurist; -that was a proper career, for lawyers were the only ones who obtained -real knowledge which was of use in public life, who tried to obtain -deeper insight into social organisation and to keep in touch with the -practical business of everyday life. They were realists. - -John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaintances. - -"Borrow my coat," said Fritz. - -"No, I will not go and pay court to the professors," said John. - -"You are stupid," answered Fritz, and in that he was right, for the -professors gave real though somewhat hazy information regarding the -courses of study. It was a piece of pride in John that he did not -wish to owe his progress to anything but his own work, and what was -worse, he thought it ignominious to be regarded as a flunkey. Would -not an old professor at once perceive that he was flattering him for -his own purposes? To submit himself to his superiors was, in his mind, -synonymous with grovelling. - -Moreover everything was too indefinite. The university which he had -imagined to be an institution for free investigation, was only one for -tasks and examinations. The professors gave lectures for the sake of -appearances or to maintain their income, but it was useless to go up -for an examination without taking private lessons. John resolved to -attend those lectures for which no fee was necessary. He went to the -Gustavianum to hear a lecture on the history of philosophy. For the -three-quarters of an hour during which the lecture lasted the professor -went through the introduction to Aristotle's Ethics. John calculated -that with three lectures a week he would require forty years to go -through the history of philosophy. "Forty years," he thought, "that is -too long for me." And did not go again. It was the same everywhere. -An assistant-professor expounded Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_ with the -commentary, in English, to an audience of five. John went there a few -times, but reckoned that it would be ten years before _Henry VIII_ was -finished. - -It began to dawn upon him what the requirements of the degree -examination were. The first was to write a Latin essay; therefore he -must learn more Latin, which he did not like. He had chosen aesthetics -and modern languages as his chief subject. AEsthetics comprised the -study of Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the -various systems of aesthetics. That was work enough for a lifetime. The -modern languages were French, German, English, Italian and Spanish, -with comparative grammar. How was he to obtain the requisite books? And -he had not the means of paying for private lessons. - -Meanwhile he set to work at AEsthetics. He found that one could borrow -books from the club and so he took out the volumes of Atterbom's -_Prophets and Poets_ which happened to be there. These unfortunately -only dealt with Swedenborg and contained Thorild's epistles. Swedenborg -seemed to him crazy, and Thorild's epistles did not interest him. -Swedenborg and Thorild were two arrogant Swedes who had lived in -retirement and fallen a prey to megalomania, the special disease -of solitary people. It is remarkable how often outbreaks of this -hallucination occur in Sweden, owing probably to the isolated position -of the country and to the fact that a sparse population is scattered -over enormous distances. Megalomania is apparent in the imperial -projects of Gustavus Adolphus, in Charles X's ambition of becoming -a great European power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in -Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and in Swedenborg's and Thorild's dreams of -storming heaven and of world-conflagrations. John thought them mad and -threw them aside. Was that the sort of stuff he was expected to read? - -He began to reflect over his situation. What did he expect to do in -Upsala? To support himself for six years on 80 kronas till he took -his degree. And then? his thoughts did not stretch further; he had no -higher plan or ambition than to take his degree--the laurel crown, the -graduate's coat, and then to teach the catechism in the Jakob school -till his death. No, he did not wish to do that. - -Time went on, and Christmas approached. The little stock of money in -his table-drawer diminished slowly but surely. And then? It was not so -easy for students to obtain employment as private teachers since the -railways had made communication easier between remote country places -and the towns where schools were. He felt that he had embarked upon a -foolish undertaking. When he found he could get no more books, he began -to make visits among his fellow-students and discovered companions in -misfortune. Among them were two who had spent the whole term playing -chess and possessed nothing between them but a hymn-book which the -mother of one had placed in his box. They were also asking themselves -the question "What have we to do here?" The way to the degree -examination was not easy; one was compelled to seek out secret ways, -bribe door-keepers, creep through holes, run into debt for books, be -seen at lectures and much more besides. - -In order to fill up the time, he learnt to play the B-cornet in the -band of the students' club by the advice of Fritz who played the -trombone. But the practices were very irregular and began to cause -disputes. John also played backgammon, which Fritz hated, and so he -wandered about to acquaintances with his backgammon board and played -with them. He found it as dull as reading Swedenborg. - -"Why do you not study?" Fritz often asked him. - -"I have no books," answered John. That was a good reason. He could -not visit the restaurants, for he had no money, and lived very -quietly. At the midday meal he drank only water, and when on Sundays -he and Fritz drank half a bottle of beer, they remained sitting at -table half-fuddled and telling each other, perhaps for the hundredth -time, old school adventures. The term crept along intolerably slow, -uneventful and torpid. John perceived that, as one of the lower class, -he could plod on thus far but no further. The economic question brought -his plans to a standstill. Or was it that he was tired of living a -one-sided mental life without muscular exercise? Trifling experiences -for which he ought to have been prepared contributed to embitter him. -One day Fritz entered their room with a young count. He introduced -John to him, and the count tried to remember whether they had not been -comrades at the Clara School. John seemed to remember something of -the kind. The old friends and intimate companions addressed each other -as "count" and "sir." Then John remembered how he and the young count -had once played as boys in a tobacco store on the Sabbatsberg, and how -something had made him prophesy, "In a few years, old fellow, we shall -not know each other any more." The young count had protested strongly -against this and felt hurt. Why did John remember this just then -particularly, since it is quite natural that comrades should become -strangers to each other when intercourse has been so long broken off? -Because at the sight of the noble, he felt the slave blood seethe in -his veins. This kind of feeling has been ascribed to the difference of -races. But that is not so, for then the stronger plebeian race would -feel superior to the weaker aristocratic. It is simply class-hatred. - -The count in question was a pale, tall, slender youth of no striking -appearance. He was very poor and looked half-starved. He was -intelligent, industrious, and not at all proud. Later on in life -John came across him again and found him to be a sociable, pleasant -man, leading an inconspicuous life as an official, amid difficulties -resembling John's own. Why should he hate him? And then they both -laughed at their youthful stupidity. That was possible then, for John -seemed to have "got ahead" as the saying is; otherwise he would not -have laughed at all. "Stand up that I may sit down," this was the -more malicious than luminous way of expressing the aspiration of the -lower orders in those days. But it was a misunderstanding. Formerly -one strove to elbow one's way up to the other; now one would rather -pull the other down to save oneself the trouble of clambering up where -nothing is to be found. "Move a little so that we can both sit" would -now be the proper formula. - -It has been said that those who are "above" are there by a law of -necessity and would be there under all circumstances; competition -is free and each can ascend if he likes, and if the conditions were -changed, the same race would begin again. "Good!" say the lower -classes, "let us race again, but come down here and stand where I -do. You have got a start with privileges and capital, but now let us -be weighed with carriage harness and racing saddle after the modern -fashion. You have got ahead by cheating. The race is therefore declared -null and void and we will run it again, unless we come to an agreement -to do away with all racing, as an antiquated sport of ancient times." - -Fritz saw things from another point of view. He did not wish to pull -those above down, but to become an aristocrat himself, climb up to -them and be like them. He began to lisp and made elegant gestures with -his hands, greeted people as though he were a cabinet minister, and -threw his head back as though he had a private income. But he respected -himself too much to become ridiculous and satirised himself and his -ambition. The fact was that the aristocrats whom he wished to resemble -had simple, easy, unaffected manners,--some of them indeed quite like -the middle class, while Fritz was fashioning himself after an ancient -theatrical pattern which no longer existed. He did not therefore -become what he expected in life though he had dozed away many a summer -in the castles of his friends, and ended in a very modest official -post. He was received as a student in their guest-rooms but came no -further; as a district judge he was not introduced in the salons which -as a student he had entered without introduction. - -The effects of the different circles in which John and Fritz moved -began now to be apparent, first in mutual coldness, then in hostility. -One evening it broke out at the card-table. - -Fritz one day towards the end of the term said to John, "You should not -go about with such bounders as you do." - -"What is the matter with them?" - -"Nothing, but it would be better if you went with me to my friends." - -"They don't suit me." - -"Well, they suit me, but they think you are proud." - -"I?" - -"Yes; and to show you are not, come with me this evening and drink -punch." - -John went though unwillingly. They were a solid-looking set of -law-students who played cards. They discussed the stakes for which they -should play, and John succeeded in reducing them to a minimum, though -they made sour faces. Then a game of "knack" was proposed. John said -that he never played it. - -"On principle?" he was asked. - -"Yes," he answered. - -"How long ago did you make that resolve," asked Fritz sarcastically. - -"Just this minute." - -"Just now, here?" - -"Yes, just now, here!" answered John. - -They exchanged hostile looks and that was the end. They went home -silent; went to bed silent; and got up silent. For five weeks they ate -their dinner at the same table and never spoke to each other. A gulf -had opened between them and their friendship was ended; they had no -more intercourse with each other and there was nothing to bring them -together again. How had that come about? - -These two characters so opposed to each other had held together for -five years through habit, through comradeship in the class-room, -and common interests; they had felt drawn to each other by common -recollections, defeats and victories. It was a compromise between fire -and water which must cease sooner or later and might cease at any -moment. Now they flew asunder as if by an explosion; the masks fell; -they did not become enemies, but simply discovered that they _were_ -born enemies, _i.e._ two oppositely-disposed natures which must go, -each its own way. They did not close accounts with a quarrel or useless -accusations, but simply made an end without more ado. An unnatural -silence prevailed at their midday meal; sometimes in lifting dishes -their hands crossed but their looks avoided each other; now and then -Fritz's lips moved, as though he wished to say something, but his -larynx remained closed. What should he say after all. There was nothing -to say but what the silence expressed: "We have nothing more in common." - -And yet there was something left after all. Sometimes Fritz came home -in the evening, cheerful, and obviously prepared to say, "Come! cheer -up old fellow!" But then he stood still in the middle of the room, -petrified by John's icy manner, and went out again. Sometimes also -it occurred to John, who suffered under the breach of friendship to -say to his friend, "How stupid we are!" But then he felt frozen again -by Fritz's indifferent manner. They had worn out their friendship by -living together. They knew each other by heart, all one another's -secrets and weaknesses, and precisely what answer either would give. -That was the end. Nothing more remained. - -A miserable torpid time followed. Tom away from the common life of -school where he had worked like part of a machine in unison with -others, and abandoned to himself, he ceased to live in the proper sense -of the word. Without books, papers or social intercourse, he remained -empty; for the brain produces of itself very little, perhaps nothing; -in order to make combinations it must be supplied with material from -without. Now nothing came; the channels were stopped, the ways blocked, -and his soul pined away. Sometimes he took Fritz's books and looked -into them; among them he came across Geijer's History for the first -time. Geijer was a great name and known through his "Kolargossen," -"Sista Kampen," "Vikingen" and other poems. John now read his history -of Gustav Vasa. He was astonished to find no illuminating point of -view nor any fresh information. The style, which he had heard praised, -was pedestrian. It was like a mere memorial sketch, this history of a -long-lived king's reign, and cursory also like a text-book. Printed in -small type, and without notes, the history of this important king would -not have been longer than a small pamphlet. One day John asked some of -his friends what they thought of Geijer. - -"He is devilish dull," they answered. - -That was the common opinion before jubilee-commemorations and the -erection of statues prevented people saying plainly what they thought. - -John then looked for a little into law-books, but was alarmed at the -idea of having to study that sort of thing. His home life and religious -education had given him a distaste for everything that concerned the -common interests of people. Through the ceaseless repetition of the -maxim that young men should not interfere with politics, that is to -say, with the common weal, and through Christian individualism and -introspection, John had become a consistent egoist. - -"Let every one mind his own business" was the first command of this -egotistic morality. Therefore he read no papers and troubled little how -things were going on about him, what was happening in the world, how -the destinies of men were being shaped, or what were the thoughts of -the leading minds of the time. Therefore it never occurred to him to -go to the meetings of the club where questions of common interest were -dealt with. "There were enough to look after those things," he thought. - -He was not alone in that opinion, so that the meetings of the club were -managed by a few energetic fellows, who were regarded perhaps wrongly, -as egoists and managed public business in their own interests. John who -let the affairs of the little society go as they liked, was perhaps a -greater egoist, occupied as he was with the affairs of his own soul. -But in his own defence and on behalf of many of his countrymen it must -be said that he and they were shy. This shyness, however, should have -been got rid of at school by practice in public speaking. In this -shyness there was also a degree of cowardice, the fear of opposition -or ridicule, and especially the fear of being thought presumptuous or -wishing to push oneself forward. Every youth who did so, was at once -suppressed, for here the aristocracy of seniority prevailed in a very -high degree. - -When he found the room too stuffy, he went out of the town. But the -depressing landscape with its endless expanse of clay made him sad. He -was no plain-dweller, but had his roots in the undulating scenery of -Stockholm, diversified by water channels. The flat country depressed -him and he suffered from homesickness to such a degree that when he -returned to Stockholm at Christmas and saw again the smiling contours -of the coast of Brunsvik, he was moved to the point of sentimentality. -When he saw once more the gentle curves of the woods of Haga Park he -felt his soul, as it were, attuned again, after having been so long -out of tune. To such a degree were his nerves affected by his natural -surroundings. - -Under other circumstances, the society of a smaller town like Upsala -would have been more congenial to him than that of the great town -which he hated. Had the small town been but a developed form of the -village, preserving the simple rustic appliances for health and -comfort, with fragments of landscape between the houses, it would have -been far preferable to the great town. But now the small town was -merely a shabby pretentious copy of the great town with its mistakes, -and therefore the more offensive. It also reeked with provinciality. -Every one mentioned their birthplace, "My name is Pettersson, from -Ostgothland," "Mine is Andersson, from Smaland." There was a keen -rivalry between the members of different provinces. Those from -Stockholm regarded themselves as the first and were therefore envied -and despised by the "peasants." There was much dispute as to whom the -first place really belonged. The Wormlanders boasted of having produced -Geijer whose portrait hung in their hall, while the Smalanders had -Tegner, Berzelius and Linnaeus. The Stockholm students who had only -Bergfalk and Bellmann were called "gutter-snipes." This was not a very -brilliant piece of wit especially as it emanated from a Kalmar student -who was thereupon asked "whether there were no gutters in Kalmar?" - -There was something pettifogging also in the way in which the -professors fought for advancement by means of pamphlets and newspaper -articles. The election to any particular professorial chair rested in -the last resource with the Chancellor of the University who lived at -Stockholm. - -In 1867 the University had no especially distinguished teachers. Some -of them were merely old decayed tipplers. Others were young immature -dilettantes who had obtained advancement through their wives and the -modicum of talent which they possessed. The only one who enjoyed a -certain reputation was Swedelius. This, however, was rather due to -his bonhomie and the anecdotes which gathered round him, then to his -own talent. His learned activity was confined to the composition in -an austere style of textbooks and memorial addresses. These were not -strictly scientific, but showed traces of original research. - -On the whole all the subjects of study were introduced from abroad, -for the most part from Germany. The textbooks in most departments -were in German or French. Very few were in English which was little -known. Even the Professor of Literary History could not pronounce -English and began his lectures with an apology for not being able -to do so. There was no doubt that he knew the language for he had -published translations of Swedish poems. "But why did he not learn -the pronunciation?" the students asked. Most of the dissertations for -degrees were mere compilations from the German; occasionally they were -direct translations which caused a scandal. - -The fact was that the period had no special feature to characterise -it. There is no such thing as Swedish culture any more than there is -Belgian, Swiss, or Hungarian. Sweden had indeed produced a Linnaeus and -a Berzelius, but they had had no successors. - -John had no spirit of enterprise. At school his work had been settled -for him; at the university it was all left to him. He was overcome by -lethargy and listlessness and worried by not knowing what to do at the -end of the term. He saw that he must seek for a position in which he -could support himself. A friend had told him that one might become an -elementary teacher in the country without passing any more examinations -and could very well support oneself in such a post. Now it was John's -dream to live in the country. He had a natural dislike to towns though -he had been born in the metropolis. He could not accustom himself -to live without light and air, nor flourish in these streets and -market-places, where the outward signs of a higher or lower position in -the absurd social scale counted for so much, _e.g._ such subordinate -things as dress and manner. He had hostility to culture in his blood -and could never conceive of himself as anything else than a natural -product, which did not wish to be severed from its organic connection -with the earth. He was like a plant vainly feeling with its roots -between the pavement-stones for some soil; like an animal pining for -the forest. - -There is a fish which climbs up trees, and an eel can go on land to -look for a pease-field, but both of them return to the water. Fowls -have been domesticated so long that their ancestral characteristics -have died out, but they preserve the habit of sleeping on a perch which -represents the branch on which the black-cock and the wood-grouse -roost. Geese become restless in autumn, for an instinct in their blood -tells them that it is migrating time. So in spite of accommodation to -new circumstances there is always a tendency to go back. - -Thus is it also with men. The dweller in the north, so long as he -preserves civilised habits, has not been able to acclimatise himself -thoroughly, and is still liable to consumption. His stomach, nerves, -heart and skin were able to accommodate themselves, but not his lungs. -The Eskimo on the other hand, originally a southerner, succeeded in -acclimatising himself but had to give up civilised habits. - -And what is the meaning of the northerner's longing for the south -unless it be the wish to return to his first home, the land of the -sun, the bank of the Ganges where he was cradled? And the dislike -of children to meat, their longing for fruit and love of climbing, -what is it all but "reversion to type?" Therefore civilisation means -a continual strain and struggle to combat this backward tendency. -Education winds up the clock, but when the mainspring is not strong -enough it snaps and the works run down, till quiet ensues. As -civilisation advances the strain is ever greater and the statistics -of insanity show a perpetual increase. One cannot swim against the -stream of civilisation, but one may escape to land. Modern Socialism -which wishes to bring down the upper classes with their worthless -and dangerous motto "Higher!" is a backward movement in a healthy -direction. The strain will decrease as the pressure from above -decreases, and thereby a great deal of superfluous luxury will be got -rid of. In certain parts of German Switzerland there is already a -certain relative quiet. There we find no restless hunting after honours -and distinctions because there are none to be had. A millionaire -lives in a large cottage and laughs at the bedizened townsfolk,--a -good-natured laugh without any envy in it, for he knows that he could -buy up their finery for ready cash, if he chose. But he will not, for -luxury has no value in his neighbours' eyes. - -Men could therefore be happier if competition were not so keen and -they will yet be so, for the chief constituent of happiness is peace -along with less toil and less luxury. It is not the railways which are -to be blamed, but the superabundance of them. In Arcadian Switzerland -railways have ruined whole districts where no freightage is required -and people usually go on foot. To this day distances are reckoned by -pedestrian measures. - -"It is eight hours to Zurich," says some one. - -"Eight! is it possible?" - -"Yes, certainly." - -"By the railway?" - -"Oh! by the railway,--that is only an hour and a half." - -In Sweden there is a railway which carries regularly three passengers -in its three classes, a factory-owner, a bailiff and a clerk. We may -live to see them shut up the railway stations for want of coal when -the coal strikes have sent up the price, for want of guards when wages -rise, and for want of freight when wood and oats can no longer be -procured; iron is already too dear to be used for railways, and the old -water-ways ought to be tried. - -It is no use to preach against civilisation,--that one knows well, but -if we observe the currents of the time we shall see that a return to -nature is in process of going on. Turgenieff has already described this -by the word "simplification." That is the mistake of the evolutionists -that in everything which is in motion or course of development they -see a progress towards human happiness, forgetting that a sickness may -develop to death or recovery. - -After all, what a superficial appendage civilisation is! Make a -nobleman drunk and he can become like a savage; let a child loose in -a wood without any one to look after it (provided that it can feed -itself) and it will not learn to speak of itself. Out of a peasant's -son who is generally considered so low in the social scale, one -can make in a single generation a man of science, a minister, an -arch-bishop, or an artist. Here there can be no talk of heredity, for -the peasant-father who stood apparently at such a low level, could not -have inherited anything from cultivated brains. On the other hand, the -children of a genius inherit usually nothing but used-up brains, except -occasionally a skill in their father's line of work, which they have -acquired by daily intercourse with their father. - -The town is the fire-place whither the living fuel from the country is -brought and devoured; it is to keep the present social machinery at -work, it is true, but in the long run the fuel will prove too dear, and -the machine come to a standstill. The society of the future will not -need this machine in order to work or they will be more sparing of the -fuel. But it is a mistake to conjecture the needs of a future state of -society from the present one. - -Our present society is perhaps a natural product, but inorganic; the -future society will be an organic product and a higher one, for it -will not deprive men of the first conditions for an organic existence. -There will be the same difference between these two forms of society as -between paved streets and grass meadows. - -The youth's dream often left artificial society to wander at large -in nature. Society had been formed by men doing violence to natural -laws, just as one may bleach a plant under a flower-pot and produce an -edible salad, but the plant's capacity to live healthily and propagate -itself as a plant is destroyed. Such a plant is the civilised man -made by artificial bleaching useful for an anaemic society, but, as -an individual, wretched and unhealthy. Must the process of bleaching -continue in order to insure the existence of this decayed society? -Must the individual remain wretched in order to maintain an unhealthy -society? For how can society be healthy when its individual members -are ailing? A single individual cannot demand that society should be -sacrificed for his sake, but a majority of individuals have a right to -bring about such changes in the society, which they themselves compose, -as may be beneficial to themselves. - -Under the simpler conditions of country life John believed he could -be happy in an obscure post, without feeling that he had sunk in the -social scale. But he could not be so in the town where he would be -continually reminded of the height from which he had fallen. To come -down voluntarily is not painful if the onlookers can be persuaded that -it _is_ voluntarily, but to fall is bitter, especially as a fall always -arouses satisfaction in those standing below. To mount, strive upwards -and better one's position has become a social instinct, and the youth -felt the force of it, though in his view the "upper" was not always -higher. - -John wished now to realise some result,--an active life which should -bring him an income. He looked through many advertisements for teachers -in elementary schools. Positions were advertised to which were attached -salaries of 300 or 600 kronas, a house, a meadow and a garden. He tried -for one of these places after another but obtained no answer. - -When the term was over and his 80 kronas spent, he returned home, not -knowing whither to turn, what he should become, or how he should live. -He had glanced in the forecourt and seen that there was no room in it -for him. - - -[1] A krona = 1s. _2d_. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -BELOW AND ABOVE - - -"Are you a complete scholar now?" With this and similar questions John -was greeted ironically on his return home. His father took the matter -seriously and strove to frame plans without coming to any result. John -was a student; that was a fact; but what was to follow? - -It was winter, and so the white student cap could not bestow on him -a mild halo of glory or bring any honour to the family. Some one has -asserted that war would cease if uniforms were done away with; and it -is certain there would not be so many students if they had no outward -sign to parade. In Paris where they have none, they disappear in the -crowd, and no one makes a fuss about them; in Berlin on the other hand, -they have a privileged place by the side of officers. Therefore also -Germany is a land of professors and France of the bourgeois. - -John's father now saw that he had educated a good-for-nothing for -society who could not dig, but perhaps was not ashamed to beg. The -world stood open for the youth to starve or to perish in. His father -did not like his idea of becoming an elementary school-teacher. Was -that to be the only result of so much work? His ambitious dreams -received a shock from the idea of such a come-down. An elementary -school-teacher was on a level with a sergeant, oil a plane from which -there was no hope of mounting. Climb one must as long as others did; -one must climb till one broke one's neck, so long as society was -divided into ranks and classes. John had not passed the student's -examination for the sake of knowledge, but of belonging to the upper -class, and now he seemed to be meditating a descent to the lower. - -It became painful for him at home for he felt as though he were eating -the bread of charity when Christmas was over, and he could no longer be -regarded as a Christmas guest. - -One day he accidentally met in the street a school-teacher whom he -knew, and whom he had not seen for a long time. They talked about the -future and John's friend suggested to him a post in the Stockholm -elementary school as suitable for him while reading for his degree. He -would get a thousand kronas salary and have an hour to himself daily. -John objected "Anywhere except in Stockholm." His friend replied that -several students had been teachers in the elementary school, "Really! -then he would have companions in misfortune." Yes, and one had come -from the New Elementary School where he was a teacher. John went, made -an application, and was appointed with a salary of 900 kronas. His -father approved his decision when he heard that it would help him to -read for his degree, and John undertook to live as a boarder at home. -One winter morning at half-past eight, John went down the Nordtullsgata -to the Clara School, exactly as he had done when he was eight years -old. There were the same streets and the same Clara bells, and he was -to teach the lowest class! It was like being put back to learn a lesson -of eleven years ago. Just as afraid as then,--yes, more afraid of -coming too late he entered the large class-room, where together with -two female teachers he was to have the oversight of a hundred children. -There they sat,--children like those in the Jakob School, but younger. -Ugly, stunted, pale, swollen, sickly, with cast-down looks, in coarse -clothes and heavy shoes. Suffering, most probably, suffering from the -consciousness that others were more fortunate, and would always be -so, as one then believed, had impressed on their faces the stamp of -pain, which neither religious resignation nor the hope of heaven could -obliterate. The upper classes avoided them with a bad conscience, built -themselves houses outside the town, and left it to the professional -over-seers of the poor to come in contact with these outcasts. - -A hymn was sung, the Lord's Prayer was read; everything was as before; -no progress had been made except that the forms had been exchanged for -seats and desks, and the room was light and airy. John had to fold his -hands and join in the hymn, thus already being obliged to do violence -to his conscience. Prayers over, the head-master entered. He spoke to -John in a fatherly way and as his superintendent gave him instruction -and advice. This class, he said, was the worst, and the teacher must -be strict. - -So John took his class into a special room to begin the lesson. The -room was exactly like that in the Clara School, and there stood the -dreadful desk with steps, which resembled a scaffold and was painted -red as though stained with blood. A stick was put into his hand with -which he might rap or strike as he chose. He mounted the scaffold. He -felt shy before the thirsty faces of girls and boys opposite who looked -curiously at him, to see if he were going to worry them. - -"What is your lesson?" he asked. - -"The first commandment," the whole class exclaimed. - -"Only one must answer at a time. You, top boy what is your name?" - -"Hallberg," cried the whole class. - -"No, only one at a time,--the one I ask." - -The children giggled. "He is not dangerous," they thought. - -"Well, then, what is the first commandment?" John asked the top boy. - -"Thou shalt have no other gods but Me." He knew that then. - -"What is that?" John asked again, trying to lay as little emphasis -as possible on the "that." Then he asked fifteen children the same -question and a quarter of an hour had passed. John thought this -idiotic. What should he do now? Say what he knew about God? But the -common point of view then was, that nothing was known about Him. John -was a theist, and still believed in a personal God, but could say -nothing more. He would have liked to have attacked the divinity of -Christ, but would have been dismissed had he done so. - -A pause followed. There was an unnatural stillness while he reflected -on his false position and the foolish method of teaching. If he had -now said that nothing was known of God, the whole catechism and Bible -instruction would have been superfluous. They knew that they must not -steal or lie. Why then make such a fuss? He felt a mad wish to make -friends and fellow-sinners of the children. - -"What shall we do now?" he said. - -The whole class looked at each other and giggled. - -"This is a jolly sort of teacher," they thought. - -"What must the teacher do when he has heard the lesson?" he asked the -top boy. - -"Hm! he generally explains it," he and one or two others answered. - -John could certainly explain the origin and growth of the conception of -God, but that would not do. - -"You need not do any more," he said, "but don't make a noise." - -The children looked at him, and he at them mutually smiling. - -"Don't you think this is absurd," he felt inclined to say, but checked -himself and only smiled. But he collected himself when he saw that they -were laughing at him. "This method would not do," he thought. So he -commanded attention and went through the first commandment again till -each child had had a question. After extraordinary exertions on his -part, the clock at last struck nine, and the lesson was over. - -Then the three divisions of the class were assembled in the great -hall to prepare for going into the play-ground to get fresh air. -"Prepare" is the right word for such a simple affair as going into the -play-ground demanded a long preparation. An exact description would -fill a whole printed page, and perhaps be regarded as a caricature; we -will be content with giving a hint. - -In the first place, all the hundred children had to sit motionless, -absolutely motionless, and silent, absolutely silent, in their seats as -though they were to be photographed. From the master's desk the whole -assembly looked like a grey carpet with bright patterns, but the next -moment one of them moved the head; the offender had to rise from his -seat and stand by the wall. The total effect was now disturbed, and -there had to be a good many raps with the cane before two hundred arms -lay parallel on the desks and a hundred heads were at right angles -with their collar-bones. When quiet was in some degree restored a new -rapping began which demanded absolute quiet. But at the very moment -when the absolute was all but attained, some muscle grew tired, some -nerve slackened, some sinew relaxed. Again there was confusion, cries, -blows, and a new attempt to reach the absolute. It generally ended by -the female teacher (the males did not drive it so far) closing one eye -and pretending that the absolute had been reached. - -Then came the important moment, when, at a given signal the whole -hundred must spring from their seats and stand in order, but nothing -more. It was a ticklish moment when slates fell down and rulers -clattered. Then they had to sit down and begin all over again by -keeping perfectly still. - -When they had really got on their legs, they were marched off in -divisions but on tip-toe without exception. Otherwise they had to turn -round and sit down again, get up again and so on. They had to go on -tip-toe in wooden sabots and water-boots. It was a great mistake; it -accustomed the children to stealthiness and gave their whole appearance -something cat-like and deceitful. In the play-ground a teacher had -to arrange those who wanted to drink in a straight line before the -water-tap by the entrance; at the same time the lavatories at the -other end of the play-ground had to be inspected, and games had to be -organised and watched over. Then the children were again drawn up and -marched into school. If it was not done quietly, they had to go out -again. - -Then another lesson began. The children read out of a patriotic -reading-book the principal object of which seemed to be to instil -respect for the upper classes and to represent Sweden as the best -country in Europe, although as regards climate and social economy, -it is one of the worst, its culture is borrowed from abroad, and all -its kings were of foreign origin. They did not venture to give such -teaching to the children of the upper classes in the Clara School and -the Lyceum, but in the Jakob School they had sufficient courage to -make poor children sing a patriotic song about the Duke of Ostgothland. -In this occurred a verse addressed to the crew of the fleet, saying -victory was sure in the battle they wished for "because Prince Oscar -leads us on," or something of the sort. - -Meanwhile the reading-lesson began. But just at that moment the -head-master came in. John wished to stop but the head-master beckoned -to him to go on. The children who had lost their respect for him after -the catechism-lesson were inattentive. John scolded them, but without -result. Then the head-master came forward with a cane; took the book -from John and made a little speech, to the effect that this division -was the worst, but now their teacher should see how to deal with them. -The exercise which followed seemed to have as its object the attainment -of perfect attention. The absolute again seemed to be the standard by -which these children were to be trained in this incomplete world of -relativity. - -The boy who was reading was interrupted, and another name called at -random out of the class. To follow attentively was assumed to be the -easiest thing in the world by this old man who certainly must have -experienced how thoughts wander their own way while the eyes pass -over the printed page. The inattentive one was dragged by his hair or -clothes and caned till he fell howling on the ground. - -Then the head-master departed after recommending John to use the cane -diligently. There remained nothing but to follow this method or to go; -the latter did not suit John's plans, therefore he remained. He made a -speech to the children and referred to the head-master. "Now," he said, -"you know how you must behave if you want to escape a thrashing. He who -gets one, has himself to thank. Don't blame me. Here is the stick, and -there is your lesson. Learn your lesson or you will get the stick,--and -it isn't my fault." - -That was cunningly put, but it was unmerciful, for one ought to have -first ascertained how far the children could do their work. They could -not, for they were the most lively and therefore the most inattentive. -So the cane was kept going all day, accompanied by cries of pain, and -fear on the faces of the innocent. It was terrible! To pay attention -is not in the power of the will, and therefore all this punishment was -mere torture. John felt the absurdity of the part he had to play, but -he had to do his duty. Sometimes he was tired and let things go as they -liked, but then his colleagues, male and female, came and made friendly -representations. Sometimes he found the whole thing so ridiculous -that he could not help smiling with the children while he caned them. -Both sides saw that they were working at something impossible and -unnecessary. - -Ibsen, who does not believe in the aristocracy of birth or of wealth, -has lately (1886) expressed his belief that the industrial class -are the true nobility. But why should they necessarily be so? If to -do no manual labour tends to degeneration, perhaps degeneration is -brought about even more quickly by excessive labour and want. All -these children born of manual labourers looked more sickly, weak and -stupid than the upper-class children which he had seen. One or the -other muscle might be more strongly developed,--a shoulder-blade, a -hand, or a foot,--but they looked anaemic under their pale skins. -Many had extraordinarily large heads which seemed to be swollen with -water, their ears and noses ran, their hands were frost-bitten. The -various professional diseases of town-labourers seemed to have been -inherited; one saw in miniature the gas-worker's lungs and blood spoilt -by sulphur-fumes, the smith's shoulders and feet bent out-wards, the -painter's brain atrophied by varnishes and poisonous colours, the -scrofulous eruption of the chimney sweeper, the contracted chest of -the book-binder; here one heard the cough of the workers in metal -and asphalt, smelt the poisons of the paper-stainer, observed the -watch-maker's short-sightedness, in second editions, so to speak. In -truth this was no race to which the future belonged, or on which the -future could build; nor was it a race which could permanently increase, -for the ranks of the workers are continually recruited from the country. - -It was not till about two o'clock that the great school-room was -emptied, for it took them about an hour with blows and raps to get out -of it into the street. The most unpractical part of it was that the -children had to march into the hall in troops to get their overcoats -and cloaks, and then march into the school-room again, instead of -going straight home. When John got into the street, he asked himself -"Is that the celebrated education which they have given to the lower -classes with so much sacrifice?" He could ask, and he was answered, -"Can it be done in any other way?" "No," he was obliged to answer. "If -it is your intention to educate a slavish lower class, always ready to -obey, train them with the stick,--if you mean to bring up a proletariat -to demand nothing of life, tell them lies about heaven. Tell them that -your method of teaching is ridiculous, let them begin to criticise -or get their way in one point and you have taken a step towards the -dissolution of society. But society is built up upon an obedient -conscientious lower class; therefore keep them down from the first; -deprive them of will and reason, and teach them to hope for nothing but -to be content." There was method in this madness. - -As regards the instruction in the elementary school, there was both -a good and bad side to it; the good was that they had introduced -object-teaching after the example of Pestalozzi, Rousseau's disciple; -the bad, that the students who taught in the elementary schools had -introduced "scientific" teaching. The simple learning by heart of the -multiplication table was not enough; it, together with fractions, -had to be understood. Understood? And yet an engineer who has been -through the technical high school cannot explain "why" a fraction -can be diminished by three if the sum of the figures is divisible by -three. On this principle seamen would not be allowed to use logarithm -tables, because they cannot calculate logarithms. To be always -relaying the foundation instead of building on what is already laid is -an educational luxury and leads to the over-multiplication of lessons -in schools. - -Some one may object that John should first have reformed himself -as teacher, before he set about reforming the system of education; -but he could not; he was a passive instrument in the hands of the -superintendent and the school authorities. The best teachers, that is -to say, those who forced the worst (in this case the best) results out -of the pupils were the uneducated ones who came from the Seminary. They -were not sceptical about the methods in use and had no squeamishness -about caning, but the children respected them the most. A great coarse -fellow who had formerly been a carriage-maker had the bigger boys -completely under his thumb. The lower class seem to have really more -fear and respect for those of their own rank than the upper class. -Bailiffs and foremen are more awe-imposing than superintendents and -teachers. Do the lower classes see that the superior who has come out -of their ranks understands their affairs better, and therefore pay him -more respect? The female teachers also enjoyed more respect than the -male. They were pedantic, demanded absolute perfection, and were not at -all soft-hearted, but rather cruel. They were fond of practising the -refined cruelty of blows on the palm of the hand and showed in so doing -a want of intelligence which the most superficial study of physiology -would have remedied. When a child by involuntary reflex action, drew -his fingers back, he was punished all the more for not keeping his -fingers still. As if one could prevent blinking, when something blew -into one's eye! The female teachers had the advantage of knowing very -little about teaching and were plagued with no doubts. It was not true -that they had less pay than the men teachers. They had relatively more; -and if after passing a paltry teacher's examination they had received -more than the students, that would have been unjust. They were treated -with partiality, regarded as miracles, when they were competent, and -received allowances for travelling abroad. - -As comrades, they were friendly and helpful if one was polite and -submissive and let them hold the reins. There was not the slightest -trace of flirtation; the men saw them in anything but becoming -situations, and under an aspect which women do not usually show to -the other sex, viz. that of jailers. They made notes of everything, -prepared themselves for their lessons, were narrow-minded and content, -and saw through nothing. It was a very suitable occupation for them -under existing circumstances. - -When John was thoroughly sick of caning, or could not manage a boy, or -was in despair generally, he sent the black sheep to a female teacher, -who willingly undertook the unpleasant role of executioner. - -What it is that makes the competent teacher is not clear. Some produced -an effect by their quiet manner, others by their nervousness; some -seemed to magnetise the children, others beat them; some imposed on -them by their age or their manly appearance, etc. The women worked as -women, _i.e._ through a half-forgotten tradition of a past matriarchate. - -John was not competent. He looked too young and was only just nineteen; -he was sceptical about the methods employed and everything else; with -all his seriousness he was playful and boyish. The whole matter to him -was only an employment by the way, for he was ambitious and wished to -advance, but did not know in which direction. - -Moreover he was an aristocrat like his contemporaries. Through -education his habits and senses had been refined, or spoilt, as one may -choose to call it; he found it hard to tolerate unpleasant smells, ugly -objects, distorted bodies, coarse expressions, torn clothes. Life had -given him much, and these daily reminders of poverty plagued him like -an evil conscience. He himself might have been one of the lower class -if his mother had married one of her own position. - -"He was proud" a shop-boy would have said, who had mounted to the -position of editor of a paper and boasted that he was content with his -lot, forgetting that he might well be content since he had risen from -a low position. "He was proud" a master shoemaker would have said, who -would have rather thrown himself into the sea than become an apprentice -again. John _was_ proud, of that there was no doubt, as proud as the -master shoemaker, but not in such a high degree, as he had descended -from the level of the student to the elementary school-teacher. That, -however, was no virtue, but a necessity, and he did not therefore boast -of his step downward, nor give himself the air of being a friend of -the people. One cannot command sympathies and antipathies, and for the -lower class to demand love and self-sacrifice from the upper class is -mere idealism. The lower class is sacrificed for the upper class, but -they have offered themselves willingly. They have the right to take -back their rights, but they should do it themselves. No one gives up -his position willingly, therefore the lower class should not wait for -kings and the upper class to go. "Pull us down! but all together." - -If an intelligent man of the upper class help in such an operation, -those below should be thankful to him especially since such an act is -liable to the imputation of being inspired by impure motives. Therefore -the lower class should not too narrowly inspect the motives of those -who help them; the result is in all eases the same. The aristocrats -seem to have seen this and therefore regard one of themselves who sides -with the proletariat as a traitor. He is a traitor to his class, that -is true; and the lower class should put it to his credit. - -John was not an aristocrat in the sense that he used the word "mob" or -despised the poor. Through his mother he was closely allied to them, -but circumstances had estranged him from them. That was the fault of -class-education. This fault might be done away with for the future, if -elementary schools were reformed by the inclusion of the knowledge of -civil duties in their programme, and by their being made obligatory for -all, without exception, as the militia-schools are. Then it would be no -longer a disgrace to become an elementary school-teacher as it now is, -and made a matter of reproach to a man that he has been one. - -John, in order to keep himself above, applied himself to his future -work. To this end he studied Italian grammar in his spare time at the -school. He could now buy books and did so. He was honest enough not to -construe these efforts at climbing up as an ideal thirst for knowledge -or a striving for the good of humanity. He simply read for his degree. - -But the meagre diet he had lived on in Upsala, his midday meals at 6 -kronas, the milk and the bread had undermined his strength, and he -was now in the pleasure-seeking period of youth. It was tedious at -home, and in the afternoons he went to the cafe or the restaurant, -where he met friends. Strong drinks invigorated him and he slept well -after them. The desire for alcohol seems to appear regularly in each -adolescent. All northerners are born of generations of drinkers from -the early heathen times, when beer and mead was drunk, and it is quite -natural that this desire should be felt as a necessity. With John it -was an imperious need the suppression of which resulted in a diminution -of strength. It may be questioned whether abstinence for us may not -involve the same risk, as the giving up of poison for an arsenic-eater. -Probably the otherwise praiseworthy temperance movement will merely -end in demanding moderation; that is a virtue and not a mere exhibition -of will power which results in boasting and self-righteousness. - -John who had hitherto only worn east-off suits, began to wear fine -clothes. His salary seemed to him extraordinarily great and in the -magnifying-glass of his fancy assumed huge proportions, with the result -that he soon ran into debt. Debt which grew and grew and could never be -paid, became the vulture gnawing at his life, the object of his dreams, -the wormwood which poisoned his content. What foolish hopefulness, what -colossal self-deceit it was to incur debts! What did he expect? To gain -an academic dignity. And then? To become a teacher with a salary of 750 -kronas! Less than he had now! Not the least trying part of his work was -to accommodate his brain to the capacity of the children. That meant -to come down to the level of the younger and less intelligent, and to -screw down the hammer so that it might hit the anvil,--an operation -which injured the machine. - -On the other hand he derived real profit from his observations in -the families of the children, whom his duty required him to visit on -Sundays. There was one boy in his class who was the most difficult of -all. He was dirty and ill-dressed, grinned continually, smelt badly, -never knew his lessons and was always being caned. He had a very large -head and staring eyes which rolled and turned about continually. John -had to visit his parents in order to find out the reason of his -irregular attendance at school and bad behaviour. He therefore went -to the Apelbergsgata where they kept a public-house. He found that -the father had gone to work, but the mother was at the counter. The -public-house was dark and evil-smelling, filled with men who looked -threateningly at John as he entered probably taking him for a plain -clothes policeman. He gave his message to the mother and was asked -into a room behind the counter. One glance at it sufficed to explain -everything. The mother blamed her son and excused him alternately and -she had some reason for the latter. The boy was accustomed to "lick the -glasses,"--that was the explanation and that was enough. What could be -done in such a case? A change of dwelling, better food, a nurse to look -after him and so on. All these were questions of money! - -Afterwards he came to the Clara poor-house, which was empty of its -usual occupants and provisionally opened to families because of the -want of houses. In a great hall lay and stood quite a dozen families, -who had divided the floor with strokes of chalk. There stood a -carpenter with his planing-bench, here sat a shoemaker with his board; -round about on both sides of the chalk-line women sat and children -crawled. What could John do there? Send in a report on a matter which -was perfectly well known, distribute wood-tickets and orders for meat -and clothing. - -In Kungsholmsbergen he came across specimens of proud poverty. There he -was shown the door, "God be thanked, we have no need of charity. We -are all right." - -"Indeed! Then you should not let your boy go in torn boots in winter." - -"That is not your business, sir," and the door was slammed. - -Sometimes he saw sad scenes,--a child sick, the room full of sulphur -fumes of coke, and all coughing from the grandmother down to the -youngest. What could he do except feel dispirited and make his escape? -At that period there was no other means of help except charity; writers -who described the state of things, contented themselves with lamenting -it; no one saw any hope. Therefore there was nothing to do except to be -sorry, help temporarily, and fly in order not to despair. - -All this lay like a heavy cloud upon him, and he lost pleasure in -study. He felt there was something wrong here, but nothing could be -done said all the newspapers and books and people. It must be so but -every one is free to climb. You climb too! - -Time went on and spring approached. John's closest acquaintance -was a teacher from the Sloejd School. He was a poet, well-versed -in literature, and also musical. They generally walked to the -Stallmastergarden restaurant, discussed literature, and ate their -supper there. While John was paying his attentions to the waitress, -his friend played the piano. Sometimes the latter amused himself by -writing comic verses to girls. John was seized with a craze for writing -verse but could not. The gift must be born with one, he thought, and -inspiration descend all of a sudden, as in the case of conversion. -He was evidently not one of the elect, and felt himself neglected by -nature and maimed. - -One evening when John was sitting and chatting with the girl, she said -quite suddenly to him, "Friday is my birthday; you must write some -verses for me." - -"Yes," answered John, "I will." - -Later on when he met his friend, he told him of his hasty promise. - -"I will write them for you," he said. The next day he brought a poem, -copied out in a fine hand-writing and composed in John's name. It was -piquant and amusing. John dispatched it on the morning of the birthday. - -In the evening of the same day both the friends came to eat their -supper and to congratulate the girl. She did not appear for an hour for -she had to serve guests. The teachers' meal was brought and they began -to eat. - -Then the girl appeared in the doorway and beckoned John. She looked -almost severe. John went to her and they ascended a flight of stairs. -"Have you written the verses?" she asked. - -"No," said John. - -"Ah, I thought so. The lady behind the buffet said she had read them -two years ago when the teacher sent them to Majke who was an ugly girl. -For shame, John!" - -He took his cap and wanted to rush out, but the girl caught hold of him -and tried to keep him back for she saw that he looked deathly pale -and beside himself. But he wrenched himself free and hastened into -the Bellevue Park. He ran into the wood leaving the beaten tracks. -The branches of the bushes flew into his face, stones rolled over his -feet, and frightened birds rose up. He was quite wild with shame, and -instinctively sought the wood in order to hide himself. It is a curious -phenomenon that at the utmost pitch of despair a man runs into the -wood before he plunges into the water. The wood is the penultimate and -the water the ultimate resource. It is related of a famous author, who -had enjoyed a twenty years' popularity quietly and proudly, that he -was suddenly cast down from his position. He was as though struck by a -thunderbolt, went half-mad and sought the shelter of the woods where -he recovered himself. The wood is the original home of the savage and -the enemy of the plough and therefore of culture. When a civilised man -suddenly strips off the garb of civilisation, the artistically woven -fabric of his repute, he becomes in a moment a savage or a wild beast. -When a man becomes mad, he begins to throw off his clothes. What is -madness? A relapse? Yes, many think animals mad. - -It was evening when John entered the wood. In the midst of some -bushes he laid down on a great block of stone. He was ashamed of -himself,--that was the chief impression on his mind. An emotional man -is more severe with himself than others think. He scourged himself -unmercifully. He had wished to shine in borrowed plumage, and so lied; -and in the second place he had insulted an innocent girl. The first -part of the accusation affected him in a very sensitive point,--his -want of poetic capacity. He wished to do more than he could. He was -discontent with the position which nature and society had assigned -him. Yes, but (and now his self-defence began after the evening air -had cooled his blood), in the school one had been always exhorted to -strive upwards; those who did so were praised, and discontent with -the position one might happen to be in, was justified. Yes but (here -the scourge descended!) he had tried to deceive. To deceive! That was -unpardonable. He was ashamed, stripped and unmasked without any means -of retreat. Deception, falsity, cheating! So it was! - -As a quondam Christian, John was most afraid of having a fault, and -as a member of society he feared lest it should be visible. Everybody -knew that one had faults, but to acknowledge them was regarded as a -piece of cynicism, for society always wishes to appear better than it -is. Sometimes, however, society demanded that one should confess one's -fault if one wished for forgiveness, but that was a trick. Society -wished for confession in order to enjoy the punishment, and was very -deceitful. John had confessed his fault, been punished, and still his -conscience was uneasy. - -The second point regarding the girl was also difficult. She had loved -him purely and he had insulted her. How coarse and vulgar! Why should -he think that a waitress could not love innocently? His own mother had -been in the same position as that girl. He had insulted her. Shame -upon him! - -Now he heard shouts in the park, and his name being called. The girl's -voice and his friend's echoed among the trees, but he did not answer -them. For a moment the scourge fell out of his hands; he became sobered -and thought, "I will go back, we will have supper, call Riken and drink -a glass with her, and it will be all over." But no! He was too high up -and one cannot descend all at once. - -The voices became silent. He lay back in a state of semi-stupefaction -and ground his double crime between the mill-stones of rumination. He -had lied and hurt her feelings. - -It began to grow dark. There was a rustling in the bushes; he started -and a sweat broke out upon him. Then he went out and sat upon a seat -till the dew fell. He shivered and felt poorly. Then he got up and went -home. - -Now his head was clear and he could think. What a stupid business it -all was! He did not really mean that she should take him for a poet, -and had been quite ready to explain the whole trick. It was all a joke. -His friend had made a fool of him, but it did not matter. - -When he got home he found his friend sleeping in his bed. He wanted -to rise but John would not let him. He wished to scourge himself once -more. He lay on the floor, put a cigar-box under his head and drew a -volunteer's cloak over him. In the morning when he awoke, John asked in -trembling tones, "How did she take it?" - -"Ah, she laughed; then we drank a glass, and it was over. She liked the -verses." - -"She laughed! Was she not angry?" - -"Not at all." - -"Then she only humbugged me." - -John wished to hear no more. This trifle had kept him on the rack for a -whole dreadful night. He felt ashamed of having asked whether she was -disquieted about him. But since she had laughed and drunk punch she -could not have been. Not even anxious about his life! - -He dressed himself and went down to the school. - -The habit of self-criticism derived from his religious training had -accustomed him to occupy himself with his ego, to fondle and cherish -it, as though it were a separate and beloved personality. So cherished -the ego expanded and kept continually looking within instead of -without upon the world. It was an interesting personal acquaintance, a -friend who must be flattered, but who must also hear the truth and be -corrected. - -It was the mental malady of the time reduced to a system by Fichte, -who taught that everything took place in the ego and through the ego, -without which there was no reality. It was the formula for romanticism -and for subjective idealism. - -"I stood on the shore under the king's castle," "I dwell in the cave -of the mountain," "I, small boy, watch the door," "I think of the -beautiful times,"--all these phrases struck the same note. Was this "I" -really so proud. Was not the poet's "I" more modest than the editor's -royal "we"? - -This absorption in self, or the new malady of culture, of which much -is written nowadays, has been common with all men who have not worked -with their bodies. The brain is only an organ for imparting movement -to the muscles. Now when in a civilised man the brain cannot act upon -the muscles, nor bring its power into play, there results a disturbance -of equilibrium. The brain begins to dream; too full of juices which -cannot be absorbed by muscular activity, it converts them involuntarily -into systems, into thought-combinations, into the hallucinations which -haunt painters, sculptors and poets. If no outlet can be found, there -follows stagnation, violent outbreaks, depression, and at last madness. -Schools which are often vestibules for asylums, have recourse to -gymnastics, but with what result? There is no connection between the -pupil's cerebral activity and the muscular activity called into play by -gymnastics; the latter is only directed by another's will through the -word of command. - -All studious youths are aware of this tendency to congestion of the -brain. It is a good thing that they often go out to improve or to -beautify society, but it would be better if the equilibrium were -restored, and a sound mind dwelt in a sound body. It has been sought to -introduce physical work into schools as a remedy. It would be better -to let elementary knowledge be acquired at home, to make the school -a day-school, and to let every one look after himself. For the rest -the emancipation of the lower classes will compel the higher classes -to undertake some of the physical labour now carried on by domestics -and so the equilibrium will be restored. That such labour does not -blunt the intelligence can be easily seen by observing that some of -the strongest minds of the time have had such daily contact with -reality, _e.g._ Mill the civil service official, Spencer, the civil -engineer, Edison the telegraphist. The student period of life, the most -unwholesome because not under discipline, is also the most dangerous. -The brain continually takes in, without producing anything, not even -anything intellectual, while the whole muscular system is unoccupied. - -John at this time was suffering from an over-production of thought and -imagination. The mechanical school-work continually revolving in the -same circle with the same questions and answers afforded no relief. -It increased on the other hand his stock of observations of children -and teachers. There lay and fermented in his mind a quantity of -experiences, perceptions, criticisms and thoughts without any order. He -therefore sought for society in order to speak his mind out. But it was -not sufficient, and as he did not find any one who was willing to act -as a sounding-board, he took to declaiming poetry. - -In the early sixties declamation was much the fashion. In families they -used to read aloud "The Kings of Salamis." In the numerous volunteer -concerts the same pieces were declaimed over and over again. These -declamations were what the quartette singing had been, an outlet for -all the hope and enthusiasm called forth by the awakening of 1865. -Since Swedes are neither born nor trained orators, they became singers -and reciters, perhaps because their want of originality sought a -ready-made means of expression. They could execute but not create. The -same want of originality showed itself in the bachelor's gatherings -where reciters of anecdotes were much in request. This feeble and -tedious form of amusement was superseded when the new questions of the -day provided food for conversation and discussion. - -One day John came to his friend the elementary school-teacher whom he -found together with another young colleague. When the conversation -began to slacken, his friend produced a volume of Schiller, whose poems -had just then appeared in a cheap edition and were bought mostly for -that reason. They opened "The Robbers" and read round in turn, John -taking the part of Karl Moor. The first scene of the first act took -place between old Moor and Franz. Then came the second scene: John -read, "I am sick of this quill-driving age when I read of great men -in Plutarch." He did not know the play and had never seen bandits. -At first he read absent-mindedly, but his interest was soon aroused. -The play struck a new note. He found his obscure dreams expressed -in words; his rebellious criticisms printed. Here then was another, -a great and famous author who felt the same disgust at the whole -course of education in school and university as he did, who would -rather be Robinson Crusoe or a bandit than be enrolled in this army -which is called society. He read on; his voice shook, his cheeks -glowed, his breast heaved: "They bar out healthy nature with tasteless -conventionalities."... There it stood all in black and white. "And that -is Schiller!" he exclaimed, "the same Schiller who wrote the tedious -history of the Thirty Years' War, and the tame drama "Wallenstein" -which is read in schools!" Yes, it was the same man. Here (in "The -Robbers") he preached revolt, revolt against law, society, morals -and religion. That was in the revolt of 1781 eight years before the -great revolution. That was the anarchists' programme a hundred years -before its time, and Karl Moor was a nihilist. The drama came out with -a lion on the title-page and with the inscription "In Tyrannos." The -author then (1781) aged two-and-twenty had to fly. There was no doubt -therefore about the intention of the piece. There was also another -motto from Hippocrates which showed this intention as plainly; "What is -not cured by medicine must be cured by iron; what is not cured by iron -must be cured by fire." - -That was clear enough! But in the preface the author apologised and -recanted. He disclaimed all sympathy with Franz Moor's sophisms and -said that he wished to exhibit the punishment of wickedness in Karl -Moor. Regarding religion he said, "Just now it is the fashion to make -religion a subject for one's wit to play upon as Voltaire and Frederick -the Great did, and a man is scarcely reckoned a genius unless he can -make the holiest truths the object of his godless satire...." I hope -I have exacted no ordinary revenge for religion and sound morality in -handing over these obstinate despisers of Scripture in the person of -this scoundrelly bandit, to public contumely. Was then Schiller true -when he wrote the drama, and false when he wrote the preface? True in -both cases, for man is a complex creature, and sometimes appears in his -natural sometimes in his artificial character. At his writing-table -in loneliness, when the silent letters were being written down on -paper, Schiller seems like other young authors to have worked under the -influence of a blind natural impulse without regard to mens' opinion, -without thinking of the public, or laws, or constitutions. The veil -was lifted for a moment and the falsity of society seen through in its -whole extent. The silence of the night when literary work--especially -in youth,--is carried on, causes one to forget the noisy artificial -life outside, and darkness hides the heaps of stones over which animals -which are ill-adapted to their environment stumble. Then comes the -morning, the light of day, the street noises, men, friends, police, -clocks striking, and the seer is afraid of his own thoughts. Public -opinion raises its cry, newspapers sound the alarm, friends drop off, -it becomes lonely round one, and an irresistible terror seizes the -attacker of society. "If you will not be with us," society says, "then -go into the woods. If you are an animal ill-adapted to its environment, -or a savage, we will deport you to a lower state of society which -you will suit." And from its own point of view society is right and -always will be right. But the society of the future will celebrate the -revolter, the individual, who has brought about social improvement, and -the revolter is justified long after his death. - -In every intelligent youth's life there comes a moment when he is in -the transition stage between family life and that of society, when -he feels disgusted at artificial civilisation and breaks out. If he -remains in society, he is soon suppressed by the united wet-blankets -of sentiment and anxiety about living; he becomes tired, dazzled, -drops off and leaves other young men to continue the fight. This -unsophisticated glance into things, this outbreak of a healthy nature -which must of necessity take place in an unspoilt youth, has been -stigmatised by a name which is intended to depreciate the idealistic -impulses of youth. It is called "spring fever" by which is meant that -it is only a temporary illness of childhood, a rising of the vernal -sap, which produces stoppage of the circulation and giddiness. But who -knows whether the youth did not see right before society put out his -eyes? And why do they despise him afterwards? - -Schiller had to creep into a public post for the sake of a living and -even eat the bread of charity from a duke's hand. Therefore his writing -degenerated, though perhaps not from an aesthetic or subordinate point -of view. But his hatred of tyrants is everywhere manifest. It declares -itself against Philip II of Spain, Dorea of Genoa, Gessler of Austria, -but therefore ceases to be effective. Schiller's rebellion which was in -the first instance directed against society, was afterwards directed -against the monarchy alone. He closes his career with the following -advice to a world reformer (not, however, till he had seen the reaction -which followed the French Revolution). "For rain and dew and for the -welfare of mankind, let heaven care to-day, my friend, as it has always -done." Heaven, the unfortunate old heaven will care for it, just as -well as it has done before. - -Just as a man once does his militia duty at the age of twenty-one, so -Schiller did his. How many have shirked it! - -John did not take the preface to "The Robbers" very seriously or rather -ignored it; but he took Karl Moor literally for he was congenial. He -did not imitate him, for he was so like him that he had no need to do -so. He was just as mutinous, just as wavering, and just as ready at an -alarm to go and deliver himself into the hands of justice. - -His disgust at everything continually increased and he began to make -plans for flight from organised society. Once it occurred to him to -journey to Algiers and enlist in the Foreign Legion. That would be -fine he thought to live in the desert in a tent, to shoot at half-wild -men or perhaps be shot by them. But circumstances occurred at the -right moment, to reconcile him again with his environment. Through the -recommendation of a friend he was offered the post of tutor to two -girls in a rich and cultured family. The children were to be educated -in a new and liberal-minded method and neither to go to a girls' school -nor have a governess. That was an important task to which he was -called and John did not feel himself adequate to it; besides which he -objected that he was only an elementary school-teacher. He was answered -that his future employers knew that, but were liberal-minded. How -liberal-minded people were at that time! - -Now there commenced a new double life for him. From the penal -institution of the elementary school with its compulsory catechism and -Bible, its poverty, wretchedness, and cruelty, he went to dinner at -one o'clock, which he swallowed in a quarter of an hour, and then by -two o'clock was at his post as private tutor. The house was one of the -finest at that time in Stockholm with a porter, Pompeian stair-cases -and painted windows in the hall. In a handsome, large, well-lighted -corner room with flowers, bird-cages and an aquarium he was to give -lessons to two well-dressed, washed and combed little girls, who -looked cheerful and satisfied after their dinner. Here he could give -expression to his own thoughts. The catechism was banished, and only -select Bible stories were to be read together with broad-minded -explanations of the life and teachings of the Ideal Man, for the -children were not to be confirmed, but brought up after a new model. -They read Schiller and were enthusiastic for William Tell and the -fortunate little land of freedom. John taught them all that he knew and -spent more time in talking than in asking questions; he roused in them -the hopes of a better future which he shared himself. - -Here he obtained an insight into a social circle hitherto unknown to -him, that of the rich and cultured. Here he found liberal-mindedness, -courage and the desire for truth. Down below in the elementary school -they were cowardly, conservative and untruthful. Would the parents of -the children be willing to have religious teaching done away with, -even if the school authorities recommended it? Probably not. Must -then illumination come from the upper classes? Certainly, though not -from the highest class of all, but from the republic of truth-seeking -scientists. John saw that one must get an upper place in order to be -heard; therefore he must strive upwards or pull culture down and cast -the sparks of it among all. One needed to be economically independent -in order to be liberally minded; a position was necessary in order to -give one's words weight; thus aristocracy ruled in this sphere also. - -There was at that time a group of young doctors, men of science and -letters, and members of parliament who formed a liberal league without -constituting themselves a formal society. They gave popular lectures, -engaged not to receive any honorary decorations, cherished liberal -views on the subject of the State Church and wrote in the papers. Among -them were Axel Key, Nordenskioeld, Christian Loven, Harald Wieselgren, -Hedlund, Victor Rydberg, Meijerberg, Jolin, and many less-known names. -These, with one or two exceptions, worked quietly without creating -excitement. After the reaction of 1872 they fell off and became tired; -they could not join any political party which was rather an advantage -than otherwise for the country party had already begun to be corrupted -by yearly visiting Stockholm and attendance at the court. They now all -belong to the moderate or respectable liberal party, except those of -them who have joined the indifferents, a fact not to be wondered at, -after they had for so many years fought uselessly for nothing. - -Through the family of his pupils John came into external touch with -this group, obtained a closer view of them, and heard their speeches at -dinners and suppers. To John they sometimes seemed the very men whom -the time needed, who would first spread enlightenment and then work -for reform. Here he met the superintendent of the elementary school -and was surprised at finding him among the liberals. But he had the -school authorities over him and was as good as powerless. At a cheerful -dinner, when John had plucked up heart, he wished to have an intimate -talk with him and to come to an understanding. "Here," he thought, -"we can play the part of augurs and laugh with each other over our -champagne." But the superintendent did not want to laugh and asked him -to postpone the conversation till they met in the school. No, John did -not want to do that, for in the school both would have other views, and -speak of something else. - -John's debts increased and so did his work. He was in the school from -eight till one; then he ate his dinner and went to give his private -lessons within half-an-hour, arriving out of breath, with food half -digested, and sleepy; then he taught till four o'clock going out -afterwards to give more lessons in the Nordtullsgata; he returned to -his girl pupils in the evening, and then read far into the night for -his examination after ten hours' teaching. That was over-work. The -pupil thinks his work hard, but he is only the carriage while the -teacher is the horse. Teaching is decidedly harder than standing by a -screw or the crane of a machine, and equally monotonous. - -His brain, dulled by work and disturbed digestion, needed to be roused, -and his strength needed replenishing. He chose the shortest and best -method by going into a cafe, drinking a glass of wine, and sitting for -a while. It was good that there were such places of recreation, where -young men could meet and fathers of families recruit themselves over a -newspaper and talk of something else than business. - -The following summer he went out to a summer settlement outside the -city. There he read daily for a couple of hours with his girl pupils -and a whole number of children besides them. The summer settlement -afforded rich and varied opportunities of social intercourse. It was -divided into three camps,--the learned, the aesthetic and the civic. -John belonged to all three. It has been asserted that loneliness -injures the development of character (into an automaton), and if -has been also asserted that much social intercourse is bad for the -development of character. Everything can be said and can be true; it -all depends upon the point of view. But no doubt for the development -of the soul into a rich and free life much social intercourse is -necessary. The more men one sees and talks with, the more points -of view and experiences one gains. Every one conceals a grain of -originality in himself, every individual has his own history. John got -on equally well with all; he spoke on learned matters with the learned, -discussed art and literature with the aesthetes, sang quartettes and -danced with the young people, taught the children and botanised, -sailed, rode and swam with them. But after he had spent some time in -the rush, he withdrew into solitude for a day or two to digest his -impressions. Those who were really happy were the townsmen. They came -from their work in the town, shook off their cares and played in the -evening. Old wholesale merchants played in the ring and sang and danced -like children. The learned and the aesthetic on the other hand sat -on chairs, spoke of their work, were worried by their thoughts as by -nightmares and never seemed to be really happy. They could not free -themselves from the tyranny of thought. The tradesmen, however, had -preserved a little green spot in their hearts which neither the thirst -for gain nor speculation nor competition had been able to parch up. -There was something emotional and hearty about them which John was -inclined to call "nature." They could laugh like lunatics, scream like -savages, and be swayed by the emotions of the moment. They wept over -a friend's misfortune or death, embraced each other when delighted -and could be carried out of themselves by a beautiful sunset. The -professors sat in chairs and could not see the landscape because of -their eye-glasses, their looks were directed inwards, and they never -showed their feelings. They talked in syllogisms and formulas; their -laughter was bitter, and all their learning seemed like a puppet play. -Is that then the highest point of view? It is not a defect to have let -a whole region of the soul's life lie fallow? - -It was the third camp with which John was on the most intimate -terms. This was a little clique consisting of a doctor's family and -their friends. There sang the renowned tenor W. while Professor M. -accompanied him; there played and sang the composer J.; there the -old Professor P. talked about his journeys to Rome in the company -of painters of high birth. Here the emotions had full play, but -were under the control of good taste. They enjoyed the sunsets, but -analysed the lights and shades and talked of lines and "values." The -more noisy enjoyments of the tradesmen were regarded as disturbing -and unaesthetic. They were enthusiasts for art. John spent some hours -pleasantly with these amiable people, but when he heard the sound of -quartette singing and dance-music from the villa close by, he longed to -be there. That was certainly more lively. - -In hours of solitude he read, and now for the first time, became really -acquainted with Byron. "Don Juan," which he already knew, he had found -merely frivolous. It really dealt with nothing and the descriptions -of scenery were intolerably long. The work seemed merely a string of -adventures and anecdotes. In "Manfred" he renewed acquaintance with -Karl Moor in another dress. Manfred was no hater of men; he hated -himself more, and went to the Alps in order to fly himself, but always -found his guilty self beside him, for John guessed at once that he had -been guilty of incest. Nowadays it is generally believed that Byron -hinted at this crime, which was purely imaginary, in order to make -himself appear interesting. To become interesting as a romanticist at -whatever price would at the present time be called "differentiating -oneself, going beyond and above the others." Crime was regarded as -a sign of strength, therefore it was considered desirable to have a -crime to boast about, but not such a one as could be punished. They did -not want to have anything to do with the police and penal servitude. -There was certainly a spirit of opposition to law and morality in this -boasting of crime. - -Manfred's discontent with heaven and the government of Providence -pleased John. Manfred's denunciations of men were really levelled at -society, though society as we now understand it, had not then been -discovered. Rousseau, Byron and the rest were by no means discontented -misogynists. It was only primitive Christianity which demanded that men -should love men. To say that one was interested in them would be more -modest and truthful. One who has been overreached and thrust aside in -the battle of life may well fear men, but one cannot hate them when -one realises one's solidarity with humanity and that human intercourse -is the greatest pleasure in life. Byron was a spirit who awoke before -the others and might have been expected to hate his contemporaries, but -none the less strove and suffered for the good of all. - -When John saw that the poem was written in blank verse he tried to -translate it, but had not got far, before he discovered that he could -not write verse. He was not "called." Sometimes melancholy, sometimes -frisky, John felt at times an uncontrollable desire to quench the -burning fire of thought in intoxication and bring the working of his -brain to a standstill. Though he was shy, he felt occasionally impelled -to step forward, to make himself impressive, to collect hearers and -appear on a stage. When he had drunk a good deal, he wanted to declaim -poetry in the grand style. But in the middle of the piece, when his -ecstasy was at its highest, he heard his own voice, became nervous and -embarrassed, found himself ridiculous, suddenly dropped into a prosaic -and comic tone and ended with a grimace; he could be pathetic, but -only for a while; then came self-criticism and he laughed at his own -overwrought feelings. The romantic was in his blood, but the realistic -side of him was about to wake up. - -He was also liable to attacks of caprice and self-punishment. Thus he -remained away from a dinner to which he had been invited and lay in his -room hungry till the evening. He excused himself by saying that he had -overslept. - -The summer approached its end and he looked forward to the beginning of -the autumn term in the elementary school with dread. He had now been -in circles where poverty never showed its emaciated face; he had tasted -the enticing wine of culture and did not wish to become sober again. - -His depression increased; he retired into himself and withdrew from the -circle of his friends. But one evening, there was a knock at his door; -the old doctor who had been his most intimate friend and lived in the -same villa, stepped in. - -"How are the moods?" he asked, and sat down with the air of an old -fatherly friend. - -John did not wish to confess. How was he to say that he was -discontented with his position, and acknowledge that he was ambitious -and wished to advance in life? But the doctor had seen and understood -all. "You must be a doctor," he said. "That is a practical vocation -which will suit you, and bring you into touch with real life. You have -a lively imagination which you must hold in check, or it will do harm. -Now are you inclined to this? Have I guessed right?" - -He had. Through his intercourse from afar with these new prophets who -succeeded the priests and confessors, John had come to see in their -practical knowledge of men's lives, the highest pitch of human wisdom. -To become a wise man who could solve the riddles of life,--that was for -a while his dream. For a while, for he did not really wish to enter any -career in which he could be enrolled as a regular member of society. -It was not from dislike of work, for he worked strenuously and was -unhappy when unoccupied, but he had a strong objection to be enrolled. -He did not wish to be a cypher, a cog-wheel, or a screw in the social -machine. He wished to stand outside and contemplate, learn and preach. -A doctor was in a certain sense free; he was not an official, had no -superiors, set in no public office, was not tied by the clock. That was -a fairly enticing prospect, and John was enticed. But how was he to -take a medical degree, which required eight years' study? His friend, -however, had seen a way out of this difficulty. "Live with us and teach -my boys," he said. - -This was certainly a business-like offer which carried with it no sense -of accepting a humiliating favour. But what about his place in the -school? Should he give it up? - -"That is not your place!" the doctor cut him short. "Every one should -work where his talents can have free scope, and yours cannot in the -elementary school, where you have to teach, as prescribed by the school -authorities." - -John found this reasonable, but he had been so imbued with ascetic -teaching that he felt a pang of conscience. He wanted to leave the -school, but a strange feeling of duty and obligation held him back. He -felt quite ashamed of being suspected of such a natural weakness as -ambition. And his place, as the son of a servant, had been assigned to -him below. But his father had literally pulled him up, why should he -sink and strike his roots down there again? - -He fought a short bloody conflict, then accepted the offer thankfully, -and sent in his resignation as a school-teacher. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE DOCTOR - -(1868) - - -John now found his new home with the homeless, the Israelites. He -was immediately surrounded by a new atmosphere. Here there was no -recollection of Christianity; one neither plagued oneself or others; -there was no grace at meals, no going to church, no catechism. - -"It is good to be here," thought John. "These are liberal-minded men -who have brought the best of foreign culture home, without being -obliged to take what is bad." Here for the first time, he encountered -foreign influences. The family had journeyed much, had relatives -abroad, spoke all languages, and received foreign guests. Both the -small and great affairs of the country were spoken about, and light -thrown on them by comparison with their originals abroad. By this means -John's mental horizon was widened and he was enabled to estimate his -native country better. - -The patriarchal constitution of the family had not assumed the form of -domestic tyranny. On the contrary the children treated their parents -more as their equals, and the parents were gentle with them without -losing their dignity. Placed in an unfriendly part of the world, -surrounded by half-enemies, the members of the family helped each other -and held together. To be without a native country, which is regarded -as such a hard-ship, has this advantage that it keeps the intelligence -alive and vigorous. Men who are wanderers have to watch unceasingly, -observe continually, and gain new and rich experiences, while those who -sit at home become lazy and lean upon others. - -The children of Israel occupy a peculiar and exceptional position from -a social point of view. They have forgotten the Messianic promise and -do not believe in it. In most European countries they have remained -among the middle classes; to join the lower classes was for the most -part denied them, though not so widely as is generally believed. Nor -could they join the upper classes; therefore they feel related to -neither of the latter. They are aristocrats from habit and inclination, -but have the same interests as the lower classes, _i.e_. they wish to -roll away the stone which lies upon and presses them. But they fear the -proletariat who have no religious sense and who do not love the rich. -Therefore the children of Abraham rather aspire to those above them, -than seek sympathy from those below. - -About this time (1868) the question of Jewish emancipation began to be -raised. All liberals supported it and it was practically a discarding -of Christianity. Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, confirmation, -church attendance were all declared to be unnecessary conditions for -membership in a Christian community. Such apparently small reforms -make an impression on the state, like the dropping of water on a rock. - -At that time a cheerful tone prevailed in the family, the sons having a -brighter future in prospect than their fathers, whose academic course -had been hindered by State regulations. - -A liberal table was kept in the house; everything was of the best -quality, and there was plenty of it. The servants managed the house -and were allowed a free hand in everything; they were not regarded as -servants. The housemaid was a pietist and allowed to be so, as much -as she pleased. She was good-natured and humorous, and, illogically -enough, adopted the jesting tone of the cheerful paganism which reigned -in the house. On the other hand, no one laughed at her belief. John -himself was treated as an intimate friend and a child alternately and -lived with the boys. His work was easy and he was rather required to -keep the boys company than to give them lessons. Meanwhile he became -somewhat "spoiled" as people, who have the usual idea of keeping youth -in the background, call it. Though only nineteen, he was received -on an equal footing among well-known and mature artists, doctors, -_litterateurs_ and officials. He became accustomed to regard himself as -grown up, and therefore the set-backs he encountered afterwards, were -the harder to bear. - -His medical career began with chemical experiments in the technological -institute. There he obtained a closer view of some of the glories he -had dreamed of in his childhood. But how dry and tedious were the -rudiments of science! To stand and pour acids on salts and to watch the -solution change colour, was not pleasant; to produce salts from two or -more solutions was not very interesting. But later on, when the time -came for analysis, the mysterious part began. To fill a glass about -the size of a punch-bowl with a liquid as clear as water and then to -exhibit in the filter the possibly twenty elements it contained,--this -really seemed like penetrating into nature's secrets. When he was alone -in the laboratory he made small experiments on his own account, and it -was not long before with some danger he had prepared a little phial -of prussic acid. To have death enclosed in a few drops under a glass -stopper was a curiously pleasant feeling. - -At the same time he studied zoology, anatomy, botany, physic and -Latin,--still more Latin! To read and master a subject was congenial to -him, but to learn by heart he hated. His head was already filled with -so many subjects, that it was hard for anything more to enter, but it -was obliged to. - -A worse drawback was that so many other interests began to vie in his -mind with his medical studies. The theatre was only a stone's throw -from the doctor's house and he went there twice a week. He had a -standing place at the end of the third row. From thence he saw elegant -and cheerful French comedies played on a Brussels carpet. The light -Gallic humour, admired by the melancholy Swedes as their missing -complement, completely captivated him. What a mental equilibrium, what -a power of resistance to the blows of fate were possessed by this -race of a southern sunnier land! His thoughts became still more gloomy -as he grew conscious of his Germanic "Weltschmerz" lying like a veil -over everything, which a hundred years of French education could not -have lifted. But he did not know that Parisian theatrical life differs -widely from that of the industrious and thrifty Parisian at the desk -and the counter. French comedies were written for the parvenus of -the Second Empire; politics and religion were subject to the censor, -but not morals. French comedy was aristocratic in tone, but had a -liberating effect on the mind as it was in touch with reality, though -it did not interfere in social questions. It accustomed the public to -sympathise with and feel at home in this superfine world; one came to -forget the lower everyday world, and when one left the theatre it felt -as though one had been at supper with a friendly duke. - -As chance fell out, the doctor's wife possessed a good library in -which all the best literature of the world was represented. It was -indeed a treasure to have all these at one's elbow! Moreover the doctor -possessed a number of pictures by Swedish masters and a valuable -collection of engravings. There was an efflorescence of aestheticism -on all sides, even in the schools, where lectures on literature were -delivered. The conversation in the family circle mostly turned on -pictures, dramas, actors, books, authors, and the doctor felt from time -to time impelled to flavour it with details of his practice. - -Now and then John began to read the papers. Political and social life -with their various questions opened up before him, but at first with a -repelling effect, as he was an aesthete and domestic egoist. Politics -did not seem to touch him at all; he considered it a special branch of -knowledge like any other. - -He continued his lessons to the girls and his intercourse with -their family. Outside the house he met grown up relatives, who were -tradesmen, and their acquaintances. His circle was therefore widened, -and he saw life from more than one point of view. But this constant -occupation with children had a hampering effect on his development. He -never felt himself older, and he could not treat the young with an air -of superiority. He already noticed that they were in advance of him, -that they were born with new thoughts, and that they built on, where he -had ceased. When later on in life, he met grown-up pupils, he looked up -to them as though they were the older. - -The autumn of 1865 had commenced. There had been so much miscalculation -as to the effects of the new State constitution that there was -widespread discontent. Society was turned topsy-turvy. The peasant -threatened the civilised town-dwellers and there was a general feeling -of bitterness. - -Has the last word regarding the agrarian party yet been said? Probably -not. It began with a democratic and reforming programme and its attack -on the Civil List was the boldest stroke which had yet been seen. It -was a legal attempt to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of supply -was screwed down to the lowest possible, the king would go. It was a -simple and at the same time a clever stroke. - -At a period which proclaims the right of the majority, one would not -have expected the peasants' cause would encounter resistance. Sweden -was a kingdom of peasants, for the country population numbered four -millions, which in a population of four and a half millions, is -certainly the majority. Should then the half million rule the four or -vice versa? The latter course seemed the fairer. Now naturally the -townsmen talk of the egotism and tyranny of the peasants, but have the -labour party in the town a single item in their programme to improve -the condition of the peasants and cottagers? It is so stupid to talk -of egotism when every one now sees that he profits the whole, in -proportion as he profits himself. - -Meanwhile, in 1868, the malcontents discovered a party which could be -opposed to the constitutional majority and whose programme contained -all kinds of thorough-going reforms. That was the new liberal party, -consisting for the most part of authors, some artisans, a professor, -etc. By means of this handful of people who had none of the weighty -interests which landed property involves, and whose social position -was so insecure that a single unfavourable harvest could turn them -into members of the proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society. -What did the artisans know about society? How did they wish it to be -constituted? Did they wish it to be remodelled in their interest, -although the peasantry should be ruined? But that meant cutting off -their own legs, for Sweden is not a land of exporting industries. -Therefore the four million consumers in the land, as soon as their -purchasing power was diminished, would involuntarily ruin the -industries and leave the artisans stranded. That the artisans should -advance is a necessity, but to wish to make all men industrial workers -as the industrial socialists do, is much more unreasonable than to make -them all peasants as the agrarian socialists purpose doing. Capital, -which the labour party now attack, is the foundation of industry and if -that is touched, industry is overthrown, and then the workmen must go -back whence they came and still daily come,--to the country. - -Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet corrupted by intercourse with -aristocrats; it was neither conservative nor did it make compromises. -The war seemed to be between the country and the town. The atmosphere -was electric and the smallest cause might produce a thunderstorm. - -In the capital there prevailed a general desire to erect a statue to -Charles XII. Why? Was this last knight of the Middle Ages the ideal -of the age? Bid the character of the idol of Gustav IV, Adolf, and -Charles XV suitably express the spirit of the new peaceful period -which now commenced? Or did the idea originate, as so often is the -case in the sculptor's studio? Who knows? The statue was ready and the -unveiling was to take place. Stands were erected for the spectators, -but so unskilfully that the ceremony could not be witnessed by the -general public, and the space railed off could only contain the -invited guests, the singers and those who paid for their seats. But -the subscription had been national and all believed they had a right -to see. The arrangements were obnoxious to the people. Petitions were -made to have the stands removed, but without success. The crowd began -to make attempts to tear them down, but the military intervened. The -doctor that day was giving a dinner to the Italian Opera Company. They -had just risen from dessert when a noise was heard from the street; it -was at first like rain falling on an iron roof, but then cries were -distinctly audible. John listened, but for the moment nothing more was -to be heard. The wine-glasses clinked amid Italian and French phrases -which flew hither and thither over the table; there was such a noise of -jests and laughter that those at the table could hardly hear themselves -speak. But now there came a roar from the street, followed immediately -by the tramp of horses, the rattle of weapons and harness. There was -silence in the room for a moment, and one and another turned pale. - -"What is it?" asked the prima donna. - -"The mob making a noise," answered a professor. - -John stood up from the table, went into his room, took his hat and -stick and hurried out. "The mob!"--the words rang in his ear while -he went down the street. "The mob!" They were his mother's former -associates, his own school-mates and afterwards his pupils; they formed -the dark background against which the society he had just quitted, -stood out like a brilliant picture. He felt again as though he were a -deserter, and had done wrong in working his way up. But he must get -above if he was to do anything for those below. Yes many had said -that, but when once they did get above, they found it so pleasant, -that they forgot those below. These cavalrymen, for instance, whose -origin was of the humblest, what airs they gave themselves! With what -unmixed pleasure they cut down their former comrades, though it must -be confessed they would have even more enjoyed cutting down the "black -hats." - -He went on and came to the market-place. The stands for the spectators -stood out against the November sky like gigantic market booths, and -the space below swarmed with men. From the opening of the Arsenal -street the tramp of horses was heard only a short way off. Then they -came riding forth, the blue guardsmen, the support of society, on whom -the upper class relied. John was seized with a wild desire to dash -against this mass of horses, men and sabres, as though he saw in them -oppression incarnate. That was the enemy! very well--at them! The troop -rode on and John stationed himself in the middle of the street. Whence -had he derived this hatred against the supporters of law and order, who -some day would protect him and his rights after he had clambered up, -and was in a position to oppress others? If the mob with whom he now -felt his solidarity had had their hands free, they would probably have -thrown the first stone through the window, behind which he had sat with -four wine-glasses in front of him. Certainly, but that did not prevent -his taking their side just as the upper class often, inconsistently -enough, takes sides against the police. This mania for freedom in the -abstract is probably the natural man's small revolt against society. - -He was going against the cavalry with a vague idea of striking them -all to the ground or something of the sort, when fortunately some one -seized him by the arm firmly but in a friendly way. He was brought back -to the doctor's who had sent out to seek for him. After he had given -his word of honour not to go out again he sank on a sofa, and lay all -the evening in fever. - -On the day of the unveiling of Charles XII's statue, he was one of the -student singers, therefore among the elect, the "upper ten thousand," -and had no reason to be discontented with his lot. When the ceremony -was over, the people rushed forward. The police forced them back, and -then they began to throw stones. The mounted police drew their sabres -and struck, arresting some and assaulting others. - -John had entered the market in front of the Jakob's church when he saw -a policeman lay hold of a man, under a shower of stones which knocked -off the constables' helmets. Without hesitation he sprang on the -policeman, seized him by the collar, shook him and shouted, "Let the -fellow go!" - -The policeman looked at his assailant in astonishment. - -"Who are you?" he asked irresolutely. - -"I am Satan, and I will take you, if you don't let him go." - -He actually did let him go and tried to seize John. At the same instant -a stone knocked off his three-cornered hat. John tore himself loose; -the crowd were now driven back by bayonets towards the guard-house in -the Gustaf Adolf market. After them followed a swarm of well-dressed -men, obviously members of the upper classes, shouting wildly, and as it -seemed, resolved to free the prisoners. John ran with them; it was as -though they were all impelled by a storm-wind. Men who had not been -molested or oppressed at all, who had high positions in society, rushed -blindly forward, risking their position, their domestic happiness, -their living, everything. John felt a hand grasp his. He returned the -pressure, and saw close beside him a middle-aged man, well-dressed, -with distorted features. They did not know each other, nor did they -speak together, but ran hand in hand, as if seized by one impulse. -They came across a third in whom John recognised an old school-fellow, -subsequently a civil service official, son of the head of a department. -This young man had never sided with the opposition party in school, -but on the contrary, was looked upon as a re-actionary with a future -in front of him. He was now as white as a corpse, his cheeks were -bloodless, the muscles of his forehead swollen, and his face resembled -a skull in which two eyes were burning. They could not speak, but -took each other's hands and ran on against the guards whom they were -attacking. The human waves advanced till they were met by the bayonets, -and then as always, dispersed in foam. Half-an-hour later John was -discussing a beefsteak with some students in the Opera restaurant. He -spoke of his adventure as though it were something which had happened -independently of him and his will. Nay, he even jested at it. That -may have been fear of public opinion, but also it may have been the -case that he regarded his outbreak objectively and now quietly judged -it as a member of society. The trap-door had opened for a moment, the -prisoner had put his head out, and then it had closed again. - -His unknown fellow-criminal, as he discovered later, was a pronounced -conservative, a wholesale tradesman. He always avoided meeting John's -eye, when they met after this. One time they met on a narrow pavement, -and had to look at each other, but did not smile. - -While they were sitting in the restaurant, came the news of the death -of Blanche. The students took it fairly coolly, the artists and middle -class citizens more warmly, but the lower classes talked of murder. -They knew that he had personally besought Charles XV to have the -spectators' stands taken down; they knew also, that though he was -very prosperous himself, he had always thought of them and they were -thankful. Stupid people objected, as is usual in such cases, that it -required no great skill on his part to speak on behalf of the poor, -when he was rich and celebrated. Did it not? It required the greatest. - -It is remarkable that the chief outbreak of discontent was directed, -not as elsewhere against the King, but against the governor and the -police. Charles XV was a _persona grata_; he could do as he liked -without becoming unpopular. He was neither condescending nor democratic -in his tastes, but rather proud. Stories were told of some of his -favourites having fallen into disgrace for want of respect on some -mirthful occasion. He could put tobacco into his soldiers' mouths, -but he scolded officers who did not at once fall in with his moods. -He could box people's ears at a fire, and did not laugh when he was -caricatured in a comic paper, as was supposed. He was a ruler and -believed he was also a warrior and a statesman; he interfered in the -government and could snub specialists with a "You don't understand -that!" But he was popular and remained so. Swedes, who do not like to -see a man's will slackening, admired this will and bowed before it. -It was also strange, that they forgave his irregular life; perhaps it -was because he made no secret of it. He had laid down a standard of -morality for himself and lived according to it. Therefore he lived at -harmony with himself, and harmony is always pleasant to contemplate. - -People might be revolters by instinct, but they did not believe in the -transition form to a better social constitution, _i.e_. a republic. -They had seen how two French republics had been followed by new -monarchies. There were secret anarchists, but no republicans, and they -had persuaded themselves that the monarchy offered no barrier to the -progress of liberty. - -These were the ideas of the younger men. The elder men with Blanche -thought a republic the only means of social salvation and therefore in -our days the old liberal school has become conservative-republican. - - * * * * * - -When the doctor saw that his wife's literary books threatened to -encroach upon John's medical studies, he resolved to give him a -glimpse into the secrets of his profession, and to allow him such a -foretaste of real work as should entice him to overcome the tedious -preliminary studies which he himself thought too extensive. John now -knew more chemistry and physics than the doctor, and the latter thought -it was merely malicious to hinder a rival's course by imposing too -hard preliminary studies. Why should he not, as in America, commence -dissection, which was a special branch of study? Now after the -theoretical study of anatomy, he could begin practice as an assistant. -That was a new life full of variety and reality. One went for instance -into a dark alley and came into a porter's room, where a woman lay, -sick of fever, surrounded by poor children, the grandmother and other -relations, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the doctor's verdict. -The malodorous ragged bed-cover would be lifted, a sunken heaving chest -exposed to view, and a prescription written. Then one went to the -Tvaedgardsgatan and was conducted over soft carpets through splendid -rooms into a bed-chamber which looked liked a temple; one lifted a -blue silk coverlet and put in splints the leg of an angelic-looking -child, dressed in lace. On the way out one looked at a collection of -paintings, and talked about artists. This was something novel and -interesting, but what connection had it with Titus Livius and the -history of philosophy? - -But then came the details of surgery. One was roused at seven o'clock -in the morning, came into the doctor's dark room, and manually assisted -at the cauterising of a syphilitic sore. The room reeked of human -flesh, and was repugnant to an empty stomach. Or he had to hold a -patient's head and felt it twitch with pain while the doctor with a -fork extracted glands from his throat. - -"One soon gets accustomed to that," said the doctor, and that was true, -but John's thoughts were busy with Goethe's Faust, Wieland's Epicurean -romances, George Sand's social phantasies, Chateaubriand's soliloquies -with nature, and Lessing's common-sense theories. His imagination -was set in motion and his memory refused to work; the reality of -cauterisations and flowing blood was ugly; aestheticism had laid hold -of him, and actual life seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His -intercourse with artists had opened his eyes to a new world, a free -society within Society. They would come to a well-spread table where -cultivated people were sitting with badly-fitting clothes, black nails, -and dirty linen, as if they were not merely equal, but superior to the -rest,--in what? - -They could scarcely write their names, they borrowed money without -repaying it, and their talk was coarse. Everything was permitted to -them, which was not permitted to others. Why? They could paint. They -studied at the Academy, and the Academy did not ask whether all who -enrolled themselves as students were geniuses. How was it known that -they were geniuses? Was painting greater than knowledge and science? - -They also had, as was well recognised, a peculiar morality of their -own. They opened studios, hired models, and boasted of their paramours, -while other men were ashamed of theirs and incurred disapproval on -account of them. They laughed at what were very serious matters for -other men, nay, it seemed to be part of an artist's equipment to be a -"scoundrel," as any one else would be called for similar conduct. - -"That was a glad free world," thought John, and one in which he could -thrive, without conventional fetters or social obligations, and above -all, without contact with banal realities. But he was not a genius? -How should he get the entree to it? Should he learn to paint and so be -initiated? No! that would not do; he had never thought of painting; -that demanded a special vocation, he thought, and painting would not -express all he had to say, when once he began to speak. If he _had_ -to find a medium for self-expression it would be the theatre. An actor -could step forward, and say all kinds of truths, however bitter they -might be, without being brought to book for them. That was certainly a -tempting career. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -John's proposal to transfer the university from Upsala to Stockholm was -destined to have consequences, and his comrades had warned him of them. -When he went up early in spring in order to write the obligatory Latin -essay he had sent the professor by post the three test-essays and the -15 krona fee. So he could carry out his purpose unhindered and enrolled -himself. - -But now in May he wished to go and pass the preliminary examination in -chemistry. In order to be well prepared, he had himself tested by the -assistant-professor at the technological institute. The latter did so -and declared that he already knew more than was needed for the medical -examination. Thus prepared, he went up to Upsala. His first visit was -to a comrade, who had already passed the preliminary examination in -chemistry, and knew the "tips" for it. - -John began: "I can do synthesis and analysis, and have studied organic -chemistry." - -"That is very well, for we only need synthesis; however, it is no use -for you have not studied in the professor's laboratory." - -"That is true; but the course at the Institute is much better." - -"No matter,--it is not his." - -"We shall see," said John, "whether knowledge does not tell in any -ease." - -"If you are so sure, then try, but consider first what I say. You must -first go to the assistant-professor and get a 'tip'." - -"What do you mean?" - -"For a krona he will give you an hour's polishing, and ask you all the -important questions which the professor has put during the past year. -Just now he is in the habit of asking whether matches can be made out -of his carcase and ammonia from your old boots. But that you will -learn from the assistant. Secondly, you must not go to be examined -in a frock coat and white tie; least of all, dressed as well as you -are now. Therefore you must borrow my riding-coat, which is green in -the shoulders and red in the seams, and my top-boots, for he does not -like elastic boots." - -John followed his friend's instructions and went first to the -assistant-professor who gave him the questions which had been last -asked. In return John promised that under all circumstances he would -return and tell him the questions which he himself had been asked, as a -means of enlarging his catechism. - -The next day John went to his friend to array himself. His trousers -were drawn up so that the tops of the boots should be seen and his -loose collar turned on one side, so that the skin should show between -the tie and the collar. Thus equipped, he went up for his first trial. - -The professor of chemistry had formerly been a fortification officer, -and had received in his time a not very cordial welcome from the -learned staff in Upsala. He was a soldier, not academically cultivated, -and thus a kind of "Philistine." This had galled him and made him -bilious. In order to efface the effect of his laymen-like exterior, he -affected the airs of an over-read and blunt professor. He went about -ill-dressed and behaved eccentrically. Though many hundreds besides -himself had been pupils of Berzelius, he was fond of mentioning the -fact; it was his trump card. Berzelius, among other things, went about -in shabby trousers, therefore a hole in one's clothes was the sign of a -learned chemist, and so on. Hence all these peculiarities. - -John presented himself, was regarded with suspicion and bidden to come -again in a week. He replied that he had come from Stockholm and was -too poor to support himself for a week in the town. He managed to get -permission to present himself the next day. "It would be soon over," -said the old man. - -The next day he sat on a seat opposite the professor. It was a sunny -afternoon in May, and the old man seemed to have digested his dinner -badly. He looked grim as he threw out his first question from his -rocking-chair. The answers were correct at the beginning. Then the -questions became more tortuous like snakes. - -"If I have an estate, where I suspect the presence of saltpetre, how -shall I begin to construct a saltpetre factory?" - -John suggested a saltpetre analysis. - -"No." - -"Well, then, I don't know anything else." - -There was silence and the flies buzzed,--a long and terrible silence. -"Now will come the question about the boots or the matches," thought -John, "and there I shall shine." He coughed by way of rousing the -professor, but the silence continued. John wondered whether he had been -seen through and whether the old man recognised the "examination coat." - -Then came a new question which was unanswered, and then another. - -"You have come too soon," said the old man, and rose up. - -"Yes, but I have worked a whole year in the laboratory, and can do -chemical analysis." - -"Yes, you know how to make up prescriptions, but you have not digested -your knowledge. In the Institute only manual dexterity is necessary, -but here scientific knowledge is required." - -As a matter of fact the case was exactly the reverse for the medical -students in Upsala complained that they had to stand like cooks and -make up mixtures and salts, without having time to look at an analysis, -which last was just what a doctor ought to do while synthesis was the -apothecary's work. But now the proposal made some years before whether -the university had not better be transferred to Stockholm had roused a -feeling in Upsala against the capital. Moreover the laboratory of the -newly-built technological institute was as famous for its excellent -equipment, as that of Upsala was notorious for its poor one. Here, -therefore, petty prejudices were at work and John felt the unfairness -of it. "I do not then get a certificate?" he asked. - -"No, sir, not this year; but come again next year." - -The professor was ashamed to say, "Go to my only soul-saving -laboratory." - -John went out furious. Here then again neither diligence nor knowledge -prevailed, but only cash and cringing! Had he tried short cuts? No, -on the contrary, he had been obliged to travel by painful circuitous -paths, while others had gone the direct road, and the directest is the -shortest. - -He went to the Carolina Park, as angry as an irritated bee. He did -not wish to return at once to the town, but sat down on a seat. If he -could only set this devil's hole on fire! Another year? No, never! Why -read so much unnecessary stuff, which would only be forgotten, and be -of no practical use? And slave in order to enter this dirty profession -where one had to analyse urine, pick about in vomit, poke about in all -the recesses of the body? Faugh! Just as he was sitting there, a group -of cheerful-looking people came by, and stood laughing outside the -Carolina library. They looked up to the window's, through which long -rows of books were visible, shelf after shelf. They laughed,--the men -and women laughed at the books. He thought he recognised them. Yes, -they were Levasseur's French actors, whom he had seen in Stockholm and -who were now visiting Upsala. They laughed at the books! Lucky people -who could be importers of genius and culture without books. Perhaps -every soul had something to give which was not in books, but would be -there some day. Yes, certainly it was so. He himself possessed stories -of experience and thoughts, which could enrich anthropology, and were -ready to be throw out. - -Again there stole upon him the thought of entering this privileged -profession, which stood outside and above petty social conventions -which ignored distinctions of rank, and in which one need never be -conscious of belonging to the lower classes. There one could appeal to -the universal judgment, and work in full publicity instead of being -hung up here in a remote dark hole, without a verdict, examination, or -witnesses. - -Strengthened by this new idea, he stood up, east a glance at the books -above, and went down to the town resolved to go home and seek for an -engagement in the Theatre Royal. - -Every townsman has probably felt once in his life the wish to appear -as an actor. This is probably due to the impulse of the cultivated -man to magnify and make himself something, to identify himself with -great and celebrated personalities. John, who was a romanticist, had -also the desire to step forward and harangue the public. He believed -that he could choose his proper role, and he knew beforehand which it -would be. The fact that he, like all others, believed that he had the -capacity to become an actor, sprang from the superfluity of unused -force, produced by a want of sufficient physical exercise, and from the -tendency to megalomania connected with mental over-exertion. He saw no -difficulties in the profession itself, but expected opposition from -another quarter. - -To attribute his being stage-struck to hereditary tendencies would -perhaps be hasty, since we have just remarked that it is an almost -universal impulse. But his paternal grandfather, a Stockholm citizen, -had written dramatic pieces for an amateur theatre, and a young -distant relative still lived as a warning example. The latter had been -an engineer, had been through a course of instruction in the Motala -iron-works, and had a post on the Koeping-Hult railway. He therefore had -fine prospects in front of him, but suddenly threw them up, and became -an actor. This step of his was an incessant trouble to his family. Up -to this time the young man had become nothing but was still travelling -about with an obscure theatrical company. The danger of becoming like -him was the difficult point. "Yes," said John to himself, "but I shall -have luck." Why? Because he believed it; and he believed it because he -wished it. - -Some might be inclined to derive this strong impulse on John's part -from the fact that he loved to play, as a child, with a toy theatre, -but that is not sufficient, as all children do the same and he had got -the taste from seeing them do it. The theatre was an unreal better -world which enticed one out of the tedious real one. The latter would -not have seemed so tedious if his education had been more harmonious -and realistic and not given him such a strong tendency to romance. -Enough; his resolution was taken; and without saying anything to any -one, he went to the director of the Theatrical Academy the dramaturgist -of the Theatre Royal. - -When he heard the sound of his own words "I want to be an actor," -he shuddered. He felt as though he tore down the veil of his inborn -modesty, and did violence to his own nature. - -The director asked what he was doing at present. - -"Studying medicine." - -"And you want to give up such a career, for one that is the hardest and -the worst of all?" - -"Yes." - -All actors called their profession the "hardest and the worst" though -they had such a good time of it. That was in order to frighten away -aspirants. - -John asked for private lessons in order that he might make his debut. -The director replied that he was now going to the country for the -theatrical season was at an end, but he told John to come again on the -1st of September when the theatre opened, and the board of management -came again to the town. That was a definite appointment and he saw his -way clear. - -When he went down the street, he walked with his eyes wide open, as -though he gazed into a brilliant future; victory was already his; he -felt its intoxicating eating fumes, and hurried, though with unsteady -steps, down the street. - -He said nothing to the doctor nor to any one else. He had still three -months in front of him in which to train and prepare himself, but in -secret, for he was shy and timid. He was afraid of annoying his father -and the doctor, afraid of the whole town knowing that he thought -himself capable of being an actor, afraid of his relatives' scorn, his -friends' grimaces and efforts to dissuade him. This was the fruit of -his education, the fear,--"What will people say?" His imagination made -the act seem like a crime. It was certainly an interference with other -people's peace of mind for relations and friends feel a shock, when -they see a link torn out of the social chain. He felt it himself, and -had to shake off the scruples of conscience. - -For his debut he had chosen the roles of Karl Moor and Wijkander's -Lucidor. This was no mere chance but perfectly logical. In both of -these characters he had found the expression of his inner experience, -and therefore he wished to speak with their tongues. He conceived of -Lucidor as a higher nature undermined and ruined by poverty. A higher -nature of course! In his enthusiasm for the theatre he felt again what -he had felt when he had preached, and when he had revolted against the -school prayers,[1] something of the proclaimer, the prophet, and the -soothsayer. - -What most of all elevated his ideas of the great significance of the -theatre was the perusal of Schiller's essay, "The theatre regarded -as an instrument of moral education." Sentences like the following -show how lofty was the goal at which Schiller aimed. "The stage is -the chief channel through which the light of wisdom descends from -the better, thinking portion of the populace in order to spread its -beneficent light over the whole state." "In this world of art we -dream ourselves away from the real one, we find ourselves again, our -feelings are roused, wholesome emotions stir our slumbering nature and -drive our blood in swift currents. The unhappy here forget their own -sorrows in watching those of others, the happy become sober, and the -self-confident, reflective. The effeminate weakling is hardened into a -man, the coarse and callous here begin to feel. And then finally,--what -a triumph for thee O Nature, so often trodden down and so often -re-arisen,--when men of all climates and conditions, casting away all -fetters of convention and fashion, set free from the iron hand of fate, -fraternising in one all-embracing sympathy, dissolved into _one_ race, -forget themselves and the world, and approach their heavenly origin. -Each individual enjoys the delight of all, which is mirrored back to -him strengthened and beautified from a hundred eyes, and his breast has -only room for one aspiration,--to be a man!" - -Thus wrote the young Schiller at twenty-five, and the youth of twenty -subscribed it. - -The theatre is certainly still a means of culture for young people and -the middle class who can still feel the illusion of actors and painted -canvas. For older and cultivated people it is a recreation in which the -actor's art is the chief object of attention. Therefore old critics -are almost invariably discontent and crabbed. They have lost their -illusions and do not pass over any mistake in the acting. - -Modern times have overprised the theatre, especially the actor's art in -an exaggerated degree, and a re-action has followed. Actors have tried -to ply their art independently of the dramatist, believing that they -could stand on their own legs. Therefore particular "stars" become the -objects of homage and therefore also opposition has been aroused. In -Paris, where people had gone to the greatest lengths, a reaction first -showed itself. The _Figaro_ called the heroes of the Theatre-Francais -to order, and reminded them that they were only the author's puppets. - -The decay of all the great European theatres shows that the actor's -art has lost its interest. Cultivated people no more go to the -theatre because their sense for reality has been developed, and -their imagination which is a relic of the savage has diminished; the -uncultivated lack the time, and the money to go. The future seems to -belong to the variety theatre, which amuses without instructing, for it -is mere play and recreation. All important writers choose another, more -suitable form in which to handle important questions. Ibsen's dramas -have always produced their effect in book form before they were played; -and when they are played, the spectators' interest is generally -concentrated on the _manner_ of their performance; consequently it is a -secondary interest. - -John committed the usual mistake of youth, _i.e._ of confusing the -actor with the author; the actor is the mere enunciator of the -sentiments for which the author who stands behind him, is responsible. - -In the spring John resigned his post as tutor to the two girls, and -now he had leisure during the summer to study his art in secret, -and on his own responsibility. He had scoffed at books, and now the -first things he sought were books. They contained the thoughts and -experiences of men with whom, though most of them were dead, he could -converse familiarly, without being betrayed. He had heard that in the -castle there was a library which belonged to the State, and from which -one could borrow books. He obtained a surety and went there. It was a -solemn place with small rooms full of books where grey-haired silent -old men sat and read. He got his books and went shyly and happily home. - -He wished to study the matter thoroughly in all its aspects, as was his -custom. In Schiller he found the assurance that the theatre was of deep -significance; in Goethe he found a whole treatise on the histrionic -art with directions how one should walk and stand, behave oneself, sit -down, come in and go out; in Lessing's _Hamburgische Dramaturgie_ he -found a whole volume of theatrical critiques filled with the closest -observations. Lessing especially roused his hopes, for he went so far -as to declare that the theatre had come down owing to the inferiority -of the actors, and said that it would be better to employ amateurs -from the cultivated classes who would play better than the drilled and -often uncultured actors. He also read Raymond de St. Albin, whose often -quoted observations on the actor's art are of great value. - -At the same time he exercised himself practically. At the doctor's he -arranged a stage when the boys were out. He practised entrances and -exits; he arranged the stage for "The Robbers," dressed himself like -Karl Moor, and played that part. He went to the National Museum and -studied gestures of antique sculptures and gave up using his walking -stick in order to accustom himself to walk freely. He did violence -to his shyness, which had almost produced in him "agoraphobia," or -the dread of crossing open places, and accustomed himself to walk -across Karl XIII's square where great crowds used to be found. He did -gymnastics every day at home, and fenced with his pupils. He gave -attention to every movement of the muscles; practised walking with head -erect and chest expanded, with arms hanging free and hands loosely -clenched, as Goethe directs. - -The chief difficulty he found was in the cultivation of his voice, -for he was overheard when he declaimed in the house. Then it occurred -to him to go outside the town. The only place where he could be -undisturbed was the Ladugardsgaerdet. There he could look over the plain -for a great distance and see whether any one was coming; there sounds -died away so quickly that it cost him an effort to hear himself. This -strengthened his voice. - -Every day he went out there, and declaimed against heaven and earth. -The town whose church tower rose opposite Ladugardsgaerdet symbolised -society, while he stood out here alone with Nature. He shook his fist -at the castle, the churches, and the barracks, and stormed at the -troops who during their manoeuvres often came too close to him. There -was something fanatical in his work and he spared himself no pains in -order to make his unwilling muscles obedient. - - -[1] _Vide_ the _Son of a Servant_. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - -(1869) - - -Among those who frequented the doctor's house was a young man who -studied sculpture. He had come from the lower strata of society, had -been a smith's apprentice, and had now entered the Academy, where he -was a probationary student. He was happy and always cheerful, believed -himself called by providence to his new career, and narrated how he -had been aroused and impelled by the spirit to work in the service -of the Beautiful. John liked him because he was not introspective or -self-critical and quite free from self-consciousness. Moreover he was a -fellow culprit, who was making the same daring attempt as John to work -his way out of the lower class, but entirely lacked the consciousness -of guilt which persecuted the latter. - -One day this friend, whose name was Albert, came to him and said -that he was going to Copenhagen to visit Thorwaldsen's Museum. An -enterprising speculator had arranged a trip there through the canal -and back by sea for a very small fare. "You come too," he said, and it -was soon settled that John should accompany him with one of the boys. -The occasion of the expedition was the crown princess's entry into -Copenhagen, but that was a secondary object in the eyes of the pilgrims -to Thorwaldsen's tomb. - -On an August evening John sat on the poop of the steamer with the -sculptor, one of the boys and a school friend of his. In the twilight -which had already fallen one saw ladies and gentlemen coming on board. -The society seemed to be first-class. Stout fathers of families with -field-glasses and tourist knapsacks, ladies in summer dresses and hats -of the latest fashion. There was a bustle and stir, as each sought a -sleeping-place which was guaranteed to all. John and his companions sat -quietly waiting. They had their provisions and rugs and feared nothing. -When the steamer had started and the confusion had ceased, John said, -"Now we will have some bread and butter before we lie down." - -They looked for their knapsacks and the provision basket, but they were -not to be found. They discovered that they had not come with them. This -was a hard blow, for they had only a little cash and they had counted -on the excellent provisions which the doctor's wife had put up for -them. Accordingly they had to eat from the sculptor's box, which only -contained poor dry victuals. - -Then they wanted to lie down. On all sides people were asking for -sleeping-places, but could not find any. The passengers were in an -uproar and there was a storm of curses. They had therefore to sit on -deck; there were inquiries for the organiser of the expedition, but he -was not on board. John lay down on the bare deck and the boys drew a -tarpaulin over themselves, for the dew was falling and it was bitterly -cold. They awoke at Soedertelje, freezing, for the sailors had taken -away the tarpaulin. - -On the canal bank there now appeared the organiser of the excursion, -who was an upholsterer. The passengers rushed at him, drew him on -board, and loaded him with reproaches. He defended himself and tried -to land again, but in vain. A court martial was held; they resolved -to continue their journey, but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. -The steamer went on through the canal, but as it was passing through a -lock, the man-swung himself up on the dam and disappeared amid a hail -of curses. - -The journey was continued and by midday they were in the Gotha canal. -Dinner was laid on the poop. John and his companions ensconced -themselves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a simple meal out -of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, who had slept on a bale do mu in -the luggage-hold, was in a good humour and knew all the passengers' -characters and names. - -The dinner-table was now crowded. It was presided over by a master -chimney-sweep with his family. Then there came pawnbrokers, -public-house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with their families, -a number of young shop boys and some girls. John suffered when he saw -stewed perch and strawberries together with claret and sherry, for he -had been so spoilt by luxury that simple food made him poorly. This -was the "upper class" among the passengers. The master chimney-sweep -played the grand gentleman, he made a grimace at the claret and scolded -the waitress who said that the restaurant-keeper was responsible. The -porter from the Record Office affected the learned man, and as an -official seemed to look down on the "Philistines." - -While the sherry circulated, speeches were made. The lower class -from the fore-deck hung on the gunwales and hand-rails and listened. -The pariahs in the lifeboat were ignored. People knew that they were -there, but did not see them. They may very likely have wished the -"white cap" away, for there were two eyes under its peak, which saw -that they were no better than himself. John felt that. He had just -emerged from this class to which he belonged by birth, but he had no -food and was nothing. He felt his inferiority and his superiority; and -their superiority. They had worked; therefore they ate. Yes, but he -had worked as much as they, though not in the same way. He had derived -honour from his work, while they took the good eating and dispensed -with the honour. One could not have both. - -The people sat there satisfied and happy, drank their coffee and -liqueurs, and occupied the whole poop. They now became bold and made -remarks over those in the lifeboat, who could only suffer in silence, -because the others were in the majority and the upper class, for they -were consumers. - -John felt himself in an element which was not his. There was an -atmosphere of hostility about him, and he felt depressed. There were -no police on board to help him, no arbitration to appeal to, and if -there were a quarrel, all would condemn him. There only needed a sharp -retort on his part, and he would be struck. "The deuce!" he thought, -"it would be better to obey officers and officials; they would never -be such tyrants as these democrats." Later on, at Albert's advice, he -sought to approach them, but they were inaccessible. - -Further on during the voyage between Venersborg and Goeteborg the -explosion came. John and his companions' hunger increased so much that -one day they determined to go down to the dining-saloon and eat some -bread and butter. It was so full of people eating and drinking that -they could hardly find room. John's pupil, according to the custom of -his class, kept his hat on. The master chimney-sweep noticed this. -"Hullo!" he said, "is the ceiling too high for you?" - -The boy seemed not to understand him. - -"Take your hat off, boy!" he shouted again. - -The hat remained as it was. A shop assistant knocked it off. The boy -picked up the hat, and put it again on his head. Then the storm burst. -They all rushed on him like one man and knocked the hat off. Then they -went for John, "And such a young devil has a tutor who cannot teach -boys to know their proper place! We know well enough who _you_ are." -Then they rained abuse on his parents. John tried to inform them that -in the social circles to which the boy belonged, it was the custom to -keep one's hat on in public places, and that he had not intended any -expression of contempt by it. But his explanation was ill-received. -What did he mean by "those circles"? What nonsense he talked! Did he -want to teach them manners? And so on. - -Yes, he could; for it was precisely from these circles that they had -learnt five-and-twenty years ago to take their hats off, which was no -longer the custom, and he could have told them that in twenty-five -years more they would keep their hats on as soon as they got wind that -_that_ was the fashion. But they had not discovered it yet. - -John and his friends went again on deck. "One cannot argue with these -people," he said. - -His nerves were shaken by the scene just witnessed. He had seen an -outbreak of class-hatred and the flashing eyes of people whom he had -not injured; he had felt the foot of the upper class of the future upon -his breast. They had become his enemies; the bridge between him and -them was broken down; but the tie of blood remained and he cherished -the same hatred towards aristocratic society, and its unjust ascendency -as they did; he felt the same grudge against the conventions before -which they all had to bow; yes, he had Karl Moor's replies in his mind, -but those who had just defeated him were all Spiegelbergers.[1] If they -got the upper hand they would trample on all,--great and small; if he -got the upper hand, he would only trample on the great. That was the -difference between them. It was, however, education which had made him -more democratic than they; he would therefore side with the educated. -They would work for those below, but from a distance, and from above. -One could not handle this raw uncouth mass. - -The stay on board was now intolerable. An outbreak might take place at -any moment. And it came. - -They were now in the Kattegat, and John was sitting on the upper deck -when he heard a loud noise beneath him of voices and cries. He thought -he recognised his pupil's voice, and rushed down. On the middle deck -stood the accused surrounded by a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms -about and shouted. John asked what the matter was. - -"He has stolen my cap," shouted the pawnbroker. - -"I don't believe it possible," said John. - -"Yes, I saw it; he has put it in this clothes bag." - -It was John's bag. "That is mine," said John. "You can look into it -yourself." He opened the bag and there lay the pawnbroker's cap! There -was general excitement. John stood convicted and a storm was on the -point of breaking out against the two thieves. A student who stole! -That was a bonne bouche. How had it happened? Now John remembered. He -had a grey cap similar to the pawnbroker's which he used to sleep in -at night. He had told the boy to put it in his bag; the boy had taken -the wrong one. John turned to the foredeck passengers: "Gentlemen," he -began, "do you think it likely that a rich man's son would go and take -a greasy cap when he has a perfectly new one? Do you not see that there -has been a mistake?" - -"Yes," said the plebeians, "there has." - -Only the pawnbroker was obstinate and stuck to his statement. - -"Then it only remains for me to beg this gentleman's pardon for the -mistake, and I ask my pupil to do the same." - -The latter did so, though unwillingly. There was general satisfaction -and a murmured opinion that he had "spoken like a gentleman." The -matter was fortunately settled. - -"You see," said John to the boy, "the people are open to reason after -all!" - -"Bah! That was only because they felt flattered at being called -gentlemen,--the cursed rabble!" - -"Perhaps," answered John, who felt that he had been sufficiently -humiliated for such a trifle. - -At last they reached Copenhagen. Hungry, freezing, and in the worst of -humours they sat in the rain outside the Thorwaldsen Museum, which was -closed on account of the festivities. But Albert swore he would get -in. After they had waited for an hour with the master chimney-sweep, -the public-house keeper, and all the other passengers there came an -old man who looked learned and wished to enter. Albert rushed after -him, mentioned the name of Molins, the Swedish sculptor, and they got -in, leaving the other passengers outside. Albert was delighted, and -could not help making a face at the master chimney-sweep who remained -outside. But the one who enjoyed it most was the young sinner, who -hated the mob. - -"Now we are gentlemen," he said. - -John was not in the mood to enjoy Thorwaldsen's works. He regarded -him as an average artist talented enough to win fame. Albert found -the antiques too elaborate, but did not dare to criticise them. -They did not witness the royal entry, but sat on the tower of the -Fruekirke and looked at the view. At nightfall, when they felt tired -and exhausted, they wanted to go down to the steamer to sleep, but it -had gone to Malmoe. They stood in the street in the rain. They could -not go to an hotel, for they had no money. Albert resolved to go to a -public-house and ask for a night's lodging. They found a sailors' inn -near the public-house. The landlord said it was only for seamen, but -they answered that they must have shelter. They were taken into a back -room where there were two camp-beds, but a basin was not to be seen. -The walls were unpapered and looked shabby. In one of the beds lay a -sailor. Who was to be his bed-fellow? Albert undertook that, and slept -with the stranger, who was a Dutchman. So they all went to sleep, John -cursing the whole adventure, for the bed-clothes were malodorous. - -The return voyage home by sea was one long penance. Without provisions -and hardly any money they had to sustain life on raw eggs which they -bought in the small towns they touched at. These along with stale -bread and brandy, composed their diet for three days. Albert alone -was cheerful and enjoyed himself. He slept on the poop with the -passengers and amused them with stories; he was akin to them, and knew -their language. He drank with them and got hot food; he even went into -the kitchen sometimes and begged himself a plate of soup. "How easily -he takes life!" thought John. "He does not miss luxuries, for he has -never known them; he will never be expelled as an intruder when he -approaches people; he feasts while others starve, and sees only friends -everywhere. But his day will come when he will no longer be one of the -lower class, when luxury and refined habits will make him as helpless -and unfortunate as me." - -When he got home he was furious. So it was everywhere. Those who were -above trampled on those below, and those who were below tried to -pull one back when one tried to mount. What was the meaning of all -this talk about aristocrats and democrats? The lower class spoke of -their democratic way of thinking, as though it were a virtue. What -virtue is there in hating those who are above? What is the meaning of -"aristocrat"? [Greek: Aristos] means the best, and [Greek: krateo] "I -rule." Therefore an aristocrat is one who wishes that the best should -rule and a democrat one who wishes that the worst should do so. But -then comes the question: Who are really the best? Are a low social -position, poverty and ignorance things that make men better? No, for -then one would not try to do away with poverty and ignorance. Into -whose hands then should men commit political power, with the knowledge -that it would be in the hands of the least mischievous? Into the hands -of those who knew most? Then one would have professorial government, -and Upsala would be--no, not the professors! To whom then should power -be given? He could not answer, but certainly not to the chimney-sweep -and cab-owner who were on the steamer. - -On this occasion he did not go deeper into the matter, for the question -had not yet been raised whether the same culture could not be imparted -to every one, or whether there need be any governing body at all. - -He had come across the worst aristocracy of all, the upper stratum -of the lower class, or, to name them by their usual ugly title, "the -Philistines." They were a bad copy of the aristocracy; they sided with -the powerful, aped the habits of their superiors, grew rich by others' -labours, quoted authorities and hated opposition with the exception of -their silent opposition to those above them. The master chimney-sweep -made money through the toil of the abjectly poor, the cab-owner through -the wretched cabbies and hacks, the pawnbroker wrung unrighteous -gain from the need of the poverty-stricken, and so on, everywhere. -A teacher, on the other hand, a doctor, an artist, could not depute -slaves to his work; he must do it himself, and was therefore not such -a shark as those below. If, then, culture brought men happiness and -made them better, then the aristocracy were justified and beneficent, -and could regard themselves as better than those below. Yes, but one -could buy culture for money, could beg or borrow the means for it, -as so many students did, and there was no virtue in that at any rate. -Yet one could not help feeling superior to others when one knew more -and observed the laws of social life so as to injure no one. All that -remained for the real democracy was to reduce everything to a dead -level, so that no one need feel themselves below, and no one could -think they were above. - - -[1] _Vide_ Schiller's "Robbers." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -BEHIND THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -The Swedish theatre was at this time exposed to many attacks, and when -is a theatre not in that condition? The theatre is a miniature society -within society, with a monarch, ministers, officials, and a whole -number of classes, ranged above one another in ranks. Is it any wonder -that this society is always exposed to the attacks of the malcontents? -But at this period the attacks had a more practical object. A former -provincial actor had written a pamphlet against the Theatre Royal, of -little real importance, but with the result that the author was invited -to a seat on the board of directors. This aroused imitators, and many -published treatises in order to attain the same result. - -As a matter of fact, the Theatre Royal was neither better nor worse -than it had been before. "But," it was asked, "if the theatre is -an institution supported by subscriptions for forwarding culture, -why set an uncultivated person at the head of it?" To this it was -answered, "We have just had one of the most learned men in the country -as director, and how did that answer? Although he had the advantage -of plebeian birth he was worried to death by the democratic press, -which incessantly carped at him." At last, in our time, the utopia of -self-government has been realised, the theatre has a man from the lower -classes at its head, and there is general satisfaction. - -On the day fixed, John went to the theatre in order to announce his -intention of making his debut. After some delay, he was sent for and -asked his business. - -"I want to make my debut." - -"Oh! have you studied any special character?" - -"Karl Moor in 'The Robbers,'" he answered more defiantly than was -necessary. - -They looked at each other and smiled. "But one must have three roles; -have you got no other to suggest?" - -"Lucidor!" - -There was a consultation, and John was informed that these dramas were -not now in the repertory of the theatre. He objected that this was not -a sufficient reason for his not undertaking those roles, but received -the perfectly fair answer, that the theatre could not stage such -important dramas and disarrange its programme for untried debutants. -Then the director proposed to John that he should take the role of the -"Warrior of Ravenna." But after the great success which had attended -the last actor of that part, he dared not. They finally suggested that -he should have a talk with the literary manager. Then began a battle -which was probably not the first or the last which had taken place in -that room. - -"Be reasonable, sir; one must study this profession like all others. No -one becomes an adept all of a sudden. Creep before you walk. Undertake -at first a minor role." - -"No, the role must be great enough to sustain me. In a minor role one -must be a great artist in order to attract attention." - -"Yes, but listen to me, sir; I have experience." - -"Yes, but others have made their debut in leading parts, without having -been on the stage before." - -"But you will break your neck." - -"Very well, then! I will!" - -"Yes, but the board of directors will not give the best stage in the -country to the first chance aspirant to make experiments on." - -That seemed reasonable. He therefore consented to undertake a minor -role. He was given the part of Haerved Boson in Hedberg's _Marriage of -Ulfosa_. - -John read over the part at home, and was astonished. It was quite -insignificant. He only had a few quarrels with his brother-in-law and -then embraced his wife. But he had to undertake the part, as he had -agreed to do. - -The rehearsals began. To have to shout out empty words without meaning -was repugnant to him. - -After some trials the teacher declared that he had no more time and -recommended John to take lessons in the Dramatic Academy. - -"But I won't be a pupil," he said. - -"No, of course." - -They talked of the Dramatic Academy, as of an elementary or Sunday -School; all kinds of pupils were accepted whether they had any -education or not. John did not intend to become a pupil, but went -just to listen. He went there reluctantly. Accustomed to be a teacher -himself, he was received as a sort of honorary guest, and sat down, but -attracted an uncomfortable amount of attention. The hour was passed in -reciting "Vintergatan," which he knew by heart, and some other pieces -of verse. - -"But one can't learn anything for the stage here," he ventured to say -to the teacher. - -"Well! come on the stage, and try before the footlights." - -"How can I do that?" - -"As a supernumerary actor." - -"Supernumerary! H'm! That is like going downhill before beginning," -thought John. But he determined to go through with it. One morning he -received an invitation to try a part in Bjoernson's _Maria Stuart_. -The theatre messenger gave him a little blue note-book on which was -written, "A nobleman," and inside, on a white sheet of paper, "The -Lords have sent an intermediary with a challenge to Count Both well." -That was the whole part! Such was to be his debut! - -At the appointed time he went up the little back stairs, passed the -door-keeper and came on the stage. It was the first time that he was -behind the scenes, and saw the reverse of the medal. The stage looked -like a great warehouse with black walls; a cracked and dirty floor like -that of a hay loft, and grey linen screens mounted on rough wood. - -It was here that he had seen represented majestic scenes from the -world's history; here Masaniello had shouted "Death to Tyrants" while -John stood trembling at the end of the fourth row among the audience; -here Hamlet had given vent to his scorn and suffered his sorrows, and -from here Karl Moor had defied society and the whole world. John felt -alarmed. How could one preserve the illusion hero in sight of the -unpainted wood and the grey canvas? Everything looked dusty and dirty; -the workmen were poor melancholy devils, and the actors and actresses -looked insignificant in their ordinary clothes. - -He was led into the lobby where they were going to dance for -half-an-hour the gavotte, which introduced the play. It was broad -daylight. The old music teacher sat on a chair and played the viol. The -ballet-master shouted, struck his hands together and arranged them in -their places. "I didn't bargain for this," thought John, but it was too -late. So he found himself in the midst of a complicated dance which he -did not know, and was pushed about and scolded. "No, I am not going to -do this," he thought, but he could not get out of it. - -A feeling of shame came over him. Dancing in the day-time was not a -seemly occupation. And then to descend from teacher to pupil, and be -the last here; he had never before gone back so far. - -The bell rang for the rehearsal, and they were driven on the stage. -Then they were arranged for the gavotte. By the footlights stood the -chief actors who had the important roles; and behind them the rest in -two lines occupied the background. - -The orchestra struck up and the dance began in slow solemn rhythm. From -the footlights were heard the deep voices of the two Puritans lamenting -the depravity of the court. - -_Lindsay_. "Look! the dancing lines wind like snakes in the sun. -Listen! the music plays with the flames of hell! The devil's roar of -laughter is in it." - -_Andrew Kerr_. "Hush, hush; the penalty will overwhelm them as the sea -overwhelmed Pharaoh's army." - -_Lindsay_. "Look, how they whisper! The infecting breath of sin! See -their voluptuous smiles; see the ladies' frivolous gowns." - -_Citizen_. "All that Knox preaches is wasted on this court." - -_Lindsay_. "He is as the prophet in Israel, he does not speak in vain; -for the Lord Himself shall perform His word upon the ungodly race." - -The piece had an arresting effect, and John felt it. The men actors had -their hats, overcoats and sticks, and the women their cloaks and muffs, -but still the drama was impressive in its simple greatness. He stood in -the wings and listened to the whole of it; Mary Stuart did not please -him; she was cruel and coquettish; Bothwell was too rough and strong; -his favourite was Darnley, the weak, Hamlet-like man whose love to this -woman continued to burn in spite of unfaithfulness, scorn, malice and -everything. Knox was as hard as stone with his Puritanism and gloomy -Christianity. - -It was after all something to step forward and enact a piece of history -in the garb of such persons. There was something solemn about it as he -had felt before in the church. After he had gone on the stage and made -his speech he went away firmly resolved to bear all on behalf of sacred -art. - -He had thus taken the decisive step. To his father he had written a -high-flown letter, and declared that he would either become something -great in the career which he had now entered or would retire from it -altogether; he had resolved not to go home till he had succeeded. The -doctor was sorry but made no fuss, for he saw it was impossible to -stop him. But he had other secret plans for saving him which he now -began to set in motion. In the first place he induced John to translate -one or two medical pamphlets for which he had found a publisher. Now -he came with a proposal that they should together write articles for -the _Aftonbladet (Evening New's_). John for his part had translated -Schiller's essay, _The Theatre Regarded as a Moral Institution_, and as -the subject of the theatre had now conic up in the Reichstag the doctor -wrote an introduction to it in which he seriously expostulated with -the Agrarian party on their indifference to culture. The whole article -was inserted. Another day the doctor came with a member of the medical -journal, the _Lancet_, which treated of the question whether women were -fit for a medical career. Without hesitation and instinctively John -decided against it. He had an indescribable reverence for women as -woman, mother and wife, but as a matter of fact, society was founded -upon the man regarded as provider for the family, and upon the woman -as wife and mother; thus man had a full right to his work-market and -all the duties involved in it. Every occupation taken from the man -would mean a marriage less or one more overworked family-provider, for -the impulse to marry was so strong in men that they would not cease -to marry, however great the difficulties in which they might become -involved. Moreover women had abundant opportunities of work; they -could become servants, house-keepers, governesses, teachers, midwives, -seamstresses, actresses, artists, authoresses, queens, empresses, -besides wives and mothers. Many of these vocations were also open to -the unmarried. Anything more than this was an encroachment on the man's -territory. If the woman did that, the man should be free from the cares -of providing for the family, and inquiries after paternity should not -be made. But society would not consent to that. On the contrary it -began to persecute the prostitutes by way of forcing men to marry. Once -caught in the snares of the married women's property law, they would -sink to the level of domestic slaves. - -John instinctively took sides in this complicated problem, which was -destined to take many years to solve, and wrote against the women's -movement, which he saw would involve, if victorious, man's overthrow. -The movement for the emancipation of women had during the fifties, -assumed the wildest forms, and the war-cry, "No lords! No lords!" had -shown the true nature of the movement, which had also been ridiculed -by Rudolf Wall in his comedy, _Miss Garibaldi_. But while years went -on, the women had worked in silence. - -Great therefore was the surprise of the doctor and John when they found -their article in the _Aftonbladet_ so altered that it seemed in favour -of the movement. "The editor is under the thumbs of women," said the -doctor, and thereby the matter was explained. - -Meanwhile John's theatrical career approached a crisis. He had been -sent into a green room where brandy was drunk and everything was dirty, -to put on his clothes with the supernumeraries. "They want to humiliate -me," he thought, "but patience!" - -Now he was simply appointed as supernumerary in one opera after the -other. He declared that he feared neither the footlights nor the -public after having preached in church, but it was no good. The worst -was, having to lounge about at the rehearsals for hours together with -nothing to do. If he read a book, he was told he had no interest in the -play, and if he went away, an outcry was raised. - -In the Theatrical Academy roles were merely learnt by heart. Children -who had only gone through an elementary school, began to read Goethe's -_Faust_, naturally without understanding anything of it. But curiously -enough, their very boldness saved them; they got on so well that one -was inclined to think there was no need for an actor to understand -anything, if only he could say his piece fluently. After a few -months John was sick of it all. It was all mechanical. The greatest -actors were blase and indifferent, never spoke of art, but only of -engagements and honorariums. There was no trace of the gay life behind -the scenes, of which so much had been written. They sat silent waiting -for their turns to come; the dancers and actresses in their costumes, -sewing and stitching. In the lobby the actors went about on tip-toe, -looked at the clock and put on their false beards, without speaking a -word. - -One evening, when _Maria Stuart_ was being acted, John sat alone in -the lobby reading a paper. The actor Dahlqvist, who was taking the -part of John Knox, came in. John, who cherished a deep admiration -for the great actor, stood up and bowed. If he could only speak with -such a man. He trembled at the very thought. Knox, with his venerable -long white hair, his black dress, and his great eyes half-sunk in his -powerful deeply-lined face, sat down at the table. He yawned. "What is -the time?" he asked in a sepulchral tone. John answered that it was -half-past ten, unbuttoning his Burgundian velvet jacket to look for the -watch which was not there. - -"The time is going devilish slow this evening," said Knox and yawned -again. Then he began to retail bits of gossip. He was only a ruin of -his former greatness when his acting of Karl Moor had cast all his -rivals into the shade. He too had seen through everything and was weary -of it all. And yet he had once thought so highly of his art. - -Since John had now the right of free entrance into the theatre he -tried to study acting from the auditorium. But behold! the illusion -was gone! There was Mr. So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so, there was the -background for _Quentin Durward_, there sat Hoegfelt, and there behind -the scenes, stood Boberg. There was no further possibility of illusion. - -He was sick of the wretched role which he had to repeat continually. -But he also felt remorse and feared that he could not retire from the -game honourably. At last he plucked up courage and demanded a leading -part. The piece in which it occurred had already been performed fifty -times, and the chief actors were tired of it, but they had to come. The -rehearsal took place without costumes or scenery. John was accustomed -to the declamatory manner usual then, and shouted like a preacher. It -was a failure. After the rehearsal the head of the theatrical academy -pronounced his verdict and advised John to enter it for a course of -training, but he would not. He wept for rage, went home and took an -opium pill which he had long kept by him, but without effect; then a -friend took him out and he got intoxicated. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - -(1869) - - -The next morning he felt in a state of complete collapse. His nerves -still trembled and his body felt the fever of shame and intoxication. -What should he do? He must save his honour. He must still hold out -for two or three months and try again. That day he remained at home -and read _The Stories of a Barber-Surgeon_. As he read it seemed -to him that they recorded his own experience; they were about the -reconciliation of a step-son to his step-mother. The breach in -his domestic life had always weighed upon him like a sin, and he -longed for reconciliation and peace. That day this longing took an -unusually melancholy form, and as he lay on the sofa, his brain began -to evolve various plans for smoothing away the domestic discord. A -woman-worshipper as he then was, and under the influence of the book he -had been reading, he thought that only a woman could reconcile him with -his father. This noble role he assigned to his step-mother. - -While thus tying on the sofa he felt an unusual degree of fever, -during which his brain seemed to work at arranging memories of the -past, cutting out some scenes, and adding others. New minor characters -entered; he saw them mixing in the action, and heard them speaking, -just as he had done on the stage. After one or two hours had passed, -he had a comedy in two acts ready in his head. This was both a painful -and pleasurable form of work if it could be called a work; for it went -forward of itself, without his will or co-operation. - -But now he had to write it. In four days the piece was ready. He kept -on going from the writing-table to the sofa and back; and in the -intervals of his work, he collapsed like a rag. When the work was -finished, he drew a deep sigh of relief, as though years of pain were -over, as though a tumour had been cut out. He was so glad, that he felt -as though some one was singing within him. Now he would offer his piece -to the theatre;--that was the way of salvation. The same evening he -sat down to write a note of congratulation to a relative who had found -a situation. When he had written the first line, it seemed to him to -read like a verse. Then he added the second line which rhymed with the -first. Was it no harder than that? Then with a single effort he wrote a -four-page letter in rhyme and discovered that he could write verse. Was -it no harder than that? Only a few months before he had asked a friend -to help him with some verses for a special occasion. He had, however, -received a negative but complimentary answer, in being told not to -drive in a hired carriage, when he had one of his own. - -One was not then born to write verses, he said to himself, nor did one -learn it, though all kinds of verse-measures were taught in school, -but it came,--or did not come. It seemed to him like the working of -the Holy Spirit. Had the psychical convulsion, which he had felt at -his defeat as an actor, been so strong that it had turned upside down -all the strata of his memories and impressions, and had the violent -impulse set his imagination to work? There had doubtless been a long -preparation going on. Was it not his imagination, which had conjured up -pictures, when as a child he had been afraid of the dark? Had he not -written essays in school and letters for years? Had he not formed his -style through reading, translating and writing for the papers? Yes, he -had, but it was not till now that he noticed in himself the so-called -creative power of the artist. - -The art of the actor was therefore not the one suited to his powers; -his having thought so was a mistake which could easily be rectified. -Meanwhile he must keep his authorship fairly secret and remain at the -theatre till the end of the season, so that his failure as an actor -might not be known, or at any rate till his piece was accepted, as it -naturally would be, for he thought it good. - -But he wished to make sure of it, and for that purpose invited two -of his learned friends outside the theatrical circle. In the evening -before they came, he arranged the lumber-room which he had hired in -the doctor's house. He tidied it up, lighted two candles instead of -the study lamp, covered the table with a clean cloth and set on it a -punch-bowl with glass, ash-trays and matches. This was the first time -he had entertained guests, and the experience was novel and strange. - -The work of an author has often been compared to childbirth, and the -comparison has something to justify it. He felt a kind of peace like -that which follows parturition; something or some one seemed to be -there which, or who, was not there before; there had been suffering and -crying and now there was silence and peace. He felt in a festival mood -as he used to do in the old times at home; the children were in their -Sunday best, and their father in his black frock coat cast a last look -round on the arrangements before the guests came. - -His friends arrived and he read the piece through in silence till the -end. They gave their verdict, and John was greeted by his elders as an -author. - -When they had gone, he fell on his knees on the floor, and thanked -God for having delivered him from difficulty and bestowed on him the -gift of poetry. His communion with God had been very irregular; it -was a curious fact, that in cases of great necessity he rallied his -powers within himself and did not cry to the Lord at all; but on joyful -occasions, on the other hand, he involuntarily felt the need of at once -thanking the Giver of all good. It was just the contrary to what it had -been in his childhood, and that was natural since his idea of God had -developed into that of the Author and Giver of all good things, whereas -the God of his childhood had been a God of terror whose hand was full -of misfortunes. - -At last he had found his calling, his true role in life and his -wavering character began to develop a backbone. He had a pretty good -idea now of what he wanted, and this gave him at least a rudder to -steer by. Now he pushed off from land to go for a long voyage, but -always ready to tack when he encountered too strong a head wind,--not, -however, to fall to leeward, but the next moment to luff his ship up to -the wind with bellying sails. - -By writing this comedy, he had now relieved himself of his domestic -troubles. He next described the religious conflicts he remembered so -vividly in a three-act play. This lightened the ship considerably. - -His creative energy during this period was immense. He had the writing -fever daily; within two months he composed two comedies and a rhymed -tragedy, besides occasional verses. The tragedy was his first real -"work of art," as the phrase is, for it did not deal with any of his -subjective experiences. "Sinking Hellas" was the not inconsiderable -theme. The composition was finished and clear, but the situations were -somewhat threadbare, and there was a good deal of declamation. The -only original elements in it were an austere moral tone and contempt -for uncultured demagogues. Thus, for instance, he introduced an old -man inveighing against the immorality and want of patriotism of the -youth of the time. He made Demosthenes speak disparagingly of a -demagogue, and express something of what he had felt towards the master -chimney-sweep and pawnbroker on the journey to Copenhagen. The head -of the Theatrical Academy also got a rap over the knuckles because -he had often lamented over John's "lack of culture." The piece was -aristocratic in tone, and the freedom celebrated in it was that which -was the object of aspiration in the sixties,--national freedom. - -Meanwhile he had sent his domestic comedy anonymously to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. While it was under consideration, he -went on cheerfully with his work as supernumerary actor. "Just you -wait!" he said to himself, "then my turn will come and I shall have a -word to say in the matter." He was now quite cool on the stage, and -felt, even when dressed as a peasant youth in _Wilhelm Tell_, like a -prince in disguise. "I am certainly no swineherd, though you may think -so," he hummed to himself. - -He had to wait long for an answer about his piece. At last he lost -patience and revealed himself as the author to the head of the -Theatrical Academy. The latter had read the piece and found talent in -it, but said it could not be played. This was not a great blow for him, -for he still had the tragedy in reserve. That was better received, but -he was told it needed remodelling here and there. - -One evening when the Academy closed, the head instructor expressed a -wish to speak with John. "Now we see what you are good for," he said. -"You have a fine career in front of you; why should you choose an -inferior one? You can become an actor probably if you work for some -years, but why toil at this thankless task? Go back to Upsala and take -your degree if you can. Then become an author, for one must first have -experiences in order to write well." - -To become an author,--that John agreed with, and also with the -suggestion that he should give up the theatre; but as for returning to -Upsala,--no! He hated the university, and did not see how the useless -things one learnt there could help him as an author; he rather needed -to study life at first hand. But then he began to reflect, and when -he considered that, at present, he could get no piece of his accepted -so as to serve as a plank to save himself by, he grasped at the other -straw,--Upsala. There was no disgrace in becoming a student again, and -at the theatre they knew that he was not only an unsuccessful debutant, -but also an author. - -At the same time he learnt that there was a legacy due to him from his -mother of a few hundred kronas. With them he could support himself for -a half-year at the university. He went to his father, not as a prodigal -son, but as a promising author, and as a creditor. There was a vehement -dispute between them which ended in John receiving his legacy. He had -now conceived the plan of a tragedy with the startling title "Jesus of -Nazareth." It dealt in dramatic form with the life of Christ, and was -intended, with one blow and once for all, to shatter the divine image -and eradicate Christianity. But when he had completed some scenes, he -saw that the subject-matter was too great and would demand prolonged -and tedious study. - -The theatrical season now approached its end. The Theatrical Academy -gave their customary stage performance. John had received no role in -it, but undertook the task of prompter. And his career as an actor -closed in the prompter's box. To this was reduced his ambition of -acting Karl Moor on the stage of the Great Theatre! Did he deserve this -fate? Was he worse equipped for acting than the rest? That was probably -not so, but the question was never decided. - -In the evening after the performance, a dinner was given to the -Academy pupils. John was invited and made a speech in verse in order -to make his exit seem as little like a fiasco as possible. He became -intoxicated, as usual, behaved foolishly and disappeared from the -scene. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE "RUNA" CLUB - -(1870) - - -The Upsala of the sixties showed signs of the end and dissolution of a -period which might be called the Bostroemic.[1] In what relation does -the philosophic system which prevails in a given period stand to the -period itself? The system seems like a collection of the thoughts of -the period at a particular point of time. The philosopher does not -make the period, but the period makes the philosopher. He collects all -the thoughts of his period and thereby exercises an influence on it, -and with the close of the period his influence ends. The Bostroemic -philosophy had three defects; it wished to be definitely Swedish; -it came too late; and it wished to outlive its period. To attempt -to construct a purely Swedish philosophy was absurd, for that meant -trying to break loose from the connection with the great mother-stem -which grows on the Continent and only sends out seeds towards the -Northern peninsula. The attempt came too late, for time is necessary to -construct a system, and before the system was constructed, the period -had passed. Bostroem, as a philosopher, was not, as it were, shot out -of a cannon. All knowledge is collecting-work, and is coloured by -the personality of the collector. Bostroem was a branch grown out of -Kant and Hegel, watered by Biberg and Grubbe, and finally producing -some offshoots of his own. That was all. He seems to have derived -his fundamental principle from Krause's Pantheism, which itself was -an attempt to unite the philosophy of Kant and Fichte with that of -Schelling and Hegel. This eclecticism had been already attempted by -Grubbe. Bostroem first studied theology, and this seemed to have a -hampering effect on his mind when he wrote about speculative theology. -His moral philosophy he derived from Kant. To call him an original -philosopher is provincial patriotism. His influence did not reach -beyond the frontiers of Sweden, nor did it outlast the sixties. His -political system was already antiquated in 1865, when the students out -of reverence for the philosopher, had still to declare, conformably to -his textbook, that the representation of the four estates was the only -reasonable one--a doctrine which was subsequently contradicted in the -college lectures. - -How did Bostroem come by such an idea? Can one draw an inference from -the accidental circumstance that he, a poor man's son from Norrland, -came into too close touch with King John and his court, in his capacity -of tutor to the princes? Could the philosopher escape the common lot -of generalising in _certain_ respects, from his own predilections and -current time-sanctioned ideas? Probably not. Bostroem as an idealist -was subjective--so subjective that he denied reality an independent -existence, declaring that, "to be is to be perceived (by men)." The -world of phenomena therefore, according to him, exists only in and -through our perceptions. The error of the deduction was overlooked, and -it was a double one. The system rested on an unproved assumption, and -had to be corrected; it is true that the phenomenal world only exists -for its through our perception, but that does not prevent its existing -for itself without our perception. In fact science has demonstrated -that the earth already existed with a very high degree of organic life, -before any one was there to perceive it. - -Bostroem broke with ecclesiastical Christianity, but, like Kant and -the later evolutionist philosophers, retained Christian morality. -Kant had been arrested in the bold progress of his thought by a want -of psychological knowledge, and had simply laid down as axioms the -categorical imperative and the practical postulate. The moral law, -which depends on the epoch and changes with it, received in his system -quite a Christian colouring as God's command. Bostroem was still -"under the law"; he judged the moral worth or baseness of an action -simply by its motives; according to him the only satisfactory motive -is that regard for the spiritual nature of duty which is revealed in -conscience. But there are as many consciences as there are religions -and races; therefore his moral system was quite sterile. - -Bostroem's importance for theological development only consisted in -his coming forward against Bishop Beckman in the discussion regarding -the doctrine of hell (1864), although that doctrine had recently been -rejected by the cultivated with the assistance of the rationalists. -On the other hand Bostroem was obstructive in his pamphlets _The -Irresponsibility and Divine Right of the King_ and _Are the Estates of -the Realm Justified in Resolving on and Carrying Out the Change in the -So-called (!) Representation of the People_? (1865). - -In his capacity as an idealist, Bostroem is, for the present generation, -not only without significance, but positively reactionary. He is -nothing but a necessary link in the worthless reactionary philosophy -which followed with such fatal obscurantism the "illuminative" -philosophy of the eighteenth century. He has lived and is dead. Peace -to his ashes! - -Literature ought to be another barometer for testing the atmosphere of -any given period. And in order to be that, it must be free to deal with -the questions of that period; but this, the then prevailing aesthetic -theories forbade. - -Poetry ought to be and was (according to Bostroem) a recreation like the -other fine arts. Under such a theory and influenced by the prevalent -idolatry of the "ego," poetry became merely lyrical, expressing -the poet's small personal feelings and inclination, and reflecting -therefore only some of the features of the period, and those perhaps, -not the most important. Only two names in the poetry of the sixties -were of importance--Snoilsky and Bjoerck. Snoilsky was "awake," to use -a pietistic expression, Bjoerck was dead. Both were born poets, as the -saying is; that is to say, their talents showed themselves earlier -than usual. Both attained distinction while still at school, early won -honour and renown, and by birth and position were enabled to view life -from its sunny heights. Snoilsky, without knowing it, was under the -power of the spirit of the new age. Freed from the fear of hell and -monkish morality, experiencing the retrenchment of his privileges as a -nobleman, he gave free play both to mind and body. In his first poems -he was a revolutionary and praised the cap of liberty; he preached the -emancipation of the flesh and had a certain dislike to over-culture as -a conventional restraint. But as a poet, he did not escape the poet's -tragic destiny--not to be taken seriously. Poetry in the eyes of the -public, was simply poetry, and Snoilsky was a poet. Bjoerck had a mind -which was not capable of receiving strong impressions. At peace with -himself, languid, complete from the beginning, he lived his life sunk -in his own reflections or noticed only the trifling events of the -outer world and described them neatly and correctly. In the opinion of -the great majority who live the peaceful life of automata his poetry -shows a remarkable degree of philanthropy. But why does not this -philanthropy extend itself further to large circles of men, and to -humanity at large? In the writer's opinion Bjoerck's philanthropy does -not extend beyond the limits of the personal quiet which the individual -attains when he ignores the duties of social life. He is satisfied -with the world because the world has been kind to him; he avoids -strife because it disturbs his own serenity. Bjoerck is an example of -the fortunate man whose life is not in conflict with his upbringing, -but who rather builds up stone by stone, on the foundation already -laid; everything proceeds in a workmanlike way by level and rule; the -house is finished, as it was designed, without the plan undergoing any -alteration. Stunted by domestic tyranny, tasting early the sweets -of homage and reverence, he ceased to grow. He accepted Bostroem's -compromise with Christianity without examining it, and in doing so, he -had finished his life-work. His poetry is especially praised for its -purity and spiritual character. What is this "purity" which in our -days is so sharply contrasted with the sensual? The secret is, that he -did not get her; just as Dante's heavenly love for Beatrice was due to -the same involuntary cause. Bjoerck therefore sang of the unattainable -with the quiet melancholy of unsatisfied love. But that, however, is no -virtue, and purity should be a virtue. - -In short, Bjoerck and Snoilsky sang of water and drank wine, and in this -were just the opposite to the poets of our time, who are said to sing -of wine and drink water. A poet's life always seems to be at variance -with his teachings. Why? Is it that, in composing, he wishes to escape -from his own personality, and find another? Is it a wish to disguise -himself? Or is it modesty, the fear of giving himself away, and of -self-exposure? This is a weighty problem for future psychologists to -unravel. - -Bjoerck composed poems both for the reformation of the constitution -in 1865, and for the restoration to power of the King. He saw harmony -everywhere, and when he celebrated the restored union between Sweden -and Norway in 1864, he was extremely melodious. He also praised -Abraham Lincoln; negro-emancipation and white slavery--that is the -ideal of freedom of the Holy Alliance! Revolution certainly, but legal -revolution by the will of God! Well, he knew no better, and few did at -that time. Therefore we do not judge the man but only his work, the -motives inspiring which are a matter of indifference to posterity. - -Young men read these poets, many of them with great edification. -They proclaimed no new era, but prophesied after the event that -now the millennium was come, the ideal realised, and lines of -demarcation obliterated once for all. They looked with satisfaction -on their creations, rubbed their hands, and found them all good. An -atmosphere of peace had spread itself over the whole of Upsala and -its neighbourhood; now one might sleep till Doomsday was the belief -of old and young. But then discordant sounds began to be heard, and -in the days of universal peace fire-beacons began to be seen on the -neighbouring mountain-tops. From Norway open water was signalled -and the revolving lights were kindled. Rome captured Greece, but -Greece re-captured Rome. Sweden had captured Norway, but now Norway -re-captured Sweden. Lorenz Dietrichson was appointed as professor -at the university of Upsala in 1861, and he was the forerunner of -Norwegian influence. He made Sweden acquainted with Danish and -Norwegian literature, then almost unknown, and founded the literary -society which produced poets like Snoilsky and Bjoerck. - -After Norway had broken loose from the Danish monarchy and had ceased -to be a branch of the head office in Copenhagen, it was not grafted -into Sweden but retreated into itself. At the same time it opened -direct communication with the continent. Its awakening to independence -was coincident with a strong stream of foreign influence. It was -Bjoernson who first roused Norway to self-consciousness; but when this -degenerated into a narrow patriotism, Ibsen came with the pruning -shears. - -As the strife became fiercer and Christiania would not lend itself -to be a field of battle, the conflict was transferred to hospitable -Sweden. The Norwegian wine was well adapted for exportation; pamphlets -grew in size as they travelled and in Sweden became literature. -Thoughts came to the top and personalities settled at the bottom of -the vessel. Ibsen and Bjoernson broke into Sweden; Tidemand and Gude -took prizes in the art exhibition of 1866; Kierulf and Nordraak were -authorities in singing and music. Then came Ibsen's _Brand_. This had -appeared in 1866, but John did not see it till 1869. It made a deep -impression on the primitive Christian side of him, but it was gloomy -and severe. The final utterance in it regarding "Deus caritatis" was -not satisfying, and the poet seemed to have had too much sympathy with -his hero to have described his overthrow with cold irony. - -_Brand_ gave John a good deal of trouble. He (Brand) had dropped -Christianity but kept its stern ascetic morality; he demanded obedience -for his old doctrines though they were no more practicable; he despised -the tendency of the time towards humanity and compromise, but ended by -recommending the God of compromise. Brand was a fanatic, a pietist, -who dared to believe himself right against the whole world, and John -felt himself related to this terrible egoist who was wrong besides. No -half-measures! go straight on; break down everything that stands in the -way, for you only are right! John's tender conscience, which suffered -at every step he took lest it should vex his father or friends, was -stupefied by Brand. All ties of consideration and of love should be -torn asunder for the sake of "the cause." That John was no longer a -pietist was a piece of good fortune, otherwise he too would have been -overwhelmed by the avalanche.[2] But Brand gave him a belief in a -conscience which was purer than that which education had given him, and -a law which was higher than conventional law. And he needed this iron -backbone in his weak back, for he had long periods during which by -fits and starts and out of mildness he thought himself wrong, and the -first who came, right; therefore, he was also very easily misled. Brand -was the last Christian who followed an old ideal, therefore he could be -110 pattern for one who felt a vague inclination to revolt against all -old ideals. - -_Brand_ after all was a fine plant, but without any roots in its own -period; and, therefore, it belonged to the herbarium. Then came -_Peer Gynt_. This was rather obscure than deep and had its value as -an antidote against the national self-love. The fact that Ibsen was -neither banished nor persecuted after having said such bitter things -against the proud Norwegians, shows that in Norway they were more -honourable fighters than the Swedes afterwards showed themselves to be. - -Ibsen was at that time regarded as a misanthrope and as an enemy and -envier of Bjoernson. People were divided into two camps, and the dispute -as to which of the two was the greater was endless, for it concerned an -artistic problem--"contents or form." - -The influence of Norwegian on Swedish poetry has been great and partly -beneficent, but there was a peculiarly Norwegian element in it, which -was not adaptable to Sweden, a land with quite another development. -In the sequestered valleys of Norway there lived a people who, under -the pressure of need and poverty, found ready to their hand in the -Christian doctrine of renunciation an ascetic philosophy which promised -heaven as a compensation for earth's hardships. Nature in her most -gloomy and parsimonious aspect, a damp climate, long winters, great -distances between the villages,--all co-operated to preserve an -austere mediaeval type of Christianity. There is something which may -be said to resemble insanity in the Norwegian character, of the same -kind as the English "spleen;" and possibly the intimate relations of -Norway with the hypochondriacal islanders may have impressed traces -on its civilisation. In Jonas Lie's _Clair-voyant_ this melancholy -is depleted, and in it one finds the same weird atmosphere as in the -Icelandic sagas, and the theme also is similar,--the struggle of the -spirit against physical darkness and cold. There we have depicted -the tragic lot of the Norseman banished from sunny lands to gloomy -wildernesses, and seeking relief by emigration, the ethnographical -significance of which has been overlooked in view of its economical -aspect. The Norwegian character is the result of many hundred years of -tyranny, of injustice, of hard struggling for a livelihood, of want of -gladness. - -Swedish literature should have avoided absorbing these national -peculiarities, but they have made it half-Norwegian. Brand still haunts -Swedish literature with his ideal demands, with which the romanticised -and cheerful Swede cannot sincerely sympathise. Therefore this foreign -garb suits him so badly; therefore modern Swedish music sounds so -unharmonious, like an echo of the violins of Hardanger, tuned over -again by Grieg; therefore the talk of greater moral purity sounds -discordant in the mouth of the vivacious Swede. He has not suffered -from long oppression and does not need to seek himself in the past; -melancholy has not so beset him in his open flat land of lakes and -rivers, and therefore a sour mien becomes him ill. - -When the Swedes received great and novel ideas by way of Norway or -direct from the Continent through Ibsen and Bjoernson, they should have -kept the kernel and thrown away the Norwegian husk. Even the _Doll's -House_ is Norwegian. Nora is related to the Icelandic women who wished -to set up a matriarchate; she belongs to the weird imperious women in -_Haermaennen_ who again are pure Norse. In them the emotions have become -frozen or distorted by centuries of cognate marriages. - -The whole Swedish literature of feminism is ultra-Norwegian; it -contains the same immodest demands on the man and petting of the spoilt -woman. Several young authors have introduced the Norwegian style into -Swedish; one authoress has placed the scene of her book in Norway, and -made her hero talk Norwegian! Further one could not go! - -Let us welcome foreign influence which is cosmopolitan; but not -Norwegian, for that is provincial, and we have plenty of the same kind -ourselves. - - * * * * * - -So John found himself again in Upsala,--the same Upsala from which he -had fled nine months before, and to which he most unwillingly returned. -To be compelled to a course which he did not wish always made him feel -as though he were encountering a personal foe, who cajoled him out of -his wishes and antipathies, and forced him to bend. Since he still -believed himself under God's personal providence, he accepted that as -though it were for his best. Later on he had a feeling that there was -a malignant power; this developed into the belief that there were two -ruling powers, one good, one evil, which divided the empery, or ruled -alternately. - -He asked himself again, "What have you to do here?" To take his degree, -but especially to cover his retreat from the theatre. Privately he -wished to write a play, and, under the screen of its success, wriggle -out of the examination. - -At first he was not at all comfortable in his lonely attic. He had -become accustomed to luxury, a large room, a good table, attendance -and society. After having been habituated to be treated as a man and -to have intercourse with older and cultivated people, he found himself -again in a state of pupilage as a student. But he cast himself into -the crowd and soon found himself on social terms with three distinct -circles. The first consisted of friends whom he met by day, who were -students of medicine and natural history and atheists. From them he -heard for the first time the name of Darwin; but it passed by him like -a doctrine for which he was not yet ripe. His evening society consisted -of a priest and a lawyer with whom he played cards till deep in the -night. He considered himself now in Upsala merely to grow and get -older, and that it was a matter of indifference what he did, as long as -he killed the time. He drew up the scheme of a new tragedy, Eric XIV, -but found it poor, and burnt it, for his faculty of self-criticism had -awakened and was severer in its demands. - -Later on in the term he entered a third society, which formed his -special circle during the whole of his time at Upsala and for a long -while afterwards. One evening he chanced to meet a young companion -with whom he had been a pupil at the private school. They discussed -literature, and over a glass of toddy made the plan of forming some -young poets into a club for literary work. The plan was carried out. -Besides John and the other founder of the club, four young students -were elected to it. They were fine young fellows of an idealist turn of -mind, as the saying is, with high purposes and enthusiastic for vague -ideals. They had not yet come into contact with the hard realities of -life; they had all well-to-do parents, no cares, and knew nothing at -all of the struggle for a subsistence. John, on the other hand, had -just left the most unpleasant surroundings; he had seen people who -were always ready to quarrel, conceited, empty-headed pupils of the -Theatrical Academy. Here he found himself transplanted into an entirely -new world. There were these happy youths going to their well-supplied -tables, smoking fine cigars, taking walks, and poetising beautifully -over the beauty of life which they knew nothing of. - -Rules were drawn up for the club, which received the name "Runa," -_i.e_. "song." The choice of this title was probably due to the -Northern renaissance which came in with the Scandinavian movement. -Its chief ornaments were Karl XV in poetry, Winge and Malmstroem in -painting, and Molin in sculpture. Recently it had been quickened by -Bjoernson's and Ibsen's dramas on subjects from the old Norse life. -The study of Icelandic, which had been newly introduced into the -university, also lent strength to this movement. - -The number of members of the club was not to exceed nine; each of -them was known by a Runic sign. John was called "Froe" and the other -founder of the club, "Ur." Every variety of opinion was represented. -Ur was a great patriot and venerated Sweden with its memories. In his -opinion it had the most brilliant history in Europe, and had always -been free. For the rest he was a practically minded man with a special -faculty for statistics, politics, and biography; he was a severe and -clever critic, and also managed the affairs of the club. He was a -reliable friend, good company, helpful and hearty. Secondly, there -was a full-blooded romanticist who read Heine and drank absinthe--a -sensitive youth enthusiastic for all old ideals, but especially for -Heine. There was also a seraph who sang of the indescribably little, -especially the happiness of childhood; fourthly, a silent worshipper of -nature, and, lastly, an eclectic philosopher and improvisator, who had -an extraordinary faculty for improvising in any style whatever, when -requested. Two minutes after he had been asked, he would stand up and -speak or sing on the spur of the moment in the character of Anacreon, -Horace, the Edda, or any one else, and even in foreign languages. - -The first meeting of the club was at Thurs', who was lodged the most -comfortably in two rooms and had the best pipes. As one of the founders -of the club John first of all read his prologue, which, according -to the rules of the society, had to be in verse. It began by asking -after the ancient bard Brage and his harp which was now silent. Brage -represented the new Norse element, the resuscitation of which was -believed necessary. The whole programme of the idealists was called -"a trivial striving." All the great efforts of their contemporaries -after reality and for the improvement of the conditions of life was -"trivial." The spirit was taken prisoner in matter, and therefore -all that was material was to be regarded as the enemy. Such was the -teaching of the romanticists, and of John's prologue. Then the poet -went out into nature, listened to the bells of the cathedral, the -wind, the pines, and the singing of the birds in order to ask the very -natural question: "Nature sings; why should I then be silent?" He -resolved to be no longer silent but to sing,--about the joyous youthful -spring-time of life, its autumn, and about love to one's native soil. -Then (he said) came the wise man with the frozen heart, took his song, -dissected it and found that it was all nonsense. Thus the song was -killed by "overwiseness." - -It is not easy to say exactly now what John meant by "overwiseness" -in 1870. He probably had simply forebodings of future critics, and -the "wise man" was no other than the reviewer. Then he inveighed -against the wretched mercenary souls who worship the golden calf but -do not love songs. This had no connection with contemporary matters, -for the sixties were remarkable for bad harvests and consequently -for want of gold. The swindles by company-promoters began with the -seventies. But it was the custom of the contemporary poets to attack -money and the golden calf, and therefore John did so in his prologue. -Now began a life of poetic idleness. Every evening they met either in -a restaurant, or in each other's rooms. But the time was not wasted -in view of his future authorship. John could borrow books from the -well-stocked libraries of his friends, and the interchange of opinions -accustomed him to look at literature from different points of view. But -for them real life, public interests, contemporary politics did not -exist; they lived in dreams. Sometimes his lower-class consciousness -awoke, and he asked himself what he had to do among these rich youths. -But he soon stilled these scruples by drink and talk, and encouraged -himself to go forward and demand something of life, for he had in his -companions' opinion a good chance. - -His room was a wretched one; the rain came through the roof, and he had -no proper bed, but only a plank-bed, which in the day-time served as a -sofa. When time hung heavily on his hands and he grew weary of poetical -discussions he looked up his old school-fellow, the natural history -student. There he looked through the microscope, and heard of Darwin -and the new scientific views. His friend gave him well-meant practical -advice and recommended him to get out of his difficulties by writing a -one-act play in verse for the Theatre Royal. - -John objected that his dramatic talent had not scope enough in one act, -and said that he would rather write a tragedy in five. - -"Yes, but it is harder to get that accepted," replied his friend. -Finally he let himself be persuaded and determined to carry out a -small idea he had of a short play based on Thorwaldson's first visit -to Rome. His friend lent him books on Italy and John set to work. In -fourteen days the piece was ready. - -"That will be acted," said his friend. "It has dramatic points, you -see." - -Since it was still a long time to the next meeting of the club, John -hastened in the evening to Thurs and Rejd and read the piece to them. -They were both of the same opinion as the natural history student, -that the piece would be performed. They had a champagne supper, and -kept drinking till the morning, and then went to sleep on the floor of -Rejd's room with the punch-glasses by them. In a couple of hours they -awoke, finished their half-empty glasses at sunrise and went out to -continue the celebration of the occasion. - -The sympathy of John's friends was hearty, unselfish and warm, without -a trace of envy. He always remembered with pleasure this first success -as one of the brightest recollections of his youth. The enthusiastic, -devoted Rejd increased Hohn's debt of gratitude by copying out the -piece in his graceful hand-writing. Then it was sent to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. Spring arrived and they spent the -month of May in a continual carouse. The club had a small room in the -restaurant Lilia Foerderfvet for their evening suppers. There they -talked, made speeches, and drank enormously. At last the term ended and -they had to part, but they arranged to meet once more at Stockholm, -and celebrate the festival day of the club by an excursion into the -country. - -At six o'clock one June morning the four members of the club met at -Skeppsholm, where they had hired a rowing-boat. The chest of the club, -a card-board box containing documents, was stowed away with baskets of -provisions and bottles of wine. After Os and Rejd had taken the oars, -they steered the boat to the canal leading through the Zoological -Gardens, in order to reach the place they had appointed, a promontory -of Liding Island. Thurs played airs on the flute to Bellmann's songs, -and Froe (John) accompanied him on a guitar which he had learnt to play -at Upsala. - -As soon as they landed, breakfast was laid in a meadow by the shore. -The club-chest adorned with leaves and flowers was set in the middle -of the table-cloth, and on it were set the brandy-bottles and glasses. -John, who had studied antiquities for his play, _Sinking Hellas_, -arranged the meal in the Greek style, so that they wore garlands, and -ate reclining. A fire was lit between some stones and coffee was made. -At nine o'clock in the morning they drank brandy and punch. - -John read his drama, _The Free-thinker_, which was duly criticised. -Then they gave full course to their eloquence. Thurs was the best -speaker; he could express emotions and thoughts rhythmically. Poems -were read and received with applause. John sang folk-songs to the -accompaniment of his guitar, some on sentimental subjects, and some on -improper ones. At noon they were still in high spirits but inclined to -be sleepy. - -In the afternoon when the sun was over Lilia Vaertan they had a short -sleep, and then the carouse passed into a new phase. Thurs, the -Israelite, had recited a poem on the greatness of the North, and called -on the old gods of Scandinavia. Ur, the patriot, denied him the right -to appropriate other people's gods. The Jewish question came up; they -took fire and nearly quarrelled, but ended by embracing. - -Then began the sentimental stage. They had to weep, for alcohol has -this effect on the membranes of the stomach and the lachrymal duets. -Ur first felt this and unconsciously sought for a melancholy subject. -He burst into tears. When asked why, he did not know, but said at last -that he had been treated as a buffoon, which he always was. He declared -that he had a very serious nature and that he also had great troubles -which no one knew about, but now he unburdened his heart and told us a -domestic story. After he had done so, he became cheerful again. - -But the evening was long and they began to wish to go home. Their -brains were empty; they were tired of each other, and weary of play -and drinking. They began to reflect and examine the philosophy of -intoxication. From whence do men derive this desire to make themselves -senseless? What lies behind it? Is it the southern exile's longing -for a lost sunny existence in northern lands? There must be some felt -necessity underlying intoxication, for a vice like this would not -have laid hold of all mankind without reason. Is it that the member -of society in a state of intoxication throws away all the lies of -society? For the laws of social intercourse involuntarily forbid one to -speak out all one's thoughts. Otherwise whence comes the saying, _In -vino veritas_? Why did the Greeks honour Bacchus as one who improved -men and manners? Why did Dionysus love peace, and why was he said -to increase riches? Has wine, which is chiefly drunk by men, some -influence on the development of man's intelligence and activity, so -that he becomes superior to woman? And why do the Muhammadans who drink -no wine stand on what is regarded as a lower level of civilisation? -As salt is used as a daily nutrient to replace the salts which their -hunting forefathers found in the blood of beasts of the chase, does not -wine compensate for some lost nutritive matter belonging to earlier -stages, and, if so, which? Some idea or necessity must underlie so -singular a custom. - -Perhaps the need of losing consciousness justifies the axiom of the -pessimists that consciousness is the beginning of suffering. Wine makes -one naive and unconscious as a child; or even as an animal. Is it -the lost paradise which one wishes to recover? But the remorse which -follows it? Remorse and acidity of the stomach have the same symptoms. -Is there then a confusion, and are sensations called "remorse" which -are only heart-burn? Or does the drinker returned to consciousness -regret that he has exposed himself by daylight and betrayed his -secrets? There is something to feel remorse for in that! He is ashamed -that he has been taken by surprise, he feels afraid because he has -exposed himself and given away his weapons. Remorse and fear are close -neighbours. - -Yet once more the members of the club drowned their consciousness in -drink and then got into the boat to proceed home. John and Thurs began -a dispute about Bellmann[3] which lasted till they reached Skeppsholm, -and closed with sharp remarks on both sides. - -John had an old grudge against this poet. Once as a child, he had been -ill for a whole summer, and had by chance taken Bellmann's _Fredman's -Epistles_ out of his father's book-case. The book seemed to him silly, -but he was too young to form a well-grounded opinion on it. Later on, -it sometimes happened that his father sat at the piano, and hummed -Bellmann's songs. The boy found it incomprehensible that his father and -uncle admired them so much. Subsequently one Christmas he saw a violent -controversy break out between his mother and his uncle on the subject -of Bellmann. The latter set the poet above everything--Bible, sermons -and all. There were depths, he said, in Bellmann. Depths indeed! -Probably Atterbom's romanticist one-sided criticism had filtered -through the daily papers to the middle classes. As a school-boy and -student, John had sung "Up, Amaryllis" and other idylls of Bellmann's, -naturally without understanding them or thinking of the meaning of the -words. He sang in a quartette, or choir, for it sounded well. Finally, -in 1867, he read Ljunggren's lectures and a light broke upon him, but -not one of Ljunggren's kindling. He thought the latter mad. Bellmann -was a ballad-singer, that was true, but a great poet, the greatest poet -of the North?--impossible! - -Bellmann had sung his songs composed on the French model for the -Court and his own friends, but not for the common people, who would -not have understood "Amaryllis," "Eol," "The Tritons," "Froeja" and -all the rococo stock-in-trade. He died and was forgotten. Why had -he been disinterred by Atterbom? Because the pugnacious romantic -school required an embodiment of irregularity to set up against the -classicists, as they had nothing of their own to boast of. Thus the -romantic school gained the day; and when one considers how cowardly -most people are in the face of public opinion, and the tendency of the -middle-class to ape its superiors and reverence authority, one ceases -to be surprised at the elevation of Bellmann. Ljunggren and Eichhorn -outstripped Atterbom in finding beauty and genius in his writings they -were reinforced by the clerical element, and thus the idol was set up -for worship. Bystrom, the sculptor, had already magnified the little -lottery-secretary and court-poet into a Dionysus and lent him the -features of an antique bust of Bacchus. - -Bellmann's idylls are careless, extemporised compositions with forced -rhymes, and as disconnected as the thoughts in the brain of a drunkard. -One does not know whether it is day or night, the thunder rolls in the -sunshine, and the weaves beat while the boat is floating calmly on the -waters. They simply provide a text for music, and for that purpose -one might use a book of addresses. The meaning of the words does not -matter, as long as they sound well. - -According to his custom Thurs took the matter personally. It was an -attack on his good taste and on his honour, for John said that his -admiration of Bellmann was mere humbug; that he had read himself into -it, and that it was not genuine. Thurs on the other hand declared John -to be presumptuous, because he wished to criticise the greatest Swedish -poet. - -"Prove that he is the greatest," said John. - -"Tegner and Atterbom say so." - -"That is no proof." - -"Simply because you have a spirit of contradiction." - -"Doubt is the beginning of certainty, and absurd assertions must arouse -opposition in a healthy brain." - -And so on. - -Although there is no such thing as a judgment which holds good -universally, since every judgment is individualistic, there are, on the -other hand, judgments of a majority and of a party. By means of these -John was suppressed and kept silence on the subject of Bellmann for -many years. Only when later on the old historian Fryxell proved that -Bellmann was not the apostle of sobriety which Eichhorn and Ljunggren -had made him out to be, and also no god, but a mediocre ballad-singer, -did John see a gleam of hope that his individual opinion might become -some day the opinion of the majority. But he already saw the question -from another point of view; Sweden would have been neither unhappier -nor worse, if Bellmann had never lived. He would like to have said to -the patriots and democrats, "Bellmann was a poet of Stockholm and of -the Court, who jested very cruelly with poor people." He would like -to have said to the Good Templars who sang Bellmann's songs, "You are -singing drinking songs which were written during fits of intoxication -and celebrate drink." For his own part, John held that Bellmann's -songs were pleasant to sing because of the light French melodies which -accompanied them, and as for their French morality it did not vex him -at all--quite the contrary. But earlier, at the age of twenty-one, he -was vexed by it, for he was an idealist and desired purity in poetry, -just as the surviving idealists and admirers of Bellmann do at the -present time. - -These have used the word "humour" to save themselves and their -morality. But what do they mean by "humour"? Is it jest or earnest? -What is jest? The reluctance of the cowardly to speak out his mind? -Humour reflects the double nature of man,--the indifference of the -natural man to conventional morality, and the Christian's sigh over -immorality which is after all so enticing and seductive. Humour speaks -with two tongues,--one of the satyr, the other of the monk. The -humorist lets the maenad loose, but for old unsound reasons thinks that -he ought to flog her with rods. This is a transitional form of humour -which is passing away, and already at the last gasp. The greatest -modern writers have thrown away the rod, and play the hypocrite -no longer, but speak their minds plainly out. The old tippler's -sentimentality can no longer count for "a good heart," for it has been -discovered to be merely bad nerves. - -After arguing till they were weary, the members of the club landed in -Stockholm harbour. - -[1] Bostroem: Swedish Philosopher (1797-1866). - -[2] _Vide_ the end of _Brand_. - -[3] Famous Swedish poet. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -BOOKS AND THE STAGE - - -The history of the development of a soul can be sometimes written by -giving a simple bibliography; for a man who lives in a narrow circle -and never meets great men personally, seeks to make their acquaintance -through books. The fact that the same books do not make the same -impression, nor have the same effect upon all, shows their relative -powerlessness to convert anybody. For example, we call the criticism -with which we agree good; the criticism which contradicts our views is -bad. Thus we seem to be educated with preconceived views, and the book -which strengthens, expresses and develops these makes an impression -on us. The danger of a one-sided education through books is that most -books, especially those composed at the end of an era, and at the -university, are antiquated. The youth who has received old ideals from -his parents and teachers is accordingly necessarily out of date before -his education is completed. When he enters manhood, he is generally -obliged to fling away his whole stock of old ideas, and be born again, -as it were. Time has gone by him, while he was reading the old books, -and he finds himself a stranger among his contemporaries. - -John had spent his youth in accumulating antiquarian lore. He knew all -about Marathon and Cannae, the war of the Spanish succession and the -Thirty Years' War, the Middle Ages and antiquity; but when the war -between France and Germany broke out, he did not know the cause of it. -He read about it as he would have read a play, and was interested to -see what the result of it would be. - -In Kristineberg, where he spent the summer with his parents, he lay -out on the grass in the park and read Oehlenschlaeger. For his degree -examination, he had, besides his chief subject--aesthetics,--to -choose a special one, and, enticed by Dietrichson's lectures, he had -chosen Danish literature. In Oehlenschlaeger he had found the summit -of Northern poetry. That was for him the quintessence of poetry,--the -directness which he admired perhaps for the very reason that he had -not got it. The Danish language perhaps also contributed to this -result; it seemed to him an idealised Swedish, and sounded like his -mother-speech from the lips of a woman worshipped from afar. When he -read Oehlenschlaeger's _Helge_, Tegner's _Frithiof's Saga_ seemed to him -petty; he found it unwieldy, prosaic, clerical, unpoetic. - -Oehlenschlaeger's dramas were a book which had an influence on John by -way of a supplementary contrast. Perhaps the romantic element in them -found an echo in the youth's mind, which had now awoken* to poetic -activity, and looked upon poetry and romance as identical. Other -contributory circumstances were his liking for Norse antiquities which -Oehlenschlaeger had just discovered, and the unrequited love he had -just then for a blond maiden who was engaged to a lieutenant. But the -impression made by Oehlenschlaeger was only fleeting, and hardly lasted -a year; it was a light spring breeze which passed by. - -It fared worse with John's study of aesthetics as expounded by -Ljunggren in two closely printed volumes, containing the views of all -philosophers on the Beautiful, but giving no satisfactory definition of -it. - -John had studied the antique in the National Museum, and asked himself -how the pot-house scenes of the Dutch genre painters which, when -they occurred in reality, were called ugly, could be reckoned among -beautiful pictures, although they were in no way idealised. To this the -aesthetic philosophers gave no answer. They shirked the question and -set up one theory after another, but the only excuse they could find -for the admission of ugliness was that it acted as a foil, and provided -a comic element. But a strong suspicion had been aroused in John that -the "Beautiful" was not always beautiful. - -Furthermore, he was troubled by doubts whether it was possible to -have independent standards of taste. In the newly-founded paper, the -_Schwedische Zeitschrift_, he had read discussions about works of -art, and seen how disputants on both sides defended their position -with equally strong arguments. One sought beauty in form, another in -subject, and a third in the harmony between the two. Accordingly a -well-painted subject from still life can rank higher than the Niobe, -for this group of statuary is not beautiful in its outlines, the -arrangement of the drapery of the principal figure being especially -tasteless although the judgment of the majority regards the work as -sublime. Therefore the sublime does not necessarily consist in beauty -of form. - -Victor Hugo's romances had found a fertile soil in John's mind. The -revolt against society; the reverence paid to Nature by the poet living -on a lonely island; the scorn for the ever-prevalent stupidity; the -indignation against formal religion and the enthusiasm for God as the -Creator of all,--all that was germinating in the young man's mind began -to grow, but was stifled by the autumn leaf-drifts of old books. - -John's life in the domestic circle was now a quiet one. The storms -had subsided; his brothers and sisters were grown up. His father, who -still always sat over his account-ledgers, calculating the ways and -means of providing for his flock of children, had become older, and -now perceived that John was also older. They often discussed together -topics of common interest. As regards the Franco-German War they were -both fairly neutral. As Latinised Teutons they did not love the German. -They hated and feared him as a sort of uncle with a right of seniority -against the Swedes, and they did not forget that victorious Prussia had -once been a Swedish province. The Swede had become more French than he -was aware, and now he felt conscious of his relationship to _la grande -nation_. In the evenings when they sat in the garden and the noise of -traffic had ceased, they heard the singing of the Marseillaise from -Blanch's cafe, and the hurrahs which were soon to be silent. - -In August, when the theatres re-opened, John received the long-desired -news that his play had been accepted for the stage. That was the first -intoxicating success which he had experienced. To have a play accepted -at the Theatre Royal when he was only twenty-one was sufficient -compensation for all his misfortunes. His words would reach the public -from the first stage in the land; his failure as an actor would be -forgotten; his father would see that his son amid all his notorious -fluctuations had chosen right, and all would be well. In autumn, before -the university term began, the piece was performed. It was naive, -pious and full of reverence for art, but had one dramatic scene which -saved it in spite of its slightness--Thorwaldsen about to shatter -the statue of Jason with his hammer. But on the other hand the piece -contained a presumptuous outburst against contemporary rhymers. What -was the author's intention in that? How could a beginner who had so -many forced rhymes himself, cast a stone at another? It was a piece -of temerity which found its own punishment. John stole to the bottom -of the third row of seats to view the performance of his piece from a -standing position. Rejd was already there before him and the curtain -was up. John felt as though he stood under an electric machine. Every -nerve quivered, his legs shook, and his tears ran the whole time from -pure nervousness. Rejd had to hold his hand in order to quiet him. -Now and then there was applause, but John knew that it was mostly from -his relatives and friends, and did not let himself be deceived. Every -stupidity which had inadvertently escaped him now jarred on his ear, -and made him quiver; he saw nothing but crudeness in the piece; he felt -so ashamed that his ears burned; before the curtain fell he rushed away -out into the dark market-place. - -He felt as though annihilated. The attack on the priests was stupid and -unjust; the glorification of poverty and pride seemed to him false, his -description of the relationship between father and son was cynical. How -could he have shown off in this absurd way? It seemed to him as though -he had exposed his nakedness, and shame overpowered every other feeling. - -On the other hand he found the actors good; the _mise en scene_ was -more appropriate than he had expected. Everything was good except the -piece itself. He wandered down to the Norrstrom, and felt inclined -to drown himself. What most annoyed him was that he had so openly -exhibited his feelings. Whence came that? And why should one in general -be ashamed of such exhibitions? Why are the feelings so sacred? Perhaps -because the feelings in general are false, as they only express a -physical sensation, in which personality of the individual does not -fully participate. If it is really so, then John was ashamed as an -ordinary man, to have been untruthful in his writing and to have worn -disguise. - -To be moved at the sight of human suffering is regarded as a mark of -fine feeling and meritorious, but it is said to be only a natural -reflex-movement. One involuntarily transfers the sufferings of the -other to oneself and suffers for one's own sake. Another's tears could -bring one to weep just as another's yawning could make one yawn. That -was all. John felt ashamed that he had lied and caught himself in the -act, though the public had not caught him. - -No one is such a merciless critic as a dramatist who sees his own play -acted. He lets no single word pass through his sieve. He does not lay -the blame on the actors, but generally admires them for rendering his -stupidities with such taste. John found his play stupid. It had lain -by for half a year, and perhaps he had outgrown it. Another piece was -performed after it which lasted for two hours. During the whole time -he wandered about the streets in the darkness, feeling ashamed of -himself. He had made an appointment to drink a glass with some friends -and relatives after the performance in the Hotel du Nord, but remained -away. He saw they were looking for him but did not wish to meet them. -So they went in again to see the second play. At last it was over. The -spectators streamed out and dispersed through the streets. He hastened -away in order not to hear their comments. - -At last he saw a single group standing under the portico of the -dramatic theatre. They were looking out in all directions and called -him. Finally he came forward as pale and melancholy as a corpse. - -They congratulated him on his success. The play had been applauded and -was very good. They repeated to him the verdicts of other spectators -and quieted him. Then they dragged him to a restaurant and compelled -him to eat and drink. "That will do you good, you old death's-head!" -said a shop-assistant. John was soon pulled down from his imaginative -flight. "What have you got to be melancholy for," he was asked, "when -you have had a play acted by the Theatre Royal?" He could not tell -them. His boldest ambition was fulfilled; but it was probably not -what he wanted. The thought that in any case it was an honour did not -comfort him. - -The next morning he went into a shop, and bought the morning paper -and read a criticism to the effect that the piece was written in -choice language, and (since it was anonymous) probably by a well-known -art-critic who had moved among artistic circles at Rome. That was -pleasant and cheered his spirits. - -At noon he started for Upsala. His father had engaged a room for him -in a boarding-house, kept by the widow of a clergyman, that he might -complete his studies under proper supervision. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -TORN TO PIECES - - -John's entrance into the boarding-house secured for him intercourse -with a large and varied circle,--perhaps too varied. There were -students of all ages, of all subjects, and from all districts, from -clergymen who were reading for their last examination to young medical -and law students. There were also ladies in the house, and John was -for the eighth time in love. Again the object of his affections -was unattainable, being engaged to another. The variety of this -social intercourse overloaded his brain with impressions from all -circles; his personality became relaxed and distracted through the -self-adaptation and compromises with other people's views which are -necessary in society. Besides this a great deal of drinking went on -nearly every evening. On one of the first days after his arrival -appeared a criticism of his play in one of the evening papers. It was -very sharp but just, and therefore hit John hard. He felt stripped -and seen through. The critic said that the author had concealed his -insignificant personality behind a great name--Thorwaldsen--but -that the disguise did not avail him and so on. John felt altogether -bankrupt. In such cases one tries to defend oneself, and he compared -his own with other bad plays, which the same severe critic had -praised. He felt treated unjustly, and indeed when compared with others -it was so, but not when he was regarded by himself alone. The fact that -the critic was worse did not make his piece better. - -John became shy and averse to company. This was increased by the -students' club starting a paper in which they made merry over him and -his play. He fancied he saw grimaces and contempt everywhere, and went -preferably by back streets on his walks. - -Then there came a yet severer blow. A friend had, on his own account, -published one of John's first plays,--the _Free-thinker_. While he was -spending an evening with Rejd an acquaintance brought in the hated -evening paper. It contained a scathing article on the play, which was -mocked at and cut to pieces. John was obliged to read the article in -the presence of his friends. He had, against his will, to admit that -the critic was not unjust, but it upset him terribly. - -Why is it so hard to hear the truth from others, while at the same -time one can be so severe against oneself? Probably because the social -masquerade in which we all take part makes every one fear being -unmasked, probably also because responsibility and unpleasantness are -involved in it. One feels oneself overreached and cheated. The critic -who sits at ease and unmasks others would feel himself equally scourged -and exposed if his secrets were betrayed. Social life is honeycombed -with falsity, but who likes to be discovered? That is why at times of -solitude, when the past rises up unescapably, we do not feel remorse -for our faults, but for our follies and necessary cruelties. Mistakes -were necessary and had some use, but follies were merely injurious and -should have been avoided. It is for this reason that men pay greater -honour to intelligence than to morality, for the former is a reality, -the latter an idea. - -Meanwhile John felt the same pains which he imagined a criminal must -feel. He felt impelled to obliterate as soon as possible the impression -made by his stupidity. But he felt also that a kind of injustice -had been done him since he had been criticised simply and solely as -a writer, although his production was a year old, and he himself, -therefore, maturer than it, by a year. But it was not the fault of the -critic that there was an incongruity between the criticism and the -_corpus delicti_. - -He began to compose another tragedy, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_. -This was intended to deal with Christendom in artistic form, and to -handle the same problem and the same questions as his former play. By -"artistic form" at that period was meant the laying of the scene of -the play in a past epoch. John wrote the piece under the influence of -Oehlenschlaeger and the Icelandic sagas which he had lately read in the -original. - -He had, however, a severe struggle with his conscience, for his father -had exacted a promise from him not to write for the stage till he had -passed his examination. It was, therefore, an act of deceit to take -help from his father and not to fulfil the conditions on which it was -granted. But he silenced his scruples by saying to himself, "Father -will be pleased enough if I have a speedy and great success." In that -he was not far wrong. - -But another element now entered into his life, and had a decided -influence both on his views of things and his work. This was his -acquaintance with two men,--an author and a remarkable personality. -Unfortunately they were both abnormal and therefore had only a -disturbing effect upon his development. - -The author was Kierkegaard,[1] whose book, _Either--Or_, John had -borrowed from a member of the Song Club, and read with fear and -trembling. His friends had also read it as a work of genius, had -admired the style, but not been specialty influenced by it,--a proof -that books have little effect, when they do not find readers in -sympathy with the author. But upon John the book made the impression -intended by the author. He read the first part containing "The -Confessions of an AEsthete." He felt sometimes carried away by it, but -always had an uncomfortable feeling as though present at a sick-bed. -The perusal of the first part left a feeling of emptiness and despair -behind it. The book agitated him. "The Diary of a Seducer" he regarded -as the fancies of an unclean imagination. Things were not like that in -real life. Moreover John was no sybarite, but on the contrary inclined -to asceticism and self-torment. Such egotistic sensuality as that of -the hero of Kierkegaard's work was absurd because the suffering he -caused by the satisfaction of his desires necessarily involved him in -suffering and, therefore, defeated his object. - -The second part of the work containing the philosopher's "Discourse on -Life as a Duty," made a deeper impression on John. It showed him that -he himself was an "aesthete" who had conceived of authorship as a form -of enjoyment. Kierkegaard said that it should be regarded as a calling. -Why? The proof was wanting, and John, who did not know that Kierkegaard -was a Christian, but thought the contrary, not having seen his -_Edifying Discourses_, imbibed unaware the Christian system of ethics -with its doctrine of self-sacrifice and duty Along with these the idea -of sin returned. Enjoyment was a sin, and one had to do one's duty. -Why? Was it for the sake of society to which one was under obligations? -No! merely because it was duty. That was simply Kant's categorical -imperative. When he reached the end of the work _Either--Or_ and found -the moral philosopher also in despair, and that all this teaching about -duty had only produced a Philistine, he felt broken in two. "Then," he -thought, "better be an aesthete." But one cannot be an aesthete if one -has been a Christian for five-sixths of one's life, and one cannot be -moral without Christ. Thus he was tossed to and fro like a ball between -the two, and ended in sheer despair. - -Had he now read Kierkegaard's discourses, he might possibly have -come a step nearer to Christianity--possibly--for it is difficult to -decide that now, but to receive Christianity again seemed to him like -replacing a tooth which had been torn out, and joyfully thrown into the -fire, along with the accompanying toothache. It was also possible that -if he had known that the book _Either--Or_ was intended to scourge one -to the Cross he might have thrown it away as a jesuitical writing and -been saved from his embarrassment. All that he felt now, however, was -a terrible discord. He had to choose and make the jump between ethics -and aesthetics, but choose how? and jump whither? He could not jump -out in space to embrace a paradox or Christ,--that would have been -self-destruction or madness. But Kierkegaard preached madness? Was -it the despair of the over-self-conscious at finding himself always -self-conscious? Was it the longing of one who sees too deeply for the -unconsciousness of intoxication? - -John knew well what the battle between his own will and the will of -others meant. He had given his father trouble enough when he crossed -his plans; but the trouble was mutual; the whole of life consisted of -a web of wills crossing one another. The death of one was life-breath -to another; no one could gain an advantage without hurting the one -he passed by. Life was a perpetual interchange and struggle between -pleasure and pain. His sensuality or desire for enjoyment had not -injured others nor caused them trouble. He had never seduced the -innocent, and had never enjoyed himself without paying the price. He -was moral from habit; from instinct, from fear of the consequences, -from good taste or from education, but the very fact that he did -not feel himself immoral, was a defect and a sin. After reading -_Either--Or_ he felt sinful. The categorical imperative stole on him -under a Latin name and without a cross on its back, and he let himself -be beguiled by it. He did not see that it was a two-thousand-years-old -Christianity in disguise. - -Kierkegaard would not have made so deep an impression on him, if a -number of concurrent circumstances had not contributed to that result. -In the letters of the aesthete, Kierkegaard expounded suffering as -enjoyment. John suffered from public contumely; he suffered from his -hard work; he suffered from unrequited affection; he suffered from -unsatisfied desires; he suffered from drink, for he was intoxicated -nearly every evening; he suffered as an artist from mental struggles -and doubts; he suffered from the ugly scenery of Upsala; he suffered -from the discomfort of his rooms; he suffered from examination-books; -he suffered from a bad conscience because he did not study but wrote -plays. But something else lay at the bottom of all this. He had been -brought up to fulfil hard tasks and duties. Now he lived well amid ease -and enjoyment. Study was an enjoyment; authorship, in spite of all its -pains, was a wonderful enjoyment; the life with his comrades was sheer -festivity and jollity. But his plebeian consciousness awoke and told -him that it was not right to enjoy while others worked; _his_ work was -an enjoyment, for it brought him a good deal of honour, and perhaps -money. This accounted for his persistently uneasy conscience which -persecuted him without a cause. Was it that he felt already the signs -of this awakening consciousness of tremendous guilt as regards the -lower classes, the slaves who toiled, while he enjoyed? Did he already -have a foreboding of that sense of justice, which in our days has laid -so strong a hold on many of the upper classes that they have restored -capital which was not quite honestly earned, have expended time and -toil for the liberation of the lower classes, and have worked from -impulse and instinct against their own interests, in order to do right? -Possibly. - -But Kierkegaard was not the man to resolve the discord. It was reserved -for the evolutionary philosophers to make peace between passion and -reason, between enjoyment and duty. They cancelled the deceptive -_Either_--_Or_, and substituted _Both--And,_ giving both flesh and -spirit their due. The real significance of Kierkegaard became clear -to John many years later. Then he saw in him the simple pietist, the -ultra-Christian who wished to realise in modern society oriental ideals -of two thousand years ago. But Kierkegaard was right in one point: if -we were to have Christianity, we ought to have it thoroughly; but his -_Either--Or_ was only valid for the priests of the church who called -themselves Christians. - -Kierkegaard saw no further, and from him who wrote his book in 1843, -and had a clerical education, one could not expect that he should say: -"Either a Christianity like this, or none!" In that case people would -probably have chosen none. Instead of that Kierkegaard said: "Whether -you are aesthetical or ethical you must cast yourself into the arms -of Christ." His mistake was to oppose ethics and aesthetics to each -other, for they can go very well together. But John did not succeed -in harmonising them till, after endless struggles, at the age of -thirty-seven, he attempted a compromise when he discovered that work -and duty are forms of enjoyment, and that enjoyment itself, well-used, -is a duty. - -But at that time, the book weighed on him like a nightmare. He was -angry when his friends wished to regard it as mere literature. He was -not pacified by their regarding it superior in richness, depth and -style to Goethe's _Faust_, which it certainly did surpass by far. John -could not at that time understand that the pillar-saint Kierkegaard had -himself known what enjoyment was when he wrote the first part, and that -the seducer and Don Juan were the author himself, who satisfied his -desires in imagination. No, he thought it was poetry. - -John had been already predisposed to receive Kierkegaard's influence, -and now came the other acquaintance, which would not have played a -great role in his life if circumstances had not prepared him for -that also. His companions merely regarded the person in question as -ludicrous. - -It came about in the following way. Thurs the Jew came one day and told -John that he had made the acquaintance of a genius who wished to join -their Song Club. - -"Ah, a genius!" - -None of the members of the club believed that they were geniuses, not -even John, and it is doubtful whether any poet has really believed -or felt that he was one. One can, when one makes comparisons, find -that one has produced better work than others, and a clever man -will naturally feel that he understands better than others, but -genius,--that is something else. This title is not generally bestowed -on any one till after death and is now dropping out of common use, -since the secret of the evolution of genius has been discovered. - -The novelty aroused attention, and the stranger was elected to the -club under the name of Is. He was not a poet, they were told, but very -learned and a powerful critic. - -One evening when the club-meeting was at Thurs' rooms he came--a -little thin person, without an overcoat, dressed like a labourer on -his holiday. His clothes looked as though they were borrowed, for -their elbows and knees were not in the right places. John, who used -to succeed to his elder brother's clothes, noticed this at once. In -his hand he held a dirty beer-soup-coloured hat, such as is only worn -by organ-grinders. His face looked like that of a southern rat-trap -seller. His black hair hung on his shoulders and a black beard fell on -his breast. - -"Is it possible?" they asked themselves. "Can he be a student?" He -looked forty, but was only thirty. He stood with his hat in his hand -at the door like a beggar, and hardly ventured to come forward. After -Thurs had drawn him into the room and introduced him, the meeting was -declared open. Is began to speak and they listened. His voice was like -a woman's and sank sometimes, without apology, to a whisper, as though -the speaker demanded perfect silence or spoke for his own satisfaction. -It would be difficult to repeat what he spoke of, for his speech ranged -over everything that he had read, and since he had read for ten years -more than the youths of twenty, they found his learning wonderful. - -After that, another member of the club read a poem. Is had to deliver -an opinion on it. He began with Kant, quoted Schopenhauer and -Thackeray, and finished with a lecture on George Sand. No one noticed -that he said nothing about the poem. - -Then they went into a restaurant to eat. Is talked philosophy, -aesthetics and history. He spoke sometimes with a melancholy expression -in his dark unfathomable eyes, which never rested on those present, as -though he sought an unseen audience far in the distance, in unknown -space. The club listened reverently with absorbed attention. - -John was to hear this man's opinion on his work. He, as well as one of -the most poetical members of the club, began to have serious doubts as -to their vocation. Often, when they had drunk a good deal, they asked -whether they still believed--meaning whether each thought the Other -called to be a poet. It was just the same sort of doubt which John had -felt when he had wondered whether he was a child of God. Is was to -read John's drama, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_, and to give his -opinion. - -One morning John went up to his room to hear his verdict. Is spoke -till noon. About what? About everything. But he had now taken hold of -John's soul. Through conversations with Thurs, he know which strings to -pull, and did so, as he chose. He burrowed in John's mind, not out of -sympathy, but from a spider-like curiosity. He did not speak directly -of John's play but suggested the plan of a new one after his own ideas. -He had the effect of a mesmeriser, and John was magnetised. But he -felt in a state of despair when he left him, as though his friend had -taken his soul, picked it to pieces and thrown them away after he had -satisfied his curiosity. - -But John came again, sat on the wise man's sofa, listened to his words -as though they were an oracle, and felt himself completely under his -power. Sometimes he thought it was a ghost who walked on the carpet -when his body disappeared in clouds of tobacco-smoke. The man exercised -what is called a "demonic" influence, _i.e_. inexplicable at first -sight. He had no blood in his veins, no feelings, no will, no desires. -He was a talking head. His standpoint was nothing and all at the same -time. He was a decoction of books, and the type of a book-worm who had -never lived. - -Often when the other members of the club were alone, they talked -about Is. Thurs was already tired of him and wondered whether he -had committed some crime, for he seemed driven about by a constant -restlessness. Then it was reported that he was a poet, but never would -show his poems, for he had such a high idea of the poetic art. They -also wondered why no one ever saw a book in the learned man's rooms. -It was also strange that he should seek the company of these youths, -to whom he was so superior, and whose poetry he must despise. They who -were themselves in the full bloom of romanticism did not detect the -anaemic romantic who had lost his footing on firm ground. They did not -see in his long hair and shabby hat the copy of Murger's Bohemian; they -did not know that this dilapidated condition was a Parisian fashion; -that this hollow wisdom was a web woven out of German metaphysics; that -this experimental psychology was derived from a peep into Kierkegaard; -and that that interesting air of hinting at uncommitted crimes and -secret griefs was Byronic in origin. All this they did not understand. -Therefore Is could play with John's soul and catch him in his snare. -Yes, John was so thoroughly taken by him that in a speech he called -himself Gamaliel, who sat at Paul's Is's feet to learn wisdom. - -The upshot of it all was that Julm, one fine evening, burnt his new -play. It was the work of three months which went up in flames. As he -collected the ashes, he wept. Is, without saying so directly, had shown -him that he was no poet. So everything was a mistake, this also! Then -he felt in despair, because he had deceived his father and could take -no work home to justify his neglect of his wishes. In a fit of remorse, -and in order to be able to point to some definite result, he entered -his name for the written examination in Latin, without, however, having -written any of the requisite preliminary exercises or essays. The Latin -professor saw his name in the list and did not know it. One Sunday -evening, when John had returned to his rooms in good spirits after a -supper, the university bedell appeared to summon him. John went boldly -to the professor and asked what he wanted. - -"You wish to take the written examination in Latin?" - -"Yes." - -"But I do not see your name on my list." - -"I entered myself before for the medical examination." - -"That has nothing to do with this. You must go by the rules." - -"I know no rules about the three essays." - -"I think you are impertinent, sir." - -"It may seem so----" - -"Out with you, sir!--or----" - -The door was opened, and John was ejected. He swore to himself he -would still go up for the written examination, but the next morning he -overslept himself. - -So even that last straw failed. - -Shortly afterwards one morning a friend came and woke him. - -"Do you know that W. is dead?" (W. sat at the same table in the -boarding-house.) - -"No!" - -"Yes! he has cut his throat." - -John started up, dressed himself, and hurried with his friend to the -Jernbrogatan where W. lived. They rushed up the stairs and came to a -dark attic. - -"Is it here?" - -"No, here!" - -John felt for a door; the door gave way and fell upon him. At the same -moment he saw a pool of blood on the ground. He turned round, let go -of the door, and was at the bottom of the stairs before the door fell -on the ground. This scene shook him terribly and woke his memory. Some -days previously John had gone into the Carolina Park to work at his -play in solitude. W. came up, greeted him, and asked whether he might -bear him company or whether he disturbed him. John answered sincerely -that he did disturb him, and W. went away with a melancholy air. Was -it a case of a lonely drowning man who sought a companion and was -repulsed? John felt almost guilty of his death. But he was not intended -for a comforter. Now the dead man seemed to haunt him; he dared not go -to his room, but slept with his friend. One night he slept with Rejd. -The latter had to keep a light burning and was woken several times in -the night by John, who could not sleep. - -One day Rejd found John with a bottle of prussic acid. He apparently -approved the idea of suicide, but first asked him to take a farewell -drink with him. They went to the restaurant and ordered eight glasses -of whisky, which were brought in on a tray. Each of them drank four -glasses in four pulls, with the desired result that John became dead -drunk. He was carried home, but since the house door was locked, he was -carried over an empty piece of ground and thrown over a fence. There he -remained lying in a snow-drift, till he recovered his senses, and crept -up into his room. - -The last night which he spent in Upsala some days later he slept on a -sofa in Thurs' rooms; his friends kept watch over him, and the room -was lighted up. They watched good-naturedly till morning, then they -accompanied him to the station, and put him in the coupe. When the -train had passed Bergsbrunna, John breathed again. He felt as though -he had left something dreadful and weird, like a northern winter night -with thirty degrees of cold, behind him, and registered a vow never -again to settle in this town, where men's souls, banished from life and -society, grew rotten from over-production of thought, were corroded -by stagnant waters which had no outlet, and took fire like millstones -which revolved without having anything to grind. - - -[1] Danish theologian. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IDEALISM AND REALISM - -(1871) - - -When John again reached his parents' house, he felt himself in shelter -like one who has reached land after a stormy sea-passage by night. -Again he had quiet nights in his old tent-bed in the brothers' room. -Here were quiet patient men, who came and went, worked and slept at -stated times without being disturbed by dreams or ambitious designs. -His sisters had grown up into young women and managed the house. All -were at work with the exception of himself. When he compared his -irregular, dissipated life, which knew no rest or peace, with theirs, -he considered them happier and better than himself. They took life -seriously, went about their work and fulfilled their duties without -noise or boasting. - -John now looked up his old acquaintances among the tradespeople, -clerks, and sea-captains, and found intercourse with them novel and -refreshing. They led his thoughts back to reality and he felt firm -ground once more under his feet. At the same time he began to despise -false ideality, and saw that it was vulgar of the students to look down -on the "Philistines." - -He now confessed quite simply and openly to his father, but without -remorse, the wretched life he had led at Upsala, and begged him to let -him stay at home and prepare for his examination there,--otherwise he -would be lost. His father granted permission, and now John prepared his -plan of campaign for the spring term. In the first place he meant to -take lessons in Latin composition with a good teacher in Stockholm, and -then go up in spring, and pass the examination. Furthermore he would -write his disquisition for a certificate in aesthetics and prepare for -the examination in that subject. With these resolutions he began a -quiet and industrious manner of life with the new year. - -But the failure of his play the _Free-thinker_ still weighed upon his -mind, and the questions of his friends as to whether they should soon -see something new from him, stirred him up to re-write, in the form -of a one-act play, the drama he had burnt. He finished it, and then -continued his studies. - -Shortly before April he wrote a test-composition for his teacher, who -declared that he would pass. His father did not disapprove of his plan -when he heard that John felt quite confident, but he suggested that it -would be more practical if he conformed to custom and wrote exercises -for the Upsala professor. "No," said John, "it was now a question of -principle and a matter of honour." So he went to Upsala. - -He called on the professor on his at-home day and waited till his turn -for an interview. When the latter saw him, he grew red in the face and -asked: - -"Are you here again?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you want?" - -"I want to go in for the Latin Composition examination." - -"Without having written a test-composition?" - -"I have done that in Stockholm--and I only want to ask whether the -statutes allow me to go up for the examination." - -"The statutes? Ask the dean about that; I only know what I require." - -John went straight to the dean, who was a young, lively and sympathetic -man. John made known his purpose and described what had passed. - -"Yes," said the dean, "the statutes say nothing about the matter, but -old P. can pluck you without their help." - -"Well, we shall see. Will you allow me, Mr. Dean, to go up for the -written examination, that is the question?" - -"Yes, I can't refuse that. You mean then to have your own way?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Arc you so sure about the matter?" - -"Yes." - -"Very well! Good luck to you!" said the Dean, and clapped him on the -shoulder. - -So John went up for the examination and after a week received a -telegram to say that he had passed. Some ascribed this result to -the professor's generosity and disapproved of John's rebellious -procedure; but John considered his success due to his own diligence -and knowledge, although he could not deny that the professor had acted -honourably in not plucking him when he had the power to do so. - -The examination in aesthetics was fixed for May. Contrary to all usage -John sent his disquisition by post to Upsala with the written request -that he might stand for the examination. - -His essay was entitled "Hakon Jarl," and treated of Idealism and -Realism. Its object was firstly to convince the professor that -the writer was well-read in aesthetics and particularly in Danish -literature, and secondly, to clear up to the writer himself his own -point of view. The essay, in imitation of Kierkegaard, was in the form -of a correspondence between A and B, criticising Oehlenschlaeger's -_Hakon Jarl_ and Kierkegaard's _Either--Or_. - -At the appointed time John appeared before the professor, who had -the reputation of being liberal-minded, but felt at once that he had -no sympathy with him. With an almost contemptuous air the professor -handed him back his essay and declared that it was best suited for the -female readers of the _Illustrated News_. He further stated that Danish -literature was not a subject of sufficient importance to be taken up as -a special branch of study. - -John felt annoyed, and asserted that Danish literature had greater -interest for Sweden than Boileau and Malesherbes, for example, on whom -students wrote essays. - -His examination then began and took the form of a violent argument. -It was continued in the afternoon and ended by the professor giving -him a certificate which was not so good as he had hoped, and telling -him that university studies could only be properly carried on at the -university. John replied that aesthetic studies could be best carried -on at Stockholm where one had the National Museum, Library, Theatre, -Academy of Music and Artists. - -"No," said the professor, "that is nonsense; one ought to study here." - -John let fall some remarks on college lectures, and they parted, not as -particularly good friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A KING'S PROTEGE - -(1871) - - -During the whole of this time, John had been on pleasant terms with his -father, and the old man had shown himself to a certain extent willing -to be educated, but his tactless pride sometimes broke out and annoyed -John. The latter, who was now continually at home, spent many evening -hours with the old man in conversations on all sorts of subjects, and -finally on religion. One day John spoke for half-an-hour about Theodore -Parker, so that his father at last expressed a wish to read some of -him. He kept the book for several days, but said nothing, and John -found it again in his room. His father was too proud to acknowledge -that he liked the book, but John learned through one of his brothers -that he was especially delighted with the famous sermon "On Old Age." - -In the matter of John's opposition to the professor, his father -vacillated. His opinion was that right was always right, but he did -not like the disrespectful way in which John spoke of the professor. -Meanwhile John saw that he had won the game and that his father had a -lively interest in his success. - -But one day in spring John went into the country, telling the servant -that he would be absent for the day. When he returned the next morning -he had an unpleasant reception. - -"You go away without telling me?" - -"I told the servant." - -"I require you to ask permission of me as long as you eat my bread." - -"Ask permission! What nonsense!" - -John departed, borrowed three hundred kronas from a friendly tradesman, -and then with three of his club associates went to one of the islands -near Stockholm, where they hired rooms in a fisher's house at a rent -of thirty kronas per month. No one tried to stop him, and probably -this crisis was occasioned by the fact that John was exercising a -perceptible influence on his father, brothers and sisters in matters -concerning domestic arrangements. The mistress of the house feared that -the power would be taken out of her hands. - -He spent the summer in strenuously working for his examination, for -he had now no hope of receiving further supplies from home. It was -a healthy and ascetic life with innocent amusements. He went about -in dressing-gown, drawers and sea-boots, and the toilette of his -companions was still more scanty. They bathed, sailed, fenced, and -John gave himself over increasingly to a process of decivilisation. -There were almost always spirituous liquors on the table, and John -feared them, for they made him mad. But to this asceticism and industry -succeeded a desire to make converts of others, and a great amount of -self-satisfaction. The latter is always the case, whether the ascetic -feels that in this respect he is better than others, or whether he -makes the sacrifice in order to feel himself better. Therefore he -preached to one brother who drank, and moralised over the others who -did not work, but went to Dalaroe to dance or to feast. Kierkegaard's -influence was strong upon him; he wished to be moral, and thundered -against aestheticism. - -He now studied philology, and went through Dante, Shakespeare and -Goethe. The last he hated because he was an aesthete. Behind all, like -a dark background, was the breach with his father. After their life -together during the last winter, he saw him as it were transfigured, -justified him with respect to all that had happened in the past, and -had forgotten all the petty troubles of his childhood. He missed most -of all his brothers and sisters, especially his sisters whom he -had really learnt to know. Toiling with a lexicon and investigating -roots of words had become painful to him, but he enjoyed this pain, -and disciplined his imagination by hard work, looking upon it as his -professional duty. - -Towards the end of the summer he was wild and shy. The clothes, winch -he rummaged out again, were too tight, his collar, which he had not -worn for months, tormented him as though it had been of iron, and his -shoes pinched him. Everything seemed to him constrained, conventional -and unnatural. Once he had been enticed to an evening party at Dalaroe -but had immediately returned. He was shy and could not bear frivolity -and laughter. This time it was not the consciousness of belonging -to the lower classes, for he had ceased to regard himself as one of -them. Meanwhile the ascetic life he had been leading increased his -will-power and his activity. When the next term at Upsala commenced, -he took his travelling-bag and journeyed thither, without having more -than a krona to call his own, and without knowing where he would find a -room and something to eat. On his arrival he took up his quarters with -Rejd, and set about working. The first evening, feeling half famished, -he looked up Is, who had remained the whole summer alone in Upsala -and seemed more melancholy than usual. His appearance was that of a -shadow, and solitude had made him still more morbid. He went out with -John and invited him to supper at a restaurant. He spoke in his usual -style and mangled his prey, who, on the other hand, defended himself, -struck back, and attacked the aesthete. Is contemplated his hungry -companion while he ate, and intoxicated himself with the brandy-bottle. -He adopted a maternal air and offered to lend John money. The latter -was touched, thanked him, and borrowed about ten kronas, for, since he -believed he had a future before him, he borrowed without fear. Finally -Is became drunk and raved. He changed his attitude, called John an -egoist, and reproached him for having taken the ten kronas. - -To be suspected of egotism was the worst thing John knew, for Christ -had taught him that the "ego" must be crucified. His individuality had -grown since it had been freed from pressure and attained publicity. -Conspicuous persons obtain a greater individuality through the -attention they receive, or they attract attention for the simple reason -that they have a greater individuality. John felt that he was working -in the right way for his future; he pressed forward with energy and -will and the help of many friends, but not as a charlatan or schemer. -But Is's accusation struck him in the face, as it must all men who -have an "ego." He wished to return the money, but Is drew himself up -proudly, played the "gentleman" and continued to romance. It struck -John that this idealist was a mean fellow who behaved in this fantastic -way in order to conceal his vexation at the temporary loss of the ten -kronas. - -Now the students returned for the term, and all of them with money. -John wandered about with his travelling-bag and his books, and -discovered how soon a welcome is worn out when one lies upon somebody -else's sofa. He borrowed money to hire a room with. It was a real -rats' nest with a camp-bed without sheets or cushions. No candlestick, -nothing. But he lay in bed in his under-clothes and read by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle. His friends here and there provided him -with meals. But then came the winter. He used to go out after dark and -buy a quantity of wood, which he carried home in his bag. A scientific -friend taught him how to make a charcoal fire. Moreover, the shaft of -a chimney passed through his room and was warm every washing-day. He -stood beside it with his hands behind him and read out of a book which -he had placed on the chest of drawers, dragging the latter close to -him. In the meantime his drama had been played and coldly received. The -subject-matter was religious. It dealt with heathendom and Christendom, -the former being defended as an epoch-making movement, not as a creed. -Christ was placed on one side and the only true God exalted. The drama -also contained a domestic struggle, and, after the fashion of the -time, women were extolled at the expense of the men. In one passage -the author expressed his opinion as to the position of a poet in life. -"Are you a man, Orm?" asks the duke. "I am only a poet," answers Orm. -"Therefore you will never become anything," is the rejoinder. - -In fact, John believed now that the poet's life was a shadow existence, -that he had no individuality, but only lived in that of others. But is -it then so certain that the poet possesses no individuality because -he has more than one? Perhaps he is richer because he possesses more -than the others. And why is it better to have only one "ego," since -in any case a single "ego" is not more one's own than many "egos," -seeing that even one "ego" is a compound product derived from parents, -educators, social intercourse and books? Perhaps it is for this reason -that society, like a machine, demands that the single "egos" shall act -each like a wheel, screw, or separate piece of the machine in a limited -automatic way. But the poet is more than a piece of a machine, since he -is a whole machine in himself. - -In the drama John had incorporated himself in five persons;--in the -Jarl, who is at war with his contemporaries; in the Poet, who looks -over things and looks through them; in the Mother, who is angry and -revengeful but whose thirst for vengeance is counteracted by her -sympathy; in the Daughter, who for the sake of her faith breaks with -her father; in the Lover, whose love is ill-starred. John understood -the motives of all the dramatis personae; and spoke from their varying -points of view. But a drama written for the average man who has -ready-made views on all subjects, must at least take sides with one -of its characters in order to win the excitable and partisan public. -John could not do this, because he believed in no absolute right or -wrong, for the simple reason that all these ideas are relative. One may -be right as regards the future, and wrong as regards the present; one -may be wrong in one year and right in the next; a father may justify -his son while the mother condemns him; a daughter is right in loving -the man she loves, but in her father's view she is wrong in loving a -heathen. There comes in doubt: Why do men hate and despise the doubter? -Because doubt is the seed of development and progress, and the average -man hates development because it disturbs his quiet. Only the stupid -man is certain; only the ignorant one thinks he has found the truth. -Doubt undermines energy, they say. But it is better to act without -considering the consequences. The animal and the savage act blindly, -obeying desire and impulse; in that they resemble our "men of action"! - -When John returned to Upsala, he was again followed by disparaging -criticisms. To some extent they were true, _e.g._ the assertion that -the form of the piece was borrowed from the _Kongsemnerne,_ but only -to some extent, for John had taken the frigid tone and the rough -phraseology direct from the Icelandic sagas, and the views of life he -expressed were original. Scorn followed him, and he was regarded as a -man who was ambitious of being a poet, the worst suspicion under which -any one can fall. - -But in the midst of his toil and needy circumstances, a week after his -overthrow, there came a letter from the chamberlain of the Theatre -Royal at Stockholm, requesting him to go there immediately as the -king wished to see him. Morbidly suspicious he believed that it was a -practical joke, and took the letter to his wise friend--the student of -Natural History. The latter telegraphed in the evening to a well-known -actor of the Theatre Royal requesting him to ask the chamberlain -whether he had written to John. The latter spent a restless night, -tossed to and fro between hope and fear. The next morning the answer -came that it was indeed so and that John should come at once. He set -off forthwith. - -Why did he, a born rebel, accept the royal favour without hesitation? -For the simple reason that he did not belong to the democratic party; -he had never promised his father or mother not to receive a favour from -the king. Furthermore he believed in the aristocracy or the right of -the best to govern, and he considered the upper classes the best, as -he had shown in his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, in which he expressed -contempt for the demagogues. He hated tyrants, but this king was no -tyrant. Therefore there was no reason for hesitation within him or -without him. Accordingly he travelled to Stockholm and was received in -audience by the king. The latter was just now very ill, and looked so -emaciated as to make a painful impression. He stood with a benevolent -aspect, smoking his long tobacco-pipe, and smiled at the young -beardless author, walking awkwardly between the rows of aide-de-camps -and chamberlains. He thanked him for the pleasure which he had derived -from his drama, adding that he himself when young had competed for an -academical prize with a poem on the Vikings, and was fond of the old -Norse legends. He said that he wished to help the young student to take -his doctor's degree, and closed the interview by referring him to the -treasurer, who had been ordered to make him a first payment. Later on -he would receive more, and the king said he supposed there were still -two or three years to elapse before he took his degree. - -John's immediate future was now secure. He felt gratefully moved by -this kindness on the part of a king who had so many things to think -about. On his return to Upsala, he saw for two months how the court -sunshine had turned him into a star. The official who had paid him, -had asked him whether he thought later on of obtaining a post in some -public department or in the Royal Library. His ambition had never -soared so high and did not yet do so. - -The chief object of human existence seems to be, and must indeed be, to -spend one's life till death in the least unpleasant manner possible. -This aim does not exclude solicitude for the good of others, for -happiness includes the consciousness of not having infringed others' -rights unnecessarily. Therefore ill-gotten wealth cannot secure a -pleasant life, nor can any path which leads over the prostrate bodies -of others. Accordingly Utilitarianism, or the philosophy which aims at -the greatest happiness of the greatest number, is not immoral. - -In spite of all his asceticism John could not help feeling happy. -His happiness consisted in the half-consciousness that he could live -his life without the great anxiety which the insecurity of means -of existence causes. He had been threatened by penury and was now -secure; life had been restored to him, and it is a happy thing to be -able to live before one has done growing. His chest, which had been -narrowed by hunger and over-exertion, broadened itself; his back grew -straighter; life no longer seemed so melancholy. He was contented with -his lot; things took on a more cheerful aspect, and he would have been -ungrateful had he still remained among the malcontents. - -But this did not last long. When he saw his old comrades round him in -a position in which _his_ happiness had effected no change, he found -that there was a want of harmony between them. They had been accustomed -to help him as one in need and now he needed their help no longer. -They had liked him, because they protected him and were accustomed -to see him below them. But when he came upwards, near them and above -them, they found him necessarily altered by altered circumstances. The -necessitous man is not so bold in his opinions nor so stiff in the back -as the prosperous one. He was altered for them, but was he therefore -worse? Self-esteem under other circumstances is generally well thought -of. Enough! He annoyed others by the fact that he was fortunate, and -still more because he wished to help others to be so. - -The present he had received entailed obligations, and John gave -himself diligently to study. He passed his examinations in Philology, -Astronomy, and Political Science, but received in none of these -subjects such a good testimonial as he had expected. He had studied too -much in one way and too little in another. - -In examination time he generally had an attack of aphasia. -Physiologists usually ascribe this weakness to an injury in the left -temple. And as a matter of fact John had two scars above his left eye. -One was caused by the blow of an axe, the other by a rock against which -he had struck himself in jumping down the Observatory hill. He was -inclined to trace to this the great difficulty he had in delivering -public addresses and speaking foreign languages. - -Accordingly, during examinations, he would sit there, unable to give -an answer although he knew more than was asked. Then there came over -him a spirit of defiance, of self-torment, of ill-humour, and he felt -tempted to throw up the whole thing. He criticised the text-books and -felt dishonest in learning what he despised. The role assigned to him -began to oppress him; he longed to get away from it all to something -else, wherever it might be. It was not that he regarded the king's -present as a benefaction. It was a stipend, a reward for merit, such -as artists at all periods have received for the purpose of carrying -on their self-cultivation. His royal patron was not merely the king -but his personal friend and admirer. Therefore the gift exercised no -kind of restraint upon his rebellious thoughts; he only let himself be -temporarily deceived, and believed that all was right with the world, -because he prospered. His radicalism had been considerably mitigated; -he no longer thought that all which was wrong in the state was the -fault of the monarchy, nor did he believe with the pagans that better -harvests would follow if the king was sacrificed on an idol-altar. His -mother would have wept for joy at his distinction, had she lived, so -strong were her aristocratic leanings. - -All of us, including crown princes, are democrats, inasmuch as we wish -those above us to come down to our level; but when we ascend, we do -not wish to be pulled down. The question is only whether that winch -is "above" us is so in a spiritual sense, and whether it ought to be -there. That was what John began to be doubtful of. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE WINDING UP - -(1872) - - -At the beginning of the spring term, John took up his quarters with an -elder comrade in order to continue his studies. But when he had again -the old books before him which he had already studied so long, he felt -a distaste for them. His brain was full of impressions, of collected -literary material, and refused to take in any more; his imagination -and thought were busily at work and would not let memory be alone -active; he had fits of doubt and apathy and often remained the whole -day lying on the sofa. Then the desire would sometimes awake to be -altogether free and to plunge into the life of activity. But the royal -stipend held him fast in fetters and imposed on him obligations. Having -received it, he was bound to go on studying for his doctor's degree, -the course of reading for which he had half completed. So he applied -himself to philosophy, but when he read the history of it, he found all -systems equally valid or invalid, and his mind resisted all new ideas. - -In the literary club there was disunion and lethargy. All their -youthful poems had been read and no one produced any more, so that -they only met together to drink punch. Is had exposed himself, and -after a scene with another member, he had been thrown out. He drew his -knife and got well thrashed. He saved himself from worse by affecting -to treat the affair as a joke, and was now a mere laughing-stock, since -it had been discovered that his wisdom consisted in quotations from the -students' periodicals which the others had not had the wit to utilise. -At the beginning of term an AEsthetic Society had been founded by the -professor of AEsthetics, and this made their own literary society, the -"Runa," superfluous. - -At one of the meetings of the former, John's discontent with classical -authorities broke out. He had been drinking that evening and was -half-intoxicated. In conversation with the professor dangerous ground -was touched upon and John was enticed so far out of his reserve as to -declare Dante without significance for humanity and overestimated. John -had plenty of reasons to allege for his opinion, but could not express -them to advantage when the professor set upon him, and the whole -company gathered round the disputants, who were squeezed into a corner -by the stove. He wanted in the first place to say that the construction -of the _Divine Comedy_ was not original, but a very ordinary form which -had already been employed shortly before in the _Vision of Albericus_. -Furthermore his opinion was that in this poem Dante did not reflect -the culture and thoughts of his period, because he was so uncultured -that he did not even know Greek. He was not a philosopher, for he -hampered thought by the fetters of revelation, and therefore he was no -precursor of the Renaissance or the Reformation. He was no patriot, for -he venerated the German empire as established by God. He was at most a -local patriot of Florence. Nor was he a democrat, for he always dreamt -of a union of the empire and the papacy. He did not attack the papacy, -but only individual popes who lived immoral lives, as he himself -had done in his youth. He was a monk, a truly idiotic child of his -age, for he sent unbaptised children to hell. He was a narrow-minded -royalist who put Brutus next to Satan in the deepest hell. He was -entirely wanting in the power of selfcriticism;--while he reckons -ingratitude to friends and betrayal of one's fatherland among the worst -of crimes, he places his own friend and teacher, Brunetto Latini, in -hell, and supports the German Emperor, Henry VII, against his native -city Florence. He had bad literary taste, for he reckoned as the six -greatest poets of the world Homer, Horace, Lucan, Ovid, Virgil and -himself. How could modern critics who were so severe on all scandalous -literature praise Dante, who in his poem cast dishonour on so many -contemporary persons and families? He even scolds his own dear native -city, exclaiming when he finds five nobly-born Florentines in Hell: -"Rejoice! O Florence! for thy name is not only great over land and -sea, but also in hell. Five of thy citizens are in thieves' company; -my cheeks blush at the sight of them. But one thing I know; punishment -will light upon thee, Florence, and may it happen soon!" - -As is usual in such debates, the attacked and the attacker often -changed their ground. John wished to prove to the professor that from -his point of view the _Commedia_ was a political pamphlet, but then -the professor veered round, adopted the enemy's point of view and said -that _he_ should value it as such. Whereupon John answered that it was -exactly as such that he designated it, but not as a magnificent poem -of everlasting value, which the professor had declared it to be in his -lectures. Again the professor changed his ground, and said that the -poem should be judged by the standard of the period at which it was -composed. - -"Exactly so," answered John, "but you have judged it by the standard -of our time and all succeeding times, and therefore you are wrong. But -even with regard to its own time the work is not an epoch-making one; -it is not in advance of its period, but belongs strictly to it, or -rather lags behind it. It is a linguistic monument for Italy, nothing -more, and should never be read in a Swedish university, because the -language is antiquated, and finally because it is too insignificant to -be regarded as a link in the development of culture." - -The result of the controversy was that John was regarded as shameless -and half-cracked. - -After this explosion he was exhausted and incapable of work. The whole -of the life in a town where he did not feel at home was distasteful -to him. His companions advised him to take a thorough rest, for he -had worked too hard, and so, as a matter of fact, he had. Various -schemes again presented themselves to his mind, but without result. -The grey dirty town vexed him, the scenery around depressed him; he -lay on a sofa and looked at the illustrations in a German newspaper. -Views of foreign scenery had the same effect as music on his mind and -he felt a longing to see green trees and blue seas; he wished to go -into the country but it was still only February, the sky was as grey -as sack-cloth, the streets and roads were muddy. When he felt most -depressed, he went to his friend the natural science student. It -refreshed him to see his herbarium and microscope, his aquarium and -physiological preparations. Most of all he found a pleasure in the -society of the quiet, peaceable atheist, who let the world go its way, -for he knew that he worked better for the future, in his small measure, -than the poet with his excitable outbreaks. He had a little of the -artist left in him and painted in oils. To think that he could call up -as if by enchantment a green landscape amid the mists of this wintry -spring and hang it on his wall! - -"Is painting difficult?" he asked his friend. - -"No, indeed! It is easier than drawing. Try it!" - -John, who had already, with the greatest calm, composed a song with a -guitar-accompaniment, thought it not impossible for him to paint, and -he borrowed an easel, colours, and a paint-brush. Then he went home -and shut himself up in his room. From an illustrated paper he copied a -picture of a ruined castle. When he saw the clear blue of the sky he -felt sentimental, and when he had conjured up green bushes and grass -he felt unspeakably happy as though he had eaten haschish. His first -effort was successful. But now he wished to copy a painting. That was -harder. Everything was green and brown. He could not make his colours -harmonise with the original and felt in despair. - -One day when he had shut himself up he heard a visitor talking with his -friend in the next room. They whispered as though they were near a sick -person. "Now he is actually painting," said his friend in a depressed -tone. - -What did that mean? Did they consider him cracked? Yes. He began to -think about himself, and like all brooders came to the conclusion that -he was cracked. What was to be done? If they shut him up, he would -certainly go quite mad. "Better anticipate them," he thought, and as he -had heard of private asylums in the country, where the patients could -walk about and work in the garden, he wrote to the director of one of -them. After some time he received a friendly answer advising him to be -quiet. His correspondent had received information about John through -his friend and understood his state of mind. He told him it was only a -crisis which all sensitive natures must pass through, etc. - -_That_ danger, then, was over. But he wished to get out into active -life when ever it might be. - -One day he heard that a travelling theatrical company had come to the -town. He wrote a letter to the manager and solicited an engagement, -but he received no answer and did not call on the manager. Thus he -was tossed to and fro, till at last fate intervened and set him -free. Three months had passed and he had received no money from the -court-treasurer. His companions advised him to write and make a polite -inquiry. In reply he was told that it had never been his Majesty's -intention to pay him a regular pension, but only a single donation. -However, in consideration of his needy circumstances, by way of -exception, he had made him a grant of 200 kronas, which would shortly -be sent. - -John at first felt glad, for he was free, but afterwards the turn which -affairs had taken made him uneasy, for the papers had stated that -he was the king's stipendiary, and the king had really promised him -a stipend during the year that he must read for his degree. Besides -this the court-marshal had given him a sort of half promise for the -future which could hardly be considered as adequately fulfilled by -a donation of 200 kronas. Different opinions were expressed on the -matter. Some thought that the king had forgotten, others that the state -of his finances did not allow of a further gift, or that his good -wishes exceeded his powers. No one expressed disapproval, and John was -secretly glad, had he not felt a certain disgrace in the withdrawal -of the stipend, so that he might be suspected of having groundlessly -boasted of it. Those who believed that John was in disfavour at court -ascribed this to the fact that he had omitted to wait upon the king -in person when he was in Stockholm at Christmas and the New Year. -Others attributed it to the fact that he had not formally presented -his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, but had simply sent it to the palace, -instead of going with it, which his sense of independence forbade -him to do. Ten years later he heard quite a new explanation of this -disfavour. He was said to have composed a lampoon on the king. But this -was a pure legend, probably the only one of its obscure fabricator -which would reach posterity. Anyhow facts remained as they were and -his resolve was quickly taken. He would go to Stockholm and become -a literary man, an author if possible, should he prove to possess -sufficient capacity for that calling. - -The student who shared his room undertook to pay his return journey, -and alleged as a pretext that John must wait some time in Stockholm -lest the landlord should be uneasy. Meanwhile he could collect enough -money to pay the rent which was due at the end of the term. - -His friends gave John a farewell feast and John thanked them, -acknowledging the obligations which each owes to those he meets in -social intercourse. Every personality is not developed simply out -of itself, but derives something from each with whom it comes in -contact, just as the bee gathering her honey from a million flowers, -appropriates it and gives it out as her own. - -Thus he stepped into life, abandoning dreams and the past to live in -reality and the present. But he was ill-prepared and the university is -not the proper school for life. He felt also that the decisive hour had -come. In a clumsy speech he called the feast a "svensexa," _i.e_. a -farewell supper for a bachelor on the eve of his marriage, for he was -now to be a man and leave boyhood behind; he was to become a member of -society, a useful citizen and eat his own bread. - -So he believed at the time, but he soon discovered that his education -had unfitted him for society, and as he did not wish to be an outlaw -the doubt awoke in him whether society, of which after all school and -university were a part, was not to blame for his education, and whether -it had not serious defects which needed a remedy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - -(1872) - - -When John came to Stockholm, he borrowed money in order to hire a -room near the Ladugaerdslandet. Always under the sway of sentiment, he -chose this quarter of the town because he always used to walk there -in his childhood on the 1st of May, and the High Street especially -had something of a holiday air about it. Moreover it soon opened into -the Zoological Gardens, which became his favourite place for walks. -The barracks with their drums and trumpets had something exhilarating -about them, and there were fine views over the sea which was close at -hand. There was plenty of light and air. When he went for his morning -walk he could choose his route according to his mood. If he was sad -and depressed, he went along the Sirishofsvaegen; if he was cheerful -he turned off to the level ground of Manilla, where the paradisial -rose-valley exhaled joy and delight; if he was despairing and anxious -to avoid people he went out to Ladugaerdsgardet, where no one could -disturb his self-communings and his prayers to God. Sometimes, when his -soul was in a tumult, he remained standing by the cross-ways above the -bridge near the Zoological Gardens, irresolute which way to take. On -such occasion a thousand forces seemed to pull him in all directions. - -His room was very simple and commanded no view. It smelt of poverty, -as the whole house did, in which the only person of standing was the -deputy-landlord, a policeman. John began his active career by painting, -out of a sense of need to give his feelings shape and to express them -in a palpable way, for the little letters huddled together on the paper -were dead and could not express his mind so plainly and simultaneously. -He did not think of being a painter in order to exhibit or sell -pictures. To step to the easel was for him just like sitting down and -singing. At the same time he renewed his acquaintance with his friend -the sculptor, who introduced him to a circle of young painters. These -were all discontent with the Academy and the antiquated methods which -could not express their vague dreams. They still preserved the Bohemian -type, so late did the waves of modern ideas beat on the far coasts of -the North. They wore long hair, slouched hats, brilliant cravats, and -lived like the birds of heaven. They read and quoted Byron and dreamt -of enormous canvases and subjects such as no studio could contain. A -sculptor and a Norwegian had conceived the idea of hewing a statue out -of the Dovre rock; a painter wished to paint the sea not merely as a -level, but with such a wide horizon as to show the convex curve of the -globe. - -This took John's fancy. One should give expression to one's inner -feelings and not depict mere sticks and stones which are meaningless in -themselves till they have passed through the alembic of a percipient -mind. Therefore the artists did not make studies out of doors, but -painted at home from their memory and imagination. John always painted -the sea with a coast in the foreground, some gnarled pine-trees, a -couple of rocky islets in the distance and a white-painted buoy. The -atmosphere was generally gloomy, with a weak or strong light on the -horizon; it was always sunset or moonlight, never clear daylight. - -But he was soon woken out of this dream-life partly by hunger, partly -by recollecting the reality which he had sought in order to save -himself from his dreams. - -Although John knew little of contemporary politics, he knew that the -democracy or peasant-class had arrived at power, that they had declared -war on the official and middle classes, and that they were hated in -Upsala. And now he himself was to enter the ranks of the combatants -and attack the old order of things. The only item of the knowledge -which he had brought with him from Upsala which was likely to be useful -here, was the small amount of political science which he had studied. -Of what use were Astronomy, Philology, AEsthetics, Latin and Chemistry -here? He knew something about the land-laws and communal-laws, but had -no idea of political economy, finance or jurisprudence. When he now -began to look about for a suitable paper to which to attach himself, -it did not occur to him to make use of his old connection with the -_Aftonbladet_, but he wrote for a small evening paper which had lately -appeared, which was regarded as radical and was issued by the New -Liberal Union. The editor held receptions in the La Croix Cafe, and -here John was introduced into the society of journalists. He felt ill -at ease among them. They did not think as he did, seemed uncultivated, -as indeed they were, and rather gossiped than discussed important -matters. They certainly busied themselves with facts, but these were -rather trifles than great questions. They were full of phrases, but -did not seem to have a proper command of their material. John, though -against his will, was too much of an academic aristocrat to sympathise -with these democrats, who for the most part had not chosen their -career, but been forced into it by the pressure of circumstances. He -found the atmosphere stifling for his idealism, and came no more to the -receptions after he had done his business, and been invited to write -for the paper. - -He made his debut as an art-critic. His first criticism concerned -Winge's "Thor with the giants" and Rosen's "Eric XIV and Karin -Monsdotter." The young critic naturally wished to display his learning, -though all he had was what he had picked up in lectures and books. -Therefore his criticism of Winge was a mere eulogy. His remarks chiefly -regarded the subject of the picture as a Norse one and treated in the -grand style. The painters did not like this sort of criticism, as -they considered the only point to be criticised in a work of art was -the execution. "Eric the XIV" he judged from his monomaniacal point -of view, "aristocrat or democrat," and found fault with the incorrect -conception of Goeran Persson, whom in his own tragedy _Eric XIV_ -(subsequently burnt) he had represented as an enemy of the nobility and -friend of the people. - -Descended from his own height as a promising student, author and royal -protege to the then less regarded class of journalists, he felt himself -again one of the lower orders. - -After the editor had struck out his learned flourishes, the articles -were printed. The editor told him they were piquant, but advised him -to employ a more flowing style. He had not yet caught the journalistic -knack. - -Then John planned a series of articles in which, under the title -"Perspective," he treated of social and economic questions. In these he -attacked university life, the divisions of the classes, the injurious -over-reading and the unfortunate position of the students. Since the -labour-question at that time was not a burning one, he ventured on a -comparison between the prospects of a student and that of a workman, -declaring the latter to be far better off. The workman was generally -in good health, could support himself at eighteen and marry at twenty, -while the student could not think of marriage and making a livelihood -before thirty. As a remedy he recommended doing away with the final -examination as Jaabaek had already done in Norway, and the transference -of the university to Stockholm in order that the students might have -a chance of earning something during their course. As an example he -adduced the case of modern students at Athens who learn a trade while -they study. This was all clear to him as early as 1872, yet when he -made similar suggestions twelve years later, he was thought to have -conceived them on the spur of the moment. - -At the same time he took an engagement on a small illustrated ladies' -paper and wrote biographical notices and novelettes. The ladies were -very kind, but let him work too hard, and gave him all kinds of -commissions to execute. After he had spent two or three days in paying -visits, dived into a publisher's place of business, read biographical -romances in three or four volumes, made researches in the library, -run to the printing-office and finally written his columns carefully, -setting each person treated of in a proper historical light, and -analysing his career, he received, for all that work, fifteen kronas. -He calculated that this was less pay per hour than a servant earned. -The bread of the literary man was certainty hardly earned, and that -this is the common lot of authors does not make matters better. But the -profession was also despised, and John felt that in social position he -stood below his brothers who were tradesmen, below the actors, yes, -even below the elementary school-teachers. - -The journalists led a subterranean existence, but they styled -themselves "we" and wrote as though they were sovereigns of God's -appointment; they had men's weal or woe in their hand, since the chief -weapon in the struggle for existence in our civilised days is social -reputation. How was it that society had given these free lances such -terrible power without taking any guarantees? But when one comes -to think, what assurance is there for the capacity and insight of -the law-givers in parliament, in the ministry, on the throne? None -whatever! It is therefore the same all round. There were, however, two -classes of newspapers; the conservative, which wished to preserve the -social condition with all its defects, and the liberal, which wished -to improve it. The former enjoyed a certain respect, the latter, none -at all. John instinctively sided with the last, and at once felt that -he was regarded as every one's enemy. A liberal journalist and a -chronicler of scandals were synonymous terms. At home he had heard the -usual phrase that "no one was honourable whose name had not appeared -in the paper _Fatherland_." In the street they had pointed out to him -a man who looked like a bandit, with the mark of a dagger-stab between -his eyes, and said, "There goes the journalist X." In the Cafe La Croix -he felt depressed among his new colleagues, but none the less chose to -associate with this unpopular group. Did he choose really? One does not -choose one's impulses, and it is no virtue to be a democrat when one -hates the upper classes and has no pleasure in their company. - -Meanwhile for social intercourse he went to the artists. It was a -strange world in which they lived. There was so much nature among -these men who busied themselves with art. They dressed badly, lived -like beggars--one of them lived in the same room with the servant--and -ate what they could get; they could hardly read, and had no knowledge -of orthography. At the same time they talked like cultivated people, -they looked at things from an independent point of view, were keenly -observant and unfettered by dogmas. One of them four years previously -had minded geese, a second had wielded the smith's hammer, a third -had been a farmer's servant and walked behind the dung-cart, and a -fourth had been a soldier. They ate with knives, used their sleeves as -napkins, had no handkerchiefs and only one coat in winter. However, -John felt at home with them, though of late years he had been -conversant only with cultivated and well-to-do young people. It was not -that he was superior to them, for that they did not acknowledge, nor -was it any use to quote books to them, for they accepted no authority. -His doubts as regards books, especially text-books, began to be -aroused, and he began to suspect that old books may injure a modern -man's thinking powers. This doubt became a certainty when he met one of -the group whom all regarded as a genius. - -He was a painter about thirty years old, formerly a farmer's servant -who had come to the Academy in order to become an artist. After he -had spent some time in the painting school he came to the conclusion -that art was insufficient as a medium for expressing his thoughts, -and he lived now on nothing, while he busied himself by reflecting on -the questions of the time. Badly educated at an elementary school, he -had now flung himself on the most up-to-date books and had a start of -John, since he had begun where the latter had left off. Between John -and him there was the same difference as between a mathematician and -a pilot. The former can calculate in logarithms, the latter can turn -them to practical use. But Mans also was critically disposed and did -not believe in books blindly. He had no ready-made scheme or system -into which to fit his thoughts; he always thought freely, investigated, -sifted and only retained what he recognised as tenable. More free from -passions than John, he could draw more reckless inferences, even when -they went against his own wishes and interests, though with certain -matter-of-course limitations. He was more-over prudent, as indeed he -must have been to have worked himself up from such a low position, -and understood how to be silent as to certain conclusions, which, if -expressed tactlessly and in the wrong place, might have injured him. -As his literary adviser, he had a telegraph-assistant whose knowledge -Mans knew better how to use than its owner himself; the latter had not -a very lively intellect, although in his knowledge of languages he -possessed the key to the three great modern literatures. Passionless -and self-conscious, with a strong control over his impulses, he stood -outside everything, contemplating and smiling at the free play of -thought which he enjoyed as a work of art, with the accompanying -certainly that it was after all only an illusion. - -With both of these John had many friendly disputes. When he drew up -his schemes for the future of men and society he could rouse Mans' -enthusiasm and carry him along with him, but when he had taken his -hearer a certain way with his emotional and passionate descriptions, -the latter took out his microscope, found the weak spot where to -insert his knife, and cut. On such occasions John was impatient and -motioned his opponent away. "You are a pedant," he said, "and fasten -on details." But sometimes it turned out that the "detail" was a -premise the excision of which made the whole grand fabric of inference -collapse. John was always a poet, and had he continued as such -unhindered he might have brought it to something. The poet can speak -to the point like the preacher, and that is an advantageous position. -He can rattle on without being interrupted, and therefore he can -persuade if not convince. It was through these two unlearned men that -John learned a philosophy which was not known at Upsala. In the course -of conversation, his opponents often referred to an authority whom -they called "Buckle." John rejected an authority of whom he had heard -nothing in Upsala. But the name continually recurred and worried him to -such an extent that he at last asked his friends to lend him the book. -The effect of reading it was such that John regarded his acquaintance -with the book as the vestibule of his intellectual life. Here there -was an atmosphere of pure naked truth. So it should be and so it was. -Mans, like all other organised beings, was under the control of natural -laws; all so-called spiritual qualities rest on a material basis, and -chemical affinities are as spiritual as the sympathies of souls. The -whole of speculative philosophy which wished to evolve laws from the -inner consciousness was only a better kind of theology, and what was -worse, an inquisition, which wished to confine the many-sidedness -of the world-process within the limits of an individual system. "No -system" is Buckle's motto. Doubt is the beginning of all wisdom, doubt -means investigation and stimulates intellectual progress. The truth -which one seeks is simply the discovery of natural laws. Knowledge is -the highest, morality is only an accidental form of behaviour, which -depends upon different social conventions. Only knowledge can make men -happy, and the simple-minded or ignorant with their moral strivings, -their benevolence and their philanthropy are only injurious or useless. - -And now he drew the necessary conclusions. Heavenly love and its -result, marriage, is conditioned as to that result by such a prosaic -matter as the price of provisions; the rate of suicide varies with -wages, and religion is conditioned by natural scenery, climate and -soil. His mind was predisposed to receive the new doctrines, and now -they made their triumphant entry. John had always planted his feet -firmly on the earth, and neither the balloon-voyages of poetry nor the -will-o'-the-wisps of German philosophy had found a sincere adherent in -him. He had sat in despair over Kant's _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_, -and asked himself with curiosity, whether it was he who was so stupid -or Kant who was so obscure. The study of the history of philosophy, -in which he had seen how each philosopher pointed to his system as -the true one, and championed it against others, had left him amazed. -Now it was clear to him that the idealists who mingle their obscure -perceptions with dear presentations of facts were only savages or -children, and that the realists, who were alone capable of clear -perceptions, were the most highly developed in the scale of creation. -The poets and philosophers are somnambulists, and the religious who -always live in fear of the unknown are like animals in a forest who -fear every rustic in the bushes, or like primitive men who sacrificed -to the thunder instead of erecting lightning rods. - -Now he had a weapon in his hand to wield against the old authorities -and against the schools and universities which were enslaved by -patronage. Buckle himself had run away from school, had never been at -a university, and hated them. Apropos of Locke he remarks, "Were this -deep thinker now alive, he would inveigh against our great universities -and schools, where countless subjects are learnt which no one needs, -and which few take the trouble to remember." - -Accordingly Upsala had been wrong, and John right. He knew that there -were ignorant savants there, and that it was on account of their own -want of culture that the professors of philosophy could teach nothing -but German philosophy. They neither knew English nor French philosophy -for the simple reason that they only understood Latin and German. -Buckle's _History of Civilisation in England_ was written in 1857, but -did not reach Sweden till 1871-72. Even then the soil was not ready for -the seed. The learned critics were unfavourable to Buckle, and the seed -took root only in some young minds who had no authoritative voice. - -"No literature," says Buckle himself, "can be useful to a people, if -they are not prepared to receive it." Thus it was with Buckle and -his work, which preceded that of Darwin (1858) and contained all its -inferences--a proof that evolution in the world of thought is not so -strictly conditioned as has been believed. Buckle did not know Mill or -Spencer, whose thoughts now rule the world, but he said most of what -they said subsequently. - -Now, if John had had a character, _i.e_. if he had been ruled by -a single quiet purpose directed towards one object, he would have -extracted from Buckle all that answered his purpose and left out all -that told against it. But he was a truth-seeker and did not shrink from -looking into the abyss of contradictions, especially as Buckle never -asserted that he had found the truth, and because truth is relative -and it is often found on both sides. Doubt, criticism, inquiry are the -chief matter, and the only useful course to pursue, as they guarantee -liberty. Sermons, programmes, certainty, system, "truth" are various -forms of constraint and stupidity. But it is impossible to be a -consistent doubter when one is crammed full with "complete evidence," -and when one's judgment is swayed by class-prejudice, anxiety for a -living and struggles for a position. John became calm when he learnt -that all that was wrong in the world was wrong in accordance with -necessary law, but he became furious when he made the further discovery -that our social condition, our religion and morality were absurdities. -He wished to understand and pardon his opponents, since in their -actions they were no more free than he was, but he was in duty bound -to strangle them since they hindered the evolution of society towards -universal happiness, and that was the only and greatest crime that -could be committed. But as there were no criminals, how could one get -hold of the crime? - -He was rejoiced that the mistakes had now been discovered, but despair -oppressed him again when he saw that the discovery was premature. -Nothing could be done for many years to come. Social evolution was a -very slow process. Consequently he must lie at anchor in the roadstead -waiting for the tide. But this waiting was too long for him; he heard -an inner voice bidding him speak, for if one does not spread what -light one has, how can popular views be changed? Yes, but a premature -promulgation of new ideas can do no good. Thus he was tossed to and -fro. Everything round him now seemed so old and out of date that he -could not read a newspaper without getting an attack of cramp. _They_ -only had regard to the present moment; no one thought of the future. -His philosophical friend comforted and calmed him, through, among other -sayings, a sentence of La Bruyere, "Don't be angry because men are -stupid and bad, or you will have to be angry because a stone falls; -both are subject to the same laws; one must be stupid and the other -fall." - -"That is all very well," said John, "but think of having to be a -bird and live in a ditch! Air! light! I cannot breathe or see," he -exclaimed; "I suffocate!" - -"Write!" answered his friend. - -"Yes, but what?" - -Where should he begin? Buckle had already written everything, and -yet it was as though it had not been written. The worst thing was -that he felt he lacked the power. Hitherto he had only felt a very -moderate degree of ambition. He did not wish to march at the head, to -be a conqueror and so on. But to go in front with an axe as a simple -pioneer, to fell trees, root up thickets, and let others build bridges -and throw up redoubts, was enough for him. It is often observable that -great ambition is only the sign of great power. John was moderately -ambitious, because he was now only conscious of moderate powers. -Formerly when he was young and strong he had great confidence in -himself. He was a fanatic, _i.e_. his will was supported by powerful -passions, but his awakened insight and healthy doubt had sobered his -self-confidence. The work before him took the form of rock-walls which -must be pulled down, but he was not so simple as to venture on the task. - -Now he began to habituate himself forcibly to doubt in order to be -patient and not to explode. He entrenched himself in doubt as in a -fortress, and as a means of self-preservation he determined to depict -his struggles and doubts in a drama. The subject matter which he had -been turning over in his mind for a year he took from the history of -the Reformation in Sweden. Thus was composed the drama later on known -as _The Apostate_. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE RED ROOM - -(1872) - - -In autumn occurred the death of Charles XV. With the mourning, which -was fairly sincere and widespread, there mingled gloomy anxieties for -the future. One of the young painters who belonged to John's circle of -friends had just received a royal stipend and gone to Norway. He had -now to return quite destitute and without any prospects for the future. -John was accustomed to go with him into the Zoological Gardens in order -to paint, and occupy his mind while he was waiting for an answer from -the theatrical manager to whom he had sent his drama. - -There is indeed no occupation which so absorbs all the thoughts and -emotions so much as painting. John watched and enjoyed the delicate -harmonies of the lines in the branch-formation of the trees, in the -wave-like curves of the ground, but his paint-brush was too coarse to -reproduce the contours as he wished. Then he took his pen and made a -drawing in detail. But when he tried to transfer it to his canvas and -paint it, the whole appeared but a smudge. - -Pelle, on the other hand, was an impressionist and look no notice -of details. He took up the landscape at a stroke, so to speak, and -gave the colours their due value, but the various objects melted into -uncertain silhouettes. John thought Pelle's landscapes more beautiful -than the reality, although he cherished great reverence for the works -of the Creator. After he had wiled away about a month in painting, -he went one evening into the Cafe La Croix. The first person he met -was his former editor, who said, "I have just heard from X." (a young -author) "that the Theatre Royal has refused _The Apostate_." - -"I know nothing about it," answered John. He did not feel well and left -the company as soon as possible. The next day he went to his former -instructor to find how the matter stood. The latter began first to -praise, and then to criticise it, which is the right method. He said -that the characters of Olaus Petri and Gustav Wasa had been brought -down from their proper level and distorted. John, on the other hand, -held that he had given a realistic representation of them as they -probably were, before their figures had been idealised by patriotic -considerations. His friend replied that that was no good; the public -would never accept a new reading of their characters till critical -inquiry had done its preliminary work. - -That was true, but the blow was a heavy one, although dealt with as -much consideration as possible, and the author was invited to remodel -his drama. He had again been premature in his attempt. There was -nothing left for him but to wait and wile away the time. To think -of remodelling it now was not possible for him, for he saw, when he -read it through again, that it was all cast in one piece and that the -details could not be altered. He could not change it, unless he changed -his thoughts, and therefore he must wait. - -Now he took to reading again. Chance brought into his hand two of -"the best books which one can read." They were De Tocqueville's -_Democracy in America_ and Prevost-Paradol's _The New France._ The -former increased his doubts as to the possibility of democracy in -an uncultivated community. Written with sincere admiration for the -political institutions of America, which the author holds up as a -pattern for Europe, this work points out so sincerely the dangers of -democracy, as to make even a born hater of the aristocracy pause. - -John's theories received terrible blows, but this time his good sense -triumphed over his prejudices. His loss of faith in his own powers, -however, had a demoralising effect upon him, and he was soon ripe -for absolute scepticism. Sentences such as the following admitted -at that time of no contradiction: "The moral power of the majority -is based partly upon the conviction that a number of men have more -understanding, intelligence and wisdom than an individual, and a -great number of lawgivers more than a selection of them. That is the -principle of equality applied to intellectual gifts. This doctrine -attacks the pride of humanity in its innermost citadel." - -An individualist like John did not perceive that this pride can and -must be overcome. Nor did he see that wisdom and intelligence can be -spread by means of good schools among the masses. - -"When a man or a party in the United States suffers injustice, to whom -shall he turn? To public opinion? That is the opinion of the majority. -To the legislative officials? They are nominated by the majority -and obey it blindly. To the executive power? That is chosen by the -majority and serves it as a passive instrument. To the military forces -of the State? They are simply the majority under arms. To juries? -They are formed by a majority which possesses the right to judge." De -Tocqueville goes on to say that the happiness of the majority which -consists in maintaining its rights deserves recognition, and that it is -better for a minority to suffer from pressure than a majority, but the -sufferings which an intelligent minority suffer from an unintelligent -majority are much greater than those which an intelligent minority -inflict upon a majority. On the other hand, the minority understands -much better than the majority what conduces to their own and the -general happiness, and therefore the tyranny of the minority is not to -be compared with that of the majority. - -"Yes, but," thought John, "did not the European peoples generally -suffer from the tyranny of a minority?" The mere fact that there -were upper classes lay like a heavy cloud on the life of the masses. -Nowadays the question may be raised, "Why should a different -class-education result in an intelligent minority and an unintelligent -majority?" But such questions were not raised then. Moreover had such -a state really ever been seen in which an intelligent minority had the -power to "oppress"? No, for sovereigns, ministers and parliaments had -usually the due modicum of intelligence. - -That which more than anything else inclined John to fear the power of -the masses, was the fact noted by De Tocqueville that they tyrannised -over freedom of thought. - -"When one tries to ascertain," he says, "how much freedom of thought -there is in the United States it becomes apparent how much the tyranny -of the masses transcends any despotism known to Europe. I know no -country where there is, generally speaking, less independence of -opinion and real freedom of discussion than America. The majority -draw a terribly narrow circle round all thought. Within that circle -an author may say what he likes, but woe to him if he step across the -limit. He has no _auto-da-fe_ to fear, but he is made the mark for all -kinds of unpleasantness and daily persecutions. Every good quality is -denied him, even honour. Before he published his views, he thought he -had adherents; after he has made them known to all the world he sees -that he no longer has any, for his critics have raised an outcry, -and those who thought as he did, but lacked the courage to express -themselves, are silent and withdraw. He gives way; he finally collapses -under the strain of daily renewed effort, and resumes silence, as -though he regretted having spoken the truth, - -"In democratic republics, tyranny lets the body alone and attacks the -soul. In them the dominant power does not say, 'You must think as I -do, or die;' it says, 'You are free to differ from me in opinion; your -life and property will remain untouched, but from the day that you -express a different view from mine, you will be a stranger among us. -You will retain your rights and privileges as a citizen, but they will -be useless to you. You will remain among men, but be deprived of all -a man's rights. When you approach your equals they will flee you as -though you were a leper; even those who believe in your innocence will -abandon you, lest they should be themselves abandoned. Go in peace! -I grant you life, but a life which shall be harder and bitterer than -death!'" - -That is the true and credible picture which the noble De Tocqueville, -friend of the people and tyrant-hater as he was, has drawn of the -tyranny of the masses, those masses whose feet John had felt trampling -on him at home, at school, in the steamer and the theatre, those -masses whom he had satirised in the play _Sinking Hellas_, and whom -he had described as throwing the first stone at Olaus Petri just at -the moment when he was preaching to them of freedom! If it is thus in -America, how can one expect anything better in Europe. He found himself -in a cul-de-sac. His hereditary disposition prevented his becoming an -aristocrat, nor could he come to terms with the people. Had he not -himself suffered lately from an ignorant theatre-management behind -which stood the uncultivated public, and found the way blocked for -his new and liberal ideas. There was then already a mob-despotism in -Sweden, and the director of the Theatre Royal was only their servant. - -It was all absurdity! And even suppose society were ruled by those who -knew most. Then they would be under professors with their heads full of -antiquarian ideas. Even if the director had put his drama on the stage, -it would have certainly been hissed off by the tradesmen in the stalls, -and no critics could have helped him! - -His thoughts struggled like fishes in a net, and ended by being caught. -It was not worth the trouble of thinking about and he tried to banish -the thought, but could not. He felt a continual trouble and despair -in his mind that the world was going idiotically, majestically and -unalterably to the devil. "Unalterably," he thought, for as yet a large -number of strong minds had not attacked the problem, which was soluble -after all. Ten years later it was provisionally solved, when knowledge -on the subject of this sphinx-riddle had been so widely spread that -even a workman had obtained some insight into it, and in a public -meeting had declared that equality was impossible, for the block-heads -could not be equal to the sharp-sighted, and that the utmost one could -demand was equality of position. This workman was more of an aristocrat -than John dared to be in the year 1872, though he belonged to no party -which claimed the right to muzzle him. - -Prevost-Paradol had dealt with the same theme as Tocqueville, but -he suggested a secret device against the tyranny of the masses--the -cumulative vote or the privilege of writing the same name several times -on the ballot-paper. But John considered this method, which had been -tried in England, doubtful. - -He had set great hopes on his drama, and borrowed money on the strength -of them, and now felt much depressed. The disproportion between his -fancied and his real value galled him. Now he had to adopt a role, -learn it, and carry it out. He composed one for himself, consisting -of the sceptic, the materialist and the liar, and found that it -suited him excellently. This was for the simple reason that it was a -sceptical and materialistic period, and because he had unconsciously -developed into a man of his time. But he still believed that his -earlier discarded personality, ruled indeed by wild passions, but -cherishing ideals of a higher calling, love to mankind and similar -imaginations, was his true and better self which he hid from the world. -All men make similar mistakes when they value sickly sentimentality -above strong thought, when they look back to their youth and think -they were purer and more virtuous then, which is certainly untrue. -The world calls the weaker side of men their "better self," because -this weakness is more advantageous for the world and self-interest -seems to dictate its judgment. John found that in his new role he was -freed from all possible prejudices--religious, social, political and -moral. He had only one opinion,--that everything was absurd, only -one conviction,--that nothing could be done at present, and only one -hope,--that the time would come when one might effectively intervene, -and when there would be improvement. But from that time he altogether -gave up reading newspapers. To hear stupidity praised, selfish acts -lauded as philanthropic, and reason blasphemed,--that was too much for -a fanatical sceptic. Sometimes, however, he thought that the majority -were right in just being at the point of view where they were, and that -it was unnecessary that some few individuals, because of a specialised -education, should run far ahead of the rest. In quiet moments he -recognised that his mental development which had taken place so -rapidly, without his ever seeing an idea realised, could be a pattern -for such a slowly-working machine as society is. Why did he run so far -ahead? It was not the fault of the school or university, for they had -held him back equally with the majority. - -Yes, but those already out in the world, by their own hearths, had -already reached the stage of Buckle's scepticism as regards the social -order, so that he was not so far ahead after all. The slow rate of -progress was enough to make one despair. What Schiller's Karl Moor -had seen a hundred years previously, what the French Revolution had -actually brought about were now regarded as brand-new ideas. After -the Revolution, social development had gone backwards; religious -superstitions were revived, belief in a better state of things lost, -and economic and industrial progress was accompanied by sweating and -terrible poverty. It was absurd! All minds that were awake at all -had to suffer,--suffer like every living organism when hindered in -growth and pressed backward. The century had been inaugurated by the -destruction of hopes, and nothing has such a paralysing effect on the -soul as disappointed hope, which, as statistics show, is one of the -most frequent causes of madness. Therefore all great spirits were, -vulgarly speaking, mad. Chateaubriand was a hypochondriac, Musset a -lunatic, Victor Hugo a maniac. The automatic pygmies of everyday life -cannot realise what such suffering means, and yet believe themselves -capable of judging in the matter. - -The ancient poet is psychologically correct in representing -Prometheus as having his liver gnawed by a vulture. Prometheus was -the revolutionary who wished to spread mental illumination among -men. Whether he did it from altruistic motives, or from the selfish -one of wishing to breathe a purer mental atmosphere, may be left -undecided. John, who felt akin to this rebel, was aware of a pain which -resembled anxiety, and a perpetual boring "toothache in the liver." Was -Prometheus then a liver-patient who confusedly ascribed his pain to -causes outside himself? Probably not! But he was certainly embittered -when he saw that the world is a lunatic asylum in which the idiots go -about as they like, and the few who preserve reason are watched as -though dangerous to the public safety. Attacks of illness can certainly -colour men's views, and every one well knows how gloomy our thoughts -are when we have attacks of fever. But patients such as Samuel Oedmann -or Olaf Eneroth were neither sulky nor bitter, but, on the contrary, -mild, perhaps languid from want of strength. Voltaire, who was never -well, had an imperturbably good temper. And Musset did not write as he -did because he drank absinthe, but he drank from the same cause that -he wrote in that manner, _i.e_. from despair. Therefore it is not in -good faith that idealists who deny the existence of the body, ascribe -the discontent of many authors to causes such as indigestion, etc., the -supposition of which contradicts their own principles, but it must be -against their better knowledge, or with worse knowledge. Kierkegaard's -gloomy way of writing can be ascribed to an absurd education, -unfortunate family relations, dreary social surroundings, and alongside -of these to some organic defects, but not to the latter alone. - -Discontent with the existing state of things will always assert itself -among those who are in process of development, and discontent has -pushed the world forwards, while content has pushed it back. Content -is a virtue born of necessity, hopelessness or superfluity; it can be -cancelled with impunity. - -Catarrh of the stomach may cause ill temper, but it has never produced -a great politician, _i.e._ a great malcontent. But sickliness may -impart to a malcontent's energy a stronger colour and greater rapidity, -and therefore cannot be denied a certain influence. On the other hand, -a conscious insight into grievances can produce such a degree of mental -annoyance as can result in sickness. The loss of dear friends through -death, may in this way cause consumption, and the loss of a social -position or of property, madness. - -If every modern individual shows a geological stratification of the -stages of development through which his ancestors passed, so in every -European mind are found traces of the primitive Aryan,--class-feeling, -fixed family ideas, religious motives, etc. From the early Christians -we have the idea of equality, love to our neighbour, contempt for mere -earthly life; from the mediaeval monks, self-castigation and hopes of -heaven. Besides these, we inherit traits from the sensuous cultured -pagans of the Renaissance, the religious and political fanatics of the -sixteenth century, the sceptics of the "illumination" period, and the -anarchists of the Revolution. Education should therefore consist in the -obliteration of old stains which continually reappear however often we -polish them away. - -John proceeded to obliterate the monk, the fanatic and the -self-tormentor in himself as well as he could, and took as the leading -principle of his provisional life (for it was only provisional till he -struck out a course for himself) the well-understood one of personal -advantage, which is actually, though unconsciously, employed by all, to -whatever creed they belong. - -He did not transgress the ordinary laws, because he did not wish -to appear in a court of justice; he encroached on no one's rights -because he wished his own not to be encroached upon. He met men -sympathetically, for he did not hate them, nor did he study them -critically till they had broken their promises and shown a want of -sympathy to him. He justified them all so long as he could, and when -he could not, well,--he could not, but he tried by working to place -himself in a position to be able to do so. He regarded his talent as a -capital sum, which, although at present it yielded no interest, gave -him the right and imposed on him the duty to live at any price. He was -not the kind of man to force his way into society in order to exploit -it for his own purposes, he was simply a man of capacity conscious of -his own powers, who placed himself at the disposal of society modestly, -and in the first place to be used as a dramatist. The theatre, as a -matter of fact, needed him to contribute to its Swedish repertory. - -After a solitary day's work, it was his habit to go to a cafe to meet -his acquaintances there. To seek "more elevated" recreations in family -circles such as meaningless gossip, card playing and such like had no -attraction for him. Whenever he entered a family circle he felt himself -surrounded by a musty atmosphere like that exhaled from stagnant -water. Married couples who had been badgering each other, were glad to -welcome him as a sort of lightning conductor, but he had no pleasure -in playing that part. Family life appeared to him as a prison in which -two captives spied on each other, as a place in which children were -tormented, and servant-girls quarrelled. It was something nasty from -which he ran away to the restaurants. In them there was a public room -where no one was guest and no one was host: one enjoyed plenty of -space and light, heard music, saw people and met friends. John and -his friends were accustomed to meet in a back room of Bern's great -restaurant which, because of the colour of the furniture, was called -the "red room." The little club consisted originally of John and a few -artistic and philosophical friends. But their circle was soon enlarged -by old friends whom they met again. They were first of all recruited -by the presentable former scholars of the Clara School,--a postal -clerk who was at the same time a bass singer, pianist and composer; a -secretary of the Court treasurer; and the trump card of the society,--a -lieutenant of artillery. To these were added later, the composer's -indispensable friend, a lithographer, who published his music, and a -notary who sang his compositions. The club was not homogeneous, but -they soon managed to shake down together. - -But since the laymen had no wish to hear discussions on art, literature -and philosophy, their conversations were only on general subjects. -John, who did not wish to discuss any more problems, adopted a -sceptical tone, and baffled all attempts at discussion by a play upon -words, a quibble or a question. His ultimate "why?" behind every -penultimate assertion threw a light on the too-sure conclusions of -stupidity, and let his hearer surmise that behind the usually accepted -commonplaces there were possibilities of truths stretching out in -endless perspective. These views of his must have germinated like seeds -in most of their brains, for in a short time they were all sceptics, -and began to use a special language of their own. This healthy -scepticism in the infallibility of each other's judgments had, as a -natural consequence, a brutal sincerity of speech and thought. It was -of no use to speak of one's feelings as though they were praise worthy, -for one was cut short with "Are you sentimental, poor devil? Take -bi-carbonate." - -If any one complained of toothache, all he received by way of answer -was, "That does not rouse my sympathy at all, for I have never had -toothache, and it has no effect upon my resolve to give a supper." - -They were disciples of Helvetius in believing that one must regard -egotism as the mainspring of all human actions, and therefore it was -no use pretending to finer emotions. To borrow money or to get goods -on credit without being certain of being able to pay, was rightly -regarded as cheating, and so designated. For instance, if a member of -the club appeared in a new overcoat which seemed to have been obtained -on credit, he was asked in a friendly way, "Whom have you cheated about -that coat?" Or on another occasion another would say, "To-day I have -done Samuel out of a new suit." - -Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, both overcoat and suit were -generally paid for, but as the purchaser at the time he took them was -not sure whether he would be able to pay, he regarded himself as a -potential swindler. This was severe morality and stern self-criticism. - -Once during such a conversation the lieutenant got up to go and attend -church-parade with his company. "Where are you going?" he was asked. -"To play the hypocrite," he answered truthfully. - -This tone of sincerity sometimes assumed the character of a deep -understanding of human nature and the nature of society. One day -the company were leaving John's lodgings for the restaurant. It was -winter, and Mans, who was generally ill-dressed, had no overcoat. The -lieutenant, who wore his uniform, was, it is true, somewhat uneasy, but -did not wish to hurt any one's feelings that day. When John opened the -door to go out, Mans said, "Go in front; I will come afterwards; I do -not want Jean to injure his position by going with me." - -John offered to walk with Mans one way while the others should go by -another, but Jean exclaimed, "Ah! don't pretend to be noble-minded! you -feel as embarrassed at going with Mans as I do." - -"True," replied John, "but...." - -"Why, then, do you play the hypocrite?" - -"I did not play the hypocrite; I only wished to try to be free from -prejudice." - -"The deuce! what is the good of being free from prejudice when no one -else is, and it does you harm? It would really show more freedom from -prejudice to tell Mans your mind than to deceive him." - -Mans had already departed, and arrived about the same time at the -restaurant as they did. He took part in the meal without betraying a -trace of ill-humour. "Your health, Mans, because you are a man of -sense," said the lieutenant to cheer him up. - -The habit of speaking out one's inner thoughts without any regard to -current opinion, resulted in the overthrow of all traditional verdicts. -The terrible confusion of thought in which men live, since freedom -of thought has been fettered by compulsory regulations, has made it -possible for antiquated views of men and things to continue. Thus, -to-day a number of works of art are considered unsurpassable in spite -of the great progress made in technique and artistic conception. John -considered that if in the nineteenth century he was to give his views -on Shakespeare, he was not at all bound to give the opinion of the -eighteenth century, but of his own nineteenth, as it had been modified -by new points of view. This aroused a great deal of opposition, perhaps -because people fear being regarded as uncultivated a great deal more -than they fear being regarded as godless. - -Every one attacked Christ, for He was thought to have been overthrown -by learned criticism, but they were afraid of attacking Shakespeare. -John, however, was not. Thoroughly understanding the works of the -poet, whose most important dramas he had read in the original and -whose chief commentators he had studied, he criticised the composition -and meagre character drawing of _Hamlet._ It is noteworthy that the -Swedish Shakespeare-worshipper, Shuck, through an inconsistency due to -the current confusion of thought and compulsory cowardice, made just -as severe criticisms of _Hamlet_ regarded as a work of art, though -he had previously extolled it above the skies. If John had at that -time been able to read the book of Professor Shuck, he would not have -needed courage in order to subscribe such criticisms as the following: -"_Hamlet_ is the most unsatisfactory of all ... the composition is -superficial and incoherent. After the action of the play has reached -its climax, it suddenly breaks off. Hamlet is suddenly sent to England, -but this journey does not in any way arouse the spectator's interest. -Still worse is the management of the catastrophe. It is a mere chance -that Hamlet's revenge is executed at all, and a similar caprice of -chance causes his overthrow. His killing Claudius just before his own -death has more the appearance of revenge for the attempt on his own -life, than that of a judgment executed in the name of injured morality." - -And then the obscurity which envelops the motives of the principal -persons in the play! "The spectator is left in uncertainty regarding -such an important point as Ophelia's and Hamlet's madness. Moreover -in _King Lear_, Edward's treachery is so palpable that not the most -ordinarily intelligent man could have been deceived by it!" - -If then the drama was defective precisely in the chief elements of a -drama, construction and characterisation, how could it be incomparable? -The reverence for what is ancient and celebrated is rooted in the -same instinct which creates gods; and pulling down the ancient has -the same effect as attacking the divine. Why else should a sensible -unprejudiced man fly in a rage when he hears some one express a -different opinion to his own (or what he thinks his own) about some old -classic? It ought to be a matter of indifference to him. The national -and intellectual Pantheon can be as angrily defended by atheists as by -monotheists, perhaps more so. People who are otherwise sincere, cringe -before a well-established reputation, and John had heard a pietistic -clergyman say that Shakespeare was a "pure" writer. In his mouth that -was certainly false. A determinist, on the other hand, would not -have used the words "pure" or "impure" because they would have been -meaningless to him. But the poor Christ-worshipper did not dare to bear -a cross for Shakespeare; he had enough already to bear for his own -Master. - -Meanwhile John's method of judging old things from the modern point of -view seemed to be justified, for it gained him a following. That was -the whole secret of what was so little understood later on by theistic -and atheistic theologians--his irreverent handling of ancient things -and persons; they thought in their simplicity quite innocently that -it was what one calls in children a spirit of contradiction. His aim -rather was to bring people's confused ideas into order, and to teach -them to apply logically their materialistic point of view. If they -were materialists, they should not borrow phrases from Christianity, -nor think like idealists. This gave rise to a catchword, which showed -how what was ancient was despised--"That is old!" As new men, they -must think new thoughts, and new thoughts demanded a new phraseology. -Anecdotes and old jokes were done away with; stereotyped phrases and -borrowed expressions were suppressed. One might be plain-spoken and -call things by their right names, but one might not be vulgar; the -latest opera was not to be quoted, nor jokes from the newest comic -paper repeated. Thereby each became accustomed to produce something -from his own stock of original observation and acquired the faculty of -judging from a fresh point of view. - -John had discovered that men in general were automata. All thought the -same; all judged in the same fashion; and the more learned they were, -the less independence of mind they displayed. This made him doubt the -whole value of book education. The graduates who came from Upsala -had, one and all, the same opinions on Rafael and Schiller, though -the differences in their characters would have led one to expect a -corresponding difference in their judgments. Therefore these men did -not think, although they called themselves free-thinkers, but merely -talked and were merely parrots. - -But John could not perceive that it was not books _qua_ books which had -turned these learned men into automata. He himself and his unlearned -philosophical friends had been aroused to self-consciousness through -books. The danger of the university education was that it was derived -from inferior books published under sanction of the government, and -written by the upper classes in the interest of the upper classes, -_i.e_. with the object of exalting what was old and established, and -therefore of hindering further development. - -Meanwhile John's scepticism had made him sterile. He had perceived -that art had nothing to do with social development, that it was simply -a reflection or phenomena, and was more perfect as art the more it -confined itself to this function. He still preserved the impulse to -re-mould things and it found expression in his painting. His poetic -art, on the other hand, went to pieces since it had to express thoughts -or serve a purpose. - -His failure to have his play accepted had an adverse effect on his -pecuniary circumstances. The friends from whom he had borrowed money -came one evening to John's rooms in order to hear the play read, but -they were so tired after the day's work that, after hearing the first -act, they asked him to put off the rest for another occasion. One of -the audience who had kept more awake than the others thought that there -were too many Biblical quotations in the piece, and that these were not -suitable for the stage. - -John's resources were dried up, and the spectre of want loomed upon -him, unbribeable and stone-deaf. After he had gone without his dinners -for a time, he began to feel weary of life, and looked about him for -the means of subsistence. How should he get bread in the wilderness? -The best means that suggested itself was to seek an engagement in a -provincial theatre. There mere nobodies often played leading roles -in tragedies, made themselves a name, and finished by getting an -appointment at the Theatre Royal. He quickly made his resolve, packed -his travelling bag, borrowed money for his fare, and went to Goeteborg. -It was just about the time of the great November storm of 1872. - -Since the environment in which he had been living had had a great -effect on him, he conceived a great dislike to this town. Gloomy, -correct, expensive, proud, reserved it lay, pent in its circle of stone -hills, and depressed the lively native of Upper Sweden, accustomed -to the rich and smiling landscape of Stockholm. It was a copy of the -capital but on a small scale, and John, as one of the upper class, -felt alienated from its inhabitants, who were in a lower stage of -development. But he noticed that there was something here that was -wanting in the capital. When he went down to the harbour he saw ships -which were nearly all destined for foreign parts, and large vessels -kept up continual communication with the continent. The people and -buildings did not look so exclusively Swedish, the papers took more -account of the great movements which were going on in the world. What -a short way it was from here to Copenhagen, Christiania, London, -Hamburg, Havre! Stockholm should have been situated here in a harbour -of the North Sea, whereas it lay in a remote corner of the Baltic. -Here was in truth the nucleus of a new centre, and he now understood -that that position was no longer occupied by Stockholm, but that -Goeteborg was about to be the centre of the north. At present, however, -this reflection had no comfort for him since he was only in the -insignificant position of an actor. - -John sought out the theatre-director and introduced himself as a -person who wished to do the theatre a service. The director, however, -considered himself very well served by his present staff. But he -allowed John to give a trial performance in the role in which he wished -to make his debut. This was Dietrichson's _Workman_, the great success -of the day. John had discovered a certain likeness between Stephenson's -first locomotive and his rejected play; he wished to show how he, like -the engineer, had to face the ridicule of the ignorant crowd, the -apprehensions of the learned, and the fears of a wasted life on the -part of relatives. He gave his trial performance one evening by the -light of a candle and between bare walls. Naturally he felt hampered -and asked to repeat it in costume. But the director said it was not -necessary; he had heard enough. John, in his opinion, possessed talent, -but it was undeveloped. He offered him an engagement at twelve hundred -kronas yearly, to commence from the first of January. John considered: -Should he spend two months idly in Goeteborg and then only have a -supernumerary's part in a provincial theatre? No! He would not! What -remained to be done? Nothing except to borrow money and return home, -which he did. - -Thus his efforts had again ended in failure. His friends had given -him a farewell feast, lent him journey money, done all they could to -help him, and now he came back without having settled anything. Again -he had to hear the old too true accusation that he was unstable. To -be unstable in an ordered society is the extreme of unpracticality. -There persistent and exclusive cultivation of some special branch of -industry or knowledge is necessary in order to outstrip competitors. -Every orderly member of society feels a certain discomfort when he sees -some one wandering from his proper place. This discomfort does not -necessarily spring from excessive egotism, but possibly from a feeling -of solidarity and solicitude for others. John saw that his countless -changes of plan disquieted his friends; he felt ashamed and suffered on -account of it, but could not act otherwise. - -So he found himself at home, and spent the long evenings in the "Red -Room," asking himself whether he really could find no place in a -society which for others opened up so many rich possibilities of a -career. - -At Christmas time John travelled again to Upsala, for he had been -invited thither as one of the contributors to a Literary Calendar which -had just appeared. The _Calendar_, which was received with universal -disapprobation, was not without significance as an exponent of the -state of literature. The reader who was desired to wade through these -elegant extracts, might justifiably ask, "What have I got to do with -them?" The poetry they contained, like that of Snoilsky and Bjoerck, -might have been written fifty or a hundred years before. It was of -indifferent quality, and sometimes even bad,--bad because it gave no -sign that the poet had developed any powers of perception, indifferent -because it was not rooted in its own period. The date of the book -was 1872, but it contained no echo of the Jubilee of 1865, no hint -of 1870, not a whiff of the conflagration of 1871. Had these young -versifiers been asleep? Yes, certainly. The great mass of students were -realists, sceptics, mockers, as befitted the children of the time, but -the poets were credulous fools with the ideals of Snoilsky and Bjoerck -in their hearts. Their poetry was that of superannuated idealists in -form and thought, for the new views of things had not reached these -isolated individualists who still lived the Bohemian life of the -Romantics. Their poetry consisted of nothing but echoes. In fact it -was a question whether Swedish poetry had hitherto been anything else, -or could be anything else. Was Tegner's poetry anything but an echo -of Schiller, Oehlenschlaeger, the Eddas and the old Norse sagas? Was -Atterbom anything else than a musical box pieced together out of Tieck, -Hoffmann, Wieland, Burger? And so on with all the Swedish poets. But -this Literary Calendar was composed of echoes of echoes and dreams of -dreams. Realism, which had already made a premature entry into Sweden -with Kraemer's _Diamonds in Coal_, and had subsequently triumphed -in Snoilsky, had left no trace on these young poets. The poetry of -Snoilsky's school had been the careless expression of a careless time, -but these poems simply displayed the incapacity of their writers. - -John had contributed to the _Calendar_ a free version of "An Basveig's -Saga." In this he had glorified himself as a kind of male Cinderella, -or ugly duckling of the family. He was moved to do this by the contempt -which had been evinced towards him by his patrons and middle-class -friends on account of his failure as an author. The language of the -piece was marked by a certain bluntness of expression and an attempt to -dignify low things, or at least to rub off the dirt from things which -were not really so, but were called so. Since the word Naturalism had -not yet come into fashion, his language was called coarse and vulgar. - -But an acquaintance which John happened to make during his stay in -Upsala was of greater importance than the _Calendar_ or Christmas -dinner. He lodged with a friend on whose writing-table he found one day -a number of the _Svensk Tidskrift_ containing a notice of Hartmann's -_Philosophy of the Unconscious_. It was an exposition of Hartmann's -system by a Finn, A.V. Bolin, and betrayed throughout a half-concealed -admiration of it. But the editor, Hans Forssell, had appended to the -essay a note written in his usual style when he came across something -that his brain could not take in. Hartmann's doctrine was pessimism. -Conscious life is suffering because unconscious will is the motive -power of evolution and consciousness obstructs this unconscious will. -It was the old myth of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It -was the kernel of the Buddhistic faith and the chief doctrine of -Christianity,--"Vanitas, vanitatum vanitas." - -Most of the greatest and conscious minds had been pessimists, and had -seen through and unmasked the illusions of life. Only wild animals, -children, and commonplace people could therefore be happy, because they -were unconscious of the illusion, or because they held their ears when -one wanted to tell them the truth and begged not to be robbed of their -illusions. - -John found all this quite natural, and had no important objection to -make. It was true then, what he had so often dreamt, that everything -was nothing! It was the suspicion of this which had governed his -point of view and made all the great and all greatness appear on a -reduced scale. This consciousness had lurked obscurely in him, when, -as a child, although well-formed, healthy and strong, he wept over -an unknown grief, the cause of which he could not find within him or -without. That was the secret of his life, that he could not admire -anything, could not hold to anything, could not live for anything; that -he was too wide awake to be subject to illusions. Life was a form of -suffering which could only be alleviated by removing as many obstacles -as possible from the path of one's will; his own life in particular -was so extremely painful because his social and economical position -constantly prevented his will from expressing itself. - -When he contemplated life and especially the course of history he saw -only cycles of errors and mistakes repeating themselves.[1] The men of -the present dreamt of a republic, as Greeks and Romans had done two -thousand years before; the civilisation of the Egyptians had decayed -when they perceived its futility; Asia was wrapped in an eternal sleep -after it had been impelled by an unconscious will to conquer the -world; all nations had invented narcotics and intoxicants in order to -quench consciousness; sleep was blessedness and death the greatest -happiness. But why not take the last step and commit suicide? Because -the unconscious Will continually enticed men to live through the -illusion of hope of a better life. Pessimism, regarded as a view of the -world's order, is more consistent than meliorism, which sees in natural -development a tendency which makes for men's happiness. This latter -view seems to be a disguised relic of belief in divine providence. Can -one believe that the mechanical blindly ruling laws of nature have any -regard for the development of human society when they produce glacial -periods, floods, and volcanic outbreaks? Must an intelligent man be -called "conservative" in a contemptuous sense because he has brought -under his yoke and rules the laws of nature as Stuart Mill facetiously -expresses it? Have men devised any certain preventives against -shipwreck, strokes of lightning, economic crises, losses of relatives -by death and sickness? Can men control at pleasure the inclination of -the earth's axis, and do away with cloud-formations which are likely -to injure harvests? In spite of the present advanced state of science, -have men been able to put an end to the grape pest, to stop floods, -eradicate, superstitions, remove despots, prevent war? Is it not -presumptuous or simple-minded to believe that man, himself governed by -chemical, physical, and physiological laws of nature, stands above them -because he understands how to use some of them to his own advantage, as -birds use the wind for their progress or beavers the pressure of the -stream in constructing their dams? Are not the wings of the falcon and -the fly more perfect means of locomotion than railways and steamers? -How can men be so simple as to think that they stand above nature when -they are themselves so subordinate to nature that they cannot will or -think freely? It looks like a residue of our primitive illusions. If -the present development of European society ends in atheism, that has -already been the case with the Buddhists; if in religious freedom, -that has already been witnessed in the early history of China; if in -polygamy, that already exists among the savages of Australia; if in -community of goods, this prevailed among primitive peoples. The fact is -that Europe has been the last of all the great ethnical groups to wake -to consciousness. It is now in the act of waking and turning itself, -not like some oriental nations, to torpid quietism, but to removing as -far as possible the pains and unpleasantnesses of earthly existence, -although the best way of doing so has not been yet discovered. The -mistake of the industrial socialists is that they, according to -the formula of the ambiguous evolution theory, wish to build upon -existing conditions, which they regard as the product of necessity, -and tending to the good of all. But existing conditions rather tend -to the happiness of the few, and are therefore something abnormal to -build on, which means erecting a house on ground from which the water -has not been drained off. Probably the form of society which they -desire, however absurd it is, is a necessary mistake through which men -must pass to reach a better. Both the danger and the hope of progress -consist in the fact that the socialistic system already has its -programme drawn up and consequently works automatically, _i.e_. like a -blind, irresistible mass. If it reconstitutes society after the pattern -of the working-class who are a minority, and makes all men mechanics, -one may venture to doubt, without being regarded as quite mad, whether -that will be happiness. Socialism as a social reform is inevitable, -for Europe in its self-idolatry has not perceived how far backward it -is. Provided with an Asiatic form of government, which interferes in -details, supporting ancient superstitions, living under the terrible -tyranny of capital, which is maintained by force of arms, it sets -on foot political and religious persecutions, it venerates embalmed -monarchs like mummies of the Pharaohs, it civilises savages with waste -goods and Krupp guns; it forgets that its civilisation came from the -east, and was better then than it is now. Hartmann and the pessimists -believe that the social reform which is called socialism will come, but -that afterwards, it will be succeeded by something else. - -The bourgeois is an optimist because he cannot see or think outside -the narrow circle of everyday occurrences. That is his good fortune, -but not his merit, for he has no choice in the matter. Nay, he does not -even understand what pessimism is, but thinks it means the opinion that -this is the worst of all worlds. How could any one have a well-grounded -view on that? Voltaire, who was no pessimist, wrote a whole book to -demonstrate that this world, at any rate, was not the best of worlds -for us, as Leibnitz imagined. It is naturally the best for itself, -although not for us, and the difference between the point of view of -the hypochondriac and the pessimist consists in the fact that the -former believes that the world is the worst possible for him, while -the pessimist disregards what it may be for the individual. Hartmann -is no hypochondriac as people have tried to make out, and he seeks to -alleviate the pain of life as much as possible by placing himself in a -state of unconsciousness. - -The men of the younger generation of to-day are sad, because they -have awoke to consciousness and lost many illusions. But they are not -hypochondriacal, and work at bringing the world forward into the last -stage of illusion or a new social system, as though hoping thereby to -alleviate their pain, and they work the more fanatically, the deeper -they feel it. - -Meanwhile, supposing that Hartmann's philosophy may be a mistake, and a -sceptic must be willing to entertain that possibility, although it has -every probability on its side, since the instinct of self-preservation, -the first condition of life, consists in the removal of pain, which -is the first motive-power,--we must seek to explain historically -how this philosophy has come to the birth and spread. Superficial -observers like the mystic Caro, do not hesitate, inconsistently -enough, to attribute it to bodily ill-health. The socialists, who -wished to arouse the expectation that their teaching was practicable, -explained it as the foreboding of overthrow in a class, of whom -Hartmann was the representative. But Hartmann believes in socialism -and the new social system, although only as transitional forms. He -is not despairing, not even melancholy. He seems to be the first -philosopher who, quite independently of Christianity, European culture -and idealism, tries to explain the world's progress from the purely -materialistic point of view. He states facts and processes exactly as -they are. From unconscious minerals we have developed into globules -of albumen, acquired conscious nerve-centres and finally brains -with ever-increasing self-consciousness. The more highly organised -the life, the greater the capacity for pain and susceptibility to -impressions. Not till our time did the cosmic brain succeed in arriving -at clear perception and, accordingly, at divining the order of the -world. Hartmann can therefore be regarded as one who arrived at the -highest degree of consciousness, and he will be remembered as the -great unmasker before whose keen gaze the bandages fell away. It is -consequently a mistake to call him "the prophet of despair." Idealists -may feel empty and despairing when confronted by the naked truth, but -the meliorist feels an inexpressible calm. Man will be modest when he -takes the measure of his littleness as an atom of the cosmic dust. -He will no longer build his happiness on a future life, but will be -impelled by pessimism to order the only life he has as well as he can -for himself and for others. He will see how useless it is to lament -over the misery of existence; he will accept pain as a fact, and -alleviate it as well as he can. Hartmann is a realist, and the title -"pessimist" in its old significance has been fastened on him out of -malice. He shudders at the misery of the world, but does not even call -it misery. He only shows that life is not so great and beautiful as men -like to make out, and pain in his view is not a mere bodily ailment, -but an impelling motive. His is a sound and healthy view of things in -contrast to which socialism may sometimes look like idealism, since it -wishes to remodel society according to its desires, not according to -the possibilities of the case. - -Meanwhile the review article on Hartmann had a quickening effect on -John. There was then a system in the apparent madness of the universe, -and his consciousness had rightly foreboded that the whole scheme of -things was something very insignificant. But a new philosophic system -is not absorbed by a brain in a day. It only left a certain deposit and -gave a keynote to his thoughts. As a theoretical point of view it was -still obscured by his idealistic education, darkened by his inborn and -acquired hatred of the upper class, and his natural tendency to seek -his point of equilibrium somewhere outside himself. Taken on the large -scale, life was meaningless, but if one wanted to live, one had to come -to grips with reality, and adopt an everyday point of view, which alas! -one very readily did. Enormous difficulties stood in the way of earning -a living or making a name. Honour, viewed absolutely, was nothing, but -in relation to the petty circumstances of life it was something great, -and worth striving for. The Philistines did not understand that, and -derived much amusement, when they saw him, pessimist as he was, toiling -after distinctions. They, with their clock-work brains, thought this -inconsistent, since they did not understand that the term "honour" has -two values, an absolute and a "relative." - - -[1] In his pamphlet "The Conscious Will in the World-history" (1903), -Strindberg takes the opposite view to that expressed here. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Growth of a Soul, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - -***** This file should be named 44107.txt or 44107.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44107/ - -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 Growth of a Soul - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44107] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -GROWTH OF A SOUL - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - - -NEW YORK - -McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY - -1914 - - - CONTENTS - - I IN THE FORECOURT - II BELOW AND ABOVE - III THE DOCTOR - IV IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - V JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - VI BEHIND THE CURTAIN - VII JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - VIII THE "RUNA" CLUB - IX BOOKS AND THE STAGE - X TORN TO PIECES - XI IDEALISM AND REALISM - XII A KING'S PROTÃGà - XIII THE WINDING UP - XIV AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - XV THE RED ROOM - - - -THE GROWTH OF A SOUL - - - -CHAPTER I - -IN THE FORECOURT - -(1867) - - -The steamer had passed Flottsund and Domstyrken and the university -buildings of Upsala began to appear. "Now begins the real -stone-throwing!" exclaimed one of his companions,--an expression -borrowed from the street-riots of 1864. The hilarity induced by punch -and breakfast abated; one felt that things were now serious and that -the battle of life was beginning. No vows of perpetual friendship were -made, no promises of helping each other. The young men had awakened -from their romantic dreams; they knew that they would part at the -gang-way, new interests would scatter the company which the school-room -had united; competition would break the bonds which had united them and -all else would be forgotten. The "real stone-throwing" was about to -begin. - -John and his friend Fritz hired a room in the KlostergrÀnden. It -contained two beds, two tables, two chairs and a cupboard. The rent was -30 kronas[1] a term,--15 kronas each. Their midday meal was brought -by the servant for 12 kronas a month,--6 kronas each. For breakfast -and supper they had a glass of milk and some bread and butter. That -was all. They bought wood in the market,--a small bundle for 4 kronas. -John had also received a bottle of petroleum from home as a present, -and he could send his washing to Stockholm. He had 80 kronas in his -table-drawer with which to meet all the expenses of the term. - -It was a new and peculiar society into which he now entered, quite -unlike any other. It had privileges like the old house of peers and a -jurisdiction of its own; but it was a "little Pedlington" and reeked -of rusticity. All the professors were country-born; not a single one -hailed from Stockholm. The houses and streets were like those of -Nyköping. And it was here that the head-quarters of culture had been -placed, owing to an inconsistency of the government which certainly -regarded Stockholm as answering to that description. - -The students were regarded as the upper class in the town and the -citizens were stigmatised by the contemptuous epithet of "Philistines." -The students were outside and above the civic law. To smash windows, -break down fences, tussle with the police, disturb the peace of the -streets,--all was allowed to them and went unpunished; at most they -received a reprimand, for the old lock-up in the castle was no more -used. For their militia-service they had a special uniform of their -own which carried privileges with it. Thus they were systematically -educated as aristocrats, a new order of nobility after the fall of the -house of peers. - -What would have been a crime in a citizen was a "practical joke" in a -student. Just at this time the students' spirits were at a high pitch, -as a band of student-singers had gone to Paris, had been successful -there, and were acclaimed as conquerors on their return. - -John now wished to work for his degree but did not possess a single -book. "During the first term one must take one's bearings" was the -saying. John went to the student's club. The constitution of the club -was antiquated,--so much so that the annexed provinces SkÃ¥ne, Halland -and Blekinge were not represented in it. It was well arranged and -divided into classes, not according to merit, but according to age -and certain dubious qualities. In the list the title "nobilis" still -stood after the names of those of high birth. There were several ways -of gaining influence in the club, through an aristocratic name, family -influence, money, talent, pluck and adaptability, but the last quality -by itself was not enough among these intelligent and sceptical youths. -On the first evening in the club John made his observations. There were -several of his old companions from the Clara School present, but he -avoided them as much as possible and they him. He had deserted them and -gone by a short cut through the private school, while they had tramped -along the regular course through the state school. They all seemed -to him somewhat conventional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the -aristocrats and obtained introductions, made acquaintances easily and -got on well. - -As they went home in the evening John asked him who was the "snob" in -the velvet jacket with stirrups painted on his collar. Fritz answered -that he was not a snob, and that it was as stupid to judge people by -fine clothes as by poor ones. John with his democratic ideas did not -understand this and stuck to his opinion. Fritz asserted that the youth -referred to was a very fine fellow and the senior in the club, and -in order to rouse John further, added that he had expressed himself -satisfied with the newcomers' appearance and manners; he was reported -to have said "they had an air about them; formerly the fellows from -Stockholm when they came there, looked like workmen." - -John was ruffled at this information and felt that something had come -in between him and his friend. Fritz's father had been a miller's -servant, but his mother had been of noble birth. He had inherited from -his mother what John had from his. - -The days passed on. Fritz put on his frock coat every morning and went -to pay his respects to the professors. He intended to be a jurist; -that was a proper career, for lawyers were the only ones who obtained -real knowledge which was of use in public life, who tried to obtain -deeper insight into social organisation and to keep in touch with the -practical business of everyday life. They were realists. - -John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaintances. - -"Borrow my coat," said Fritz. - -"No, I will not go and pay court to the professors," said John. - -"You are stupid," answered Fritz, and in that he was right, for the -professors gave real though somewhat hazy information regarding the -courses of study. It was a piece of pride in John that he did not -wish to owe his progress to anything but his own work, and what was -worse, he thought it ignominious to be regarded as a flunkey. Would -not an old professor at once perceive that he was flattering him for -his own purposes? To submit himself to his superiors was, in his mind, -synonymous with grovelling. - -Moreover everything was too indefinite. The university which he had -imagined to be an institution for free investigation, was only one for -tasks and examinations. The professors gave lectures for the sake of -appearances or to maintain their income, but it was useless to go up -for an examination without taking private lessons. John resolved to -attend those lectures for which no fee was necessary. He went to the -Gustavianum to hear a lecture on the history of philosophy. For the -three-quarters of an hour during which the lecture lasted the professor -went through the introduction to Aristotle's Ethics. John calculated -that with three lectures a week he would require forty years to go -through the history of philosophy. "Forty years," he thought, "that is -too long for me." And did not go again. It was the same everywhere. -An assistant-professor expounded Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_ with the -commentary, in English, to an audience of five. John went there a few -times, but reckoned that it would be ten years before _Henry VIII_ was -finished. - -It began to dawn upon him what the requirements of the degree -examination were. The first was to write a Latin essay; therefore he -must learn more Latin, which he did not like. He had chosen Êsthetics -and modern languages as his chief subject. Ãsthetics comprised the -study of Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the -various systems of Êsthetics. That was work enough for a lifetime. The -modern languages were French, German, English, Italian and Spanish, -with comparative grammar. How was he to obtain the requisite books? And -he had not the means of paying for private lessons. - -Meanwhile he set to work at Ãsthetics. He found that one could borrow -books from the club and so he took out the volumes of Atterbom's -_Prophets and Poets_ which happened to be there. These unfortunately -only dealt with Swedenborg and contained Thorild's epistles. Swedenborg -seemed to him crazy, and Thorild's epistles did not interest him. -Swedenborg and Thorild were two arrogant Swedes who had lived in -retirement and fallen a prey to megalomania, the special disease -of solitary people. It is remarkable how often outbreaks of this -hallucination occur in Sweden, owing probably to the isolated position -of the country and to the fact that a sparse population is scattered -over enormous distances. Megalomania is apparent in the imperial -projects of Gustavus Adolphus, in Charles X's ambition of becoming -a great European power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in -Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and in Swedenborg's and Thorild's dreams of -storming heaven and of world-conflagrations. John thought them mad and -threw them aside. Was that the sort of stuff he was expected to read? - -He began to reflect over his situation. What did he expect to do in -Upsala? To support himself for six years on 80 kronas till he took -his degree. And then? his thoughts did not stretch further; he had no -higher plan or ambition than to take his degree--the laurel crown, the -graduate's coat, and then to teach the catechism in the Jakob school -till his death. No, he did not wish to do that. - -Time went on, and Christmas approached. The little stock of money in -his table-drawer diminished slowly but surely. And then? It was not so -easy for students to obtain employment as private teachers since the -railways had made communication easier between remote country places -and the towns where schools were. He felt that he had embarked upon a -foolish undertaking. When he found he could get no more books, he began -to make visits among his fellow-students and discovered companions in -misfortune. Among them were two who had spent the whole term playing -chess and possessed nothing between them but a hymn-book which the -mother of one had placed in his box. They were also asking themselves -the question "What have we to do here?" The way to the degree -examination was not easy; one was compelled to seek out secret ways, -bribe door-keepers, creep through holes, run into debt for books, be -seen at lectures and much more besides. - -In order to fill up the time, he learnt to play the B-cornet in the -band of the students' club by the advice of Fritz who played the -trombone. But the practices were very irregular and began to cause -disputes. John also played backgammon, which Fritz hated, and so he -wandered about to acquaintances with his backgammon board and played -with them. He found it as dull as reading Swedenborg. - -"Why do you not study?" Fritz often asked him. - -"I have no books," answered John. That was a good reason. He could -not visit the restaurants, for he had no money, and lived very -quietly. At the midday meal he drank only water, and when on Sundays -he and Fritz drank half a bottle of beer, they remained sitting at -table half-fuddled and telling each other, perhaps for the hundredth -time, old school adventures. The term crept along intolerably slow, -uneventful and torpid. John perceived that, as one of the lower class, -he could plod on thus far but no further. The economic question brought -his plans to a standstill. Or was it that he was tired of living a -one-sided mental life without muscular exercise? Trifling experiences -for which he ought to have been prepared contributed to embitter him. -One day Fritz entered their room with a young count. He introduced -John to him, and the count tried to remember whether they had not been -comrades at the Clara School. John seemed to remember something of -the kind. The old friends and intimate companions addressed each other -as "count" and "sir." Then John remembered how he and the young count -had once played as boys in a tobacco store on the Sabbatsberg, and how -something had made him prophesy, "In a few years, old fellow, we shall -not know each other any more." The young count had protested strongly -against this and felt hurt. Why did John remember this just then -particularly, since it is quite natural that comrades should become -strangers to each other when intercourse has been so long broken off? -Because at the sight of the noble, he felt the slave blood seethe in -his veins. This kind of feeling has been ascribed to the difference of -races. But that is not so, for then the stronger plebeian race would -feel superior to the weaker aristocratic. It is simply class-hatred. - -The count in question was a pale, tall, slender youth of no striking -appearance. He was very poor and looked half-starved. He was -intelligent, industrious, and not at all proud. Later on in life -John came across him again and found him to be a sociable, pleasant -man, leading an inconspicuous life as an official, amid difficulties -resembling John's own. Why should he hate him? And then they both -laughed at their youthful stupidity. That was possible then, for John -seemed to have "got ahead" as the saying is; otherwise he would not -have laughed at all. "Stand up that I may sit down," this was the -more malicious than luminous way of expressing the aspiration of the -lower orders in those days. But it was a misunderstanding. Formerly -one strove to elbow one's way up to the other; now one would rather -pull the other down to save oneself the trouble of clambering up where -nothing is to be found. "Move a little so that we can both sit" would -now be the proper formula. - -It has been said that those who are "above" are there by a law of -necessity and would be there under all circumstances; competition -is free and each can ascend if he likes, and if the conditions were -changed, the same race would begin again. "Good!" say the lower -classes, "let us race again, but come down here and stand where I -do. You have got a start with privileges and capital, but now let us -be weighed with carriage harness and racing saddle after the modern -fashion. You have got ahead by cheating. The race is therefore declared -null and void and we will run it again, unless we come to an agreement -to do away with all racing, as an antiquated sport of ancient times." - -Fritz saw things from another point of view. He did not wish to pull -those above down, but to become an aristocrat himself, climb up to -them and be like them. He began to lisp and made elegant gestures with -his hands, greeted people as though he were a cabinet minister, and -threw his head back as though he had a private income. But he respected -himself too much to become ridiculous and satirised himself and his -ambition. The fact was that the aristocrats whom he wished to resemble -had simple, easy, unaffected manners,--some of them indeed quite like -the middle class, while Fritz was fashioning himself after an ancient -theatrical pattern which no longer existed. He did not therefore -become what he expected in life though he had dozed away many a summer -in the castles of his friends, and ended in a very modest official -post. He was received as a student in their guest-rooms but came no -further; as a district judge he was not introduced in the salons which -as a student he had entered without introduction. - -The effects of the different circles in which John and Fritz moved -began now to be apparent, first in mutual coldness, then in hostility. -One evening it broke out at the card-table. - -Fritz one day towards the end of the term said to John, "You should not -go about with such bounders as you do." - -"What is the matter with them?" - -"Nothing, but it would be better if you went with me to my friends." - -"They don't suit me." - -"Well, they suit me, but they think you are proud." - -"I?" - -"Yes; and to show you are not, come with me this evening and drink -punch." - -John went though unwillingly. They were a solid-looking set of -law-students who played cards. They discussed the stakes for which they -should play, and John succeeded in reducing them to a minimum, though -they made sour faces. Then a game of "knack" was proposed. John said -that he never played it. - -"On principle?" he was asked. - -"Yes," he answered. - -"How long ago did you make that resolve," asked Fritz sarcastically. - -"Just this minute." - -"Just now, here?" - -"Yes, just now, here!" answered John. - -They exchanged hostile looks and that was the end. They went home -silent; went to bed silent; and got up silent. For five weeks they ate -their dinner at the same table and never spoke to each other. A gulf -had opened between them and their friendship was ended; they had no -more intercourse with each other and there was nothing to bring them -together again. How had that come about? - -These two characters so opposed to each other had held together for -five years through habit, through comradeship in the class-room, -and common interests; they had felt drawn to each other by common -recollections, defeats and victories. It was a compromise between fire -and water which must cease sooner or later and might cease at any -moment. Now they flew asunder as if by an explosion; the masks fell; -they did not become enemies, but simply discovered that they _were_ -born enemies, _i.e._ two oppositely-disposed natures which must go, -each its own way. They did not close accounts with a quarrel or useless -accusations, but simply made an end without more ado. An unnatural -silence prevailed at their midday meal; sometimes in lifting dishes -their hands crossed but their looks avoided each other; now and then -Fritz's lips moved, as though he wished to say something, but his -larynx remained closed. What should he say after all. There was nothing -to say but what the silence expressed: "We have nothing more in common." - -And yet there was something left after all. Sometimes Fritz came home -in the evening, cheerful, and obviously prepared to say, "Come! cheer -up old fellow!" But then he stood still in the middle of the room, -petrified by John's icy manner, and went out again. Sometimes also -it occurred to John, who suffered under the breach of friendship to -say to his friend, "How stupid we are!" But then he felt frozen again -by Fritz's indifferent manner. They had worn out their friendship by -living together. They knew each other by heart, all one another's -secrets and weaknesses, and precisely what answer either would give. -That was the end. Nothing more remained. - -A miserable torpid time followed. Tom away from the common life of -school where he had worked like part of a machine in unison with -others, and abandoned to himself, he ceased to live in the proper sense -of the word. Without books, papers or social intercourse, he remained -empty; for the brain produces of itself very little, perhaps nothing; -in order to make combinations it must be supplied with material from -without. Now nothing came; the channels were stopped, the ways blocked, -and his soul pined away. Sometimes he took Fritz's books and looked -into them; among them he came across Geijer's History for the first -time. Geijer was a great name and known through his "Kolargossen," -"Sista Kampen," "Vikingen" and other poems. John now read his history -of Gustav Vasa. He was astonished to find no illuminating point of -view nor any fresh information. The style, which he had heard praised, -was pedestrian. It was like a mere memorial sketch, this history of a -long-lived king's reign, and cursory also like a text-book. Printed in -small type, and without notes, the history of this important king would -not have been longer than a small pamphlet. One day John asked some of -his friends what they thought of Geijer. - -"He is devilish dull," they answered. - -That was the common opinion before jubilee-commemorations and the -erection of statues prevented people saying plainly what they thought. - -John then looked for a little into law-books, but was alarmed at the -idea of having to study that sort of thing. His home life and religious -education had given him a distaste for everything that concerned the -common interests of people. Through the ceaseless repetition of the -maxim that young men should not interfere with politics, that is to -say, with the common weal, and through Christian individualism and -introspection, John had become a consistent egoist. - -"Let every one mind his own business" was the first command of this -egotistic morality. Therefore he read no papers and troubled little how -things were going on about him, what was happening in the world, how -the destinies of men were being shaped, or what were the thoughts of -the leading minds of the time. Therefore it never occurred to him to -go to the meetings of the club where questions of common interest were -dealt with. "There were enough to look after those things," he thought. - -He was not alone in that opinion, so that the meetings of the club were -managed by a few energetic fellows, who were regarded perhaps wrongly, -as egoists and managed public business in their own interests. John who -let the affairs of the little society go as they liked, was perhaps a -greater egoist, occupied as he was with the affairs of his own soul. -But in his own defence and on behalf of many of his countrymen it must -be said that he and they were shy. This shyness, however, should have -been got rid of at school by practice in public speaking. In this -shyness there was also a degree of cowardice, the fear of opposition -or ridicule, and especially the fear of being thought presumptuous or -wishing to push oneself forward. Every youth who did so, was at once -suppressed, for here the aristocracy of seniority prevailed in a very -high degree. - -When he found the room too stuffy, he went out of the town. But the -depressing landscape with its endless expanse of clay made him sad. He -was no plain-dweller, but had his roots in the undulating scenery of -Stockholm, diversified by water channels. The flat country depressed -him and he suffered from homesickness to such a degree that when he -returned to Stockholm at Christmas and saw again the smiling contours -of the coast of Brunsvik, he was moved to the point of sentimentality. -When he saw once more the gentle curves of the woods of Haga Park he -felt his soul, as it were, attuned again, after having been so long -out of tune. To such a degree were his nerves affected by his natural -surroundings. - -Under other circumstances, the society of a smaller town like Upsala -would have been more congenial to him than that of the great town -which he hated. Had the small town been but a developed form of the -village, preserving the simple rustic appliances for health and -comfort, with fragments of landscape between the houses, it would have -been far preferable to the great town. But now the small town was -merely a shabby pretentious copy of the great town with its mistakes, -and therefore the more offensive. It also reeked with provinciality. -Every one mentioned their birthplace, "My name is Pettersson, from -Ostgothland," "Mine is Andersson, from SmÃ¥land." There was a keen -rivalry between the members of different provinces. Those from -Stockholm regarded themselves as the first and were therefore envied -and despised by the "peasants." There was much dispute as to whom the -first place really belonged. The Wormlanders boasted of having produced -Geijer whose portrait hung in their hall, while the SmÃ¥landers had -Tegner, Berzelius and LinnÊus. The Stockholm students who had only -Bergfalk and Bellmann were called "gutter-snipes." This was not a very -brilliant piece of wit especially as it emanated from a Kalmar student -who was thereupon asked "whether there were no gutters in Kalmar?" - -There was something pettifogging also in the way in which the -professors fought for advancement by means of pamphlets and newspaper -articles. The election to any particular professorial chair rested in -the last resource with the Chancellor of the University who lived at -Stockholm. - -In 1867 the University had no especially distinguished teachers. Some -of them were merely old decayed tipplers. Others were young immature -dilettantes who had obtained advancement through their wives and the -modicum of talent which they possessed. The only one who enjoyed a -certain reputation was Swedelius. This, however, was rather due to -his bonhomie and the anecdotes which gathered round him, then to his -own talent. His learned activity was confined to the composition in -an austere style of textbooks and memorial addresses. These were not -strictly scientific, but showed traces of original research. - -On the whole all the subjects of study were introduced from abroad, -for the most part from Germany. The textbooks in most departments -were in German or French. Very few were in English which was little -known. Even the Professor of Literary History could not pronounce -English and began his lectures with an apology for not being able -to do so. There was no doubt that he knew the language for he had -published translations of Swedish poems. "But why did he not learn -the pronunciation?" the students asked. Most of the dissertations for -degrees were mere compilations from the German; occasionally they were -direct translations which caused a scandal. - -The fact was that the period had no special feature to characterise -it. There is no such thing as Swedish culture any more than there is -Belgian, Swiss, or Hungarian. Sweden had indeed produced a LinnÊus and -a Berzelius, but they had had no successors. - -John had no spirit of enterprise. At school his work had been settled -for him; at the university it was all left to him. He was overcome by -lethargy and listlessness and worried by not knowing what to do at the -end of the term. He saw that he must seek for a position in which he -could support himself. A friend had told him that one might become an -elementary teacher in the country without passing any more examinations -and could very well support oneself in such a post. Now it was John's -dream to live in the country. He had a natural dislike to towns though -he had been born in the metropolis. He could not accustom himself -to live without light and air, nor flourish in these streets and -market-places, where the outward signs of a higher or lower position in -the absurd social scale counted for so much, _e.g._ such subordinate -things as dress and manner. He had hostility to culture in his blood -and could never conceive of himself as anything else than a natural -product, which did not wish to be severed from its organic connection -with the earth. He was like a plant vainly feeling with its roots -between the pavement-stones for some soil; like an animal pining for -the forest. - -There is a fish which climbs up trees, and an eel can go on land to -look for a pease-field, but both of them return to the water. Fowls -have been domesticated so long that their ancestral characteristics -have died out, but they preserve the habit of sleeping on a perch which -represents the branch on which the black-cock and the wood-grouse -roost. Geese become restless in autumn, for an instinct in their blood -tells them that it is migrating time. So in spite of accommodation to -new circumstances there is always a tendency to go back. - -Thus is it also with men. The dweller in the north, so long as he -preserves civilised habits, has not been able to acclimatise himself -thoroughly, and is still liable to consumption. His stomach, nerves, -heart and skin were able to accommodate themselves, but not his lungs. -The Eskimo on the other hand, originally a southerner, succeeded in -acclimatising himself but had to give up civilised habits. - -And what is the meaning of the northerner's longing for the south -unless it be the wish to return to his first home, the land of the -sun, the bank of the Ganges where he was cradled? And the dislike -of children to meat, their longing for fruit and love of climbing, -what is it all but "reversion to type?" Therefore civilisation means -a continual strain and struggle to combat this backward tendency. -Education winds up the clock, but when the mainspring is not strong -enough it snaps and the works run down, till quiet ensues. As -civilisation advances the strain is ever greater and the statistics -of insanity show a perpetual increase. One cannot swim against the -stream of civilisation, but one may escape to land. Modern Socialism -which wishes to bring down the upper classes with their worthless -and dangerous motto "Higher!" is a backward movement in a healthy -direction. The strain will decrease as the pressure from above -decreases, and thereby a great deal of superfluous luxury will be got -rid of. In certain parts of German Switzerland there is already a -certain relative quiet. There we find no restless hunting after honours -and distinctions because there are none to be had. A millionaire -lives in a large cottage and laughs at the bedizened townsfolk,--a -good-natured laugh without any envy in it, for he knows that he could -buy up their finery for ready cash, if he chose. But he will not, for -luxury has no value in his neighbours' eyes. - -Men could therefore be happier if competition were not so keen and -they will yet be so, for the chief constituent of happiness is peace -along with less toil and less luxury. It is not the railways which are -to be blamed, but the superabundance of them. In Arcadian Switzerland -railways have ruined whole districts where no freightage is required -and people usually go on foot. To this day distances are reckoned by -pedestrian measures. - -"It is eight hours to Zurich," says some one. - -"Eight! is it possible?" - -"Yes, certainly." - -"By the railway?" - -"Oh! by the railway,--that is only an hour and a half." - -In Sweden there is a railway which carries regularly three passengers -in its three classes, a factory-owner, a bailiff and a clerk. We may -live to see them shut up the railway stations for want of coal when -the coal strikes have sent up the price, for want of guards when wages -rise, and for want of freight when wood and oats can no longer be -procured; iron is already too dear to be used for railways, and the old -water-ways ought to be tried. - -It is no use to preach against civilisation,--that one knows well, but -if we observe the currents of the time we shall see that a return to -nature is in process of going on. Turgenieff has already described this -by the word "simplification." That is the mistake of the evolutionists -that in everything which is in motion or course of development they -see a progress towards human happiness, forgetting that a sickness may -develop to death or recovery. - -After all, what a superficial appendage civilisation is! Make a -nobleman drunk and he can become like a savage; let a child loose in -a wood without any one to look after it (provided that it can feed -itself) and it will not learn to speak of itself. Out of a peasant's -son who is generally considered so low in the social scale, one -can make in a single generation a man of science, a minister, an -arch-bishop, or an artist. Here there can be no talk of heredity, for -the peasant-father who stood apparently at such a low level, could not -have inherited anything from cultivated brains. On the other hand, the -children of a genius inherit usually nothing but used-up brains, except -occasionally a skill in their father's line of work, which they have -acquired by daily intercourse with their father. - -The town is the fire-place whither the living fuel from the country is -brought and devoured; it is to keep the present social machinery at -work, it is true, but in the long run the fuel will prove too dear, and -the machine come to a standstill. The society of the future will not -need this machine in order to work or they will be more sparing of the -fuel. But it is a mistake to conjecture the needs of a future state of -society from the present one. - -Our present society is perhaps a natural product, but inorganic; the -future society will be an organic product and a higher one, for it -will not deprive men of the first conditions for an organic existence. -There will be the same difference between these two forms of society as -between paved streets and grass meadows. - -The youth's dream often left artificial society to wander at large -in nature. Society had been formed by men doing violence to natural -laws, just as one may bleach a plant under a flower-pot and produce an -edible salad, but the plant's capacity to live healthily and propagate -itself as a plant is destroyed. Such a plant is the civilised man -made by artificial bleaching useful for an anÊmic society, but, as -an individual, wretched and unhealthy. Must the process of bleaching -continue in order to insure the existence of this decayed society? -Must the individual remain wretched in order to maintain an unhealthy -society? For how can society be healthy when its individual members -are ailing? A single individual cannot demand that society should be -sacrificed for his sake, but a majority of individuals have a right to -bring about such changes in the society, which they themselves compose, -as may be beneficial to themselves. - -Under the simpler conditions of country life John believed he could -be happy in an obscure post, without feeling that he had sunk in the -social scale. But he could not be so in the town where he would be -continually reminded of the height from which he had fallen. To come -down voluntarily is not painful if the onlookers can be persuaded that -it _is_ voluntarily, but to fall is bitter, especially as a fall always -arouses satisfaction in those standing below. To mount, strive upwards -and better one's position has become a social instinct, and the youth -felt the force of it, though in his view the "upper" was not always -higher. - -John wished now to realise some result,--an active life which should -bring him an income. He looked through many advertisements for teachers -in elementary schools. Positions were advertised to which were attached -salaries of 300 or 600 kronas, a house, a meadow and a garden. He tried -for one of these places after another but obtained no answer. - -When the term was over and his 80 kronas spent, he returned home, not -knowing whither to turn, what he should become, or how he should live. -He had glanced in the forecourt and seen that there was no room in it -for him. - - -[1] A krona = 1s. _2d_. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -BELOW AND ABOVE - - -"Are you a complete scholar now?" With this and similar questions John -was greeted ironically on his return home. His father took the matter -seriously and strove to frame plans without coming to any result. John -was a student; that was a fact; but what was to follow? - -It was winter, and so the white student cap could not bestow on him -a mild halo of glory or bring any honour to the family. Some one has -asserted that war would cease if uniforms were done away with; and it -is certain there would not be so many students if they had no outward -sign to parade. In Paris where they have none, they disappear in the -crowd, and no one makes a fuss about them; in Berlin on the other hand, -they have a privileged place by the side of officers. Therefore also -Germany is a land of professors and France of the bourgeois. - -John's father now saw that he had educated a good-for-nothing for -society who could not dig, but perhaps was not ashamed to beg. The -world stood open for the youth to starve or to perish in. His father -did not like his idea of becoming an elementary school-teacher. Was -that to be the only result of so much work? His ambitious dreams -received a shock from the idea of such a come-down. An elementary -school-teacher was on a level with a sergeant, oil a plane from which -there was no hope of mounting. Climb one must as long as others did; -one must climb till one broke one's neck, so long as society was -divided into ranks and classes. John had not passed the student's -examination for the sake of knowledge, but of belonging to the upper -class, and now he seemed to be meditating a descent to the lower. - -It became painful for him at home for he felt as though he were eating -the bread of charity when Christmas was over, and he could no longer be -regarded as a Christmas guest. - -One day he accidentally met in the street a school-teacher whom he -knew, and whom he had not seen for a long time. They talked about the -future and John's friend suggested to him a post in the Stockholm -elementary school as suitable for him while reading for his degree. He -would get a thousand kronas salary and have an hour to himself daily. -John objected "Anywhere except in Stockholm." His friend replied that -several students had been teachers in the elementary school, "Really! -then he would have companions in misfortune." Yes, and one had come -from the New Elementary School where he was a teacher. John went, made -an application, and was appointed with a salary of 900 kronas. His -father approved his decision when he heard that it would help him to -read for his degree, and John undertook to live as a boarder at home. -One winter morning at half-past eight, John went down the Nordtullsgata -to the Clara School, exactly as he had done when he was eight years -old. There were the same streets and the same Clara bells, and he was -to teach the lowest class! It was like being put back to learn a lesson -of eleven years ago. Just as afraid as then,--yes, more afraid of -coming too late he entered the large class-room, where together with -two female teachers he was to have the oversight of a hundred children. -There they sat,--children like those in the Jakob School, but younger. -Ugly, stunted, pale, swollen, sickly, with cast-down looks, in coarse -clothes and heavy shoes. Suffering, most probably, suffering from the -consciousness that others were more fortunate, and would always be -so, as one then believed, had impressed on their faces the stamp of -pain, which neither religious resignation nor the hope of heaven could -obliterate. The upper classes avoided them with a bad conscience, built -themselves houses outside the town, and left it to the professional -over-seers of the poor to come in contact with these outcasts. - -A hymn was sung, the Lord's Prayer was read; everything was as before; -no progress had been made except that the forms had been exchanged for -seats and desks, and the room was light and airy. John had to fold his -hands and join in the hymn, thus already being obliged to do violence -to his conscience. Prayers over, the head-master entered. He spoke to -John in a fatherly way and as his superintendent gave him instruction -and advice. This class, he said, was the worst, and the teacher must -be strict. - -So John took his class into a special room to begin the lesson. The -room was exactly like that in the Clara School, and there stood the -dreadful desk with steps, which resembled a scaffold and was painted -red as though stained with blood. A stick was put into his hand with -which he might rap or strike as he chose. He mounted the scaffold. He -felt shy before the thirsty faces of girls and boys opposite who looked -curiously at him, to see if he were going to worry them. - -"What is your lesson?" he asked. - -"The first commandment," the whole class exclaimed. - -"Only one must answer at a time. You, top boy what is your name?" - -"Hallberg," cried the whole class. - -"No, only one at a time,--the one I ask." - -The children giggled. "He is not dangerous," they thought. - -"Well, then, what is the first commandment?" John asked the top boy. - -"Thou shalt have no other gods but Me." He knew that then. - -"What is that?" John asked again, trying to lay as little emphasis -as possible on the "that." Then he asked fifteen children the same -question and a quarter of an hour had passed. John thought this -idiotic. What should he do now? Say what he knew about God? But the -common point of view then was, that nothing was known about Him. John -was a theist, and still believed in a personal God, but could say -nothing more. He would have liked to have attacked the divinity of -Christ, but would have been dismissed had he done so. - -A pause followed. There was an unnatural stillness while he reflected -on his false position and the foolish method of teaching. If he had -now said that nothing was known of God, the whole catechism and Bible -instruction would have been superfluous. They knew that they must not -steal or lie. Why then make such a fuss? He felt a mad wish to make -friends and fellow-sinners of the children. - -"What shall we do now?" he said. - -The whole class looked at each other and giggled. - -"This is a jolly sort of teacher," they thought. - -"What must the teacher do when he has heard the lesson?" he asked the -top boy. - -"Hm! he generally explains it," he and one or two others answered. - -John could certainly explain the origin and growth of the conception of -God, but that would not do. - -"You need not do any more," he said, "but don't make a noise." - -The children looked at him, and he at them mutually smiling. - -"Don't you think this is absurd," he felt inclined to say, but checked -himself and only smiled. But he collected himself when he saw that they -were laughing at him. "This method would not do," he thought. So he -commanded attention and went through the first commandment again till -each child had had a question. After extraordinary exertions on his -part, the clock at last struck nine, and the lesson was over. - -Then the three divisions of the class were assembled in the great -hall to prepare for going into the play-ground to get fresh air. -"Prepare" is the right word for such a simple affair as going into the -play-ground demanded a long preparation. An exact description would -fill a whole printed page, and perhaps be regarded as a caricature; we -will be content with giving a hint. - -In the first place, all the hundred children had to sit motionless, -absolutely motionless, and silent, absolutely silent, in their seats as -though they were to be photographed. From the master's desk the whole -assembly looked like a grey carpet with bright patterns, but the next -moment one of them moved the head; the offender had to rise from his -seat and stand by the wall. The total effect was now disturbed, and -there had to be a good many raps with the cane before two hundred arms -lay parallel on the desks and a hundred heads were at right angles -with their collar-bones. When quiet was in some degree restored a new -rapping began which demanded absolute quiet. But at the very moment -when the absolute was all but attained, some muscle grew tired, some -nerve slackened, some sinew relaxed. Again there was confusion, cries, -blows, and a new attempt to reach the absolute. It generally ended by -the female teacher (the males did not drive it so far) closing one eye -and pretending that the absolute had been reached. - -Then came the important moment, when, at a given signal the whole -hundred must spring from their seats and stand in order, but nothing -more. It was a ticklish moment when slates fell down and rulers -clattered. Then they had to sit down and begin all over again by -keeping perfectly still. - -When they had really got on their legs, they were marched off in -divisions but on tip-toe without exception. Otherwise they had to turn -round and sit down again, get up again and so on. They had to go on -tip-toe in wooden sabots and water-boots. It was a great mistake; it -accustomed the children to stealthiness and gave their whole appearance -something cat-like and deceitful. In the play-ground a teacher had -to arrange those who wanted to drink in a straight line before the -water-tap by the entrance; at the same time the lavatories at the -other end of the play-ground had to be inspected, and games had to be -organised and watched over. Then the children were again drawn up and -marched into school. If it was not done quietly, they had to go out -again. - -Then another lesson began. The children read out of a patriotic -reading-book the principal object of which seemed to be to instil -respect for the upper classes and to represent Sweden as the best -country in Europe, although as regards climate and social economy, -it is one of the worst, its culture is borrowed from abroad, and all -its kings were of foreign origin. They did not venture to give such -teaching to the children of the upper classes in the Clara School and -the Lyceum, but in the Jakob School they had sufficient courage to -make poor children sing a patriotic song about the Duke of Ostgothland. -In this occurred a verse addressed to the crew of the fleet, saying -victory was sure in the battle they wished for "because Prince Oscar -leads us on," or something of the sort. - -Meanwhile the reading-lesson began. But just at that moment the -head-master came in. John wished to stop but the head-master beckoned -to him to go on. The children who had lost their respect for him after -the catechism-lesson were inattentive. John scolded them, but without -result. Then the head-master came forward with a cane; took the book -from John and made a little speech, to the effect that this division -was the worst, but now their teacher should see how to deal with them. -The exercise which followed seemed to have as its object the attainment -of perfect attention. The absolute again seemed to be the standard by -which these children were to be trained in this incomplete world of -relativity. - -The boy who was reading was interrupted, and another name called at -random out of the class. To follow attentively was assumed to be the -easiest thing in the world by this old man who certainly must have -experienced how thoughts wander their own way while the eyes pass -over the printed page. The inattentive one was dragged by his hair or -clothes and caned till he fell howling on the ground. - -Then the head-master departed after recommending John to use the cane -diligently. There remained nothing but to follow this method or to go; -the latter did not suit John's plans, therefore he remained. He made a -speech to the children and referred to the head-master. "Now," he said, -"you know how you must behave if you want to escape a thrashing. He who -gets one, has himself to thank. Don't blame me. Here is the stick, and -there is your lesson. Learn your lesson or you will get the stick,--and -it isn't my fault." - -That was cunningly put, but it was unmerciful, for one ought to have -first ascertained how far the children could do their work. They could -not, for they were the most lively and therefore the most inattentive. -So the cane was kept going all day, accompanied by cries of pain, and -fear on the faces of the innocent. It was terrible! To pay attention -is not in the power of the will, and therefore all this punishment was -mere torture. John felt the absurdity of the part he had to play, but -he had to do his duty. Sometimes he was tired and let things go as they -liked, but then his colleagues, male and female, came and made friendly -representations. Sometimes he found the whole thing so ridiculous -that he could not help smiling with the children while he caned them. -Both sides saw that they were working at something impossible and -unnecessary. - -Ibsen, who does not believe in the aristocracy of birth or of wealth, -has lately (1886) expressed his belief that the industrial class -are the true nobility. But why should they necessarily be so? If to -do no manual labour tends to degeneration, perhaps degeneration is -brought about even more quickly by excessive labour and want. All -these children born of manual labourers looked more sickly, weak and -stupid than the upper-class children which he had seen. One or the -other muscle might be more strongly developed,--a shoulder-blade, a -hand, or a foot,--but they looked anÊmic under their pale skins. -Many had extraordinarily large heads which seemed to be swollen with -water, their ears and noses ran, their hands were frost-bitten. The -various professional diseases of town-labourers seemed to have been -inherited; one saw in miniature the gas-worker's lungs and blood spoilt -by sulphur-fumes, the smith's shoulders and feet bent out-wards, the -painter's brain atrophied by varnishes and poisonous colours, the -scrofulous eruption of the chimney sweeper, the contracted chest of -the book-binder; here one heard the cough of the workers in metal -and asphalt, smelt the poisons of the paper-stainer, observed the -watch-maker's short-sightedness, in second editions, so to speak. In -truth this was no race to which the future belonged, or on which the -future could build; nor was it a race which could permanently increase, -for the ranks of the workers are continually recruited from the country. - -It was not till about two o'clock that the great school-room was -emptied, for it took them about an hour with blows and raps to get out -of it into the street. The most unpractical part of it was that the -children had to march into the hall in troops to get their overcoats -and cloaks, and then march into the school-room again, instead of -going straight home. When John got into the street, he asked himself -"Is that the celebrated education which they have given to the lower -classes with so much sacrifice?" He could ask, and he was answered, -"Can it be done in any other way?" "No," he was obliged to answer. "If -it is your intention to educate a slavish lower class, always ready to -obey, train them with the stick,--if you mean to bring up a proletariat -to demand nothing of life, tell them lies about heaven. Tell them that -your method of teaching is ridiculous, let them begin to criticise -or get their way in one point and you have taken a step towards the -dissolution of society. But society is built up upon an obedient -conscientious lower class; therefore keep them down from the first; -deprive them of will and reason, and teach them to hope for nothing but -to be content." There was method in this madness. - -As regards the instruction in the elementary school, there was both -a good and bad side to it; the good was that they had introduced -object-teaching after the example of Pestalozzi, Rousseau's disciple; -the bad, that the students who taught in the elementary schools had -introduced "scientific" teaching. The simple learning by heart of the -multiplication table was not enough; it, together with fractions, -had to be understood. Understood? And yet an engineer who has been -through the technical high school cannot explain "why" a fraction -can be diminished by three if the sum of the figures is divisible by -three. On this principle seamen would not be allowed to use logarithm -tables, because they cannot calculate logarithms. To be always -relaying the foundation instead of building on what is already laid is -an educational luxury and leads to the over-multiplication of lessons -in schools. - -Some one may object that John should first have reformed himself -as teacher, before he set about reforming the system of education; -but he could not; he was a passive instrument in the hands of the -superintendent and the school authorities. The best teachers, that is -to say, those who forced the worst (in this case the best) results out -of the pupils were the uneducated ones who came from the Seminary. They -were not sceptical about the methods in use and had no squeamishness -about caning, but the children respected them the most. A great coarse -fellow who had formerly been a carriage-maker had the bigger boys -completely under his thumb. The lower class seem to have really more -fear and respect for those of their own rank than the upper class. -Bailiffs and foremen are more awe-imposing than superintendents and -teachers. Do the lower classes see that the superior who has come out -of their ranks understands their affairs better, and therefore pay him -more respect? The female teachers also enjoyed more respect than the -male. They were pedantic, demanded absolute perfection, and were not at -all soft-hearted, but rather cruel. They were fond of practising the -refined cruelty of blows on the palm of the hand and showed in so doing -a want of intelligence which the most superficial study of physiology -would have remedied. When a child by involuntary reflex action, drew -his fingers back, he was punished all the more for not keeping his -fingers still. As if one could prevent blinking, when something blew -into one's eye! The female teachers had the advantage of knowing very -little about teaching and were plagued with no doubts. It was not true -that they had less pay than the men teachers. They had relatively more; -and if after passing a paltry teacher's examination they had received -more than the students, that would have been unjust. They were treated -with partiality, regarded as miracles, when they were competent, and -received allowances for travelling abroad. - -As comrades, they were friendly and helpful if one was polite and -submissive and let them hold the reins. There was not the slightest -trace of flirtation; the men saw them in anything but becoming -situations, and under an aspect which women do not usually show to -the other sex, viz. that of jailers. They made notes of everything, -prepared themselves for their lessons, were narrow-minded and content, -and saw through nothing. It was a very suitable occupation for them -under existing circumstances. - -When John was thoroughly sick of caning, or could not manage a boy, or -was in despair generally, he sent the black sheep to a female teacher, -who willingly undertook the unpleasant rÃŽle of executioner. - -What it is that makes the competent teacher is not clear. Some produced -an effect by their quiet manner, others by their nervousness; some -seemed to magnetise the children, others beat them; some imposed on -them by their age or their manly appearance, etc. The women worked as -women, _i.e._ through a half-forgotten tradition of a past matriarchate. - -John was not competent. He looked too young and was only just nineteen; -he was sceptical about the methods employed and everything else; with -all his seriousness he was playful and boyish. The whole matter to him -was only an employment by the way, for he was ambitious and wished to -advance, but did not know in which direction. - -Moreover he was an aristocrat like his contemporaries. Through -education his habits and senses had been refined, or spoilt, as one may -choose to call it; he found it hard to tolerate unpleasant smells, ugly -objects, distorted bodies, coarse expressions, torn clothes. Life had -given him much, and these daily reminders of poverty plagued him like -an evil conscience. He himself might have been one of the lower class -if his mother had married one of her own position. - -"He was proud" a shop-boy would have said, who had mounted to the -position of editor of a paper and boasted that he was content with his -lot, forgetting that he might well be content since he had risen from -a low position. "He was proud" a master shoemaker would have said, who -would have rather thrown himself into the sea than become an apprentice -again. John _was_ proud, of that there was no doubt, as proud as the -master shoemaker, but not in such a high degree, as he had descended -from the level of the student to the elementary school-teacher. That, -however, was no virtue, but a necessity, and he did not therefore boast -of his step downward, nor give himself the air of being a friend of -the people. One cannot command sympathies and antipathies, and for the -lower class to demand love and self-sacrifice from the upper class is -mere idealism. The lower class is sacrificed for the upper class, but -they have offered themselves willingly. They have the right to take -back their rights, but they should do it themselves. No one gives up -his position willingly, therefore the lower class should not wait for -kings and the upper class to go. "Pull us down! but all together." - -If an intelligent man of the upper class help in such an operation, -those below should be thankful to him especially since such an act is -liable to the imputation of being inspired by impure motives. Therefore -the lower class should not too narrowly inspect the motives of those -who help them; the result is in all eases the same. The aristocrats -seem to have seen this and therefore regard one of themselves who sides -with the proletariat as a traitor. He is a traitor to his class, that -is true; and the lower class should put it to his credit. - -John was not an aristocrat in the sense that he used the word "mob" or -despised the poor. Through his mother he was closely allied to them, -but circumstances had estranged him from them. That was the fault of -class-education. This fault might be done away with for the future, if -elementary schools were reformed by the inclusion of the knowledge of -civil duties in their programme, and by their being made obligatory for -all, without exception, as the militia-schools are. Then it would be no -longer a disgrace to become an elementary school-teacher as it now is, -and made a matter of reproach to a man that he has been one. - -John, in order to keep himself above, applied himself to his future -work. To this end he studied Italian grammar in his spare time at the -school. He could now buy books and did so. He was honest enough not to -construe these efforts at climbing up as an ideal thirst for knowledge -or a striving for the good of humanity. He simply read for his degree. - -But the meagre diet he had lived on in Upsala, his midday meals at 6 -kronas, the milk and the bread had undermined his strength, and he -was now in the pleasure-seeking period of youth. It was tedious at -home, and in the afternoons he went to the café or the restaurant, -where he met friends. Strong drinks invigorated him and he slept well -after them. The desire for alcohol seems to appear regularly in each -adolescent. All northerners are born of generations of drinkers from -the early heathen times, when beer and mead was drunk, and it is quite -natural that this desire should be felt as a necessity. With John it -was an imperious need the suppression of which resulted in a diminution -of strength. It may be questioned whether abstinence for us may not -involve the same risk, as the giving up of poison for an arsenic-eater. -Probably the otherwise praiseworthy temperance movement will merely -end in demanding moderation; that is a virtue and not a mere exhibition -of will power which results in boasting and self-righteousness. - -John who had hitherto only worn east-off suits, began to wear fine -clothes. His salary seemed to him extraordinarily great and in the -magnifying-glass of his fancy assumed huge proportions, with the result -that he soon ran into debt. Debt which grew and grew and could never be -paid, became the vulture gnawing at his life, the object of his dreams, -the wormwood which poisoned his content. What foolish hopefulness, what -colossal self-deceit it was to incur debts! What did he expect? To gain -an academic dignity. And then? To become a teacher with a salary of 750 -kronas! Less than he had now! Not the least trying part of his work was -to accommodate his brain to the capacity of the children. That meant -to come down to the level of the younger and less intelligent, and to -screw down the hammer so that it might hit the anvil,--an operation -which injured the machine. - -On the other hand he derived real profit from his observations in -the families of the children, whom his duty required him to visit on -Sundays. There was one boy in his class who was the most difficult of -all. He was dirty and ill-dressed, grinned continually, smelt badly, -never knew his lessons and was always being caned. He had a very large -head and staring eyes which rolled and turned about continually. John -had to visit his parents in order to find out the reason of his -irregular attendance at school and bad behaviour. He therefore went -to the Apelbergsgata where they kept a public-house. He found that -the father had gone to work, but the mother was at the counter. The -public-house was dark and evil-smelling, filled with men who looked -threateningly at John as he entered probably taking him for a plain -clothes policeman. He gave his message to the mother and was asked -into a room behind the counter. One glance at it sufficed to explain -everything. The mother blamed her son and excused him alternately and -she had some reason for the latter. The boy was accustomed to "lick the -glasses,"--that was the explanation and that was enough. What could be -done in such a case? A change of dwelling, better food, a nurse to look -after him and so on. All these were questions of money! - -Afterwards he came to the Clara poor-house, which was empty of its -usual occupants and provisionally opened to families because of the -want of houses. In a great hall lay and stood quite a dozen families, -who had divided the floor with strokes of chalk. There stood a -carpenter with his planing-bench, here sat a shoemaker with his board; -round about on both sides of the chalk-line women sat and children -crawled. What could John do there? Send in a report on a matter which -was perfectly well known, distribute wood-tickets and orders for meat -and clothing. - -In Kungsholmsbergen he came across specimens of proud poverty. There he -was shown the door, "God be thanked, we have no need of charity. We -are all right." - -"Indeed! Then you should not let your boy go in torn boots in winter." - -"That is not your business, sir," and the door was slammed. - -Sometimes he saw sad scenes,--a child sick, the room full of sulphur -fumes of coke, and all coughing from the grandmother down to the -youngest. What could he do except feel dispirited and make his escape? -At that period there was no other means of help except charity; writers -who described the state of things, contented themselves with lamenting -it; no one saw any hope. Therefore there was nothing to do except to be -sorry, help temporarily, and fly in order not to despair. - -All this lay like a heavy cloud upon him, and he lost pleasure in -study. He felt there was something wrong here, but nothing could be -done said all the newspapers and books and people. It must be so but -every one is free to climb. You climb too! - -Time went on and spring approached. John's closest acquaintance -was a teacher from the Slöjd School. He was a poet, well-versed -in literature, and also musical. They generally walked to the -Stallmastergarden restaurant, discussed literature, and ate their -supper there. While John was paying his attentions to the waitress, -his friend played the piano. Sometimes the latter amused himself by -writing comic verses to girls. John was seized with a craze for writing -verse but could not. The gift must be born with one, he thought, and -inspiration descend all of a sudden, as in the case of conversion. -He was evidently not one of the elect, and felt himself neglected by -nature and maimed. - -One evening when John was sitting and chatting with the girl, she said -quite suddenly to him, "Friday is my birthday; you must write some -verses for me." - -"Yes," answered John, "I will." - -Later on when he met his friend, he told him of his hasty promise. - -"I will write them for you," he said. The next day he brought a poem, -copied out in a fine hand-writing and composed in John's name. It was -piquant and amusing. John dispatched it on the morning of the birthday. - -In the evening of the same day both the friends came to eat their -supper and to congratulate the girl. She did not appear for an hour for -she had to serve guests. The teachers' meal was brought and they began -to eat. - -Then the girl appeared in the doorway and beckoned John. She looked -almost severe. John went to her and they ascended a flight of stairs. -"Have you written the verses?" she asked. - -"No," said John. - -"Ah, I thought so. The lady behind the buffet said she had read them -two years ago when the teacher sent them to Majke who was an ugly girl. -For shame, John!" - -He took his cap and wanted to rush out, but the girl caught hold of him -and tried to keep him back for she saw that he looked deathly pale -and beside himself. But he wrenched himself free and hastened into -the Bellevue Park. He ran into the wood leaving the beaten tracks. -The branches of the bushes flew into his face, stones rolled over his -feet, and frightened birds rose up. He was quite wild with shame, and -instinctively sought the wood in order to hide himself. It is a curious -phenomenon that at the utmost pitch of despair a man runs into the -wood before he plunges into the water. The wood is the penultimate and -the water the ultimate resource. It is related of a famous author, who -had enjoyed a twenty years' popularity quietly and proudly, that he -was suddenly cast down from his position. He was as though struck by a -thunderbolt, went half-mad and sought the shelter of the woods where -he recovered himself. The wood is the original home of the savage and -the enemy of the plough and therefore of culture. When a civilised man -suddenly strips off the garb of civilisation, the artistically woven -fabric of his repute, he becomes in a moment a savage or a wild beast. -When a man becomes mad, he begins to throw off his clothes. What is -madness? A relapse? Yes, many think animals mad. - -It was evening when John entered the wood. In the midst of some -bushes he laid down on a great block of stone. He was ashamed of -himself,--that was the chief impression on his mind. An emotional man -is more severe with himself than others think. He scourged himself -unmercifully. He had wished to shine in borrowed plumage, and so lied; -and in the second place he had insulted an innocent girl. The first -part of the accusation affected him in a very sensitive point,--his -want of poetic capacity. He wished to do more than he could. He was -discontent with the position which nature and society had assigned -him. Yes, but (and now his self-defence began after the evening air -had cooled his blood), in the school one had been always exhorted to -strive upwards; those who did so were praised, and discontent with -the position one might happen to be in, was justified. Yes but (here -the scourge descended!) he had tried to deceive. To deceive! That was -unpardonable. He was ashamed, stripped and unmasked without any means -of retreat. Deception, falsity, cheating! So it was! - -As a quondam Christian, John was most afraid of having a fault, and -as a member of society he feared lest it should be visible. Everybody -knew that one had faults, but to acknowledge them was regarded as a -piece of cynicism, for society always wishes to appear better than it -is. Sometimes, however, society demanded that one should confess one's -fault if one wished for forgiveness, but that was a trick. Society -wished for confession in order to enjoy the punishment, and was very -deceitful. John had confessed his fault, been punished, and still his -conscience was uneasy. - -The second point regarding the girl was also difficult. She had loved -him purely and he had insulted her. How coarse and vulgar! Why should -he think that a waitress could not love innocently? His own mother had -been in the same position as that girl. He had insulted her. Shame -upon him! - -Now he heard shouts in the park, and his name being called. The girl's -voice and his friend's echoed among the trees, but he did not answer -them. For a moment the scourge fell out of his hands; he became sobered -and thought, "I will go back, we will have supper, call Riken and drink -a glass with her, and it will be all over." But no! He was too high up -and one cannot descend all at once. - -The voices became silent. He lay back in a state of semi-stupefaction -and ground his double crime between the mill-stones of rumination. He -had lied and hurt her feelings. - -It began to grow dark. There was a rustling in the bushes; he started -and a sweat broke out upon him. Then he went out and sat upon a seat -till the dew fell. He shivered and felt poorly. Then he got up and went -home. - -Now his head was clear and he could think. What a stupid business it -all was! He did not really mean that she should take him for a poet, -and had been quite ready to explain the whole trick. It was all a joke. -His friend had made a fool of him, but it did not matter. - -When he got home he found his friend sleeping in his bed. He wanted -to rise but John would not let him. He wished to scourge himself once -more. He lay on the floor, put a cigar-box under his head and drew a -volunteer's cloak over him. In the morning when he awoke, John asked in -trembling tones, "How did she take it?" - -"Ah, she laughed; then we drank a glass, and it was over. She liked the -verses." - -"She laughed! Was she not angry?" - -"Not at all." - -"Then she only humbugged me." - -John wished to hear no more. This trifle had kept him on the rack for a -whole dreadful night. He felt ashamed of having asked whether she was -disquieted about him. But since she had laughed and drunk punch she -could not have been. Not even anxious about his life! - -He dressed himself and went down to the school. - -The habit of self-criticism derived from his religious training had -accustomed him to occupy himself with his ego, to fondle and cherish -it, as though it were a separate and beloved personality. So cherished -the ego expanded and kept continually looking within instead of -without upon the world. It was an interesting personal acquaintance, a -friend who must be flattered, but who must also hear the truth and be -corrected. - -It was the mental malady of the time reduced to a system by Fichte, -who taught that everything took place in the ego and through the ego, -without which there was no reality. It was the formula for romanticism -and for subjective idealism. - -"I stood on the shore under the king's castle," "I dwell in the cave -of the mountain," "I, small boy, watch the door," "I think of the -beautiful times,"--all these phrases struck the same note. Was this "I" -really so proud. Was not the poet's "I" more modest than the editor's -royal "we"? - -This absorption in self, or the new malady of culture, of which much -is written nowadays, has been common with all men who have not worked -with their bodies. The brain is only an organ for imparting movement -to the muscles. Now when in a civilised man the brain cannot act upon -the muscles, nor bring its power into play, there results a disturbance -of equilibrium. The brain begins to dream; too full of juices which -cannot be absorbed by muscular activity, it converts them involuntarily -into systems, into thought-combinations, into the hallucinations which -haunt painters, sculptors and poets. If no outlet can be found, there -follows stagnation, violent outbreaks, depression, and at last madness. -Schools which are often vestibules for asylums, have recourse to -gymnastics, but with what result? There is no connection between the -pupil's cerebral activity and the muscular activity called into play by -gymnastics; the latter is only directed by another's will through the -word of command. - -All studious youths are aware of this tendency to congestion of the -brain. It is a good thing that they often go out to improve or to -beautify society, but it would be better if the equilibrium were -restored, and a sound mind dwelt in a sound body. It has been sought to -introduce physical work into schools as a remedy. It would be better -to let elementary knowledge be acquired at home, to make the school -a day-school, and to let every one look after himself. For the rest -the emancipation of the lower classes will compel the higher classes -to undertake some of the physical labour now carried on by domestics -and so the equilibrium will be restored. That such labour does not -blunt the intelligence can be easily seen by observing that some of -the strongest minds of the time have had such daily contact with -reality, _e.g._ Mill the civil service official, Spencer, the civil -engineer, Edison the telegraphist. The student period of life, the most -unwholesome because not under discipline, is also the most dangerous. -The brain continually takes in, without producing anything, not even -anything intellectual, while the whole muscular system is unoccupied. - -John at this time was suffering from an over-production of thought and -imagination. The mechanical school-work continually revolving in the -same circle with the same questions and answers afforded no relief. -It increased on the other hand his stock of observations of children -and teachers. There lay and fermented in his mind a quantity of -experiences, perceptions, criticisms and thoughts without any order. He -therefore sought for society in order to speak his mind out. But it was -not sufficient, and as he did not find any one who was willing to act -as a sounding-board, he took to declaiming poetry. - -In the early sixties declamation was much the fashion. In families they -used to read aloud "The Kings of Salamis." In the numerous volunteer -concerts the same pieces were declaimed over and over again. These -declamations were what the quartette singing had been, an outlet for -all the hope and enthusiasm called forth by the awakening of 1865. -Since Swedes are neither born nor trained orators, they became singers -and reciters, perhaps because their want of originality sought a -ready-made means of expression. They could execute but not create. The -same want of originality showed itself in the bachelor's gatherings -where reciters of anecdotes were much in request. This feeble and -tedious form of amusement was superseded when the new questions of the -day provided food for conversation and discussion. - -One day John came to his friend the elementary school-teacher whom he -found together with another young colleague. When the conversation -began to slacken, his friend produced a volume of Schiller, whose poems -had just then appeared in a cheap edition and were bought mostly for -that reason. They opened "The Robbers" and read round in turn, John -taking the part of Karl Moor. The first scene of the first act took -place between old Moor and Franz. Then came the second scene: John -read, "I am sick of this quill-driving age when I read of great men -in Plutarch." He did not know the play and had never seen bandits. -At first he read absent-mindedly, but his interest was soon aroused. -The play struck a new note. He found his obscure dreams expressed -in words; his rebellious criticisms printed. Here then was another, -a great and famous author who felt the same disgust at the whole -course of education in school and university as he did, who would -rather be Robinson Crusoe or a bandit than be enrolled in this army -which is called society. He read on; his voice shook, his cheeks -glowed, his breast heaved: "They bar out healthy nature with tasteless -conventionalities."... There it stood all in black and white. "And that -is Schiller!" he exclaimed, "the same Schiller who wrote the tedious -history of the Thirty Years' War, and the tame drama "Wallenstein" -which is read in schools!" Yes, it was the same man. Here (in "The -Robbers") he preached revolt, revolt against law, society, morals -and religion. That was in the revolt of 1781 eight years before the -great revolution. That was the anarchists' programme a hundred years -before its time, and Karl Moor was a nihilist. The drama came out with -a lion on the title-page and with the inscription "In Tyrannos." The -author then (1781) aged two-and-twenty had to fly. There was no doubt -therefore about the intention of the piece. There was also another -motto from Hippocrates which showed this intention as plainly; "What is -not cured by medicine must be cured by iron; what is not cured by iron -must be cured by fire." - -That was clear enough! But in the preface the author apologised and -recanted. He disclaimed all sympathy with Franz Moor's sophisms and -said that he wished to exhibit the punishment of wickedness in Karl -Moor. Regarding religion he said, "Just now it is the fashion to make -religion a subject for one's wit to play upon as Voltaire and Frederick -the Great did, and a man is scarcely reckoned a genius unless he can -make the holiest truths the object of his godless satire...." I hope -I have exacted no ordinary revenge for religion and sound morality in -handing over these obstinate despisers of Scripture in the person of -this scoundrelly bandit, to public contumely. Was then Schiller true -when he wrote the drama, and false when he wrote the preface? True in -both cases, for man is a complex creature, and sometimes appears in his -natural sometimes in his artificial character. At his writing-table -in loneliness, when the silent letters were being written down on -paper, Schiller seems like other young authors to have worked under the -influence of a blind natural impulse without regard to mens' opinion, -without thinking of the public, or laws, or constitutions. The veil -was lifted for a moment and the falsity of society seen through in its -whole extent. The silence of the night when literary work--especially -in youth,--is carried on, causes one to forget the noisy artificial -life outside, and darkness hides the heaps of stones over which animals -which are ill-adapted to their environment stumble. Then comes the -morning, the light of day, the street noises, men, friends, police, -clocks striking, and the seer is afraid of his own thoughts. Public -opinion raises its cry, newspapers sound the alarm, friends drop off, -it becomes lonely round one, and an irresistible terror seizes the -attacker of society. "If you will not be with us," society says, "then -go into the woods. If you are an animal ill-adapted to its environment, -or a savage, we will deport you to a lower state of society which -you will suit." And from its own point of view society is right and -always will be right. But the society of the future will celebrate the -revolter, the individual, who has brought about social improvement, and -the revolter is justified long after his death. - -In every intelligent youth's life there comes a moment when he is in -the transition stage between family life and that of society, when -he feels disgusted at artificial civilisation and breaks out. If he -remains in society, he is soon suppressed by the united wet-blankets -of sentiment and anxiety about living; he becomes tired, dazzled, -drops off and leaves other young men to continue the fight. This -unsophisticated glance into things, this outbreak of a healthy nature -which must of necessity take place in an unspoilt youth, has been -stigmatised by a name which is intended to depreciate the idealistic -impulses of youth. It is called "spring fever" by which is meant that -it is only a temporary illness of childhood, a rising of the vernal -sap, which produces stoppage of the circulation and giddiness. But who -knows whether the youth did not see right before society put out his -eyes? And why do they despise him afterwards? - -Schiller had to creep into a public post for the sake of a living and -even eat the bread of charity from a duke's hand. Therefore his writing -degenerated, though perhaps not from an Êsthetic or subordinate point -of view. But his hatred of tyrants is everywhere manifest. It declares -itself against Philip II of Spain, Dorea of Genoa, Gessler of Austria, -but therefore ceases to be effective. Schiller's rebellion which was in -the first instance directed against society, was afterwards directed -against the monarchy alone. He closes his career with the following -advice to a world reformer (not, however, till he had seen the reaction -which followed the French Revolution). "For rain and dew and for the -welfare of mankind, let heaven care to-day, my friend, as it has always -done." Heaven, the unfortunate old heaven will care for it, just as -well as it has done before. - -Just as a man once does his militia duty at the age of twenty-one, so -Schiller did his. How many have shirked it! - -John did not take the preface to "The Robbers" very seriously or rather -ignored it; but he took Karl Moor literally for he was congenial. He -did not imitate him, for he was so like him that he had no need to do -so. He was just as mutinous, just as wavering, and just as ready at an -alarm to go and deliver himself into the hands of justice. - -His disgust at everything continually increased and he began to make -plans for flight from organised society. Once it occurred to him to -journey to Algiers and enlist in the Foreign Legion. That would be -fine he thought to live in the desert in a tent, to shoot at half-wild -men or perhaps be shot by them. But circumstances occurred at the -right moment, to reconcile him again with his environment. Through the -recommendation of a friend he was offered the post of tutor to two -girls in a rich and cultured family. The children were to be educated -in a new and liberal-minded method and neither to go to a girls' school -nor have a governess. That was an important task to which he was -called and John did not feel himself adequate to it; besides which he -objected that he was only an elementary school-teacher. He was answered -that his future employers knew that, but were liberal-minded. How -liberal-minded people were at that time! - -Now there commenced a new double life for him. From the penal -institution of the elementary school with its compulsory catechism and -Bible, its poverty, wretchedness, and cruelty, he went to dinner at -one o'clock, which he swallowed in a quarter of an hour, and then by -two o'clock was at his post as private tutor. The house was one of the -finest at that time in Stockholm with a porter, Pompeian stair-cases -and painted windows in the hall. In a handsome, large, well-lighted -corner room with flowers, bird-cages and an aquarium he was to give -lessons to two well-dressed, washed and combed little girls, who -looked cheerful and satisfied after their dinner. Here he could give -expression to his own thoughts. The catechism was banished, and only -select Bible stories were to be read together with broad-minded -explanations of the life and teachings of the Ideal Man, for the -children were not to be confirmed, but brought up after a new model. -They read Schiller and were enthusiastic for William Tell and the -fortunate little land of freedom. John taught them all that he knew and -spent more time in talking than in asking questions; he roused in them -the hopes of a better future which he shared himself. - -Here he obtained an insight into a social circle hitherto unknown to -him, that of the rich and cultured. Here he found liberal-mindedness, -courage and the desire for truth. Down below in the elementary school -they were cowardly, conservative and untruthful. Would the parents of -the children be willing to have religious teaching done away with, -even if the school authorities recommended it? Probably not. Must -then illumination come from the upper classes? Certainly, though not -from the highest class of all, but from the republic of truth-seeking -scientists. John saw that one must get an upper place in order to be -heard; therefore he must strive upwards or pull culture down and cast -the sparks of it among all. One needed to be economically independent -in order to be liberally minded; a position was necessary in order to -give one's words weight; thus aristocracy ruled in this sphere also. - -There was at that time a group of young doctors, men of science and -letters, and members of parliament who formed a liberal league without -constituting themselves a formal society. They gave popular lectures, -engaged not to receive any honorary decorations, cherished liberal -views on the subject of the State Church and wrote in the papers. Among -them were Axel Key, Nordenskiöld, Christian Loven, Harald Wieselgren, -Hedlund, Victor Rydberg, Meijerberg, Jolin, and many less-known names. -These, with one or two exceptions, worked quietly without creating -excitement. After the reaction of 1872 they fell off and became tired; -they could not join any political party which was rather an advantage -than otherwise for the country party had already begun to be corrupted -by yearly visiting Stockholm and attendance at the court. They now all -belong to the moderate or respectable liberal party, except those of -them who have joined the indifferents, a fact not to be wondered at, -after they had for so many years fought uselessly for nothing. - -Through the family of his pupils John came into external touch with -this group, obtained a closer view of them, and heard their speeches at -dinners and suppers. To John they sometimes seemed the very men whom -the time needed, who would first spread enlightenment and then work -for reform. Here he met the superintendent of the elementary school -and was surprised at finding him among the liberals. But he had the -school authorities over him and was as good as powerless. At a cheerful -dinner, when John had plucked up heart, he wished to have an intimate -talk with him and to come to an understanding. "Here," he thought, -"we can play the part of augurs and laugh with each other over our -champagne." But the superintendent did not want to laugh and asked him -to postpone the conversation till they met in the school. No, John did -not want to do that, for in the school both would have other views, and -speak of something else. - -John's debts increased and so did his work. He was in the school from -eight till one; then he ate his dinner and went to give his private -lessons within half-an-hour, arriving out of breath, with food half -digested, and sleepy; then he taught till four o'clock going out -afterwards to give more lessons in the Nordtullsgata; he returned to -his girl pupils in the evening, and then read far into the night for -his examination after ten hours' teaching. That was over-work. The -pupil thinks his work hard, but he is only the carriage while the -teacher is the horse. Teaching is decidedly harder than standing by a -screw or the crane of a machine, and equally monotonous. - -His brain, dulled by work and disturbed digestion, needed to be roused, -and his strength needed replenishing. He chose the shortest and best -method by going into a café, drinking a glass of wine, and sitting for -a while. It was good that there were such places of recreation, where -young men could meet and fathers of families recruit themselves over a -newspaper and talk of something else than business. - -The following summer he went out to a summer settlement outside the -city. There he read daily for a couple of hours with his girl pupils -and a whole number of children besides them. The summer settlement -afforded rich and varied opportunities of social intercourse. It was -divided into three camps,--the learned, the Êsthetic and the civic. -John belonged to all three. It has been asserted that loneliness -injures the development of character (into an automaton), and if -has been also asserted that much social intercourse is bad for the -development of character. Everything can be said and can be true; it -all depends upon the point of view. But no doubt for the development -of the soul into a rich and free life much social intercourse is -necessary. The more men one sees and talks with, the more points -of view and experiences one gains. Every one conceals a grain of -originality in himself, every individual has his own history. John got -on equally well with all; he spoke on learned matters with the learned, -discussed art and literature with the Êsthetes, sang quartettes and -danced with the young people, taught the children and botanised, -sailed, rode and swam with them. But after he had spent some time in -the rush, he withdrew into solitude for a day or two to digest his -impressions. Those who were really happy were the townsmen. They came -from their work in the town, shook off their cares and played in the -evening. Old wholesale merchants played in the ring and sang and danced -like children. The learned and the Êsthetic on the other hand sat -on chairs, spoke of their work, were worried by their thoughts as by -nightmares and never seemed to be really happy. They could not free -themselves from the tyranny of thought. The tradesmen, however, had -preserved a little green spot in their hearts which neither the thirst -for gain nor speculation nor competition had been able to parch up. -There was something emotional and hearty about them which John was -inclined to call "nature." They could laugh like lunatics, scream like -savages, and be swayed by the emotions of the moment. They wept over -a friend's misfortune or death, embraced each other when delighted -and could be carried out of themselves by a beautiful sunset. The -professors sat in chairs and could not see the landscape because of -their eye-glasses, their looks were directed inwards, and they never -showed their feelings. They talked in syllogisms and formulas; their -laughter was bitter, and all their learning seemed like a puppet play. -Is that then the highest point of view? It is not a defect to have let -a whole region of the soul's life lie fallow? - -It was the third camp with which John was on the most intimate -terms. This was a little clique consisting of a doctor's family and -their friends. There sang the renowned tenor W. while Professor M. -accompanied him; there played and sang the composer J.; there the -old Professor P. talked about his journeys to Rome in the company -of painters of high birth. Here the emotions had full play, but -were under the control of good taste. They enjoyed the sunsets, but -analysed the lights and shades and talked of lines and "values." The -more noisy enjoyments of the tradesmen were regarded as disturbing -and unÊsthetic. They were enthusiasts for art. John spent some hours -pleasantly with these amiable people, but when he heard the sound of -quartette singing and dance-music from the villa close by, he longed to -be there. That was certainly more lively. - -In hours of solitude he read, and now for the first time, became really -acquainted with Byron. "Don Juan," which he already knew, he had found -merely frivolous. It really dealt with nothing and the descriptions -of scenery were intolerably long. The work seemed merely a string of -adventures and anecdotes. In "Manfred" he renewed acquaintance with -Karl Moor in another dress. Manfred was no hater of men; he hated -himself more, and went to the Alps in order to fly himself, but always -found his guilty self beside him, for John guessed at once that he had -been guilty of incest. Nowadays it is generally believed that Byron -hinted at this crime, which was purely imaginary, in order to make -himself appear interesting. To become interesting as a romanticist at -whatever price would at the present time be called "differentiating -oneself, going beyond and above the others." Crime was regarded as -a sign of strength, therefore it was considered desirable to have a -crime to boast about, but not such a one as could be punished. They did -not want to have anything to do with the police and penal servitude. -There was certainly a spirit of opposition to law and morality in this -boasting of crime. - -Manfred's discontent with heaven and the government of Providence -pleased John. Manfred's denunciations of men were really levelled at -society, though society as we now understand it, had not then been -discovered. Rousseau, Byron and the rest were by no means discontented -misogynists. It was only primitive Christianity which demanded that men -should love men. To say that one was interested in them would be more -modest and truthful. One who has been overreached and thrust aside in -the battle of life may well fear men, but one cannot hate them when -one realises one's solidarity with humanity and that human intercourse -is the greatest pleasure in life. Byron was a spirit who awoke before -the others and might have been expected to hate his contemporaries, but -none the less strove and suffered for the good of all. - -When John saw that the poem was written in blank verse he tried to -translate it, but had not got far, before he discovered that he could -not write verse. He was not "called." Sometimes melancholy, sometimes -frisky, John felt at times an uncontrollable desire to quench the -burning fire of thought in intoxication and bring the working of his -brain to a standstill. Though he was shy, he felt occasionally impelled -to step forward, to make himself impressive, to collect hearers and -appear on a stage. When he had drunk a good deal, he wanted to declaim -poetry in the grand style. But in the middle of the piece, when his -ecstasy was at its highest, he heard his own voice, became nervous and -embarrassed, found himself ridiculous, suddenly dropped into a prosaic -and comic tone and ended with a grimace; he could be pathetic, but -only for a while; then came self-criticism and he laughed at his own -overwrought feelings. The romantic was in his blood, but the realistic -side of him was about to wake up. - -He was also liable to attacks of caprice and self-punishment. Thus he -remained away from a dinner to which he had been invited and lay in his -room hungry till the evening. He excused himself by saying that he had -overslept. - -The summer approached its end and he looked forward to the beginning of -the autumn term in the elementary school with dread. He had now been -in circles where poverty never showed its emaciated face; he had tasted -the enticing wine of culture and did not wish to become sober again. - -His depression increased; he retired into himself and withdrew from the -circle of his friends. But one evening, there was a knock at his door; -the old doctor who had been his most intimate friend and lived in the -same villa, stepped in. - -"How are the moods?" he asked, and sat down with the air of an old -fatherly friend. - -John did not wish to confess. How was he to say that he was -discontented with his position, and acknowledge that he was ambitious -and wished to advance in life? But the doctor had seen and understood -all. "You must be a doctor," he said. "That is a practical vocation -which will suit you, and bring you into touch with real life. You have -a lively imagination which you must hold in check, or it will do harm. -Now are you inclined to this? Have I guessed right?" - -He had. Through his intercourse from afar with these new prophets who -succeeded the priests and confessors, John had come to see in their -practical knowledge of men's lives, the highest pitch of human wisdom. -To become a wise man who could solve the riddles of life,--that was for -a while his dream. For a while, for he did not really wish to enter any -career in which he could be enrolled as a regular member of society. -It was not from dislike of work, for he worked strenuously and was -unhappy when unoccupied, but he had a strong objection to be enrolled. -He did not wish to be a cypher, a cog-wheel, or a screw in the social -machine. He wished to stand outside and contemplate, learn and preach. -A doctor was in a certain sense free; he was not an official, had no -superiors, set in no public office, was not tied by the clock. That was -a fairly enticing prospect, and John was enticed. But how was he to -take a medical degree, which required eight years' study? His friend, -however, had seen a way out of this difficulty. "Live with us and teach -my boys," he said. - -This was certainly a business-like offer which carried with it no sense -of accepting a humiliating favour. But what about his place in the -school? Should he give it up? - -"That is not your place!" the doctor cut him short. "Every one should -work where his talents can have free scope, and yours cannot in the -elementary school, where you have to teach, as prescribed by the school -authorities." - -John found this reasonable, but he had been so imbued with ascetic -teaching that he felt a pang of conscience. He wanted to leave the -school, but a strange feeling of duty and obligation held him back. He -felt quite ashamed of being suspected of such a natural weakness as -ambition. And his place, as the son of a servant, had been assigned to -him below. But his father had literally pulled him up, why should he -sink and strike his roots down there again? - -He fought a short bloody conflict, then accepted the offer thankfully, -and sent in his resignation as a school-teacher. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE DOCTOR - -(1868) - - -John now found his new home with the homeless, the Israelites. He -was immediately surrounded by a new atmosphere. Here there was no -recollection of Christianity; one neither plagued oneself or others; -there was no grace at meals, no going to church, no catechism. - -"It is good to be here," thought John. "These are liberal-minded men -who have brought the best of foreign culture home, without being -obliged to take what is bad." Here for the first time, he encountered -foreign influences. The family had journeyed much, had relatives -abroad, spoke all languages, and received foreign guests. Both the -small and great affairs of the country were spoken about, and light -thrown on them by comparison with their originals abroad. By this means -John's mental horizon was widened and he was enabled to estimate his -native country better. - -The patriarchal constitution of the family had not assumed the form of -domestic tyranny. On the contrary the children treated their parents -more as their equals, and the parents were gentle with them without -losing their dignity. Placed in an unfriendly part of the world, -surrounded by half-enemies, the members of the family helped each other -and held together. To be without a native country, which is regarded -as such a hard-ship, has this advantage that it keeps the intelligence -alive and vigorous. Men who are wanderers have to watch unceasingly, -observe continually, and gain new and rich experiences, while those who -sit at home become lazy and lean upon others. - -The children of Israel occupy a peculiar and exceptional position from -a social point of view. They have forgotten the Messianic promise and -do not believe in it. In most European countries they have remained -among the middle classes; to join the lower classes was for the most -part denied them, though not so widely as is generally believed. Nor -could they join the upper classes; therefore they feel related to -neither of the latter. They are aristocrats from habit and inclination, -but have the same interests as the lower classes, _i.e_. they wish to -roll away the stone which lies upon and presses them. But they fear the -proletariat who have no religious sense and who do not love the rich. -Therefore the children of Abraham rather aspire to those above them, -than seek sympathy from those below. - -About this time (1868) the question of Jewish emancipation began to be -raised. All liberals supported it and it was practically a discarding -of Christianity. Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, confirmation, -church attendance were all declared to be unnecessary conditions for -membership in a Christian community. Such apparently small reforms -make an impression on the state, like the dropping of water on a rock. - -At that time a cheerful tone prevailed in the family, the sons having a -brighter future in prospect than their fathers, whose academic course -had been hindered by State regulations. - -A liberal table was kept in the house; everything was of the best -quality, and there was plenty of it. The servants managed the house -and were allowed a free hand in everything; they were not regarded as -servants. The housemaid was a pietist and allowed to be so, as much -as she pleased. She was good-natured and humorous, and, illogically -enough, adopted the jesting tone of the cheerful paganism which reigned -in the house. On the other hand, no one laughed at her belief. John -himself was treated as an intimate friend and a child alternately and -lived with the boys. His work was easy and he was rather required to -keep the boys company than to give them lessons. Meanwhile he became -somewhat "spoiled" as people, who have the usual idea of keeping youth -in the background, call it. Though only nineteen, he was received -on an equal footing among well-known and mature artists, doctors, -_littérateurs_ and officials. He became accustomed to regard himself as -grown up, and therefore the set-backs he encountered afterwards, were -the harder to bear. - -His medical career began with chemical experiments in the technological -institute. There he obtained a closer view of some of the glories he -had dreamed of in his childhood. But how dry and tedious were the -rudiments of science! To stand and pour acids on salts and to watch the -solution change colour, was not pleasant; to produce salts from two or -more solutions was not very interesting. But later on, when the time -came for analysis, the mysterious part began. To fill a glass about -the size of a punch-bowl with a liquid as clear as water and then to -exhibit in the filter the possibly twenty elements it contained,--this -really seemed like penetrating into nature's secrets. When he was alone -in the laboratory he made small experiments on his own account, and it -was not long before with some danger he had prepared a little phial -of prussic acid. To have death enclosed in a few drops under a glass -stopper was a curiously pleasant feeling. - -At the same time he studied zoology, anatomy, botany, physic and -Latin,--still more Latin! To read and master a subject was congenial to -him, but to learn by heart he hated. His head was already filled with -so many subjects, that it was hard for anything more to enter, but it -was obliged to. - -A worse drawback was that so many other interests began to vie in his -mind with his medical studies. The theatre was only a stone's throw -from the doctor's house and he went there twice a week. He had a -standing place at the end of the third row. From thence he saw elegant -and cheerful French comedies played on a Brussels carpet. The light -Gallic humour, admired by the melancholy Swedes as their missing -complement, completely captivated him. What a mental equilibrium, what -a power of resistance to the blows of fate were possessed by this -race of a southern sunnier land! His thoughts became still more gloomy -as he grew conscious of his Germanic "Weltschmerz" lying like a veil -over everything, which a hundred years of French education could not -have lifted. But he did not know that Parisian theatrical life differs -widely from that of the industrious and thrifty Parisian at the desk -and the counter. French comedies were written for the parvenus of -the Second Empire; politics and religion were subject to the censor, -but not morals. French comedy was aristocratic in tone, but had a -liberating effect on the mind as it was in touch with reality, though -it did not interfere in social questions. It accustomed the public to -sympathise with and feel at home in this superfine world; one came to -forget the lower everyday world, and when one left the theatre it felt -as though one had been at supper with a friendly duke. - -As chance fell out, the doctor's wife possessed a good library in -which all the best literature of the world was represented. It was -indeed a treasure to have all these at one's elbow! Moreover the doctor -possessed a number of pictures by Swedish masters and a valuable -collection of engravings. There was an efflorescence of Êstheticism -on all sides, even in the schools, where lectures on literature were -delivered. The conversation in the family circle mostly turned on -pictures, dramas, actors, books, authors, and the doctor felt from time -to time impelled to flavour it with details of his practice. - -Now and then John began to read the papers. Political and social life -with their various questions opened up before him, but at first with a -repelling effect, as he was an Êsthete and domestic egoist. Politics -did not seem to touch him at all; he considered it a special branch of -knowledge like any other. - -He continued his lessons to the girls and his intercourse with -their family. Outside the house he met grown up relatives, who were -tradesmen, and their acquaintances. His circle was therefore widened, -and he saw life from more than one point of view. But this constant -occupation with children had a hampering effect on his development. He -never felt himself older, and he could not treat the young with an air -of superiority. He already noticed that they were in advance of him, -that they were born with new thoughts, and that they built on, where he -had ceased. When later on in life, he met grown-up pupils, he looked up -to them as though they were the older. - -The autumn of 1865 had commenced. There had been so much miscalculation -as to the effects of the new State constitution that there was -widespread discontent. Society was turned topsy-turvy. The peasant -threatened the civilised town-dwellers and there was a general feeling -of bitterness. - -Has the last word regarding the agrarian party yet been said? Probably -not. It began with a democratic and reforming programme and its attack -on the Civil List was the boldest stroke which had yet been seen. It -was a legal attempt to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of supply -was screwed down to the lowest possible, the king would go. It was a -simple and at the same time a clever stroke. - -At a period which proclaims the right of the majority, one would not -have expected the peasants' cause would encounter resistance. Sweden -was a kingdom of peasants, for the country population numbered four -millions, which in a population of four and a half millions, is -certainly the majority. Should then the half million rule the four or -vice versa? The latter course seemed the fairer. Now naturally the -townsmen talk of the egotism and tyranny of the peasants, but have the -labour party in the town a single item in their programme to improve -the condition of the peasants and cottagers? It is so stupid to talk -of egotism when every one now sees that he profits the whole, in -proportion as he profits himself. - -Meanwhile, in 1868, the malcontents discovered a party which could be -opposed to the constitutional majority and whose programme contained -all kinds of thorough-going reforms. That was the new liberal party, -consisting for the most part of authors, some artisans, a professor, -etc. By means of this handful of people who had none of the weighty -interests which landed property involves, and whose social position -was so insecure that a single unfavourable harvest could turn them -into members of the proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society. -What did the artisans know about society? How did they wish it to be -constituted? Did they wish it to be remodelled in their interest, -although the peasantry should be ruined? But that meant cutting off -their own legs, for Sweden is not a land of exporting industries. -Therefore the four million consumers in the land, as soon as their -purchasing power was diminished, would involuntarily ruin the -industries and leave the artisans stranded. That the artisans should -advance is a necessity, but to wish to make all men industrial workers -as the industrial socialists do, is much more unreasonable than to make -them all peasants as the agrarian socialists purpose doing. Capital, -which the labour party now attack, is the foundation of industry and if -that is touched, industry is overthrown, and then the workmen must go -back whence they came and still daily come,--to the country. - -Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet corrupted by intercourse with -aristocrats; it was neither conservative nor did it make compromises. -The war seemed to be between the country and the town. The atmosphere -was electric and the smallest cause might produce a thunderstorm. - -In the capital there prevailed a general desire to erect a statue to -Charles XII. Why? Was this last knight of the Middle Ages the ideal -of the age? Bid the character of the idol of Gustav IV, Adolf, and -Charles XV suitably express the spirit of the new peaceful period -which now commenced? Or did the idea originate, as so often is the -case in the sculptor's studio? Who knows? The statue was ready and the -unveiling was to take place. Stands were erected for the spectators, -but so unskilfully that the ceremony could not be witnessed by the -general public, and the space railed off could only contain the -invited guests, the singers and those who paid for their seats. But -the subscription had been national and all believed they had a right -to see. The arrangements were obnoxious to the people. Petitions were -made to have the stands removed, but without success. The crowd began -to make attempts to tear them down, but the military intervened. The -doctor that day was giving a dinner to the Italian Opera Company. They -had just risen from dessert when a noise was heard from the street; it -was at first like rain falling on an iron roof, but then cries were -distinctly audible. John listened, but for the moment nothing more was -to be heard. The wine-glasses clinked amid Italian and French phrases -which flew hither and thither over the table; there was such a noise of -jests and laughter that those at the table could hardly hear themselves -speak. But now there came a roar from the street, followed immediately -by the tramp of horses, the rattle of weapons and harness. There was -silence in the room for a moment, and one and another turned pale. - -"What is it?" asked the prima donna. - -"The mob making a noise," answered a professor. - -John stood up from the table, went into his room, took his hat and -stick and hurried out. "The mob!"--the words rang in his ear while -he went down the street. "The mob!" They were his mother's former -associates, his own school-mates and afterwards his pupils; they formed -the dark background against which the society he had just quitted, -stood out like a brilliant picture. He felt again as though he were a -deserter, and had done wrong in working his way up. But he must get -above if he was to do anything for those below. Yes many had said -that, but when once they did get above, they found it so pleasant, -that they forgot those below. These cavalrymen, for instance, whose -origin was of the humblest, what airs they gave themselves! With what -unmixed pleasure they cut down their former comrades, though it must -be confessed they would have even more enjoyed cutting down the "black -hats." - -He went on and came to the market-place. The stands for the spectators -stood out against the November sky like gigantic market booths, and -the space below swarmed with men. From the opening of the Arsenal -street the tramp of horses was heard only a short way off. Then they -came riding forth, the blue guardsmen, the support of society, on whom -the upper class relied. John was seized with a wild desire to dash -against this mass of horses, men and sabres, as though he saw in them -oppression incarnate. That was the enemy! very well--at them! The troop -rode on and John stationed himself in the middle of the street. Whence -had he derived this hatred against the supporters of law and order, who -some day would protect him and his rights after he had clambered up, -and was in a position to oppress others? If the mob with whom he now -felt his solidarity had had their hands free, they would probably have -thrown the first stone through the window, behind which he had sat with -four wine-glasses in front of him. Certainly, but that did not prevent -his taking their side just as the upper class often, inconsistently -enough, takes sides against the police. This mania for freedom in the -abstract is probably the natural man's small revolt against society. - -He was going against the cavalry with a vague idea of striking them -all to the ground or something of the sort, when fortunately some one -seized him by the arm firmly but in a friendly way. He was brought back -to the doctor's who had sent out to seek for him. After he had given -his word of honour not to go out again he sank on a sofa, and lay all -the evening in fever. - -On the day of the unveiling of Charles XII's statue, he was one of the -student singers, therefore among the elect, the "upper ten thousand," -and had no reason to be discontented with his lot. When the ceremony -was over, the people rushed forward. The police forced them back, and -then they began to throw stones. The mounted police drew their sabres -and struck, arresting some and assaulting others. - -John had entered the market in front of the Jakob's church when he saw -a policeman lay hold of a man, under a shower of stones which knocked -off the constables' helmets. Without hesitation he sprang on the -policeman, seized him by the collar, shook him and shouted, "Let the -fellow go!" - -The policeman looked at his assailant in astonishment. - -"Who are you?" he asked irresolutely. - -"I am Satan, and I will take you, if you don't let him go." - -He actually did let him go and tried to seize John. At the same instant -a stone knocked off his three-cornered hat. John tore himself loose; -the crowd were now driven back by bayonets towards the guard-house in -the Gustaf Adolf market. After them followed a swarm of well-dressed -men, obviously members of the upper classes, shouting wildly, and as it -seemed, resolved to free the prisoners. John ran with them; it was as -though they were all impelled by a storm-wind. Men who had not been -molested or oppressed at all, who had high positions in society, rushed -blindly forward, risking their position, their domestic happiness, -their living, everything. John felt a hand grasp his. He returned the -pressure, and saw close beside him a middle-aged man, well-dressed, -with distorted features. They did not know each other, nor did they -speak together, but ran hand in hand, as if seized by one impulse. -They came across a third in whom John recognised an old school-fellow, -subsequently a civil service official, son of the head of a department. -This young man had never sided with the opposition party in school, -but on the contrary, was looked upon as a re-actionary with a future -in front of him. He was now as white as a corpse, his cheeks were -bloodless, the muscles of his forehead swollen, and his face resembled -a skull in which two eyes were burning. They could not speak, but -took each other's hands and ran on against the guards whom they were -attacking. The human waves advanced till they were met by the bayonets, -and then as always, dispersed in foam. Half-an-hour later John was -discussing a beefsteak with some students in the Opera restaurant. He -spoke of his adventure as though it were something which had happened -independently of him and his will. Nay, he even jested at it. That -may have been fear of public opinion, but also it may have been the -case that he regarded his outbreak objectively and now quietly judged -it as a member of society. The trap-door had opened for a moment, the -prisoner had put his head out, and then it had closed again. - -His unknown fellow-criminal, as he discovered later, was a pronounced -conservative, a wholesale tradesman. He always avoided meeting John's -eye, when they met after this. One time they met on a narrow pavement, -and had to look at each other, but did not smile. - -While they were sitting in the restaurant, came the news of the death -of Blanche. The students took it fairly coolly, the artists and middle -class citizens more warmly, but the lower classes talked of murder. -They knew that he had personally besought Charles XV to have the -spectators' stands taken down; they knew also, that though he was -very prosperous himself, he had always thought of them and they were -thankful. Stupid people objected, as is usual in such cases, that it -required no great skill on his part to speak on behalf of the poor, -when he was rich and celebrated. Did it not? It required the greatest. - -It is remarkable that the chief outbreak of discontent was directed, -not as elsewhere against the King, but against the governor and the -police. Charles XV was a _persona grata_; he could do as he liked -without becoming unpopular. He was neither condescending nor democratic -in his tastes, but rather proud. Stories were told of some of his -favourites having fallen into disgrace for want of respect on some -mirthful occasion. He could put tobacco into his soldiers' mouths, -but he scolded officers who did not at once fall in with his moods. -He could box people's ears at a fire, and did not laugh when he was -caricatured in a comic paper, as was supposed. He was a ruler and -believed he was also a warrior and a statesman; he interfered in the -government and could snub specialists with a "You don't understand -that!" But he was popular and remained so. Swedes, who do not like to -see a man's will slackening, admired this will and bowed before it. -It was also strange, that they forgave his irregular life; perhaps it -was because he made no secret of it. He had laid down a standard of -morality for himself and lived according to it. Therefore he lived at -harmony with himself, and harmony is always pleasant to contemplate. - -People might be revolters by instinct, but they did not believe in the -transition form to a better social constitution, _i.e_. a republic. -They had seen how two French republics had been followed by new -monarchies. There were secret anarchists, but no republicans, and they -had persuaded themselves that the monarchy offered no barrier to the -progress of liberty. - -These were the ideas of the younger men. The elder men with Blanche -thought a republic the only means of social salvation and therefore in -our days the old liberal school has become conservative-republican. - - * * * * * - -When the doctor saw that his wife's literary books threatened to -encroach upon John's medical studies, he resolved to give him a -glimpse into the secrets of his profession, and to allow him such a -foretaste of real work as should entice him to overcome the tedious -preliminary studies which he himself thought too extensive. John now -knew more chemistry and physics than the doctor, and the latter thought -it was merely malicious to hinder a rival's course by imposing too -hard preliminary studies. Why should he not, as in America, commence -dissection, which was a special branch of study? Now after the -theoretical study of anatomy, he could begin practice as an assistant. -That was a new life full of variety and reality. One went for instance -into a dark alley and came into a porter's room, where a woman lay, -sick of fever, surrounded by poor children, the grandmother and other -relations, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the doctor's verdict. -The malodorous ragged bed-cover would be lifted, a sunken heaving chest -exposed to view, and a prescription written. Then one went to the -TvÀdgÃ¥rdsgatan and was conducted over soft carpets through splendid -rooms into a bed-chamber which looked liked a temple; one lifted a -blue silk coverlet and put in splints the leg of an angelic-looking -child, dressed in lace. On the way out one looked at a collection of -paintings, and talked about artists. This was something novel and -interesting, but what connection had it with Titus Livius and the -history of philosophy? - -But then came the details of surgery. One was roused at seven o'clock -in the morning, came into the doctor's dark room, and manually assisted -at the cauterising of a syphilitic sore. The room reeked of human -flesh, and was repugnant to an empty stomach. Or he had to hold a -patient's head and felt it twitch with pain while the doctor with a -fork extracted glands from his throat. - -"One soon gets accustomed to that," said the doctor, and that was true, -but John's thoughts were busy with Goethe's Faust, Wieland's Epicurean -romances, George Sand's social phantasies, Chateaubriand's soliloquies -with nature, and Lessing's common-sense theories. His imagination -was set in motion and his memory refused to work; the reality of -cauterisations and flowing blood was ugly; Êstheticism had laid hold -of him, and actual life seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His -intercourse with artists had opened his eyes to a new world, a free -society within Society. They would come to a well-spread table where -cultivated people were sitting with badly-fitting clothes, black nails, -and dirty linen, as if they were not merely equal, but superior to the -rest,--in what? - -They could scarcely write their names, they borrowed money without -repaying it, and their talk was coarse. Everything was permitted to -them, which was not permitted to others. Why? They could paint. They -studied at the Academy, and the Academy did not ask whether all who -enrolled themselves as students were geniuses. How was it known that -they were geniuses? Was painting greater than knowledge and science? - -They also had, as was well recognised, a peculiar morality of their -own. They opened studios, hired models, and boasted of their paramours, -while other men were ashamed of theirs and incurred disapproval on -account of them. They laughed at what were very serious matters for -other men, nay, it seemed to be part of an artist's equipment to be a -"scoundrel," as any one else would be called for similar conduct. - -"That was a glad free world," thought John, and one in which he could -thrive, without conventional fetters or social obligations, and above -all, without contact with banal realities. But he was not a genius? -How should he get the entrée to it? Should he learn to paint and so be -initiated? No! that would not do; he had never thought of painting; -that demanded a special vocation, he thought, and painting would not -express all he had to say, when once he began to speak. If he _had_ -to find a medium for self-expression it would be the theatre. An actor -could step forward, and say all kinds of truths, however bitter they -might be, without being brought to book for them. That was certainly a -tempting career. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -John's proposal to transfer the university from Upsala to Stockholm was -destined to have consequences, and his comrades had warned him of them. -When he went up early in spring in order to write the obligatory Latin -essay he had sent the professor by post the three test-essays and the -15 krona fee. So he could carry out his purpose unhindered and enrolled -himself. - -But now in May he wished to go and pass the preliminary examination in -chemistry. In order to be well prepared, he had himself tested by the -assistant-professor at the technological institute. The latter did so -and declared that he already knew more than was needed for the medical -examination. Thus prepared, he went up to Upsala. His first visit was -to a comrade, who had already passed the preliminary examination in -chemistry, and knew the "tips" for it. - -John began: "I can do synthesis and analysis, and have studied organic -chemistry." - -"That is very well, for we only need synthesis; however, it is no use -for you have not studied in the professor's laboratory." - -"That is true; but the course at the Institute is much better." - -"No matter,--it is not his." - -"We shall see," said John, "whether knowledge does not tell in any -ease." - -"If you are so sure, then try, but consider first what I say. You must -first go to the assistant-professor and get a 'tip'." - -"What do you mean?" - -"For a krona he will give you an hour's polishing, and ask you all the -important questions which the professor has put during the past year. -Just now he is in the habit of asking whether matches can be made out -of his carcase and ammonia from your old boots. But that you will -learn from the assistant. Secondly, you must not go to be examined -in a frock coat and white tie; least of all, dressed as well as you -are now. Therefore you must borrow my riding-coat, which is green in -the shoulders and red in the seams, and my top-boots, for he does not -like elastic boots." - -John followed his friend's instructions and went first to the -assistant-professor who gave him the questions which had been last -asked. In return John promised that under all circumstances he would -return and tell him the questions which he himself had been asked, as a -means of enlarging his catechism. - -The next day John went to his friend to array himself. His trousers -were drawn up so that the tops of the boots should be seen and his -loose collar turned on one side, so that the skin should show between -the tie and the collar. Thus equipped, he went up for his first trial. - -The professor of chemistry had formerly been a fortification officer, -and had received in his time a not very cordial welcome from the -learned staff in Upsala. He was a soldier, not academically cultivated, -and thus a kind of "Philistine." This had galled him and made him -bilious. In order to efface the effect of his laymen-like exterior, he -affected the airs of an over-read and blunt professor. He went about -ill-dressed and behaved eccentrically. Though many hundreds besides -himself had been pupils of Berzelius, he was fond of mentioning the -fact; it was his trump card. Berzelius, among other things, went about -in shabby trousers, therefore a hole in one's clothes was the sign of a -learned chemist, and so on. Hence all these peculiarities. - -John presented himself, was regarded with suspicion and bidden to come -again in a week. He replied that he had come from Stockholm and was -too poor to support himself for a week in the town. He managed to get -permission to present himself the next day. "It would be soon over," -said the old man. - -The next day he sat on a seat opposite the professor. It was a sunny -afternoon in May, and the old man seemed to have digested his dinner -badly. He looked grim as he threw out his first question from his -rocking-chair. The answers were correct at the beginning. Then the -questions became more tortuous like snakes. - -"If I have an estate, where I suspect the presence of saltpetre, how -shall I begin to construct a saltpetre factory?" - -John suggested a saltpetre analysis. - -"No." - -"Well, then, I don't know anything else." - -There was silence and the flies buzzed,--a long and terrible silence. -"Now will come the question about the boots or the matches," thought -John, "and there I shall shine." He coughed by way of rousing the -professor, but the silence continued. John wondered whether he had been -seen through and whether the old man recognised the "examination coat." - -Then came a new question which was unanswered, and then another. - -"You have come too soon," said the old man, and rose up. - -"Yes, but I have worked a whole year in the laboratory, and can do -chemical analysis." - -"Yes, you know how to make up prescriptions, but you have not digested -your knowledge. In the Institute only manual dexterity is necessary, -but here scientific knowledge is required." - -As a matter of fact the case was exactly the reverse for the medical -students in Upsala complained that they had to stand like cooks and -make up mixtures and salts, without having time to look at an analysis, -which last was just what a doctor ought to do while synthesis was the -apothecary's work. But now the proposal made some years before whether -the university had not better be transferred to Stockholm had roused a -feeling in Upsala against the capital. Moreover the laboratory of the -newly-built technological institute was as famous for its excellent -equipment, as that of Upsala was notorious for its poor one. Here, -therefore, petty prejudices were at work and John felt the unfairness -of it. "I do not then get a certificate?" he asked. - -"No, sir, not this year; but come again next year." - -The professor was ashamed to say, "Go to my only soul-saving -laboratory." - -John went out furious. Here then again neither diligence nor knowledge -prevailed, but only cash and cringing! Had he tried short cuts? No, -on the contrary, he had been obliged to travel by painful circuitous -paths, while others had gone the direct road, and the directest is the -shortest. - -He went to the Carolina Park, as angry as an irritated bee. He did -not wish to return at once to the town, but sat down on a seat. If he -could only set this devil's hole on fire! Another year? No, never! Why -read so much unnecessary stuff, which would only be forgotten, and be -of no practical use? And slave in order to enter this dirty profession -where one had to analyse urine, pick about in vomit, poke about in all -the recesses of the body? Faugh! Just as he was sitting there, a group -of cheerful-looking people came by, and stood laughing outside the -Carolina library. They looked up to the window's, through which long -rows of books were visible, shelf after shelf. They laughed,--the men -and women laughed at the books. He thought he recognised them. Yes, -they were Levasseur's French actors, whom he had seen in Stockholm and -who were now visiting Upsala. They laughed at the books! Lucky people -who could be importers of genius and culture without books. Perhaps -every soul had something to give which was not in books, but would be -there some day. Yes, certainly it was so. He himself possessed stories -of experience and thoughts, which could enrich anthropology, and were -ready to be throw out. - -Again there stole upon him the thought of entering this privileged -profession, which stood outside and above petty social conventions -which ignored distinctions of rank, and in which one need never be -conscious of belonging to the lower classes. There one could appeal to -the universal judgment, and work in full publicity instead of being -hung up here in a remote dark hole, without a verdict, examination, or -witnesses. - -Strengthened by this new idea, he stood up, east a glance at the books -above, and went down to the town resolved to go home and seek for an -engagement in the Theatre Royal. - -Every townsman has probably felt once in his life the wish to appear -as an actor. This is probably due to the impulse of the cultivated -man to magnify and make himself something, to identify himself with -great and celebrated personalities. John, who was a romanticist, had -also the desire to step forward and harangue the public. He believed -that he could choose his proper rÃŽle, and he knew beforehand which it -would be. The fact that he, like all others, believed that he had the -capacity to become an actor, sprang from the superfluity of unused -force, produced by a want of sufficient physical exercise, and from the -tendency to megalomania connected with mental over-exertion. He saw no -difficulties in the profession itself, but expected opposition from -another quarter. - -To attribute his being stage-struck to hereditary tendencies would -perhaps be hasty, since we have just remarked that it is an almost -universal impulse. But his paternal grandfather, a Stockholm citizen, -had written dramatic pieces for an amateur theatre, and a young -distant relative still lived as a warning example. The latter had been -an engineer, had been through a course of instruction in the Motala -iron-works, and had a post on the Köping-Hult railway. He therefore had -fine prospects in front of him, but suddenly threw them up, and became -an actor. This step of his was an incessant trouble to his family. Up -to this time the young man had become nothing but was still travelling -about with an obscure theatrical company. The danger of becoming like -him was the difficult point. "Yes," said John to himself, "but I shall -have luck." Why? Because he believed it; and he believed it because he -wished it. - -Some might be inclined to derive this strong impulse on John's part -from the fact that he loved to play, as a child, with a toy theatre, -but that is not sufficient, as all children do the same and he had got -the taste from seeing them do it. The theatre was an unreal better -world which enticed one out of the tedious real one. The latter would -not have seemed so tedious if his education had been more harmonious -and realistic and not given him such a strong tendency to romance. -Enough; his resolution was taken; and without saying anything to any -one, he went to the director of the Theatrical Academy the dramaturgist -of the Theatre Royal. - -When he heard the sound of his own words "I want to be an actor," -he shuddered. He felt as though he tore down the veil of his inborn -modesty, and did violence to his own nature. - -The director asked what he was doing at present. - -"Studying medicine." - -"And you want to give up such a career, for one that is the hardest and -the worst of all?" - -"Yes." - -All actors called their profession the "hardest and the worst" though -they had such a good time of it. That was in order to frighten away -aspirants. - -John asked for private lessons in order that he might make his début. -The director replied that he was now going to the country for the -theatrical season was at an end, but he told John to come again on the -1st of September when the theatre opened, and the board of management -came again to the town. That was a definite appointment and he saw his -way clear. - -When he went down the street, he walked with his eyes wide open, as -though he gazed into a brilliant future; victory was already his; he -felt its intoxicating eating fumes, and hurried, though with unsteady -steps, down the street. - -He said nothing to the doctor nor to any one else. He had still three -months in front of him in which to train and prepare himself, but in -secret, for he was shy and timid. He was afraid of annoying his father -and the doctor, afraid of the whole town knowing that he thought -himself capable of being an actor, afraid of his relatives' scorn, his -friends' grimaces and efforts to dissuade him. This was the fruit of -his education, the fear,--"What will people say?" His imagination made -the act seem like a crime. It was certainly an interference with other -people's peace of mind for relations and friends feel a shock, when -they see a link torn out of the social chain. He felt it himself, and -had to shake off the scruples of conscience. - -For his début he had chosen the rÃŽles of Karl Moor and Wijkander's -Lucidor. This was no mere chance but perfectly logical. In both of -these characters he had found the expression of his inner experience, -and therefore he wished to speak with their tongues. He conceived of -Lucidor as a higher nature undermined and ruined by poverty. A higher -nature of course! In his enthusiasm for the theatre he felt again what -he had felt when he had preached, and when he had revolted against the -school prayers,[1] something of the proclaimer, the prophet, and the -soothsayer. - -What most of all elevated his ideas of the great significance of the -theatre was the perusal of Schiller's essay, "The theatre regarded -as an instrument of moral education." Sentences like the following -show how lofty was the goal at which Schiller aimed. "The stage is -the chief channel through which the light of wisdom descends from -the better, thinking portion of the populace in order to spread its -beneficent light over the whole state." "In this world of art we -dream ourselves away from the real one, we find ourselves again, our -feelings are roused, wholesome emotions stir our slumbering nature and -drive our blood in swift currents. The unhappy here forget their own -sorrows in watching those of others, the happy become sober, and the -self-confident, reflective. The effeminate weakling is hardened into a -man, the coarse and callous here begin to feel. And then finally,--what -a triumph for thee O Nature, so often trodden down and so often -re-arisen,--when men of all climates and conditions, casting away all -fetters of convention and fashion, set free from the iron hand of fate, -fraternising in one all-embracing sympathy, dissolved into _one_ race, -forget themselves and the world, and approach their heavenly origin. -Each individual enjoys the delight of all, which is mirrored back to -him strengthened and beautified from a hundred eyes, and his breast has -only room for one aspiration,--to be a man!" - -Thus wrote the young Schiller at twenty-five, and the youth of twenty -subscribed it. - -The theatre is certainly still a means of culture for young people and -the middle class who can still feel the illusion of actors and painted -canvas. For older and cultivated people it is a recreation in which the -actor's art is the chief object of attention. Therefore old critics -are almost invariably discontent and crabbed. They have lost their -illusions and do not pass over any mistake in the acting. - -Modern times have overprised the theatre, especially the actor's art in -an exaggerated degree, and a re-action has followed. Actors have tried -to ply their art independently of the dramatist, believing that they -could stand on their own legs. Therefore particular "stars" become the -objects of homage and therefore also opposition has been aroused. In -Paris, where people had gone to the greatest lengths, a reaction first -showed itself. The _Figaro_ called the heroes of the Théâtre-Français -to order, and reminded them that they were only the author's puppets. - -The decay of all the great European theatres shows that the actor's -art has lost its interest. Cultivated people no more go to the -theatre because their sense for reality has been developed, and -their imagination which is a relic of the savage has diminished; the -uncultivated lack the time, and the money to go. The future seems to -belong to the variety theatre, which amuses without instructing, for it -is mere play and recreation. All important writers choose another, more -suitable form in which to handle important questions. Ibsen's dramas -have always produced their effect in book form before they were played; -and when they are played, the spectators' interest is generally -concentrated on the _manner_ of their performance; consequently it is a -secondary interest. - -John committed the usual mistake of youth, _i.e._ of confusing the -actor with the author; the actor is the mere enunciator of the -sentiments for which the author who stands behind him, is responsible. - -In the spring John resigned his post as tutor to the two girls, and -now he had leisure during the summer to study his art in secret, -and on his own responsibility. He had scoffed at books, and now the -first things he sought were books. They contained the thoughts and -experiences of men with whom, though most of them were dead, he could -converse familiarly, without being betrayed. He had heard that in the -castle there was a library which belonged to the State, and from which -one could borrow books. He obtained a surety and went there. It was a -solemn place with small rooms full of books where grey-haired silent -old men sat and read. He got his books and went shyly and happily home. - -He wished to study the matter thoroughly in all its aspects, as was his -custom. In Schiller he found the assurance that the theatre was of deep -significance; in Goethe he found a whole treatise on the histrionic -art with directions how one should walk and stand, behave oneself, sit -down, come in and go out; in Lessing's _Hamburgische Dramaturgie_ he -found a whole volume of theatrical critiques filled with the closest -observations. Lessing especially roused his hopes, for he went so far -as to declare that the theatre had come down owing to the inferiority -of the actors, and said that it would be better to employ amateurs -from the cultivated classes who would play better than the drilled and -often uncultured actors. He also read Raymond de St. Albin, whose often -quoted observations on the actor's art are of great value. - -At the same time he exercised himself practically. At the doctor's he -arranged a stage when the boys were out. He practised entrances and -exits; he arranged the stage for "The Robbers," dressed himself like -Karl Moor, and played that part. He went to the National Museum and -studied gestures of antique sculptures and gave up using his walking -stick in order to accustom himself to walk freely. He did violence -to his shyness, which had almost produced in him "agoraphobia," or -the dread of crossing open places, and accustomed himself to walk -across Karl XIII's square where great crowds used to be found. He did -gymnastics every day at home, and fenced with his pupils. He gave -attention to every movement of the muscles; practised walking with head -erect and chest expanded, with arms hanging free and hands loosely -clenched, as Goethe directs. - -The chief difficulty he found was in the cultivation of his voice, -for he was overheard when he declaimed in the house. Then it occurred -to him to go outside the town. The only place where he could be -undisturbed was the LadugÃ¥rdsgÀrdet. There he could look over the plain -for a great distance and see whether any one was coming; there sounds -died away so quickly that it cost him an effort to hear himself. This -strengthened his voice. - -Every day he went out there, and declaimed against heaven and earth. -The town whose church tower rose opposite LadugÃ¥rdsgÀrdet symbolised -society, while he stood out here alone with Nature. He shook his fist -at the castle, the churches, and the barracks, and stormed at the -troops who during their manoeuvres often came too close to him. There -was something fanatical in his work and he spared himself no pains in -order to make his unwilling muscles obedient. - - -[1] _Vide_ the _Son of a Servant_. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - -(1869) - - -Among those who frequented the doctor's house was a young man who -studied sculpture. He had come from the lower strata of society, had -been a smith's apprentice, and had now entered the Academy, where he -was a probationary student. He was happy and always cheerful, believed -himself called by providence to his new career, and narrated how he -had been aroused and impelled by the spirit to work in the service -of the Beautiful. John liked him because he was not introspective or -self-critical and quite free from self-consciousness. Moreover he was a -fellow culprit, who was making the same daring attempt as John to work -his way out of the lower class, but entirely lacked the consciousness -of guilt which persecuted the latter. - -One day this friend, whose name was Albert, came to him and said -that he was going to Copenhagen to visit Thorwaldsen's Museum. An -enterprising speculator had arranged a trip there through the canal -and back by sea for a very small fare. "You come too," he said, and it -was soon settled that John should accompany him with one of the boys. -The occasion of the expedition was the crown princess's entry into -Copenhagen, but that was a secondary object in the eyes of the pilgrims -to Thorwaldsen's tomb. - -On an August evening John sat on the poop of the steamer with the -sculptor, one of the boys and a school friend of his. In the twilight -which had already fallen one saw ladies and gentlemen coming on board. -The society seemed to be first-class. Stout fathers of families with -field-glasses and tourist knapsacks, ladies in summer dresses and hats -of the latest fashion. There was a bustle and stir, as each sought a -sleeping-place which was guaranteed to all. John and his companions sat -quietly waiting. They had their provisions and rugs and feared nothing. -When the steamer had started and the confusion had ceased, John said, -"Now we will have some bread and butter before we lie down." - -They looked for their knapsacks and the provision basket, but they were -not to be found. They discovered that they had not come with them. This -was a hard blow, for they had only a little cash and they had counted -on the excellent provisions which the doctor's wife had put up for -them. Accordingly they had to eat from the sculptor's box, which only -contained poor dry victuals. - -Then they wanted to lie down. On all sides people were asking for -sleeping-places, but could not find any. The passengers were in an -uproar and there was a storm of curses. They had therefore to sit on -deck; there were inquiries for the organiser of the expedition, but he -was not on board. John lay down on the bare deck and the boys drew a -tarpaulin over themselves, for the dew was falling and it was bitterly -cold. They awoke at Södertelje, freezing, for the sailors had taken -away the tarpaulin. - -On the canal bank there now appeared the organiser of the excursion, -who was an upholsterer. The passengers rushed at him, drew him on -board, and loaded him with reproaches. He defended himself and tried -to land again, but in vain. A court martial was held; they resolved -to continue their journey, but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. -The steamer went on through the canal, but as it was passing through a -lock, the man-swung himself up on the dam and disappeared amid a hail -of curses. - -The journey was continued and by midday they were in the Gotha canal. -Dinner was laid on the poop. John and his companions ensconced -themselves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a simple meal out -of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, who had slept on a bale do mu in -the luggage-hold, was in a good humour and knew all the passengers' -characters and names. - -The dinner-table was now crowded. It was presided over by a master -chimney-sweep with his family. Then there came pawnbrokers, -public-house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with their families, -a number of young shop boys and some girls. John suffered when he saw -stewed perch and strawberries together with claret and sherry, for he -had been so spoilt by luxury that simple food made him poorly. This -was the "upper class" among the passengers. The master chimney-sweep -played the grand gentleman, he made a grimace at the claret and scolded -the waitress who said that the restaurant-keeper was responsible. The -porter from the Record Office affected the learned man, and as an -official seemed to look down on the "Philistines." - -While the sherry circulated, speeches were made. The lower class -from the fore-deck hung on the gunwales and hand-rails and listened. -The pariahs in the lifeboat were ignored. People knew that they were -there, but did not see them. They may very likely have wished the -"white cap" away, for there were two eyes under its peak, which saw -that they were no better than himself. John felt that. He had just -emerged from this class to which he belonged by birth, but he had no -food and was nothing. He felt his inferiority and his superiority; and -their superiority. They had worked; therefore they ate. Yes, but he -had worked as much as they, though not in the same way. He had derived -honour from his work, while they took the good eating and dispensed -with the honour. One could not have both. - -The people sat there satisfied and happy, drank their coffee and -liqueurs, and occupied the whole poop. They now became bold and made -remarks over those in the lifeboat, who could only suffer in silence, -because the others were in the majority and the upper class, for they -were consumers. - -John felt himself in an element which was not his. There was an -atmosphere of hostility about him, and he felt depressed. There were -no police on board to help him, no arbitration to appeal to, and if -there were a quarrel, all would condemn him. There only needed a sharp -retort on his part, and he would be struck. "The deuce!" he thought, -"it would be better to obey officers and officials; they would never -be such tyrants as these democrats." Later on, at Albert's advice, he -sought to approach them, but they were inaccessible. - -Further on during the voyage between Venersborg and Göteborg the -explosion came. John and his companions' hunger increased so much that -one day they determined to go down to the dining-saloon and eat some -bread and butter. It was so full of people eating and drinking that -they could hardly find room. John's pupil, according to the custom of -his class, kept his hat on. The master chimney-sweep noticed this. -"Hullo!" he said, "is the ceiling too high for you?" - -The boy seemed not to understand him. - -"Take your hat off, boy!" he shouted again. - -The hat remained as it was. A shop assistant knocked it off. The boy -picked up the hat, and put it again on his head. Then the storm burst. -They all rushed on him like one man and knocked the hat off. Then they -went for John, "And such a young devil has a tutor who cannot teach -boys to know their proper place! We know well enough who _you_ are." -Then they rained abuse on his parents. John tried to inform them that -in the social circles to which the boy belonged, it was the custom to -keep one's hat on in public places, and that he had not intended any -expression of contempt by it. But his explanation was ill-received. -What did he mean by "those circles"? What nonsense he talked! Did he -want to teach them manners? And so on. - -Yes, he could; for it was precisely from these circles that they had -learnt five-and-twenty years ago to take their hats off, which was no -longer the custom, and he could have told them that in twenty-five -years more they would keep their hats on as soon as they got wind that -_that_ was the fashion. But they had not discovered it yet. - -John and his friends went again on deck. "One cannot argue with these -people," he said. - -His nerves were shaken by the scene just witnessed. He had seen an -outbreak of class-hatred and the flashing eyes of people whom he had -not injured; he had felt the foot of the upper class of the future upon -his breast. They had become his enemies; the bridge between him and -them was broken down; but the tie of blood remained and he cherished -the same hatred towards aristocratic society, and its unjust ascendency -as they did; he felt the same grudge against the conventions before -which they all had to bow; yes, he had Karl Moor's replies in his mind, -but those who had just defeated him were all Spiegelbergers.[1] If they -got the upper hand they would trample on all,--great and small; if he -got the upper hand, he would only trample on the great. That was the -difference between them. It was, however, education which had made him -more democratic than they; he would therefore side with the educated. -They would work for those below, but from a distance, and from above. -One could not handle this raw uncouth mass. - -The stay on board was now intolerable. An outbreak might take place at -any moment. And it came. - -They were now in the Kattegat, and John was sitting on the upper deck -when he heard a loud noise beneath him of voices and cries. He thought -he recognised his pupil's voice, and rushed down. On the middle deck -stood the accused surrounded by a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms -about and shouted. John asked what the matter was. - -"He has stolen my cap," shouted the pawnbroker. - -"I don't believe it possible," said John. - -"Yes, I saw it; he has put it in this clothes bag." - -It was John's bag. "That is mine," said John. "You can look into it -yourself." He opened the bag and there lay the pawnbroker's cap! There -was general excitement. John stood convicted and a storm was on the -point of breaking out against the two thieves. A student who stole! -That was a bonne bouche. How had it happened? Now John remembered. He -had a grey cap similar to the pawnbroker's which he used to sleep in -at night. He had told the boy to put it in his bag; the boy had taken -the wrong one. John turned to the foredeck passengers: "Gentlemen," he -began, "do you think it likely that a rich man's son would go and take -a greasy cap when he has a perfectly new one? Do you not see that there -has been a mistake?" - -"Yes," said the plebeians, "there has." - -Only the pawnbroker was obstinate and stuck to his statement. - -"Then it only remains for me to beg this gentleman's pardon for the -mistake, and I ask my pupil to do the same." - -The latter did so, though unwillingly. There was general satisfaction -and a murmured opinion that he had "spoken like a gentleman." The -matter was fortunately settled. - -"You see," said John to the boy, "the people are open to reason after -all!" - -"Bah! That was only because they felt flattered at being called -gentlemen,--the cursed rabble!" - -"Perhaps," answered John, who felt that he had been sufficiently -humiliated for such a trifle. - -At last they reached Copenhagen. Hungry, freezing, and in the worst of -humours they sat in the rain outside the Thorwaldsen Museum, which was -closed on account of the festivities. But Albert swore he would get -in. After they had waited for an hour with the master chimney-sweep, -the public-house keeper, and all the other passengers there came an -old man who looked learned and wished to enter. Albert rushed after -him, mentioned the name of Molins, the Swedish sculptor, and they got -in, leaving the other passengers outside. Albert was delighted, and -could not help making a face at the master chimney-sweep who remained -outside. But the one who enjoyed it most was the young sinner, who -hated the mob. - -"Now we are gentlemen," he said. - -John was not in the mood to enjoy Thorwaldsen's works. He regarded -him as an average artist talented enough to win fame. Albert found -the antiques too elaborate, but did not dare to criticise them. -They did not witness the royal entry, but sat on the tower of the -Fruekirke and looked at the view. At nightfall, when they felt tired -and exhausted, they wanted to go down to the steamer to sleep, but it -had gone to Malmö. They stood in the street in the rain. They could -not go to an hotel, for they had no money. Albert resolved to go to a -public-house and ask for a night's lodging. They found a sailors' inn -near the public-house. The landlord said it was only for seamen, but -they answered that they must have shelter. They were taken into a back -room where there were two camp-beds, but a basin was not to be seen. -The walls were unpapered and looked shabby. In one of the beds lay a -sailor. Who was to be his bed-fellow? Albert undertook that, and slept -with the stranger, who was a Dutchman. So they all went to sleep, John -cursing the whole adventure, for the bed-clothes were malodorous. - -The return voyage home by sea was one long penance. Without provisions -and hardly any money they had to sustain life on raw eggs which they -bought in the small towns they touched at. These along with stale -bread and brandy, composed their diet for three days. Albert alone -was cheerful and enjoyed himself. He slept on the poop with the -passengers and amused them with stories; he was akin to them, and knew -their language. He drank with them and got hot food; he even went into -the kitchen sometimes and begged himself a plate of soup. "How easily -he takes life!" thought John. "He does not miss luxuries, for he has -never known them; he will never be expelled as an intruder when he -approaches people; he feasts while others starve, and sees only friends -everywhere. But his day will come when he will no longer be one of the -lower class, when luxury and refined habits will make him as helpless -and unfortunate as me." - -When he got home he was furious. So it was everywhere. Those who were -above trampled on those below, and those who were below tried to -pull one back when one tried to mount. What was the meaning of all -this talk about aristocrats and democrats? The lower class spoke of -their democratic way of thinking, as though it were a virtue. What -virtue is there in hating those who are above? What is the meaning of -"aristocrat"? ÎÏιÏÏÎ¿Ï means the best, and κÏαÏÎÏ "I rule." Therefore -an aristocrat is one who wishes that the best should rule and a -democrat one who wishes that the worst should do so. But then comes the -question: Who are really the best? Are a low social position, poverty -and ignorance things that make men better? No, for then one would not -try to do away with poverty and ignorance. Into whose hands then should -men commit political power, with the knowledge that it would be in the -hands of the least mischievous? Into the hands of those who knew most? -Then one would have professorial government, and Upsala would be--no, -not the professors! To whom then should power be given? He could not -answer, but certainly not to the chimney-sweep and cab-owner who were -on the steamer. - -On this occasion he did not go deeper into the matter, for the question -had not yet been raised whether the same culture could not be imparted -to every one, or whether there need be any governing body at all. - -He had come across the worst aristocracy of all, the upper stratum -of the lower class, or, to name them by their usual ugly title, "the -Philistines." They were a bad copy of the aristocracy; they sided with -the powerful, aped the habits of their superiors, grew rich by others' -labours, quoted authorities and hated opposition with the exception of -their silent opposition to those above them. The master chimney-sweep -made money through the toil of the abjectly poor, the cab-owner through -the wretched cabbies and hacks, the pawnbroker wrung unrighteous -gain from the need of the poverty-stricken, and so on, everywhere. -A teacher, on the other hand, a doctor, an artist, could not depute -slaves to his work; he must do it himself, and was therefore not such -a shark as those below. If, then, culture brought men happiness and -made them better, then the aristocracy were justified and beneficent, -and could regard themselves as better than those below. Yes, but one -could buy culture for money, could beg or borrow the means for it, -as so many students did, and there was no virtue in that at any rate. -Yet one could not help feeling superior to others when one knew more -and observed the laws of social life so as to injure no one. All that -remained for the real democracy was to reduce everything to a dead -level, so that no one need feel themselves below, and no one could -think they were above. - - -[1] _Vide_ Schiller's "Robbers." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -BEHIND THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -The Swedish theatre was at this time exposed to many attacks, and when -is a theatre not in that condition? The theatre is a miniature society -within society, with a monarch, ministers, officials, and a whole -number of classes, ranged above one another in ranks. Is it any wonder -that this society is always exposed to the attacks of the malcontents? -But at this period the attacks had a more practical object. A former -provincial actor had written a pamphlet against the Theatre Royal, of -little real importance, but with the result that the author was invited -to a seat on the board of directors. This aroused imitators, and many -published treatises in order to attain the same result. - -As a matter of fact, the Theatre Royal was neither better nor worse -than it had been before. "But," it was asked, "if the theatre is -an institution supported by subscriptions for forwarding culture, -why set an uncultivated person at the head of it?" To this it was -answered, "We have just had one of the most learned men in the country -as director, and how did that answer? Although he had the advantage -of plebeian birth he was worried to death by the democratic press, -which incessantly carped at him." At last, in our time, the utopia of -self-government has been realised, the theatre has a man from the lower -classes at its head, and there is general satisfaction. - -On the day fixed, John went to the theatre in order to announce his -intention of making his début. After some delay, he was sent for and -asked his business. - -"I want to make my début." - -"Oh! have you studied any special character?" - -"Karl Moor in 'The Robbers,'" he answered more defiantly than was -necessary. - -They looked at each other and smiled. "But one must have three rÃŽles; -have you got no other to suggest?" - -"Lucidor!" - -There was a consultation, and John was informed that these dramas were -not now in the repertory of the theatre. He objected that this was not -a sufficient reason for his not undertaking those rÃŽles, but received -the perfectly fair answer, that the theatre could not stage such -important dramas and disarrange its programme for untried débutants. -Then the director proposed to John that he should take the rÃŽle of the -"Warrior of Ravenna." But after the great success which had attended -the last actor of that part, he dared not. They finally suggested that -he should have a talk with the literary manager. Then began a battle -which was probably not the first or the last which had taken place in -that room. - -"Be reasonable, sir; one must study this profession like all others. No -one becomes an adept all of a sudden. Creep before you walk. Undertake -at first a minor rÃŽle." - -"No, the rÃŽle must be great enough to sustain me. In a minor rÃŽle one -must be a great artist in order to attract attention." - -"Yes, but listen to me, sir; I have experience." - -"Yes, but others have made their début in leading parts, without having -been on the stage before." - -"But you will break your neck." - -"Very well, then! I will!" - -"Yes, but the board of directors will not give the best stage in the -country to the first chance aspirant to make experiments on." - -That seemed reasonable. He therefore consented to undertake a minor -rÃŽle. He was given the part of HÀrved Boson in Hedberg's _Marriage of -Ulfosa_. - -John read over the part at home, and was astonished. It was quite -insignificant. He only had a few quarrels with his brother-in-law and -then embraced his wife. But he had to undertake the part, as he had -agreed to do. - -The rehearsals began. To have to shout out empty words without meaning -was repugnant to him. - -After some trials the teacher declared that he had no more time and -recommended John to take lessons in the Dramatic Academy. - -"But I won't be a pupil," he said. - -"No, of course." - -They talked of the Dramatic Academy, as of an elementary or Sunday -School; all kinds of pupils were accepted whether they had any -education or not. John did not intend to become a pupil, but went -just to listen. He went there reluctantly. Accustomed to be a teacher -himself, he was received as a sort of honorary guest, and sat down, but -attracted an uncomfortable amount of attention. The hour was passed in -reciting "Vintergatan," which he knew by heart, and some other pieces -of verse. - -"But one can't learn anything for the stage here," he ventured to say -to the teacher. - -"Well! come on the stage, and try before the footlights." - -"How can I do that?" - -"As a supernumerary actor." - -"Supernumerary! H'm! That is like going downhill before beginning," -thought John. But he determined to go through with it. One morning he -received an invitation to try a part in Björnson's _Maria Stuart_. -The theatre messenger gave him a little blue note-book on which was -written, "A nobleman," and inside, on a white sheet of paper, "The -Lords have sent an intermediary with a challenge to Count Both well." -That was the whole part! Such was to be his début! - -At the appointed time he went up the little back stairs, passed the -door-keeper and came on the stage. It was the first time that he was -behind the scenes, and saw the reverse of the medal. The stage looked -like a great warehouse with black walls; a cracked and dirty floor like -that of a hay loft, and grey linen screens mounted on rough wood. - -It was here that he had seen represented majestic scenes from the -world's history; here Masaniello had shouted "Death to Tyrants" while -John stood trembling at the end of the fourth row among the audience; -here Hamlet had given vent to his scorn and suffered his sorrows, and -from here Karl Moor had defied society and the whole world. John felt -alarmed. How could one preserve the illusion hero in sight of the -unpainted wood and the grey canvas? Everything looked dusty and dirty; -the workmen were poor melancholy devils, and the actors and actresses -looked insignificant in their ordinary clothes. - -He was led into the lobby where they were going to dance for -half-an-hour the gavotte, which introduced the play. It was broad -daylight. The old music teacher sat on a chair and played the viol. The -ballet-master shouted, struck his hands together and arranged them in -their places. "I didn't bargain for this," thought John, but it was too -late. So he found himself in the midst of a complicated dance which he -did not know, and was pushed about and scolded. "No, I am not going to -do this," he thought, but he could not get out of it. - -A feeling of shame came over him. Dancing in the day-time was not a -seemly occupation. And then to descend from teacher to pupil, and be -the last here; he had never before gone back so far. - -The bell rang for the rehearsal, and they were driven on the stage. -Then they were arranged for the gavotte. By the footlights stood the -chief actors who had the important rÃŽles; and behind them the rest in -two lines occupied the background. - -The orchestra struck up and the dance began in slow solemn rhythm. From -the footlights were heard the deep voices of the two Puritans lamenting -the depravity of the court. - -_Lindsay_. "Look! the dancing lines wind like snakes in the sun. -Listen! the music plays with the flames of hell! The devil's roar of -laughter is in it." - -_Andrew Kerr_. "Hush, hush; the penalty will overwhelm them as the sea -overwhelmed Pharaoh's army." - -_Lindsay_. "Look, how they whisper! The infecting breath of sin! See -their voluptuous smiles; see the ladies' frivolous gowns." - -_Citizen_. "All that Knox preaches is wasted on this court." - -_Lindsay_. "He is as the prophet in Israel, he does not speak in vain; -for the Lord Himself shall perform His word upon the ungodly race." - -The piece had an arresting effect, and John felt it. The men actors had -their hats, overcoats and sticks, and the women their cloaks and muffs, -but still the drama was impressive in its simple greatness. He stood in -the wings and listened to the whole of it; Mary Stuart did not please -him; she was cruel and coquettish; Bothwell was too rough and strong; -his favourite was Darnley, the weak, Hamlet-like man whose love to this -woman continued to burn in spite of unfaithfulness, scorn, malice and -everything. Knox was as hard as stone with his Puritanism and gloomy -Christianity. - -It was after all something to step forward and enact a piece of history -in the garb of such persons. There was something solemn about it as he -had felt before in the church. After he had gone on the stage and made -his speech he went away firmly resolved to bear all on behalf of sacred -art. - -He had thus taken the decisive step. To his father he had written a -high-flown letter, and declared that he would either become something -great in the career which he had now entered or would retire from it -altogether; he had resolved not to go home till he had succeeded. The -doctor was sorry but made no fuss, for he saw it was impossible to -stop him. But he had other secret plans for saving him which he now -began to set in motion. In the first place he induced John to translate -one or two medical pamphlets for which he had found a publisher. Now -he came with a proposal that they should together write articles for -the _Aftonbladet (Evening New's_). John for his part had translated -Schiller's essay, _The Theatre Regarded as a Moral Institution_, and as -the subject of the theatre had now conic up in the Reichstag the doctor -wrote an introduction to it in which he seriously expostulated with -the Agrarian party on their indifference to culture. The whole article -was inserted. Another day the doctor came with a member of the medical -journal, the _Lancet_, which treated of the question whether women were -fit for a medical career. Without hesitation and instinctively John -decided against it. He had an indescribable reverence for women as -woman, mother and wife, but as a matter of fact, society was founded -upon the man regarded as provider for the family, and upon the woman -as wife and mother; thus man had a full right to his work-market and -all the duties involved in it. Every occupation taken from the man -would mean a marriage less or one more overworked family-provider, for -the impulse to marry was so strong in men that they would not cease -to marry, however great the difficulties in which they might become -involved. Moreover women had abundant opportunities of work; they -could become servants, house-keepers, governesses, teachers, midwives, -seamstresses, actresses, artists, authoresses, queens, empresses, -besides wives and mothers. Many of these vocations were also open to -the unmarried. Anything more than this was an encroachment on the man's -territory. If the woman did that, the man should be free from the cares -of providing for the family, and inquiries after paternity should not -be made. But society would not consent to that. On the contrary it -began to persecute the prostitutes by way of forcing men to marry. Once -caught in the snares of the married women's property law, they would -sink to the level of domestic slaves. - -John instinctively took sides in this complicated problem, which was -destined to take many years to solve, and wrote against the women's -movement, which he saw would involve, if victorious, man's overthrow. -The movement for the emancipation of women had during the fifties, -assumed the wildest forms, and the war-cry, "No lords! No lords!" had -shown the true nature of the movement, which had also been ridiculed -by Rudolf Wall in his comedy, _Miss Garibaldi_. But while years went -on, the women had worked in silence. - -Great therefore was the surprise of the doctor and John when they found -their article in the _Aftonbladet_ so altered that it seemed in favour -of the movement. "The editor is under the thumbs of women," said the -doctor, and thereby the matter was explained. - -Meanwhile John's theatrical career approached a crisis. He had been -sent into a green room where brandy was drunk and everything was dirty, -to put on his clothes with the supernumeraries. "They want to humiliate -me," he thought, "but patience!" - -Now he was simply appointed as supernumerary in one opera after the -other. He declared that he feared neither the footlights nor the -public after having preached in church, but it was no good. The worst -was, having to lounge about at the rehearsals for hours together with -nothing to do. If he read a book, he was told he had no interest in the -play, and if he went away, an outcry was raised. - -In the Theatrical Academy roles were merely learnt by heart. Children -who had only gone through an elementary school, began to read Goethe's -_Faust_, naturally without understanding anything of it. But curiously -enough, their very boldness saved them; they got on so well that one -was inclined to think there was no need for an actor to understand -anything, if only he could say his piece fluently. After a few -months John was sick of it all. It was all mechanical. The greatest -actors were blasé and indifferent, never spoke of art, but only of -engagements and honorariums. There was no trace of the gay life behind -the scenes, of which so much had been written. They sat silent waiting -for their turns to come; the dancers and actresses in their costumes, -sewing and stitching. In the lobby the actors went about on tip-toe, -looked at the clock and put on their false beards, without speaking a -word. - -One evening, when _Maria Stuart_ was being acted, John sat alone in -the lobby reading a paper. The actor Dahlqvist, who was taking the -part of John Knox, came in. John, who cherished a deep admiration -for the great actor, stood up and bowed. If he could only speak with -such a man. He trembled at the very thought. Knox, with his venerable -long white hair, his black dress, and his great eyes half-sunk in his -powerful deeply-lined face, sat down at the table. He yawned. "What is -the time?" he asked in a sepulchral tone. John answered that it was -half-past ten, unbuttoning his Burgundian velvet jacket to look for the -watch which was not there. - -"The time is going devilish slow this evening," said Knox and yawned -again. Then he began to retail bits of gossip. He was only a ruin of -his former greatness when his acting of Karl Moor had cast all his -rivals into the shade. He too had seen through everything and was weary -of it all. And yet he had once thought so highly of his art. - -Since John had now the right of free entrance into the theatre he -tried to study acting from the auditorium. But behold! the illusion -was gone! There was Mr. So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so, there was the -background for _Quentin Durward_, there sat Högfelt, and there behind -the scenes, stood Boberg. There was no further possibility of illusion. - -He was sick of the wretched rÃŽle which he had to repeat continually. -But he also felt remorse and feared that he could not retire from the -game honourably. At last he plucked up courage and demanded a leading -part. The piece in which it occurred had already been performed fifty -times, and the chief actors were tired of it, but they had to come. The -rehearsal took place without costumes or scenery. John was accustomed -to the declamatory manner usual then, and shouted like a preacher. It -was a failure. After the rehearsal the head of the theatrical academy -pronounced his verdict and advised John to enter it for a course of -training, but he would not. He wept for rage, went home and took an -opium pill which he had long kept by him, but without effect; then a -friend took him out and he got intoxicated. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - -(1869) - - -The next morning he felt in a state of complete collapse. His nerves -still trembled and his body felt the fever of shame and intoxication. -What should he do? He must save his honour. He must still hold out -for two or three months and try again. That day he remained at home -and read _The Stories of a Barber-Surgeon_. As he read it seemed -to him that they recorded his own experience; they were about the -reconciliation of a step-son to his step-mother. The breach in -his domestic life had always weighed upon him like a sin, and he -longed for reconciliation and peace. That day this longing took an -unusually melancholy form, and as he lay on the sofa, his brain began -to evolve various plans for smoothing away the domestic discord. A -woman-worshipper as he then was, and under the influence of the book he -had been reading, he thought that only a woman could reconcile him with -his father. This noble rÃŽle he assigned to his step-mother. - -While thus tying on the sofa he felt an unusual degree of fever, -during which his brain seemed to work at arranging memories of the -past, cutting out some scenes, and adding others. New minor characters -entered; he saw them mixing in the action, and heard them speaking, -just as he had done on the stage. After one or two hours had passed, -he had a comedy in two acts ready in his head. This was both a painful -and pleasurable form of work if it could be called a work; for it went -forward of itself, without his will or co-operation. - -But now he had to write it. In four days the piece was ready. He kept -on going from the writing-table to the sofa and back; and in the -intervals of his work, he collapsed like a rag. When the work was -finished, he drew a deep sigh of relief, as though years of pain were -over, as though a tumour had been cut out. He was so glad, that he felt -as though some one was singing within him. Now he would offer his piece -to the theatre;--that was the way of salvation. The same evening he -sat down to write a note of congratulation to a relative who had found -a situation. When he had written the first line, it seemed to him to -read like a verse. Then he added the second line which rhymed with the -first. Was it no harder than that? Then with a single effort he wrote a -four-page letter in rhyme and discovered that he could write verse. Was -it no harder than that? Only a few months before he had asked a friend -to help him with some verses for a special occasion. He had, however, -received a negative but complimentary answer, in being told not to -drive in a hired carriage, when he had one of his own. - -One was not then born to write verses, he said to himself, nor did one -learn it, though all kinds of verse-measures were taught in school, -but it came,--or did not come. It seemed to him like the working of -the Holy Spirit. Had the psychical convulsion, which he had felt at -his defeat as an actor, been so strong that it had turned upside down -all the strata of his memories and impressions, and had the violent -impulse set his imagination to work? There had doubtless been a long -preparation going on. Was it not his imagination, which had conjured up -pictures, when as a child he had been afraid of the dark? Had he not -written essays in school and letters for years? Had he not formed his -style through reading, translating and writing for the papers? Yes, he -had, but it was not till now that he noticed in himself the so-called -creative power of the artist. - -The art of the actor was therefore not the one suited to his powers; -his having thought so was a mistake which could easily be rectified. -Meanwhile he must keep his authorship fairly secret and remain at the -theatre till the end of the season, so that his failure as an actor -might not be known, or at any rate till his piece was accepted, as it -naturally would be, for he thought it good. - -But he wished to make sure of it, and for that purpose invited two -of his learned friends outside the theatrical circle. In the evening -before they came, he arranged the lumber-room which he had hired in -the doctor's house. He tidied it up, lighted two candles instead of -the study lamp, covered the table with a clean cloth and set on it a -punch-bowl with glass, ash-trays and matches. This was the first time -he had entertained guests, and the experience was novel and strange. - -The work of an author has often been compared to childbirth, and the -comparison has something to justify it. He felt a kind of peace like -that which follows parturition; something or some one seemed to be -there which, or who, was not there before; there had been suffering and -crying and now there was silence and peace. He felt in a festival mood -as he used to do in the old times at home; the children were in their -Sunday best, and their father in his black frock coat cast a last look -round on the arrangements before the guests came. - -His friends arrived and he read the piece through in silence till the -end. They gave their verdict, and John was greeted by his elders as an -author. - -When they had gone, he fell on his knees on the floor, and thanked -God for having delivered him from difficulty and bestowed on him the -gift of poetry. His communion with God had been very irregular; it -was a curious fact, that in cases of great necessity he rallied his -powers within himself and did not cry to the Lord at all; but on joyful -occasions, on the other hand, he involuntarily felt the need of at once -thanking the Giver of all good. It was just the contrary to what it had -been in his childhood, and that was natural since his idea of God had -developed into that of the Author and Giver of all good things, whereas -the God of his childhood had been a God of terror whose hand was full -of misfortunes. - -At last he had found his calling, his true rÃŽle in life and his -wavering character began to develop a backbone. He had a pretty good -idea now of what he wanted, and this gave him at least a rudder to -steer by. Now he pushed off from land to go for a long voyage, but -always ready to tack when he encountered too strong a head wind,--not, -however, to fall to leeward, but the next moment to luff his ship up to -the wind with bellying sails. - -By writing this comedy, he had now relieved himself of his domestic -troubles. He next described the religious conflicts he remembered so -vividly in a three-act play. This lightened the ship considerably. - -His creative energy during this period was immense. He had the writing -fever daily; within two months he composed two comedies and a rhymed -tragedy, besides occasional verses. The tragedy was his first real -"work of art," as the phrase is, for it did not deal with any of his -subjective experiences. "Sinking Hellas" was the not inconsiderable -theme. The composition was finished and clear, but the situations were -somewhat threadbare, and there was a good deal of declamation. The -only original elements in it were an austere moral tone and contempt -for uncultured demagogues. Thus, for instance, he introduced an old -man inveighing against the immorality and want of patriotism of the -youth of the time. He made Demosthenes speak disparagingly of a -demagogue, and express something of what he had felt towards the master -chimney-sweep and pawnbroker on the journey to Copenhagen. The head -of the Theatrical Academy also got a rap over the knuckles because -he had often lamented over John's "lack of culture." The piece was -aristocratic in tone, and the freedom celebrated in it was that which -was the object of aspiration in the sixties,--national freedom. - -Meanwhile he had sent his domestic comedy anonymously to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. While it was under consideration, he -went on cheerfully with his work as supernumerary actor. "Just you -wait!" he said to himself, "then my turn will come and I shall have a -word to say in the matter." He was now quite cool on the stage, and -felt, even when dressed as a peasant youth in _Wilhelm Tell_, like a -prince in disguise. "I am certainly no swineherd, though you may think -so," he hummed to himself. - -He had to wait long for an answer about his piece. At last he lost -patience and revealed himself as the author to the head of the -Theatrical Academy. The latter had read the piece and found talent in -it, but said it could not be played. This was not a great blow for him, -for he still had the tragedy in reserve. That was better received, but -he was told it needed remodelling here and there. - -One evening when the Academy closed, the head instructor expressed a -wish to speak with John. "Now we see what you are good for," he said. -"You have a fine career in front of you; why should you choose an -inferior one? You can become an actor probably if you work for some -years, but why toil at this thankless task? Go back to Upsala and take -your degree if you can. Then become an author, for one must first have -experiences in order to write well." - -To become an author,--that John agreed with, and also with the -suggestion that he should give up the theatre; but as for returning to -Upsala,--no! He hated the university, and did not see how the useless -things one learnt there could help him as an author; he rather needed -to study life at first hand. But then he began to reflect, and when -he considered that, at present, he could get no piece of his accepted -so as to serve as a plank to save himself by, he grasped at the other -straw,--Upsala. There was no disgrace in becoming a student again, and -at the theatre they knew that he was not only an unsuccessful débutant, -but also an author. - -At the same time he learnt that there was a legacy due to him from his -mother of a few hundred kronas. With them he could support himself for -a half-year at the university. He went to his father, not as a prodigal -son, but as a promising author, and as a creditor. There was a vehement -dispute between them which ended in John receiving his legacy. He had -now conceived the plan of a tragedy with the startling title "Jesus of -Nazareth." It dealt in dramatic form with the life of Christ, and was -intended, with one blow and once for all, to shatter the divine image -and eradicate Christianity. But when he had completed some scenes, he -saw that the subject-matter was too great and would demand prolonged -and tedious study. - -The theatrical season now approached its end. The Theatrical Academy -gave their customary stage performance. John had received no rÃŽle in -it, but undertook the task of prompter. And his career as an actor -closed in the prompter's box. To this was reduced his ambition of -acting Karl Moor on the stage of the Great Theatre! Did he deserve this -fate? Was he worse equipped for acting than the rest? That was probably -not so, but the question was never decided. - -In the evening after the performance, a dinner was given to the -Academy pupils. John was invited and made a speech in verse in order -to make his exit seem as little like a fiasco as possible. He became -intoxicated, as usual, behaved foolishly and disappeared from the -scene. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE "RUNA" CLUB - -(1870) - - -The Upsala of the sixties showed signs of the end and dissolution of a -period which might be called the Boströmic.[1] In what relation does -the philosophic system which prevails in a given period stand to the -period itself? The system seems like a collection of the thoughts of -the period at a particular point of time. The philosopher does not -make the period, but the period makes the philosopher. He collects all -the thoughts of his period and thereby exercises an influence on it, -and with the close of the period his influence ends. The Boströmic -philosophy had three defects; it wished to be definitely Swedish; -it came too late; and it wished to outlive its period. To attempt -to construct a purely Swedish philosophy was absurd, for that meant -trying to break loose from the connection with the great mother-stem -which grows on the Continent and only sends out seeds towards the -Northern peninsula. The attempt came too late, for time is necessary to -construct a system, and before the system was constructed, the period -had passed. Boström, as a philosopher, was not, as it were, shot out -of a cannon. All knowledge is collecting-work, and is coloured by -the personality of the collector. Boström was a branch grown out of -Kant and Hegel, watered by Biberg and Grubbe, and finally producing -some offshoots of his own. That was all. He seems to have derived -his fundamental principle from Krause's Pantheism, which itself was -an attempt to unite the philosophy of Kant and Fichte with that of -Schelling and Hegel. This eclecticism had been already attempted by -Grubbe. Boström first studied theology, and this seemed to have a -hampering effect on his mind when he wrote about speculative theology. -His moral philosophy he derived from Kant. To call him an original -philosopher is provincial patriotism. His influence did not reach -beyond the frontiers of Sweden, nor did it outlast the sixties. His -political system was already antiquated in 1865, when the students out -of reverence for the philosopher, had still to declare, conformably to -his textbook, that the representation of the four estates was the only -reasonable one--a doctrine which was subsequently contradicted in the -college lectures. - -How did Boström come by such an idea? Can one draw an inference from -the accidental circumstance that he, a poor man's son from Norrland, -came into too close touch with King John and his court, in his capacity -of tutor to the princes? Could the philosopher escape the common lot -of generalising in _certain_ respects, from his own predilections and -current time-sanctioned ideas? Probably not. Boström as an idealist -was subjective--so subjective that he denied reality an independent -existence, declaring that, "to be is to be perceived (by men)." The -world of phenomena therefore, according to him, exists only in and -through our perceptions. The error of the deduction was overlooked, and -it was a double one. The system rested on an unproved assumption, and -had to be corrected; it is true that the phenomenal world only exists -for its through our perception, but that does not prevent its existing -for itself without our perception. In fact science has demonstrated -that the earth already existed with a very high degree of organic life, -before any one was there to perceive it. - -Boström broke with ecclesiastical Christianity, but, like Kant and -the later evolutionist philosophers, retained Christian morality. -Kant had been arrested in the bold progress of his thought by a want -of psychological knowledge, and had simply laid down as axioms the -categorical imperative and the practical postulate. The moral law, -which depends on the epoch and changes with it, received in his system -quite a Christian colouring as God's command. Boström was still -"under the law"; he judged the moral worth or baseness of an action -simply by its motives; according to him the only satisfactory motive -is that regard for the spiritual nature of duty which is revealed in -conscience. But there are as many consciences as there are religions -and races; therefore his moral system was quite sterile. - -Boström's importance for theological development only consisted in -his coming forward against Bishop Beckman in the discussion regarding -the doctrine of hell (1864), although that doctrine had recently been -rejected by the cultivated with the assistance of the rationalists. -On the other hand Boström was obstructive in his pamphlets _The -Irresponsibility and Divine Right of the King_ and _Are the Estates of -the Realm Justified in Resolving on and Carrying Out the Change in the -So-called (!) Representation of the People_? (1865). - -In his capacity as an idealist, Boström is, for the present generation, -not only without significance, but positively reactionary. He is -nothing but a necessary link in the worthless reactionary philosophy -which followed with such fatal obscurantism the "illuminative" -philosophy of the eighteenth century. He has lived and is dead. Peace -to his ashes! - -Literature ought to be another barometer for testing the atmosphere of -any given period. And in order to be that, it must be free to deal with -the questions of that period; but this, the then prevailing Êsthetic -theories forbade. - -Poetry ought to be and was (according to Boström) a recreation like the -other fine arts. Under such a theory and influenced by the prevalent -idolatry of the "ego," poetry became merely lyrical, expressing -the poet's small personal feelings and inclination, and reflecting -therefore only some of the features of the period, and those perhaps, -not the most important. Only two names in the poetry of the sixties -were of importance--Snoilsky and Björck. Snoilsky was "awake," to use -a pietistic expression, Björck was dead. Both were born poets, as the -saying is; that is to say, their talents showed themselves earlier -than usual. Both attained distinction while still at school, early won -honour and renown, and by birth and position were enabled to view life -from its sunny heights. Snoilsky, without knowing it, was under the -power of the spirit of the new age. Freed from the fear of hell and -monkish morality, experiencing the retrenchment of his privileges as a -nobleman, he gave free play both to mind and body. In his first poems -he was a revolutionary and praised the cap of liberty; he preached the -emancipation of the flesh and had a certain dislike to over-culture as -a conventional restraint. But as a poet, he did not escape the poet's -tragic destiny--not to be taken seriously. Poetry in the eyes of the -public, was simply poetry, and Snoilsky was a poet. Björck had a mind -which was not capable of receiving strong impressions. At peace with -himself, languid, complete from the beginning, he lived his life sunk -in his own reflections or noticed only the trifling events of the -outer world and described them neatly and correctly. In the opinion of -the great majority who live the peaceful life of automata his poetry -shows a remarkable degree of philanthropy. But why does not this -philanthropy extend itself further to large circles of men, and to -humanity at large? In the writer's opinion Björck's philanthropy does -not extend beyond the limits of the personal quiet which the individual -attains when he ignores the duties of social life. He is satisfied -with the world because the world has been kind to him; he avoids -strife because it disturbs his own serenity. Björck is an example of -the fortunate man whose life is not in conflict with his upbringing, -but who rather builds up stone by stone, on the foundation already -laid; everything proceeds in a workmanlike way by level and rule; the -house is finished, as it was designed, without the plan undergoing any -alteration. Stunted by domestic tyranny, tasting early the sweets -of homage and reverence, he ceased to grow. He accepted Boström's -compromise with Christianity without examining it, and in doing so, he -had finished his life-work. His poetry is especially praised for its -purity and spiritual character. What is this "purity" which in our -days is so sharply contrasted with the sensual? The secret is, that he -did not get her; just as Dante's heavenly love for Beatrice was due to -the same involuntary cause. Björck therefore sang of the unattainable -with the quiet melancholy of unsatisfied love. But that, however, is no -virtue, and purity should be a virtue. - -In short, Björck and Snoilsky sang of water and drank wine, and in this -were just the opposite to the poets of our time, who are said to sing -of wine and drink water. A poet's life always seems to be at variance -with his teachings. Why? Is it that, in composing, he wishes to escape -from his own personality, and find another? Is it a wish to disguise -himself? Or is it modesty, the fear of giving himself away, and of -self-exposure? This is a weighty problem for future psychologists to -unravel. - -Björck composed poems both for the reformation of the constitution -in 1865, and for the restoration to power of the King. He saw harmony -everywhere, and when he celebrated the restored union between Sweden -and Norway in 1864, he was extremely melodious. He also praised -Abraham Lincoln; negro-emancipation and white slavery--that is the -ideal of freedom of the Holy Alliance! Revolution certainly, but legal -revolution by the will of God! Well, he knew no better, and few did at -that time. Therefore we do not judge the man but only his work, the -motives inspiring which are a matter of indifference to posterity. - -Young men read these poets, many of them with great edification. -They proclaimed no new era, but prophesied after the event that -now the millennium was come, the ideal realised, and lines of -demarcation obliterated once for all. They looked with satisfaction -on their creations, rubbed their hands, and found them all good. An -atmosphere of peace had spread itself over the whole of Upsala and -its neighbourhood; now one might sleep till Doomsday was the belief -of old and young. But then discordant sounds began to be heard, and -in the days of universal peace fire-beacons began to be seen on the -neighbouring mountain-tops. From Norway open water was signalled -and the revolving lights were kindled. Rome captured Greece, but -Greece re-captured Rome. Sweden had captured Norway, but now Norway -re-captured Sweden. Lorenz Dietrichson was appointed as professor -at the university of Upsala in 1861, and he was the forerunner of -Norwegian influence. He made Sweden acquainted with Danish and -Norwegian literature, then almost unknown, and founded the literary -society which produced poets like Snoilsky and Björck. - -After Norway had broken loose from the Danish monarchy and had ceased -to be a branch of the head office in Copenhagen, it was not grafted -into Sweden but retreated into itself. At the same time it opened -direct communication with the continent. Its awakening to independence -was coincident with a strong stream of foreign influence. It was -Björnson who first roused Norway to self-consciousness; but when this -degenerated into a narrow patriotism, Ibsen came with the pruning -shears. - -As the strife became fiercer and Christiania would not lend itself -to be a field of battle, the conflict was transferred to hospitable -Sweden. The Norwegian wine was well adapted for exportation; pamphlets -grew in size as they travelled and in Sweden became literature. -Thoughts came to the top and personalities settled at the bottom of -the vessel. Ibsen and Björnson broke into Sweden; Tidemand and Gude -took prizes in the art exhibition of 1866; Kierulf and Nordraak were -authorities in singing and music. Then came Ibsen's _Brand_. This had -appeared in 1866, but John did not see it till 1869. It made a deep -impression on the primitive Christian side of him, but it was gloomy -and severe. The final utterance in it regarding "Deus caritatis" was -not satisfying, and the poet seemed to have had too much sympathy with -his hero to have described his overthrow with cold irony. - -_Brand_ gave John a good deal of trouble. He (Brand) had dropped -Christianity but kept its stern ascetic morality; he demanded obedience -for his old doctrines though they were no more practicable; he despised -the tendency of the time towards humanity and compromise, but ended by -recommending the God of compromise. Brand was a fanatic, a pietist, -who dared to believe himself right against the whole world, and John -felt himself related to this terrible egoist who was wrong besides. No -half-measures! go straight on; break down everything that stands in the -way, for you only are right! John's tender conscience, which suffered -at every step he took lest it should vex his father or friends, was -stupefied by Brand. All ties of consideration and of love should be -torn asunder for the sake of "the cause." That John was no longer a -pietist was a piece of good fortune, otherwise he too would have been -overwhelmed by the avalanche.[2] But Brand gave him a belief in a -conscience which was purer than that which education had given him, and -a law which was higher than conventional law. And he needed this iron -backbone in his weak back, for he had long periods during which by -fits and starts and out of mildness he thought himself wrong, and the -first who came, right; therefore, he was also very easily misled. Brand -was the last Christian who followed an old ideal, therefore he could be -110 pattern for one who felt a vague inclination to revolt against all -old ideals. - -_Brand_ after all was a fine plant, but without any roots in its own -period; and, therefore, it belonged to the herbarium. Then came -_Peer Gynt_. This was rather obscure than deep and had its value as -an antidote against the national self-love. The fact that Ibsen was -neither banished nor persecuted after having said such bitter things -against the proud Norwegians, shows that in Norway they were more -honourable fighters than the Swedes afterwards showed themselves to be. - -Ibsen was at that time regarded as a misanthrope and as an enemy and -envier of Björnson. People were divided into two camps, and the dispute -as to which of the two was the greater was endless, for it concerned an -artistic problem--"contents or form." - -The influence of Norwegian on Swedish poetry has been great and partly -beneficent, but there was a peculiarly Norwegian element in it, which -was not adaptable to Sweden, a land with quite another development. -In the sequestered valleys of Norway there lived a people who, under -the pressure of need and poverty, found ready to their hand in the -Christian doctrine of renunciation an ascetic philosophy which promised -heaven as a compensation for earth's hardships. Nature in her most -gloomy and parsimonious aspect, a damp climate, long winters, great -distances between the villages,--all co-operated to preserve an -austere mediÊval type of Christianity. There is something which may -be said to resemble insanity in the Norwegian character, of the same -kind as the English "spleen;" and possibly the intimate relations of -Norway with the hypochondriacal islanders may have impressed traces -on its civilisation. In Jonas Lie's _Clair-voyant_ this melancholy -is depleted, and in it one finds the same weird atmosphere as in the -Icelandic sagas, and the theme also is similar,--the struggle of the -spirit against physical darkness and cold. There we have depicted -the tragic lot of the Norseman banished from sunny lands to gloomy -wildernesses, and seeking relief by emigration, the ethnographical -significance of which has been overlooked in view of its economical -aspect. The Norwegian character is the result of many hundred years of -tyranny, of injustice, of hard struggling for a livelihood, of want of -gladness. - -Swedish literature should have avoided absorbing these national -peculiarities, but they have made it half-Norwegian. Brand still haunts -Swedish literature with his ideal demands, with which the romanticised -and cheerful Swede cannot sincerely sympathise. Therefore this foreign -garb suits him so badly; therefore modern Swedish music sounds so -unharmonious, like an echo of the violins of Hardanger, tuned over -again by Grieg; therefore the talk of greater moral purity sounds -discordant in the mouth of the vivacious Swede. He has not suffered -from long oppression and does not need to seek himself in the past; -melancholy has not so beset him in his open flat land of lakes and -rivers, and therefore a sour mien becomes him ill. - -When the Swedes received great and novel ideas by way of Norway or -direct from the Continent through Ibsen and Björnson, they should have -kept the kernel and thrown away the Norwegian husk. Even the _Doll's -House_ is Norwegian. Nora is related to the Icelandic women who wished -to set up a matriarchate; she belongs to the weird imperious women in -_HÀrmÀnnen_ who again are pure Norse. In them the emotions have become -frozen or distorted by centuries of cognate marriages. - -The whole Swedish literature of feminism is ultra-Norwegian; it -contains the same immodest demands on the man and petting of the spoilt -woman. Several young authors have introduced the Norwegian style into -Swedish; one authoress has placed the scene of her book in Norway, and -made her hero talk Norwegian! Further one could not go! - -Let us welcome foreign influence which is cosmopolitan; but not -Norwegian, for that is provincial, and we have plenty of the same kind -ourselves. - - * * * * * - -So John found himself again in Upsala,--the same Upsala from which he -had fled nine months before, and to which he most unwillingly returned. -To be compelled to a course which he did not wish always made him feel -as though he were encountering a personal foe, who cajoled him out of -his wishes and antipathies, and forced him to bend. Since he still -believed himself under God's personal providence, he accepted that as -though it were for his best. Later on he had a feeling that there was -a malignant power; this developed into the belief that there were two -ruling powers, one good, one evil, which divided the empery, or ruled -alternately. - -He asked himself again, "What have you to do here?" To take his degree, -but especially to cover his retreat from the theatre. Privately he -wished to write a play, and, under the screen of its success, wriggle -out of the examination. - -At first he was not at all comfortable in his lonely attic. He had -become accustomed to luxury, a large room, a good table, attendance -and society. After having been habituated to be treated as a man and -to have intercourse with older and cultivated people, he found himself -again in a state of pupilage as a student. But he cast himself into -the crowd and soon found himself on social terms with three distinct -circles. The first consisted of friends whom he met by day, who were -students of medicine and natural history and atheists. From them he -heard for the first time the name of Darwin; but it passed by him like -a doctrine for which he was not yet ripe. His evening society consisted -of a priest and a lawyer with whom he played cards till deep in the -night. He considered himself now in Upsala merely to grow and get -older, and that it was a matter of indifference what he did, as long as -he killed the time. He drew up the scheme of a new tragedy, Eric XIV, -but found it poor, and burnt it, for his faculty of self-criticism had -awakened and was severer in its demands. - -Later on in the term he entered a third society, which formed his -special circle during the whole of his time at Upsala and for a long -while afterwards. One evening he chanced to meet a young companion -with whom he had been a pupil at the private school. They discussed -literature, and over a glass of toddy made the plan of forming some -young poets into a club for literary work. The plan was carried out. -Besides John and the other founder of the club, four young students -were elected to it. They were fine young fellows of an idealist turn of -mind, as the saying is, with high purposes and enthusiastic for vague -ideals. They had not yet come into contact with the hard realities of -life; they had all well-to-do parents, no cares, and knew nothing at -all of the struggle for a subsistence. John, on the other hand, had -just left the most unpleasant surroundings; he had seen people who -were always ready to quarrel, conceited, empty-headed pupils of the -Theatrical Academy. Here he found himself transplanted into an entirely -new world. There were these happy youths going to their well-supplied -tables, smoking fine cigars, taking walks, and poetising beautifully -over the beauty of life which they knew nothing of. - -Rules were drawn up for the club, which received the name "Runa," -_i.e_. "song." The choice of this title was probably due to the -Northern renaissance which came in with the Scandinavian movement. -Its chief ornaments were Karl XV in poetry, Winge and Malmström in -painting, and Molin in sculpture. Recently it had been quickened by -Björnson's and Ibsen's dramas on subjects from the old Norse life. -The study of Icelandic, which had been newly introduced into the -university, also lent strength to this movement. - -The number of members of the club was not to exceed nine; each of -them was known by a Runic sign. John was called "Frö" and the other -founder of the club, "Ur." Every variety of opinion was represented. -Ur was a great patriot and venerated Sweden with its memories. In his -opinion it had the most brilliant history in Europe, and had always -been free. For the rest he was a practically minded man with a special -faculty for statistics, politics, and biography; he was a severe and -clever critic, and also managed the affairs of the club. He was a -reliable friend, good company, helpful and hearty. Secondly, there -was a full-blooded romanticist who read Heine and drank absinthe--a -sensitive youth enthusiastic for all old ideals, but especially for -Heine. There was also a seraph who sang of the indescribably little, -especially the happiness of childhood; fourthly, a silent worshipper of -nature, and, lastly, an eclectic philosopher and improvisator, who had -an extraordinary faculty for improvising in any style whatever, when -requested. Two minutes after he had been asked, he would stand up and -speak or sing on the spur of the moment in the character of Anacreon, -Horace, the Edda, or any one else, and even in foreign languages. - -The first meeting of the club was at Thurs', who was lodged the most -comfortably in two rooms and had the best pipes. As one of the founders -of the club John first of all read his prologue, which, according -to the rules of the society, had to be in verse. It began by asking -after the ancient bard Brage and his harp which was now silent. Brage -represented the new Norse element, the resuscitation of which was -believed necessary. The whole programme of the idealists was called -"a trivial striving." All the great efforts of their contemporaries -after reality and for the improvement of the conditions of life was -"trivial." The spirit was taken prisoner in matter, and therefore -all that was material was to be regarded as the enemy. Such was the -teaching of the romanticists, and of John's prologue. Then the poet -went out into nature, listened to the bells of the cathedral, the -wind, the pines, and the singing of the birds in order to ask the very -natural question: "Nature sings; why should I then be silent?" He -resolved to be no longer silent but to sing,--about the joyous youthful -spring-time of life, its autumn, and about love to one's native soil. -Then (he said) came the wise man with the frozen heart, took his song, -dissected it and found that it was all nonsense. Thus the song was -killed by "overwiseness." - -It is not easy to say exactly now what John meant by "overwiseness" -in 1870. He probably had simply forebodings of future critics, and -the "wise man" was no other than the reviewer. Then he inveighed -against the wretched mercenary souls who worship the golden calf but -do not love songs. This had no connection with contemporary matters, -for the sixties were remarkable for bad harvests and consequently -for want of gold. The swindles by company-promoters began with the -seventies. But it was the custom of the contemporary poets to attack -money and the golden calf, and therefore John did so in his prologue. -Now began a life of poetic idleness. Every evening they met either in -a restaurant, or in each other's rooms. But the time was not wasted -in view of his future authorship. John could borrow books from the -well-stocked libraries of his friends, and the interchange of opinions -accustomed him to look at literature from different points of view. But -for them real life, public interests, contemporary politics did not -exist; they lived in dreams. Sometimes his lower-class consciousness -awoke, and he asked himself what he had to do among these rich youths. -But he soon stilled these scruples by drink and talk, and encouraged -himself to go forward and demand something of life, for he had in his -companions' opinion a good chance. - -His room was a wretched one; the rain came through the roof, and he had -no proper bed, but only a plank-bed, which in the day-time served as a -sofa. When time hung heavily on his hands and he grew weary of poetical -discussions he looked up his old school-fellow, the natural history -student. There he looked through the microscope, and heard of Darwin -and the new scientific views. His friend gave him well-meant practical -advice and recommended him to get out of his difficulties by writing a -one-act play in verse for the Theatre Royal. - -John objected that his dramatic talent had not scope enough in one act, -and said that he would rather write a tragedy in five. - -"Yes, but it is harder to get that accepted," replied his friend. -Finally he let himself be persuaded and determined to carry out a -small idea he had of a short play based on Thorwaldson's first visit -to Rome. His friend lent him books on Italy and John set to work. In -fourteen days the piece was ready. - -"That will be acted," said his friend. "It has dramatic points, you -see." - -Since it was still a long time to the next meeting of the club, John -hastened in the evening to Thurs and Rejd and read the piece to them. -They were both of the same opinion as the natural history student, -that the piece would be performed. They had a champagne supper, and -kept drinking till the morning, and then went to sleep on the floor of -Rejd's room with the punch-glasses by them. In a couple of hours they -awoke, finished their half-empty glasses at sunrise and went out to -continue the celebration of the occasion. - -The sympathy of John's friends was hearty, unselfish and warm, without -a trace of envy. He always remembered with pleasure this first success -as one of the brightest recollections of his youth. The enthusiastic, -devoted Rejd increased Hohn's debt of gratitude by copying out the -piece in his graceful hand-writing. Then it was sent to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. Spring arrived and they spent the -month of May in a continual carouse. The club had a small room in the -restaurant Lilia Förderfvet for their evening suppers. There they -talked, made speeches, and drank enormously. At last the term ended and -they had to part, but they arranged to meet once more at Stockholm, -and celebrate the festival day of the club by an excursion into the -country. - -At six o'clock one June morning the four members of the club met at -Skeppsholm, where they had hired a rowing-boat. The chest of the club, -a card-board box containing documents, was stowed away with baskets of -provisions and bottles of wine. After Os and Rejd had taken the oars, -they steered the boat to the canal leading through the Zoological -Gardens, in order to reach the place they had appointed, a promontory -of Liding Island. Thurs played airs on the flute to Bellmann's songs, -and Frö (John) accompanied him on a guitar which he had learnt to play -at Upsala. - -As soon as they landed, breakfast was laid in a meadow by the shore. -The club-chest adorned with leaves and flowers was set in the middle -of the table-cloth, and on it were set the brandy-bottles and glasses. -John, who had studied antiquities for his play, _Sinking Hellas_, -arranged the meal in the Greek style, so that they wore garlands, and -ate reclining. A fire was lit between some stones and coffee was made. -At nine o'clock in the morning they drank brandy and punch. - -John read his drama, _The Free-thinker_, which was duly criticised. -Then they gave full course to their eloquence. Thurs was the best -speaker; he could express emotions and thoughts rhythmically. Poems -were read and received with applause. John sang folk-songs to the -accompaniment of his guitar, some on sentimental subjects, and some on -improper ones. At noon they were still in high spirits but inclined to -be sleepy. - -In the afternoon when the sun was over Lilia VÀrtan they had a short -sleep, and then the carouse passed into a new phase. Thurs, the -Israelite, had recited a poem on the greatness of the North, and called -on the old gods of Scandinavia. Ur, the patriot, denied him the right -to appropriate other people's gods. The Jewish question came up; they -took fire and nearly quarrelled, but ended by embracing. - -Then began the sentimental stage. They had to weep, for alcohol has -this effect on the membranes of the stomach and the lachrymal duets. -Ur first felt this and unconsciously sought for a melancholy subject. -He burst into tears. When asked why, he did not know, but said at last -that he had been treated as a buffoon, which he always was. He declared -that he had a very serious nature and that he also had great troubles -which no one knew about, but now he unburdened his heart and told us a -domestic story. After he had done so, he became cheerful again. - -But the evening was long and they began to wish to go home. Their -brains were empty; they were tired of each other, and weary of play -and drinking. They began to reflect and examine the philosophy of -intoxication. From whence do men derive this desire to make themselves -senseless? What lies behind it? Is it the southern exile's longing -for a lost sunny existence in northern lands? There must be some felt -necessity underlying intoxication, for a vice like this would not -have laid hold of all mankind without reason. Is it that the member -of society in a state of intoxication throws away all the lies of -society? For the laws of social intercourse involuntarily forbid one to -speak out all one's thoughts. Otherwise whence comes the saying, _In -vino veritas_? Why did the Greeks honour Bacchus as one who improved -men and manners? Why did Dionysus love peace, and why was he said -to increase riches? Has wine, which is chiefly drunk by men, some -influence on the development of man's intelligence and activity, so -that he becomes superior to woman? And why do the Muhammadans who drink -no wine stand on what is regarded as a lower level of civilisation? -As salt is used as a daily nutrient to replace the salts which their -hunting forefathers found in the blood of beasts of the chase, does not -wine compensate for some lost nutritive matter belonging to earlier -stages, and, if so, which? Some idea or necessity must underlie so -singular a custom. - -Perhaps the need of losing consciousness justifies the axiom of the -pessimists that consciousness is the beginning of suffering. Wine makes -one naive and unconscious as a child; or even as an animal. Is it -the lost paradise which one wishes to recover? But the remorse which -follows it? Remorse and acidity of the stomach have the same symptoms. -Is there then a confusion, and are sensations called "remorse" which -are only heart-burn? Or does the drinker returned to consciousness -regret that he has exposed himself by daylight and betrayed his -secrets? There is something to feel remorse for in that! He is ashamed -that he has been taken by surprise, he feels afraid because he has -exposed himself and given away his weapons. Remorse and fear are close -neighbours. - -Yet once more the members of the club drowned their consciousness in -drink and then got into the boat to proceed home. John and Thurs began -a dispute about Bellmann[3] which lasted till they reached Skeppsholm, -and closed with sharp remarks on both sides. - -John had an old grudge against this poet. Once as a child, he had been -ill for a whole summer, and had by chance taken Bellmann's _Fredman's -Epistles_ out of his father's book-case. The book seemed to him silly, -but he was too young to form a well-grounded opinion on it. Later on, -it sometimes happened that his father sat at the piano, and hummed -Bellmann's songs. The boy found it incomprehensible that his father and -uncle admired them so much. Subsequently one Christmas he saw a violent -controversy break out between his mother and his uncle on the subject -of Bellmann. The latter set the poet above everything--Bible, sermons -and all. There were depths, he said, in Bellmann. Depths indeed! -Probably Atterbom's romanticist one-sided criticism had filtered -through the daily papers to the middle classes. As a school-boy and -student, John had sung "Up, Amaryllis" and other idylls of Bellmann's, -naturally without understanding them or thinking of the meaning of the -words. He sang in a quartette, or choir, for it sounded well. Finally, -in 1867, he read Ljunggren's lectures and a light broke upon him, but -not one of Ljunggren's kindling. He thought the latter mad. Bellmann -was a ballad-singer, that was true, but a great poet, the greatest poet -of the North?--impossible! - -Bellmann had sung his songs composed on the French model for the -Court and his own friends, but not for the common people, who would -not have understood "Amaryllis," "Eol," "The Tritons," "Fröja" and -all the rococo stock-in-trade. He died and was forgotten. Why had -he been disinterred by Atterbom? Because the pugnacious romantic -school required an embodiment of irregularity to set up against the -classicists, as they had nothing of their own to boast of. Thus the -romantic school gained the day; and when one considers how cowardly -most people are in the face of public opinion, and the tendency of the -middle-class to ape its superiors and reverence authority, one ceases -to be surprised at the elevation of Bellmann. Ljunggren and Eichhorn -outstripped Atterbom in finding beauty and genius in his writings they -were reinforced by the clerical element, and thus the idol was set up -for worship. Bystrom, the sculptor, had already magnified the little -lottery-secretary and court-poet into a Dionysus and lent him the -features of an antique bust of Bacchus. - -Bellmann's idylls are careless, extemporised compositions with forced -rhymes, and as disconnected as the thoughts in the brain of a drunkard. -One does not know whether it is day or night, the thunder rolls in the -sunshine, and the weaves beat while the boat is floating calmly on the -waters. They simply provide a text for music, and for that purpose -one might use a book of addresses. The meaning of the words does not -matter, as long as they sound well. - -According to his custom Thurs took the matter personally. It was an -attack on his good taste and on his honour, for John said that his -admiration of Bellmann was mere humbug; that he had read himself into -it, and that it was not genuine. Thurs on the other hand declared John -to be presumptuous, because he wished to criticise the greatest Swedish -poet. - -"Prove that he is the greatest," said John. - -"Tegner and Atterbom say so." - -"That is no proof." - -"Simply because you have a spirit of contradiction." - -"Doubt is the beginning of certainty, and absurd assertions must arouse -opposition in a healthy brain." - -And so on. - -Although there is no such thing as a judgment which holds good -universally, since every judgment is individualistic, there are, on the -other hand, judgments of a majority and of a party. By means of these -John was suppressed and kept silence on the subject of Bellmann for -many years. Only when later on the old historian Fryxell proved that -Bellmann was not the apostle of sobriety which Eichhorn and Ljunggren -had made him out to be, and also no god, but a mediocre ballad-singer, -did John see a gleam of hope that his individual opinion might become -some day the opinion of the majority. But he already saw the question -from another point of view; Sweden would have been neither unhappier -nor worse, if Bellmann had never lived. He would like to have said to -the patriots and democrats, "Bellmann was a poet of Stockholm and of -the Court, who jested very cruelly with poor people." He would like -to have said to the Good Templars who sang Bellmann's songs, "You are -singing drinking songs which were written during fits of intoxication -and celebrate drink." For his own part, John held that Bellmann's -songs were pleasant to sing because of the light French melodies which -accompanied them, and as for their French morality it did not vex him -at all--quite the contrary. But earlier, at the age of twenty-one, he -was vexed by it, for he was an idealist and desired purity in poetry, -just as the surviving idealists and admirers of Bellmann do at the -present time. - -These have used the word "humour" to save themselves and their -morality. But what do they mean by "humour"? Is it jest or earnest? -What is jest? The reluctance of the cowardly to speak out his mind? -Humour reflects the double nature of man,--the indifference of the -natural man to conventional morality, and the Christian's sigh over -immorality which is after all so enticing and seductive. Humour speaks -with two tongues,--one of the satyr, the other of the monk. The -humorist lets the mÊnad loose, but for old unsound reasons thinks that -he ought to flog her with rods. This is a transitional form of humour -which is passing away, and already at the last gasp. The greatest -modern writers have thrown away the rod, and play the hypocrite -no longer, but speak their minds plainly out. The old tippler's -sentimentality can no longer count for "a good heart," for it has been -discovered to be merely bad nerves. - -After arguing till they were weary, the members of the club landed in -Stockholm harbour. - -[1] Boström: Swedish Philosopher (1797-1866). - -[2] _Vide_ the end of _Brand_. - -[3] Famous Swedish poet. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -BOOKS AND THE STAGE - - -The history of the development of a soul can be sometimes written by -giving a simple bibliography; for a man who lives in a narrow circle -and never meets great men personally, seeks to make their acquaintance -through books. The fact that the same books do not make the same -impression, nor have the same effect upon all, shows their relative -powerlessness to convert anybody. For example, we call the criticism -with which we agree good; the criticism which contradicts our views is -bad. Thus we seem to be educated with preconceived views, and the book -which strengthens, expresses and develops these makes an impression -on us. The danger of a one-sided education through books is that most -books, especially those composed at the end of an era, and at the -university, are antiquated. The youth who has received old ideals from -his parents and teachers is accordingly necessarily out of date before -his education is completed. When he enters manhood, he is generally -obliged to fling away his whole stock of old ideas, and be born again, -as it were. Time has gone by him, while he was reading the old books, -and he finds himself a stranger among his contemporaries. - -John had spent his youth in accumulating antiquarian lore. He knew all -about Marathon and Cannae, the war of the Spanish succession and the -Thirty Years' War, the Middle Ages and antiquity; but when the war -between France and Germany broke out, he did not know the cause of it. -He read about it as he would have read a play, and was interested to -see what the result of it would be. - -In Kristineberg, where he spent the summer with his parents, he lay -out on the grass in the park and read OehlenschlÀger. For his degree -examination, he had, besides his chief subject--Êsthetics,--to -choose a special one, and, enticed by Dietrichson's lectures, he had -chosen Danish literature. In OehlenschlÀger he had found the summit -of Northern poetry. That was for him the quintessence of poetry,--the -directness which he admired perhaps for the very reason that he had -not got it. The Danish language perhaps also contributed to this -result; it seemed to him an idealised Swedish, and sounded like his -mother-speech from the lips of a woman worshipped from afar. When he -read OehlenschlÀger's _Helge_, Tegner's _Frithiof's Saga_ seemed to him -petty; he found it unwieldy, prosaic, clerical, unpoetic. - -OehlenschlÀger's dramas were a book which had an influence on John by -way of a supplementary contrast. Perhaps the romantic element in them -found an echo in the youth's mind, which had now awoken* to poetic -activity, and looked upon poetry and romance as identical. Other -contributory circumstances were his liking for Norse antiquities which -OehlenschlÀger had just discovered, and the unrequited love he had -just then for a blond maiden who was engaged to a lieutenant. But the -impression made by OehlenschlÀger was only fleeting, and hardly lasted -a year; it was a light spring breeze which passed by. - -It fared worse with John's study of Êsthetics as expounded by -Ljunggren in two closely printed volumes, containing the views of all -philosophers on the Beautiful, but giving no satisfactory definition of -it. - -John had studied the antique in the National Museum, and asked himself -how the pot-house scenes of the Dutch genre painters which, when -they occurred in reality, were called ugly, could be reckoned among -beautiful pictures, although they were in no way idealised. To this the -Êsthetic philosophers gave no answer. They shirked the question and -set up one theory after another, but the only excuse they could find -for the admission of ugliness was that it acted as a foil, and provided -a comic element. But a strong suspicion had been aroused in John that -the "Beautiful" was not always beautiful. - -Furthermore, he was troubled by doubts whether it was possible to -have independent standards of taste. In the newly-founded paper, the -_Schwedische Zeitschrift_, he had read discussions about works of -art, and seen how disputants on both sides defended their position -with equally strong arguments. One sought beauty in form, another in -subject, and a third in the harmony between the two. Accordingly a -well-painted subject from still life can rank higher than the Niobe, -for this group of statuary is not beautiful in its outlines, the -arrangement of the drapery of the principal figure being especially -tasteless although the judgment of the majority regards the work as -sublime. Therefore the sublime does not necessarily consist in beauty -of form. - -Victor Hugo's romances had found a fertile soil in John's mind. The -revolt against society; the reverence paid to Nature by the poet living -on a lonely island; the scorn for the ever-prevalent stupidity; the -indignation against formal religion and the enthusiasm for God as the -Creator of all,--all that was germinating in the young man's mind began -to grow, but was stifled by the autumn leaf-drifts of old books. - -John's life in the domestic circle was now a quiet one. The storms -had subsided; his brothers and sisters were grown up. His father, who -still always sat over his account-ledgers, calculating the ways and -means of providing for his flock of children, had become older, and -now perceived that John was also older. They often discussed together -topics of common interest. As regards the Franco-German War they were -both fairly neutral. As Latinised Teutons they did not love the German. -They hated and feared him as a sort of uncle with a right of seniority -against the Swedes, and they did not forget that victorious Prussia had -once been a Swedish province. The Swede had become more French than he -was aware, and now he felt conscious of his relationship to _la grande -nation_. In the evenings when they sat in the garden and the noise of -traffic had ceased, they heard the singing of the Marseillaise from -Blanch's café, and the hurrahs which were soon to be silent. - -In August, when the theatres re-opened, John received the long-desired -news that his play had been accepted for the stage. That was the first -intoxicating success which he had experienced. To have a play accepted -at the Theatre Royal when he was only twenty-one was sufficient -compensation for all his misfortunes. His words would reach the public -from the first stage in the land; his failure as an actor would be -forgotten; his father would see that his son amid all his notorious -fluctuations had chosen right, and all would be well. In autumn, before -the university term began, the piece was performed. It was naive, -pious and full of reverence for art, but had one dramatic scene which -saved it in spite of its slightness--Thorwaldsen about to shatter -the statue of Jason with his hammer. But on the other hand the piece -contained a presumptuous outburst against contemporary rhymers. What -was the author's intention in that? How could a beginner who had so -many forced rhymes himself, cast a stone at another? It was a piece -of temerity which found its own punishment. John stole to the bottom -of the third row of seats to view the performance of his piece from a -standing position. Rejd was already there before him and the curtain -was up. John felt as though he stood under an electric machine. Every -nerve quivered, his legs shook, and his tears ran the whole time from -pure nervousness. Rejd had to hold his hand in order to quiet him. -Now and then there was applause, but John knew that it was mostly from -his relatives and friends, and did not let himself be deceived. Every -stupidity which had inadvertently escaped him now jarred on his ear, -and made him quiver; he saw nothing but crudeness in the piece; he felt -so ashamed that his ears burned; before the curtain fell he rushed away -out into the dark market-place. - -He felt as though annihilated. The attack on the priests was stupid and -unjust; the glorification of poverty and pride seemed to him false, his -description of the relationship between father and son was cynical. How -could he have shown off in this absurd way? It seemed to him as though -he had exposed his nakedness, and shame overpowered every other feeling. - -On the other hand he found the actors good; the _mise en scÚne_ was -more appropriate than he had expected. Everything was good except the -piece itself. He wandered down to the Norrstrom, and felt inclined -to drown himself. What most annoyed him was that he had so openly -exhibited his feelings. Whence came that? And why should one in general -be ashamed of such exhibitions? Why are the feelings so sacred? Perhaps -because the feelings in general are false, as they only express a -physical sensation, in which personality of the individual does not -fully participate. If it is really so, then John was ashamed as an -ordinary man, to have been untruthful in his writing and to have worn -disguise. - -To be moved at the sight of human suffering is regarded as a mark of -fine feeling and meritorious, but it is said to be only a natural -reflex-movement. One involuntarily transfers the sufferings of the -other to oneself and suffers for one's own sake. Another's tears could -bring one to weep just as another's yawning could make one yawn. That -was all. John felt ashamed that he had lied and caught himself in the -act, though the public had not caught him. - -No one is such a merciless critic as a dramatist who sees his own play -acted. He lets no single word pass through his sieve. He does not lay -the blame on the actors, but generally admires them for rendering his -stupidities with such taste. John found his play stupid. It had lain -by for half a year, and perhaps he had outgrown it. Another piece was -performed after it which lasted for two hours. During the whole time -he wandered about the streets in the darkness, feeling ashamed of -himself. He had made an appointment to drink a glass with some friends -and relatives after the performance in the HÃŽtel du Nord, but remained -away. He saw they were looking for him but did not wish to meet them. -So they went in again to see the second play. At last it was over. The -spectators streamed out and dispersed through the streets. He hastened -away in order not to hear their comments. - -At last he saw a single group standing under the portico of the -dramatic theatre. They were looking out in all directions and called -him. Finally he came forward as pale and melancholy as a corpse. - -They congratulated him on his success. The play had been applauded and -was very good. They repeated to him the verdicts of other spectators -and quieted him. Then they dragged him to a restaurant and compelled -him to eat and drink. "That will do you good, you old death's-head!" -said a shop-assistant. John was soon pulled down from his imaginative -flight. "What have you got to be melancholy for," he was asked, "when -you have had a play acted by the Theatre Royal?" He could not tell -them. His boldest ambition was fulfilled; but it was probably not -what he wanted. The thought that in any case it was an honour did not -comfort him. - -The next morning he went into a shop, and bought the morning paper -and read a criticism to the effect that the piece was written in -choice language, and (since it was anonymous) probably by a well-known -art-critic who had moved among artistic circles at Rome. That was -pleasant and cheered his spirits. - -At noon he started for Upsala. His father had engaged a room for him -in a boarding-house, kept by the widow of a clergyman, that he might -complete his studies under proper supervision. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -TORN TO PIECES - - -John's entrance into the boarding-house secured for him intercourse -with a large and varied circle,--perhaps too varied. There were -students of all ages, of all subjects, and from all districts, from -clergymen who were reading for their last examination to young medical -and law students. There were also ladies in the house, and John was -for the eighth time in love. Again the object of his affections -was unattainable, being engaged to another. The variety of this -social intercourse overloaded his brain with impressions from all -circles; his personality became relaxed and distracted through the -self-adaptation and compromises with other people's views which are -necessary in society. Besides this a great deal of drinking went on -nearly every evening. On one of the first days after his arrival -appeared a criticism of his play in one of the evening papers. It was -very sharp but just, and therefore hit John hard. He felt stripped -and seen through. The critic said that the author had concealed his -insignificant personality behind a great name--Thorwaldsen--but -that the disguise did not avail him and so on. John felt altogether -bankrupt. In such cases one tries to defend oneself, and he compared -his own with other bad plays, which the same severe critic had -praised. He felt treated unjustly, and indeed when compared with others -it was so, but not when he was regarded by himself alone. The fact that -the critic was worse did not make his piece better. - -John became shy and averse to company. This was increased by the -students' club starting a paper in which they made merry over him and -his play. He fancied he saw grimaces and contempt everywhere, and went -preferably by back streets on his walks. - -Then there came a yet severer blow. A friend had, on his own account, -published one of John's first plays,--the _Free-thinker_. While he was -spending an evening with Rejd an acquaintance brought in the hated -evening paper. It contained a scathing article on the play, which was -mocked at and cut to pieces. John was obliged to read the article in -the presence of his friends. He had, against his will, to admit that -the critic was not unjust, but it upset him terribly. - -Why is it so hard to hear the truth from others, while at the same -time one can be so severe against oneself? Probably because the social -masquerade in which we all take part makes every one fear being -unmasked, probably also because responsibility and unpleasantness are -involved in it. One feels oneself overreached and cheated. The critic -who sits at ease and unmasks others would feel himself equally scourged -and exposed if his secrets were betrayed. Social life is honeycombed -with falsity, but who likes to be discovered? That is why at times of -solitude, when the past rises up unescapably, we do not feel remorse -for our faults, but for our follies and necessary cruelties. Mistakes -were necessary and had some use, but follies were merely injurious and -should have been avoided. It is for this reason that men pay greater -honour to intelligence than to morality, for the former is a reality, -the latter an idea. - -Meanwhile John felt the same pains which he imagined a criminal must -feel. He felt impelled to obliterate as soon as possible the impression -made by his stupidity. But he felt also that a kind of injustice -had been done him since he had been criticised simply and solely as -a writer, although his production was a year old, and he himself, -therefore, maturer than it, by a year. But it was not the fault of the -critic that there was an incongruity between the criticism and the -_corpus delicti_. - -He began to compose another tragedy, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_. -This was intended to deal with Christendom in artistic form, and to -handle the same problem and the same questions as his former play. By -"artistic form" at that period was meant the laying of the scene of -the play in a past epoch. John wrote the piece under the influence of -OehlenschlÀger and the Icelandic sagas which he had lately read in the -original. - -He had, however, a severe struggle with his conscience, for his father -had exacted a promise from him not to write for the stage till he had -passed his examination. It was, therefore, an act of deceit to take -help from his father and not to fulfil the conditions on which it was -granted. But he silenced his scruples by saying to himself, "Father -will be pleased enough if I have a speedy and great success." In that -he was not far wrong. - -But another element now entered into his life, and had a decided -influence both on his views of things and his work. This was his -acquaintance with two men,--an author and a remarkable personality. -Unfortunately they were both abnormal and therefore had only a -disturbing effect upon his development. - -The author was Kierkegaard,[1] whose book, _Either--Or_, John had -borrowed from a member of the Song Club, and read with fear and -trembling. His friends had also read it as a work of genius, had -admired the style, but not been specialty influenced by it,--a proof -that books have little effect, when they do not find readers in -sympathy with the author. But upon John the book made the impression -intended by the author. He read the first part containing "The -Confessions of an Ãsthete." He felt sometimes carried away by it, but -always had an uncomfortable feeling as though present at a sick-bed. -The perusal of the first part left a feeling of emptiness and despair -behind it. The book agitated him. "The Diary of a Seducer" he regarded -as the fancies of an unclean imagination. Things were not like that in -real life. Moreover John was no sybarite, but on the contrary inclined -to asceticism and self-torment. Such egotistic sensuality as that of -the hero of Kierkegaard's work was absurd because the suffering he -caused by the satisfaction of his desires necessarily involved him in -suffering and, therefore, defeated his object. - -The second part of the work containing the philosopher's "Discourse on -Life as a Duty," made a deeper impression on John. It showed him that -he himself was an "Êsthete" who had conceived of authorship as a form -of enjoyment. Kierkegaard said that it should be regarded as a calling. -Why? The proof was wanting, and John, who did not know that Kierkegaard -was a Christian, but thought the contrary, not having seen his -_Edifying Discourses_, imbibed unaware the Christian system of ethics -with its doctrine of self-sacrifice and duty Along with these the idea -of sin returned. Enjoyment was a sin, and one had to do one's duty. -Why? Was it for the sake of society to which one was under obligations? -No! merely because it was duty. That was simply Kant's categorical -imperative. When he reached the end of the work _Either--Or_ and found -the moral philosopher also in despair, and that all this teaching about -duty had only produced a Philistine, he felt broken in two. "Then," he -thought, "better be an Êsthete." But one cannot be an Êsthete if one -has been a Christian for five-sixths of one's life, and one cannot be -moral without Christ. Thus he was tossed to and fro like a ball between -the two, and ended in sheer despair. - -Had he now read Kierkegaard's discourses, he might possibly have -come a step nearer to Christianity--possibly--for it is difficult to -decide that now, but to receive Christianity again seemed to him like -replacing a tooth which had been torn out, and joyfully thrown into the -fire, along with the accompanying toothache. It was also possible that -if he had known that the book _Either--Or_ was intended to scourge one -to the Cross he might have thrown it away as a jesuitical writing and -been saved from his embarrassment. All that he felt now, however, was -a terrible discord. He had to choose and make the jump between ethics -and Êsthetics, but choose how? and jump whither? He could not jump -out in space to embrace a paradox or Christ,--that would have been -self-destruction or madness. But Kierkegaard preached madness? Was -it the despair of the over-self-conscious at finding himself always -self-conscious? Was it the longing of one who sees too deeply for the -unconsciousness of intoxication? - -John knew well what the battle between his own will and the will of -others meant. He had given his father trouble enough when he crossed -his plans; but the trouble was mutual; the whole of life consisted of -a web of wills crossing one another. The death of one was life-breath -to another; no one could gain an advantage without hurting the one -he passed by. Life was a perpetual interchange and struggle between -pleasure and pain. His sensuality or desire for enjoyment had not -injured others nor caused them trouble. He had never seduced the -innocent, and had never enjoyed himself without paying the price. He -was moral from habit; from instinct, from fear of the consequences, -from good taste or from education, but the very fact that he did -not feel himself immoral, was a defect and a sin. After reading -_Either--Or_ he felt sinful. The categorical imperative stole on him -under a Latin name and without a cross on its back, and he let himself -be beguiled by it. He did not see that it was a two-thousand-years-old -Christianity in disguise. - -Kierkegaard would not have made so deep an impression on him, if a -number of concurrent circumstances had not contributed to that result. -In the letters of the Êsthete, Kierkegaard expounded suffering as -enjoyment. John suffered from public contumely; he suffered from his -hard work; he suffered from unrequited affection; he suffered from -unsatisfied desires; he suffered from drink, for he was intoxicated -nearly every evening; he suffered as an artist from mental struggles -and doubts; he suffered from the ugly scenery of Upsala; he suffered -from the discomfort of his rooms; he suffered from examination-books; -he suffered from a bad conscience because he did not study but wrote -plays. But something else lay at the bottom of all this. He had been -brought up to fulfil hard tasks and duties. Now he lived well amid ease -and enjoyment. Study was an enjoyment; authorship, in spite of all its -pains, was a wonderful enjoyment; the life with his comrades was sheer -festivity and jollity. But his plebeian consciousness awoke and told -him that it was not right to enjoy while others worked; _his_ work was -an enjoyment, for it brought him a good deal of honour, and perhaps -money. This accounted for his persistently uneasy conscience which -persecuted him without a cause. Was it that he felt already the signs -of this awakening consciousness of tremendous guilt as regards the -lower classes, the slaves who toiled, while he enjoyed? Did he already -have a foreboding of that sense of justice, which in our days has laid -so strong a hold on many of the upper classes that they have restored -capital which was not quite honestly earned, have expended time and -toil for the liberation of the lower classes, and have worked from -impulse and instinct against their own interests, in order to do right? -Possibly. - -But Kierkegaard was not the man to resolve the discord. It was reserved -for the evolutionary philosophers to make peace between passion and -reason, between enjoyment and duty. They cancelled the deceptive -_Either_--_Or_, and substituted _Both--And,_ giving both flesh and -spirit their due. The real significance of Kierkegaard became clear -to John many years later. Then he saw in him the simple pietist, the -ultra-Christian who wished to realise in modern society oriental ideals -of two thousand years ago. But Kierkegaard was right in one point: if -we were to have Christianity, we ought to have it thoroughly; but his -_Either--Or_ was only valid for the priests of the church who called -themselves Christians. - -Kierkegaard saw no further, and from him who wrote his book in 1843, -and had a clerical education, one could not expect that he should say: -"Either a Christianity like this, or none!" In that case people would -probably have chosen none. Instead of that Kierkegaard said: "Whether -you are Êsthetical or ethical you must cast yourself into the arms -of Christ." His mistake was to oppose ethics and Êsthetics to each -other, for they can go very well together. But John did not succeed -in harmonising them till, after endless struggles, at the age of -thirty-seven, he attempted a compromise when he discovered that work -and duty are forms of enjoyment, and that enjoyment itself, well-used, -is a duty. - -But at that time, the book weighed on him like a nightmare. He was -angry when his friends wished to regard it as mere literature. He was -not pacified by their regarding it superior in richness, depth and -style to Goethe's _Faust_, which it certainly did surpass by far. John -could not at that time understand that the pillar-saint Kierkegaard had -himself known what enjoyment was when he wrote the first part, and that -the seducer and Don Juan were the author himself, who satisfied his -desires in imagination. No, he thought it was poetry. - -John had been already predisposed to receive Kierkegaard's influence, -and now came the other acquaintance, which would not have played a -great rÃŽle in his life if circumstances had not prepared him for -that also. His companions merely regarded the person in question as -ludicrous. - -It came about in the following way. Thurs the Jew came one day and told -John that he had made the acquaintance of a genius who wished to join -their Song Club. - -"Ah, a genius!" - -None of the members of the club believed that they were geniuses, not -even John, and it is doubtful whether any poet has really believed -or felt that he was one. One can, when one makes comparisons, find -that one has produced better work than others, and a clever man -will naturally feel that he understands better than others, but -genius,--that is something else. This title is not generally bestowed -on any one till after death and is now dropping out of common use, -since the secret of the evolution of genius has been discovered. - -The novelty aroused attention, and the stranger was elected to the -club under the name of Is. He was not a poet, they were told, but very -learned and a powerful critic. - -One evening when the club-meeting was at Thurs' rooms he came--a -little thin person, without an overcoat, dressed like a labourer on -his holiday. His clothes looked as though they were borrowed, for -their elbows and knees were not in the right places. John, who used -to succeed to his elder brother's clothes, noticed this at once. In -his hand he held a dirty beer-soup-coloured hat, such as is only worn -by organ-grinders. His face looked like that of a southern rat-trap -seller. His black hair hung on his shoulders and a black beard fell on -his breast. - -"Is it possible?" they asked themselves. "Can he be a student?" He -looked forty, but was only thirty. He stood with his hat in his hand -at the door like a beggar, and hardly ventured to come forward. After -Thurs had drawn him into the room and introduced him, the meeting was -declared open. Is began to speak and they listened. His voice was like -a woman's and sank sometimes, without apology, to a whisper, as though -the speaker demanded perfect silence or spoke for his own satisfaction. -It would be difficult to repeat what he spoke of, for his speech ranged -over everything that he had read, and since he had read for ten years -more than the youths of twenty, they found his learning wonderful. - -After that, another member of the club read a poem. Is had to deliver -an opinion on it. He began with Kant, quoted Schopenhauer and -Thackeray, and finished with a lecture on George Sand. No one noticed -that he said nothing about the poem. - -Then they went into a restaurant to eat. Is talked philosophy, -Êsthetics and history. He spoke sometimes with a melancholy expression -in his dark unfathomable eyes, which never rested on those present, as -though he sought an unseen audience far in the distance, in unknown -space. The club listened reverently with absorbed attention. - -John was to hear this man's opinion on his work. He, as well as one of -the most poetical members of the club, began to have serious doubts as -to their vocation. Often, when they had drunk a good deal, they asked -whether they still believed--meaning whether each thought the Other -called to be a poet. It was just the same sort of doubt which John had -felt when he had wondered whether he was a child of God. Is was to -read John's drama, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_, and to give his -opinion. - -One morning John went up to his room to hear his verdict. Is spoke -till noon. About what? About everything. But he had now taken hold of -John's soul. Through conversations with Thurs, he know which strings to -pull, and did so, as he chose. He burrowed in John's mind, not out of -sympathy, but from a spider-like curiosity. He did not speak directly -of John's play but suggested the plan of a new one after his own ideas. -He had the effect of a mesmeriser, and John was magnetised. But he -felt in a state of despair when he left him, as though his friend had -taken his soul, picked it to pieces and thrown them away after he had -satisfied his curiosity. - -But John came again, sat on the wise man's sofa, listened to his words -as though they were an oracle, and felt himself completely under his -power. Sometimes he thought it was a ghost who walked on the carpet -when his body disappeared in clouds of tobacco-smoke. The man exercised -what is called a "demonic" influence, _i.e_. inexplicable at first -sight. He had no blood in his veins, no feelings, no will, no desires. -He was a talking head. His standpoint was nothing and all at the same -time. He was a decoction of books, and the type of a book-worm who had -never lived. - -Often when the other members of the club were alone, they talked -about Is. Thurs was already tired of him and wondered whether he -had committed some crime, for he seemed driven about by a constant -restlessness. Then it was reported that he was a poet, but never would -show his poems, for he had such a high idea of the poetic art. They -also wondered why no one ever saw a book in the learned man's rooms. -It was also strange that he should seek the company of these youths, -to whom he was so superior, and whose poetry he must despise. They who -were themselves in the full bloom of romanticism did not detect the -anÊmic romantic who had lost his footing on firm ground. They did not -see in his long hair and shabby hat the copy of Murger's Bohemian; they -did not know that this dilapidated condition was a Parisian fashion; -that this hollow wisdom was a web woven out of German metaphysics; that -this experimental psychology was derived from a peep into Kierkegaard; -and that that interesting air of hinting at uncommitted crimes and -secret griefs was Byronic in origin. All this they did not understand. -Therefore Is could play with John's soul and catch him in his snare. -Yes, John was so thoroughly taken by him that in a speech he called -himself Gamaliel, who sat at Paul's Is's feet to learn wisdom. - -The upshot of it all was that Julm, one fine evening, burnt his new -play. It was the work of three months which went up in flames. As he -collected the ashes, he wept. Is, without saying so directly, had shown -him that he was no poet. So everything was a mistake, this also! Then -he felt in despair, because he had deceived his father and could take -no work home to justify his neglect of his wishes. In a fit of remorse, -and in order to be able to point to some definite result, he entered -his name for the written examination in Latin, without, however, having -written any of the requisite preliminary exercises or essays. The Latin -professor saw his name in the list and did not know it. One Sunday -evening, when John had returned to his rooms in good spirits after a -supper, the university bedell appeared to summon him. John went boldly -to the professor and asked what he wanted. - -"You wish to take the written examination in Latin?" - -"Yes." - -"But I do not see your name on my list." - -"I entered myself before for the medical examination." - -"That has nothing to do with this. You must go by the rules." - -"I know no rules about the three essays." - -"I think you are impertinent, sir." - -"It may seem so----" - -"Out with you, sir!--or----" - -The door was opened, and John was ejected. He swore to himself he -would still go up for the written examination, but the next morning he -overslept himself. - -So even that last straw failed. - -Shortly afterwards one morning a friend came and woke him. - -"Do you know that W. is dead?" (W. sat at the same table in the -boarding-house.) - -"No!" - -"Yes! he has cut his throat." - -John started up, dressed himself, and hurried with his friend to the -Jernbrogatan where W. lived. They rushed up the stairs and came to a -dark attic. - -"Is it here?" - -"No, here!" - -John felt for a door; the door gave way and fell upon him. At the same -moment he saw a pool of blood on the ground. He turned round, let go -of the door, and was at the bottom of the stairs before the door fell -on the ground. This scene shook him terribly and woke his memory. Some -days previously John had gone into the Carolina Park to work at his -play in solitude. W. came up, greeted him, and asked whether he might -bear him company or whether he disturbed him. John answered sincerely -that he did disturb him, and W. went away with a melancholy air. Was -it a case of a lonely drowning man who sought a companion and was -repulsed? John felt almost guilty of his death. But he was not intended -for a comforter. Now the dead man seemed to haunt him; he dared not go -to his room, but slept with his friend. One night he slept with Rejd. -The latter had to keep a light burning and was woken several times in -the night by John, who could not sleep. - -One day Rejd found John with a bottle of prussic acid. He apparently -approved the idea of suicide, but first asked him to take a farewell -drink with him. They went to the restaurant and ordered eight glasses -of whisky, which were brought in on a tray. Each of them drank four -glasses in four pulls, with the desired result that John became dead -drunk. He was carried home, but since the house door was locked, he was -carried over an empty piece of ground and thrown over a fence. There he -remained lying in a snow-drift, till he recovered his senses, and crept -up into his room. - -The last night which he spent in Upsala some days later he slept on a -sofa in Thurs' rooms; his friends kept watch over him, and the room -was lighted up. They watched good-naturedly till morning, then they -accompanied him to the station, and put him in the coupé. When the -train had passed Bergsbrunna, John breathed again. He felt as though -he had left something dreadful and weird, like a northern winter night -with thirty degrees of cold, behind him, and registered a vow never -again to settle in this town, where men's souls, banished from life and -society, grew rotten from over-production of thought, were corroded -by stagnant waters which had no outlet, and took fire like millstones -which revolved without having anything to grind. - - -[1] Danish theologian. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IDEALISM AND REALISM - -(1871) - - -When John again reached his parents' house, he felt himself in shelter -like one who has reached land after a stormy sea-passage by night. -Again he had quiet nights in his old tent-bed in the brothers' room. -Here were quiet patient men, who came and went, worked and slept at -stated times without being disturbed by dreams or ambitious designs. -His sisters had grown up into young women and managed the house. All -were at work with the exception of himself. When he compared his -irregular, dissipated life, which knew no rest or peace, with theirs, -he considered them happier and better than himself. They took life -seriously, went about their work and fulfilled their duties without -noise or boasting. - -John now looked up his old acquaintances among the tradespeople, -clerks, and sea-captains, and found intercourse with them novel and -refreshing. They led his thoughts back to reality and he felt firm -ground once more under his feet. At the same time he began to despise -false ideality, and saw that it was vulgar of the students to look down -on the "Philistines." - -He now confessed quite simply and openly to his father, but without -remorse, the wretched life he had led at Upsala, and begged him to let -him stay at home and prepare for his examination there,--otherwise he -would be lost. His father granted permission, and now John prepared his -plan of campaign for the spring term. In the first place he meant to -take lessons in Latin composition with a good teacher in Stockholm, and -then go up in spring, and pass the examination. Furthermore he would -write his disquisition for a certificate in Êsthetics and prepare for -the examination in that subject. With these resolutions he began a -quiet and industrious manner of life with the new year. - -But the failure of his play the _Free-thinker_ still weighed upon his -mind, and the questions of his friends as to whether they should soon -see something new from him, stirred him up to re-write, in the form -of a one-act play, the drama he had burnt. He finished it, and then -continued his studies. - -Shortly before April he wrote a test-composition for his teacher, who -declared that he would pass. His father did not disapprove of his plan -when he heard that John felt quite confident, but he suggested that it -would be more practical if he conformed to custom and wrote exercises -for the Upsala professor. "No," said John, "it was now a question of -principle and a matter of honour." So he went to Upsala. - -He called on the professor on his at-home day and waited till his turn -for an interview. When the latter saw him, he grew red in the face and -asked: - -"Are you here again?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you want?" - -"I want to go in for the Latin Composition examination." - -"Without having written a test-composition?" - -"I have done that in Stockholm--and I only want to ask whether the -statutes allow me to go up for the examination." - -"The statutes? Ask the dean about that; I only know what I require." - -John went straight to the dean, who was a young, lively and sympathetic -man. John made known his purpose and described what had passed. - -"Yes," said the dean, "the statutes say nothing about the matter, but -old P. can pluck you without their help." - -"Well, we shall see. Will you allow me, Mr. Dean, to go up for the -written examination, that is the question?" - -"Yes, I can't refuse that. You mean then to have your own way?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Arc you so sure about the matter?" - -"Yes." - -"Very well! Good luck to you!" said the Dean, and clapped him on the -shoulder. - -So John went up for the examination and after a week received a -telegram to say that he had passed. Some ascribed this result to -the professor's generosity and disapproved of John's rebellious -procedure; but John considered his success due to his own diligence -and knowledge, although he could not deny that the professor had acted -honourably in not plucking him when he had the power to do so. - -The examination in Êsthetics was fixed for May. Contrary to all usage -John sent his disquisition by post to Upsala with the written request -that he might stand for the examination. - -His essay was entitled "Hakon Jarl," and treated of Idealism and -Realism. Its object was firstly to convince the professor that -the writer was well-read in Êsthetics and particularly in Danish -literature, and secondly, to clear up to the writer himself his own -point of view. The essay, in imitation of Kierkegaard, was in the form -of a correspondence between A and B, criticising OehlenschlÀger's -_Hakon Jarl_ and Kierkegaard's _Either--Or_. - -At the appointed time John appeared before the professor, who had -the reputation of being liberal-minded, but felt at once that he had -no sympathy with him. With an almost contemptuous air the professor -handed him back his essay and declared that it was best suited for the -female readers of the _Illustrated News_. He further stated that Danish -literature was not a subject of sufficient importance to be taken up as -a special branch of study. - -John felt annoyed, and asserted that Danish literature had greater -interest for Sweden than Boileau and Malesherbes, for example, on whom -students wrote essays. - -His examination then began and took the form of a violent argument. -It was continued in the afternoon and ended by the professor giving -him a certificate which was not so good as he had hoped, and telling -him that university studies could only be properly carried on at the -university. John replied that Êsthetic studies could be best carried -on at Stockholm where one had the National Museum, Library, Theatre, -Academy of Music and Artists. - -"No," said the professor, "that is nonsense; one ought to study here." - -John let fall some remarks on college lectures, and they parted, not as -particularly good friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A KING'S PROTÃGà - -(1871) - - -During the whole of this time, John had been on pleasant terms with his -father, and the old man had shown himself to a certain extent willing -to be educated, but his tactless pride sometimes broke out and annoyed -John. The latter, who was now continually at home, spent many evening -hours with the old man in conversations on all sorts of subjects, and -finally on religion. One day John spoke for half-an-hour about Theodore -Parker, so that his father at last expressed a wish to read some of -him. He kept the book for several days, but said nothing, and John -found it again in his room. His father was too proud to acknowledge -that he liked the book, but John learned through one of his brothers -that he was especially delighted with the famous sermon "On Old Age." - -In the matter of John's opposition to the professor, his father -vacillated. His opinion was that right was always right, but he did -not like the disrespectful way in which John spoke of the professor. -Meanwhile John saw that he had won the game and that his father had a -lively interest in his success. - -But one day in spring John went into the country, telling the servant -that he would be absent for the day. When he returned the next morning -he had an unpleasant reception. - -"You go away without telling me?" - -"I told the servant." - -"I require you to ask permission of me as long as you eat my bread." - -"Ask permission! What nonsense!" - -John departed, borrowed three hundred kronas from a friendly tradesman, -and then with three of his club associates went to one of the islands -near Stockholm, where they hired rooms in a fisher's house at a rent -of thirty kronas per month. No one tried to stop him, and probably -this crisis was occasioned by the fact that John was exercising a -perceptible influence on his father, brothers and sisters in matters -concerning domestic arrangements. The mistress of the house feared that -the power would be taken out of her hands. - -He spent the summer in strenuously working for his examination, for -he had now no hope of receiving further supplies from home. It was -a healthy and ascetic life with innocent amusements. He went about -in dressing-gown, drawers and sea-boots, and the toilette of his -companions was still more scanty. They bathed, sailed, fenced, and -John gave himself over increasingly to a process of decivilisation. -There were almost always spirituous liquors on the table, and John -feared them, for they made him mad. But to this asceticism and industry -succeeded a desire to make converts of others, and a great amount of -self-satisfaction. The latter is always the case, whether the ascetic -feels that in this respect he is better than others, or whether he -makes the sacrifice in order to feel himself better. Therefore he -preached to one brother who drank, and moralised over the others who -did not work, but went to Dalarö to dance or to feast. Kierkegaard's -influence was strong upon him; he wished to be moral, and thundered -against Êstheticism. - -He now studied philology, and went through Dante, Shakespeare and -Goethe. The last he hated because he was an Êsthete. Behind all, like -a dark background, was the breach with his father. After their life -together during the last winter, he saw him as it were transfigured, -justified him with respect to all that had happened in the past, and -had forgotten all the petty troubles of his childhood. He missed most -of all his brothers and sisters, especially his sisters whom he -had really learnt to know. Toiling with a lexicon and investigating -roots of words had become painful to him, but he enjoyed this pain, -and disciplined his imagination by hard work, looking upon it as his -professional duty. - -Towards the end of the summer he was wild and shy. The clothes, winch -he rummaged out again, were too tight, his collar, which he had not -worn for months, tormented him as though it had been of iron, and his -shoes pinched him. Everything seemed to him constrained, conventional -and unnatural. Once he had been enticed to an evening party at Dalarö -but had immediately returned. He was shy and could not bear frivolity -and laughter. This time it was not the consciousness of belonging -to the lower classes, for he had ceased to regard himself as one of -them. Meanwhile the ascetic life he had been leading increased his -will-power and his activity. When the next term at Upsala commenced, -he took his travelling-bag and journeyed thither, without having more -than a krona to call his own, and without knowing where he would find a -room and something to eat. On his arrival he took up his quarters with -Rejd, and set about working. The first evening, feeling half famished, -he looked up Is, who had remained the whole summer alone in Upsala -and seemed more melancholy than usual. His appearance was that of a -shadow, and solitude had made him still more morbid. He went out with -John and invited him to supper at a restaurant. He spoke in his usual -style and mangled his prey, who, on the other hand, defended himself, -struck back, and attacked the Êsthete. Is contemplated his hungry -companion while he ate, and intoxicated himself with the brandy-bottle. -He adopted a maternal air and offered to lend John money. The latter -was touched, thanked him, and borrowed about ten kronas, for, since he -believed he had a future before him, he borrowed without fear. Finally -Is became drunk and raved. He changed his attitude, called John an -egoist, and reproached him for having taken the ten kronas. - -To be suspected of egotism was the worst thing John knew, for Christ -had taught him that the "ego" must be crucified. His individuality had -grown since it had been freed from pressure and attained publicity. -Conspicuous persons obtain a greater individuality through the -attention they receive, or they attract attention for the simple reason -that they have a greater individuality. John felt that he was working -in the right way for his future; he pressed forward with energy and -will and the help of many friends, but not as a charlatan or schemer. -But Is's accusation struck him in the face, as it must all men who -have an "ego." He wished to return the money, but Is drew himself up -proudly, played the "gentleman" and continued to romance. It struck -John that this idealist was a mean fellow who behaved in this fantastic -way in order to conceal his vexation at the temporary loss of the ten -kronas. - -Now the students returned for the term, and all of them with money. -John wandered about with his travelling-bag and his books, and -discovered how soon a welcome is worn out when one lies upon somebody -else's sofa. He borrowed money to hire a room with. It was a real -rats' nest with a camp-bed without sheets or cushions. No candlestick, -nothing. But he lay in bed in his under-clothes and read by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle. His friends here and there provided him -with meals. But then came the winter. He used to go out after dark and -buy a quantity of wood, which he carried home in his bag. A scientific -friend taught him how to make a charcoal fire. Moreover, the shaft of -a chimney passed through his room and was warm every washing-day. He -stood beside it with his hands behind him and read out of a book which -he had placed on the chest of drawers, dragging the latter close to -him. In the meantime his drama had been played and coldly received. The -subject-matter was religious. It dealt with heathendom and Christendom, -the former being defended as an epoch-making movement, not as a creed. -Christ was placed on one side and the only true God exalted. The drama -also contained a domestic struggle, and, after the fashion of the -time, women were extolled at the expense of the men. In one passage -the author expressed his opinion as to the position of a poet in life. -"Are you a man, Orm?" asks the duke. "I am only a poet," answers Orm. -"Therefore you will never become anything," is the rejoinder. - -In fact, John believed now that the poet's life was a shadow existence, -that he had no individuality, but only lived in that of others. But is -it then so certain that the poet possesses no individuality because -he has more than one? Perhaps he is richer because he possesses more -than the others. And why is it better to have only one "ego," since -in any case a single "ego" is not more one's own than many "egos," -seeing that even one "ego" is a compound product derived from parents, -educators, social intercourse and books? Perhaps it is for this reason -that society, like a machine, demands that the single "egos" shall act -each like a wheel, screw, or separate piece of the machine in a limited -automatic way. But the poet is more than a piece of a machine, since he -is a whole machine in himself. - -In the drama John had incorporated himself in five persons;--in the -Jarl, who is at war with his contemporaries; in the Poet, who looks -over things and looks through them; in the Mother, who is angry and -revengeful but whose thirst for vengeance is counteracted by her -sympathy; in the Daughter, who for the sake of her faith breaks with -her father; in the Lover, whose love is ill-starred. John understood -the motives of all the dramatis personae; and spoke from their varying -points of view. But a drama written for the average man who has -ready-made views on all subjects, must at least take sides with one -of its characters in order to win the excitable and partisan public. -John could not do this, because he believed in no absolute right or -wrong, for the simple reason that all these ideas are relative. One may -be right as regards the future, and wrong as regards the present; one -may be wrong in one year and right in the next; a father may justify -his son while the mother condemns him; a daughter is right in loving -the man she loves, but in her father's view she is wrong in loving a -heathen. There comes in doubt: Why do men hate and despise the doubter? -Because doubt is the seed of development and progress, and the average -man hates development because it disturbs his quiet. Only the stupid -man is certain; only the ignorant one thinks he has found the truth. -Doubt undermines energy, they say. But it is better to act without -considering the consequences. The animal and the savage act blindly, -obeying desire and impulse; in that they resemble our "men of action"! - -When John returned to Upsala, he was again followed by disparaging -criticisms. To some extent they were true, _e.g._ the assertion that -the form of the piece was borrowed from the _Kongsemnerne,_ but only -to some extent, for John had taken the frigid tone and the rough -phraseology direct from the Icelandic sagas, and the views of life he -expressed were original. Scorn followed him, and he was regarded as a -man who was ambitious of being a poet, the worst suspicion under which -any one can fall. - -But in the midst of his toil and needy circumstances, a week after his -overthrow, there came a letter from the chamberlain of the Theatre -Royal at Stockholm, requesting him to go there immediately as the -king wished to see him. Morbidly suspicious he believed that it was a -practical joke, and took the letter to his wise friend--the student of -Natural History. The latter telegraphed in the evening to a well-known -actor of the Theatre Royal requesting him to ask the chamberlain -whether he had written to John. The latter spent a restless night, -tossed to and fro between hope and fear. The next morning the answer -came that it was indeed so and that John should come at once. He set -off forthwith. - -Why did he, a born rebel, accept the royal favour without hesitation? -For the simple reason that he did not belong to the democratic party; -he had never promised his father or mother not to receive a favour from -the king. Furthermore he believed in the aristocracy or the right of -the best to govern, and he considered the upper classes the best, as -he had shown in his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, in which he expressed -contempt for the demagogues. He hated tyrants, but this king was no -tyrant. Therefore there was no reason for hesitation within him or -without him. Accordingly he travelled to Stockholm and was received in -audience by the king. The latter was just now very ill, and looked so -emaciated as to make a painful impression. He stood with a benevolent -aspect, smoking his long tobacco-pipe, and smiled at the young -beardless author, walking awkwardly between the rows of aide-de-camps -and chamberlains. He thanked him for the pleasure which he had derived -from his drama, adding that he himself when young had competed for an -academical prize with a poem on the Vikings, and was fond of the old -Norse legends. He said that he wished to help the young student to take -his doctor's degree, and closed the interview by referring him to the -treasurer, who had been ordered to make him a first payment. Later on -he would receive more, and the king said he supposed there were still -two or three years to elapse before he took his degree. - -John's immediate future was now secure. He felt gratefully moved by -this kindness on the part of a king who had so many things to think -about. On his return to Upsala, he saw for two months how the court -sunshine had turned him into a star. The official who had paid him, -had asked him whether he thought later on of obtaining a post in some -public department or in the Royal Library. His ambition had never -soared so high and did not yet do so. - -The chief object of human existence seems to be, and must indeed be, to -spend one's life till death in the least unpleasant manner possible. -This aim does not exclude solicitude for the good of others, for -happiness includes the consciousness of not having infringed others' -rights unnecessarily. Therefore ill-gotten wealth cannot secure a -pleasant life, nor can any path which leads over the prostrate bodies -of others. Accordingly Utilitarianism, or the philosophy which aims at -the greatest happiness of the greatest number, is not immoral. - -In spite of all his asceticism John could not help feeling happy. -His happiness consisted in the half-consciousness that he could live -his life without the great anxiety which the insecurity of means -of existence causes. He had been threatened by penury and was now -secure; life had been restored to him, and it is a happy thing to be -able to live before one has done growing. His chest, which had been -narrowed by hunger and over-exertion, broadened itself; his back grew -straighter; life no longer seemed so melancholy. He was contented with -his lot; things took on a more cheerful aspect, and he would have been -ungrateful had he still remained among the malcontents. - -But this did not last long. When he saw his old comrades round him in -a position in which _his_ happiness had effected no change, he found -that there was a want of harmony between them. They had been accustomed -to help him as one in need and now he needed their help no longer. -They had liked him, because they protected him and were accustomed -to see him below them. But when he came upwards, near them and above -them, they found him necessarily altered by altered circumstances. The -necessitous man is not so bold in his opinions nor so stiff in the back -as the prosperous one. He was altered for them, but was he therefore -worse? Self-esteem under other circumstances is generally well thought -of. Enough! He annoyed others by the fact that he was fortunate, and -still more because he wished to help others to be so. - -The present he had received entailed obligations, and John gave -himself diligently to study. He passed his examinations in Philology, -Astronomy, and Political Science, but received in none of these -subjects such a good testimonial as he had expected. He had studied too -much in one way and too little in another. - -In examination time he generally had an attack of aphasia. -Physiologists usually ascribe this weakness to an injury in the left -temple. And as a matter of fact John had two scars above his left eye. -One was caused by the blow of an axe, the other by a rock against which -he had struck himself in jumping down the Observatory hill. He was -inclined to trace to this the great difficulty he had in delivering -public addresses and speaking foreign languages. - -Accordingly, during examinations, he would sit there, unable to give -an answer although he knew more than was asked. Then there came over -him a spirit of defiance, of self-torment, of ill-humour, and he felt -tempted to throw up the whole thing. He criticised the text-books and -felt dishonest in learning what he despised. The rÃŽle assigned to him -began to oppress him; he longed to get away from it all to something -else, wherever it might be. It was not that he regarded the king's -present as a benefaction. It was a stipend, a reward for merit, such -as artists at all periods have received for the purpose of carrying -on their self-cultivation. His royal patron was not merely the king -but his personal friend and admirer. Therefore the gift exercised no -kind of restraint upon his rebellious thoughts; he only let himself be -temporarily deceived, and believed that all was right with the world, -because he prospered. His radicalism had been considerably mitigated; -he no longer thought that all which was wrong in the state was the -fault of the monarchy, nor did he believe with the pagans that better -harvests would follow if the king was sacrificed on an idol-altar. His -mother would have wept for joy at his distinction, had she lived, so -strong were her aristocratic leanings. - -All of us, including crown princes, are democrats, inasmuch as we wish -those above us to come down to our level; but when we ascend, we do -not wish to be pulled down. The question is only whether that winch -is "above" us is so in a spiritual sense, and whether it ought to be -there. That was what John began to be doubtful of. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE WINDING UP - -(1872) - - -At the beginning of the spring term, John took up his quarters with an -elder comrade in order to continue his studies. But when he had again -the old books before him which he had already studied so long, he felt -a distaste for them. His brain was full of impressions, of collected -literary material, and refused to take in any more; his imagination -and thought were busily at work and would not let memory be alone -active; he had fits of doubt and apathy and often remained the whole -day lying on the sofa. Then the desire would sometimes awake to be -altogether free and to plunge into the life of activity. But the royal -stipend held him fast in fetters and imposed on him obligations. Having -received it, he was bound to go on studying for his doctor's degree, -the course of reading for which he had half completed. So he applied -himself to philosophy, but when he read the history of it, he found all -systems equally valid or invalid, and his mind resisted all new ideas. - -In the literary club there was disunion and lethargy. All their -youthful poems had been read and no one produced any more, so that -they only met together to drink punch. Is had exposed himself, and -after a scene with another member, he had been thrown out. He drew his -knife and got well thrashed. He saved himself from worse by affecting -to treat the affair as a joke, and was now a mere laughing-stock, since -it had been discovered that his wisdom consisted in quotations from the -students' periodicals which the others had not had the wit to utilise. -At the beginning of term an Ãsthetic Society had been founded by the -professor of Ãsthetics, and this made their own literary society, the -"Runa," superfluous. - -At one of the meetings of the former, John's discontent with classical -authorities broke out. He had been drinking that evening and was -half-intoxicated. In conversation with the professor dangerous ground -was touched upon and John was enticed so far out of his reserve as to -declare Dante without significance for humanity and overestimated. John -had plenty of reasons to allege for his opinion, but could not express -them to advantage when the professor set upon him, and the whole -company gathered round the disputants, who were squeezed into a corner -by the stove. He wanted in the first place to say that the construction -of the _Divine Comedy_ was not original, but a very ordinary form which -had already been employed shortly before in the _Vision of Albericus_. -Furthermore his opinion was that in this poem Dante did not reflect -the culture and thoughts of his period, because he was so uncultured -that he did not even know Greek. He was not a philosopher, for he -hampered thought by the fetters of revelation, and therefore he was no -precursor of the Renaissance or the Reformation. He was no patriot, for -he venerated the German empire as established by God. He was at most a -local patriot of Florence. Nor was he a democrat, for he always dreamt -of a union of the empire and the papacy. He did not attack the papacy, -but only individual popes who lived immoral lives, as he himself -had done in his youth. He was a monk, a truly idiotic child of his -age, for he sent unbaptised children to hell. He was a narrow-minded -royalist who put Brutus next to Satan in the deepest hell. He was -entirely wanting in the power of selfcriticism;--while he reckons -ingratitude to friends and betrayal of one's fatherland among the worst -of crimes, he places his own friend and teacher, Brunetto Latini, in -hell, and supports the German Emperor, Henry VII, against his native -city Florence. He had bad literary taste, for he reckoned as the six -greatest poets of the world Homer, Horace, Lucan, Ovid, Virgil and -himself. How could modern critics who were so severe on all scandalous -literature praise Dante, who in his poem cast dishonour on so many -contemporary persons and families? He even scolds his own dear native -city, exclaiming when he finds five nobly-born Florentines in Hell: -"Rejoice! O Florence! for thy name is not only great over land and -sea, but also in hell. Five of thy citizens are in thieves' company; -my cheeks blush at the sight of them. But one thing I know; punishment -will light upon thee, Florence, and may it happen soon!" - -As is usual in such debates, the attacked and the attacker often -changed their ground. John wished to prove to the professor that from -his point of view the _Commedia_ was a political pamphlet, but then -the professor veered round, adopted the enemy's point of view and said -that _he_ should value it as such. Whereupon John answered that it was -exactly as such that he designated it, but not as a magnificent poem -of everlasting value, which the professor had declared it to be in his -lectures. Again the professor changed his ground, and said that the -poem should be judged by the standard of the period at which it was -composed. - -"Exactly so," answered John, "but you have judged it by the standard -of our time and all succeeding times, and therefore you are wrong. But -even with regard to its own time the work is not an epoch-making one; -it is not in advance of its period, but belongs strictly to it, or -rather lags behind it. It is a linguistic monument for Italy, nothing -more, and should never be read in a Swedish university, because the -language is antiquated, and finally because it is too insignificant to -be regarded as a link in the development of culture." - -The result of the controversy was that John was regarded as shameless -and half-cracked. - -After this explosion he was exhausted and incapable of work. The whole -of the life in a town where he did not feel at home was distasteful -to him. His companions advised him to take a thorough rest, for he -had worked too hard, and so, as a matter of fact, he had. Various -schemes again presented themselves to his mind, but without result. -The grey dirty town vexed him, the scenery around depressed him; he -lay on a sofa and looked at the illustrations in a German newspaper. -Views of foreign scenery had the same effect as music on his mind and -he felt a longing to see green trees and blue seas; he wished to go -into the country but it was still only February, the sky was as grey -as sack-cloth, the streets and roads were muddy. When he felt most -depressed, he went to his friend the natural science student. It -refreshed him to see his herbarium and microscope, his aquarium and -physiological preparations. Most of all he found a pleasure in the -society of the quiet, peaceable atheist, who let the world go its way, -for he knew that he worked better for the future, in his small measure, -than the poet with his excitable outbreaks. He had a little of the -artist left in him and painted in oils. To think that he could call up -as if by enchantment a green landscape amid the mists of this wintry -spring and hang it on his wall! - -"Is painting difficult?" he asked his friend. - -"No, indeed! It is easier than drawing. Try it!" - -John, who had already, with the greatest calm, composed a song with a -guitar-accompaniment, thought it not impossible for him to paint, and -he borrowed an easel, colours, and a paint-brush. Then he went home -and shut himself up in his room. From an illustrated paper he copied a -picture of a ruined castle. When he saw the clear blue of the sky he -felt sentimental, and when he had conjured up green bushes and grass -he felt unspeakably happy as though he had eaten haschish. His first -effort was successful. But now he wished to copy a painting. That was -harder. Everything was green and brown. He could not make his colours -harmonise with the original and felt in despair. - -One day when he had shut himself up he heard a visitor talking with his -friend in the next room. They whispered as though they were near a sick -person. "Now he is actually painting," said his friend in a depressed -tone. - -What did that mean? Did they consider him cracked? Yes. He began to -think about himself, and like all brooders came to the conclusion that -he was cracked. What was to be done? If they shut him up, he would -certainly go quite mad. "Better anticipate them," he thought, and as he -had heard of private asylums in the country, where the patients could -walk about and work in the garden, he wrote to the director of one of -them. After some time he received a friendly answer advising him to be -quiet. His correspondent had received information about John through -his friend and understood his state of mind. He told him it was only a -crisis which all sensitive natures must pass through, etc. - -_That_ danger, then, was over. But he wished to get out into active -life when ever it might be. - -One day he heard that a travelling theatrical company had come to the -town. He wrote a letter to the manager and solicited an engagement, -but he received no answer and did not call on the manager. Thus he -was tossed to and fro, till at last fate intervened and set him -free. Three months had passed and he had received no money from the -court-treasurer. His companions advised him to write and make a polite -inquiry. In reply he was told that it had never been his Majesty's -intention to pay him a regular pension, but only a single donation. -However, in consideration of his needy circumstances, by way of -exception, he had made him a grant of 200 kronas, which would shortly -be sent. - -John at first felt glad, for he was free, but afterwards the turn which -affairs had taken made him uneasy, for the papers had stated that -he was the king's stipendiary, and the king had really promised him -a stipend during the year that he must read for his degree. Besides -this the court-marshal had given him a sort of half promise for the -future which could hardly be considered as adequately fulfilled by -a donation of 200 kronas. Different opinions were expressed on the -matter. Some thought that the king had forgotten, others that the state -of his finances did not allow of a further gift, or that his good -wishes exceeded his powers. No one expressed disapproval, and John was -secretly glad, had he not felt a certain disgrace in the withdrawal -of the stipend, so that he might be suspected of having groundlessly -boasted of it. Those who believed that John was in disfavour at court -ascribed this to the fact that he had omitted to wait upon the king -in person when he was in Stockholm at Christmas and the New Year. -Others attributed it to the fact that he had not formally presented -his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, but had simply sent it to the palace, -instead of going with it, which his sense of independence forbade -him to do. Ten years later he heard quite a new explanation of this -disfavour. He was said to have composed a lampoon on the king. But this -was a pure legend, probably the only one of its obscure fabricator -which would reach posterity. Anyhow facts remained as they were and -his resolve was quickly taken. He would go to Stockholm and become -a literary man, an author if possible, should he prove to possess -sufficient capacity for that calling. - -The student who shared his room undertook to pay his return journey, -and alleged as a pretext that John must wait some time in Stockholm -lest the landlord should be uneasy. Meanwhile he could collect enough -money to pay the rent which was due at the end of the term. - -His friends gave John a farewell feast and John thanked them, -acknowledging the obligations which each owes to those he meets in -social intercourse. Every personality is not developed simply out -of itself, but derives something from each with whom it comes in -contact, just as the bee gathering her honey from a million flowers, -appropriates it and gives it out as her own. - -Thus he stepped into life, abandoning dreams and the past to live in -reality and the present. But he was ill-prepared and the university is -not the proper school for life. He felt also that the decisive hour had -come. In a clumsy speech he called the feast a "svensexa," _i.e_. a -farewell supper for a bachelor on the eve of his marriage, for he was -now to be a man and leave boyhood behind; he was to become a member of -society, a useful citizen and eat his own bread. - -So he believed at the time, but he soon discovered that his education -had unfitted him for society, and as he did not wish to be an outlaw -the doubt awoke in him whether society, of which after all school and -university were a part, was not to blame for his education, and whether -it had not serious defects which needed a remedy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - -(1872) - - -When John came to Stockholm, he borrowed money in order to hire a -room near the LadugÀrdslandet. Always under the sway of sentiment, he -chose this quarter of the town because he always used to walk there -in his childhood on the 1st of May, and the High Street especially -had something of a holiday air about it. Moreover it soon opened into -the Zoological Gardens, which became his favourite place for walks. -The barracks with their drums and trumpets had something exhilarating -about them, and there were fine views over the sea which was close at -hand. There was plenty of light and air. When he went for his morning -walk he could choose his route according to his mood. If he was sad -and depressed, he went along the SirishofsvÀgen; if he was cheerful -he turned off to the level ground of Manilla, where the paradisial -rose-valley exhaled joy and delight; if he was despairing and anxious -to avoid people he went out to LadugÀrdsgardet, where no one could -disturb his self-communings and his prayers to God. Sometimes, when his -soul was in a tumult, he remained standing by the cross-ways above the -bridge near the Zoological Gardens, irresolute which way to take. On -such occasion a thousand forces seemed to pull him in all directions. - -His room was very simple and commanded no view. It smelt of poverty, -as the whole house did, in which the only person of standing was the -deputy-landlord, a policeman. John began his active career by painting, -out of a sense of need to give his feelings shape and to express them -in a palpable way, for the little letters huddled together on the paper -were dead and could not express his mind so plainly and simultaneously. -He did not think of being a painter in order to exhibit or sell -pictures. To step to the easel was for him just like sitting down and -singing. At the same time he renewed his acquaintance with his friend -the sculptor, who introduced him to a circle of young painters. These -were all discontent with the Academy and the antiquated methods which -could not express their vague dreams. They still preserved the Bohemian -type, so late did the waves of modern ideas beat on the far coasts of -the North. They wore long hair, slouched hats, brilliant cravats, and -lived like the birds of heaven. They read and quoted Byron and dreamt -of enormous canvases and subjects such as no studio could contain. A -sculptor and a Norwegian had conceived the idea of hewing a statue out -of the Dovre rock; a painter wished to paint the sea not merely as a -level, but with such a wide horizon as to show the convex curve of the -globe. - -This took John's fancy. One should give expression to one's inner -feelings and not depict mere sticks and stones which are meaningless in -themselves till they have passed through the alembic of a percipient -mind. Therefore the artists did not make studies out of doors, but -painted at home from their memory and imagination. John always painted -the sea with a coast in the foreground, some gnarled pine-trees, a -couple of rocky islets in the distance and a white-painted buoy. The -atmosphere was generally gloomy, with a weak or strong light on the -horizon; it was always sunset or moonlight, never clear daylight. - -But he was soon woken out of this dream-life partly by hunger, partly -by recollecting the reality which he had sought in order to save -himself from his dreams. - -Although John knew little of contemporary politics, he knew that the -democracy or peasant-class had arrived at power, that they had declared -war on the official and middle classes, and that they were hated in -Upsala. And now he himself was to enter the ranks of the combatants -and attack the old order of things. The only item of the knowledge -which he had brought with him from Upsala which was likely to be useful -here, was the small amount of political science which he had studied. -Of what use were Astronomy, Philology, Ãsthetics, Latin and Chemistry -here? He knew something about the land-laws and communal-laws, but had -no idea of political economy, finance or jurisprudence. When he now -began to look about for a suitable paper to which to attach himself, -it did not occur to him to make use of his old connection with the -_Aftonbladet_, but he wrote for a small evening paper which had lately -appeared, which was regarded as radical and was issued by the New -Liberal Union. The editor held receptions in the La Croix Café, and -here John was introduced into the society of journalists. He felt ill -at ease among them. They did not think as he did, seemed uncultivated, -as indeed they were, and rather gossiped than discussed important -matters. They certainly busied themselves with facts, but these were -rather trifles than great questions. They were full of phrases, but -did not seem to have a proper command of their material. John, though -against his will, was too much of an academic aristocrat to sympathise -with these democrats, who for the most part had not chosen their -career, but been forced into it by the pressure of circumstances. He -found the atmosphere stifling for his idealism, and came no more to the -receptions after he had done his business, and been invited to write -for the paper. - -He made his début as an art-critic. His first criticism concerned -Winge's "Thor with the giants" and Rosen's "Eric XIV and Karin -Monsdotter." The young critic naturally wished to display his learning, -though all he had was what he had picked up in lectures and books. -Therefore his criticism of Winge was a mere eulogy. His remarks chiefly -regarded the subject of the picture as a Norse one and treated in the -grand style. The painters did not like this sort of criticism, as -they considered the only point to be criticised in a work of art was -the execution. "Eric the XIV" he judged from his monomaniacal point -of view, "aristocrat or democrat," and found fault with the incorrect -conception of Göran Persson, whom in his own tragedy _Eric XIV_ -(subsequently burnt) he had represented as an enemy of the nobility and -friend of the people. - -Descended from his own height as a promising student, author and royal -protégé to the then less regarded class of journalists, he felt himself -again one of the lower orders. - -After the editor had struck out his learned flourishes, the articles -were printed. The editor told him they were piquant, but advised him -to employ a more flowing style. He had not yet caught the journalistic -knack. - -Then John planned a series of articles in which, under the title -"Perspective," he treated of social and economic questions. In these he -attacked university life, the divisions of the classes, the injurious -over-reading and the unfortunate position of the students. Since the -labour-question at that time was not a burning one, he ventured on a -comparison between the prospects of a student and that of a workman, -declaring the latter to be far better off. The workman was generally -in good health, could support himself at eighteen and marry at twenty, -while the student could not think of marriage and making a livelihood -before thirty. As a remedy he recommended doing away with the final -examination as Jaabaek had already done in Norway, and the transference -of the university to Stockholm in order that the students might have -a chance of earning something during their course. As an example he -adduced the case of modern students at Athens who learn a trade while -they study. This was all clear to him as early as 1872, yet when he -made similar suggestions twelve years later, he was thought to have -conceived them on the spur of the moment. - -At the same time he took an engagement on a small illustrated ladies' -paper and wrote biographical notices and novelettes. The ladies were -very kind, but let him work too hard, and gave him all kinds of -commissions to execute. After he had spent two or three days in paying -visits, dived into a publisher's place of business, read biographical -romances in three or four volumes, made researches in the library, -run to the printing-office and finally written his columns carefully, -setting each person treated of in a proper historical light, and -analysing his career, he received, for all that work, fifteen kronas. -He calculated that this was less pay per hour than a servant earned. -The bread of the literary man was certainty hardly earned, and that -this is the common lot of authors does not make matters better. But the -profession was also despised, and John felt that in social position he -stood below his brothers who were tradesmen, below the actors, yes, -even below the elementary school-teachers. - -The journalists led a subterranean existence, but they styled -themselves "we" and wrote as though they were sovereigns of God's -appointment; they had men's weal or woe in their hand, since the chief -weapon in the struggle for existence in our civilised days is social -reputation. How was it that society had given these free lances such -terrible power without taking any guarantees? But when one comes -to think, what assurance is there for the capacity and insight of -the law-givers in parliament, in the ministry, on the throne? None -whatever! It is therefore the same all round. There were, however, two -classes of newspapers; the conservative, which wished to preserve the -social condition with all its defects, and the liberal, which wished -to improve it. The former enjoyed a certain respect, the latter, none -at all. John instinctively sided with the last, and at once felt that -he was regarded as every one's enemy. A liberal journalist and a -chronicler of scandals were synonymous terms. At home he had heard the -usual phrase that "no one was honourable whose name had not appeared -in the paper _Fatherland_." In the street they had pointed out to him -a man who looked like a bandit, with the mark of a dagger-stab between -his eyes, and said, "There goes the journalist X." In the Café La Croix -he felt depressed among his new colleagues, but none the less chose to -associate with this unpopular group. Did he choose really? One does not -choose one's impulses, and it is no virtue to be a democrat when one -hates the upper classes and has no pleasure in their company. - -Meanwhile for social intercourse he went to the artists. It was a -strange world in which they lived. There was so much nature among -these men who busied themselves with art. They dressed badly, lived -like beggars--one of them lived in the same room with the servant--and -ate what they could get; they could hardly read, and had no knowledge -of orthography. At the same time they talked like cultivated people, -they looked at things from an independent point of view, were keenly -observant and unfettered by dogmas. One of them four years previously -had minded geese, a second had wielded the smith's hammer, a third -had been a farmer's servant and walked behind the dung-cart, and a -fourth had been a soldier. They ate with knives, used their sleeves as -napkins, had no handkerchiefs and only one coat in winter. However, -John felt at home with them, though of late years he had been -conversant only with cultivated and well-to-do young people. It was not -that he was superior to them, for that they did not acknowledge, nor -was it any use to quote books to them, for they accepted no authority. -His doubts as regards books, especially text-books, began to be -aroused, and he began to suspect that old books may injure a modern -man's thinking powers. This doubt became a certainty when he met one of -the group whom all regarded as a genius. - -He was a painter about thirty years old, formerly a farmer's servant -who had come to the Academy in order to become an artist. After he -had spent some time in the painting school he came to the conclusion -that art was insufficient as a medium for expressing his thoughts, -and he lived now on nothing, while he busied himself by reflecting on -the questions of the time. Badly educated at an elementary school, he -had now flung himself on the most up-to-date books and had a start of -John, since he had begun where the latter had left off. Between John -and him there was the same difference as between a mathematician and -a pilot. The former can calculate in logarithms, the latter can turn -them to practical use. But MÃ¥ns also was critically disposed and did -not believe in books blindly. He had no ready-made scheme or system -into which to fit his thoughts; he always thought freely, investigated, -sifted and only retained what he recognised as tenable. More free from -passions than John, he could draw more reckless inferences, even when -they went against his own wishes and interests, though with certain -matter-of-course limitations. He was more-over prudent, as indeed he -must have been to have worked himself up from such a low position, -and understood how to be silent as to certain conclusions, which, if -expressed tactlessly and in the wrong place, might have injured him. -As his literary adviser, he had a telegraph-assistant whose knowledge -Mans knew better how to use than its owner himself; the latter had not -a very lively intellect, although in his knowledge of languages he -possessed the key to the three great modern literatures. Passionless -and self-conscious, with a strong control over his impulses, he stood -outside everything, contemplating and smiling at the free play of -thought which he enjoyed as a work of art, with the accompanying -certainly that it was after all only an illusion. - -With both of these John had many friendly disputes. When he drew up -his schemes for the future of men and society he could rouse MÃ¥ns' -enthusiasm and carry him along with him, but when he had taken his -hearer a certain way with his emotional and passionate descriptions, -the latter took out his microscope, found the weak spot where to -insert his knife, and cut. On such occasions John was impatient and -motioned his opponent away. "You are a pedant," he said, "and fasten -on details." But sometimes it turned out that the "detail" was a -premise the excision of which made the whole grand fabric of inference -collapse. John was always a poet, and had he continued as such -unhindered he might have brought it to something. The poet can speak -to the point like the preacher, and that is an advantageous position. -He can rattle on without being interrupted, and therefore he can -persuade if not convince. It was through these two unlearned men that -John learned a philosophy which was not known at Upsala. In the course -of conversation, his opponents often referred to an authority whom -they called "Buckle." John rejected an authority of whom he had heard -nothing in Upsala. But the name continually recurred and worried him to -such an extent that he at last asked his friends to lend him the book. -The effect of reading it was such that John regarded his acquaintance -with the book as the vestibule of his intellectual life. Here there -was an atmosphere of pure naked truth. So it should be and so it was. -MÃ¥ns, like all other organised beings, was under the control of natural -laws; all so-called spiritual qualities rest on a material basis, and -chemical affinities are as spiritual as the sympathies of souls. The -whole of speculative philosophy which wished to evolve laws from the -inner consciousness was only a better kind of theology, and what was -worse, an inquisition, which wished to confine the many-sidedness -of the world-process within the limits of an individual system. "No -system" is Buckle's motto. Doubt is the beginning of all wisdom, doubt -means investigation and stimulates intellectual progress. The truth -which one seeks is simply the discovery of natural laws. Knowledge is -the highest, morality is only an accidental form of behaviour, which -depends upon different social conventions. Only knowledge can make men -happy, and the simple-minded or ignorant with their moral strivings, -their benevolence and their philanthropy are only injurious or useless. - -And now he drew the necessary conclusions. Heavenly love and its -result, marriage, is conditioned as to that result by such a prosaic -matter as the price of provisions; the rate of suicide varies with -wages, and religion is conditioned by natural scenery, climate and -soil. His mind was predisposed to receive the new doctrines, and now -they made their triumphant entry. John had always planted his feet -firmly on the earth, and neither the balloon-voyages of poetry nor the -will-o'-the-wisps of German philosophy had found a sincere adherent in -him. He had sat in despair over Kant's _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_, -and asked himself with curiosity, whether it was he who was so stupid -or Kant who was so obscure. The study of the history of philosophy, -in which he had seen how each philosopher pointed to his system as -the true one, and championed it against others, had left him amazed. -Now it was clear to him that the idealists who mingle their obscure -perceptions with dear presentations of facts were only savages or -children, and that the realists, who were alone capable of clear -perceptions, were the most highly developed in the scale of creation. -The poets and philosophers are somnambulists, and the religious who -always live in fear of the unknown are like animals in a forest who -fear every rustic in the bushes, or like primitive men who sacrificed -to the thunder instead of erecting lightning rods. - -Now he had a weapon in his hand to wield against the old authorities -and against the schools and universities which were enslaved by -patronage. Buckle himself had run away from school, had never been at -a university, and hated them. Apropos of Locke he remarks, "Were this -deep thinker now alive, he would inveigh against our great universities -and schools, where countless subjects are learnt which no one needs, -and which few take the trouble to remember." - -Accordingly Upsala had been wrong, and John right. He knew that there -were ignorant savants there, and that it was on account of their own -want of culture that the professors of philosophy could teach nothing -but German philosophy. They neither knew English nor French philosophy -for the simple reason that they only understood Latin and German. -Buckle's _History of Civilisation in England_ was written in 1857, but -did not reach Sweden till 1871-72. Even then the soil was not ready for -the seed. The learned critics were unfavourable to Buckle, and the seed -took root only in some young minds who had no authoritative voice. - -"No literature," says Buckle himself, "can be useful to a people, if -they are not prepared to receive it." Thus it was with Buckle and -his work, which preceded that of Darwin (1858) and contained all its -inferences--a proof that evolution in the world of thought is not so -strictly conditioned as has been believed. Buckle did not know Mill or -Spencer, whose thoughts now rule the world, but he said most of what -they said subsequently. - -Now, if John had had a character, _i.e_. if he had been ruled by -a single quiet purpose directed towards one object, he would have -extracted from Buckle all that answered his purpose and left out all -that told against it. But he was a truth-seeker and did not shrink from -looking into the abyss of contradictions, especially as Buckle never -asserted that he had found the truth, and because truth is relative -and it is often found on both sides. Doubt, criticism, inquiry are the -chief matter, and the only useful course to pursue, as they guarantee -liberty. Sermons, programmes, certainty, system, "truth" are various -forms of constraint and stupidity. But it is impossible to be a -consistent doubter when one is crammed full with "complete evidence," -and when one's judgment is swayed by class-prejudice, anxiety for a -living and struggles for a position. John became calm when he learnt -that all that was wrong in the world was wrong in accordance with -necessary law, but he became furious when he made the further discovery -that our social condition, our religion and morality were absurdities. -He wished to understand and pardon his opponents, since in their -actions they were no more free than he was, but he was in duty bound -to strangle them since they hindered the evolution of society towards -universal happiness, and that was the only and greatest crime that -could be committed. But as there were no criminals, how could one get -hold of the crime? - -He was rejoiced that the mistakes had now been discovered, but despair -oppressed him again when he saw that the discovery was premature. -Nothing could be done for many years to come. Social evolution was a -very slow process. Consequently he must lie at anchor in the roadstead -waiting for the tide. But this waiting was too long for him; he heard -an inner voice bidding him speak, for if one does not spread what -light one has, how can popular views be changed? Yes, but a premature -promulgation of new ideas can do no good. Thus he was tossed to and -fro. Everything round him now seemed so old and out of date that he -could not read a newspaper without getting an attack of cramp. _They_ -only had regard to the present moment; no one thought of the future. -His philosophical friend comforted and calmed him, through, among other -sayings, a sentence of La BruyÚre, "Don't be angry because men are -stupid and bad, or you will have to be angry because a stone falls; -both are subject to the same laws; one must be stupid and the other -fall." - -"That is all very well," said John, "but think of having to be a -bird and live in a ditch! Air! light! I cannot breathe or see," he -exclaimed; "I suffocate!" - -"Write!" answered his friend. - -"Yes, but what?" - -Where should he begin? Buckle had already written everything, and -yet it was as though it had not been written. The worst thing was -that he felt he lacked the power. Hitherto he had only felt a very -moderate degree of ambition. He did not wish to march at the head, to -be a conqueror and so on. But to go in front with an axe as a simple -pioneer, to fell trees, root up thickets, and let others build bridges -and throw up redoubts, was enough for him. It is often observable that -great ambition is only the sign of great power. John was moderately -ambitious, because he was now only conscious of moderate powers. -Formerly when he was young and strong he had great confidence in -himself. He was a fanatic, _i.e_. his will was supported by powerful -passions, but his awakened insight and healthy doubt had sobered his -self-confidence. The work before him took the form of rock-walls which -must be pulled down, but he was not so simple as to venture on the task. - -Now he began to habituate himself forcibly to doubt in order to be -patient and not to explode. He entrenched himself in doubt as in a -fortress, and as a means of self-preservation he determined to depict -his struggles and doubts in a drama. The subject matter which he had -been turning over in his mind for a year he took from the history of -the Reformation in Sweden. Thus was composed the drama later on known -as _The Apostate_. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE RED ROOM - -(1872) - - -In autumn occurred the death of Charles XV. With the mourning, which -was fairly sincere and widespread, there mingled gloomy anxieties for -the future. One of the young painters who belonged to John's circle of -friends had just received a royal stipend and gone to Norway. He had -now to return quite destitute and without any prospects for the future. -John was accustomed to go with him into the Zoological Gardens in order -to paint, and occupy his mind while he was waiting for an answer from -the theatrical manager to whom he had sent his drama. - -There is indeed no occupation which so absorbs all the thoughts and -emotions so much as painting. John watched and enjoyed the delicate -harmonies of the lines in the branch-formation of the trees, in the -wave-like curves of the ground, but his paint-brush was too coarse to -reproduce the contours as he wished. Then he took his pen and made a -drawing in detail. But when he tried to transfer it to his canvas and -paint it, the whole appeared but a smudge. - -Pelle, on the other hand, was an impressionist and look no notice -of details. He took up the landscape at a stroke, so to speak, and -gave the colours their due value, but the various objects melted into -uncertain silhouettes. John thought Pelle's landscapes more beautiful -than the reality, although he cherished great reverence for the works -of the Creator. After he had wiled away about a month in painting, -he went one evening into the Café La Croix. The first person he met -was his former editor, who said, "I have just heard from X." (a young -author) "that the Theatre Royal has refused _The Apostate_." - -"I know nothing about it," answered John. He did not feel well and left -the company as soon as possible. The next day he went to his former -instructor to find how the matter stood. The latter began first to -praise, and then to criticise it, which is the right method. He said -that the characters of Olaus Petri and Gustav Wasa had been brought -down from their proper level and distorted. John, on the other hand, -held that he had given a realistic representation of them as they -probably were, before their figures had been idealised by patriotic -considerations. His friend replied that that was no good; the public -would never accept a new reading of their characters till critical -inquiry had done its preliminary work. - -That was true, but the blow was a heavy one, although dealt with as -much consideration as possible, and the author was invited to remodel -his drama. He had again been premature in his attempt. There was -nothing left for him but to wait and wile away the time. To think -of remodelling it now was not possible for him, for he saw, when he -read it through again, that it was all cast in one piece and that the -details could not be altered. He could not change it, unless he changed -his thoughts, and therefore he must wait. - -Now he took to reading again. Chance brought into his hand two of -"the best books which one can read." They were De Tocqueville's -_Democracy in America_ and Prévost-Paradol's _The New France._ The -former increased his doubts as to the possibility of democracy in -an uncultivated community. Written with sincere admiration for the -political institutions of America, which the author holds up as a -pattern for Europe, this work points out so sincerely the dangers of -democracy, as to make even a born hater of the aristocracy pause. - -John's theories received terrible blows, but this time his good sense -triumphed over his prejudices. His loss of faith in his own powers, -however, had a demoralising effect upon him, and he was soon ripe -for absolute scepticism. Sentences such as the following admitted -at that time of no contradiction: "The moral power of the majority -is based partly upon the conviction that a number of men have more -understanding, intelligence and wisdom than an individual, and a -great number of lawgivers more than a selection of them. That is the -principle of equality applied to intellectual gifts. This doctrine -attacks the pride of humanity in its innermost citadel." - -An individualist like John did not perceive that this pride can and -must be overcome. Nor did he see that wisdom and intelligence can be -spread by means of good schools among the masses. - -"When a man or a party in the United States suffers injustice, to whom -shall he turn? To public opinion? That is the opinion of the majority. -To the legislative officials? They are nominated by the majority -and obey it blindly. To the executive power? That is chosen by the -majority and serves it as a passive instrument. To the military forces -of the State? They are simply the majority under arms. To juries? -They are formed by a majority which possesses the right to judge." De -Tocqueville goes on to say that the happiness of the majority which -consists in maintaining its rights deserves recognition, and that it is -better for a minority to suffer from pressure than a majority, but the -sufferings which an intelligent minority suffer from an unintelligent -majority are much greater than those which an intelligent minority -inflict upon a majority. On the other hand, the minority understands -much better than the majority what conduces to their own and the -general happiness, and therefore the tyranny of the minority is not to -be compared with that of the majority. - -"Yes, but," thought John, "did not the European peoples generally -suffer from the tyranny of a minority?" The mere fact that there -were upper classes lay like a heavy cloud on the life of the masses. -Nowadays the question may be raised, "Why should a different -class-education result in an intelligent minority and an unintelligent -majority?" But such questions were not raised then. Moreover had such -a state really ever been seen in which an intelligent minority had the -power to "oppress"? No, for sovereigns, ministers and parliaments had -usually the due modicum of intelligence. - -That which more than anything else inclined John to fear the power of -the masses, was the fact noted by De Tocqueville that they tyrannised -over freedom of thought. - -"When one tries to ascertain," he says, "how much freedom of thought -there is in the United States it becomes apparent how much the tyranny -of the masses transcends any despotism known to Europe. I know no -country where there is, generally speaking, less independence of -opinion and real freedom of discussion than America. The majority -draw a terribly narrow circle round all thought. Within that circle -an author may say what he likes, but woe to him if he step across the -limit. He has no _auto-da-fé_ to fear, but he is made the mark for all -kinds of unpleasantness and daily persecutions. Every good quality is -denied him, even honour. Before he published his views, he thought he -had adherents; after he has made them known to all the world he sees -that he no longer has any, for his critics have raised an outcry, -and those who thought as he did, but lacked the courage to express -themselves, are silent and withdraw. He gives way; he finally collapses -under the strain of daily renewed effort, and resumes silence, as -though he regretted having spoken the truth, - -"In democratic republics, tyranny lets the body alone and attacks the -soul. In them the dominant power does not say, 'You must think as I -do, or die;' it says, 'You are free to differ from me in opinion; your -life and property will remain untouched, but from the day that you -express a different view from mine, you will be a stranger among us. -You will retain your rights and privileges as a citizen, but they will -be useless to you. You will remain among men, but be deprived of all -a man's rights. When you approach your equals they will flee you as -though you were a leper; even those who believe in your innocence will -abandon you, lest they should be themselves abandoned. Go in peace! -I grant you life, but a life which shall be harder and bitterer than -death!'" - -That is the true and credible picture which the noble De Tocqueville, -friend of the people and tyrant-hater as he was, has drawn of the -tyranny of the masses, those masses whose feet John had felt trampling -on him at home, at school, in the steamer and the theatre, those -masses whom he had satirised in the play _Sinking Hellas_, and whom -he had described as throwing the first stone at Olaus Petri just at -the moment when he was preaching to them of freedom! If it is thus in -America, how can one expect anything better in Europe. He found himself -in a cul-de-sac. His hereditary disposition prevented his becoming an -aristocrat, nor could he come to terms with the people. Had he not -himself suffered lately from an ignorant theatre-management behind -which stood the uncultivated public, and found the way blocked for -his new and liberal ideas. There was then already a mob-despotism in -Sweden, and the director of the Theatre Royal was only their servant. - -It was all absurdity! And even suppose society were ruled by those who -knew most. Then they would be under professors with their heads full of -antiquarian ideas. Even if the director had put his drama on the stage, -it would have certainly been hissed off by the tradesmen in the stalls, -and no critics could have helped him! - -His thoughts struggled like fishes in a net, and ended by being caught. -It was not worth the trouble of thinking about and he tried to banish -the thought, but could not. He felt a continual trouble and despair -in his mind that the world was going idiotically, majestically and -unalterably to the devil. "Unalterably," he thought, for as yet a large -number of strong minds had not attacked the problem, which was soluble -after all. Ten years later it was provisionally solved, when knowledge -on the subject of this sphinx-riddle had been so widely spread that -even a workman had obtained some insight into it, and in a public -meeting had declared that equality was impossible, for the block-heads -could not be equal to the sharp-sighted, and that the utmost one could -demand was equality of position. This workman was more of an aristocrat -than John dared to be in the year 1872, though he belonged to no party -which claimed the right to muzzle him. - -Prévost-Paradol had dealt with the same theme as Tocqueville, but -he suggested a secret device against the tyranny of the masses--the -cumulative vote or the privilege of writing the same name several times -on the ballot-paper. But John considered this method, which had been -tried in England, doubtful. - -He had set great hopes on his drama, and borrowed money on the strength -of them, and now felt much depressed. The disproportion between his -fancied and his real value galled him. Now he had to adopt a rÃŽle, -learn it, and carry it out. He composed one for himself, consisting -of the sceptic, the materialist and the liar, and found that it -suited him excellently. This was for the simple reason that it was a -sceptical and materialistic period, and because he had unconsciously -developed into a man of his time. But he still believed that his -earlier discarded personality, ruled indeed by wild passions, but -cherishing ideals of a higher calling, love to mankind and similar -imaginations, was his true and better self which he hid from the world. -All men make similar mistakes when they value sickly sentimentality -above strong thought, when they look back to their youth and think -they were purer and more virtuous then, which is certainly untrue. -The world calls the weaker side of men their "better self," because -this weakness is more advantageous for the world and self-interest -seems to dictate its judgment. John found that in his new rÃŽle he was -freed from all possible prejudices--religious, social, political and -moral. He had only one opinion,--that everything was absurd, only -one conviction,--that nothing could be done at present, and only one -hope,--that the time would come when one might effectively intervene, -and when there would be improvement. But from that time he altogether -gave up reading newspapers. To hear stupidity praised, selfish acts -lauded as philanthropic, and reason blasphemed,--that was too much for -a fanatical sceptic. Sometimes, however, he thought that the majority -were right in just being at the point of view where they were, and that -it was unnecessary that some few individuals, because of a specialised -education, should run far ahead of the rest. In quiet moments he -recognised that his mental development which had taken place so -rapidly, without his ever seeing an idea realised, could be a pattern -for such a slowly-working machine as society is. Why did he run so far -ahead? It was not the fault of the school or university, for they had -held him back equally with the majority. - -Yes, but those already out in the world, by their own hearths, had -already reached the stage of Buckle's scepticism as regards the social -order, so that he was not so far ahead after all. The slow rate of -progress was enough to make one despair. What Schiller's Karl Moor -had seen a hundred years previously, what the French Revolution had -actually brought about were now regarded as brand-new ideas. After -the Revolution, social development had gone backwards; religious -superstitions were revived, belief in a better state of things lost, -and economic and industrial progress was accompanied by sweating and -terrible poverty. It was absurd! All minds that were awake at all -had to suffer,--suffer like every living organism when hindered in -growth and pressed backward. The century had been inaugurated by the -destruction of hopes, and nothing has such a paralysing effect on the -soul as disappointed hope, which, as statistics show, is one of the -most frequent causes of madness. Therefore all great spirits were, -vulgarly speaking, mad. Chateaubriand was a hypochondriac, Musset a -lunatic, Victor Hugo a maniac. The automatic pygmies of everyday life -cannot realise what such suffering means, and yet believe themselves -capable of judging in the matter. - -The ancient poet is psychologically correct in representing -Prometheus as having his liver gnawed by a vulture. Prometheus was -the revolutionary who wished to spread mental illumination among -men. Whether he did it from altruistic motives, or from the selfish -one of wishing to breathe a purer mental atmosphere, may be left -undecided. John, who felt akin to this rebel, was aware of a pain which -resembled anxiety, and a perpetual boring "toothache in the liver." Was -Prometheus then a liver-patient who confusedly ascribed his pain to -causes outside himself? Probably not! But he was certainly embittered -when he saw that the world is a lunatic asylum in which the idiots go -about as they like, and the few who preserve reason are watched as -though dangerous to the public safety. Attacks of illness can certainly -colour men's views, and every one well knows how gloomy our thoughts -are when we have attacks of fever. But patients such as Samuel Oedmann -or Olaf Eneroth were neither sulky nor bitter, but, on the contrary, -mild, perhaps languid from want of strength. Voltaire, who was never -well, had an imperturbably good temper. And Musset did not write as he -did because he drank absinthe, but he drank from the same cause that -he wrote in that manner, _i.e_. from despair. Therefore it is not in -good faith that idealists who deny the existence of the body, ascribe -the discontent of many authors to causes such as indigestion, etc., the -supposition of which contradicts their own principles, but it must be -against their better knowledge, or with worse knowledge. Kierkegaard's -gloomy way of writing can be ascribed to an absurd education, -unfortunate family relations, dreary social surroundings, and alongside -of these to some organic defects, but not to the latter alone. - -Discontent with the existing state of things will always assert itself -among those who are in process of development, and discontent has -pushed the world forwards, while content has pushed it back. Content -is a virtue born of necessity, hopelessness or superfluity; it can be -cancelled with impunity. - -Catarrh of the stomach may cause ill temper, but it has never produced -a great politician, _i.e._ a great malcontent. But sickliness may -impart to a malcontent's energy a stronger colour and greater rapidity, -and therefore cannot be denied a certain influence. On the other hand, -a conscious insight into grievances can produce such a degree of mental -annoyance as can result in sickness. The loss of dear friends through -death, may in this way cause consumption, and the loss of a social -position or of property, madness. - -If every modern individual shows a geological stratification of the -stages of development through which his ancestors passed, so in every -European mind are found traces of the primitive Aryan,--class-feeling, -fixed family ideas, religious motives, etc. From the early Christians -we have the idea of equality, love to our neighbour, contempt for mere -earthly life; from the mediÊval monks, self-castigation and hopes of -heaven. Besides these, we inherit traits from the sensuous cultured -pagans of the Renaissance, the religious and political fanatics of the -sixteenth century, the sceptics of the "illumination" period, and the -anarchists of the Revolution. Education should therefore consist in the -obliteration of old stains which continually reappear however often we -polish them away. - -John proceeded to obliterate the monk, the fanatic and the -self-tormentor in himself as well as he could, and took as the leading -principle of his provisional life (for it was only provisional till he -struck out a course for himself) the well-understood one of personal -advantage, which is actually, though unconsciously, employed by all, to -whatever creed they belong. - -He did not transgress the ordinary laws, because he did not wish -to appear in a court of justice; he encroached on no one's rights -because he wished his own not to be encroached upon. He met men -sympathetically, for he did not hate them, nor did he study them -critically till they had broken their promises and shown a want of -sympathy to him. He justified them all so long as he could, and when -he could not, well,--he could not, but he tried by working to place -himself in a position to be able to do so. He regarded his talent as a -capital sum, which, although at present it yielded no interest, gave -him the right and imposed on him the duty to live at any price. He was -not the kind of man to force his way into society in order to exploit -it for his own purposes, he was simply a man of capacity conscious of -his own powers, who placed himself at the disposal of society modestly, -and in the first place to be used as a dramatist. The theatre, as a -matter of fact, needed him to contribute to its Swedish repertory. - -After a solitary day's work, it was his habit to go to a café to meet -his acquaintances there. To seek "more elevated" recreations in family -circles such as meaningless gossip, card playing and such like had no -attraction for him. Whenever he entered a family circle he felt himself -surrounded by a musty atmosphere like that exhaled from stagnant -water. Married couples who had been badgering each other, were glad to -welcome him as a sort of lightning conductor, but he had no pleasure -in playing that part. Family life appeared to him as a prison in which -two captives spied on each other, as a place in which children were -tormented, and servant-girls quarrelled. It was something nasty from -which he ran away to the restaurants. In them there was a public room -where no one was guest and no one was host: one enjoyed plenty of -space and light, heard music, saw people and met friends. John and -his friends were accustomed to meet in a back room of Bern's great -restaurant which, because of the colour of the furniture, was called -the "red room." The little club consisted originally of John and a few -artistic and philosophical friends. But their circle was soon enlarged -by old friends whom they met again. They were first of all recruited -by the presentable former scholars of the Clara School,--a postal -clerk who was at the same time a bass singer, pianist and composer; a -secretary of the Court treasurer; and the trump card of the society,--a -lieutenant of artillery. To these were added later, the composer's -indispensable friend, a lithographer, who published his music, and a -notary who sang his compositions. The club was not homogeneous, but -they soon managed to shake down together. - -But since the laymen had no wish to hear discussions on art, literature -and philosophy, their conversations were only on general subjects. -John, who did not wish to discuss any more problems, adopted a -sceptical tone, and baffled all attempts at discussion by a play upon -words, a quibble or a question. His ultimate "why?" behind every -penultimate assertion threw a light on the too-sure conclusions of -stupidity, and let his hearer surmise that behind the usually accepted -commonplaces there were possibilities of truths stretching out in -endless perspective. These views of his must have germinated like seeds -in most of their brains, for in a short time they were all sceptics, -and began to use a special language of their own. This healthy -scepticism in the infallibility of each other's judgments had, as a -natural consequence, a brutal sincerity of speech and thought. It was -of no use to speak of one's feelings as though they were praise worthy, -for one was cut short with "Are you sentimental, poor devil? Take -bi-carbonate." - -If any one complained of toothache, all he received by way of answer -was, "That does not rouse my sympathy at all, for I have never had -toothache, and it has no effect upon my resolve to give a supper." - -They were disciples of Helvetius in believing that one must regard -egotism as the mainspring of all human actions, and therefore it was -no use pretending to finer emotions. To borrow money or to get goods -on credit without being certain of being able to pay, was rightly -regarded as cheating, and so designated. For instance, if a member of -the club appeared in a new overcoat which seemed to have been obtained -on credit, he was asked in a friendly way, "Whom have you cheated about -that coat?" Or on another occasion another would say, "To-day I have -done Samuel out of a new suit." - -Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, both overcoat and suit were -generally paid for, but as the purchaser at the time he took them was -not sure whether he would be able to pay, he regarded himself as a -potential swindler. This was severe morality and stern self-criticism. - -Once during such a conversation the lieutenant got up to go and attend -church-parade with his company. "Where are you going?" he was asked. -"To play the hypocrite," he answered truthfully. - -This tone of sincerity sometimes assumed the character of a deep -understanding of human nature and the nature of society. One day -the company were leaving John's lodgings for the restaurant. It was -winter, and MÃ¥ns, who was generally ill-dressed, had no overcoat. The -lieutenant, who wore his uniform, was, it is true, somewhat uneasy, but -did not wish to hurt any one's feelings that day. When John opened the -door to go out, MÃ¥ns said, "Go in front; I will come afterwards; I do -not want Jean to injure his position by going with me." - -John offered to walk with MÃ¥ns one way while the others should go by -another, but Jean exclaimed, "Ah! don't pretend to be noble-minded! you -feel as embarrassed at going with MÃ¥ns as I do." - -"True," replied John, "but...." - -"Why, then, do you play the hypocrite?" - -"I did not play the hypocrite; I only wished to try to be free from -prejudice." - -"The deuce! what is the good of being free from prejudice when no one -else is, and it does you harm? It would really show more freedom from -prejudice to tell MÃ¥ns your mind than to deceive him." - -MÃ¥ns had already departed, and arrived about the same time at the -restaurant as they did. He took part in the meal without betraying a -trace of ill-humour. "Your health, MÃ¥ns, because you are a man of -sense," said the lieutenant to cheer him up. - -The habit of speaking out one's inner thoughts without any regard to -current opinion, resulted in the overthrow of all traditional verdicts. -The terrible confusion of thought in which men live, since freedom -of thought has been fettered by compulsory regulations, has made it -possible for antiquated views of men and things to continue. Thus, -to-day a number of works of art are considered unsurpassable in spite -of the great progress made in technique and artistic conception. John -considered that if in the nineteenth century he was to give his views -on Shakespeare, he was not at all bound to give the opinion of the -eighteenth century, but of his own nineteenth, as it had been modified -by new points of view. This aroused a great deal of opposition, perhaps -because people fear being regarded as uncultivated a great deal more -than they fear being regarded as godless. - -Every one attacked Christ, for He was thought to have been overthrown -by learned criticism, but they were afraid of attacking Shakespeare. -John, however, was not. Thoroughly understanding the works of the -poet, whose most important dramas he had read in the original and -whose chief commentators he had studied, he criticised the composition -and meagre character drawing of _Hamlet._ It is noteworthy that the -Swedish Shakespeare-worshipper, Shuck, through an inconsistency due to -the current confusion of thought and compulsory cowardice, made just -as severe criticisms of _Hamlet_ regarded as a work of art, though -he had previously extolled it above the skies. If John had at that -time been able to read the book of Professor Shuck, he would not have -needed courage in order to subscribe such criticisms as the following: -"_Hamlet_ is the most unsatisfactory of all ... the composition is -superficial and incoherent. After the action of the play has reached -its climax, it suddenly breaks off. Hamlet is suddenly sent to England, -but this journey does not in any way arouse the spectator's interest. -Still worse is the management of the catastrophe. It is a mere chance -that Hamlet's revenge is executed at all, and a similar caprice of -chance causes his overthrow. His killing Claudius just before his own -death has more the appearance of revenge for the attempt on his own -life, than that of a judgment executed in the name of injured morality." - -And then the obscurity which envelops the motives of the principal -persons in the play! "The spectator is left in uncertainty regarding -such an important point as Ophelia's and Hamlet's madness. Moreover -in _King Lear_, Edward's treachery is so palpable that not the most -ordinarily intelligent man could have been deceived by it!" - -If then the drama was defective precisely in the chief elements of a -drama, construction and characterisation, how could it be incomparable? -The reverence for what is ancient and celebrated is rooted in the -same instinct which creates gods; and pulling down the ancient has -the same effect as attacking the divine. Why else should a sensible -unprejudiced man fly in a rage when he hears some one express a -different opinion to his own (or what he thinks his own) about some old -classic? It ought to be a matter of indifference to him. The national -and intellectual Pantheon can be as angrily defended by atheists as by -monotheists, perhaps more so. People who are otherwise sincere, cringe -before a well-established reputation, and John had heard a pietistic -clergyman say that Shakespeare was a "pure" writer. In his mouth that -was certainly false. A determinist, on the other hand, would not -have used the words "pure" or "impure" because they would have been -meaningless to him. But the poor Christ-worshipper did not dare to bear -a cross for Shakespeare; he had enough already to bear for his own -Master. - -Meanwhile John's method of judging old things from the modern point of -view seemed to be justified, for it gained him a following. That was -the whole secret of what was so little understood later on by theistic -and atheistic theologians--his irreverent handling of ancient things -and persons; they thought in their simplicity quite innocently that -it was what one calls in children a spirit of contradiction. His aim -rather was to bring people's confused ideas into order, and to teach -them to apply logically their materialistic point of view. If they -were materialists, they should not borrow phrases from Christianity, -nor think like idealists. This gave rise to a catchword, which showed -how what was ancient was despised--"That is old!" As new men, they -must think new thoughts, and new thoughts demanded a new phraseology. -Anecdotes and old jokes were done away with; stereotyped phrases and -borrowed expressions were suppressed. One might be plain-spoken and -call things by their right names, but one might not be vulgar; the -latest opera was not to be quoted, nor jokes from the newest comic -paper repeated. Thereby each became accustomed to produce something -from his own stock of original observation and acquired the faculty of -judging from a fresh point of view. - -John had discovered that men in general were automata. All thought the -same; all judged in the same fashion; and the more learned they were, -the less independence of mind they displayed. This made him doubt the -whole value of book education. The graduates who came from Upsala -had, one and all, the same opinions on Rafael and Schiller, though -the differences in their characters would have led one to expect a -corresponding difference in their judgments. Therefore these men did -not think, although they called themselves free-thinkers, but merely -talked and were merely parrots. - -But John could not perceive that it was not books _quá_ books which had -turned these learned men into automata. He himself and his unlearned -philosophical friends had been aroused to self-consciousness through -books. The danger of the university education was that it was derived -from inferior books published under sanction of the government, and -written by the upper classes in the interest of the upper classes, -_i.e_. with the object of exalting what was old and established, and -therefore of hindering further development. - -Meanwhile John's scepticism had made him sterile. He had perceived -that art had nothing to do with social development, that it was simply -a reflection or phenomena, and was more perfect as art the more it -confined itself to this function. He still preserved the impulse to -re-mould things and it found expression in his painting. His poetic -art, on the other hand, went to pieces since it had to express thoughts -or serve a purpose. - -His failure to have his play accepted had an adverse effect on his -pecuniary circumstances. The friends from whom he had borrowed money -came one evening to John's rooms in order to hear the play read, but -they were so tired after the day's work that, after hearing the first -act, they asked him to put off the rest for another occasion. One of -the audience who had kept more awake than the others thought that there -were too many Biblical quotations in the piece, and that these were not -suitable for the stage. - -John's resources were dried up, and the spectre of want loomed upon -him, unbribeable and stone-deaf. After he had gone without his dinners -for a time, he began to feel weary of life, and looked about him for -the means of subsistence. How should he get bread in the wilderness? -The best means that suggested itself was to seek an engagement in a -provincial theatre. There mere nobodies often played leading roles -in tragedies, made themselves a name, and finished by getting an -appointment at the Theatre Royal. He quickly made his resolve, packed -his travelling bag, borrowed money for his fare, and went to Göteborg. -It was just about the time of the great November storm of 1872. - -Since the environment in which he had been living had had a great -effect on him, he conceived a great dislike to this town. Gloomy, -correct, expensive, proud, reserved it lay, pent in its circle of stone -hills, and depressed the lively native of Upper Sweden, accustomed -to the rich and smiling landscape of Stockholm. It was a copy of the -capital but on a small scale, and John, as one of the upper class, -felt alienated from its inhabitants, who were in a lower stage of -development. But he noticed that there was something here that was -wanting in the capital. When he went down to the harbour he saw ships -which were nearly all destined for foreign parts, and large vessels -kept up continual communication with the continent. The people and -buildings did not look so exclusively Swedish, the papers took more -account of the great movements which were going on in the world. What -a short way it was from here to Copenhagen, Christiania, London, -Hamburg, Havre! Stockholm should have been situated here in a harbour -of the North Sea, whereas it lay in a remote corner of the Baltic. -Here was in truth the nucleus of a new centre, and he now understood -that that position was no longer occupied by Stockholm, but that -Göteborg was about to be the centre of the north. At present, however, -this reflection had no comfort for him since he was only in the -insignificant position of an actor. - -John sought out the theatre-director and introduced himself as a -person who wished to do the theatre a service. The director, however, -considered himself very well served by his present staff. But he -allowed John to give a trial performance in the rÃŽle in which he wished -to make his début. This was Dietrichson's _Workman_, the great success -of the day. John had discovered a certain likeness between Stephenson's -first locomotive and his rejected play; he wished to show how he, like -the engineer, had to face the ridicule of the ignorant crowd, the -apprehensions of the learned, and the fears of a wasted life on the -part of relatives. He gave his trial performance one evening by the -light of a candle and between bare walls. Naturally he felt hampered -and asked to repeat it in costume. But the director said it was not -necessary; he had heard enough. John, in his opinion, possessed talent, -but it was undeveloped. He offered him an engagement at twelve hundred -kronas yearly, to commence from the first of January. John considered: -Should he spend two months idly in Göteborg and then only have a -supernumerary's part in a provincial theatre? No! He would not! What -remained to be done? Nothing except to borrow money and return home, -which he did. - -Thus his efforts had again ended in failure. His friends had given -him a farewell feast, lent him journey money, done all they could to -help him, and now he came back without having settled anything. Again -he had to hear the old too true accusation that he was unstable. To -be unstable in an ordered society is the extreme of unpracticality. -There persistent and exclusive cultivation of some special branch of -industry or knowledge is necessary in order to outstrip competitors. -Every orderly member of society feels a certain discomfort when he sees -some one wandering from his proper place. This discomfort does not -necessarily spring from excessive egotism, but possibly from a feeling -of solidarity and solicitude for others. John saw that his countless -changes of plan disquieted his friends; he felt ashamed and suffered on -account of it, but could not act otherwise. - -So he found himself at home, and spent the long evenings in the "Red -Room," asking himself whether he really could find no place in a -society which for others opened up so many rich possibilities of a -career. - -At Christmas time John travelled again to Upsala, for he had been -invited thither as one of the contributors to a Literary Calendar which -had just appeared. The _Calendar_, which was received with universal -disapprobation, was not without significance as an exponent of the -state of literature. The reader who was desired to wade through these -elegant extracts, might justifiably ask, "What have I got to do with -them?" The poetry they contained, like that of Snoilsky and Björck, -might have been written fifty or a hundred years before. It was of -indifferent quality, and sometimes even bad,--bad because it gave no -sign that the poet had developed any powers of perception, indifferent -because it was not rooted in its own period. The date of the book -was 1872, but it contained no echo of the Jubilee of 1865, no hint -of 1870, not a whiff of the conflagration of 1871. Had these young -versifiers been asleep? Yes, certainly. The great mass of students were -realists, sceptics, mockers, as befitted the children of the time, but -the poets were credulous fools with the ideals of Snoilsky and Björck -in their hearts. Their poetry was that of superannuated idealists in -form and thought, for the new views of things had not reached these -isolated individualists who still lived the Bohemian life of the -Romantics. Their poetry consisted of nothing but echoes. In fact it -was a question whether Swedish poetry had hitherto been anything else, -or could be anything else. Was Tegner's poetry anything but an echo -of Schiller, OehlenschlÀger, the Eddas and the old Norse sagas? Was -Atterbom anything else than a musical box pieced together out of Tieck, -Hoffmann, Wieland, Burger? And so on with all the Swedish poets. But -this Literary Calendar was composed of echoes of echoes and dreams of -dreams. Realism, which had already made a premature entry into Sweden -with Kraemer's _Diamonds in Coal_, and had subsequently triumphed -in Snoilsky, had left no trace on these young poets. The poetry of -Snoilsky's school had been the careless expression of a careless time, -but these poems simply displayed the incapacity of their writers. - -John had contributed to the _Calendar_ a free version of "An Basveig's -Saga." In this he had glorified himself as a kind of male Cinderella, -or ugly duckling of the family. He was moved to do this by the contempt -which had been evinced towards him by his patrons and middle-class -friends on account of his failure as an author. The language of the -piece was marked by a certain bluntness of expression and an attempt to -dignify low things, or at least to rub off the dirt from things which -were not really so, but were called so. Since the word Naturalism had -not yet come into fashion, his language was called coarse and vulgar. - -But an acquaintance which John happened to make during his stay in -Upsala was of greater importance than the _Calendar_ or Christmas -dinner. He lodged with a friend on whose writing-table he found one day -a number of the _Svensk Tidskrift_ containing a notice of Hartmann's -_Philosophy of the Unconscious_. It was an exposition of Hartmann's -system by a Finn, A.V. Bolin, and betrayed throughout a half-concealed -admiration of it. But the editor, Hans Forssell, had appended to the -essay a note written in his usual style when he came across something -that his brain could not take in. Hartmann's doctrine was pessimism. -Conscious life is suffering because unconscious will is the motive -power of evolution and consciousness obstructs this unconscious will. -It was the old myth of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It -was the kernel of the Buddhistic faith and the chief doctrine of -Christianity,--"Vanitas, vanitatum vanitas." - -Most of the greatest and conscious minds had been pessimists, and had -seen through and unmasked the illusions of life. Only wild animals, -children, and commonplace people could therefore be happy, because they -were unconscious of the illusion, or because they held their ears when -one wanted to tell them the truth and begged not to be robbed of their -illusions. - -John found all this quite natural, and had no important objection to -make. It was true then, what he had so often dreamt, that everything -was nothing! It was the suspicion of this which had governed his -point of view and made all the great and all greatness appear on a -reduced scale. This consciousness had lurked obscurely in him, when, -as a child, although well-formed, healthy and strong, he wept over -an unknown grief, the cause of which he could not find within him or -without. That was the secret of his life, that he could not admire -anything, could not hold to anything, could not live for anything; that -he was too wide awake to be subject to illusions. Life was a form of -suffering which could only be alleviated by removing as many obstacles -as possible from the path of one's will; his own life in particular -was so extremely painful because his social and economical position -constantly prevented his will from expressing itself. - -When he contemplated life and especially the course of history he saw -only cycles of errors and mistakes repeating themselves.[1] The men of -the present dreamt of a republic, as Greeks and Romans had done two -thousand years before; the civilisation of the Egyptians had decayed -when they perceived its futility; Asia was wrapped in an eternal sleep -after it had been impelled by an unconscious will to conquer the -world; all nations had invented narcotics and intoxicants in order to -quench consciousness; sleep was blessedness and death the greatest -happiness. But why not take the last step and commit suicide? Because -the unconscious Will continually enticed men to live through the -illusion of hope of a better life. Pessimism, regarded as a view of the -world's order, is more consistent than meliorism, which sees in natural -development a tendency which makes for men's happiness. This latter -view seems to be a disguised relic of belief in divine providence. Can -one believe that the mechanical blindly ruling laws of nature have any -regard for the development of human society when they produce glacial -periods, floods, and volcanic outbreaks? Must an intelligent man be -called "conservative" in a contemptuous sense because he has brought -under his yoke and rules the laws of nature as Stuart Mill facetiously -expresses it? Have men devised any certain preventives against -shipwreck, strokes of lightning, economic crises, losses of relatives -by death and sickness? Can men control at pleasure the inclination of -the earth's axis, and do away with cloud-formations which are likely -to injure harvests? In spite of the present advanced state of science, -have men been able to put an end to the grape pest, to stop floods, -eradicate, superstitions, remove despots, prevent war? Is it not -presumptuous or simple-minded to believe that man, himself governed by -chemical, physical, and physiological laws of nature, stands above them -because he understands how to use some of them to his own advantage, as -birds use the wind for their progress or beavers the pressure of the -stream in constructing their dams? Are not the wings of the falcon and -the fly more perfect means of locomotion than railways and steamers? -How can men be so simple as to think that they stand above nature when -they are themselves so subordinate to nature that they cannot will or -think freely? It looks like a residue of our primitive illusions. If -the present development of European society ends in atheism, that has -already been the case with the Buddhists; if in religious freedom, -that has already been witnessed in the early history of China; if in -polygamy, that already exists among the savages of Australia; if in -community of goods, this prevailed among primitive peoples. The fact is -that Europe has been the last of all the great ethnical groups to wake -to consciousness. It is now in the act of waking and turning itself, -not like some oriental nations, to torpid quietism, but to removing as -far as possible the pains and unpleasantnesses of earthly existence, -although the best way of doing so has not been yet discovered. The -mistake of the industrial socialists is that they, according to -the formula of the ambiguous evolution theory, wish to build upon -existing conditions, which they regard as the product of necessity, -and tending to the good of all. But existing conditions rather tend -to the happiness of the few, and are therefore something abnormal to -build on, which means erecting a house on ground from which the water -has not been drained off. Probably the form of society which they -desire, however absurd it is, is a necessary mistake through which men -must pass to reach a better. Both the danger and the hope of progress -consist in the fact that the socialistic system already has its -programme drawn up and consequently works automatically, _i.e_. like a -blind, irresistible mass. If it reconstitutes society after the pattern -of the working-class who are a minority, and makes all men mechanics, -one may venture to doubt, without being regarded as quite mad, whether -that will be happiness. Socialism as a social reform is inevitable, -for Europe in its self-idolatry has not perceived how far backward it -is. Provided with an Asiatic form of government, which interferes in -details, supporting ancient superstitions, living under the terrible -tyranny of capital, which is maintained by force of arms, it sets -on foot political and religious persecutions, it venerates embalmed -monarchs like mummies of the Pharaohs, it civilises savages with waste -goods and Krupp guns; it forgets that its civilisation came from the -east, and was better then than it is now. Hartmann and the pessimists -believe that the social reform which is called socialism will come, but -that afterwards, it will be succeeded by something else. - -The bourgeois is an optimist because he cannot see or think outside -the narrow circle of everyday occurrences. That is his good fortune, -but not his merit, for he has no choice in the matter. Nay, he does not -even understand what pessimism is, but thinks it means the opinion that -this is the worst of all worlds. How could any one have a well-grounded -view on that? Voltaire, who was no pessimist, wrote a whole book to -demonstrate that this world, at any rate, was not the best of worlds -for us, as Leibnitz imagined. It is naturally the best for itself, -although not for us, and the difference between the point of view of -the hypochondriac and the pessimist consists in the fact that the -former believes that the world is the worst possible for him, while -the pessimist disregards what it may be for the individual. Hartmann -is no hypochondriac as people have tried to make out, and he seeks to -alleviate the pain of life as much as possible by placing himself in a -state of unconsciousness. - -The men of the younger generation of to-day are sad, because they -have awoke to consciousness and lost many illusions. But they are not -hypochondriacal, and work at bringing the world forward into the last -stage of illusion or a new social system, as though hoping thereby to -alleviate their pain, and they work the more fanatically, the deeper -they feel it. - -Meanwhile, supposing that Hartmann's philosophy may be a mistake, and a -sceptic must be willing to entertain that possibility, although it has -every probability on its side, since the instinct of self-preservation, -the first condition of life, consists in the removal of pain, which -is the first motive-power,--we must seek to explain historically -how this philosophy has come to the birth and spread. Superficial -observers like the mystic Caro, do not hesitate, inconsistently -enough, to attribute it to bodily ill-health. The socialists, who -wished to arouse the expectation that their teaching was practicable, -explained it as the foreboding of overthrow in a class, of whom -Hartmann was the representative. But Hartmann believes in socialism -and the new social system, although only as transitional forms. He -is not despairing, not even melancholy. He seems to be the first -philosopher who, quite independently of Christianity, European culture -and idealism, tries to explain the world's progress from the purely -materialistic point of view. He states facts and processes exactly as -they are. From unconscious minerals we have developed into globules -of albumen, acquired conscious nerve-centres and finally brains -with ever-increasing self-consciousness. The more highly organised -the life, the greater the capacity for pain and susceptibility to -impressions. Not till our time did the cosmic brain succeed in arriving -at clear perception and, accordingly, at divining the order of the -world. Hartmann can therefore be regarded as one who arrived at the -highest degree of consciousness, and he will be remembered as the -great unmasker before whose keen gaze the bandages fell away. It is -consequently a mistake to call him "the prophet of despair." Idealists -may feel empty and despairing when confronted by the naked truth, but -the meliorist feels an inexpressible calm. Man will be modest when he -takes the measure of his littleness as an atom of the cosmic dust. -He will no longer build his happiness on a future life, but will be -impelled by pessimism to order the only life he has as well as he can -for himself and for others. He will see how useless it is to lament -over the misery of existence; he will accept pain as a fact, and -alleviate it as well as he can. Hartmann is a realist, and the title -"pessimist" in its old significance has been fastened on him out of -malice. He shudders at the misery of the world, but does not even call -it misery. He only shows that life is not so great and beautiful as men -like to make out, and pain in his view is not a mere bodily ailment, -but an impelling motive. His is a sound and healthy view of things in -contrast to which socialism may sometimes look like idealism, since it -wishes to remodel society according to its desires, not according to -the possibilities of the case. - -Meanwhile the review article on Hartmann had a quickening effect on -John. There was then a system in the apparent madness of the universe, -and his consciousness had rightly foreboded that the whole scheme of -things was something very insignificant. But a new philosophic system -is not absorbed by a brain in a day. It only left a certain deposit and -gave a keynote to his thoughts. As a theoretical point of view it was -still obscured by his idealistic education, darkened by his inborn and -acquired hatred of the upper class, and his natural tendency to seek -his point of equilibrium somewhere outside himself. Taken on the large -scale, life was meaningless, but if one wanted to live, one had to come -to grips with reality, and adopt an everyday point of view, which alas! -one very readily did. Enormous difficulties stood in the way of earning -a living or making a name. Honour, viewed absolutely, was nothing, but -in relation to the petty circumstances of life it was something great, -and worth striving for. The Philistines did not understand that, and -derived much amusement, when they saw him, pessimist as he was, toiling -after distinctions. They, with their clock-work brains, thought this -inconsistent, since they did not understand that the term "honour" has -two values, an absolute and a "relative." - - -[1] In his pamphlet "The Conscious Will in the World-history" (1903), -Strindberg takes the opposite view to that expressed here. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Growth of a Soul, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - -***** This file should be named 44107-0.txt or 44107-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44107/ - -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 Growth of a Soul - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44107] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -GROWTH OF A SOUL - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - - -NEW YORK - -McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY - -1914 - - - - CONTENTS - - I IN THE FORECOURT - II BELOW AND ABOVE - III THE DOCTOR - IV IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - V JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - VI BEHIND THE CURTAIN - VII JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - VIII THE "RUNA" CLUB - IX BOOKS AND THE STAGE - X TORN TO PIECES - XI IDEALISM AND REALISM - XII A KING'S PROTÉGÉ - XIII THE WINDING UP - XIV AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - XV THE RED ROOM - - - -THE GROWTH OF A SOUL - - - -CHAPTER I - -IN THE FORECOURT - -(1867) - - -The steamer had passed Flottsund and Domstyrken and the university -buildings of Upsala began to appear. "Now begins the real -stone-throwing!" exclaimed one of his companions,--an expression -borrowed from the street-riots of 1864. The hilarity induced by punch -and breakfast abated; one felt that things were now serious and that -the battle of life was beginning. No vows of perpetual friendship were -made, no promises of helping each other. The young men had awakened -from their romantic dreams; they knew that they would part at the -gang-way, new interests would scatter the company which the school-room -had united; competition would break the bonds which had united them and -all else would be forgotten. The "real stone-throwing" was about to -begin. - -John and his friend Fritz hired a room in the Klostergränden. It -contained two beds, two tables, two chairs and a cupboard. The rent was -30 kronas[1] a term,--15 kronas each. Their midday meal was brought -by the servant for 12 kronas a month,--6 kronas each. For breakfast -and supper they had a glass of milk and some bread and butter. That -was all. They bought wood in the market,--a small bundle for 4 kronas. -John had also received a bottle of petroleum from home as a present, -and he could send his washing to Stockholm. He had 80 kronas in his -table-drawer with which to meet all the expenses of the term. - -It was a new and peculiar society into which he now entered, quite -unlike any other. It had privileges like the old house of peers and a -jurisdiction of its own; but it was a "little Pedlington" and reeked -of rusticity. All the professors were country-born; not a single one -hailed from Stockholm. The houses and streets were like those of -Nyköping. And it was here that the head-quarters of culture had been -placed, owing to an inconsistency of the government which certainly -regarded Stockholm as answering to that description. - -The students were regarded as the upper class in the town and the -citizens were stigmatised by the contemptuous epithet of "Philistines." -The students were outside and above the civic law. To smash windows, -break down fences, tussle with the police, disturb the peace of the -streets,--all was allowed to them and went unpunished; at most they -received a reprimand, for the old lock-up in the castle was no more -used. For their militia-service they had a special uniform of their -own which carried privileges with it. Thus they were systematically -educated as aristocrats, a new order of nobility after the fall of the -house of peers. - -What would have been a crime in a citizen was a "practical joke" in a -student. Just at this time the students' spirits were at a high pitch, -as a band of student-singers had gone to Paris, had been successful -there, and were acclaimed as conquerors on their return. - -John now wished to work for his degree but did not possess a single -book. "During the first term one must take one's bearings" was the -saying. John went to the student's club. The constitution of the club -was antiquated,--so much so that the annexed provinces Skåne, Halland -and Blekinge were not represented in it. It was well arranged and -divided into classes, not according to merit, but according to age -and certain dubious qualities. In the list the title "nobilis" still -stood after the names of those of high birth. There were several ways -of gaining influence in the club, through an aristocratic name, family -influence, money, talent, pluck and adaptability, but the last quality -by itself was not enough among these intelligent and sceptical youths. -On the first evening in the club John made his observations. There were -several of his old companions from the Clara School present, but he -avoided them as much as possible and they him. He had deserted them and -gone by a short cut through the private school, while they had tramped -along the regular course through the state school. They all seemed -to him somewhat conventional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the -aristocrats and obtained introductions, made acquaintances easily and -got on well. - -As they went home in the evening John asked him who was the "snob" in -the velvet jacket with stirrups painted on his collar. Fritz answered -that he was not a snob, and that it was as stupid to judge people by -fine clothes as by poor ones. John with his democratic ideas did not -understand this and stuck to his opinion. Fritz asserted that the youth -referred to was a very fine fellow and the senior in the club, and -in order to rouse John further, added that he had expressed himself -satisfied with the newcomers' appearance and manners; he was reported -to have said "they had an air about them; formerly the fellows from -Stockholm when they came there, looked like workmen." - -John was ruffled at this information and felt that something had come -in between him and his friend. Fritz's father had been a miller's -servant, but his mother had been of noble birth. He had inherited from -his mother what John had from his. - -The days passed on. Fritz put on his frock coat every morning and went -to pay his respects to the professors. He intended to be a jurist; -that was a proper career, for lawyers were the only ones who obtained -real knowledge which was of use in public life, who tried to obtain -deeper insight into social organisation and to keep in touch with the -practical business of everyday life. They were realists. - -John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaintances. - -"Borrow my coat," said Fritz. - -"No, I will not go and pay court to the professors," said John. - -"You are stupid," answered Fritz, and in that he was right, for the -professors gave real though somewhat hazy information regarding the -courses of study. It was a piece of pride in John that he did not -wish to owe his progress to anything but his own work, and what was -worse, he thought it ignominious to be regarded as a flunkey. Would -not an old professor at once perceive that he was flattering him for -his own purposes? To submit himself to his superiors was, in his mind, -synonymous with grovelling. - -Moreover everything was too indefinite. The university which he had -imagined to be an institution for free investigation, was only one for -tasks and examinations. The professors gave lectures for the sake of -appearances or to maintain their income, but it was useless to go up -for an examination without taking private lessons. John resolved to -attend those lectures for which no fee was necessary. He went to the -Gustavianum to hear a lecture on the history of philosophy. For the -three-quarters of an hour during which the lecture lasted the professor -went through the introduction to Aristotle's Ethics. John calculated -that with three lectures a week he would require forty years to go -through the history of philosophy. "Forty years," he thought, "that is -too long for me." And did not go again. It was the same everywhere. -An assistant-professor expounded Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_ with the -commentary, in English, to an audience of five. John went there a few -times, but reckoned that it would be ten years before _Henry VIII_ was -finished. - -It began to dawn upon him what the requirements of the degree -examination were. The first was to write a Latin essay; therefore he -must learn more Latin, which he did not like. He had chosen æsthetics -and modern languages as his chief subject. Æsthetics comprised the -study of Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the -various systems of æsthetics. That was work enough for a lifetime. The -modern languages were French, German, English, Italian and Spanish, -with comparative grammar. How was he to obtain the requisite books? And -he had not the means of paying for private lessons. - -Meanwhile he set to work at Æsthetics. He found that one could borrow -books from the club and so he took out the volumes of Atterbom's -_Prophets and Poets_ which happened to be there. These unfortunately -only dealt with Swedenborg and contained Thorild's epistles. Swedenborg -seemed to him crazy, and Thorild's epistles did not interest him. -Swedenborg and Thorild were two arrogant Swedes who had lived in -retirement and fallen a prey to megalomania, the special disease -of solitary people. It is remarkable how often outbreaks of this -hallucination occur in Sweden, owing probably to the isolated position -of the country and to the fact that a sparse population is scattered -over enormous distances. Megalomania is apparent in the imperial -projects of Gustavus Adolphus, in Charles X's ambition of becoming -a great European power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in -Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and in Swedenborg's and Thorild's dreams of -storming heaven and of world-conflagrations. John thought them mad and -threw them aside. Was that the sort of stuff he was expected to read? - -He began to reflect over his situation. What did he expect to do in -Upsala? To support himself for six years on 80 kronas till he took -his degree. And then? his thoughts did not stretch further; he had no -higher plan or ambition than to take his degree--the laurel crown, the -graduate's coat, and then to teach the catechism in the Jakob school -till his death. No, he did not wish to do that. - -Time went on, and Christmas approached. The little stock of money in -his table-drawer diminished slowly but surely. And then? It was not so -easy for students to obtain employment as private teachers since the -railways had made communication easier between remote country places -and the towns where schools were. He felt that he had embarked upon a -foolish undertaking. When he found he could get no more books, he began -to make visits among his fellow-students and discovered companions in -misfortune. Among them were two who had spent the whole term playing -chess and possessed nothing between them but a hymn-book which the -mother of one had placed in his box. They were also asking themselves -the question "What have we to do here?" The way to the degree -examination was not easy; one was compelled to seek out secret ways, -bribe door-keepers, creep through holes, run into debt for books, be -seen at lectures and much more besides. - -In order to fill up the time, he learnt to play the B-cornet in the -band of the students' club by the advice of Fritz who played the -trombone. But the practices were very irregular and began to cause -disputes. John also played backgammon, which Fritz hated, and so he -wandered about to acquaintances with his backgammon board and played -with them. He found it as dull as reading Swedenborg. - -"Why do you not study?" Fritz often asked him. - -"I have no books," answered John. That was a good reason. He could -not visit the restaurants, for he had no money, and lived very -quietly. At the midday meal he drank only water, and when on Sundays -he and Fritz drank half a bottle of beer, they remained sitting at -table half-fuddled and telling each other, perhaps for the hundredth -time, old school adventures. The term crept along intolerably slow, -uneventful and torpid. John perceived that, as one of the lower class, -he could plod on thus far but no further. The economic question brought -his plans to a standstill. Or was it that he was tired of living a -one-sided mental life without muscular exercise? Trifling experiences -for which he ought to have been prepared contributed to embitter him. -One day Fritz entered their room with a young count. He introduced -John to him, and the count tried to remember whether they had not been -comrades at the Clara School. John seemed to remember something of -the kind. The old friends and intimate companions addressed each other -as "count" and "sir." Then John remembered how he and the young count -had once played as boys in a tobacco store on the Sabbatsberg, and how -something had made him prophesy, "In a few years, old fellow, we shall -not know each other any more." The young count had protested strongly -against this and felt hurt. Why did John remember this just then -particularly, since it is quite natural that comrades should become -strangers to each other when intercourse has been so long broken off? -Because at the sight of the noble, he felt the slave blood seethe in -his veins. This kind of feeling has been ascribed to the difference of -races. But that is not so, for then the stronger plebeian race would -feel superior to the weaker aristocratic. It is simply class-hatred. - -The count in question was a pale, tall, slender youth of no striking -appearance. He was very poor and looked half-starved. He was -intelligent, industrious, and not at all proud. Later on in life -John came across him again and found him to be a sociable, pleasant -man, leading an inconspicuous life as an official, amid difficulties -resembling John's own. Why should he hate him? And then they both -laughed at their youthful stupidity. That was possible then, for John -seemed to have "got ahead" as the saying is; otherwise he would not -have laughed at all. "Stand up that I may sit down," this was the -more malicious than luminous way of expressing the aspiration of the -lower orders in those days. But it was a misunderstanding. Formerly -one strove to elbow one's way up to the other; now one would rather -pull the other down to save oneself the trouble of clambering up where -nothing is to be found. "Move a little so that we can both sit" would -now be the proper formula. - -It has been said that those who are "above" are there by a law of -necessity and would be there under all circumstances; competition -is free and each can ascend if he likes, and if the conditions were -changed, the same race would begin again. "Good!" say the lower -classes, "let us race again, but come down here and stand where I -do. You have got a start with privileges and capital, but now let us -be weighed with carriage harness and racing saddle after the modern -fashion. You have got ahead by cheating. The race is therefore declared -null and void and we will run it again, unless we come to an agreement -to do away with all racing, as an antiquated sport of ancient times." - -Fritz saw things from another point of view. He did not wish to pull -those above down, but to become an aristocrat himself, climb up to -them and be like them. He began to lisp and made elegant gestures with -his hands, greeted people as though he were a cabinet minister, and -threw his head back as though he had a private income. But he respected -himself too much to become ridiculous and satirised himself and his -ambition. The fact was that the aristocrats whom he wished to resemble -had simple, easy, unaffected manners,--some of them indeed quite like -the middle class, while Fritz was fashioning himself after an ancient -theatrical pattern which no longer existed. He did not therefore -become what he expected in life though he had dozed away many a summer -in the castles of his friends, and ended in a very modest official -post. He was received as a student in their guest-rooms but came no -further; as a district judge he was not introduced in the salons which -as a student he had entered without introduction. - -The effects of the different circles in which John and Fritz moved -began now to be apparent, first in mutual coldness, then in hostility. -One evening it broke out at the card-table. - -Fritz one day towards the end of the term said to John, "You should not -go about with such bounders as you do." - -"What is the matter with them?" - -"Nothing, but it would be better if you went with me to my friends." - -"They don't suit me." - -"Well, they suit me, but they think you are proud." - -"I?" - -"Yes; and to show you are not, come with me this evening and drink -punch." - -John went though unwillingly. They were a solid-looking set of -law-students who played cards. They discussed the stakes for which they -should play, and John succeeded in reducing them to a minimum, though -they made sour faces. Then a game of "knack" was proposed. John said -that he never played it. - -"On principle?" he was asked. - -"Yes," he answered. - -"How long ago did you make that resolve," asked Fritz sarcastically. - -"Just this minute." - -"Just now, here?" - -"Yes, just now, here!" answered John. - -They exchanged hostile looks and that was the end. They went home -silent; went to bed silent; and got up silent. For five weeks they ate -their dinner at the same table and never spoke to each other. A gulf -had opened between them and their friendship was ended; they had no -more intercourse with each other and there was nothing to bring them -together again. How had that come about? - -These two characters so opposed to each other had held together for -five years through habit, through comradeship in the class-room, -and common interests; they had felt drawn to each other by common -recollections, defeats and victories. It was a compromise between fire -and water which must cease sooner or later and might cease at any -moment. Now they flew asunder as if by an explosion; the masks fell; -they did not become enemies, but simply discovered that they _were_ -born enemies, _i.e._ two oppositely-disposed natures which must go, -each its own way. They did not close accounts with a quarrel or useless -accusations, but simply made an end without more ado. An unnatural -silence prevailed at their midday meal; sometimes in lifting dishes -their hands crossed but their looks avoided each other; now and then -Fritz's lips moved, as though he wished to say something, but his -larynx remained closed. What should he say after all. There was nothing -to say but what the silence expressed: "We have nothing more in common." - -And yet there was something left after all. Sometimes Fritz came home -in the evening, cheerful, and obviously prepared to say, "Come! cheer -up old fellow!" But then he stood still in the middle of the room, -petrified by John's icy manner, and went out again. Sometimes also -it occurred to John, who suffered under the breach of friendship to -say to his friend, "How stupid we are!" But then he felt frozen again -by Fritz's indifferent manner. They had worn out their friendship by -living together. They knew each other by heart, all one another's -secrets and weaknesses, and precisely what answer either would give. -That was the end. Nothing more remained. - -A miserable torpid time followed. Tom away from the common life of -school where he had worked like part of a machine in unison with -others, and abandoned to himself, he ceased to live in the proper sense -of the word. Without books, papers or social intercourse, he remained -empty; for the brain produces of itself very little, perhaps nothing; -in order to make combinations it must be supplied with material from -without. Now nothing came; the channels were stopped, the ways blocked, -and his soul pined away. Sometimes he took Fritz's books and looked -into them; among them he came across Geijer's History for the first -time. Geijer was a great name and known through his "Kolargossen," -"Sista Kampen," "Vikingen" and other poems. John now read his history -of Gustav Vasa. He was astonished to find no illuminating point of -view nor any fresh information. The style, which he had heard praised, -was pedestrian. It was like a mere memorial sketch, this history of a -long-lived king's reign, and cursory also like a text-book. Printed in -small type, and without notes, the history of this important king would -not have been longer than a small pamphlet. One day John asked some of -his friends what they thought of Geijer. - -"He is devilish dull," they answered. - -That was the common opinion before jubilee-commemorations and the -erection of statues prevented people saying plainly what they thought. - -John then looked for a little into law-books, but was alarmed at the -idea of having to study that sort of thing. His home life and religious -education had given him a distaste for everything that concerned the -common interests of people. Through the ceaseless repetition of the -maxim that young men should not interfere with politics, that is to -say, with the common weal, and through Christian individualism and -introspection, John had become a consistent egoist. - -"Let every one mind his own business" was the first command of this -egotistic morality. Therefore he read no papers and troubled little how -things were going on about him, what was happening in the world, how -the destinies of men were being shaped, or what were the thoughts of -the leading minds of the time. Therefore it never occurred to him to -go to the meetings of the club where questions of common interest were -dealt with. "There were enough to look after those things," he thought. - -He was not alone in that opinion, so that the meetings of the club were -managed by a few energetic fellows, who were regarded perhaps wrongly, -as egoists and managed public business in their own interests. John who -let the affairs of the little society go as they liked, was perhaps a -greater egoist, occupied as he was with the affairs of his own soul. -But in his own defence and on behalf of many of his countrymen it must -be said that he and they were shy. This shyness, however, should have -been got rid of at school by practice in public speaking. In this -shyness there was also a degree of cowardice, the fear of opposition -or ridicule, and especially the fear of being thought presumptuous or -wishing to push oneself forward. Every youth who did so, was at once -suppressed, for here the aristocracy of seniority prevailed in a very -high degree. - -When he found the room too stuffy, he went out of the town. But the -depressing landscape with its endless expanse of clay made him sad. He -was no plain-dweller, but had his roots in the undulating scenery of -Stockholm, diversified by water channels. The flat country depressed -him and he suffered from homesickness to such a degree that when he -returned to Stockholm at Christmas and saw again the smiling contours -of the coast of Brunsvik, he was moved to the point of sentimentality. -When he saw once more the gentle curves of the woods of Haga Park he -felt his soul, as it were, attuned again, after having been so long -out of tune. To such a degree were his nerves affected by his natural -surroundings. - -Under other circumstances, the society of a smaller town like Upsala -would have been more congenial to him than that of the great town -which he hated. Had the small town been but a developed form of the -village, preserving the simple rustic appliances for health and -comfort, with fragments of landscape between the houses, it would have -been far preferable to the great town. But now the small town was -merely a shabby pretentious copy of the great town with its mistakes, -and therefore the more offensive. It also reeked with provinciality. -Every one mentioned their birthplace, "My name is Pettersson, from -Ostgothland," "Mine is Andersson, from Småland." There was a keen -rivalry between the members of different provinces. Those from -Stockholm regarded themselves as the first and were therefore envied -and despised by the "peasants." There was much dispute as to whom the -first place really belonged. The Wormlanders boasted of having produced -Geijer whose portrait hung in their hall, while the Smålanders had -Tegner, Berzelius and Linnæus. The Stockholm students who had only -Bergfalk and Bellmann were called "gutter-snipes." This was not a very -brilliant piece of wit especially as it emanated from a Kalmar student -who was thereupon asked "whether there were no gutters in Kalmar?" - -There was something pettifogging also in the way in which the -professors fought for advancement by means of pamphlets and newspaper -articles. The election to any particular professorial chair rested in -the last resource with the Chancellor of the University who lived at -Stockholm. - -In 1867 the University had no especially distinguished teachers. Some -of them were merely old decayed tipplers. Others were young immature -dilettantes who had obtained advancement through their wives and the -modicum of talent which they possessed. The only one who enjoyed a -certain reputation was Swedelius. This, however, was rather due to -his bonhomie and the anecdotes which gathered round him, then to his -own talent. His learned activity was confined to the composition in -an austere style of textbooks and memorial addresses. These were not -strictly scientific, but showed traces of original research. - -On the whole all the subjects of study were introduced from abroad, -for the most part from Germany. The textbooks in most departments -were in German or French. Very few were in English which was little -known. Even the Professor of Literary History could not pronounce -English and began his lectures with an apology for not being able -to do so. There was no doubt that he knew the language for he had -published translations of Swedish poems. "But why did he not learn -the pronunciation?" the students asked. Most of the dissertations for -degrees were mere compilations from the German; occasionally they were -direct translations which caused a scandal. - -The fact was that the period had no special feature to characterise -it. There is no such thing as Swedish culture any more than there is -Belgian, Swiss, or Hungarian. Sweden had indeed produced a Linnæus and -a Berzelius, but they had had no successors. - -John had no spirit of enterprise. At school his work had been settled -for him; at the university it was all left to him. He was overcome by -lethargy and listlessness and worried by not knowing what to do at the -end of the term. He saw that he must seek for a position in which he -could support himself. A friend had told him that one might become an -elementary teacher in the country without passing any more examinations -and could very well support oneself in such a post. Now it was John's -dream to live in the country. He had a natural dislike to towns though -he had been born in the metropolis. He could not accustom himself -to live without light and air, nor flourish in these streets and -market-places, where the outward signs of a higher or lower position in -the absurd social scale counted for so much, _e.g._ such subordinate -things as dress and manner. He had hostility to culture in his blood -and could never conceive of himself as anything else than a natural -product, which did not wish to be severed from its organic connection -with the earth. He was like a plant vainly feeling with its roots -between the pavement-stones for some soil; like an animal pining for -the forest. - -There is a fish which climbs up trees, and an eel can go on land to -look for a pease-field, but both of them return to the water. Fowls -have been domesticated so long that their ancestral characteristics -have died out, but they preserve the habit of sleeping on a perch which -represents the branch on which the black-cock and the wood-grouse -roost. Geese become restless in autumn, for an instinct in their blood -tells them that it is migrating time. So in spite of accommodation to -new circumstances there is always a tendency to go back. - -Thus is it also with men. The dweller in the north, so long as he -preserves civilised habits, has not been able to acclimatise himself -thoroughly, and is still liable to consumption. His stomach, nerves, -heart and skin were able to accommodate themselves, but not his lungs. -The Eskimo on the other hand, originally a southerner, succeeded in -acclimatising himself but had to give up civilised habits. - -And what is the meaning of the northerner's longing for the south -unless it be the wish to return to his first home, the land of the -sun, the bank of the Ganges where he was cradled? And the dislike -of children to meat, their longing for fruit and love of climbing, -what is it all but "reversion to type?" Therefore civilisation means -a continual strain and struggle to combat this backward tendency. -Education winds up the clock, but when the mainspring is not strong -enough it snaps and the works run down, till quiet ensues. As -civilisation advances the strain is ever greater and the statistics -of insanity show a perpetual increase. One cannot swim against the -stream of civilisation, but one may escape to land. Modern Socialism -which wishes to bring down the upper classes with their worthless -and dangerous motto "Higher!" is a backward movement in a healthy -direction. The strain will decrease as the pressure from above -decreases, and thereby a great deal of superfluous luxury will be got -rid of. In certain parts of German Switzerland there is already a -certain relative quiet. There we find no restless hunting after honours -and distinctions because there are none to be had. A millionaire -lives in a large cottage and laughs at the bedizened townsfolk,--a -good-natured laugh without any envy in it, for he knows that he could -buy up their finery for ready cash, if he chose. But he will not, for -luxury has no value in his neighbours' eyes. - -Men could therefore be happier if competition were not so keen and -they will yet be so, for the chief constituent of happiness is peace -along with less toil and less luxury. It is not the railways which are -to be blamed, but the superabundance of them. In Arcadian Switzerland -railways have ruined whole districts where no freightage is required -and people usually go on foot. To this day distances are reckoned by -pedestrian measures. - -"It is eight hours to Zurich," says some one. - -"Eight! is it possible?" - -"Yes, certainly." - -"By the railway?" - -"Oh! by the railway,--that is only an hour and a half." - -In Sweden there is a railway which carries regularly three passengers -in its three classes, a factory-owner, a bailiff and a clerk. We may -live to see them shut up the railway stations for want of coal when -the coal strikes have sent up the price, for want of guards when wages -rise, and for want of freight when wood and oats can no longer be -procured; iron is already too dear to be used for railways, and the old -water-ways ought to be tried. - -It is no use to preach against civilisation,--that one knows well, but -if we observe the currents of the time we shall see that a return to -nature is in process of going on. Turgenieff has already described this -by the word "simplification." That is the mistake of the evolutionists -that in everything which is in motion or course of development they -see a progress towards human happiness, forgetting that a sickness may -develop to death or recovery. - -After all, what a superficial appendage civilisation is! Make a -nobleman drunk and he can become like a savage; let a child loose in -a wood without any one to look after it (provided that it can feed -itself) and it will not learn to speak of itself. Out of a peasant's -son who is generally considered so low in the social scale, one -can make in a single generation a man of science, a minister, an -arch-bishop, or an artist. Here there can be no talk of heredity, for -the peasant-father who stood apparently at such a low level, could not -have inherited anything from cultivated brains. On the other hand, the -children of a genius inherit usually nothing but used-up brains, except -occasionally a skill in their father's line of work, which they have -acquired by daily intercourse with their father. - -The town is the fire-place whither the living fuel from the country is -brought and devoured; it is to keep the present social machinery at -work, it is true, but in the long run the fuel will prove too dear, and -the machine come to a standstill. The society of the future will not -need this machine in order to work or they will be more sparing of the -fuel. But it is a mistake to conjecture the needs of a future state of -society from the present one. - -Our present society is perhaps a natural product, but inorganic; the -future society will be an organic product and a higher one, for it -will not deprive men of the first conditions for an organic existence. -There will be the same difference between these two forms of society as -between paved streets and grass meadows. - -The youth's dream often left artificial society to wander at large -in nature. Society had been formed by men doing violence to natural -laws, just as one may bleach a plant under a flower-pot and produce an -edible salad, but the plant's capacity to live healthily and propagate -itself as a plant is destroyed. Such a plant is the civilised man -made by artificial bleaching useful for an anæmic society, but, as -an individual, wretched and unhealthy. Must the process of bleaching -continue in order to insure the existence of this decayed society? -Must the individual remain wretched in order to maintain an unhealthy -society? For how can society be healthy when its individual members -are ailing? A single individual cannot demand that society should be -sacrificed for his sake, but a majority of individuals have a right to -bring about such changes in the society, which they themselves compose, -as may be beneficial to themselves. - -Under the simpler conditions of country life John believed he could -be happy in an obscure post, without feeling that he had sunk in the -social scale. But he could not be so in the town where he would be -continually reminded of the height from which he had fallen. To come -down voluntarily is not painful if the onlookers can be persuaded that -it _is_ voluntarily, but to fall is bitter, especially as a fall always -arouses satisfaction in those standing below. To mount, strive upwards -and better one's position has become a social instinct, and the youth -felt the force of it, though in his view the "upper" was not always -higher. - -John wished now to realise some result,--an active life which should -bring him an income. He looked through many advertisements for teachers -in elementary schools. Positions were advertised to which were attached -salaries of 300 or 600 kronas, a house, a meadow and a garden. He tried -for one of these places after another but obtained no answer. - -When the term was over and his 80 kronas spent, he returned home, not -knowing whither to turn, what he should become, or how he should live. -He had glanced in the forecourt and seen that there was no room in it -for him. - - -[1] A krona = 1s. _2d_. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -BELOW AND ABOVE - - -"Are you a complete scholar now?" With this and similar questions John -was greeted ironically on his return home. His father took the matter -seriously and strove to frame plans without coming to any result. John -was a student; that was a fact; but what was to follow? - -It was winter, and so the white student cap could not bestow on him -a mild halo of glory or bring any honour to the family. Some one has -asserted that war would cease if uniforms were done away with; and it -is certain there would not be so many students if they had no outward -sign to parade. In Paris where they have none, they disappear in the -crowd, and no one makes a fuss about them; in Berlin on the other hand, -they have a privileged place by the side of officers. Therefore also -Germany is a land of professors and France of the bourgeois. - -John's father now saw that he had educated a good-for-nothing for -society who could not dig, but perhaps was not ashamed to beg. The -world stood open for the youth to starve or to perish in. His father -did not like his idea of becoming an elementary school-teacher. Was -that to be the only result of so much work? His ambitious dreams -received a shock from the idea of such a come-down. An elementary -school-teacher was on a level with a sergeant, oil a plane from which -there was no hope of mounting. Climb one must as long as others did; -one must climb till one broke one's neck, so long as society was -divided into ranks and classes. John had not passed the student's -examination for the sake of knowledge, but of belonging to the upper -class, and now he seemed to be meditating a descent to the lower. - -It became painful for him at home for he felt as though he were eating -the bread of charity when Christmas was over, and he could no longer be -regarded as a Christmas guest. - -One day he accidentally met in the street a school-teacher whom he -knew, and whom he had not seen for a long time. They talked about the -future and John's friend suggested to him a post in the Stockholm -elementary school as suitable for him while reading for his degree. He -would get a thousand kronas salary and have an hour to himself daily. -John objected "Anywhere except in Stockholm." His friend replied that -several students had been teachers in the elementary school, "Really! -then he would have companions in misfortune." Yes, and one had come -from the New Elementary School where he was a teacher. John went, made -an application, and was appointed with a salary of 900 kronas. His -father approved his decision when he heard that it would help him to -read for his degree, and John undertook to live as a boarder at home. -One winter morning at half-past eight, John went down the Nordtullsgata -to the Clara School, exactly as he had done when he was eight years -old. There were the same streets and the same Clara bells, and he was -to teach the lowest class! It was like being put back to learn a lesson -of eleven years ago. Just as afraid as then,--yes, more afraid of -coming too late he entered the large class-room, where together with -two female teachers he was to have the oversight of a hundred children. -There they sat,--children like those in the Jakob School, but younger. -Ugly, stunted, pale, swollen, sickly, with cast-down looks, in coarse -clothes and heavy shoes. Suffering, most probably, suffering from the -consciousness that others were more fortunate, and would always be -so, as one then believed, had impressed on their faces the stamp of -pain, which neither religious resignation nor the hope of heaven could -obliterate. The upper classes avoided them with a bad conscience, built -themselves houses outside the town, and left it to the professional -over-seers of the poor to come in contact with these outcasts. - -A hymn was sung, the Lord's Prayer was read; everything was as before; -no progress had been made except that the forms had been exchanged for -seats and desks, and the room was light and airy. John had to fold his -hands and join in the hymn, thus already being obliged to do violence -to his conscience. Prayers over, the head-master entered. He spoke to -John in a fatherly way and as his superintendent gave him instruction -and advice. This class, he said, was the worst, and the teacher must -be strict. - -So John took his class into a special room to begin the lesson. The -room was exactly like that in the Clara School, and there stood the -dreadful desk with steps, which resembled a scaffold and was painted -red as though stained with blood. A stick was put into his hand with -which he might rap or strike as he chose. He mounted the scaffold. He -felt shy before the thirsty faces of girls and boys opposite who looked -curiously at him, to see if he were going to worry them. - -"What is your lesson?" he asked. - -"The first commandment," the whole class exclaimed. - -"Only one must answer at a time. You, top boy what is your name?" - -"Hallberg," cried the whole class. - -"No, only one at a time,--the one I ask." - -The children giggled. "He is not dangerous," they thought. - -"Well, then, what is the first commandment?" John asked the top boy. - -"Thou shalt have no other gods but Me." He knew that then. - -"What is that?" John asked again, trying to lay as little emphasis -as possible on the "that." Then he asked fifteen children the same -question and a quarter of an hour had passed. John thought this -idiotic. What should he do now? Say what he knew about God? But the -common point of view then was, that nothing was known about Him. John -was a theist, and still believed in a personal God, but could say -nothing more. He would have liked to have attacked the divinity of -Christ, but would have been dismissed had he done so. - -A pause followed. There was an unnatural stillness while he reflected -on his false position and the foolish method of teaching. If he had -now said that nothing was known of God, the whole catechism and Bible -instruction would have been superfluous. They knew that they must not -steal or lie. Why then make such a fuss? He felt a mad wish to make -friends and fellow-sinners of the children. - -"What shall we do now?" he said. - -The whole class looked at each other and giggled. - -"This is a jolly sort of teacher," they thought. - -"What must the teacher do when he has heard the lesson?" he asked the -top boy. - -"Hm! he generally explains it," he and one or two others answered. - -John could certainly explain the origin and growth of the conception of -God, but that would not do. - -"You need not do any more," he said, "but don't make a noise." - -The children looked at him, and he at them mutually smiling. - -"Don't you think this is absurd," he felt inclined to say, but checked -himself and only smiled. But he collected himself when he saw that they -were laughing at him. "This method would not do," he thought. So he -commanded attention and went through the first commandment again till -each child had had a question. After extraordinary exertions on his -part, the clock at last struck nine, and the lesson was over. - -Then the three divisions of the class were assembled in the great -hall to prepare for going into the play-ground to get fresh air. -"Prepare" is the right word for such a simple affair as going into the -play-ground demanded a long preparation. An exact description would -fill a whole printed page, and perhaps be regarded as a caricature; we -will be content with giving a hint. - -In the first place, all the hundred children had to sit motionless, -absolutely motionless, and silent, absolutely silent, in their seats as -though they were to be photographed. From the master's desk the whole -assembly looked like a grey carpet with bright patterns, but the next -moment one of them moved the head; the offender had to rise from his -seat and stand by the wall. The total effect was now disturbed, and -there had to be a good many raps with the cane before two hundred arms -lay parallel on the desks and a hundred heads were at right angles -with their collar-bones. When quiet was in some degree restored a new -rapping began which demanded absolute quiet. But at the very moment -when the absolute was all but attained, some muscle grew tired, some -nerve slackened, some sinew relaxed. Again there was confusion, cries, -blows, and a new attempt to reach the absolute. It generally ended by -the female teacher (the males did not drive it so far) closing one eye -and pretending that the absolute had been reached. - -Then came the important moment, when, at a given signal the whole -hundred must spring from their seats and stand in order, but nothing -more. It was a ticklish moment when slates fell down and rulers -clattered. Then they had to sit down and begin all over again by -keeping perfectly still. - -When they had really got on their legs, they were marched off in -divisions but on tip-toe without exception. Otherwise they had to turn -round and sit down again, get up again and so on. They had to go on -tip-toe in wooden sabots and water-boots. It was a great mistake; it -accustomed the children to stealthiness and gave their whole appearance -something cat-like and deceitful. In the play-ground a teacher had -to arrange those who wanted to drink in a straight line before the -water-tap by the entrance; at the same time the lavatories at the -other end of the play-ground had to be inspected, and games had to be -organised and watched over. Then the children were again drawn up and -marched into school. If it was not done quietly, they had to go out -again. - -Then another lesson began. The children read out of a patriotic -reading-book the principal object of which seemed to be to instil -respect for the upper classes and to represent Sweden as the best -country in Europe, although as regards climate and social economy, -it is one of the worst, its culture is borrowed from abroad, and all -its kings were of foreign origin. They did not venture to give such -teaching to the children of the upper classes in the Clara School and -the Lyceum, but in the Jakob School they had sufficient courage to -make poor children sing a patriotic song about the Duke of Ostgothland. -In this occurred a verse addressed to the crew of the fleet, saying -victory was sure in the battle they wished for "because Prince Oscar -leads us on," or something of the sort. - -Meanwhile the reading-lesson began. But just at that moment the -head-master came in. John wished to stop but the head-master beckoned -to him to go on. The children who had lost their respect for him after -the catechism-lesson were inattentive. John scolded them, but without -result. Then the head-master came forward with a cane; took the book -from John and made a little speech, to the effect that this division -was the worst, but now their teacher should see how to deal with them. -The exercise which followed seemed to have as its object the attainment -of perfect attention. The absolute again seemed to be the standard by -which these children were to be trained in this incomplete world of -relativity. - -The boy who was reading was interrupted, and another name called at -random out of the class. To follow attentively was assumed to be the -easiest thing in the world by this old man who certainly must have -experienced how thoughts wander their own way while the eyes pass -over the printed page. The inattentive one was dragged by his hair or -clothes and caned till he fell howling on the ground. - -Then the head-master departed after recommending John to use the cane -diligently. There remained nothing but to follow this method or to go; -the latter did not suit John's plans, therefore he remained. He made a -speech to the children and referred to the head-master. "Now," he said, -"you know how you must behave if you want to escape a thrashing. He who -gets one, has himself to thank. Don't blame me. Here is the stick, and -there is your lesson. Learn your lesson or you will get the stick,--and -it isn't my fault." - -That was cunningly put, but it was unmerciful, for one ought to have -first ascertained how far the children could do their work. They could -not, for they were the most lively and therefore the most inattentive. -So the cane was kept going all day, accompanied by cries of pain, and -fear on the faces of the innocent. It was terrible! To pay attention -is not in the power of the will, and therefore all this punishment was -mere torture. John felt the absurdity of the part he had to play, but -he had to do his duty. Sometimes he was tired and let things go as they -liked, but then his colleagues, male and female, came and made friendly -representations. Sometimes he found the whole thing so ridiculous -that he could not help smiling with the children while he caned them. -Both sides saw that they were working at something impossible and -unnecessary. - -Ibsen, who does not believe in the aristocracy of birth or of wealth, -has lately (1886) expressed his belief that the industrial class -are the true nobility. But why should they necessarily be so? If to -do no manual labour tends to degeneration, perhaps degeneration is -brought about even more quickly by excessive labour and want. All -these children born of manual labourers looked more sickly, weak and -stupid than the upper-class children which he had seen. One or the -other muscle might be more strongly developed,--a shoulder-blade, a -hand, or a foot,--but they looked anæmic under their pale skins. -Many had extraordinarily large heads which seemed to be swollen with -water, their ears and noses ran, their hands were frost-bitten. The -various professional diseases of town-labourers seemed to have been -inherited; one saw in miniature the gas-worker's lungs and blood spoilt -by sulphur-fumes, the smith's shoulders and feet bent out-wards, the -painter's brain atrophied by varnishes and poisonous colours, the -scrofulous eruption of the chimney sweeper, the contracted chest of -the book-binder; here one heard the cough of the workers in metal -and asphalt, smelt the poisons of the paper-stainer, observed the -watch-maker's short-sightedness, in second editions, so to speak. In -truth this was no race to which the future belonged, or on which the -future could build; nor was it a race which could permanently increase, -for the ranks of the workers are continually recruited from the country. - -It was not till about two o'clock that the great school-room was -emptied, for it took them about an hour with blows and raps to get out -of it into the street. The most unpractical part of it was that the -children had to march into the hall in troops to get their overcoats -and cloaks, and then march into the school-room again, instead of -going straight home. When John got into the street, he asked himself -"Is that the celebrated education which they have given to the lower -classes with so much sacrifice?" He could ask, and he was answered, -"Can it be done in any other way?" "No," he was obliged to answer. "If -it is your intention to educate a slavish lower class, always ready to -obey, train them with the stick,--if you mean to bring up a proletariat -to demand nothing of life, tell them lies about heaven. Tell them that -your method of teaching is ridiculous, let them begin to criticise -or get their way in one point and you have taken a step towards the -dissolution of society. But society is built up upon an obedient -conscientious lower class; therefore keep them down from the first; -deprive them of will and reason, and teach them to hope for nothing but -to be content." There was method in this madness. - -As regards the instruction in the elementary school, there was both -a good and bad side to it; the good was that they had introduced -object-teaching after the example of Pestalozzi, Rousseau's disciple; -the bad, that the students who taught in the elementary schools had -introduced "scientific" teaching. The simple learning by heart of the -multiplication table was not enough; it, together with fractions, -had to be understood. Understood? And yet an engineer who has been -through the technical high school cannot explain "why" a fraction -can be diminished by three if the sum of the figures is divisible by -three. On this principle seamen would not be allowed to use logarithm -tables, because they cannot calculate logarithms. To be always -relaying the foundation instead of building on what is already laid is -an educational luxury and leads to the over-multiplication of lessons -in schools. - -Some one may object that John should first have reformed himself -as teacher, before he set about reforming the system of education; -but he could not; he was a passive instrument in the hands of the -superintendent and the school authorities. The best teachers, that is -to say, those who forced the worst (in this case the best) results out -of the pupils were the uneducated ones who came from the Seminary. They -were not sceptical about the methods in use and had no squeamishness -about caning, but the children respected them the most. A great coarse -fellow who had formerly been a carriage-maker had the bigger boys -completely under his thumb. The lower class seem to have really more -fear and respect for those of their own rank than the upper class. -Bailiffs and foremen are more awe-imposing than superintendents and -teachers. Do the lower classes see that the superior who has come out -of their ranks understands their affairs better, and therefore pay him -more respect? The female teachers also enjoyed more respect than the -male. They were pedantic, demanded absolute perfection, and were not at -all soft-hearted, but rather cruel. They were fond of practising the -refined cruelty of blows on the palm of the hand and showed in so doing -a want of intelligence which the most superficial study of physiology -would have remedied. When a child by involuntary reflex action, drew -his fingers back, he was punished all the more for not keeping his -fingers still. As if one could prevent blinking, when something blew -into one's eye! The female teachers had the advantage of knowing very -little about teaching and were plagued with no doubts. It was not true -that they had less pay than the men teachers. They had relatively more; -and if after passing a paltry teacher's examination they had received -more than the students, that would have been unjust. They were treated -with partiality, regarded as miracles, when they were competent, and -received allowances for travelling abroad. - -As comrades, they were friendly and helpful if one was polite and -submissive and let them hold the reins. There was not the slightest -trace of flirtation; the men saw them in anything but becoming -situations, and under an aspect which women do not usually show to -the other sex, viz. that of jailers. They made notes of everything, -prepared themselves for their lessons, were narrow-minded and content, -and saw through nothing. It was a very suitable occupation for them -under existing circumstances. - -When John was thoroughly sick of caning, or could not manage a boy, or -was in despair generally, he sent the black sheep to a female teacher, -who willingly undertook the unpleasant rôle of executioner. - -What it is that makes the competent teacher is not clear. Some produced -an effect by their quiet manner, others by their nervousness; some -seemed to magnetise the children, others beat them; some imposed on -them by their age or their manly appearance, etc. The women worked as -women, _i.e._ through a half-forgotten tradition of a past matriarchate. - -John was not competent. He looked too young and was only just nineteen; -he was sceptical about the methods employed and everything else; with -all his seriousness he was playful and boyish. The whole matter to him -was only an employment by the way, for he was ambitious and wished to -advance, but did not know in which direction. - -Moreover he was an aristocrat like his contemporaries. Through -education his habits and senses had been refined, or spoilt, as one may -choose to call it; he found it hard to tolerate unpleasant smells, ugly -objects, distorted bodies, coarse expressions, torn clothes. Life had -given him much, and these daily reminders of poverty plagued him like -an evil conscience. He himself might have been one of the lower class -if his mother had married one of her own position. - -"He was proud" a shop-boy would have said, who had mounted to the -position of editor of a paper and boasted that he was content with his -lot, forgetting that he might well be content since he had risen from -a low position. "He was proud" a master shoemaker would have said, who -would have rather thrown himself into the sea than become an apprentice -again. John _was_ proud, of that there was no doubt, as proud as the -master shoemaker, but not in such a high degree, as he had descended -from the level of the student to the elementary school-teacher. That, -however, was no virtue, but a necessity, and he did not therefore boast -of his step downward, nor give himself the air of being a friend of -the people. One cannot command sympathies and antipathies, and for the -lower class to demand love and self-sacrifice from the upper class is -mere idealism. The lower class is sacrificed for the upper class, but -they have offered themselves willingly. They have the right to take -back their rights, but they should do it themselves. No one gives up -his position willingly, therefore the lower class should not wait for -kings and the upper class to go. "Pull us down! but all together." - -If an intelligent man of the upper class help in such an operation, -those below should be thankful to him especially since such an act is -liable to the imputation of being inspired by impure motives. Therefore -the lower class should not too narrowly inspect the motives of those -who help them; the result is in all eases the same. The aristocrats -seem to have seen this and therefore regard one of themselves who sides -with the proletariat as a traitor. He is a traitor to his class, that -is true; and the lower class should put it to his credit. - -John was not an aristocrat in the sense that he used the word "mob" or -despised the poor. Through his mother he was closely allied to them, -but circumstances had estranged him from them. That was the fault of -class-education. This fault might be done away with for the future, if -elementary schools were reformed by the inclusion of the knowledge of -civil duties in their programme, and by their being made obligatory for -all, without exception, as the militia-schools are. Then it would be no -longer a disgrace to become an elementary school-teacher as it now is, -and made a matter of reproach to a man that he has been one. - -John, in order to keep himself above, applied himself to his future -work. To this end he studied Italian grammar in his spare time at the -school. He could now buy books and did so. He was honest enough not to -construe these efforts at climbing up as an ideal thirst for knowledge -or a striving for the good of humanity. He simply read for his degree. - -But the meagre diet he had lived on in Upsala, his midday meals at 6 -kronas, the milk and the bread had undermined his strength, and he -was now in the pleasure-seeking period of youth. It was tedious at -home, and in the afternoons he went to the café or the restaurant, -where he met friends. Strong drinks invigorated him and he slept well -after them. The desire for alcohol seems to appear regularly in each -adolescent. All northerners are born of generations of drinkers from -the early heathen times, when beer and mead was drunk, and it is quite -natural that this desire should be felt as a necessity. With John it -was an imperious need the suppression of which resulted in a diminution -of strength. It may be questioned whether abstinence for us may not -involve the same risk, as the giving up of poison for an arsenic-eater. -Probably the otherwise praiseworthy temperance movement will merely -end in demanding moderation; that is a virtue and not a mere exhibition -of will power which results in boasting and self-righteousness. - -John who had hitherto only worn east-off suits, began to wear fine -clothes. His salary seemed to him extraordinarily great and in the -magnifying-glass of his fancy assumed huge proportions, with the result -that he soon ran into debt. Debt which grew and grew and could never be -paid, became the vulture gnawing at his life, the object of his dreams, -the wormwood which poisoned his content. What foolish hopefulness, what -colossal self-deceit it was to incur debts! What did he expect? To gain -an academic dignity. And then? To become a teacher with a salary of 750 -kronas! Less than he had now! Not the least trying part of his work was -to accommodate his brain to the capacity of the children. That meant -to come down to the level of the younger and less intelligent, and to -screw down the hammer so that it might hit the anvil,--an operation -which injured the machine. - -On the other hand he derived real profit from his observations in -the families of the children, whom his duty required him to visit on -Sundays. There was one boy in his class who was the most difficult of -all. He was dirty and ill-dressed, grinned continually, smelt badly, -never knew his lessons and was always being caned. He had a very large -head and staring eyes which rolled and turned about continually. John -had to visit his parents in order to find out the reason of his -irregular attendance at school and bad behaviour. He therefore went -to the Apelbergsgata where they kept a public-house. He found that -the father had gone to work, but the mother was at the counter. The -public-house was dark and evil-smelling, filled with men who looked -threateningly at John as he entered probably taking him for a plain -clothes policeman. He gave his message to the mother and was asked -into a room behind the counter. One glance at it sufficed to explain -everything. The mother blamed her son and excused him alternately and -she had some reason for the latter. The boy was accustomed to "lick the -glasses,"--that was the explanation and that was enough. What could be -done in such a case? A change of dwelling, better food, a nurse to look -after him and so on. All these were questions of money! - -Afterwards he came to the Clara poor-house, which was empty of its -usual occupants and provisionally opened to families because of the -want of houses. In a great hall lay and stood quite a dozen families, -who had divided the floor with strokes of chalk. There stood a -carpenter with his planing-bench, here sat a shoemaker with his board; -round about on both sides of the chalk-line women sat and children -crawled. What could John do there? Send in a report on a matter which -was perfectly well known, distribute wood-tickets and orders for meat -and clothing. - -In Kungsholmsbergen he came across specimens of proud poverty. There he -was shown the door, "God be thanked, we have no need of charity. We -are all right." - -"Indeed! Then you should not let your boy go in torn boots in winter." - -"That is not your business, sir," and the door was slammed. - -Sometimes he saw sad scenes,--a child sick, the room full of sulphur -fumes of coke, and all coughing from the grandmother down to the -youngest. What could he do except feel dispirited and make his escape? -At that period there was no other means of help except charity; writers -who described the state of things, contented themselves with lamenting -it; no one saw any hope. Therefore there was nothing to do except to be -sorry, help temporarily, and fly in order not to despair. - -All this lay like a heavy cloud upon him, and he lost pleasure in -study. He felt there was something wrong here, but nothing could be -done said all the newspapers and books and people. It must be so but -every one is free to climb. You climb too! - -Time went on and spring approached. John's closest acquaintance -was a teacher from the Slöjd School. He was a poet, well-versed -in literature, and also musical. They generally walked to the -Stallmastergarden restaurant, discussed literature, and ate their -supper there. While John was paying his attentions to the waitress, -his friend played the piano. Sometimes the latter amused himself by -writing comic verses to girls. John was seized with a craze for writing -verse but could not. The gift must be born with one, he thought, and -inspiration descend all of a sudden, as in the case of conversion. -He was evidently not one of the elect, and felt himself neglected by -nature and maimed. - -One evening when John was sitting and chatting with the girl, she said -quite suddenly to him, "Friday is my birthday; you must write some -verses for me." - -"Yes," answered John, "I will." - -Later on when he met his friend, he told him of his hasty promise. - -"I will write them for you," he said. The next day he brought a poem, -copied out in a fine hand-writing and composed in John's name. It was -piquant and amusing. John dispatched it on the morning of the birthday. - -In the evening of the same day both the friends came to eat their -supper and to congratulate the girl. She did not appear for an hour for -she had to serve guests. The teachers' meal was brought and they began -to eat. - -Then the girl appeared in the doorway and beckoned John. She looked -almost severe. John went to her and they ascended a flight of stairs. -"Have you written the verses?" she asked. - -"No," said John. - -"Ah, I thought so. The lady behind the buffet said she had read them -two years ago when the teacher sent them to Majke who was an ugly girl. -For shame, John!" - -He took his cap and wanted to rush out, but the girl caught hold of him -and tried to keep him back for she saw that he looked deathly pale -and beside himself. But he wrenched himself free and hastened into -the Bellevue Park. He ran into the wood leaving the beaten tracks. -The branches of the bushes flew into his face, stones rolled over his -feet, and frightened birds rose up. He was quite wild with shame, and -instinctively sought the wood in order to hide himself. It is a curious -phenomenon that at the utmost pitch of despair a man runs into the -wood before he plunges into the water. The wood is the penultimate and -the water the ultimate resource. It is related of a famous author, who -had enjoyed a twenty years' popularity quietly and proudly, that he -was suddenly cast down from his position. He was as though struck by a -thunderbolt, went half-mad and sought the shelter of the woods where -he recovered himself. The wood is the original home of the savage and -the enemy of the plough and therefore of culture. When a civilised man -suddenly strips off the garb of civilisation, the artistically woven -fabric of his repute, he becomes in a moment a savage or a wild beast. -When a man becomes mad, he begins to throw off his clothes. What is -madness? A relapse? Yes, many think animals mad. - -It was evening when John entered the wood. In the midst of some -bushes he laid down on a great block of stone. He was ashamed of -himself,--that was the chief impression on his mind. An emotional man -is more severe with himself than others think. He scourged himself -unmercifully. He had wished to shine in borrowed plumage, and so lied; -and in the second place he had insulted an innocent girl. The first -part of the accusation affected him in a very sensitive point,--his -want of poetic capacity. He wished to do more than he could. He was -discontent with the position which nature and society had assigned -him. Yes, but (and now his self-defence began after the evening air -had cooled his blood), in the school one had been always exhorted to -strive upwards; those who did so were praised, and discontent with -the position one might happen to be in, was justified. Yes but (here -the scourge descended!) he had tried to deceive. To deceive! That was -unpardonable. He was ashamed, stripped and unmasked without any means -of retreat. Deception, falsity, cheating! So it was! - -As a quondam Christian, John was most afraid of having a fault, and -as a member of society he feared lest it should be visible. Everybody -knew that one had faults, but to acknowledge them was regarded as a -piece of cynicism, for society always wishes to appear better than it -is. Sometimes, however, society demanded that one should confess one's -fault if one wished for forgiveness, but that was a trick. Society -wished for confession in order to enjoy the punishment, and was very -deceitful. John had confessed his fault, been punished, and still his -conscience was uneasy. - -The second point regarding the girl was also difficult. She had loved -him purely and he had insulted her. How coarse and vulgar! Why should -he think that a waitress could not love innocently? His own mother had -been in the same position as that girl. He had insulted her. Shame -upon him! - -Now he heard shouts in the park, and his name being called. The girl's -voice and his friend's echoed among the trees, but he did not answer -them. For a moment the scourge fell out of his hands; he became sobered -and thought, "I will go back, we will have supper, call Riken and drink -a glass with her, and it will be all over." But no! He was too high up -and one cannot descend all at once. - -The voices became silent. He lay back in a state of semi-stupefaction -and ground his double crime between the mill-stones of rumination. He -had lied and hurt her feelings. - -It began to grow dark. There was a rustling in the bushes; he started -and a sweat broke out upon him. Then he went out and sat upon a seat -till the dew fell. He shivered and felt poorly. Then he got up and went -home. - -Now his head was clear and he could think. What a stupid business it -all was! He did not really mean that she should take him for a poet, -and had been quite ready to explain the whole trick. It was all a joke. -His friend had made a fool of him, but it did not matter. - -When he got home he found his friend sleeping in his bed. He wanted -to rise but John would not let him. He wished to scourge himself once -more. He lay on the floor, put a cigar-box under his head and drew a -volunteer's cloak over him. In the morning when he awoke, John asked in -trembling tones, "How did she take it?" - -"Ah, she laughed; then we drank a glass, and it was over. She liked the -verses." - -"She laughed! Was she not angry?" - -"Not at all." - -"Then she only humbugged me." - -John wished to hear no more. This trifle had kept him on the rack for a -whole dreadful night. He felt ashamed of having asked whether she was -disquieted about him. But since she had laughed and drunk punch she -could not have been. Not even anxious about his life! - -He dressed himself and went down to the school. - -The habit of self-criticism derived from his religious training had -accustomed him to occupy himself with his ego, to fondle and cherish -it, as though it were a separate and beloved personality. So cherished -the ego expanded and kept continually looking within instead of -without upon the world. It was an interesting personal acquaintance, a -friend who must be flattered, but who must also hear the truth and be -corrected. - -It was the mental malady of the time reduced to a system by Fichte, -who taught that everything took place in the ego and through the ego, -without which there was no reality. It was the formula for romanticism -and for subjective idealism. - -"I stood on the shore under the king's castle," "I dwell in the cave -of the mountain," "I, small boy, watch the door," "I think of the -beautiful times,"--all these phrases struck the same note. Was this "I" -really so proud. Was not the poet's "I" more modest than the editor's -royal "we"? - -This absorption in self, or the new malady of culture, of which much -is written nowadays, has been common with all men who have not worked -with their bodies. The brain is only an organ for imparting movement -to the muscles. Now when in a civilised man the brain cannot act upon -the muscles, nor bring its power into play, there results a disturbance -of equilibrium. The brain begins to dream; too full of juices which -cannot be absorbed by muscular activity, it converts them involuntarily -into systems, into thought-combinations, into the hallucinations which -haunt painters, sculptors and poets. If no outlet can be found, there -follows stagnation, violent outbreaks, depression, and at last madness. -Schools which are often vestibules for asylums, have recourse to -gymnastics, but with what result? There is no connection between the -pupil's cerebral activity and the muscular activity called into play by -gymnastics; the latter is only directed by another's will through the -word of command. - -All studious youths are aware of this tendency to congestion of the -brain. It is a good thing that they often go out to improve or to -beautify society, but it would be better if the equilibrium were -restored, and a sound mind dwelt in a sound body. It has been sought to -introduce physical work into schools as a remedy. It would be better -to let elementary knowledge be acquired at home, to make the school -a day-school, and to let every one look after himself. For the rest -the emancipation of the lower classes will compel the higher classes -to undertake some of the physical labour now carried on by domestics -and so the equilibrium will be restored. That such labour does not -blunt the intelligence can be easily seen by observing that some of -the strongest minds of the time have had such daily contact with -reality, _e.g._ Mill the civil service official, Spencer, the civil -engineer, Edison the telegraphist. The student period of life, the most -unwholesome because not under discipline, is also the most dangerous. -The brain continually takes in, without producing anything, not even -anything intellectual, while the whole muscular system is unoccupied. - -John at this time was suffering from an over-production of thought and -imagination. The mechanical school-work continually revolving in the -same circle with the same questions and answers afforded no relief. -It increased on the other hand his stock of observations of children -and teachers. There lay and fermented in his mind a quantity of -experiences, perceptions, criticisms and thoughts without any order. He -therefore sought for society in order to speak his mind out. But it was -not sufficient, and as he did not find any one who was willing to act -as a sounding-board, he took to declaiming poetry. - -In the early sixties declamation was much the fashion. In families they -used to read aloud "The Kings of Salamis." In the numerous volunteer -concerts the same pieces were declaimed over and over again. These -declamations were what the quartette singing had been, an outlet for -all the hope and enthusiasm called forth by the awakening of 1865. -Since Swedes are neither born nor trained orators, they became singers -and reciters, perhaps because their want of originality sought a -ready-made means of expression. They could execute but not create. The -same want of originality showed itself in the bachelor's gatherings -where reciters of anecdotes were much in request. This feeble and -tedious form of amusement was superseded when the new questions of the -day provided food for conversation and discussion. - -One day John came to his friend the elementary school-teacher whom he -found together with another young colleague. When the conversation -began to slacken, his friend produced a volume of Schiller, whose poems -had just then appeared in a cheap edition and were bought mostly for -that reason. They opened "The Robbers" and read round in turn, John -taking the part of Karl Moor. The first scene of the first act took -place between old Moor and Franz. Then came the second scene: John -read, "I am sick of this quill-driving age when I read of great men -in Plutarch." He did not know the play and had never seen bandits. -At first he read absent-mindedly, but his interest was soon aroused. -The play struck a new note. He found his obscure dreams expressed -in words; his rebellious criticisms printed. Here then was another, -a great and famous author who felt the same disgust at the whole -course of education in school and university as he did, who would -rather be Robinson Crusoe or a bandit than be enrolled in this army -which is called society. He read on; his voice shook, his cheeks -glowed, his breast heaved: "They bar out healthy nature with tasteless -conventionalities."... There it stood all in black and white. "And that -is Schiller!" he exclaimed, "the same Schiller who wrote the tedious -history of the Thirty Years' War, and the tame drama "Wallenstein" -which is read in schools!" Yes, it was the same man. Here (in "The -Robbers") he preached revolt, revolt against law, society, morals -and religion. That was in the revolt of 1781 eight years before the -great revolution. That was the anarchists' programme a hundred years -before its time, and Karl Moor was a nihilist. The drama came out with -a lion on the title-page and with the inscription "In Tyrannos." The -author then (1781) aged two-and-twenty had to fly. There was no doubt -therefore about the intention of the piece. There was also another -motto from Hippocrates which showed this intention as plainly; "What is -not cured by medicine must be cured by iron; what is not cured by iron -must be cured by fire." - -That was clear enough! But in the preface the author apologised and -recanted. He disclaimed all sympathy with Franz Moor's sophisms and -said that he wished to exhibit the punishment of wickedness in Karl -Moor. Regarding religion he said, "Just now it is the fashion to make -religion a subject for one's wit to play upon as Voltaire and Frederick -the Great did, and a man is scarcely reckoned a genius unless he can -make the holiest truths the object of his godless satire...." I hope -I have exacted no ordinary revenge for religion and sound morality in -handing over these obstinate despisers of Scripture in the person of -this scoundrelly bandit, to public contumely. Was then Schiller true -when he wrote the drama, and false when he wrote the preface? True in -both cases, for man is a complex creature, and sometimes appears in his -natural sometimes in his artificial character. At his writing-table -in loneliness, when the silent letters were being written down on -paper, Schiller seems like other young authors to have worked under the -influence of a blind natural impulse without regard to mens' opinion, -without thinking of the public, or laws, or constitutions. The veil -was lifted for a moment and the falsity of society seen through in its -whole extent. The silence of the night when literary work--especially -in youth,--is carried on, causes one to forget the noisy artificial -life outside, and darkness hides the heaps of stones over which animals -which are ill-adapted to their environment stumble. Then comes the -morning, the light of day, the street noises, men, friends, police, -clocks striking, and the seer is afraid of his own thoughts. Public -opinion raises its cry, newspapers sound the alarm, friends drop off, -it becomes lonely round one, and an irresistible terror seizes the -attacker of society. "If you will not be with us," society says, "then -go into the woods. If you are an animal ill-adapted to its environment, -or a savage, we will deport you to a lower state of society which -you will suit." And from its own point of view society is right and -always will be right. But the society of the future will celebrate the -revolter, the individual, who has brought about social improvement, and -the revolter is justified long after his death. - -In every intelligent youth's life there comes a moment when he is in -the transition stage between family life and that of society, when -he feels disgusted at artificial civilisation and breaks out. If he -remains in society, he is soon suppressed by the united wet-blankets -of sentiment and anxiety about living; he becomes tired, dazzled, -drops off and leaves other young men to continue the fight. This -unsophisticated glance into things, this outbreak of a healthy nature -which must of necessity take place in an unspoilt youth, has been -stigmatised by a name which is intended to depreciate the idealistic -impulses of youth. It is called "spring fever" by which is meant that -it is only a temporary illness of childhood, a rising of the vernal -sap, which produces stoppage of the circulation and giddiness. But who -knows whether the youth did not see right before society put out his -eyes? And why do they despise him afterwards? - -Schiller had to creep into a public post for the sake of a living and -even eat the bread of charity from a duke's hand. Therefore his writing -degenerated, though perhaps not from an æsthetic or subordinate point -of view. But his hatred of tyrants is everywhere manifest. It declares -itself against Philip II of Spain, Dorea of Genoa, Gessler of Austria, -but therefore ceases to be effective. Schiller's rebellion which was in -the first instance directed against society, was afterwards directed -against the monarchy alone. He closes his career with the following -advice to a world reformer (not, however, till he had seen the reaction -which followed the French Revolution). "For rain and dew and for the -welfare of mankind, let heaven care to-day, my friend, as it has always -done." Heaven, the unfortunate old heaven will care for it, just as -well as it has done before. - -Just as a man once does his militia duty at the age of twenty-one, so -Schiller did his. How many have shirked it! - -John did not take the preface to "The Robbers" very seriously or rather -ignored it; but he took Karl Moor literally for he was congenial. He -did not imitate him, for he was so like him that he had no need to do -so. He was just as mutinous, just as wavering, and just as ready at an -alarm to go and deliver himself into the hands of justice. - -His disgust at everything continually increased and he began to make -plans for flight from organised society. Once it occurred to him to -journey to Algiers and enlist in the Foreign Legion. That would be -fine he thought to live in the desert in a tent, to shoot at half-wild -men or perhaps be shot by them. But circumstances occurred at the -right moment, to reconcile him again with his environment. Through the -recommendation of a friend he was offered the post of tutor to two -girls in a rich and cultured family. The children were to be educated -in a new and liberal-minded method and neither to go to a girls' school -nor have a governess. That was an important task to which he was -called and John did not feel himself adequate to it; besides which he -objected that he was only an elementary school-teacher. He was answered -that his future employers knew that, but were liberal-minded. How -liberal-minded people were at that time! - -Now there commenced a new double life for him. From the penal -institution of the elementary school with its compulsory catechism and -Bible, its poverty, wretchedness, and cruelty, he went to dinner at -one o'clock, which he swallowed in a quarter of an hour, and then by -two o'clock was at his post as private tutor. The house was one of the -finest at that time in Stockholm with a porter, Pompeian stair-cases -and painted windows in the hall. In a handsome, large, well-lighted -corner room with flowers, bird-cages and an aquarium he was to give -lessons to two well-dressed, washed and combed little girls, who -looked cheerful and satisfied after their dinner. Here he could give -expression to his own thoughts. The catechism was banished, and only -select Bible stories were to be read together with broad-minded -explanations of the life and teachings of the Ideal Man, for the -children were not to be confirmed, but brought up after a new model. -They read Schiller and were enthusiastic for William Tell and the -fortunate little land of freedom. John taught them all that he knew and -spent more time in talking than in asking questions; he roused in them -the hopes of a better future which he shared himself. - -Here he obtained an insight into a social circle hitherto unknown to -him, that of the rich and cultured. Here he found liberal-mindedness, -courage and the desire for truth. Down below in the elementary school -they were cowardly, conservative and untruthful. Would the parents of -the children be willing to have religious teaching done away with, -even if the school authorities recommended it? Probably not. Must -then illumination come from the upper classes? Certainly, though not -from the highest class of all, but from the republic of truth-seeking -scientists. John saw that one must get an upper place in order to be -heard; therefore he must strive upwards or pull culture down and cast -the sparks of it among all. One needed to be economically independent -in order to be liberally minded; a position was necessary in order to -give one's words weight; thus aristocracy ruled in this sphere also. - -There was at that time a group of young doctors, men of science and -letters, and members of parliament who formed a liberal league without -constituting themselves a formal society. They gave popular lectures, -engaged not to receive any honorary decorations, cherished liberal -views on the subject of the State Church and wrote in the papers. Among -them were Axel Key, Nordenskiöld, Christian Loven, Harald Wieselgren, -Hedlund, Victor Rydberg, Meijerberg, Jolin, and many less-known names. -These, with one or two exceptions, worked quietly without creating -excitement. After the reaction of 1872 they fell off and became tired; -they could not join any political party which was rather an advantage -than otherwise for the country party had already begun to be corrupted -by yearly visiting Stockholm and attendance at the court. They now all -belong to the moderate or respectable liberal party, except those of -them who have joined the indifferents, a fact not to be wondered at, -after they had for so many years fought uselessly for nothing. - -Through the family of his pupils John came into external touch with -this group, obtained a closer view of them, and heard their speeches at -dinners and suppers. To John they sometimes seemed the very men whom -the time needed, who would first spread enlightenment and then work -for reform. Here he met the superintendent of the elementary school -and was surprised at finding him among the liberals. But he had the -school authorities over him and was as good as powerless. At a cheerful -dinner, when John had plucked up heart, he wished to have an intimate -talk with him and to come to an understanding. "Here," he thought, -"we can play the part of augurs and laugh with each other over our -champagne." But the superintendent did not want to laugh and asked him -to postpone the conversation till they met in the school. No, John did -not want to do that, for in the school both would have other views, and -speak of something else. - -John's debts increased and so did his work. He was in the school from -eight till one; then he ate his dinner and went to give his private -lessons within half-an-hour, arriving out of breath, with food half -digested, and sleepy; then he taught till four o'clock going out -afterwards to give more lessons in the Nordtullsgata; he returned to -his girl pupils in the evening, and then read far into the night for -his examination after ten hours' teaching. That was over-work. The -pupil thinks his work hard, but he is only the carriage while the -teacher is the horse. Teaching is decidedly harder than standing by a -screw or the crane of a machine, and equally monotonous. - -His brain, dulled by work and disturbed digestion, needed to be roused, -and his strength needed replenishing. He chose the shortest and best -method by going into a café, drinking a glass of wine, and sitting for -a while. It was good that there were such places of recreation, where -young men could meet and fathers of families recruit themselves over a -newspaper and talk of something else than business. - -The following summer he went out to a summer settlement outside the -city. There he read daily for a couple of hours with his girl pupils -and a whole number of children besides them. The summer settlement -afforded rich and varied opportunities of social intercourse. It was -divided into three camps,--the learned, the æsthetic and the civic. -John belonged to all three. It has been asserted that loneliness -injures the development of character (into an automaton), and if -has been also asserted that much social intercourse is bad for the -development of character. Everything can be said and can be true; it -all depends upon the point of view. But no doubt for the development -of the soul into a rich and free life much social intercourse is -necessary. The more men one sees and talks with, the more points -of view and experiences one gains. Every one conceals a grain of -originality in himself, every individual has his own history. John got -on equally well with all; he spoke on learned matters with the learned, -discussed art and literature with the æsthetes, sang quartettes and -danced with the young people, taught the children and botanised, -sailed, rode and swam with them. But after he had spent some time in -the rush, he withdrew into solitude for a day or two to digest his -impressions. Those who were really happy were the townsmen. They came -from their work in the town, shook off their cares and played in the -evening. Old wholesale merchants played in the ring and sang and danced -like children. The learned and the æsthetic on the other hand sat -on chairs, spoke of their work, were worried by their thoughts as by -nightmares and never seemed to be really happy. They could not free -themselves from the tyranny of thought. The tradesmen, however, had -preserved a little green spot in their hearts which neither the thirst -for gain nor speculation nor competition had been able to parch up. -There was something emotional and hearty about them which John was -inclined to call "nature." They could laugh like lunatics, scream like -savages, and be swayed by the emotions of the moment. They wept over -a friend's misfortune or death, embraced each other when delighted -and could be carried out of themselves by a beautiful sunset. The -professors sat in chairs and could not see the landscape because of -their eye-glasses, their looks were directed inwards, and they never -showed their feelings. They talked in syllogisms and formulas; their -laughter was bitter, and all their learning seemed like a puppet play. -Is that then the highest point of view? It is not a defect to have let -a whole region of the soul's life lie fallow? - -It was the third camp with which John was on the most intimate -terms. This was a little clique consisting of a doctor's family and -their friends. There sang the renowned tenor W. while Professor M. -accompanied him; there played and sang the composer J.; there the -old Professor P. talked about his journeys to Rome in the company -of painters of high birth. Here the emotions had full play, but -were under the control of good taste. They enjoyed the sunsets, but -analysed the lights and shades and talked of lines and "values." The -more noisy enjoyments of the tradesmen were regarded as disturbing -and unæsthetic. They were enthusiasts for art. John spent some hours -pleasantly with these amiable people, but when he heard the sound of -quartette singing and dance-music from the villa close by, he longed to -be there. That was certainly more lively. - -In hours of solitude he read, and now for the first time, became really -acquainted with Byron. "Don Juan," which he already knew, he had found -merely frivolous. It really dealt with nothing and the descriptions -of scenery were intolerably long. The work seemed merely a string of -adventures and anecdotes. In "Manfred" he renewed acquaintance with -Karl Moor in another dress. Manfred was no hater of men; he hated -himself more, and went to the Alps in order to fly himself, but always -found his guilty self beside him, for John guessed at once that he had -been guilty of incest. Nowadays it is generally believed that Byron -hinted at this crime, which was purely imaginary, in order to make -himself appear interesting. To become interesting as a romanticist at -whatever price would at the present time be called "differentiating -oneself, going beyond and above the others." Crime was regarded as -a sign of strength, therefore it was considered desirable to have a -crime to boast about, but not such a one as could be punished. They did -not want to have anything to do with the police and penal servitude. -There was certainly a spirit of opposition to law and morality in this -boasting of crime. - -Manfred's discontent with heaven and the government of Providence -pleased John. Manfred's denunciations of men were really levelled at -society, though society as we now understand it, had not then been -discovered. Rousseau, Byron and the rest were by no means discontented -misogynists. It was only primitive Christianity which demanded that men -should love men. To say that one was interested in them would be more -modest and truthful. One who has been overreached and thrust aside in -the battle of life may well fear men, but one cannot hate them when -one realises one's solidarity with humanity and that human intercourse -is the greatest pleasure in life. Byron was a spirit who awoke before -the others and might have been expected to hate his contemporaries, but -none the less strove and suffered for the good of all. - -When John saw that the poem was written in blank verse he tried to -translate it, but had not got far, before he discovered that he could -not write verse. He was not "called." Sometimes melancholy, sometimes -frisky, John felt at times an uncontrollable desire to quench the -burning fire of thought in intoxication and bring the working of his -brain to a standstill. Though he was shy, he felt occasionally impelled -to step forward, to make himself impressive, to collect hearers and -appear on a stage. When he had drunk a good deal, he wanted to declaim -poetry in the grand style. But in the middle of the piece, when his -ecstasy was at its highest, he heard his own voice, became nervous and -embarrassed, found himself ridiculous, suddenly dropped into a prosaic -and comic tone and ended with a grimace; he could be pathetic, but -only for a while; then came self-criticism and he laughed at his own -overwrought feelings. The romantic was in his blood, but the realistic -side of him was about to wake up. - -He was also liable to attacks of caprice and self-punishment. Thus he -remained away from a dinner to which he had been invited and lay in his -room hungry till the evening. He excused himself by saying that he had -overslept. - -The summer approached its end and he looked forward to the beginning of -the autumn term in the elementary school with dread. He had now been -in circles where poverty never showed its emaciated face; he had tasted -the enticing wine of culture and did not wish to become sober again. - -His depression increased; he retired into himself and withdrew from the -circle of his friends. But one evening, there was a knock at his door; -the old doctor who had been his most intimate friend and lived in the -same villa, stepped in. - -"How are the moods?" he asked, and sat down with the air of an old -fatherly friend. - -John did not wish to confess. How was he to say that he was -discontented with his position, and acknowledge that he was ambitious -and wished to advance in life? But the doctor had seen and understood -all. "You must be a doctor," he said. "That is a practical vocation -which will suit you, and bring you into touch with real life. You have -a lively imagination which you must hold in check, or it will do harm. -Now are you inclined to this? Have I guessed right?" - -He had. Through his intercourse from afar with these new prophets who -succeeded the priests and confessors, John had come to see in their -practical knowledge of men's lives, the highest pitch of human wisdom. -To become a wise man who could solve the riddles of life,--that was for -a while his dream. For a while, for he did not really wish to enter any -career in which he could be enrolled as a regular member of society. -It was not from dislike of work, for he worked strenuously and was -unhappy when unoccupied, but he had a strong objection to be enrolled. -He did not wish to be a cypher, a cog-wheel, or a screw in the social -machine. He wished to stand outside and contemplate, learn and preach. -A doctor was in a certain sense free; he was not an official, had no -superiors, set in no public office, was not tied by the clock. That was -a fairly enticing prospect, and John was enticed. But how was he to -take a medical degree, which required eight years' study? His friend, -however, had seen a way out of this difficulty. "Live with us and teach -my boys," he said. - -This was certainly a business-like offer which carried with it no sense -of accepting a humiliating favour. But what about his place in the -school? Should he give it up? - -"That is not your place!" the doctor cut him short. "Every one should -work where his talents can have free scope, and yours cannot in the -elementary school, where you have to teach, as prescribed by the school -authorities." - -John found this reasonable, but he had been so imbued with ascetic -teaching that he felt a pang of conscience. He wanted to leave the -school, but a strange feeling of duty and obligation held him back. He -felt quite ashamed of being suspected of such a natural weakness as -ambition. And his place, as the son of a servant, had been assigned to -him below. But his father had literally pulled him up, why should he -sink and strike his roots down there again? - -He fought a short bloody conflict, then accepted the offer thankfully, -and sent in his resignation as a school-teacher. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE DOCTOR - -(1868) - - -John now found his new home with the homeless, the Israelites. He -was immediately surrounded by a new atmosphere. Here there was no -recollection of Christianity; one neither plagued oneself or others; -there was no grace at meals, no going to church, no catechism. - -"It is good to be here," thought John. "These are liberal-minded men -who have brought the best of foreign culture home, without being -obliged to take what is bad." Here for the first time, he encountered -foreign influences. The family had journeyed much, had relatives -abroad, spoke all languages, and received foreign guests. Both the -small and great affairs of the country were spoken about, and light -thrown on them by comparison with their originals abroad. By this means -John's mental horizon was widened and he was enabled to estimate his -native country better. - -The patriarchal constitution of the family had not assumed the form of -domestic tyranny. On the contrary the children treated their parents -more as their equals, and the parents were gentle with them without -losing their dignity. Placed in an unfriendly part of the world, -surrounded by half-enemies, the members of the family helped each other -and held together. To be without a native country, which is regarded -as such a hard-ship, has this advantage that it keeps the intelligence -alive and vigorous. Men who are wanderers have to watch unceasingly, -observe continually, and gain new and rich experiences, while those who -sit at home become lazy and lean upon others. - -The children of Israel occupy a peculiar and exceptional position from -a social point of view. They have forgotten the Messianic promise and -do not believe in it. In most European countries they have remained -among the middle classes; to join the lower classes was for the most -part denied them, though not so widely as is generally believed. Nor -could they join the upper classes; therefore they feel related to -neither of the latter. They are aristocrats from habit and inclination, -but have the same interests as the lower classes, _i.e_. they wish to -roll away the stone which lies upon and presses them. But they fear the -proletariat who have no religious sense and who do not love the rich. -Therefore the children of Abraham rather aspire to those above them, -than seek sympathy from those below. - -About this time (1868) the question of Jewish emancipation began to be -raised. All liberals supported it and it was practically a discarding -of Christianity. Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, confirmation, -church attendance were all declared to be unnecessary conditions for -membership in a Christian community. Such apparently small reforms -make an impression on the state, like the dropping of water on a rock. - -At that time a cheerful tone prevailed in the family, the sons having a -brighter future in prospect than their fathers, whose academic course -had been hindered by State regulations. - -A liberal table was kept in the house; everything was of the best -quality, and there was plenty of it. The servants managed the house -and were allowed a free hand in everything; they were not regarded as -servants. The housemaid was a pietist and allowed to be so, as much -as she pleased. She was good-natured and humorous, and, illogically -enough, adopted the jesting tone of the cheerful paganism which reigned -in the house. On the other hand, no one laughed at her belief. John -himself was treated as an intimate friend and a child alternately and -lived with the boys. His work was easy and he was rather required to -keep the boys company than to give them lessons. Meanwhile he became -somewhat "spoiled" as people, who have the usual idea of keeping youth -in the background, call it. Though only nineteen, he was received -on an equal footing among well-known and mature artists, doctors, -_littérateurs_ and officials. He became accustomed to regard himself as -grown up, and therefore the set-backs he encountered afterwards, were -the harder to bear. - -His medical career began with chemical experiments in the technological -institute. There he obtained a closer view of some of the glories he -had dreamed of in his childhood. But how dry and tedious were the -rudiments of science! To stand and pour acids on salts and to watch the -solution change colour, was not pleasant; to produce salts from two or -more solutions was not very interesting. But later on, when the time -came for analysis, the mysterious part began. To fill a glass about -the size of a punch-bowl with a liquid as clear as water and then to -exhibit in the filter the possibly twenty elements it contained,--this -really seemed like penetrating into nature's secrets. When he was alone -in the laboratory he made small experiments on his own account, and it -was not long before with some danger he had prepared a little phial -of prussic acid. To have death enclosed in a few drops under a glass -stopper was a curiously pleasant feeling. - -At the same time he studied zoology, anatomy, botany, physic and -Latin,--still more Latin! To read and master a subject was congenial to -him, but to learn by heart he hated. His head was already filled with -so many subjects, that it was hard for anything more to enter, but it -was obliged to. - -A worse drawback was that so many other interests began to vie in his -mind with his medical studies. The theatre was only a stone's throw -from the doctor's house and he went there twice a week. He had a -standing place at the end of the third row. From thence he saw elegant -and cheerful French comedies played on a Brussels carpet. The light -Gallic humour, admired by the melancholy Swedes as their missing -complement, completely captivated him. What a mental equilibrium, what -a power of resistance to the blows of fate were possessed by this -race of a southern sunnier land! His thoughts became still more gloomy -as he grew conscious of his Germanic "Weltschmerz" lying like a veil -over everything, which a hundred years of French education could not -have lifted. But he did not know that Parisian theatrical life differs -widely from that of the industrious and thrifty Parisian at the desk -and the counter. French comedies were written for the parvenus of -the Second Empire; politics and religion were subject to the censor, -but not morals. French comedy was aristocratic in tone, but had a -liberating effect on the mind as it was in touch with reality, though -it did not interfere in social questions. It accustomed the public to -sympathise with and feel at home in this superfine world; one came to -forget the lower everyday world, and when one left the theatre it felt -as though one had been at supper with a friendly duke. - -As chance fell out, the doctor's wife possessed a good library in -which all the best literature of the world was represented. It was -indeed a treasure to have all these at one's elbow! Moreover the doctor -possessed a number of pictures by Swedish masters and a valuable -collection of engravings. There was an efflorescence of æstheticism -on all sides, even in the schools, where lectures on literature were -delivered. The conversation in the family circle mostly turned on -pictures, dramas, actors, books, authors, and the doctor felt from time -to time impelled to flavour it with details of his practice. - -Now and then John began to read the papers. Political and social life -with their various questions opened up before him, but at first with a -repelling effect, as he was an æsthete and domestic egoist. Politics -did not seem to touch him at all; he considered it a special branch of -knowledge like any other. - -He continued his lessons to the girls and his intercourse with -their family. Outside the house he met grown up relatives, who were -tradesmen, and their acquaintances. His circle was therefore widened, -and he saw life from more than one point of view. But this constant -occupation with children had a hampering effect on his development. He -never felt himself older, and he could not treat the young with an air -of superiority. He already noticed that they were in advance of him, -that they were born with new thoughts, and that they built on, where he -had ceased. When later on in life, he met grown-up pupils, he looked up -to them as though they were the older. - -The autumn of 1865 had commenced. There had been so much miscalculation -as to the effects of the new State constitution that there was -widespread discontent. Society was turned topsy-turvy. The peasant -threatened the civilised town-dwellers and there was a general feeling -of bitterness. - -Has the last word regarding the agrarian party yet been said? Probably -not. It began with a democratic and reforming programme and its attack -on the Civil List was the boldest stroke which had yet been seen. It -was a legal attempt to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of supply -was screwed down to the lowest possible, the king would go. It was a -simple and at the same time a clever stroke. - -At a period which proclaims the right of the majority, one would not -have expected the peasants' cause would encounter resistance. Sweden -was a kingdom of peasants, for the country population numbered four -millions, which in a population of four and a half millions, is -certainly the majority. Should then the half million rule the four or -vice versa? The latter course seemed the fairer. Now naturally the -townsmen talk of the egotism and tyranny of the peasants, but have the -labour party in the town a single item in their programme to improve -the condition of the peasants and cottagers? It is so stupid to talk -of egotism when every one now sees that he profits the whole, in -proportion as he profits himself. - -Meanwhile, in 1868, the malcontents discovered a party which could be -opposed to the constitutional majority and whose programme contained -all kinds of thorough-going reforms. That was the new liberal party, -consisting for the most part of authors, some artisans, a professor, -etc. By means of this handful of people who had none of the weighty -interests which landed property involves, and whose social position -was so insecure that a single unfavourable harvest could turn them -into members of the proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society. -What did the artisans know about society? How did they wish it to be -constituted? Did they wish it to be remodelled in their interest, -although the peasantry should be ruined? But that meant cutting off -their own legs, for Sweden is not a land of exporting industries. -Therefore the four million consumers in the land, as soon as their -purchasing power was diminished, would involuntarily ruin the -industries and leave the artisans stranded. That the artisans should -advance is a necessity, but to wish to make all men industrial workers -as the industrial socialists do, is much more unreasonable than to make -them all peasants as the agrarian socialists purpose doing. Capital, -which the labour party now attack, is the foundation of industry and if -that is touched, industry is overthrown, and then the workmen must go -back whence they came and still daily come,--to the country. - -Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet corrupted by intercourse with -aristocrats; it was neither conservative nor did it make compromises. -The war seemed to be between the country and the town. The atmosphere -was electric and the smallest cause might produce a thunderstorm. - -In the capital there prevailed a general desire to erect a statue to -Charles XII. Why? Was this last knight of the Middle Ages the ideal -of the age? Bid the character of the idol of Gustav IV, Adolf, and -Charles XV suitably express the spirit of the new peaceful period -which now commenced? Or did the idea originate, as so often is the -case in the sculptor's studio? Who knows? The statue was ready and the -unveiling was to take place. Stands were erected for the spectators, -but so unskilfully that the ceremony could not be witnessed by the -general public, and the space railed off could only contain the -invited guests, the singers and those who paid for their seats. But -the subscription had been national and all believed they had a right -to see. The arrangements were obnoxious to the people. Petitions were -made to have the stands removed, but without success. The crowd began -to make attempts to tear them down, but the military intervened. The -doctor that day was giving a dinner to the Italian Opera Company. They -had just risen from dessert when a noise was heard from the street; it -was at first like rain falling on an iron roof, but then cries were -distinctly audible. John listened, but for the moment nothing more was -to be heard. The wine-glasses clinked amid Italian and French phrases -which flew hither and thither over the table; there was such a noise of -jests and laughter that those at the table could hardly hear themselves -speak. But now there came a roar from the street, followed immediately -by the tramp of horses, the rattle of weapons and harness. There was -silence in the room for a moment, and one and another turned pale. - -"What is it?" asked the prima donna. - -"The mob making a noise," answered a professor. - -John stood up from the table, went into his room, took his hat and -stick and hurried out. "The mob!"--the words rang in his ear while -he went down the street. "The mob!" They were his mother's former -associates, his own school-mates and afterwards his pupils; they formed -the dark background against which the society he had just quitted, -stood out like a brilliant picture. He felt again as though he were a -deserter, and had done wrong in working his way up. But he must get -above if he was to do anything for those below. Yes many had said -that, but when once they did get above, they found it so pleasant, -that they forgot those below. These cavalrymen, for instance, whose -origin was of the humblest, what airs they gave themselves! With what -unmixed pleasure they cut down their former comrades, though it must -be confessed they would have even more enjoyed cutting down the "black -hats." - -He went on and came to the market-place. The stands for the spectators -stood out against the November sky like gigantic market booths, and -the space below swarmed with men. From the opening of the Arsenal -street the tramp of horses was heard only a short way off. Then they -came riding forth, the blue guardsmen, the support of society, on whom -the upper class relied. John was seized with a wild desire to dash -against this mass of horses, men and sabres, as though he saw in them -oppression incarnate. That was the enemy! very well--at them! The troop -rode on and John stationed himself in the middle of the street. Whence -had he derived this hatred against the supporters of law and order, who -some day would protect him and his rights after he had clambered up, -and was in a position to oppress others? If the mob with whom he now -felt his solidarity had had their hands free, they would probably have -thrown the first stone through the window, behind which he had sat with -four wine-glasses in front of him. Certainly, but that did not prevent -his taking their side just as the upper class often, inconsistently -enough, takes sides against the police. This mania for freedom in the -abstract is probably the natural man's small revolt against society. - -He was going against the cavalry with a vague idea of striking them -all to the ground or something of the sort, when fortunately some one -seized him by the arm firmly but in a friendly way. He was brought back -to the doctor's who had sent out to seek for him. After he had given -his word of honour not to go out again he sank on a sofa, and lay all -the evening in fever. - -On the day of the unveiling of Charles XII's statue, he was one of the -student singers, therefore among the elect, the "upper ten thousand," -and had no reason to be discontented with his lot. When the ceremony -was over, the people rushed forward. The police forced them back, and -then they began to throw stones. The mounted police drew their sabres -and struck, arresting some and assaulting others. - -John had entered the market in front of the Jakob's church when he saw -a policeman lay hold of a man, under a shower of stones which knocked -off the constables' helmets. Without hesitation he sprang on the -policeman, seized him by the collar, shook him and shouted, "Let the -fellow go!" - -The policeman looked at his assailant in astonishment. - -"Who are you?" he asked irresolutely. - -"I am Satan, and I will take you, if you don't let him go." - -He actually did let him go and tried to seize John. At the same instant -a stone knocked off his three-cornered hat. John tore himself loose; -the crowd were now driven back by bayonets towards the guard-house in -the Gustaf Adolf market. After them followed a swarm of well-dressed -men, obviously members of the upper classes, shouting wildly, and as it -seemed, resolved to free the prisoners. John ran with them; it was as -though they were all impelled by a storm-wind. Men who had not been -molested or oppressed at all, who had high positions in society, rushed -blindly forward, risking their position, their domestic happiness, -their living, everything. John felt a hand grasp his. He returned the -pressure, and saw close beside him a middle-aged man, well-dressed, -with distorted features. They did not know each other, nor did they -speak together, but ran hand in hand, as if seized by one impulse. -They came across a third in whom John recognised an old school-fellow, -subsequently a civil service official, son of the head of a department. -This young man had never sided with the opposition party in school, -but on the contrary, was looked upon as a re-actionary with a future -in front of him. He was now as white as a corpse, his cheeks were -bloodless, the muscles of his forehead swollen, and his face resembled -a skull in which two eyes were burning. They could not speak, but -took each other's hands and ran on against the guards whom they were -attacking. The human waves advanced till they were met by the bayonets, -and then as always, dispersed in foam. Half-an-hour later John was -discussing a beefsteak with some students in the Opera restaurant. He -spoke of his adventure as though it were something which had happened -independently of him and his will. Nay, he even jested at it. That -may have been fear of public opinion, but also it may have been the -case that he regarded his outbreak objectively and now quietly judged -it as a member of society. The trap-door had opened for a moment, the -prisoner had put his head out, and then it had closed again. - -His unknown fellow-criminal, as he discovered later, was a pronounced -conservative, a wholesale tradesman. He always avoided meeting John's -eye, when they met after this. One time they met on a narrow pavement, -and had to look at each other, but did not smile. - -While they were sitting in the restaurant, came the news of the death -of Blanche. The students took it fairly coolly, the artists and middle -class citizens more warmly, but the lower classes talked of murder. -They knew that he had personally besought Charles XV to have the -spectators' stands taken down; they knew also, that though he was -very prosperous himself, he had always thought of them and they were -thankful. Stupid people objected, as is usual in such cases, that it -required no great skill on his part to speak on behalf of the poor, -when he was rich and celebrated. Did it not? It required the greatest. - -It is remarkable that the chief outbreak of discontent was directed, -not as elsewhere against the King, but against the governor and the -police. Charles XV was a _persona grata_; he could do as he liked -without becoming unpopular. He was neither condescending nor democratic -in his tastes, but rather proud. Stories were told of some of his -favourites having fallen into disgrace for want of respect on some -mirthful occasion. He could put tobacco into his soldiers' mouths, -but he scolded officers who did not at once fall in with his moods. -He could box people's ears at a fire, and did not laugh when he was -caricatured in a comic paper, as was supposed. He was a ruler and -believed he was also a warrior and a statesman; he interfered in the -government and could snub specialists with a "You don't understand -that!" But he was popular and remained so. Swedes, who do not like to -see a man's will slackening, admired this will and bowed before it. -It was also strange, that they forgave his irregular life; perhaps it -was because he made no secret of it. He had laid down a standard of -morality for himself and lived according to it. Therefore he lived at -harmony with himself, and harmony is always pleasant to contemplate. - -People might be revolters by instinct, but they did not believe in the -transition form to a better social constitution, _i.e_. a republic. -They had seen how two French republics had been followed by new -monarchies. There were secret anarchists, but no republicans, and they -had persuaded themselves that the monarchy offered no barrier to the -progress of liberty. - -These were the ideas of the younger men. The elder men with Blanche -thought a republic the only means of social salvation and therefore in -our days the old liberal school has become conservative-republican. - - * * * * * - -When the doctor saw that his wife's literary books threatened to -encroach upon John's medical studies, he resolved to give him a -glimpse into the secrets of his profession, and to allow him such a -foretaste of real work as should entice him to overcome the tedious -preliminary studies which he himself thought too extensive. John now -knew more chemistry and physics than the doctor, and the latter thought -it was merely malicious to hinder a rival's course by imposing too -hard preliminary studies. Why should he not, as in America, commence -dissection, which was a special branch of study? Now after the -theoretical study of anatomy, he could begin practice as an assistant. -That was a new life full of variety and reality. One went for instance -into a dark alley and came into a porter's room, where a woman lay, -sick of fever, surrounded by poor children, the grandmother and other -relations, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the doctor's verdict. -The malodorous ragged bed-cover would be lifted, a sunken heaving chest -exposed to view, and a prescription written. Then one went to the -Tvädgårdsgatan and was conducted over soft carpets through splendid -rooms into a bed-chamber which looked liked a temple; one lifted a -blue silk coverlet and put in splints the leg of an angelic-looking -child, dressed in lace. On the way out one looked at a collection of -paintings, and talked about artists. This was something novel and -interesting, but what connection had it with Titus Livius and the -history of philosophy? - -But then came the details of surgery. One was roused at seven o'clock -in the morning, came into the doctor's dark room, and manually assisted -at the cauterising of a syphilitic sore. The room reeked of human -flesh, and was repugnant to an empty stomach. Or he had to hold a -patient's head and felt it twitch with pain while the doctor with a -fork extracted glands from his throat. - -"One soon gets accustomed to that," said the doctor, and that was true, -but John's thoughts were busy with Goethe's Faust, Wieland's Epicurean -romances, George Sand's social phantasies, Chateaubriand's soliloquies -with nature, and Lessing's common-sense theories. His imagination -was set in motion and his memory refused to work; the reality of -cauterisations and flowing blood was ugly; æstheticism had laid hold -of him, and actual life seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His -intercourse with artists had opened his eyes to a new world, a free -society within Society. They would come to a well-spread table where -cultivated people were sitting with badly-fitting clothes, black nails, -and dirty linen, as if they were not merely equal, but superior to the -rest,--in what? - -They could scarcely write their names, they borrowed money without -repaying it, and their talk was coarse. Everything was permitted to -them, which was not permitted to others. Why? They could paint. They -studied at the Academy, and the Academy did not ask whether all who -enrolled themselves as students were geniuses. How was it known that -they were geniuses? Was painting greater than knowledge and science? - -They also had, as was well recognised, a peculiar morality of their -own. They opened studios, hired models, and boasted of their paramours, -while other men were ashamed of theirs and incurred disapproval on -account of them. They laughed at what were very serious matters for -other men, nay, it seemed to be part of an artist's equipment to be a -"scoundrel," as any one else would be called for similar conduct. - -"That was a glad free world," thought John, and one in which he could -thrive, without conventional fetters or social obligations, and above -all, without contact with banal realities. But he was not a genius? -How should he get the entrée to it? Should he learn to paint and so be -initiated? No! that would not do; he had never thought of painting; -that demanded a special vocation, he thought, and painting would not -express all he had to say, when once he began to speak. If he _had_ -to find a medium for self-expression it would be the theatre. An actor -could step forward, and say all kinds of truths, however bitter they -might be, without being brought to book for them. That was certainly a -tempting career. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -John's proposal to transfer the university from Upsala to Stockholm was -destined to have consequences, and his comrades had warned him of them. -When he went up early in spring in order to write the obligatory Latin -essay he had sent the professor by post the three test-essays and the -15 krona fee. So he could carry out his purpose unhindered and enrolled -himself. - -But now in May he wished to go and pass the preliminary examination in -chemistry. In order to be well prepared, he had himself tested by the -assistant-professor at the technological institute. The latter did so -and declared that he already knew more than was needed for the medical -examination. Thus prepared, he went up to Upsala. His first visit was -to a comrade, who had already passed the preliminary examination in -chemistry, and knew the "tips" for it. - -John began: "I can do synthesis and analysis, and have studied organic -chemistry." - -"That is very well, for we only need synthesis; however, it is no use -for you have not studied in the professor's laboratory." - -"That is true; but the course at the Institute is much better." - -"No matter,--it is not his." - -"We shall see," said John, "whether knowledge does not tell in any -ease." - -"If you are so sure, then try, but consider first what I say. You must -first go to the assistant-professor and get a 'tip'." - -"What do you mean?" - -"For a krona he will give you an hour's polishing, and ask you all the -important questions which the professor has put during the past year. -Just now he is in the habit of asking whether matches can be made out -of his carcase and ammonia from your old boots. But that you will -learn from the assistant. Secondly, you must not go to be examined -in a frock coat and white tie; least of all, dressed as well as you -are now. Therefore you must borrow my riding-coat, which is green in -the shoulders and red in the seams, and my top-boots, for he does not -like elastic boots." - -John followed his friend's instructions and went first to the -assistant-professor who gave him the questions which had been last -asked. In return John promised that under all circumstances he would -return and tell him the questions which he himself had been asked, as a -means of enlarging his catechism. - -The next day John went to his friend to array himself. His trousers -were drawn up so that the tops of the boots should be seen and his -loose collar turned on one side, so that the skin should show between -the tie and the collar. Thus equipped, he went up for his first trial. - -The professor of chemistry had formerly been a fortification officer, -and had received in his time a not very cordial welcome from the -learned staff in Upsala. He was a soldier, not academically cultivated, -and thus a kind of "Philistine." This had galled him and made him -bilious. In order to efface the effect of his laymen-like exterior, he -affected the airs of an over-read and blunt professor. He went about -ill-dressed and behaved eccentrically. Though many hundreds besides -himself had been pupils of Berzelius, he was fond of mentioning the -fact; it was his trump card. Berzelius, among other things, went about -in shabby trousers, therefore a hole in one's clothes was the sign of a -learned chemist, and so on. Hence all these peculiarities. - -John presented himself, was regarded with suspicion and bidden to come -again in a week. He replied that he had come from Stockholm and was -too poor to support himself for a week in the town. He managed to get -permission to present himself the next day. "It would be soon over," -said the old man. - -The next day he sat on a seat opposite the professor. It was a sunny -afternoon in May, and the old man seemed to have digested his dinner -badly. He looked grim as he threw out his first question from his -rocking-chair. The answers were correct at the beginning. Then the -questions became more tortuous like snakes. - -"If I have an estate, where I suspect the presence of saltpetre, how -shall I begin to construct a saltpetre factory?" - -John suggested a saltpetre analysis. - -"No." - -"Well, then, I don't know anything else." - -There was silence and the flies buzzed,--a long and terrible silence. -"Now will come the question about the boots or the matches," thought -John, "and there I shall shine." He coughed by way of rousing the -professor, but the silence continued. John wondered whether he had been -seen through and whether the old man recognised the "examination coat." - -Then came a new question which was unanswered, and then another. - -"You have come too soon," said the old man, and rose up. - -"Yes, but I have worked a whole year in the laboratory, and can do -chemical analysis." - -"Yes, you know how to make up prescriptions, but you have not digested -your knowledge. In the Institute only manual dexterity is necessary, -but here scientific knowledge is required." - -As a matter of fact the case was exactly the reverse for the medical -students in Upsala complained that they had to stand like cooks and -make up mixtures and salts, without having time to look at an analysis, -which last was just what a doctor ought to do while synthesis was the -apothecary's work. But now the proposal made some years before whether -the university had not better be transferred to Stockholm had roused a -feeling in Upsala against the capital. Moreover the laboratory of the -newly-built technological institute was as famous for its excellent -equipment, as that of Upsala was notorious for its poor one. Here, -therefore, petty prejudices were at work and John felt the unfairness -of it. "I do not then get a certificate?" he asked. - -"No, sir, not this year; but come again next year." - -The professor was ashamed to say, "Go to my only soul-saving -laboratory." - -John went out furious. Here then again neither diligence nor knowledge -prevailed, but only cash and cringing! Had he tried short cuts? No, -on the contrary, he had been obliged to travel by painful circuitous -paths, while others had gone the direct road, and the directest is the -shortest. - -He went to the Carolina Park, as angry as an irritated bee. He did -not wish to return at once to the town, but sat down on a seat. If he -could only set this devil's hole on fire! Another year? No, never! Why -read so much unnecessary stuff, which would only be forgotten, and be -of no practical use? And slave in order to enter this dirty profession -where one had to analyse urine, pick about in vomit, poke about in all -the recesses of the body? Faugh! Just as he was sitting there, a group -of cheerful-looking people came by, and stood laughing outside the -Carolina library. They looked up to the window's, through which long -rows of books were visible, shelf after shelf. They laughed,--the men -and women laughed at the books. He thought he recognised them. Yes, -they were Levasseur's French actors, whom he had seen in Stockholm and -who were now visiting Upsala. They laughed at the books! Lucky people -who could be importers of genius and culture without books. Perhaps -every soul had something to give which was not in books, but would be -there some day. Yes, certainly it was so. He himself possessed stories -of experience and thoughts, which could enrich anthropology, and were -ready to be throw out. - -Again there stole upon him the thought of entering this privileged -profession, which stood outside and above petty social conventions -which ignored distinctions of rank, and in which one need never be -conscious of belonging to the lower classes. There one could appeal to -the universal judgment, and work in full publicity instead of being -hung up here in a remote dark hole, without a verdict, examination, or -witnesses. - -Strengthened by this new idea, he stood up, east a glance at the books -above, and went down to the town resolved to go home and seek for an -engagement in the Theatre Royal. - -Every townsman has probably felt once in his life the wish to appear -as an actor. This is probably due to the impulse of the cultivated -man to magnify and make himself something, to identify himself with -great and celebrated personalities. John, who was a romanticist, had -also the desire to step forward and harangue the public. He believed -that he could choose his proper rôle, and he knew beforehand which it -would be. The fact that he, like all others, believed that he had the -capacity to become an actor, sprang from the superfluity of unused -force, produced by a want of sufficient physical exercise, and from the -tendency to megalomania connected with mental over-exertion. He saw no -difficulties in the profession itself, but expected opposition from -another quarter. - -To attribute his being stage-struck to hereditary tendencies would -perhaps be hasty, since we have just remarked that it is an almost -universal impulse. But his paternal grandfather, a Stockholm citizen, -had written dramatic pieces for an amateur theatre, and a young -distant relative still lived as a warning example. The latter had been -an engineer, had been through a course of instruction in the Motala -iron-works, and had a post on the Köping-Hult railway. He therefore had -fine prospects in front of him, but suddenly threw them up, and became -an actor. This step of his was an incessant trouble to his family. Up -to this time the young man had become nothing but was still travelling -about with an obscure theatrical company. The danger of becoming like -him was the difficult point. "Yes," said John to himself, "but I shall -have luck." Why? Because he believed it; and he believed it because he -wished it. - -Some might be inclined to derive this strong impulse on John's part -from the fact that he loved to play, as a child, with a toy theatre, -but that is not sufficient, as all children do the same and he had got -the taste from seeing them do it. The theatre was an unreal better -world which enticed one out of the tedious real one. The latter would -not have seemed so tedious if his education had been more harmonious -and realistic and not given him such a strong tendency to romance. -Enough; his resolution was taken; and without saying anything to any -one, he went to the director of the Theatrical Academy the dramaturgist -of the Theatre Royal. - -When he heard the sound of his own words "I want to be an actor," -he shuddered. He felt as though he tore down the veil of his inborn -modesty, and did violence to his own nature. - -The director asked what he was doing at present. - -"Studying medicine." - -"And you want to give up such a career, for one that is the hardest and -the worst of all?" - -"Yes." - -All actors called their profession the "hardest and the worst" though -they had such a good time of it. That was in order to frighten away -aspirants. - -John asked for private lessons in order that he might make his début. -The director replied that he was now going to the country for the -theatrical season was at an end, but he told John to come again on the -1st of September when the theatre opened, and the board of management -came again to the town. That was a definite appointment and he saw his -way clear. - -When he went down the street, he walked with his eyes wide open, as -though he gazed into a brilliant future; victory was already his; he -felt its intoxicating eating fumes, and hurried, though with unsteady -steps, down the street. - -He said nothing to the doctor nor to any one else. He had still three -months in front of him in which to train and prepare himself, but in -secret, for he was shy and timid. He was afraid of annoying his father -and the doctor, afraid of the whole town knowing that he thought -himself capable of being an actor, afraid of his relatives' scorn, his -friends' grimaces and efforts to dissuade him. This was the fruit of -his education, the fear,--"What will people say?" His imagination made -the act seem like a crime. It was certainly an interference with other -people's peace of mind for relations and friends feel a shock, when -they see a link torn out of the social chain. He felt it himself, and -had to shake off the scruples of conscience. - -For his début he had chosen the rôles of Karl Moor and Wijkander's -Lucidor. This was no mere chance but perfectly logical. In both of -these characters he had found the expression of his inner experience, -and therefore he wished to speak with their tongues. He conceived of -Lucidor as a higher nature undermined and ruined by poverty. A higher -nature of course! In his enthusiasm for the theatre he felt again what -he had felt when he had preached, and when he had revolted against the -school prayers,[1] something of the proclaimer, the prophet, and the -soothsayer. - -What most of all elevated his ideas of the great significance of the -theatre was the perusal of Schiller's essay, "The theatre regarded -as an instrument of moral education." Sentences like the following -show how lofty was the goal at which Schiller aimed. "The stage is -the chief channel through which the light of wisdom descends from -the better, thinking portion of the populace in order to spread its -beneficent light over the whole state." "In this world of art we -dream ourselves away from the real one, we find ourselves again, our -feelings are roused, wholesome emotions stir our slumbering nature and -drive our blood in swift currents. The unhappy here forget their own -sorrows in watching those of others, the happy become sober, and the -self-confident, reflective. The effeminate weakling is hardened into a -man, the coarse and callous here begin to feel. And then finally,--what -a triumph for thee O Nature, so often trodden down and so often -re-arisen,--when men of all climates and conditions, casting away all -fetters of convention and fashion, set free from the iron hand of fate, -fraternising in one all-embracing sympathy, dissolved into _one_ race, -forget themselves and the world, and approach their heavenly origin. -Each individual enjoys the delight of all, which is mirrored back to -him strengthened and beautified from a hundred eyes, and his breast has -only room for one aspiration,--to be a man!" - -Thus wrote the young Schiller at twenty-five, and the youth of twenty -subscribed it. - -The theatre is certainly still a means of culture for young people and -the middle class who can still feel the illusion of actors and painted -canvas. For older and cultivated people it is a recreation in which the -actor's art is the chief object of attention. Therefore old critics -are almost invariably discontent and crabbed. They have lost their -illusions and do not pass over any mistake in the acting. - -Modern times have overprised the theatre, especially the actor's art in -an exaggerated degree, and a re-action has followed. Actors have tried -to ply their art independently of the dramatist, believing that they -could stand on their own legs. Therefore particular "stars" become the -objects of homage and therefore also opposition has been aroused. In -Paris, where people had gone to the greatest lengths, a reaction first -showed itself. The _Figaro_ called the heroes of the Théâtre-Français -to order, and reminded them that they were only the author's puppets. - -The decay of all the great European theatres shows that the actor's -art has lost its interest. Cultivated people no more go to the -theatre because their sense for reality has been developed, and -their imagination which is a relic of the savage has diminished; the -uncultivated lack the time, and the money to go. The future seems to -belong to the variety theatre, which amuses without instructing, for it -is mere play and recreation. All important writers choose another, more -suitable form in which to handle important questions. Ibsen's dramas -have always produced their effect in book form before they were played; -and when they are played, the spectators' interest is generally -concentrated on the _manner_ of their performance; consequently it is a -secondary interest. - -John committed the usual mistake of youth, _i.e._ of confusing the -actor with the author; the actor is the mere enunciator of the -sentiments for which the author who stands behind him, is responsible. - -In the spring John resigned his post as tutor to the two girls, and -now he had leisure during the summer to study his art in secret, -and on his own responsibility. He had scoffed at books, and now the -first things he sought were books. They contained the thoughts and -experiences of men with whom, though most of them were dead, he could -converse familiarly, without being betrayed. He had heard that in the -castle there was a library which belonged to the State, and from which -one could borrow books. He obtained a surety and went there. It was a -solemn place with small rooms full of books where grey-haired silent -old men sat and read. He got his books and went shyly and happily home. - -He wished to study the matter thoroughly in all its aspects, as was his -custom. In Schiller he found the assurance that the theatre was of deep -significance; in Goethe he found a whole treatise on the histrionic -art with directions how one should walk and stand, behave oneself, sit -down, come in and go out; in Lessing's _Hamburgische Dramaturgie_ he -found a whole volume of theatrical critiques filled with the closest -observations. Lessing especially roused his hopes, for he went so far -as to declare that the theatre had come down owing to the inferiority -of the actors, and said that it would be better to employ amateurs -from the cultivated classes who would play better than the drilled and -often uncultured actors. He also read Raymond de St. Albin, whose often -quoted observations on the actor's art are of great value. - -At the same time he exercised himself practically. At the doctor's he -arranged a stage when the boys were out. He practised entrances and -exits; he arranged the stage for "The Robbers," dressed himself like -Karl Moor, and played that part. He went to the National Museum and -studied gestures of antique sculptures and gave up using his walking -stick in order to accustom himself to walk freely. He did violence -to his shyness, which had almost produced in him "agoraphobia," or -the dread of crossing open places, and accustomed himself to walk -across Karl XIII's square where great crowds used to be found. He did -gymnastics every day at home, and fenced with his pupils. He gave -attention to every movement of the muscles; practised walking with head -erect and chest expanded, with arms hanging free and hands loosely -clenched, as Goethe directs. - -The chief difficulty he found was in the cultivation of his voice, -for he was overheard when he declaimed in the house. Then it occurred -to him to go outside the town. The only place where he could be -undisturbed was the Ladugårdsgärdet. There he could look over the plain -for a great distance and see whether any one was coming; there sounds -died away so quickly that it cost him an effort to hear himself. This -strengthened his voice. - -Every day he went out there, and declaimed against heaven and earth. -The town whose church tower rose opposite Ladugårdsgärdet symbolised -society, while he stood out here alone with Nature. He shook his fist -at the castle, the churches, and the barracks, and stormed at the -troops who during their manoeuvres often came too close to him. There -was something fanatical in his work and he spared himself no pains in -order to make his unwilling muscles obedient. - - -[1] _Vide_ the _Son of a Servant_. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - -(1869) - - -Among those who frequented the doctor's house was a young man who -studied sculpture. He had come from the lower strata of society, had -been a smith's apprentice, and had now entered the Academy, where he -was a probationary student. He was happy and always cheerful, believed -himself called by providence to his new career, and narrated how he -had been aroused and impelled by the spirit to work in the service -of the Beautiful. John liked him because he was not introspective or -self-critical and quite free from self-consciousness. Moreover he was a -fellow culprit, who was making the same daring attempt as John to work -his way out of the lower class, but entirely lacked the consciousness -of guilt which persecuted the latter. - -One day this friend, whose name was Albert, came to him and said -that he was going to Copenhagen to visit Thorwaldsen's Museum. An -enterprising speculator had arranged a trip there through the canal -and back by sea for a very small fare. "You come too," he said, and it -was soon settled that John should accompany him with one of the boys. -The occasion of the expedition was the crown princess's entry into -Copenhagen, but that was a secondary object in the eyes of the pilgrims -to Thorwaldsen's tomb. - -On an August evening John sat on the poop of the steamer with the -sculptor, one of the boys and a school friend of his. In the twilight -which had already fallen one saw ladies and gentlemen coming on board. -The society seemed to be first-class. Stout fathers of families with -field-glasses and tourist knapsacks, ladies in summer dresses and hats -of the latest fashion. There was a bustle and stir, as each sought a -sleeping-place which was guaranteed to all. John and his companions sat -quietly waiting. They had their provisions and rugs and feared nothing. -When the steamer had started and the confusion had ceased, John said, -"Now we will have some bread and butter before we lie down." - -They looked for their knapsacks and the provision basket, but they were -not to be found. They discovered that they had not come with them. This -was a hard blow, for they had only a little cash and they had counted -on the excellent provisions which the doctor's wife had put up for -them. Accordingly they had to eat from the sculptor's box, which only -contained poor dry victuals. - -Then they wanted to lie down. On all sides people were asking for -sleeping-places, but could not find any. The passengers were in an -uproar and there was a storm of curses. They had therefore to sit on -deck; there were inquiries for the organiser of the expedition, but he -was not on board. John lay down on the bare deck and the boys drew a -tarpaulin over themselves, for the dew was falling and it was bitterly -cold. They awoke at Södertelje, freezing, for the sailors had taken -away the tarpaulin. - -On the canal bank there now appeared the organiser of the excursion, -who was an upholsterer. The passengers rushed at him, drew him on -board, and loaded him with reproaches. He defended himself and tried -to land again, but in vain. A court martial was held; they resolved -to continue their journey, but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. -The steamer went on through the canal, but as it was passing through a -lock, the man-swung himself up on the dam and disappeared amid a hail -of curses. - -The journey was continued and by midday they were in the Gotha canal. -Dinner was laid on the poop. John and his companions ensconced -themselves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a simple meal out -of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, who had slept on a bale do mu in -the luggage-hold, was in a good humour and knew all the passengers' -characters and names. - -The dinner-table was now crowded. It was presided over by a master -chimney-sweep with his family. Then there came pawnbrokers, -public-house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with their families, -a number of young shop boys and some girls. John suffered when he saw -stewed perch and strawberries together with claret and sherry, for he -had been so spoilt by luxury that simple food made him poorly. This -was the "upper class" among the passengers. The master chimney-sweep -played the grand gentleman, he made a grimace at the claret and scolded -the waitress who said that the restaurant-keeper was responsible. The -porter from the Record Office affected the learned man, and as an -official seemed to look down on the "Philistines." - -While the sherry circulated, speeches were made. The lower class -from the fore-deck hung on the gunwales and hand-rails and listened. -The pariahs in the lifeboat were ignored. People knew that they were -there, but did not see them. They may very likely have wished the -"white cap" away, for there were two eyes under its peak, which saw -that they were no better than himself. John felt that. He had just -emerged from this class to which he belonged by birth, but he had no -food and was nothing. He felt his inferiority and his superiority; and -their superiority. They had worked; therefore they ate. Yes, but he -had worked as much as they, though not in the same way. He had derived -honour from his work, while they took the good eating and dispensed -with the honour. One could not have both. - -The people sat there satisfied and happy, drank their coffee and -liqueurs, and occupied the whole poop. They now became bold and made -remarks over those in the lifeboat, who could only suffer in silence, -because the others were in the majority and the upper class, for they -were consumers. - -John felt himself in an element which was not his. There was an -atmosphere of hostility about him, and he felt depressed. There were -no police on board to help him, no arbitration to appeal to, and if -there were a quarrel, all would condemn him. There only needed a sharp -retort on his part, and he would be struck. "The deuce!" he thought, -"it would be better to obey officers and officials; they would never -be such tyrants as these democrats." Later on, at Albert's advice, he -sought to approach them, but they were inaccessible. - -Further on during the voyage between Venersborg and Göteborg the -explosion came. John and his companions' hunger increased so much that -one day they determined to go down to the dining-saloon and eat some -bread and butter. It was so full of people eating and drinking that -they could hardly find room. John's pupil, according to the custom of -his class, kept his hat on. The master chimney-sweep noticed this. -"Hullo!" he said, "is the ceiling too high for you?" - -The boy seemed not to understand him. - -"Take your hat off, boy!" he shouted again. - -The hat remained as it was. A shop assistant knocked it off. The boy -picked up the hat, and put it again on his head. Then the storm burst. -They all rushed on him like one man and knocked the hat off. Then they -went for John, "And such a young devil has a tutor who cannot teach -boys to know their proper place! We know well enough who _you_ are." -Then they rained abuse on his parents. John tried to inform them that -in the social circles to which the boy belonged, it was the custom to -keep one's hat on in public places, and that he had not intended any -expression of contempt by it. But his explanation was ill-received. -What did he mean by "those circles"? What nonsense he talked! Did he -want to teach them manners? And so on. - -Yes, he could; for it was precisely from these circles that they had -learnt five-and-twenty years ago to take their hats off, which was no -longer the custom, and he could have told them that in twenty-five -years more they would keep their hats on as soon as they got wind that -_that_ was the fashion. But they had not discovered it yet. - -John and his friends went again on deck. "One cannot argue with these -people," he said. - -His nerves were shaken by the scene just witnessed. He had seen an -outbreak of class-hatred and the flashing eyes of people whom he had -not injured; he had felt the foot of the upper class of the future upon -his breast. They had become his enemies; the bridge between him and -them was broken down; but the tie of blood remained and he cherished -the same hatred towards aristocratic society, and its unjust ascendency -as they did; he felt the same grudge against the conventions before -which they all had to bow; yes, he had Karl Moor's replies in his mind, -but those who had just defeated him were all Spiegelbergers.[1] If they -got the upper hand they would trample on all,--great and small; if he -got the upper hand, he would only trample on the great. That was the -difference between them. It was, however, education which had made him -more democratic than they; he would therefore side with the educated. -They would work for those below, but from a distance, and from above. -One could not handle this raw uncouth mass. - -The stay on board was now intolerable. An outbreak might take place at -any moment. And it came. - -They were now in the Kattegat, and John was sitting on the upper deck -when he heard a loud noise beneath him of voices and cries. He thought -he recognised his pupil's voice, and rushed down. On the middle deck -stood the accused surrounded by a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms -about and shouted. John asked what the matter was. - -"He has stolen my cap," shouted the pawnbroker. - -"I don't believe it possible," said John. - -"Yes, I saw it; he has put it in this clothes bag." - -It was John's bag. "That is mine," said John. "You can look into it -yourself." He opened the bag and there lay the pawnbroker's cap! There -was general excitement. John stood convicted and a storm was on the -point of breaking out against the two thieves. A student who stole! -That was a bonne bouche. How had it happened? Now John remembered. He -had a grey cap similar to the pawnbroker's which he used to sleep in -at night. He had told the boy to put it in his bag; the boy had taken -the wrong one. John turned to the foredeck passengers: "Gentlemen," he -began, "do you think it likely that a rich man's son would go and take -a greasy cap when he has a perfectly new one? Do you not see that there -has been a mistake?" - -"Yes," said the plebeians, "there has." - -Only the pawnbroker was obstinate and stuck to his statement. - -"Then it only remains for me to beg this gentleman's pardon for the -mistake, and I ask my pupil to do the same." - -The latter did so, though unwillingly. There was general satisfaction -and a murmured opinion that he had "spoken like a gentleman." The -matter was fortunately settled. - -"You see," said John to the boy, "the people are open to reason after -all!" - -"Bah! That was only because they felt flattered at being called -gentlemen,--the cursed rabble!" - -"Perhaps," answered John, who felt that he had been sufficiently -humiliated for such a trifle. - -At last they reached Copenhagen. Hungry, freezing, and in the worst of -humours they sat in the rain outside the Thorwaldsen Museum, which was -closed on account of the festivities. But Albert swore he would get -in. After they had waited for an hour with the master chimney-sweep, -the public-house keeper, and all the other passengers there came an -old man who looked learned and wished to enter. Albert rushed after -him, mentioned the name of Molins, the Swedish sculptor, and they got -in, leaving the other passengers outside. Albert was delighted, and -could not help making a face at the master chimney-sweep who remained -outside. But the one who enjoyed it most was the young sinner, who -hated the mob. - -"Now we are gentlemen," he said. - -John was not in the mood to enjoy Thorwaldsen's works. He regarded -him as an average artist talented enough to win fame. Albert found -the antiques too elaborate, but did not dare to criticise them. -They did not witness the royal entry, but sat on the tower of the -Fruekirke and looked at the view. At nightfall, when they felt tired -and exhausted, they wanted to go down to the steamer to sleep, but it -had gone to Malmö. They stood in the street in the rain. They could -not go to an hotel, for they had no money. Albert resolved to go to a -public-house and ask for a night's lodging. They found a sailors' inn -near the public-house. The landlord said it was only for seamen, but -they answered that they must have shelter. They were taken into a back -room where there were two camp-beds, but a basin was not to be seen. -The walls were unpapered and looked shabby. In one of the beds lay a -sailor. Who was to be his bed-fellow? Albert undertook that, and slept -with the stranger, who was a Dutchman. So they all went to sleep, John -cursing the whole adventure, for the bed-clothes were malodorous. - -The return voyage home by sea was one long penance. Without provisions -and hardly any money they had to sustain life on raw eggs which they -bought in the small towns they touched at. These along with stale -bread and brandy, composed their diet for three days. Albert alone -was cheerful and enjoyed himself. He slept on the poop with the -passengers and amused them with stories; he was akin to them, and knew -their language. He drank with them and got hot food; he even went into -the kitchen sometimes and begged himself a plate of soup. "How easily -he takes life!" thought John. "He does not miss luxuries, for he has -never known them; he will never be expelled as an intruder when he -approaches people; he feasts while others starve, and sees only friends -everywhere. But his day will come when he will no longer be one of the -lower class, when luxury and refined habits will make him as helpless -and unfortunate as me." - -When he got home he was furious. So it was everywhere. Those who were -above trampled on those below, and those who were below tried to -pull one back when one tried to mount. What was the meaning of all -this talk about aristocrats and democrats? The lower class spoke of -their democratic way of thinking, as though it were a virtue. What -virtue is there in hating those who are above? What is the meaning of -"aristocrat"? [Greek: Aristos] means the best, and [Greek: krateo] "I -rule." Therefore an aristocrat is one who wishes that the best should -rule and a democrat one who wishes that the worst should do so. But -then comes the question: Who are really the best? Are a low social -position, poverty and ignorance things that make men better? No, for -then one would not try to do away with poverty and ignorance. Into -whose hands then should men commit political power, with the knowledge -that it would be in the hands of the least mischievous? Into the hands -of those who knew most? Then one would have professorial government, -and Upsala would be--no, not the professors! To whom then should power -be given? He could not answer, but certainly not to the chimney-sweep -and cab-owner who were on the steamer. - -On this occasion he did not go deeper into the matter, for the question -had not yet been raised whether the same culture could not be imparted -to every one, or whether there need be any governing body at all. - -He had come across the worst aristocracy of all, the upper stratum -of the lower class, or, to name them by their usual ugly title, "the -Philistines." They were a bad copy of the aristocracy; they sided with -the powerful, aped the habits of their superiors, grew rich by others' -labours, quoted authorities and hated opposition with the exception of -their silent opposition to those above them. The master chimney-sweep -made money through the toil of the abjectly poor, the cab-owner through -the wretched cabbies and hacks, the pawnbroker wrung unrighteous -gain from the need of the poverty-stricken, and so on, everywhere. -A teacher, on the other hand, a doctor, an artist, could not depute -slaves to his work; he must do it himself, and was therefore not such -a shark as those below. If, then, culture brought men happiness and -made them better, then the aristocracy were justified and beneficent, -and could regard themselves as better than those below. Yes, but one -could buy culture for money, could beg or borrow the means for it, -as so many students did, and there was no virtue in that at any rate. -Yet one could not help feeling superior to others when one knew more -and observed the laws of social life so as to injure no one. All that -remained for the real democracy was to reduce everything to a dead -level, so that no one need feel themselves below, and no one could -think they were above. - - -[1] _Vide_ Schiller's "Robbers." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -BEHIND THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -The Swedish theatre was at this time exposed to many attacks, and when -is a theatre not in that condition? The theatre is a miniature society -within society, with a monarch, ministers, officials, and a whole -number of classes, ranged above one another in ranks. Is it any wonder -that this society is always exposed to the attacks of the malcontents? -But at this period the attacks had a more practical object. A former -provincial actor had written a pamphlet against the Theatre Royal, of -little real importance, but with the result that the author was invited -to a seat on the board of directors. This aroused imitators, and many -published treatises in order to attain the same result. - -As a matter of fact, the Theatre Royal was neither better nor worse -than it had been before. "But," it was asked, "if the theatre is -an institution supported by subscriptions for forwarding culture, -why set an uncultivated person at the head of it?" To this it was -answered, "We have just had one of the most learned men in the country -as director, and how did that answer? Although he had the advantage -of plebeian birth he was worried to death by the democratic press, -which incessantly carped at him." At last, in our time, the utopia of -self-government has been realised, the theatre has a man from the lower -classes at its head, and there is general satisfaction. - -On the day fixed, John went to the theatre in order to announce his -intention of making his début. After some delay, he was sent for and -asked his business. - -"I want to make my début." - -"Oh! have you studied any special character?" - -"Karl Moor in 'The Robbers,'" he answered more defiantly than was -necessary. - -They looked at each other and smiled. "But one must have three rôles; -have you got no other to suggest?" - -"Lucidor!" - -There was a consultation, and John was informed that these dramas were -not now in the repertory of the theatre. He objected that this was not -a sufficient reason for his not undertaking those rôles, but received -the perfectly fair answer, that the theatre could not stage such -important dramas and disarrange its programme for untried débutants. -Then the director proposed to John that he should take the rôle of the -"Warrior of Ravenna." But after the great success which had attended -the last actor of that part, he dared not. They finally suggested that -he should have a talk with the literary manager. Then began a battle -which was probably not the first or the last which had taken place in -that room. - -"Be reasonable, sir; one must study this profession like all others. No -one becomes an adept all of a sudden. Creep before you walk. Undertake -at first a minor rôle." - -"No, the rôle must be great enough to sustain me. In a minor rôle one -must be a great artist in order to attract attention." - -"Yes, but listen to me, sir; I have experience." - -"Yes, but others have made their début in leading parts, without having -been on the stage before." - -"But you will break your neck." - -"Very well, then! I will!" - -"Yes, but the board of directors will not give the best stage in the -country to the first chance aspirant to make experiments on." - -That seemed reasonable. He therefore consented to undertake a minor -rôle. He was given the part of Härved Boson in Hedberg's _Marriage of -Ulfosa_. - -John read over the part at home, and was astonished. It was quite -insignificant. He only had a few quarrels with his brother-in-law and -then embraced his wife. But he had to undertake the part, as he had -agreed to do. - -The rehearsals began. To have to shout out empty words without meaning -was repugnant to him. - -After some trials the teacher declared that he had no more time and -recommended John to take lessons in the Dramatic Academy. - -"But I won't be a pupil," he said. - -"No, of course." - -They talked of the Dramatic Academy, as of an elementary or Sunday -School; all kinds of pupils were accepted whether they had any -education or not. John did not intend to become a pupil, but went -just to listen. He went there reluctantly. Accustomed to be a teacher -himself, he was received as a sort of honorary guest, and sat down, but -attracted an uncomfortable amount of attention. The hour was passed in -reciting "Vintergatan," which he knew by heart, and some other pieces -of verse. - -"But one can't learn anything for the stage here," he ventured to say -to the teacher. - -"Well! come on the stage, and try before the footlights." - -"How can I do that?" - -"As a supernumerary actor." - -"Supernumerary! H'm! That is like going downhill before beginning," -thought John. But he determined to go through with it. One morning he -received an invitation to try a part in Björnson's _Maria Stuart_. -The theatre messenger gave him a little blue note-book on which was -written, "A nobleman," and inside, on a white sheet of paper, "The -Lords have sent an intermediary with a challenge to Count Both well." -That was the whole part! Such was to be his début! - -At the appointed time he went up the little back stairs, passed the -door-keeper and came on the stage. It was the first time that he was -behind the scenes, and saw the reverse of the medal. The stage looked -like a great warehouse with black walls; a cracked and dirty floor like -that of a hay loft, and grey linen screens mounted on rough wood. - -It was here that he had seen represented majestic scenes from the -world's history; here Masaniello had shouted "Death to Tyrants" while -John stood trembling at the end of the fourth row among the audience; -here Hamlet had given vent to his scorn and suffered his sorrows, and -from here Karl Moor had defied society and the whole world. John felt -alarmed. How could one preserve the illusion hero in sight of the -unpainted wood and the grey canvas? Everything looked dusty and dirty; -the workmen were poor melancholy devils, and the actors and actresses -looked insignificant in their ordinary clothes. - -He was led into the lobby where they were going to dance for -half-an-hour the gavotte, which introduced the play. It was broad -daylight. The old music teacher sat on a chair and played the viol. The -ballet-master shouted, struck his hands together and arranged them in -their places. "I didn't bargain for this," thought John, but it was too -late. So he found himself in the midst of a complicated dance which he -did not know, and was pushed about and scolded. "No, I am not going to -do this," he thought, but he could not get out of it. - -A feeling of shame came over him. Dancing in the day-time was not a -seemly occupation. And then to descend from teacher to pupil, and be -the last here; he had never before gone back so far. - -The bell rang for the rehearsal, and they were driven on the stage. -Then they were arranged for the gavotte. By the footlights stood the -chief actors who had the important rôles; and behind them the rest in -two lines occupied the background. - -The orchestra struck up and the dance began in slow solemn rhythm. From -the footlights were heard the deep voices of the two Puritans lamenting -the depravity of the court. - -_Lindsay_. "Look! the dancing lines wind like snakes in the sun. -Listen! the music plays with the flames of hell! The devil's roar of -laughter is in it." - -_Andrew Kerr_. "Hush, hush; the penalty will overwhelm them as the sea -overwhelmed Pharaoh's army." - -_Lindsay_. "Look, how they whisper! The infecting breath of sin! See -their voluptuous smiles; see the ladies' frivolous gowns." - -_Citizen_. "All that Knox preaches is wasted on this court." - -_Lindsay_. "He is as the prophet in Israel, he does not speak in vain; -for the Lord Himself shall perform His word upon the ungodly race." - -The piece had an arresting effect, and John felt it. The men actors had -their hats, overcoats and sticks, and the women their cloaks and muffs, -but still the drama was impressive in its simple greatness. He stood in -the wings and listened to the whole of it; Mary Stuart did not please -him; she was cruel and coquettish; Bothwell was too rough and strong; -his favourite was Darnley, the weak, Hamlet-like man whose love to this -woman continued to burn in spite of unfaithfulness, scorn, malice and -everything. Knox was as hard as stone with his Puritanism and gloomy -Christianity. - -It was after all something to step forward and enact a piece of history -in the garb of such persons. There was something solemn about it as he -had felt before in the church. After he had gone on the stage and made -his speech he went away firmly resolved to bear all on behalf of sacred -art. - -He had thus taken the decisive step. To his father he had written a -high-flown letter, and declared that he would either become something -great in the career which he had now entered or would retire from it -altogether; he had resolved not to go home till he had succeeded. The -doctor was sorry but made no fuss, for he saw it was impossible to -stop him. But he had other secret plans for saving him which he now -began to set in motion. In the first place he induced John to translate -one or two medical pamphlets for which he had found a publisher. Now -he came with a proposal that they should together write articles for -the _Aftonbladet (Evening New's_). John for his part had translated -Schiller's essay, _The Theatre Regarded as a Moral Institution_, and as -the subject of the theatre had now conic up in the Reichstag the doctor -wrote an introduction to it in which he seriously expostulated with -the Agrarian party on their indifference to culture. The whole article -was inserted. Another day the doctor came with a member of the medical -journal, the _Lancet_, which treated of the question whether women were -fit for a medical career. Without hesitation and instinctively John -decided against it. He had an indescribable reverence for women as -woman, mother and wife, but as a matter of fact, society was founded -upon the man regarded as provider for the family, and upon the woman -as wife and mother; thus man had a full right to his work-market and -all the duties involved in it. Every occupation taken from the man -would mean a marriage less or one more overworked family-provider, for -the impulse to marry was so strong in men that they would not cease -to marry, however great the difficulties in which they might become -involved. Moreover women had abundant opportunities of work; they -could become servants, house-keepers, governesses, teachers, midwives, -seamstresses, actresses, artists, authoresses, queens, empresses, -besides wives and mothers. Many of these vocations were also open to -the unmarried. Anything more than this was an encroachment on the man's -territory. If the woman did that, the man should be free from the cares -of providing for the family, and inquiries after paternity should not -be made. But society would not consent to that. On the contrary it -began to persecute the prostitutes by way of forcing men to marry. Once -caught in the snares of the married women's property law, they would -sink to the level of domestic slaves. - -John instinctively took sides in this complicated problem, which was -destined to take many years to solve, and wrote against the women's -movement, which he saw would involve, if victorious, man's overthrow. -The movement for the emancipation of women had during the fifties, -assumed the wildest forms, and the war-cry, "No lords! No lords!" had -shown the true nature of the movement, which had also been ridiculed -by Rudolf Wall in his comedy, _Miss Garibaldi_. But while years went -on, the women had worked in silence. - -Great therefore was the surprise of the doctor and John when they found -their article in the _Aftonbladet_ so altered that it seemed in favour -of the movement. "The editor is under the thumbs of women," said the -doctor, and thereby the matter was explained. - -Meanwhile John's theatrical career approached a crisis. He had been -sent into a green room where brandy was drunk and everything was dirty, -to put on his clothes with the supernumeraries. "They want to humiliate -me," he thought, "but patience!" - -Now he was simply appointed as supernumerary in one opera after the -other. He declared that he feared neither the footlights nor the -public after having preached in church, but it was no good. The worst -was, having to lounge about at the rehearsals for hours together with -nothing to do. If he read a book, he was told he had no interest in the -play, and if he went away, an outcry was raised. - -In the Theatrical Academy roles were merely learnt by heart. Children -who had only gone through an elementary school, began to read Goethe's -_Faust_, naturally without understanding anything of it. But curiously -enough, their very boldness saved them; they got on so well that one -was inclined to think there was no need for an actor to understand -anything, if only he could say his piece fluently. After a few -months John was sick of it all. It was all mechanical. The greatest -actors were blasé and indifferent, never spoke of art, but only of -engagements and honorariums. There was no trace of the gay life behind -the scenes, of which so much had been written. They sat silent waiting -for their turns to come; the dancers and actresses in their costumes, -sewing and stitching. In the lobby the actors went about on tip-toe, -looked at the clock and put on their false beards, without speaking a -word. - -One evening, when _Maria Stuart_ was being acted, John sat alone in -the lobby reading a paper. The actor Dahlqvist, who was taking the -part of John Knox, came in. John, who cherished a deep admiration -for the great actor, stood up and bowed. If he could only speak with -such a man. He trembled at the very thought. Knox, with his venerable -long white hair, his black dress, and his great eyes half-sunk in his -powerful deeply-lined face, sat down at the table. He yawned. "What is -the time?" he asked in a sepulchral tone. John answered that it was -half-past ten, unbuttoning his Burgundian velvet jacket to look for the -watch which was not there. - -"The time is going devilish slow this evening," said Knox and yawned -again. Then he began to retail bits of gossip. He was only a ruin of -his former greatness when his acting of Karl Moor had cast all his -rivals into the shade. He too had seen through everything and was weary -of it all. And yet he had once thought so highly of his art. - -Since John had now the right of free entrance into the theatre he -tried to study acting from the auditorium. But behold! the illusion -was gone! There was Mr. So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so, there was the -background for _Quentin Durward_, there sat Högfelt, and there behind -the scenes, stood Boberg. There was no further possibility of illusion. - -He was sick of the wretched rôle which he had to repeat continually. -But he also felt remorse and feared that he could not retire from the -game honourably. At last he plucked up courage and demanded a leading -part. The piece in which it occurred had already been performed fifty -times, and the chief actors were tired of it, but they had to come. The -rehearsal took place without costumes or scenery. John was accustomed -to the declamatory manner usual then, and shouted like a preacher. It -was a failure. After the rehearsal the head of the theatrical academy -pronounced his verdict and advised John to enter it for a course of -training, but he would not. He wept for rage, went home and took an -opium pill which he had long kept by him, but without effect; then a -friend took him out and he got intoxicated. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - -(1869) - - -The next morning he felt in a state of complete collapse. His nerves -still trembled and his body felt the fever of shame and intoxication. -What should he do? He must save his honour. He must still hold out -for two or three months and try again. That day he remained at home -and read _The Stories of a Barber-Surgeon_. As he read it seemed -to him that they recorded his own experience; they were about the -reconciliation of a step-son to his step-mother. The breach in -his domestic life had always weighed upon him like a sin, and he -longed for reconciliation and peace. That day this longing took an -unusually melancholy form, and as he lay on the sofa, his brain began -to evolve various plans for smoothing away the domestic discord. A -woman-worshipper as he then was, and under the influence of the book he -had been reading, he thought that only a woman could reconcile him with -his father. This noble rôle he assigned to his step-mother. - -While thus tying on the sofa he felt an unusual degree of fever, -during which his brain seemed to work at arranging memories of the -past, cutting out some scenes, and adding others. New minor characters -entered; he saw them mixing in the action, and heard them speaking, -just as he had done on the stage. After one or two hours had passed, -he had a comedy in two acts ready in his head. This was both a painful -and pleasurable form of work if it could be called a work; for it went -forward of itself, without his will or co-operation. - -But now he had to write it. In four days the piece was ready. He kept -on going from the writing-table to the sofa and back; and in the -intervals of his work, he collapsed like a rag. When the work was -finished, he drew a deep sigh of relief, as though years of pain were -over, as though a tumour had been cut out. He was so glad, that he felt -as though some one was singing within him. Now he would offer his piece -to the theatre;--that was the way of salvation. The same evening he -sat down to write a note of congratulation to a relative who had found -a situation. When he had written the first line, it seemed to him to -read like a verse. Then he added the second line which rhymed with the -first. Was it no harder than that? Then with a single effort he wrote a -four-page letter in rhyme and discovered that he could write verse. Was -it no harder than that? Only a few months before he had asked a friend -to help him with some verses for a special occasion. He had, however, -received a negative but complimentary answer, in being told not to -drive in a hired carriage, when he had one of his own. - -One was not then born to write verses, he said to himself, nor did one -learn it, though all kinds of verse-measures were taught in school, -but it came,--or did not come. It seemed to him like the working of -the Holy Spirit. Had the psychical convulsion, which he had felt at -his defeat as an actor, been so strong that it had turned upside down -all the strata of his memories and impressions, and had the violent -impulse set his imagination to work? There had doubtless been a long -preparation going on. Was it not his imagination, which had conjured up -pictures, when as a child he had been afraid of the dark? Had he not -written essays in school and letters for years? Had he not formed his -style through reading, translating and writing for the papers? Yes, he -had, but it was not till now that he noticed in himself the so-called -creative power of the artist. - -The art of the actor was therefore not the one suited to his powers; -his having thought so was a mistake which could easily be rectified. -Meanwhile he must keep his authorship fairly secret and remain at the -theatre till the end of the season, so that his failure as an actor -might not be known, or at any rate till his piece was accepted, as it -naturally would be, for he thought it good. - -But he wished to make sure of it, and for that purpose invited two -of his learned friends outside the theatrical circle. In the evening -before they came, he arranged the lumber-room which he had hired in -the doctor's house. He tidied it up, lighted two candles instead of -the study lamp, covered the table with a clean cloth and set on it a -punch-bowl with glass, ash-trays and matches. This was the first time -he had entertained guests, and the experience was novel and strange. - -The work of an author has often been compared to childbirth, and the -comparison has something to justify it. He felt a kind of peace like -that which follows parturition; something or some one seemed to be -there which, or who, was not there before; there had been suffering and -crying and now there was silence and peace. He felt in a festival mood -as he used to do in the old times at home; the children were in their -Sunday best, and their father in his black frock coat cast a last look -round on the arrangements before the guests came. - -His friends arrived and he read the piece through in silence till the -end. They gave their verdict, and John was greeted by his elders as an -author. - -When they had gone, he fell on his knees on the floor, and thanked -God for having delivered him from difficulty and bestowed on him the -gift of poetry. His communion with God had been very irregular; it -was a curious fact, that in cases of great necessity he rallied his -powers within himself and did not cry to the Lord at all; but on joyful -occasions, on the other hand, he involuntarily felt the need of at once -thanking the Giver of all good. It was just the contrary to what it had -been in his childhood, and that was natural since his idea of God had -developed into that of the Author and Giver of all good things, whereas -the God of his childhood had been a God of terror whose hand was full -of misfortunes. - -At last he had found his calling, his true rôle in life and his -wavering character began to develop a backbone. He had a pretty good -idea now of what he wanted, and this gave him at least a rudder to -steer by. Now he pushed off from land to go for a long voyage, but -always ready to tack when he encountered too strong a head wind,--not, -however, to fall to leeward, but the next moment to luff his ship up to -the wind with bellying sails. - -By writing this comedy, he had now relieved himself of his domestic -troubles. He next described the religious conflicts he remembered so -vividly in a three-act play. This lightened the ship considerably. - -His creative energy during this period was immense. He had the writing -fever daily; within two months he composed two comedies and a rhymed -tragedy, besides occasional verses. The tragedy was his first real -"work of art," as the phrase is, for it did not deal with any of his -subjective experiences. "Sinking Hellas" was the not inconsiderable -theme. The composition was finished and clear, but the situations were -somewhat threadbare, and there was a good deal of declamation. The -only original elements in it were an austere moral tone and contempt -for uncultured demagogues. Thus, for instance, he introduced an old -man inveighing against the immorality and want of patriotism of the -youth of the time. He made Demosthenes speak disparagingly of a -demagogue, and express something of what he had felt towards the master -chimney-sweep and pawnbroker on the journey to Copenhagen. The head -of the Theatrical Academy also got a rap over the knuckles because -he had often lamented over John's "lack of culture." The piece was -aristocratic in tone, and the freedom celebrated in it was that which -was the object of aspiration in the sixties,--national freedom. - -Meanwhile he had sent his domestic comedy anonymously to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. While it was under consideration, he -went on cheerfully with his work as supernumerary actor. "Just you -wait!" he said to himself, "then my turn will come and I shall have a -word to say in the matter." He was now quite cool on the stage, and -felt, even when dressed as a peasant youth in _Wilhelm Tell_, like a -prince in disguise. "I am certainly no swineherd, though you may think -so," he hummed to himself. - -He had to wait long for an answer about his piece. At last he lost -patience and revealed himself as the author to the head of the -Theatrical Academy. The latter had read the piece and found talent in -it, but said it could not be played. This was not a great blow for him, -for he still had the tragedy in reserve. That was better received, but -he was told it needed remodelling here and there. - -One evening when the Academy closed, the head instructor expressed a -wish to speak with John. "Now we see what you are good for," he said. -"You have a fine career in front of you; why should you choose an -inferior one? You can become an actor probably if you work for some -years, but why toil at this thankless task? Go back to Upsala and take -your degree if you can. Then become an author, for one must first have -experiences in order to write well." - -To become an author,--that John agreed with, and also with the -suggestion that he should give up the theatre; but as for returning to -Upsala,--no! He hated the university, and did not see how the useless -things one learnt there could help him as an author; he rather needed -to study life at first hand. But then he began to reflect, and when -he considered that, at present, he could get no piece of his accepted -so as to serve as a plank to save himself by, he grasped at the other -straw,--Upsala. There was no disgrace in becoming a student again, and -at the theatre they knew that he was not only an unsuccessful débutant, -but also an author. - -At the same time he learnt that there was a legacy due to him from his -mother of a few hundred kronas. With them he could support himself for -a half-year at the university. He went to his father, not as a prodigal -son, but as a promising author, and as a creditor. There was a vehement -dispute between them which ended in John receiving his legacy. He had -now conceived the plan of a tragedy with the startling title "Jesus of -Nazareth." It dealt in dramatic form with the life of Christ, and was -intended, with one blow and once for all, to shatter the divine image -and eradicate Christianity. But when he had completed some scenes, he -saw that the subject-matter was too great and would demand prolonged -and tedious study. - -The theatrical season now approached its end. The Theatrical Academy -gave their customary stage performance. John had received no rôle in -it, but undertook the task of prompter. And his career as an actor -closed in the prompter's box. To this was reduced his ambition of -acting Karl Moor on the stage of the Great Theatre! Did he deserve this -fate? Was he worse equipped for acting than the rest? That was probably -not so, but the question was never decided. - -In the evening after the performance, a dinner was given to the -Academy pupils. John was invited and made a speech in verse in order -to make his exit seem as little like a fiasco as possible. He became -intoxicated, as usual, behaved foolishly and disappeared from the -scene. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE "RUNA" CLUB - -(1870) - - -The Upsala of the sixties showed signs of the end and dissolution of a -period which might be called the Boströmic.[1] In what relation does -the philosophic system which prevails in a given period stand to the -period itself? The system seems like a collection of the thoughts of -the period at a particular point of time. The philosopher does not -make the period, but the period makes the philosopher. He collects all -the thoughts of his period and thereby exercises an influence on it, -and with the close of the period his influence ends. The Boströmic -philosophy had three defects; it wished to be definitely Swedish; -it came too late; and it wished to outlive its period. To attempt -to construct a purely Swedish philosophy was absurd, for that meant -trying to break loose from the connection with the great mother-stem -which grows on the Continent and only sends out seeds towards the -Northern peninsula. The attempt came too late, for time is necessary to -construct a system, and before the system was constructed, the period -had passed. Boström, as a philosopher, was not, as it were, shot out -of a cannon. All knowledge is collecting-work, and is coloured by -the personality of the collector. Boström was a branch grown out of -Kant and Hegel, watered by Biberg and Grubbe, and finally producing -some offshoots of his own. That was all. He seems to have derived -his fundamental principle from Krause's Pantheism, which itself was -an attempt to unite the philosophy of Kant and Fichte with that of -Schelling and Hegel. This eclecticism had been already attempted by -Grubbe. Boström first studied theology, and this seemed to have a -hampering effect on his mind when he wrote about speculative theology. -His moral philosophy he derived from Kant. To call him an original -philosopher is provincial patriotism. His influence did not reach -beyond the frontiers of Sweden, nor did it outlast the sixties. His -political system was already antiquated in 1865, when the students out -of reverence for the philosopher, had still to declare, conformably to -his textbook, that the representation of the four estates was the only -reasonable one--a doctrine which was subsequently contradicted in the -college lectures. - -How did Boström come by such an idea? Can one draw an inference from -the accidental circumstance that he, a poor man's son from Norrland, -came into too close touch with King John and his court, in his capacity -of tutor to the princes? Could the philosopher escape the common lot -of generalising in _certain_ respects, from his own predilections and -current time-sanctioned ideas? Probably not. Boström as an idealist -was subjective--so subjective that he denied reality an independent -existence, declaring that, "to be is to be perceived (by men)." The -world of phenomena therefore, according to him, exists only in and -through our perceptions. The error of the deduction was overlooked, and -it was a double one. The system rested on an unproved assumption, and -had to be corrected; it is true that the phenomenal world only exists -for its through our perception, but that does not prevent its existing -for itself without our perception. In fact science has demonstrated -that the earth already existed with a very high degree of organic life, -before any one was there to perceive it. - -Boström broke with ecclesiastical Christianity, but, like Kant and -the later evolutionist philosophers, retained Christian morality. -Kant had been arrested in the bold progress of his thought by a want -of psychological knowledge, and had simply laid down as axioms the -categorical imperative and the practical postulate. The moral law, -which depends on the epoch and changes with it, received in his system -quite a Christian colouring as God's command. Boström was still -"under the law"; he judged the moral worth or baseness of an action -simply by its motives; according to him the only satisfactory motive -is that regard for the spiritual nature of duty which is revealed in -conscience. But there are as many consciences as there are religions -and races; therefore his moral system was quite sterile. - -Boström's importance for theological development only consisted in -his coming forward against Bishop Beckman in the discussion regarding -the doctrine of hell (1864), although that doctrine had recently been -rejected by the cultivated with the assistance of the rationalists. -On the other hand Boström was obstructive in his pamphlets _The -Irresponsibility and Divine Right of the King_ and _Are the Estates of -the Realm Justified in Resolving on and Carrying Out the Change in the -So-called (!) Representation of the People_? (1865). - -In his capacity as an idealist, Boström is, for the present generation, -not only without significance, but positively reactionary. He is -nothing but a necessary link in the worthless reactionary philosophy -which followed with such fatal obscurantism the "illuminative" -philosophy of the eighteenth century. He has lived and is dead. Peace -to his ashes! - -Literature ought to be another barometer for testing the atmosphere of -any given period. And in order to be that, it must be free to deal with -the questions of that period; but this, the then prevailing æsthetic -theories forbade. - -Poetry ought to be and was (according to Boström) a recreation like the -other fine arts. Under such a theory and influenced by the prevalent -idolatry of the "ego," poetry became merely lyrical, expressing -the poet's small personal feelings and inclination, and reflecting -therefore only some of the features of the period, and those perhaps, -not the most important. Only two names in the poetry of the sixties -were of importance--Snoilsky and Björck. Snoilsky was "awake," to use -a pietistic expression, Björck was dead. Both were born poets, as the -saying is; that is to say, their talents showed themselves earlier -than usual. Both attained distinction while still at school, early won -honour and renown, and by birth and position were enabled to view life -from its sunny heights. Snoilsky, without knowing it, was under the -power of the spirit of the new age. Freed from the fear of hell and -monkish morality, experiencing the retrenchment of his privileges as a -nobleman, he gave free play both to mind and body. In his first poems -he was a revolutionary and praised the cap of liberty; he preached the -emancipation of the flesh and had a certain dislike to over-culture as -a conventional restraint. But as a poet, he did not escape the poet's -tragic destiny--not to be taken seriously. Poetry in the eyes of the -public, was simply poetry, and Snoilsky was a poet. Björck had a mind -which was not capable of receiving strong impressions. At peace with -himself, languid, complete from the beginning, he lived his life sunk -in his own reflections or noticed only the trifling events of the -outer world and described them neatly and correctly. In the opinion of -the great majority who live the peaceful life of automata his poetry -shows a remarkable degree of philanthropy. But why does not this -philanthropy extend itself further to large circles of men, and to -humanity at large? In the writer's opinion Björck's philanthropy does -not extend beyond the limits of the personal quiet which the individual -attains when he ignores the duties of social life. He is satisfied -with the world because the world has been kind to him; he avoids -strife because it disturbs his own serenity. Björck is an example of -the fortunate man whose life is not in conflict with his upbringing, -but who rather builds up stone by stone, on the foundation already -laid; everything proceeds in a workmanlike way by level and rule; the -house is finished, as it was designed, without the plan undergoing any -alteration. Stunted by domestic tyranny, tasting early the sweets -of homage and reverence, he ceased to grow. He accepted Boström's -compromise with Christianity without examining it, and in doing so, he -had finished his life-work. His poetry is especially praised for its -purity and spiritual character. What is this "purity" which in our -days is so sharply contrasted with the sensual? The secret is, that he -did not get her; just as Dante's heavenly love for Beatrice was due to -the same involuntary cause. Björck therefore sang of the unattainable -with the quiet melancholy of unsatisfied love. But that, however, is no -virtue, and purity should be a virtue. - -In short, Björck and Snoilsky sang of water and drank wine, and in this -were just the opposite to the poets of our time, who are said to sing -of wine and drink water. A poet's life always seems to be at variance -with his teachings. Why? Is it that, in composing, he wishes to escape -from his own personality, and find another? Is it a wish to disguise -himself? Or is it modesty, the fear of giving himself away, and of -self-exposure? This is a weighty problem for future psychologists to -unravel. - -Björck composed poems both for the reformation of the constitution -in 1865, and for the restoration to power of the King. He saw harmony -everywhere, and when he celebrated the restored union between Sweden -and Norway in 1864, he was extremely melodious. He also praised -Abraham Lincoln; negro-emancipation and white slavery--that is the -ideal of freedom of the Holy Alliance! Revolution certainly, but legal -revolution by the will of God! Well, he knew no better, and few did at -that time. Therefore we do not judge the man but only his work, the -motives inspiring which are a matter of indifference to posterity. - -Young men read these poets, many of them with great edification. -They proclaimed no new era, but prophesied after the event that -now the millennium was come, the ideal realised, and lines of -demarcation obliterated once for all. They looked with satisfaction -on their creations, rubbed their hands, and found them all good. An -atmosphere of peace had spread itself over the whole of Upsala and -its neighbourhood; now one might sleep till Doomsday was the belief -of old and young. But then discordant sounds began to be heard, and -in the days of universal peace fire-beacons began to be seen on the -neighbouring mountain-tops. From Norway open water was signalled -and the revolving lights were kindled. Rome captured Greece, but -Greece re-captured Rome. Sweden had captured Norway, but now Norway -re-captured Sweden. Lorenz Dietrichson was appointed as professor -at the university of Upsala in 1861, and he was the forerunner of -Norwegian influence. He made Sweden acquainted with Danish and -Norwegian literature, then almost unknown, and founded the literary -society which produced poets like Snoilsky and Björck. - -After Norway had broken loose from the Danish monarchy and had ceased -to be a branch of the head office in Copenhagen, it was not grafted -into Sweden but retreated into itself. At the same time it opened -direct communication with the continent. Its awakening to independence -was coincident with a strong stream of foreign influence. It was -Björnson who first roused Norway to self-consciousness; but when this -degenerated into a narrow patriotism, Ibsen came with the pruning -shears. - -As the strife became fiercer and Christiania would not lend itself -to be a field of battle, the conflict was transferred to hospitable -Sweden. The Norwegian wine was well adapted for exportation; pamphlets -grew in size as they travelled and in Sweden became literature. -Thoughts came to the top and personalities settled at the bottom of -the vessel. Ibsen and Björnson broke into Sweden; Tidemand and Gude -took prizes in the art exhibition of 1866; Kierulf and Nordraak were -authorities in singing and music. Then came Ibsen's _Brand_. This had -appeared in 1866, but John did not see it till 1869. It made a deep -impression on the primitive Christian side of him, but it was gloomy -and severe. The final utterance in it regarding "Deus caritatis" was -not satisfying, and the poet seemed to have had too much sympathy with -his hero to have described his overthrow with cold irony. - -_Brand_ gave John a good deal of trouble. He (Brand) had dropped -Christianity but kept its stern ascetic morality; he demanded obedience -for his old doctrines though they were no more practicable; he despised -the tendency of the time towards humanity and compromise, but ended by -recommending the God of compromise. Brand was a fanatic, a pietist, -who dared to believe himself right against the whole world, and John -felt himself related to this terrible egoist who was wrong besides. No -half-measures! go straight on; break down everything that stands in the -way, for you only are right! John's tender conscience, which suffered -at every step he took lest it should vex his father or friends, was -stupefied by Brand. All ties of consideration and of love should be -torn asunder for the sake of "the cause." That John was no longer a -pietist was a piece of good fortune, otherwise he too would have been -overwhelmed by the avalanche.[2] But Brand gave him a belief in a -conscience which was purer than that which education had given him, and -a law which was higher than conventional law. And he needed this iron -backbone in his weak back, for he had long periods during which by -fits and starts and out of mildness he thought himself wrong, and the -first who came, right; therefore, he was also very easily misled. Brand -was the last Christian who followed an old ideal, therefore he could be -110 pattern for one who felt a vague inclination to revolt against all -old ideals. - -_Brand_ after all was a fine plant, but without any roots in its own -period; and, therefore, it belonged to the herbarium. Then came -_Peer Gynt_. This was rather obscure than deep and had its value as -an antidote against the national self-love. The fact that Ibsen was -neither banished nor persecuted after having said such bitter things -against the proud Norwegians, shows that in Norway they were more -honourable fighters than the Swedes afterwards showed themselves to be. - -Ibsen was at that time regarded as a misanthrope and as an enemy and -envier of Björnson. People were divided into two camps, and the dispute -as to which of the two was the greater was endless, for it concerned an -artistic problem--"contents or form." - -The influence of Norwegian on Swedish poetry has been great and partly -beneficent, but there was a peculiarly Norwegian element in it, which -was not adaptable to Sweden, a land with quite another development. -In the sequestered valleys of Norway there lived a people who, under -the pressure of need and poverty, found ready to their hand in the -Christian doctrine of renunciation an ascetic philosophy which promised -heaven as a compensation for earth's hardships. Nature in her most -gloomy and parsimonious aspect, a damp climate, long winters, great -distances between the villages,--all co-operated to preserve an -austere mediæval type of Christianity. There is something which may -be said to resemble insanity in the Norwegian character, of the same -kind as the English "spleen;" and possibly the intimate relations of -Norway with the hypochondriacal islanders may have impressed traces -on its civilisation. In Jonas Lie's _Clair-voyant_ this melancholy -is depleted, and in it one finds the same weird atmosphere as in the -Icelandic sagas, and the theme also is similar,--the struggle of the -spirit against physical darkness and cold. There we have depicted -the tragic lot of the Norseman banished from sunny lands to gloomy -wildernesses, and seeking relief by emigration, the ethnographical -significance of which has been overlooked in view of its economical -aspect. The Norwegian character is the result of many hundred years of -tyranny, of injustice, of hard struggling for a livelihood, of want of -gladness. - -Swedish literature should have avoided absorbing these national -peculiarities, but they have made it half-Norwegian. Brand still haunts -Swedish literature with his ideal demands, with which the romanticised -and cheerful Swede cannot sincerely sympathise. Therefore this foreign -garb suits him so badly; therefore modern Swedish music sounds so -unharmonious, like an echo of the violins of Hardanger, tuned over -again by Grieg; therefore the talk of greater moral purity sounds -discordant in the mouth of the vivacious Swede. He has not suffered -from long oppression and does not need to seek himself in the past; -melancholy has not so beset him in his open flat land of lakes and -rivers, and therefore a sour mien becomes him ill. - -When the Swedes received great and novel ideas by way of Norway or -direct from the Continent through Ibsen and Björnson, they should have -kept the kernel and thrown away the Norwegian husk. Even the _Doll's -House_ is Norwegian. Nora is related to the Icelandic women who wished -to set up a matriarchate; she belongs to the weird imperious women in -_Härmännen_ who again are pure Norse. In them the emotions have become -frozen or distorted by centuries of cognate marriages. - -The whole Swedish literature of feminism is ultra-Norwegian; it -contains the same immodest demands on the man and petting of the spoilt -woman. Several young authors have introduced the Norwegian style into -Swedish; one authoress has placed the scene of her book in Norway, and -made her hero talk Norwegian! Further one could not go! - -Let us welcome foreign influence which is cosmopolitan; but not -Norwegian, for that is provincial, and we have plenty of the same kind -ourselves. - - * * * * * - -So John found himself again in Upsala,--the same Upsala from which he -had fled nine months before, and to which he most unwillingly returned. -To be compelled to a course which he did not wish always made him feel -as though he were encountering a personal foe, who cajoled him out of -his wishes and antipathies, and forced him to bend. Since he still -believed himself under God's personal providence, he accepted that as -though it were for his best. Later on he had a feeling that there was -a malignant power; this developed into the belief that there were two -ruling powers, one good, one evil, which divided the empery, or ruled -alternately. - -He asked himself again, "What have you to do here?" To take his degree, -but especially to cover his retreat from the theatre. Privately he -wished to write a play, and, under the screen of its success, wriggle -out of the examination. - -At first he was not at all comfortable in his lonely attic. He had -become accustomed to luxury, a large room, a good table, attendance -and society. After having been habituated to be treated as a man and -to have intercourse with older and cultivated people, he found himself -again in a state of pupilage as a student. But he cast himself into -the crowd and soon found himself on social terms with three distinct -circles. The first consisted of friends whom he met by day, who were -students of medicine and natural history and atheists. From them he -heard for the first time the name of Darwin; but it passed by him like -a doctrine for which he was not yet ripe. His evening society consisted -of a priest and a lawyer with whom he played cards till deep in the -night. He considered himself now in Upsala merely to grow and get -older, and that it was a matter of indifference what he did, as long as -he killed the time. He drew up the scheme of a new tragedy, Eric XIV, -but found it poor, and burnt it, for his faculty of self-criticism had -awakened and was severer in its demands. - -Later on in the term he entered a third society, which formed his -special circle during the whole of his time at Upsala and for a long -while afterwards. One evening he chanced to meet a young companion -with whom he had been a pupil at the private school. They discussed -literature, and over a glass of toddy made the plan of forming some -young poets into a club for literary work. The plan was carried out. -Besides John and the other founder of the club, four young students -were elected to it. They were fine young fellows of an idealist turn of -mind, as the saying is, with high purposes and enthusiastic for vague -ideals. They had not yet come into contact with the hard realities of -life; they had all well-to-do parents, no cares, and knew nothing at -all of the struggle for a subsistence. John, on the other hand, had -just left the most unpleasant surroundings; he had seen people who -were always ready to quarrel, conceited, empty-headed pupils of the -Theatrical Academy. Here he found himself transplanted into an entirely -new world. There were these happy youths going to their well-supplied -tables, smoking fine cigars, taking walks, and poetising beautifully -over the beauty of life which they knew nothing of. - -Rules were drawn up for the club, which received the name "Runa," -_i.e_. "song." The choice of this title was probably due to the -Northern renaissance which came in with the Scandinavian movement. -Its chief ornaments were Karl XV in poetry, Winge and Malmström in -painting, and Molin in sculpture. Recently it had been quickened by -Björnson's and Ibsen's dramas on subjects from the old Norse life. -The study of Icelandic, which had been newly introduced into the -university, also lent strength to this movement. - -The number of members of the club was not to exceed nine; each of -them was known by a Runic sign. John was called "Frö" and the other -founder of the club, "Ur." Every variety of opinion was represented. -Ur was a great patriot and venerated Sweden with its memories. In his -opinion it had the most brilliant history in Europe, and had always -been free. For the rest he was a practically minded man with a special -faculty for statistics, politics, and biography; he was a severe and -clever critic, and also managed the affairs of the club. He was a -reliable friend, good company, helpful and hearty. Secondly, there -was a full-blooded romanticist who read Heine and drank absinthe--a -sensitive youth enthusiastic for all old ideals, but especially for -Heine. There was also a seraph who sang of the indescribably little, -especially the happiness of childhood; fourthly, a silent worshipper of -nature, and, lastly, an eclectic philosopher and improvisator, who had -an extraordinary faculty for improvising in any style whatever, when -requested. Two minutes after he had been asked, he would stand up and -speak or sing on the spur of the moment in the character of Anacreon, -Horace, the Edda, or any one else, and even in foreign languages. - -The first meeting of the club was at Thurs', who was lodged the most -comfortably in two rooms and had the best pipes. As one of the founders -of the club John first of all read his prologue, which, according -to the rules of the society, had to be in verse. It began by asking -after the ancient bard Brage and his harp which was now silent. Brage -represented the new Norse element, the resuscitation of which was -believed necessary. The whole programme of the idealists was called -"a trivial striving." All the great efforts of their contemporaries -after reality and for the improvement of the conditions of life was -"trivial." The spirit was taken prisoner in matter, and therefore -all that was material was to be regarded as the enemy. Such was the -teaching of the romanticists, and of John's prologue. Then the poet -went out into nature, listened to the bells of the cathedral, the -wind, the pines, and the singing of the birds in order to ask the very -natural question: "Nature sings; why should I then be silent?" He -resolved to be no longer silent but to sing,--about the joyous youthful -spring-time of life, its autumn, and about love to one's native soil. -Then (he said) came the wise man with the frozen heart, took his song, -dissected it and found that it was all nonsense. Thus the song was -killed by "overwiseness." - -It is not easy to say exactly now what John meant by "overwiseness" -in 1870. He probably had simply forebodings of future critics, and -the "wise man" was no other than the reviewer. Then he inveighed -against the wretched mercenary souls who worship the golden calf but -do not love songs. This had no connection with contemporary matters, -for the sixties were remarkable for bad harvests and consequently -for want of gold. The swindles by company-promoters began with the -seventies. But it was the custom of the contemporary poets to attack -money and the golden calf, and therefore John did so in his prologue. -Now began a life of poetic idleness. Every evening they met either in -a restaurant, or in each other's rooms. But the time was not wasted -in view of his future authorship. John could borrow books from the -well-stocked libraries of his friends, and the interchange of opinions -accustomed him to look at literature from different points of view. But -for them real life, public interests, contemporary politics did not -exist; they lived in dreams. Sometimes his lower-class consciousness -awoke, and he asked himself what he had to do among these rich youths. -But he soon stilled these scruples by drink and talk, and encouraged -himself to go forward and demand something of life, for he had in his -companions' opinion a good chance. - -His room was a wretched one; the rain came through the roof, and he had -no proper bed, but only a plank-bed, which in the day-time served as a -sofa. When time hung heavily on his hands and he grew weary of poetical -discussions he looked up his old school-fellow, the natural history -student. There he looked through the microscope, and heard of Darwin -and the new scientific views. His friend gave him well-meant practical -advice and recommended him to get out of his difficulties by writing a -one-act play in verse for the Theatre Royal. - -John objected that his dramatic talent had not scope enough in one act, -and said that he would rather write a tragedy in five. - -"Yes, but it is harder to get that accepted," replied his friend. -Finally he let himself be persuaded and determined to carry out a -small idea he had of a short play based on Thorwaldson's first visit -to Rome. His friend lent him books on Italy and John set to work. In -fourteen days the piece was ready. - -"That will be acted," said his friend. "It has dramatic points, you -see." - -Since it was still a long time to the next meeting of the club, John -hastened in the evening to Thurs and Rejd and read the piece to them. -They were both of the same opinion as the natural history student, -that the piece would be performed. They had a champagne supper, and -kept drinking till the morning, and then went to sleep on the floor of -Rejd's room with the punch-glasses by them. In a couple of hours they -awoke, finished their half-empty glasses at sunrise and went out to -continue the celebration of the occasion. - -The sympathy of John's friends was hearty, unselfish and warm, without -a trace of envy. He always remembered with pleasure this first success -as one of the brightest recollections of his youth. The enthusiastic, -devoted Rejd increased Hohn's debt of gratitude by copying out the -piece in his graceful hand-writing. Then it was sent to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. Spring arrived and they spent the -month of May in a continual carouse. The club had a small room in the -restaurant Lilia Förderfvet for their evening suppers. There they -talked, made speeches, and drank enormously. At last the term ended and -they had to part, but they arranged to meet once more at Stockholm, -and celebrate the festival day of the club by an excursion into the -country. - -At six o'clock one June morning the four members of the club met at -Skeppsholm, where they had hired a rowing-boat. The chest of the club, -a card-board box containing documents, was stowed away with baskets of -provisions and bottles of wine. After Os and Rejd had taken the oars, -they steered the boat to the canal leading through the Zoological -Gardens, in order to reach the place they had appointed, a promontory -of Liding Island. Thurs played airs on the flute to Bellmann's songs, -and Frö (John) accompanied him on a guitar which he had learnt to play -at Upsala. - -As soon as they landed, breakfast was laid in a meadow by the shore. -The club-chest adorned with leaves and flowers was set in the middle -of the table-cloth, and on it were set the brandy-bottles and glasses. -John, who had studied antiquities for his play, _Sinking Hellas_, -arranged the meal in the Greek style, so that they wore garlands, and -ate reclining. A fire was lit between some stones and coffee was made. -At nine o'clock in the morning they drank brandy and punch. - -John read his drama, _The Free-thinker_, which was duly criticised. -Then they gave full course to their eloquence. Thurs was the best -speaker; he could express emotions and thoughts rhythmically. Poems -were read and received with applause. John sang folk-songs to the -accompaniment of his guitar, some on sentimental subjects, and some on -improper ones. At noon they were still in high spirits but inclined to -be sleepy. - -In the afternoon when the sun was over Lilia Värtan they had a short -sleep, and then the carouse passed into a new phase. Thurs, the -Israelite, had recited a poem on the greatness of the North, and called -on the old gods of Scandinavia. Ur, the patriot, denied him the right -to appropriate other people's gods. The Jewish question came up; they -took fire and nearly quarrelled, but ended by embracing. - -Then began the sentimental stage. They had to weep, for alcohol has -this effect on the membranes of the stomach and the lachrymal duets. -Ur first felt this and unconsciously sought for a melancholy subject. -He burst into tears. When asked why, he did not know, but said at last -that he had been treated as a buffoon, which he always was. He declared -that he had a very serious nature and that he also had great troubles -which no one knew about, but now he unburdened his heart and told us a -domestic story. After he had done so, he became cheerful again. - -But the evening was long and they began to wish to go home. Their -brains were empty; they were tired of each other, and weary of play -and drinking. They began to reflect and examine the philosophy of -intoxication. From whence do men derive this desire to make themselves -senseless? What lies behind it? Is it the southern exile's longing -for a lost sunny existence in northern lands? There must be some felt -necessity underlying intoxication, for a vice like this would not -have laid hold of all mankind without reason. Is it that the member -of society in a state of intoxication throws away all the lies of -society? For the laws of social intercourse involuntarily forbid one to -speak out all one's thoughts. Otherwise whence comes the saying, _In -vino veritas_? Why did the Greeks honour Bacchus as one who improved -men and manners? Why did Dionysus love peace, and why was he said -to increase riches? Has wine, which is chiefly drunk by men, some -influence on the development of man's intelligence and activity, so -that he becomes superior to woman? And why do the Muhammadans who drink -no wine stand on what is regarded as a lower level of civilisation? -As salt is used as a daily nutrient to replace the salts which their -hunting forefathers found in the blood of beasts of the chase, does not -wine compensate for some lost nutritive matter belonging to earlier -stages, and, if so, which? Some idea or necessity must underlie so -singular a custom. - -Perhaps the need of losing consciousness justifies the axiom of the -pessimists that consciousness is the beginning of suffering. Wine makes -one naive and unconscious as a child; or even as an animal. Is it -the lost paradise which one wishes to recover? But the remorse which -follows it? Remorse and acidity of the stomach have the same symptoms. -Is there then a confusion, and are sensations called "remorse" which -are only heart-burn? Or does the drinker returned to consciousness -regret that he has exposed himself by daylight and betrayed his -secrets? There is something to feel remorse for in that! He is ashamed -that he has been taken by surprise, he feels afraid because he has -exposed himself and given away his weapons. Remorse and fear are close -neighbours. - -Yet once more the members of the club drowned their consciousness in -drink and then got into the boat to proceed home. John and Thurs began -a dispute about Bellmann[3] which lasted till they reached Skeppsholm, -and closed with sharp remarks on both sides. - -John had an old grudge against this poet. Once as a child, he had been -ill for a whole summer, and had by chance taken Bellmann's _Fredman's -Epistles_ out of his father's book-case. The book seemed to him silly, -but he was too young to form a well-grounded opinion on it. Later on, -it sometimes happened that his father sat at the piano, and hummed -Bellmann's songs. The boy found it incomprehensible that his father and -uncle admired them so much. Subsequently one Christmas he saw a violent -controversy break out between his mother and his uncle on the subject -of Bellmann. The latter set the poet above everything--Bible, sermons -and all. There were depths, he said, in Bellmann. Depths indeed! -Probably Atterbom's romanticist one-sided criticism had filtered -through the daily papers to the middle classes. As a school-boy and -student, John had sung "Up, Amaryllis" and other idylls of Bellmann's, -naturally without understanding them or thinking of the meaning of the -words. He sang in a quartette, or choir, for it sounded well. Finally, -in 1867, he read Ljunggren's lectures and a light broke upon him, but -not one of Ljunggren's kindling. He thought the latter mad. Bellmann -was a ballad-singer, that was true, but a great poet, the greatest poet -of the North?--impossible! - -Bellmann had sung his songs composed on the French model for the -Court and his own friends, but not for the common people, who would -not have understood "Amaryllis," "Eol," "The Tritons," "Fröja" and -all the rococo stock-in-trade. He died and was forgotten. Why had -he been disinterred by Atterbom? Because the pugnacious romantic -school required an embodiment of irregularity to set up against the -classicists, as they had nothing of their own to boast of. Thus the -romantic school gained the day; and when one considers how cowardly -most people are in the face of public opinion, and the tendency of the -middle-class to ape its superiors and reverence authority, one ceases -to be surprised at the elevation of Bellmann. Ljunggren and Eichhorn -outstripped Atterbom in finding beauty and genius in his writings they -were reinforced by the clerical element, and thus the idol was set up -for worship. Bystrom, the sculptor, had already magnified the little -lottery-secretary and court-poet into a Dionysus and lent him the -features of an antique bust of Bacchus. - -Bellmann's idylls are careless, extemporised compositions with forced -rhymes, and as disconnected as the thoughts in the brain of a drunkard. -One does not know whether it is day or night, the thunder rolls in the -sunshine, and the weaves beat while the boat is floating calmly on the -waters. They simply provide a text for music, and for that purpose -one might use a book of addresses. The meaning of the words does not -matter, as long as they sound well. - -According to his custom Thurs took the matter personally. It was an -attack on his good taste and on his honour, for John said that his -admiration of Bellmann was mere humbug; that he had read himself into -it, and that it was not genuine. Thurs on the other hand declared John -to be presumptuous, because he wished to criticise the greatest Swedish -poet. - -"Prove that he is the greatest," said John. - -"Tegner and Atterbom say so." - -"That is no proof." - -"Simply because you have a spirit of contradiction." - -"Doubt is the beginning of certainty, and absurd assertions must arouse -opposition in a healthy brain." - -And so on. - -Although there is no such thing as a judgment which holds good -universally, since every judgment is individualistic, there are, on the -other hand, judgments of a majority and of a party. By means of these -John was suppressed and kept silence on the subject of Bellmann for -many years. Only when later on the old historian Fryxell proved that -Bellmann was not the apostle of sobriety which Eichhorn and Ljunggren -had made him out to be, and also no god, but a mediocre ballad-singer, -did John see a gleam of hope that his individual opinion might become -some day the opinion of the majority. But he already saw the question -from another point of view; Sweden would have been neither unhappier -nor worse, if Bellmann had never lived. He would like to have said to -the patriots and democrats, "Bellmann was a poet of Stockholm and of -the Court, who jested very cruelly with poor people." He would like -to have said to the Good Templars who sang Bellmann's songs, "You are -singing drinking songs which were written during fits of intoxication -and celebrate drink." For his own part, John held that Bellmann's -songs were pleasant to sing because of the light French melodies which -accompanied them, and as for their French morality it did not vex him -at all--quite the contrary. But earlier, at the age of twenty-one, he -was vexed by it, for he was an idealist and desired purity in poetry, -just as the surviving idealists and admirers of Bellmann do at the -present time. - -These have used the word "humour" to save themselves and their -morality. But what do they mean by "humour"? Is it jest or earnest? -What is jest? The reluctance of the cowardly to speak out his mind? -Humour reflects the double nature of man,--the indifference of the -natural man to conventional morality, and the Christian's sigh over -immorality which is after all so enticing and seductive. Humour speaks -with two tongues,--one of the satyr, the other of the monk. The -humorist lets the mænad loose, but for old unsound reasons thinks that -he ought to flog her with rods. This is a transitional form of humour -which is passing away, and already at the last gasp. The greatest -modern writers have thrown away the rod, and play the hypocrite -no longer, but speak their minds plainly out. The old tippler's -sentimentality can no longer count for "a good heart," for it has been -discovered to be merely bad nerves. - -After arguing till they were weary, the members of the club landed in -Stockholm harbour. - -[1] Boström: Swedish Philosopher (1797-1866). - -[2] _Vide_ the end of _Brand_. - -[3] Famous Swedish poet. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -BOOKS AND THE STAGE - - -The history of the development of a soul can be sometimes written by -giving a simple bibliography; for a man who lives in a narrow circle -and never meets great men personally, seeks to make their acquaintance -through books. The fact that the same books do not make the same -impression, nor have the same effect upon all, shows their relative -powerlessness to convert anybody. For example, we call the criticism -with which we agree good; the criticism which contradicts our views is -bad. Thus we seem to be educated with preconceived views, and the book -which strengthens, expresses and develops these makes an impression -on us. The danger of a one-sided education through books is that most -books, especially those composed at the end of an era, and at the -university, are antiquated. The youth who has received old ideals from -his parents and teachers is accordingly necessarily out of date before -his education is completed. When he enters manhood, he is generally -obliged to fling away his whole stock of old ideas, and be born again, -as it were. Time has gone by him, while he was reading the old books, -and he finds himself a stranger among his contemporaries. - -John had spent his youth in accumulating antiquarian lore. He knew all -about Marathon and Cannae, the war of the Spanish succession and the -Thirty Years' War, the Middle Ages and antiquity; but when the war -between France and Germany broke out, he did not know the cause of it. -He read about it as he would have read a play, and was interested to -see what the result of it would be. - -In Kristineberg, where he spent the summer with his parents, he lay -out on the grass in the park and read Oehlenschläger. For his degree -examination, he had, besides his chief subject--æsthetics,--to -choose a special one, and, enticed by Dietrichson's lectures, he had -chosen Danish literature. In Oehlenschläger he had found the summit -of Northern poetry. That was for him the quintessence of poetry,--the -directness which he admired perhaps for the very reason that he had -not got it. The Danish language perhaps also contributed to this -result; it seemed to him an idealised Swedish, and sounded like his -mother-speech from the lips of a woman worshipped from afar. When he -read Oehlenschläger's _Helge_, Tegner's _Frithiof's Saga_ seemed to him -petty; he found it unwieldy, prosaic, clerical, unpoetic. - -Oehlenschläger's dramas were a book which had an influence on John by -way of a supplementary contrast. Perhaps the romantic element in them -found an echo in the youth's mind, which had now awoken* to poetic -activity, and looked upon poetry and romance as identical. Other -contributory circumstances were his liking for Norse antiquities which -Oehlenschläger had just discovered, and the unrequited love he had -just then for a blond maiden who was engaged to a lieutenant. But the -impression made by Oehlenschläger was only fleeting, and hardly lasted -a year; it was a light spring breeze which passed by. - -It fared worse with John's study of æsthetics as expounded by -Ljunggren in two closely printed volumes, containing the views of all -philosophers on the Beautiful, but giving no satisfactory definition of -it. - -John had studied the antique in the National Museum, and asked himself -how the pot-house scenes of the Dutch genre painters which, when -they occurred in reality, were called ugly, could be reckoned among -beautiful pictures, although they were in no way idealised. To this the -æsthetic philosophers gave no answer. They shirked the question and -set up one theory after another, but the only excuse they could find -for the admission of ugliness was that it acted as a foil, and provided -a comic element. But a strong suspicion had been aroused in John that -the "Beautiful" was not always beautiful. - -Furthermore, he was troubled by doubts whether it was possible to -have independent standards of taste. In the newly-founded paper, the -_Schwedische Zeitschrift_, he had read discussions about works of -art, and seen how disputants on both sides defended their position -with equally strong arguments. One sought beauty in form, another in -subject, and a third in the harmony between the two. Accordingly a -well-painted subject from still life can rank higher than the Niobe, -for this group of statuary is not beautiful in its outlines, the -arrangement of the drapery of the principal figure being especially -tasteless although the judgment of the majority regards the work as -sublime. Therefore the sublime does not necessarily consist in beauty -of form. - -Victor Hugo's romances had found a fertile soil in John's mind. The -revolt against society; the reverence paid to Nature by the poet living -on a lonely island; the scorn for the ever-prevalent stupidity; the -indignation against formal religion and the enthusiasm for God as the -Creator of all,--all that was germinating in the young man's mind began -to grow, but was stifled by the autumn leaf-drifts of old books. - -John's life in the domestic circle was now a quiet one. The storms -had subsided; his brothers and sisters were grown up. His father, who -still always sat over his account-ledgers, calculating the ways and -means of providing for his flock of children, had become older, and -now perceived that John was also older. They often discussed together -topics of common interest. As regards the Franco-German War they were -both fairly neutral. As Latinised Teutons they did not love the German. -They hated and feared him as a sort of uncle with a right of seniority -against the Swedes, and they did not forget that victorious Prussia had -once been a Swedish province. The Swede had become more French than he -was aware, and now he felt conscious of his relationship to _la grande -nation_. In the evenings when they sat in the garden and the noise of -traffic had ceased, they heard the singing of the Marseillaise from -Blanch's café, and the hurrahs which were soon to be silent. - -In August, when the theatres re-opened, John received the long-desired -news that his play had been accepted for the stage. That was the first -intoxicating success which he had experienced. To have a play accepted -at the Theatre Royal when he was only twenty-one was sufficient -compensation for all his misfortunes. His words would reach the public -from the first stage in the land; his failure as an actor would be -forgotten; his father would see that his son amid all his notorious -fluctuations had chosen right, and all would be well. In autumn, before -the university term began, the piece was performed. It was naive, -pious and full of reverence for art, but had one dramatic scene which -saved it in spite of its slightness--Thorwaldsen about to shatter -the statue of Jason with his hammer. But on the other hand the piece -contained a presumptuous outburst against contemporary rhymers. What -was the author's intention in that? How could a beginner who had so -many forced rhymes himself, cast a stone at another? It was a piece -of temerity which found its own punishment. John stole to the bottom -of the third row of seats to view the performance of his piece from a -standing position. Rejd was already there before him and the curtain -was up. John felt as though he stood under an electric machine. Every -nerve quivered, his legs shook, and his tears ran the whole time from -pure nervousness. Rejd had to hold his hand in order to quiet him. -Now and then there was applause, but John knew that it was mostly from -his relatives and friends, and did not let himself be deceived. Every -stupidity which had inadvertently escaped him now jarred on his ear, -and made him quiver; he saw nothing but crudeness in the piece; he felt -so ashamed that his ears burned; before the curtain fell he rushed away -out into the dark market-place. - -He felt as though annihilated. The attack on the priests was stupid and -unjust; the glorification of poverty and pride seemed to him false, his -description of the relationship between father and son was cynical. How -could he have shown off in this absurd way? It seemed to him as though -he had exposed his nakedness, and shame overpowered every other feeling. - -On the other hand he found the actors good; the _mise en scène_ was -more appropriate than he had expected. Everything was good except the -piece itself. He wandered down to the Norrstrom, and felt inclined -to drown himself. What most annoyed him was that he had so openly -exhibited his feelings. Whence came that? And why should one in general -be ashamed of such exhibitions? Why are the feelings so sacred? Perhaps -because the feelings in general are false, as they only express a -physical sensation, in which personality of the individual does not -fully participate. If it is really so, then John was ashamed as an -ordinary man, to have been untruthful in his writing and to have worn -disguise. - -To be moved at the sight of human suffering is regarded as a mark of -fine feeling and meritorious, but it is said to be only a natural -reflex-movement. One involuntarily transfers the sufferings of the -other to oneself and suffers for one's own sake. Another's tears could -bring one to weep just as another's yawning could make one yawn. That -was all. John felt ashamed that he had lied and caught himself in the -act, though the public had not caught him. - -No one is such a merciless critic as a dramatist who sees his own play -acted. He lets no single word pass through his sieve. He does not lay -the blame on the actors, but generally admires them for rendering his -stupidities with such taste. John found his play stupid. It had lain -by for half a year, and perhaps he had outgrown it. Another piece was -performed after it which lasted for two hours. During the whole time -he wandered about the streets in the darkness, feeling ashamed of -himself. He had made an appointment to drink a glass with some friends -and relatives after the performance in the Hôtel du Nord, but remained -away. He saw they were looking for him but did not wish to meet them. -So they went in again to see the second play. At last it was over. The -spectators streamed out and dispersed through the streets. He hastened -away in order not to hear their comments. - -At last he saw a single group standing under the portico of the -dramatic theatre. They were looking out in all directions and called -him. Finally he came forward as pale and melancholy as a corpse. - -They congratulated him on his success. The play had been applauded and -was very good. They repeated to him the verdicts of other spectators -and quieted him. Then they dragged him to a restaurant and compelled -him to eat and drink. "That will do you good, you old death's-head!" -said a shop-assistant. John was soon pulled down from his imaginative -flight. "What have you got to be melancholy for," he was asked, "when -you have had a play acted by the Theatre Royal?" He could not tell -them. His boldest ambition was fulfilled; but it was probably not -what he wanted. The thought that in any case it was an honour did not -comfort him. - -The next morning he went into a shop, and bought the morning paper -and read a criticism to the effect that the piece was written in -choice language, and (since it was anonymous) probably by a well-known -art-critic who had moved among artistic circles at Rome. That was -pleasant and cheered his spirits. - -At noon he started for Upsala. His father had engaged a room for him -in a boarding-house, kept by the widow of a clergyman, that he might -complete his studies under proper supervision. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -TORN TO PIECES - - -John's entrance into the boarding-house secured for him intercourse -with a large and varied circle,--perhaps too varied. There were -students of all ages, of all subjects, and from all districts, from -clergymen who were reading for their last examination to young medical -and law students. There were also ladies in the house, and John was -for the eighth time in love. Again the object of his affections -was unattainable, being engaged to another. The variety of this -social intercourse overloaded his brain with impressions from all -circles; his personality became relaxed and distracted through the -self-adaptation and compromises with other people's views which are -necessary in society. Besides this a great deal of drinking went on -nearly every evening. On one of the first days after his arrival -appeared a criticism of his play in one of the evening papers. It was -very sharp but just, and therefore hit John hard. He felt stripped -and seen through. The critic said that the author had concealed his -insignificant personality behind a great name--Thorwaldsen--but -that the disguise did not avail him and so on. John felt altogether -bankrupt. In such cases one tries to defend oneself, and he compared -his own with other bad plays, which the same severe critic had -praised. He felt treated unjustly, and indeed when compared with others -it was so, but not when he was regarded by himself alone. The fact that -the critic was worse did not make his piece better. - -John became shy and averse to company. This was increased by the -students' club starting a paper in which they made merry over him and -his play. He fancied he saw grimaces and contempt everywhere, and went -preferably by back streets on his walks. - -Then there came a yet severer blow. A friend had, on his own account, -published one of John's first plays,--the _Free-thinker_. While he was -spending an evening with Rejd an acquaintance brought in the hated -evening paper. It contained a scathing article on the play, which was -mocked at and cut to pieces. John was obliged to read the article in -the presence of his friends. He had, against his will, to admit that -the critic was not unjust, but it upset him terribly. - -Why is it so hard to hear the truth from others, while at the same -time one can be so severe against oneself? Probably because the social -masquerade in which we all take part makes every one fear being -unmasked, probably also because responsibility and unpleasantness are -involved in it. One feels oneself overreached and cheated. The critic -who sits at ease and unmasks others would feel himself equally scourged -and exposed if his secrets were betrayed. Social life is honeycombed -with falsity, but who likes to be discovered? That is why at times of -solitude, when the past rises up unescapably, we do not feel remorse -for our faults, but for our follies and necessary cruelties. Mistakes -were necessary and had some use, but follies were merely injurious and -should have been avoided. It is for this reason that men pay greater -honour to intelligence than to morality, for the former is a reality, -the latter an idea. - -Meanwhile John felt the same pains which he imagined a criminal must -feel. He felt impelled to obliterate as soon as possible the impression -made by his stupidity. But he felt also that a kind of injustice -had been done him since he had been criticised simply and solely as -a writer, although his production was a year old, and he himself, -therefore, maturer than it, by a year. But it was not the fault of the -critic that there was an incongruity between the criticism and the -_corpus delicti_. - -He began to compose another tragedy, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_. -This was intended to deal with Christendom in artistic form, and to -handle the same problem and the same questions as his former play. By -"artistic form" at that period was meant the laying of the scene of -the play in a past epoch. John wrote the piece under the influence of -Oehlenschläger and the Icelandic sagas which he had lately read in the -original. - -He had, however, a severe struggle with his conscience, for his father -had exacted a promise from him not to write for the stage till he had -passed his examination. It was, therefore, an act of deceit to take -help from his father and not to fulfil the conditions on which it was -granted. But he silenced his scruples by saying to himself, "Father -will be pleased enough if I have a speedy and great success." In that -he was not far wrong. - -But another element now entered into his life, and had a decided -influence both on his views of things and his work. This was his -acquaintance with two men,--an author and a remarkable personality. -Unfortunately they were both abnormal and therefore had only a -disturbing effect upon his development. - -The author was Kierkegaard,[1] whose book, _Either--Or_, John had -borrowed from a member of the Song Club, and read with fear and -trembling. His friends had also read it as a work of genius, had -admired the style, but not been specialty influenced by it,--a proof -that books have little effect, when they do not find readers in -sympathy with the author. But upon John the book made the impression -intended by the author. He read the first part containing "The -Confessions of an Æsthete." He felt sometimes carried away by it, but -always had an uncomfortable feeling as though present at a sick-bed. -The perusal of the first part left a feeling of emptiness and despair -behind it. The book agitated him. "The Diary of a Seducer" he regarded -as the fancies of an unclean imagination. Things were not like that in -real life. Moreover John was no sybarite, but on the contrary inclined -to asceticism and self-torment. Such egotistic sensuality as that of -the hero of Kierkegaard's work was absurd because the suffering he -caused by the satisfaction of his desires necessarily involved him in -suffering and, therefore, defeated his object. - -The second part of the work containing the philosopher's "Discourse on -Life as a Duty," made a deeper impression on John. It showed him that -he himself was an "æsthete" who had conceived of authorship as a form -of enjoyment. Kierkegaard said that it should be regarded as a calling. -Why? The proof was wanting, and John, who did not know that Kierkegaard -was a Christian, but thought the contrary, not having seen his -_Edifying Discourses_, imbibed unaware the Christian system of ethics -with its doctrine of self-sacrifice and duty Along with these the idea -of sin returned. Enjoyment was a sin, and one had to do one's duty. -Why? Was it for the sake of society to which one was under obligations? -No! merely because it was duty. That was simply Kant's categorical -imperative. When he reached the end of the work _Either--Or_ and found -the moral philosopher also in despair, and that all this teaching about -duty had only produced a Philistine, he felt broken in two. "Then," he -thought, "better be an æsthete." But one cannot be an æsthete if one -has been a Christian for five-sixths of one's life, and one cannot be -moral without Christ. Thus he was tossed to and fro like a ball between -the two, and ended in sheer despair. - -Had he now read Kierkegaard's discourses, he might possibly have -come a step nearer to Christianity--possibly--for it is difficult to -decide that now, but to receive Christianity again seemed to him like -replacing a tooth which had been torn out, and joyfully thrown into the -fire, along with the accompanying toothache. It was also possible that -if he had known that the book _Either--Or_ was intended to scourge one -to the Cross he might have thrown it away as a jesuitical writing and -been saved from his embarrassment. All that he felt now, however, was -a terrible discord. He had to choose and make the jump between ethics -and æsthetics, but choose how? and jump whither? He could not jump -out in space to embrace a paradox or Christ,--that would have been -self-destruction or madness. But Kierkegaard preached madness? Was -it the despair of the over-self-conscious at finding himself always -self-conscious? Was it the longing of one who sees too deeply for the -unconsciousness of intoxication? - -John knew well what the battle between his own will and the will of -others meant. He had given his father trouble enough when he crossed -his plans; but the trouble was mutual; the whole of life consisted of -a web of wills crossing one another. The death of one was life-breath -to another; no one could gain an advantage without hurting the one -he passed by. Life was a perpetual interchange and struggle between -pleasure and pain. His sensuality or desire for enjoyment had not -injured others nor caused them trouble. He had never seduced the -innocent, and had never enjoyed himself without paying the price. He -was moral from habit; from instinct, from fear of the consequences, -from good taste or from education, but the very fact that he did -not feel himself immoral, was a defect and a sin. After reading -_Either--Or_ he felt sinful. The categorical imperative stole on him -under a Latin name and without a cross on its back, and he let himself -be beguiled by it. He did not see that it was a two-thousand-years-old -Christianity in disguise. - -Kierkegaard would not have made so deep an impression on him, if a -number of concurrent circumstances had not contributed to that result. -In the letters of the æsthete, Kierkegaard expounded suffering as -enjoyment. John suffered from public contumely; he suffered from his -hard work; he suffered from unrequited affection; he suffered from -unsatisfied desires; he suffered from drink, for he was intoxicated -nearly every evening; he suffered as an artist from mental struggles -and doubts; he suffered from the ugly scenery of Upsala; he suffered -from the discomfort of his rooms; he suffered from examination-books; -he suffered from a bad conscience because he did not study but wrote -plays. But something else lay at the bottom of all this. He had been -brought up to fulfil hard tasks and duties. Now he lived well amid ease -and enjoyment. Study was an enjoyment; authorship, in spite of all its -pains, was a wonderful enjoyment; the life with his comrades was sheer -festivity and jollity. But his plebeian consciousness awoke and told -him that it was not right to enjoy while others worked; _his_ work was -an enjoyment, for it brought him a good deal of honour, and perhaps -money. This accounted for his persistently uneasy conscience which -persecuted him without a cause. Was it that he felt already the signs -of this awakening consciousness of tremendous guilt as regards the -lower classes, the slaves who toiled, while he enjoyed? Did he already -have a foreboding of that sense of justice, which in our days has laid -so strong a hold on many of the upper classes that they have restored -capital which was not quite honestly earned, have expended time and -toil for the liberation of the lower classes, and have worked from -impulse and instinct against their own interests, in order to do right? -Possibly. - -But Kierkegaard was not the man to resolve the discord. It was reserved -for the evolutionary philosophers to make peace between passion and -reason, between enjoyment and duty. They cancelled the deceptive -_Either_--_Or_, and substituted _Both--And,_ giving both flesh and -spirit their due. The real significance of Kierkegaard became clear -to John many years later. Then he saw in him the simple pietist, the -ultra-Christian who wished to realise in modern society oriental ideals -of two thousand years ago. But Kierkegaard was right in one point: if -we were to have Christianity, we ought to have it thoroughly; but his -_Either--Or_ was only valid for the priests of the church who called -themselves Christians. - -Kierkegaard saw no further, and from him who wrote his book in 1843, -and had a clerical education, one could not expect that he should say: -"Either a Christianity like this, or none!" In that case people would -probably have chosen none. Instead of that Kierkegaard said: "Whether -you are æsthetical or ethical you must cast yourself into the arms -of Christ." His mistake was to oppose ethics and æsthetics to each -other, for they can go very well together. But John did not succeed -in harmonising them till, after endless struggles, at the age of -thirty-seven, he attempted a compromise when he discovered that work -and duty are forms of enjoyment, and that enjoyment itself, well-used, -is a duty. - -But at that time, the book weighed on him like a nightmare. He was -angry when his friends wished to regard it as mere literature. He was -not pacified by their regarding it superior in richness, depth and -style to Goethe's _Faust_, which it certainly did surpass by far. John -could not at that time understand that the pillar-saint Kierkegaard had -himself known what enjoyment was when he wrote the first part, and that -the seducer and Don Juan were the author himself, who satisfied his -desires in imagination. No, he thought it was poetry. - -John had been already predisposed to receive Kierkegaard's influence, -and now came the other acquaintance, which would not have played a -great rôle in his life if circumstances had not prepared him for -that also. His companions merely regarded the person in question as -ludicrous. - -It came about in the following way. Thurs the Jew came one day and told -John that he had made the acquaintance of a genius who wished to join -their Song Club. - -"Ah, a genius!" - -None of the members of the club believed that they were geniuses, not -even John, and it is doubtful whether any poet has really believed -or felt that he was one. One can, when one makes comparisons, find -that one has produced better work than others, and a clever man -will naturally feel that he understands better than others, but -genius,--that is something else. This title is not generally bestowed -on any one till after death and is now dropping out of common use, -since the secret of the evolution of genius has been discovered. - -The novelty aroused attention, and the stranger was elected to the -club under the name of Is. He was not a poet, they were told, but very -learned and a powerful critic. - -One evening when the club-meeting was at Thurs' rooms he came--a -little thin person, without an overcoat, dressed like a labourer on -his holiday. His clothes looked as though they were borrowed, for -their elbows and knees were not in the right places. John, who used -to succeed to his elder brother's clothes, noticed this at once. In -his hand he held a dirty beer-soup-coloured hat, such as is only worn -by organ-grinders. His face looked like that of a southern rat-trap -seller. His black hair hung on his shoulders and a black beard fell on -his breast. - -"Is it possible?" they asked themselves. "Can he be a student?" He -looked forty, but was only thirty. He stood with his hat in his hand -at the door like a beggar, and hardly ventured to come forward. After -Thurs had drawn him into the room and introduced him, the meeting was -declared open. Is began to speak and they listened. His voice was like -a woman's and sank sometimes, without apology, to a whisper, as though -the speaker demanded perfect silence or spoke for his own satisfaction. -It would be difficult to repeat what he spoke of, for his speech ranged -over everything that he had read, and since he had read for ten years -more than the youths of twenty, they found his learning wonderful. - -After that, another member of the club read a poem. Is had to deliver -an opinion on it. He began with Kant, quoted Schopenhauer and -Thackeray, and finished with a lecture on George Sand. No one noticed -that he said nothing about the poem. - -Then they went into a restaurant to eat. Is talked philosophy, -æsthetics and history. He spoke sometimes with a melancholy expression -in his dark unfathomable eyes, which never rested on those present, as -though he sought an unseen audience far in the distance, in unknown -space. The club listened reverently with absorbed attention. - -John was to hear this man's opinion on his work. He, as well as one of -the most poetical members of the club, began to have serious doubts as -to their vocation. Often, when they had drunk a good deal, they asked -whether they still believed--meaning whether each thought the Other -called to be a poet. It was just the same sort of doubt which John had -felt when he had wondered whether he was a child of God. Is was to -read John's drama, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_, and to give his -opinion. - -One morning John went up to his room to hear his verdict. Is spoke -till noon. About what? About everything. But he had now taken hold of -John's soul. Through conversations with Thurs, he know which strings to -pull, and did so, as he chose. He burrowed in John's mind, not out of -sympathy, but from a spider-like curiosity. He did not speak directly -of John's play but suggested the plan of a new one after his own ideas. -He had the effect of a mesmeriser, and John was magnetised. But he -felt in a state of despair when he left him, as though his friend had -taken his soul, picked it to pieces and thrown them away after he had -satisfied his curiosity. - -But John came again, sat on the wise man's sofa, listened to his words -as though they were an oracle, and felt himself completely under his -power. Sometimes he thought it was a ghost who walked on the carpet -when his body disappeared in clouds of tobacco-smoke. The man exercised -what is called a "demonic" influence, _i.e_. inexplicable at first -sight. He had no blood in his veins, no feelings, no will, no desires. -He was a talking head. His standpoint was nothing and all at the same -time. He was a decoction of books, and the type of a book-worm who had -never lived. - -Often when the other members of the club were alone, they talked -about Is. Thurs was already tired of him and wondered whether he -had committed some crime, for he seemed driven about by a constant -restlessness. Then it was reported that he was a poet, but never would -show his poems, for he had such a high idea of the poetic art. They -also wondered why no one ever saw a book in the learned man's rooms. -It was also strange that he should seek the company of these youths, -to whom he was so superior, and whose poetry he must despise. They who -were themselves in the full bloom of romanticism did not detect the -anæmic romantic who had lost his footing on firm ground. They did not -see in his long hair and shabby hat the copy of Murger's Bohemian; they -did not know that this dilapidated condition was a Parisian fashion; -that this hollow wisdom was a web woven out of German metaphysics; that -this experimental psychology was derived from a peep into Kierkegaard; -and that that interesting air of hinting at uncommitted crimes and -secret griefs was Byronic in origin. All this they did not understand. -Therefore Is could play with John's soul and catch him in his snare. -Yes, John was so thoroughly taken by him that in a speech he called -himself Gamaliel, who sat at Paul's Is's feet to learn wisdom. - -The upshot of it all was that Julm, one fine evening, burnt his new -play. It was the work of three months which went up in flames. As he -collected the ashes, he wept. Is, without saying so directly, had shown -him that he was no poet. So everything was a mistake, this also! Then -he felt in despair, because he had deceived his father and could take -no work home to justify his neglect of his wishes. In a fit of remorse, -and in order to be able to point to some definite result, he entered -his name for the written examination in Latin, without, however, having -written any of the requisite preliminary exercises or essays. The Latin -professor saw his name in the list and did not know it. One Sunday -evening, when John had returned to his rooms in good spirits after a -supper, the university bedell appeared to summon him. John went boldly -to the professor and asked what he wanted. - -"You wish to take the written examination in Latin?" - -"Yes." - -"But I do not see your name on my list." - -"I entered myself before for the medical examination." - -"That has nothing to do with this. You must go by the rules." - -"I know no rules about the three essays." - -"I think you are impertinent, sir." - -"It may seem so----" - -"Out with you, sir!--or----" - -The door was opened, and John was ejected. He swore to himself he -would still go up for the written examination, but the next morning he -overslept himself. - -So even that last straw failed. - -Shortly afterwards one morning a friend came and woke him. - -"Do you know that W. is dead?" (W. sat at the same table in the -boarding-house.) - -"No!" - -"Yes! he has cut his throat." - -John started up, dressed himself, and hurried with his friend to the -Jernbrogatan where W. lived. They rushed up the stairs and came to a -dark attic. - -"Is it here?" - -"No, here!" - -John felt for a door; the door gave way and fell upon him. At the same -moment he saw a pool of blood on the ground. He turned round, let go -of the door, and was at the bottom of the stairs before the door fell -on the ground. This scene shook him terribly and woke his memory. Some -days previously John had gone into the Carolina Park to work at his -play in solitude. W. came up, greeted him, and asked whether he might -bear him company or whether he disturbed him. John answered sincerely -that he did disturb him, and W. went away with a melancholy air. Was -it a case of a lonely drowning man who sought a companion and was -repulsed? John felt almost guilty of his death. But he was not intended -for a comforter. Now the dead man seemed to haunt him; he dared not go -to his room, but slept with his friend. One night he slept with Rejd. -The latter had to keep a light burning and was woken several times in -the night by John, who could not sleep. - -One day Rejd found John with a bottle of prussic acid. He apparently -approved the idea of suicide, but first asked him to take a farewell -drink with him. They went to the restaurant and ordered eight glasses -of whisky, which were brought in on a tray. Each of them drank four -glasses in four pulls, with the desired result that John became dead -drunk. He was carried home, but since the house door was locked, he was -carried over an empty piece of ground and thrown over a fence. There he -remained lying in a snow-drift, till he recovered his senses, and crept -up into his room. - -The last night which he spent in Upsala some days later he slept on a -sofa in Thurs' rooms; his friends kept watch over him, and the room -was lighted up. They watched good-naturedly till morning, then they -accompanied him to the station, and put him in the coupé. When the -train had passed Bergsbrunna, John breathed again. He felt as though -he had left something dreadful and weird, like a northern winter night -with thirty degrees of cold, behind him, and registered a vow never -again to settle in this town, where men's souls, banished from life and -society, grew rotten from over-production of thought, were corroded -by stagnant waters which had no outlet, and took fire like millstones -which revolved without having anything to grind. - - -[1] Danish theologian. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IDEALISM AND REALISM - -(1871) - - -When John again reached his parents' house, he felt himself in shelter -like one who has reached land after a stormy sea-passage by night. -Again he had quiet nights in his old tent-bed in the brothers' room. -Here were quiet patient men, who came and went, worked and slept at -stated times without being disturbed by dreams or ambitious designs. -His sisters had grown up into young women and managed the house. All -were at work with the exception of himself. When he compared his -irregular, dissipated life, which knew no rest or peace, with theirs, -he considered them happier and better than himself. They took life -seriously, went about their work and fulfilled their duties without -noise or boasting. - -John now looked up his old acquaintances among the tradespeople, -clerks, and sea-captains, and found intercourse with them novel and -refreshing. They led his thoughts back to reality and he felt firm -ground once more under his feet. At the same time he began to despise -false ideality, and saw that it was vulgar of the students to look down -on the "Philistines." - -He now confessed quite simply and openly to his father, but without -remorse, the wretched life he had led at Upsala, and begged him to let -him stay at home and prepare for his examination there,--otherwise he -would be lost. His father granted permission, and now John prepared his -plan of campaign for the spring term. In the first place he meant to -take lessons in Latin composition with a good teacher in Stockholm, and -then go up in spring, and pass the examination. Furthermore he would -write his disquisition for a certificate in æsthetics and prepare for -the examination in that subject. With these resolutions he began a -quiet and industrious manner of life with the new year. - -But the failure of his play the _Free-thinker_ still weighed upon his -mind, and the questions of his friends as to whether they should soon -see something new from him, stirred him up to re-write, in the form -of a one-act play, the drama he had burnt. He finished it, and then -continued his studies. - -Shortly before April he wrote a test-composition for his teacher, who -declared that he would pass. His father did not disapprove of his plan -when he heard that John felt quite confident, but he suggested that it -would be more practical if he conformed to custom and wrote exercises -for the Upsala professor. "No," said John, "it was now a question of -principle and a matter of honour." So he went to Upsala. - -He called on the professor on his at-home day and waited till his turn -for an interview. When the latter saw him, he grew red in the face and -asked: - -"Are you here again?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you want?" - -"I want to go in for the Latin Composition examination." - -"Without having written a test-composition?" - -"I have done that in Stockholm--and I only want to ask whether the -statutes allow me to go up for the examination." - -"The statutes? Ask the dean about that; I only know what I require." - -John went straight to the dean, who was a young, lively and sympathetic -man. John made known his purpose and described what had passed. - -"Yes," said the dean, "the statutes say nothing about the matter, but -old P. can pluck you without their help." - -"Well, we shall see. Will you allow me, Mr. Dean, to go up for the -written examination, that is the question?" - -"Yes, I can't refuse that. You mean then to have your own way?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Arc you so sure about the matter?" - -"Yes." - -"Very well! Good luck to you!" said the Dean, and clapped him on the -shoulder. - -So John went up for the examination and after a week received a -telegram to say that he had passed. Some ascribed this result to -the professor's generosity and disapproved of John's rebellious -procedure; but John considered his success due to his own diligence -and knowledge, although he could not deny that the professor had acted -honourably in not plucking him when he had the power to do so. - -The examination in æsthetics was fixed for May. Contrary to all usage -John sent his disquisition by post to Upsala with the written request -that he might stand for the examination. - -His essay was entitled "Hakon Jarl," and treated of Idealism and -Realism. Its object was firstly to convince the professor that -the writer was well-read in æsthetics and particularly in Danish -literature, and secondly, to clear up to the writer himself his own -point of view. The essay, in imitation of Kierkegaard, was in the form -of a correspondence between A and B, criticising Oehlenschläger's -_Hakon Jarl_ and Kierkegaard's _Either--Or_. - -At the appointed time John appeared before the professor, who had -the reputation of being liberal-minded, but felt at once that he had -no sympathy with him. With an almost contemptuous air the professor -handed him back his essay and declared that it was best suited for the -female readers of the _Illustrated News_. He further stated that Danish -literature was not a subject of sufficient importance to be taken up as -a special branch of study. - -John felt annoyed, and asserted that Danish literature had greater -interest for Sweden than Boileau and Malesherbes, for example, on whom -students wrote essays. - -His examination then began and took the form of a violent argument. -It was continued in the afternoon and ended by the professor giving -him a certificate which was not so good as he had hoped, and telling -him that university studies could only be properly carried on at the -university. John replied that æsthetic studies could be best carried -on at Stockholm where one had the National Museum, Library, Theatre, -Academy of Music and Artists. - -"No," said the professor, "that is nonsense; one ought to study here." - -John let fall some remarks on college lectures, and they parted, not as -particularly good friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A KING'S PROTÉGÉ - -(1871) - - -During the whole of this time, John had been on pleasant terms with his -father, and the old man had shown himself to a certain extent willing -to be educated, but his tactless pride sometimes broke out and annoyed -John. The latter, who was now continually at home, spent many evening -hours with the old man in conversations on all sorts of subjects, and -finally on religion. One day John spoke for half-an-hour about Theodore -Parker, so that his father at last expressed a wish to read some of -him. He kept the book for several days, but said nothing, and John -found it again in his room. His father was too proud to acknowledge -that he liked the book, but John learned through one of his brothers -that he was especially delighted with the famous sermon "On Old Age." - -In the matter of John's opposition to the professor, his father -vacillated. His opinion was that right was always right, but he did -not like the disrespectful way in which John spoke of the professor. -Meanwhile John saw that he had won the game and that his father had a -lively interest in his success. - -But one day in spring John went into the country, telling the servant -that he would be absent for the day. When he returned the next morning -he had an unpleasant reception. - -"You go away without telling me?" - -"I told the servant." - -"I require you to ask permission of me as long as you eat my bread." - -"Ask permission! What nonsense!" - -John departed, borrowed three hundred kronas from a friendly tradesman, -and then with three of his club associates went to one of the islands -near Stockholm, where they hired rooms in a fisher's house at a rent -of thirty kronas per month. No one tried to stop him, and probably -this crisis was occasioned by the fact that John was exercising a -perceptible influence on his father, brothers and sisters in matters -concerning domestic arrangements. The mistress of the house feared that -the power would be taken out of her hands. - -He spent the summer in strenuously working for his examination, for -he had now no hope of receiving further supplies from home. It was -a healthy and ascetic life with innocent amusements. He went about -in dressing-gown, drawers and sea-boots, and the toilette of his -companions was still more scanty. They bathed, sailed, fenced, and -John gave himself over increasingly to a process of decivilisation. -There were almost always spirituous liquors on the table, and John -feared them, for they made him mad. But to this asceticism and industry -succeeded a desire to make converts of others, and a great amount of -self-satisfaction. The latter is always the case, whether the ascetic -feels that in this respect he is better than others, or whether he -makes the sacrifice in order to feel himself better. Therefore he -preached to one brother who drank, and moralised over the others who -did not work, but went to Dalarö to dance or to feast. Kierkegaard's -influence was strong upon him; he wished to be moral, and thundered -against æstheticism. - -He now studied philology, and went through Dante, Shakespeare and -Goethe. The last he hated because he was an æsthete. Behind all, like -a dark background, was the breach with his father. After their life -together during the last winter, he saw him as it were transfigured, -justified him with respect to all that had happened in the past, and -had forgotten all the petty troubles of his childhood. He missed most -of all his brothers and sisters, especially his sisters whom he -had really learnt to know. Toiling with a lexicon and investigating -roots of words had become painful to him, but he enjoyed this pain, -and disciplined his imagination by hard work, looking upon it as his -professional duty. - -Towards the end of the summer he was wild and shy. The clothes, winch -he rummaged out again, were too tight, his collar, which he had not -worn for months, tormented him as though it had been of iron, and his -shoes pinched him. Everything seemed to him constrained, conventional -and unnatural. Once he had been enticed to an evening party at Dalarö -but had immediately returned. He was shy and could not bear frivolity -and laughter. This time it was not the consciousness of belonging -to the lower classes, for he had ceased to regard himself as one of -them. Meanwhile the ascetic life he had been leading increased his -will-power and his activity. When the next term at Upsala commenced, -he took his travelling-bag and journeyed thither, without having more -than a krona to call his own, and without knowing where he would find a -room and something to eat. On his arrival he took up his quarters with -Rejd, and set about working. The first evening, feeling half famished, -he looked up Is, who had remained the whole summer alone in Upsala -and seemed more melancholy than usual. His appearance was that of a -shadow, and solitude had made him still more morbid. He went out with -John and invited him to supper at a restaurant. He spoke in his usual -style and mangled his prey, who, on the other hand, defended himself, -struck back, and attacked the æsthete. Is contemplated his hungry -companion while he ate, and intoxicated himself with the brandy-bottle. -He adopted a maternal air and offered to lend John money. The latter -was touched, thanked him, and borrowed about ten kronas, for, since he -believed he had a future before him, he borrowed without fear. Finally -Is became drunk and raved. He changed his attitude, called John an -egoist, and reproached him for having taken the ten kronas. - -To be suspected of egotism was the worst thing John knew, for Christ -had taught him that the "ego" must be crucified. His individuality had -grown since it had been freed from pressure and attained publicity. -Conspicuous persons obtain a greater individuality through the -attention they receive, or they attract attention for the simple reason -that they have a greater individuality. John felt that he was working -in the right way for his future; he pressed forward with energy and -will and the help of many friends, but not as a charlatan or schemer. -But Is's accusation struck him in the face, as it must all men who -have an "ego." He wished to return the money, but Is drew himself up -proudly, played the "gentleman" and continued to romance. It struck -John that this idealist was a mean fellow who behaved in this fantastic -way in order to conceal his vexation at the temporary loss of the ten -kronas. - -Now the students returned for the term, and all of them with money. -John wandered about with his travelling-bag and his books, and -discovered how soon a welcome is worn out when one lies upon somebody -else's sofa. He borrowed money to hire a room with. It was a real -rats' nest with a camp-bed without sheets or cushions. No candlestick, -nothing. But he lay in bed in his under-clothes and read by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle. His friends here and there provided him -with meals. But then came the winter. He used to go out after dark and -buy a quantity of wood, which he carried home in his bag. A scientific -friend taught him how to make a charcoal fire. Moreover, the shaft of -a chimney passed through his room and was warm every washing-day. He -stood beside it with his hands behind him and read out of a book which -he had placed on the chest of drawers, dragging the latter close to -him. In the meantime his drama had been played and coldly received. The -subject-matter was religious. It dealt with heathendom and Christendom, -the former being defended as an epoch-making movement, not as a creed. -Christ was placed on one side and the only true God exalted. The drama -also contained a domestic struggle, and, after the fashion of the -time, women were extolled at the expense of the men. In one passage -the author expressed his opinion as to the position of a poet in life. -"Are you a man, Orm?" asks the duke. "I am only a poet," answers Orm. -"Therefore you will never become anything," is the rejoinder. - -In fact, John believed now that the poet's life was a shadow existence, -that he had no individuality, but only lived in that of others. But is -it then so certain that the poet possesses no individuality because -he has more than one? Perhaps he is richer because he possesses more -than the others. And why is it better to have only one "ego," since -in any case a single "ego" is not more one's own than many "egos," -seeing that even one "ego" is a compound product derived from parents, -educators, social intercourse and books? Perhaps it is for this reason -that society, like a machine, demands that the single "egos" shall act -each like a wheel, screw, or separate piece of the machine in a limited -automatic way. But the poet is more than a piece of a machine, since he -is a whole machine in himself. - -In the drama John had incorporated himself in five persons;--in the -Jarl, who is at war with his contemporaries; in the Poet, who looks -over things and looks through them; in the Mother, who is angry and -revengeful but whose thirst for vengeance is counteracted by her -sympathy; in the Daughter, who for the sake of her faith breaks with -her father; in the Lover, whose love is ill-starred. John understood -the motives of all the dramatis personae; and spoke from their varying -points of view. But a drama written for the average man who has -ready-made views on all subjects, must at least take sides with one -of its characters in order to win the excitable and partisan public. -John could not do this, because he believed in no absolute right or -wrong, for the simple reason that all these ideas are relative. One may -be right as regards the future, and wrong as regards the present; one -may be wrong in one year and right in the next; a father may justify -his son while the mother condemns him; a daughter is right in loving -the man she loves, but in her father's view she is wrong in loving a -heathen. There comes in doubt: Why do men hate and despise the doubter? -Because doubt is the seed of development and progress, and the average -man hates development because it disturbs his quiet. Only the stupid -man is certain; only the ignorant one thinks he has found the truth. -Doubt undermines energy, they say. But it is better to act without -considering the consequences. The animal and the savage act blindly, -obeying desire and impulse; in that they resemble our "men of action"! - -When John returned to Upsala, he was again followed by disparaging -criticisms. To some extent they were true, _e.g._ the assertion that -the form of the piece was borrowed from the _Kongsemnerne,_ but only -to some extent, for John had taken the frigid tone and the rough -phraseology direct from the Icelandic sagas, and the views of life he -expressed were original. Scorn followed him, and he was regarded as a -man who was ambitious of being a poet, the worst suspicion under which -any one can fall. - -But in the midst of his toil and needy circumstances, a week after his -overthrow, there came a letter from the chamberlain of the Theatre -Royal at Stockholm, requesting him to go there immediately as the -king wished to see him. Morbidly suspicious he believed that it was a -practical joke, and took the letter to his wise friend--the student of -Natural History. The latter telegraphed in the evening to a well-known -actor of the Theatre Royal requesting him to ask the chamberlain -whether he had written to John. The latter spent a restless night, -tossed to and fro between hope and fear. The next morning the answer -came that it was indeed so and that John should come at once. He set -off forthwith. - -Why did he, a born rebel, accept the royal favour without hesitation? -For the simple reason that he did not belong to the democratic party; -he had never promised his father or mother not to receive a favour from -the king. Furthermore he believed in the aristocracy or the right of -the best to govern, and he considered the upper classes the best, as -he had shown in his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, in which he expressed -contempt for the demagogues. He hated tyrants, but this king was no -tyrant. Therefore there was no reason for hesitation within him or -without him. Accordingly he travelled to Stockholm and was received in -audience by the king. The latter was just now very ill, and looked so -emaciated as to make a painful impression. He stood with a benevolent -aspect, smoking his long tobacco-pipe, and smiled at the young -beardless author, walking awkwardly between the rows of aide-de-camps -and chamberlains. He thanked him for the pleasure which he had derived -from his drama, adding that he himself when young had competed for an -academical prize with a poem on the Vikings, and was fond of the old -Norse legends. He said that he wished to help the young student to take -his doctor's degree, and closed the interview by referring him to the -treasurer, who had been ordered to make him a first payment. Later on -he would receive more, and the king said he supposed there were still -two or three years to elapse before he took his degree. - -John's immediate future was now secure. He felt gratefully moved by -this kindness on the part of a king who had so many things to think -about. On his return to Upsala, he saw for two months how the court -sunshine had turned him into a star. The official who had paid him, -had asked him whether he thought later on of obtaining a post in some -public department or in the Royal Library. His ambition had never -soared so high and did not yet do so. - -The chief object of human existence seems to be, and must indeed be, to -spend one's life till death in the least unpleasant manner possible. -This aim does not exclude solicitude for the good of others, for -happiness includes the consciousness of not having infringed others' -rights unnecessarily. Therefore ill-gotten wealth cannot secure a -pleasant life, nor can any path which leads over the prostrate bodies -of others. Accordingly Utilitarianism, or the philosophy which aims at -the greatest happiness of the greatest number, is not immoral. - -In spite of all his asceticism John could not help feeling happy. -His happiness consisted in the half-consciousness that he could live -his life without the great anxiety which the insecurity of means -of existence causes. He had been threatened by penury and was now -secure; life had been restored to him, and it is a happy thing to be -able to live before one has done growing. His chest, which had been -narrowed by hunger and over-exertion, broadened itself; his back grew -straighter; life no longer seemed so melancholy. He was contented with -his lot; things took on a more cheerful aspect, and he would have been -ungrateful had he still remained among the malcontents. - -But this did not last long. When he saw his old comrades round him in -a position in which _his_ happiness had effected no change, he found -that there was a want of harmony between them. They had been accustomed -to help him as one in need and now he needed their help no longer. -They had liked him, because they protected him and were accustomed -to see him below them. But when he came upwards, near them and above -them, they found him necessarily altered by altered circumstances. The -necessitous man is not so bold in his opinions nor so stiff in the back -as the prosperous one. He was altered for them, but was he therefore -worse? Self-esteem under other circumstances is generally well thought -of. Enough! He annoyed others by the fact that he was fortunate, and -still more because he wished to help others to be so. - -The present he had received entailed obligations, and John gave -himself diligently to study. He passed his examinations in Philology, -Astronomy, and Political Science, but received in none of these -subjects such a good testimonial as he had expected. He had studied too -much in one way and too little in another. - -In examination time he generally had an attack of aphasia. -Physiologists usually ascribe this weakness to an injury in the left -temple. And as a matter of fact John had two scars above his left eye. -One was caused by the blow of an axe, the other by a rock against which -he had struck himself in jumping down the Observatory hill. He was -inclined to trace to this the great difficulty he had in delivering -public addresses and speaking foreign languages. - -Accordingly, during examinations, he would sit there, unable to give -an answer although he knew more than was asked. Then there came over -him a spirit of defiance, of self-torment, of ill-humour, and he felt -tempted to throw up the whole thing. He criticised the text-books and -felt dishonest in learning what he despised. The rôle assigned to him -began to oppress him; he longed to get away from it all to something -else, wherever it might be. It was not that he regarded the king's -present as a benefaction. It was a stipend, a reward for merit, such -as artists at all periods have received for the purpose of carrying -on their self-cultivation. His royal patron was not merely the king -but his personal friend and admirer. Therefore the gift exercised no -kind of restraint upon his rebellious thoughts; he only let himself be -temporarily deceived, and believed that all was right with the world, -because he prospered. His radicalism had been considerably mitigated; -he no longer thought that all which was wrong in the state was the -fault of the monarchy, nor did he believe with the pagans that better -harvests would follow if the king was sacrificed on an idol-altar. His -mother would have wept for joy at his distinction, had she lived, so -strong were her aristocratic leanings. - -All of us, including crown princes, are democrats, inasmuch as we wish -those above us to come down to our level; but when we ascend, we do -not wish to be pulled down. The question is only whether that winch -is "above" us is so in a spiritual sense, and whether it ought to be -there. That was what John began to be doubtful of. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE WINDING UP - -(1872) - - -At the beginning of the spring term, John took up his quarters with an -elder comrade in order to continue his studies. But when he had again -the old books before him which he had already studied so long, he felt -a distaste for them. His brain was full of impressions, of collected -literary material, and refused to take in any more; his imagination -and thought were busily at work and would not let memory be alone -active; he had fits of doubt and apathy and often remained the whole -day lying on the sofa. Then the desire would sometimes awake to be -altogether free and to plunge into the life of activity. But the royal -stipend held him fast in fetters and imposed on him obligations. Having -received it, he was bound to go on studying for his doctor's degree, -the course of reading for which he had half completed. So he applied -himself to philosophy, but when he read the history of it, he found all -systems equally valid or invalid, and his mind resisted all new ideas. - -In the literary club there was disunion and lethargy. All their -youthful poems had been read and no one produced any more, so that -they only met together to drink punch. Is had exposed himself, and -after a scene with another member, he had been thrown out. He drew his -knife and got well thrashed. He saved himself from worse by affecting -to treat the affair as a joke, and was now a mere laughing-stock, since -it had been discovered that his wisdom consisted in quotations from the -students' periodicals which the others had not had the wit to utilise. -At the beginning of term an Æsthetic Society had been founded by the -professor of Æsthetics, and this made their own literary society, the -"Runa," superfluous. - -At one of the meetings of the former, John's discontent with classical -authorities broke out. He had been drinking that evening and was -half-intoxicated. In conversation with the professor dangerous ground -was touched upon and John was enticed so far out of his reserve as to -declare Dante without significance for humanity and overestimated. John -had plenty of reasons to allege for his opinion, but could not express -them to advantage when the professor set upon him, and the whole -company gathered round the disputants, who were squeezed into a corner -by the stove. He wanted in the first place to say that the construction -of the _Divine Comedy_ was not original, but a very ordinary form which -had already been employed shortly before in the _Vision of Albericus_. -Furthermore his opinion was that in this poem Dante did not reflect -the culture and thoughts of his period, because he was so uncultured -that he did not even know Greek. He was not a philosopher, for he -hampered thought by the fetters of revelation, and therefore he was no -precursor of the Renaissance or the Reformation. He was no patriot, for -he venerated the German empire as established by God. He was at most a -local patriot of Florence. Nor was he a democrat, for he always dreamt -of a union of the empire and the papacy. He did not attack the papacy, -but only individual popes who lived immoral lives, as he himself -had done in his youth. He was a monk, a truly idiotic child of his -age, for he sent unbaptised children to hell. He was a narrow-minded -royalist who put Brutus next to Satan in the deepest hell. He was -entirely wanting in the power of selfcriticism;--while he reckons -ingratitude to friends and betrayal of one's fatherland among the worst -of crimes, he places his own friend and teacher, Brunetto Latini, in -hell, and supports the German Emperor, Henry VII, against his native -city Florence. He had bad literary taste, for he reckoned as the six -greatest poets of the world Homer, Horace, Lucan, Ovid, Virgil and -himself. How could modern critics who were so severe on all scandalous -literature praise Dante, who in his poem cast dishonour on so many -contemporary persons and families? He even scolds his own dear native -city, exclaiming when he finds five nobly-born Florentines in Hell: -"Rejoice! O Florence! for thy name is not only great over land and -sea, but also in hell. Five of thy citizens are in thieves' company; -my cheeks blush at the sight of them. But one thing I know; punishment -will light upon thee, Florence, and may it happen soon!" - -As is usual in such debates, the attacked and the attacker often -changed their ground. John wished to prove to the professor that from -his point of view the _Commedia_ was a political pamphlet, but then -the professor veered round, adopted the enemy's point of view and said -that _he_ should value it as such. Whereupon John answered that it was -exactly as such that he designated it, but not as a magnificent poem -of everlasting value, which the professor had declared it to be in his -lectures. Again the professor changed his ground, and said that the -poem should be judged by the standard of the period at which it was -composed. - -"Exactly so," answered John, "but you have judged it by the standard -of our time and all succeeding times, and therefore you are wrong. But -even with regard to its own time the work is not an epoch-making one; -it is not in advance of its period, but belongs strictly to it, or -rather lags behind it. It is a linguistic monument for Italy, nothing -more, and should never be read in a Swedish university, because the -language is antiquated, and finally because it is too insignificant to -be regarded as a link in the development of culture." - -The result of the controversy was that John was regarded as shameless -and half-cracked. - -After this explosion he was exhausted and incapable of work. The whole -of the life in a town where he did not feel at home was distasteful -to him. His companions advised him to take a thorough rest, for he -had worked too hard, and so, as a matter of fact, he had. Various -schemes again presented themselves to his mind, but without result. -The grey dirty town vexed him, the scenery around depressed him; he -lay on a sofa and looked at the illustrations in a German newspaper. -Views of foreign scenery had the same effect as music on his mind and -he felt a longing to see green trees and blue seas; he wished to go -into the country but it was still only February, the sky was as grey -as sack-cloth, the streets and roads were muddy. When he felt most -depressed, he went to his friend the natural science student. It -refreshed him to see his herbarium and microscope, his aquarium and -physiological preparations. Most of all he found a pleasure in the -society of the quiet, peaceable atheist, who let the world go its way, -for he knew that he worked better for the future, in his small measure, -than the poet with his excitable outbreaks. He had a little of the -artist left in him and painted in oils. To think that he could call up -as if by enchantment a green landscape amid the mists of this wintry -spring and hang it on his wall! - -"Is painting difficult?" he asked his friend. - -"No, indeed! It is easier than drawing. Try it!" - -John, who had already, with the greatest calm, composed a song with a -guitar-accompaniment, thought it not impossible for him to paint, and -he borrowed an easel, colours, and a paint-brush. Then he went home -and shut himself up in his room. From an illustrated paper he copied a -picture of a ruined castle. When he saw the clear blue of the sky he -felt sentimental, and when he had conjured up green bushes and grass -he felt unspeakably happy as though he had eaten haschish. His first -effort was successful. But now he wished to copy a painting. That was -harder. Everything was green and brown. He could not make his colours -harmonise with the original and felt in despair. - -One day when he had shut himself up he heard a visitor talking with his -friend in the next room. They whispered as though they were near a sick -person. "Now he is actually painting," said his friend in a depressed -tone. - -What did that mean? Did they consider him cracked? Yes. He began to -think about himself, and like all brooders came to the conclusion that -he was cracked. What was to be done? If they shut him up, he would -certainly go quite mad. "Better anticipate them," he thought, and as he -had heard of private asylums in the country, where the patients could -walk about and work in the garden, he wrote to the director of one of -them. After some time he received a friendly answer advising him to be -quiet. His correspondent had received information about John through -his friend and understood his state of mind. He told him it was only a -crisis which all sensitive natures must pass through, etc. - -_That_ danger, then, was over. But he wished to get out into active -life when ever it might be. - -One day he heard that a travelling theatrical company had come to the -town. He wrote a letter to the manager and solicited an engagement, -but he received no answer and did not call on the manager. Thus he -was tossed to and fro, till at last fate intervened and set him -free. Three months had passed and he had received no money from the -court-treasurer. His companions advised him to write and make a polite -inquiry. In reply he was told that it had never been his Majesty's -intention to pay him a regular pension, but only a single donation. -However, in consideration of his needy circumstances, by way of -exception, he had made him a grant of 200 kronas, which would shortly -be sent. - -John at first felt glad, for he was free, but afterwards the turn which -affairs had taken made him uneasy, for the papers had stated that -he was the king's stipendiary, and the king had really promised him -a stipend during the year that he must read for his degree. Besides -this the court-marshal had given him a sort of half promise for the -future which could hardly be considered as adequately fulfilled by -a donation of 200 kronas. Different opinions were expressed on the -matter. Some thought that the king had forgotten, others that the state -of his finances did not allow of a further gift, or that his good -wishes exceeded his powers. No one expressed disapproval, and John was -secretly glad, had he not felt a certain disgrace in the withdrawal -of the stipend, so that he might be suspected of having groundlessly -boasted of it. Those who believed that John was in disfavour at court -ascribed this to the fact that he had omitted to wait upon the king -in person when he was in Stockholm at Christmas and the New Year. -Others attributed it to the fact that he had not formally presented -his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, but had simply sent it to the palace, -instead of going with it, which his sense of independence forbade -him to do. Ten years later he heard quite a new explanation of this -disfavour. He was said to have composed a lampoon on the king. But this -was a pure legend, probably the only one of its obscure fabricator -which would reach posterity. Anyhow facts remained as they were and -his resolve was quickly taken. He would go to Stockholm and become -a literary man, an author if possible, should he prove to possess -sufficient capacity for that calling. - -The student who shared his room undertook to pay his return journey, -and alleged as a pretext that John must wait some time in Stockholm -lest the landlord should be uneasy. Meanwhile he could collect enough -money to pay the rent which was due at the end of the term. - -His friends gave John a farewell feast and John thanked them, -acknowledging the obligations which each owes to those he meets in -social intercourse. Every personality is not developed simply out -of itself, but derives something from each with whom it comes in -contact, just as the bee gathering her honey from a million flowers, -appropriates it and gives it out as her own. - -Thus he stepped into life, abandoning dreams and the past to live in -reality and the present. But he was ill-prepared and the university is -not the proper school for life. He felt also that the decisive hour had -come. In a clumsy speech he called the feast a "svensexa," _i.e_. a -farewell supper for a bachelor on the eve of his marriage, for he was -now to be a man and leave boyhood behind; he was to become a member of -society, a useful citizen and eat his own bread. - -So he believed at the time, but he soon discovered that his education -had unfitted him for society, and as he did not wish to be an outlaw -the doubt awoke in him whether society, of which after all school and -university were a part, was not to blame for his education, and whether -it had not serious defects which needed a remedy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - -(1872) - - -When John came to Stockholm, he borrowed money in order to hire a -room near the Ladugärdslandet. Always under the sway of sentiment, he -chose this quarter of the town because he always used to walk there -in his childhood on the 1st of May, and the High Street especially -had something of a holiday air about it. Moreover it soon opened into -the Zoological Gardens, which became his favourite place for walks. -The barracks with their drums and trumpets had something exhilarating -about them, and there were fine views over the sea which was close at -hand. There was plenty of light and air. When he went for his morning -walk he could choose his route according to his mood. If he was sad -and depressed, he went along the Sirishofsvägen; if he was cheerful -he turned off to the level ground of Manilla, where the paradisial -rose-valley exhaled joy and delight; if he was despairing and anxious -to avoid people he went out to Ladugärdsgardet, where no one could -disturb his self-communings and his prayers to God. Sometimes, when his -soul was in a tumult, he remained standing by the cross-ways above the -bridge near the Zoological Gardens, irresolute which way to take. On -such occasion a thousand forces seemed to pull him in all directions. - -His room was very simple and commanded no view. It smelt of poverty, -as the whole house did, in which the only person of standing was the -deputy-landlord, a policeman. John began his active career by painting, -out of a sense of need to give his feelings shape and to express them -in a palpable way, for the little letters huddled together on the paper -were dead and could not express his mind so plainly and simultaneously. -He did not think of being a painter in order to exhibit or sell -pictures. To step to the easel was for him just like sitting down and -singing. At the same time he renewed his acquaintance with his friend -the sculptor, who introduced him to a circle of young painters. These -were all discontent with the Academy and the antiquated methods which -could not express their vague dreams. They still preserved the Bohemian -type, so late did the waves of modern ideas beat on the far coasts of -the North. They wore long hair, slouched hats, brilliant cravats, and -lived like the birds of heaven. They read and quoted Byron and dreamt -of enormous canvases and subjects such as no studio could contain. A -sculptor and a Norwegian had conceived the idea of hewing a statue out -of the Dovre rock; a painter wished to paint the sea not merely as a -level, but with such a wide horizon as to show the convex curve of the -globe. - -This took John's fancy. One should give expression to one's inner -feelings and not depict mere sticks and stones which are meaningless in -themselves till they have passed through the alembic of a percipient -mind. Therefore the artists did not make studies out of doors, but -painted at home from their memory and imagination. John always painted -the sea with a coast in the foreground, some gnarled pine-trees, a -couple of rocky islets in the distance and a white-painted buoy. The -atmosphere was generally gloomy, with a weak or strong light on the -horizon; it was always sunset or moonlight, never clear daylight. - -But he was soon woken out of this dream-life partly by hunger, partly -by recollecting the reality which he had sought in order to save -himself from his dreams. - -Although John knew little of contemporary politics, he knew that the -democracy or peasant-class had arrived at power, that they had declared -war on the official and middle classes, and that they were hated in -Upsala. And now he himself was to enter the ranks of the combatants -and attack the old order of things. The only item of the knowledge -which he had brought with him from Upsala which was likely to be useful -here, was the small amount of political science which he had studied. -Of what use were Astronomy, Philology, Æsthetics, Latin and Chemistry -here? He knew something about the land-laws and communal-laws, but had -no idea of political economy, finance or jurisprudence. When he now -began to look about for a suitable paper to which to attach himself, -it did not occur to him to make use of his old connection with the -_Aftonbladet_, but he wrote for a small evening paper which had lately -appeared, which was regarded as radical and was issued by the New -Liberal Union. The editor held receptions in the La Croix Café, and -here John was introduced into the society of journalists. He felt ill -at ease among them. They did not think as he did, seemed uncultivated, -as indeed they were, and rather gossiped than discussed important -matters. They certainly busied themselves with facts, but these were -rather trifles than great questions. They were full of phrases, but -did not seem to have a proper command of their material. John, though -against his will, was too much of an academic aristocrat to sympathise -with these democrats, who for the most part had not chosen their -career, but been forced into it by the pressure of circumstances. He -found the atmosphere stifling for his idealism, and came no more to the -receptions after he had done his business, and been invited to write -for the paper. - -He made his début as an art-critic. His first criticism concerned -Winge's "Thor with the giants" and Rosen's "Eric XIV and Karin -Monsdotter." The young critic naturally wished to display his learning, -though all he had was what he had picked up in lectures and books. -Therefore his criticism of Winge was a mere eulogy. His remarks chiefly -regarded the subject of the picture as a Norse one and treated in the -grand style. The painters did not like this sort of criticism, as -they considered the only point to be criticised in a work of art was -the execution. "Eric the XIV" he judged from his monomaniacal point -of view, "aristocrat or democrat," and found fault with the incorrect -conception of Göran Persson, whom in his own tragedy _Eric XIV_ -(subsequently burnt) he had represented as an enemy of the nobility and -friend of the people. - -Descended from his own height as a promising student, author and royal -protégé to the then less regarded class of journalists, he felt himself -again one of the lower orders. - -After the editor had struck out his learned flourishes, the articles -were printed. The editor told him they were piquant, but advised him -to employ a more flowing style. He had not yet caught the journalistic -knack. - -Then John planned a series of articles in which, under the title -"Perspective," he treated of social and economic questions. In these he -attacked university life, the divisions of the classes, the injurious -over-reading and the unfortunate position of the students. Since the -labour-question at that time was not a burning one, he ventured on a -comparison between the prospects of a student and that of a workman, -declaring the latter to be far better off. The workman was generally -in good health, could support himself at eighteen and marry at twenty, -while the student could not think of marriage and making a livelihood -before thirty. As a remedy he recommended doing away with the final -examination as Jaabaek had already done in Norway, and the transference -of the university to Stockholm in order that the students might have -a chance of earning something during their course. As an example he -adduced the case of modern students at Athens who learn a trade while -they study. This was all clear to him as early as 1872, yet when he -made similar suggestions twelve years later, he was thought to have -conceived them on the spur of the moment. - -At the same time he took an engagement on a small illustrated ladies' -paper and wrote biographical notices and novelettes. The ladies were -very kind, but let him work too hard, and gave him all kinds of -commissions to execute. After he had spent two or three days in paying -visits, dived into a publisher's place of business, read biographical -romances in three or four volumes, made researches in the library, -run to the printing-office and finally written his columns carefully, -setting each person treated of in a proper historical light, and -analysing his career, he received, for all that work, fifteen kronas. -He calculated that this was less pay per hour than a servant earned. -The bread of the literary man was certainty hardly earned, and that -this is the common lot of authors does not make matters better. But the -profession was also despised, and John felt that in social position he -stood below his brothers who were tradesmen, below the actors, yes, -even below the elementary school-teachers. - -The journalists led a subterranean existence, but they styled -themselves "we" and wrote as though they were sovereigns of God's -appointment; they had men's weal or woe in their hand, since the chief -weapon in the struggle for existence in our civilised days is social -reputation. How was it that society had given these free lances such -terrible power without taking any guarantees? But when one comes -to think, what assurance is there for the capacity and insight of -the law-givers in parliament, in the ministry, on the throne? None -whatever! It is therefore the same all round. There were, however, two -classes of newspapers; the conservative, which wished to preserve the -social condition with all its defects, and the liberal, which wished -to improve it. The former enjoyed a certain respect, the latter, none -at all. John instinctively sided with the last, and at once felt that -he was regarded as every one's enemy. A liberal journalist and a -chronicler of scandals were synonymous terms. At home he had heard the -usual phrase that "no one was honourable whose name had not appeared -in the paper _Fatherland_." In the street they had pointed out to him -a man who looked like a bandit, with the mark of a dagger-stab between -his eyes, and said, "There goes the journalist X." In the Café La Croix -he felt depressed among his new colleagues, but none the less chose to -associate with this unpopular group. Did he choose really? One does not -choose one's impulses, and it is no virtue to be a democrat when one -hates the upper classes and has no pleasure in their company. - -Meanwhile for social intercourse he went to the artists. It was a -strange world in which they lived. There was so much nature among -these men who busied themselves with art. They dressed badly, lived -like beggars--one of them lived in the same room with the servant--and -ate what they could get; they could hardly read, and had no knowledge -of orthography. At the same time they talked like cultivated people, -they looked at things from an independent point of view, were keenly -observant and unfettered by dogmas. One of them four years previously -had minded geese, a second had wielded the smith's hammer, a third -had been a farmer's servant and walked behind the dung-cart, and a -fourth had been a soldier. They ate with knives, used their sleeves as -napkins, had no handkerchiefs and only one coat in winter. However, -John felt at home with them, though of late years he had been -conversant only with cultivated and well-to-do young people. It was not -that he was superior to them, for that they did not acknowledge, nor -was it any use to quote books to them, for they accepted no authority. -His doubts as regards books, especially text-books, began to be -aroused, and he began to suspect that old books may injure a modern -man's thinking powers. This doubt became a certainty when he met one of -the group whom all regarded as a genius. - -He was a painter about thirty years old, formerly a farmer's servant -who had come to the Academy in order to become an artist. After he -had spent some time in the painting school he came to the conclusion -that art was insufficient as a medium for expressing his thoughts, -and he lived now on nothing, while he busied himself by reflecting on -the questions of the time. Badly educated at an elementary school, he -had now flung himself on the most up-to-date books and had a start of -John, since he had begun where the latter had left off. Between John -and him there was the same difference as between a mathematician and -a pilot. The former can calculate in logarithms, the latter can turn -them to practical use. But Måns also was critically disposed and did -not believe in books blindly. He had no ready-made scheme or system -into which to fit his thoughts; he always thought freely, investigated, -sifted and only retained what he recognised as tenable. More free from -passions than John, he could draw more reckless inferences, even when -they went against his own wishes and interests, though with certain -matter-of-course limitations. He was more-over prudent, as indeed he -must have been to have worked himself up from such a low position, -and understood how to be silent as to certain conclusions, which, if -expressed tactlessly and in the wrong place, might have injured him. -As his literary adviser, he had a telegraph-assistant whose knowledge -Mans knew better how to use than its owner himself; the latter had not -a very lively intellect, although in his knowledge of languages he -possessed the key to the three great modern literatures. Passionless -and self-conscious, with a strong control over his impulses, he stood -outside everything, contemplating and smiling at the free play of -thought which he enjoyed as a work of art, with the accompanying -certainly that it was after all only an illusion. - -With both of these John had many friendly disputes. When he drew up -his schemes for the future of men and society he could rouse Måns' -enthusiasm and carry him along with him, but when he had taken his -hearer a certain way with his emotional and passionate descriptions, -the latter took out his microscope, found the weak spot where to -insert his knife, and cut. On such occasions John was impatient and -motioned his opponent away. "You are a pedant," he said, "and fasten -on details." But sometimes it turned out that the "detail" was a -premise the excision of which made the whole grand fabric of inference -collapse. John was always a poet, and had he continued as such -unhindered he might have brought it to something. The poet can speak -to the point like the preacher, and that is an advantageous position. -He can rattle on without being interrupted, and therefore he can -persuade if not convince. It was through these two unlearned men that -John learned a philosophy which was not known at Upsala. In the course -of conversation, his opponents often referred to an authority whom -they called "Buckle." John rejected an authority of whom he had heard -nothing in Upsala. But the name continually recurred and worried him to -such an extent that he at last asked his friends to lend him the book. -The effect of reading it was such that John regarded his acquaintance -with the book as the vestibule of his intellectual life. Here there -was an atmosphere of pure naked truth. So it should be and so it was. -Måns, like all other organised beings, was under the control of natural -laws; all so-called spiritual qualities rest on a material basis, and -chemical affinities are as spiritual as the sympathies of souls. The -whole of speculative philosophy which wished to evolve laws from the -inner consciousness was only a better kind of theology, and what was -worse, an inquisition, which wished to confine the many-sidedness -of the world-process within the limits of an individual system. "No -system" is Buckle's motto. Doubt is the beginning of all wisdom, doubt -means investigation and stimulates intellectual progress. The truth -which one seeks is simply the discovery of natural laws. Knowledge is -the highest, morality is only an accidental form of behaviour, which -depends upon different social conventions. Only knowledge can make men -happy, and the simple-minded or ignorant with their moral strivings, -their benevolence and their philanthropy are only injurious or useless. - -And now he drew the necessary conclusions. Heavenly love and its -result, marriage, is conditioned as to that result by such a prosaic -matter as the price of provisions; the rate of suicide varies with -wages, and religion is conditioned by natural scenery, climate and -soil. His mind was predisposed to receive the new doctrines, and now -they made their triumphant entry. John had always planted his feet -firmly on the earth, and neither the balloon-voyages of poetry nor the -will-o'-the-wisps of German philosophy had found a sincere adherent in -him. He had sat in despair over Kant's _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_, -and asked himself with curiosity, whether it was he who was so stupid -or Kant who was so obscure. The study of the history of philosophy, -in which he had seen how each philosopher pointed to his system as -the true one, and championed it against others, had left him amazed. -Now it was clear to him that the idealists who mingle their obscure -perceptions with dear presentations of facts were only savages or -children, and that the realists, who were alone capable of clear -perceptions, were the most highly developed in the scale of creation. -The poets and philosophers are somnambulists, and the religious who -always live in fear of the unknown are like animals in a forest who -fear every rustic in the bushes, or like primitive men who sacrificed -to the thunder instead of erecting lightning rods. - -Now he had a weapon in his hand to wield against the old authorities -and against the schools and universities which were enslaved by -patronage. Buckle himself had run away from school, had never been at -a university, and hated them. Apropos of Locke he remarks, "Were this -deep thinker now alive, he would inveigh against our great universities -and schools, where countless subjects are learnt which no one needs, -and which few take the trouble to remember." - -Accordingly Upsala had been wrong, and John right. He knew that there -were ignorant savants there, and that it was on account of their own -want of culture that the professors of philosophy could teach nothing -but German philosophy. They neither knew English nor French philosophy -for the simple reason that they only understood Latin and German. -Buckle's _History of Civilisation in England_ was written in 1857, but -did not reach Sweden till 1871-72. Even then the soil was not ready for -the seed. The learned critics were unfavourable to Buckle, and the seed -took root only in some young minds who had no authoritative voice. - -"No literature," says Buckle himself, "can be useful to a people, if -they are not prepared to receive it." Thus it was with Buckle and -his work, which preceded that of Darwin (1858) and contained all its -inferences--a proof that evolution in the world of thought is not so -strictly conditioned as has been believed. Buckle did not know Mill or -Spencer, whose thoughts now rule the world, but he said most of what -they said subsequently. - -Now, if John had had a character, _i.e_. if he had been ruled by -a single quiet purpose directed towards one object, he would have -extracted from Buckle all that answered his purpose and left out all -that told against it. But he was a truth-seeker and did not shrink from -looking into the abyss of contradictions, especially as Buckle never -asserted that he had found the truth, and because truth is relative -and it is often found on both sides. Doubt, criticism, inquiry are the -chief matter, and the only useful course to pursue, as they guarantee -liberty. Sermons, programmes, certainty, system, "truth" are various -forms of constraint and stupidity. But it is impossible to be a -consistent doubter when one is crammed full with "complete evidence," -and when one's judgment is swayed by class-prejudice, anxiety for a -living and struggles for a position. John became calm when he learnt -that all that was wrong in the world was wrong in accordance with -necessary law, but he became furious when he made the further discovery -that our social condition, our religion and morality were absurdities. -He wished to understand and pardon his opponents, since in their -actions they were no more free than he was, but he was in duty bound -to strangle them since they hindered the evolution of society towards -universal happiness, and that was the only and greatest crime that -could be committed. But as there were no criminals, how could one get -hold of the crime? - -He was rejoiced that the mistakes had now been discovered, but despair -oppressed him again when he saw that the discovery was premature. -Nothing could be done for many years to come. Social evolution was a -very slow process. Consequently he must lie at anchor in the roadstead -waiting for the tide. But this waiting was too long for him; he heard -an inner voice bidding him speak, for if one does not spread what -light one has, how can popular views be changed? Yes, but a premature -promulgation of new ideas can do no good. Thus he was tossed to and -fro. Everything round him now seemed so old and out of date that he -could not read a newspaper without getting an attack of cramp. _They_ -only had regard to the present moment; no one thought of the future. -His philosophical friend comforted and calmed him, through, among other -sayings, a sentence of La Bruyère, "Don't be angry because men are -stupid and bad, or you will have to be angry because a stone falls; -both are subject to the same laws; one must be stupid and the other -fall." - -"That is all very well," said John, "but think of having to be a -bird and live in a ditch! Air! light! I cannot breathe or see," he -exclaimed; "I suffocate!" - -"Write!" answered his friend. - -"Yes, but what?" - -Where should he begin? Buckle had already written everything, and -yet it was as though it had not been written. The worst thing was -that he felt he lacked the power. Hitherto he had only felt a very -moderate degree of ambition. He did not wish to march at the head, to -be a conqueror and so on. But to go in front with an axe as a simple -pioneer, to fell trees, root up thickets, and let others build bridges -and throw up redoubts, was enough for him. It is often observable that -great ambition is only the sign of great power. John was moderately -ambitious, because he was now only conscious of moderate powers. -Formerly when he was young and strong he had great confidence in -himself. He was a fanatic, _i.e_. his will was supported by powerful -passions, but his awakened insight and healthy doubt had sobered his -self-confidence. The work before him took the form of rock-walls which -must be pulled down, but he was not so simple as to venture on the task. - -Now he began to habituate himself forcibly to doubt in order to be -patient and not to explode. He entrenched himself in doubt as in a -fortress, and as a means of self-preservation he determined to depict -his struggles and doubts in a drama. The subject matter which he had -been turning over in his mind for a year he took from the history of -the Reformation in Sweden. Thus was composed the drama later on known -as _The Apostate_. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE RED ROOM - -(1872) - - -In autumn occurred the death of Charles XV. With the mourning, which -was fairly sincere and widespread, there mingled gloomy anxieties for -the future. One of the young painters who belonged to John's circle of -friends had just received a royal stipend and gone to Norway. He had -now to return quite destitute and without any prospects for the future. -John was accustomed to go with him into the Zoological Gardens in order -to paint, and occupy his mind while he was waiting for an answer from -the theatrical manager to whom he had sent his drama. - -There is indeed no occupation which so absorbs all the thoughts and -emotions so much as painting. John watched and enjoyed the delicate -harmonies of the lines in the branch-formation of the trees, in the -wave-like curves of the ground, but his paint-brush was too coarse to -reproduce the contours as he wished. Then he took his pen and made a -drawing in detail. But when he tried to transfer it to his canvas and -paint it, the whole appeared but a smudge. - -Pelle, on the other hand, was an impressionist and look no notice -of details. He took up the landscape at a stroke, so to speak, and -gave the colours their due value, but the various objects melted into -uncertain silhouettes. John thought Pelle's landscapes more beautiful -than the reality, although he cherished great reverence for the works -of the Creator. After he had wiled away about a month in painting, -he went one evening into the Café La Croix. The first person he met -was his former editor, who said, "I have just heard from X." (a young -author) "that the Theatre Royal has refused _The Apostate_." - -"I know nothing about it," answered John. He did not feel well and left -the company as soon as possible. The next day he went to his former -instructor to find how the matter stood. The latter began first to -praise, and then to criticise it, which is the right method. He said -that the characters of Olaus Petri and Gustav Wasa had been brought -down from their proper level and distorted. John, on the other hand, -held that he had given a realistic representation of them as they -probably were, before their figures had been idealised by patriotic -considerations. His friend replied that that was no good; the public -would never accept a new reading of their characters till critical -inquiry had done its preliminary work. - -That was true, but the blow was a heavy one, although dealt with as -much consideration as possible, and the author was invited to remodel -his drama. He had again been premature in his attempt. There was -nothing left for him but to wait and wile away the time. To think -of remodelling it now was not possible for him, for he saw, when he -read it through again, that it was all cast in one piece and that the -details could not be altered. He could not change it, unless he changed -his thoughts, and therefore he must wait. - -Now he took to reading again. Chance brought into his hand two of -"the best books which one can read." They were De Tocqueville's -_Democracy in America_ and Prévost-Paradol's _The New France._ The -former increased his doubts as to the possibility of democracy in -an uncultivated community. Written with sincere admiration for the -political institutions of America, which the author holds up as a -pattern for Europe, this work points out so sincerely the dangers of -democracy, as to make even a born hater of the aristocracy pause. - -John's theories received terrible blows, but this time his good sense -triumphed over his prejudices. His loss of faith in his own powers, -however, had a demoralising effect upon him, and he was soon ripe -for absolute scepticism. Sentences such as the following admitted -at that time of no contradiction: "The moral power of the majority -is based partly upon the conviction that a number of men have more -understanding, intelligence and wisdom than an individual, and a -great number of lawgivers more than a selection of them. That is the -principle of equality applied to intellectual gifts. This doctrine -attacks the pride of humanity in its innermost citadel." - -An individualist like John did not perceive that this pride can and -must be overcome. Nor did he see that wisdom and intelligence can be -spread by means of good schools among the masses. - -"When a man or a party in the United States suffers injustice, to whom -shall he turn? To public opinion? That is the opinion of the majority. -To the legislative officials? They are nominated by the majority -and obey it blindly. To the executive power? That is chosen by the -majority and serves it as a passive instrument. To the military forces -of the State? They are simply the majority under arms. To juries? -They are formed by a majority which possesses the right to judge." De -Tocqueville goes on to say that the happiness of the majority which -consists in maintaining its rights deserves recognition, and that it is -better for a minority to suffer from pressure than a majority, but the -sufferings which an intelligent minority suffer from an unintelligent -majority are much greater than those which an intelligent minority -inflict upon a majority. On the other hand, the minority understands -much better than the majority what conduces to their own and the -general happiness, and therefore the tyranny of the minority is not to -be compared with that of the majority. - -"Yes, but," thought John, "did not the European peoples generally -suffer from the tyranny of a minority?" The mere fact that there -were upper classes lay like a heavy cloud on the life of the masses. -Nowadays the question may be raised, "Why should a different -class-education result in an intelligent minority and an unintelligent -majority?" But such questions were not raised then. Moreover had such -a state really ever been seen in which an intelligent minority had the -power to "oppress"? No, for sovereigns, ministers and parliaments had -usually the due modicum of intelligence. - -That which more than anything else inclined John to fear the power of -the masses, was the fact noted by De Tocqueville that they tyrannised -over freedom of thought. - -"When one tries to ascertain," he says, "how much freedom of thought -there is in the United States it becomes apparent how much the tyranny -of the masses transcends any despotism known to Europe. I know no -country where there is, generally speaking, less independence of -opinion and real freedom of discussion than America. The majority -draw a terribly narrow circle round all thought. Within that circle -an author may say what he likes, but woe to him if he step across the -limit. He has no _auto-da-fé_ to fear, but he is made the mark for all -kinds of unpleasantness and daily persecutions. Every good quality is -denied him, even honour. Before he published his views, he thought he -had adherents; after he has made them known to all the world he sees -that he no longer has any, for his critics have raised an outcry, -and those who thought as he did, but lacked the courage to express -themselves, are silent and withdraw. He gives way; he finally collapses -under the strain of daily renewed effort, and resumes silence, as -though he regretted having spoken the truth, - -"In democratic republics, tyranny lets the body alone and attacks the -soul. In them the dominant power does not say, 'You must think as I -do, or die;' it says, 'You are free to differ from me in opinion; your -life and property will remain untouched, but from the day that you -express a different view from mine, you will be a stranger among us. -You will retain your rights and privileges as a citizen, but they will -be useless to you. You will remain among men, but be deprived of all -a man's rights. When you approach your equals they will flee you as -though you were a leper; even those who believe in your innocence will -abandon you, lest they should be themselves abandoned. Go in peace! -I grant you life, but a life which shall be harder and bitterer than -death!'" - -That is the true and credible picture which the noble De Tocqueville, -friend of the people and tyrant-hater as he was, has drawn of the -tyranny of the masses, those masses whose feet John had felt trampling -on him at home, at school, in the steamer and the theatre, those -masses whom he had satirised in the play _Sinking Hellas_, and whom -he had described as throwing the first stone at Olaus Petri just at -the moment when he was preaching to them of freedom! If it is thus in -America, how can one expect anything better in Europe. He found himself -in a cul-de-sac. His hereditary disposition prevented his becoming an -aristocrat, nor could he come to terms with the people. Had he not -himself suffered lately from an ignorant theatre-management behind -which stood the uncultivated public, and found the way blocked for -his new and liberal ideas. There was then already a mob-despotism in -Sweden, and the director of the Theatre Royal was only their servant. - -It was all absurdity! And even suppose society were ruled by those who -knew most. Then they would be under professors with their heads full of -antiquarian ideas. Even if the director had put his drama on the stage, -it would have certainly been hissed off by the tradesmen in the stalls, -and no critics could have helped him! - -His thoughts struggled like fishes in a net, and ended by being caught. -It was not worth the trouble of thinking about and he tried to banish -the thought, but could not. He felt a continual trouble and despair -in his mind that the world was going idiotically, majestically and -unalterably to the devil. "Unalterably," he thought, for as yet a large -number of strong minds had not attacked the problem, which was soluble -after all. Ten years later it was provisionally solved, when knowledge -on the subject of this sphinx-riddle had been so widely spread that -even a workman had obtained some insight into it, and in a public -meeting had declared that equality was impossible, for the block-heads -could not be equal to the sharp-sighted, and that the utmost one could -demand was equality of position. This workman was more of an aristocrat -than John dared to be in the year 1872, though he belonged to no party -which claimed the right to muzzle him. - -Prévost-Paradol had dealt with the same theme as Tocqueville, but -he suggested a secret device against the tyranny of the masses--the -cumulative vote or the privilege of writing the same name several times -on the ballot-paper. But John considered this method, which had been -tried in England, doubtful. - -He had set great hopes on his drama, and borrowed money on the strength -of them, and now felt much depressed. The disproportion between his -fancied and his real value galled him. Now he had to adopt a rôle, -learn it, and carry it out. He composed one for himself, consisting -of the sceptic, the materialist and the liar, and found that it -suited him excellently. This was for the simple reason that it was a -sceptical and materialistic period, and because he had unconsciously -developed into a man of his time. But he still believed that his -earlier discarded personality, ruled indeed by wild passions, but -cherishing ideals of a higher calling, love to mankind and similar -imaginations, was his true and better self which he hid from the world. -All men make similar mistakes when they value sickly sentimentality -above strong thought, when they look back to their youth and think -they were purer and more virtuous then, which is certainly untrue. -The world calls the weaker side of men their "better self," because -this weakness is more advantageous for the world and self-interest -seems to dictate its judgment. John found that in his new rôle he was -freed from all possible prejudices--religious, social, political and -moral. He had only one opinion,--that everything was absurd, only -one conviction,--that nothing could be done at present, and only one -hope,--that the time would come when one might effectively intervene, -and when there would be improvement. But from that time he altogether -gave up reading newspapers. To hear stupidity praised, selfish acts -lauded as philanthropic, and reason blasphemed,--that was too much for -a fanatical sceptic. Sometimes, however, he thought that the majority -were right in just being at the point of view where they were, and that -it was unnecessary that some few individuals, because of a specialised -education, should run far ahead of the rest. In quiet moments he -recognised that his mental development which had taken place so -rapidly, without his ever seeing an idea realised, could be a pattern -for such a slowly-working machine as society is. Why did he run so far -ahead? It was not the fault of the school or university, for they had -held him back equally with the majority. - -Yes, but those already out in the world, by their own hearths, had -already reached the stage of Buckle's scepticism as regards the social -order, so that he was not so far ahead after all. The slow rate of -progress was enough to make one despair. What Schiller's Karl Moor -had seen a hundred years previously, what the French Revolution had -actually brought about were now regarded as brand-new ideas. After -the Revolution, social development had gone backwards; religious -superstitions were revived, belief in a better state of things lost, -and economic and industrial progress was accompanied by sweating and -terrible poverty. It was absurd! All minds that were awake at all -had to suffer,--suffer like every living organism when hindered in -growth and pressed backward. The century had been inaugurated by the -destruction of hopes, and nothing has such a paralysing effect on the -soul as disappointed hope, which, as statistics show, is one of the -most frequent causes of madness. Therefore all great spirits were, -vulgarly speaking, mad. Chateaubriand was a hypochondriac, Musset a -lunatic, Victor Hugo a maniac. The automatic pygmies of everyday life -cannot realise what such suffering means, and yet believe themselves -capable of judging in the matter. - -The ancient poet is psychologically correct in representing -Prometheus as having his liver gnawed by a vulture. Prometheus was -the revolutionary who wished to spread mental illumination among -men. Whether he did it from altruistic motives, or from the selfish -one of wishing to breathe a purer mental atmosphere, may be left -undecided. John, who felt akin to this rebel, was aware of a pain which -resembled anxiety, and a perpetual boring "toothache in the liver." Was -Prometheus then a liver-patient who confusedly ascribed his pain to -causes outside himself? Probably not! But he was certainly embittered -when he saw that the world is a lunatic asylum in which the idiots go -about as they like, and the few who preserve reason are watched as -though dangerous to the public safety. Attacks of illness can certainly -colour men's views, and every one well knows how gloomy our thoughts -are when we have attacks of fever. But patients such as Samuel Oedmann -or Olaf Eneroth were neither sulky nor bitter, but, on the contrary, -mild, perhaps languid from want of strength. Voltaire, who was never -well, had an imperturbably good temper. And Musset did not write as he -did because he drank absinthe, but he drank from the same cause that -he wrote in that manner, _i.e_. from despair. Therefore it is not in -good faith that idealists who deny the existence of the body, ascribe -the discontent of many authors to causes such as indigestion, etc., the -supposition of which contradicts their own principles, but it must be -against their better knowledge, or with worse knowledge. Kierkegaard's -gloomy way of writing can be ascribed to an absurd education, -unfortunate family relations, dreary social surroundings, and alongside -of these to some organic defects, but not to the latter alone. - -Discontent with the existing state of things will always assert itself -among those who are in process of development, and discontent has -pushed the world forwards, while content has pushed it back. Content -is a virtue born of necessity, hopelessness or superfluity; it can be -cancelled with impunity. - -Catarrh of the stomach may cause ill temper, but it has never produced -a great politician, _i.e._ a great malcontent. But sickliness may -impart to a malcontent's energy a stronger colour and greater rapidity, -and therefore cannot be denied a certain influence. On the other hand, -a conscious insight into grievances can produce such a degree of mental -annoyance as can result in sickness. The loss of dear friends through -death, may in this way cause consumption, and the loss of a social -position or of property, madness. - -If every modern individual shows a geological stratification of the -stages of development through which his ancestors passed, so in every -European mind are found traces of the primitive Aryan,--class-feeling, -fixed family ideas, religious motives, etc. From the early Christians -we have the idea of equality, love to our neighbour, contempt for mere -earthly life; from the mediæval monks, self-castigation and hopes of -heaven. Besides these, we inherit traits from the sensuous cultured -pagans of the Renaissance, the religious and political fanatics of the -sixteenth century, the sceptics of the "illumination" period, and the -anarchists of the Revolution. Education should therefore consist in the -obliteration of old stains which continually reappear however often we -polish them away. - -John proceeded to obliterate the monk, the fanatic and the -self-tormentor in himself as well as he could, and took as the leading -principle of his provisional life (for it was only provisional till he -struck out a course for himself) the well-understood one of personal -advantage, which is actually, though unconsciously, employed by all, to -whatever creed they belong. - -He did not transgress the ordinary laws, because he did not wish -to appear in a court of justice; he encroached on no one's rights -because he wished his own not to be encroached upon. He met men -sympathetically, for he did not hate them, nor did he study them -critically till they had broken their promises and shown a want of -sympathy to him. He justified them all so long as he could, and when -he could not, well,--he could not, but he tried by working to place -himself in a position to be able to do so. He regarded his talent as a -capital sum, which, although at present it yielded no interest, gave -him the right and imposed on him the duty to live at any price. He was -not the kind of man to force his way into society in order to exploit -it for his own purposes, he was simply a man of capacity conscious of -his own powers, who placed himself at the disposal of society modestly, -and in the first place to be used as a dramatist. The theatre, as a -matter of fact, needed him to contribute to its Swedish repertory. - -After a solitary day's work, it was his habit to go to a café to meet -his acquaintances there. To seek "more elevated" recreations in family -circles such as meaningless gossip, card playing and such like had no -attraction for him. Whenever he entered a family circle he felt himself -surrounded by a musty atmosphere like that exhaled from stagnant -water. Married couples who had been badgering each other, were glad to -welcome him as a sort of lightning conductor, but he had no pleasure -in playing that part. Family life appeared to him as a prison in which -two captives spied on each other, as a place in which children were -tormented, and servant-girls quarrelled. It was something nasty from -which he ran away to the restaurants. In them there was a public room -where no one was guest and no one was host: one enjoyed plenty of -space and light, heard music, saw people and met friends. John and -his friends were accustomed to meet in a back room of Bern's great -restaurant which, because of the colour of the furniture, was called -the "red room." The little club consisted originally of John and a few -artistic and philosophical friends. But their circle was soon enlarged -by old friends whom they met again. They were first of all recruited -by the presentable former scholars of the Clara School,--a postal -clerk who was at the same time a bass singer, pianist and composer; a -secretary of the Court treasurer; and the trump card of the society,--a -lieutenant of artillery. To these were added later, the composer's -indispensable friend, a lithographer, who published his music, and a -notary who sang his compositions. The club was not homogeneous, but -they soon managed to shake down together. - -But since the laymen had no wish to hear discussions on art, literature -and philosophy, their conversations were only on general subjects. -John, who did not wish to discuss any more problems, adopted a -sceptical tone, and baffled all attempts at discussion by a play upon -words, a quibble or a question. His ultimate "why?" behind every -penultimate assertion threw a light on the too-sure conclusions of -stupidity, and let his hearer surmise that behind the usually accepted -commonplaces there were possibilities of truths stretching out in -endless perspective. These views of his must have germinated like seeds -in most of their brains, for in a short time they were all sceptics, -and began to use a special language of their own. This healthy -scepticism in the infallibility of each other's judgments had, as a -natural consequence, a brutal sincerity of speech and thought. It was -of no use to speak of one's feelings as though they were praise worthy, -for one was cut short with "Are you sentimental, poor devil? Take -bi-carbonate." - -If any one complained of toothache, all he received by way of answer -was, "That does not rouse my sympathy at all, for I have never had -toothache, and it has no effect upon my resolve to give a supper." - -They were disciples of Helvetius in believing that one must regard -egotism as the mainspring of all human actions, and therefore it was -no use pretending to finer emotions. To borrow money or to get goods -on credit without being certain of being able to pay, was rightly -regarded as cheating, and so designated. For instance, if a member of -the club appeared in a new overcoat which seemed to have been obtained -on credit, he was asked in a friendly way, "Whom have you cheated about -that coat?" Or on another occasion another would say, "To-day I have -done Samuel out of a new suit." - -Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, both overcoat and suit were -generally paid for, but as the purchaser at the time he took them was -not sure whether he would be able to pay, he regarded himself as a -potential swindler. This was severe morality and stern self-criticism. - -Once during such a conversation the lieutenant got up to go and attend -church-parade with his company. "Where are you going?" he was asked. -"To play the hypocrite," he answered truthfully. - -This tone of sincerity sometimes assumed the character of a deep -understanding of human nature and the nature of society. One day -the company were leaving John's lodgings for the restaurant. It was -winter, and Måns, who was generally ill-dressed, had no overcoat. The -lieutenant, who wore his uniform, was, it is true, somewhat uneasy, but -did not wish to hurt any one's feelings that day. When John opened the -door to go out, Måns said, "Go in front; I will come afterwards; I do -not want Jean to injure his position by going with me." - -John offered to walk with Måns one way while the others should go by -another, but Jean exclaimed, "Ah! don't pretend to be noble-minded! you -feel as embarrassed at going with Måns as I do." - -"True," replied John, "but...." - -"Why, then, do you play the hypocrite?" - -"I did not play the hypocrite; I only wished to try to be free from -prejudice." - -"The deuce! what is the good of being free from prejudice when no one -else is, and it does you harm? It would really show more freedom from -prejudice to tell Måns your mind than to deceive him." - -Måns had already departed, and arrived about the same time at the -restaurant as they did. He took part in the meal without betraying a -trace of ill-humour. "Your health, Måns, because you are a man of -sense," said the lieutenant to cheer him up. - -The habit of speaking out one's inner thoughts without any regard to -current opinion, resulted in the overthrow of all traditional verdicts. -The terrible confusion of thought in which men live, since freedom -of thought has been fettered by compulsory regulations, has made it -possible for antiquated views of men and things to continue. Thus, -to-day a number of works of art are considered unsurpassable in spite -of the great progress made in technique and artistic conception. John -considered that if in the nineteenth century he was to give his views -on Shakespeare, he was not at all bound to give the opinion of the -eighteenth century, but of his own nineteenth, as it had been modified -by new points of view. This aroused a great deal of opposition, perhaps -because people fear being regarded as uncultivated a great deal more -than they fear being regarded as godless. - -Every one attacked Christ, for He was thought to have been overthrown -by learned criticism, but they were afraid of attacking Shakespeare. -John, however, was not. Thoroughly understanding the works of the -poet, whose most important dramas he had read in the original and -whose chief commentators he had studied, he criticised the composition -and meagre character drawing of _Hamlet._ It is noteworthy that the -Swedish Shakespeare-worshipper, Shuck, through an inconsistency due to -the current confusion of thought and compulsory cowardice, made just -as severe criticisms of _Hamlet_ regarded as a work of art, though -he had previously extolled it above the skies. If John had at that -time been able to read the book of Professor Shuck, he would not have -needed courage in order to subscribe such criticisms as the following: -"_Hamlet_ is the most unsatisfactory of all ... the composition is -superficial and incoherent. After the action of the play has reached -its climax, it suddenly breaks off. Hamlet is suddenly sent to England, -but this journey does not in any way arouse the spectator's interest. -Still worse is the management of the catastrophe. It is a mere chance -that Hamlet's revenge is executed at all, and a similar caprice of -chance causes his overthrow. His killing Claudius just before his own -death has more the appearance of revenge for the attempt on his own -life, than that of a judgment executed in the name of injured morality." - -And then the obscurity which envelops the motives of the principal -persons in the play! "The spectator is left in uncertainty regarding -such an important point as Ophelia's and Hamlet's madness. Moreover -in _King Lear_, Edward's treachery is so palpable that not the most -ordinarily intelligent man could have been deceived by it!" - -If then the drama was defective precisely in the chief elements of a -drama, construction and characterisation, how could it be incomparable? -The reverence for what is ancient and celebrated is rooted in the -same instinct which creates gods; and pulling down the ancient has -the same effect as attacking the divine. Why else should a sensible -unprejudiced man fly in a rage when he hears some one express a -different opinion to his own (or what he thinks his own) about some old -classic? It ought to be a matter of indifference to him. The national -and intellectual Pantheon can be as angrily defended by atheists as by -monotheists, perhaps more so. People who are otherwise sincere, cringe -before a well-established reputation, and John had heard a pietistic -clergyman say that Shakespeare was a "pure" writer. In his mouth that -was certainly false. A determinist, on the other hand, would not -have used the words "pure" or "impure" because they would have been -meaningless to him. But the poor Christ-worshipper did not dare to bear -a cross for Shakespeare; he had enough already to bear for his own -Master. - -Meanwhile John's method of judging old things from the modern point of -view seemed to be justified, for it gained him a following. That was -the whole secret of what was so little understood later on by theistic -and atheistic theologians--his irreverent handling of ancient things -and persons; they thought in their simplicity quite innocently that -it was what one calls in children a spirit of contradiction. His aim -rather was to bring people's confused ideas into order, and to teach -them to apply logically their materialistic point of view. If they -were materialists, they should not borrow phrases from Christianity, -nor think like idealists. This gave rise to a catchword, which showed -how what was ancient was despised--"That is old!" As new men, they -must think new thoughts, and new thoughts demanded a new phraseology. -Anecdotes and old jokes were done away with; stereotyped phrases and -borrowed expressions were suppressed. One might be plain-spoken and -call things by their right names, but one might not be vulgar; the -latest opera was not to be quoted, nor jokes from the newest comic -paper repeated. Thereby each became accustomed to produce something -from his own stock of original observation and acquired the faculty of -judging from a fresh point of view. - -John had discovered that men in general were automata. All thought the -same; all judged in the same fashion; and the more learned they were, -the less independence of mind they displayed. This made him doubt the -whole value of book education. The graduates who came from Upsala -had, one and all, the same opinions on Rafael and Schiller, though -the differences in their characters would have led one to expect a -corresponding difference in their judgments. Therefore these men did -not think, although they called themselves free-thinkers, but merely -talked and were merely parrots. - -But John could not perceive that it was not books _quá_ books which had -turned these learned men into automata. He himself and his unlearned -philosophical friends had been aroused to self-consciousness through -books. The danger of the university education was that it was derived -from inferior books published under sanction of the government, and -written by the upper classes in the interest of the upper classes, -_i.e_. with the object of exalting what was old and established, and -therefore of hindering further development. - -Meanwhile John's scepticism had made him sterile. He had perceived -that art had nothing to do with social development, that it was simply -a reflection or phenomena, and was more perfect as art the more it -confined itself to this function. He still preserved the impulse to -re-mould things and it found expression in his painting. His poetic -art, on the other hand, went to pieces since it had to express thoughts -or serve a purpose. - -His failure to have his play accepted had an adverse effect on his -pecuniary circumstances. The friends from whom he had borrowed money -came one evening to John's rooms in order to hear the play read, but -they were so tired after the day's work that, after hearing the first -act, they asked him to put off the rest for another occasion. One of -the audience who had kept more awake than the others thought that there -were too many Biblical quotations in the piece, and that these were not -suitable for the stage. - -John's resources were dried up, and the spectre of want loomed upon -him, unbribeable and stone-deaf. After he had gone without his dinners -for a time, he began to feel weary of life, and looked about him for -the means of subsistence. How should he get bread in the wilderness? -The best means that suggested itself was to seek an engagement in a -provincial theatre. There mere nobodies often played leading roles -in tragedies, made themselves a name, and finished by getting an -appointment at the Theatre Royal. He quickly made his resolve, packed -his travelling bag, borrowed money for his fare, and went to Göteborg. -It was just about the time of the great November storm of 1872. - -Since the environment in which he had been living had had a great -effect on him, he conceived a great dislike to this town. Gloomy, -correct, expensive, proud, reserved it lay, pent in its circle of stone -hills, and depressed the lively native of Upper Sweden, accustomed -to the rich and smiling landscape of Stockholm. It was a copy of the -capital but on a small scale, and John, as one of the upper class, -felt alienated from its inhabitants, who were in a lower stage of -development. But he noticed that there was something here that was -wanting in the capital. When he went down to the harbour he saw ships -which were nearly all destined for foreign parts, and large vessels -kept up continual communication with the continent. The people and -buildings did not look so exclusively Swedish, the papers took more -account of the great movements which were going on in the world. What -a short way it was from here to Copenhagen, Christiania, London, -Hamburg, Havre! Stockholm should have been situated here in a harbour -of the North Sea, whereas it lay in a remote corner of the Baltic. -Here was in truth the nucleus of a new centre, and he now understood -that that position was no longer occupied by Stockholm, but that -Göteborg was about to be the centre of the north. At present, however, -this reflection had no comfort for him since he was only in the -insignificant position of an actor. - -John sought out the theatre-director and introduced himself as a -person who wished to do the theatre a service. The director, however, -considered himself very well served by his present staff. But he -allowed John to give a trial performance in the rôle in which he wished -to make his début. This was Dietrichson's _Workman_, the great success -of the day. John had discovered a certain likeness between Stephenson's -first locomotive and his rejected play; he wished to show how he, like -the engineer, had to face the ridicule of the ignorant crowd, the -apprehensions of the learned, and the fears of a wasted life on the -part of relatives. He gave his trial performance one evening by the -light of a candle and between bare walls. Naturally he felt hampered -and asked to repeat it in costume. But the director said it was not -necessary; he had heard enough. John, in his opinion, possessed talent, -but it was undeveloped. He offered him an engagement at twelve hundred -kronas yearly, to commence from the first of January. John considered: -Should he spend two months idly in Göteborg and then only have a -supernumerary's part in a provincial theatre? No! He would not! What -remained to be done? Nothing except to borrow money and return home, -which he did. - -Thus his efforts had again ended in failure. His friends had given -him a farewell feast, lent him journey money, done all they could to -help him, and now he came back without having settled anything. Again -he had to hear the old too true accusation that he was unstable. To -be unstable in an ordered society is the extreme of unpracticality. -There persistent and exclusive cultivation of some special branch of -industry or knowledge is necessary in order to outstrip competitors. -Every orderly member of society feels a certain discomfort when he sees -some one wandering from his proper place. This discomfort does not -necessarily spring from excessive egotism, but possibly from a feeling -of solidarity and solicitude for others. John saw that his countless -changes of plan disquieted his friends; he felt ashamed and suffered on -account of it, but could not act otherwise. - -So he found himself at home, and spent the long evenings in the "Red -Room," asking himself whether he really could find no place in a -society which for others opened up so many rich possibilities of a -career. - -At Christmas time John travelled again to Upsala, for he had been -invited thither as one of the contributors to a Literary Calendar which -had just appeared. The _Calendar_, which was received with universal -disapprobation, was not without significance as an exponent of the -state of literature. The reader who was desired to wade through these -elegant extracts, might justifiably ask, "What have I got to do with -them?" The poetry they contained, like that of Snoilsky and Björck, -might have been written fifty or a hundred years before. It was of -indifferent quality, and sometimes even bad,--bad because it gave no -sign that the poet had developed any powers of perception, indifferent -because it was not rooted in its own period. The date of the book -was 1872, but it contained no echo of the Jubilee of 1865, no hint -of 1870, not a whiff of the conflagration of 1871. Had these young -versifiers been asleep? Yes, certainly. The great mass of students were -realists, sceptics, mockers, as befitted the children of the time, but -the poets were credulous fools with the ideals of Snoilsky and Björck -in their hearts. Their poetry was that of superannuated idealists in -form and thought, for the new views of things had not reached these -isolated individualists who still lived the Bohemian life of the -Romantics. Their poetry consisted of nothing but echoes. In fact it -was a question whether Swedish poetry had hitherto been anything else, -or could be anything else. Was Tegner's poetry anything but an echo -of Schiller, Oehlenschläger, the Eddas and the old Norse sagas? Was -Atterbom anything else than a musical box pieced together out of Tieck, -Hoffmann, Wieland, Burger? And so on with all the Swedish poets. But -this Literary Calendar was composed of echoes of echoes and dreams of -dreams. Realism, which had already made a premature entry into Sweden -with Kraemer's _Diamonds in Coal_, and had subsequently triumphed -in Snoilsky, had left no trace on these young poets. The poetry of -Snoilsky's school had been the careless expression of a careless time, -but these poems simply displayed the incapacity of their writers. - -John had contributed to the _Calendar_ a free version of "An Basveig's -Saga." In this he had glorified himself as a kind of male Cinderella, -or ugly duckling of the family. He was moved to do this by the contempt -which had been evinced towards him by his patrons and middle-class -friends on account of his failure as an author. The language of the -piece was marked by a certain bluntness of expression and an attempt to -dignify low things, or at least to rub off the dirt from things which -were not really so, but were called so. Since the word Naturalism had -not yet come into fashion, his language was called coarse and vulgar. - -But an acquaintance which John happened to make during his stay in -Upsala was of greater importance than the _Calendar_ or Christmas -dinner. He lodged with a friend on whose writing-table he found one day -a number of the _Svensk Tidskrift_ containing a notice of Hartmann's -_Philosophy of the Unconscious_. It was an exposition of Hartmann's -system by a Finn, A.V. Bolin, and betrayed throughout a half-concealed -admiration of it. But the editor, Hans Forssell, had appended to the -essay a note written in his usual style when he came across something -that his brain could not take in. Hartmann's doctrine was pessimism. -Conscious life is suffering because unconscious will is the motive -power of evolution and consciousness obstructs this unconscious will. -It was the old myth of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It -was the kernel of the Buddhistic faith and the chief doctrine of -Christianity,--"Vanitas, vanitatum vanitas." - -Most of the greatest and conscious minds had been pessimists, and had -seen through and unmasked the illusions of life. Only wild animals, -children, and commonplace people could therefore be happy, because they -were unconscious of the illusion, or because they held their ears when -one wanted to tell them the truth and begged not to be robbed of their -illusions. - -John found all this quite natural, and had no important objection to -make. It was true then, what he had so often dreamt, that everything -was nothing! It was the suspicion of this which had governed his -point of view and made all the great and all greatness appear on a -reduced scale. This consciousness had lurked obscurely in him, when, -as a child, although well-formed, healthy and strong, he wept over -an unknown grief, the cause of which he could not find within him or -without. That was the secret of his life, that he could not admire -anything, could not hold to anything, could not live for anything; that -he was too wide awake to be subject to illusions. Life was a form of -suffering which could only be alleviated by removing as many obstacles -as possible from the path of one's will; his own life in particular -was so extremely painful because his social and economical position -constantly prevented his will from expressing itself. - -When he contemplated life and especially the course of history he saw -only cycles of errors and mistakes repeating themselves.[1] The men of -the present dreamt of a republic, as Greeks and Romans had done two -thousand years before; the civilisation of the Egyptians had decayed -when they perceived its futility; Asia was wrapped in an eternal sleep -after it had been impelled by an unconscious will to conquer the -world; all nations had invented narcotics and intoxicants in order to -quench consciousness; sleep was blessedness and death the greatest -happiness. But why not take the last step and commit suicide? Because -the unconscious Will continually enticed men to live through the -illusion of hope of a better life. Pessimism, regarded as a view of the -world's order, is more consistent than meliorism, which sees in natural -development a tendency which makes for men's happiness. This latter -view seems to be a disguised relic of belief in divine providence. Can -one believe that the mechanical blindly ruling laws of nature have any -regard for the development of human society when they produce glacial -periods, floods, and volcanic outbreaks? Must an intelligent man be -called "conservative" in a contemptuous sense because he has brought -under his yoke and rules the laws of nature as Stuart Mill facetiously -expresses it? Have men devised any certain preventives against -shipwreck, strokes of lightning, economic crises, losses of relatives -by death and sickness? Can men control at pleasure the inclination of -the earth's axis, and do away with cloud-formations which are likely -to injure harvests? In spite of the present advanced state of science, -have men been able to put an end to the grape pest, to stop floods, -eradicate, superstitions, remove despots, prevent war? Is it not -presumptuous or simple-minded to believe that man, himself governed by -chemical, physical, and physiological laws of nature, stands above them -because he understands how to use some of them to his own advantage, as -birds use the wind for their progress or beavers the pressure of the -stream in constructing their dams? Are not the wings of the falcon and -the fly more perfect means of locomotion than railways and steamers? -How can men be so simple as to think that they stand above nature when -they are themselves so subordinate to nature that they cannot will or -think freely? It looks like a residue of our primitive illusions. If -the present development of European society ends in atheism, that has -already been the case with the Buddhists; if in religious freedom, -that has already been witnessed in the early history of China; if in -polygamy, that already exists among the savages of Australia; if in -community of goods, this prevailed among primitive peoples. The fact is -that Europe has been the last of all the great ethnical groups to wake -to consciousness. It is now in the act of waking and turning itself, -not like some oriental nations, to torpid quietism, but to removing as -far as possible the pains and unpleasantnesses of earthly existence, -although the best way of doing so has not been yet discovered. The -mistake of the industrial socialists is that they, according to -the formula of the ambiguous evolution theory, wish to build upon -existing conditions, which they regard as the product of necessity, -and tending to the good of all. But existing conditions rather tend -to the happiness of the few, and are therefore something abnormal to -build on, which means erecting a house on ground from which the water -has not been drained off. Probably the form of society which they -desire, however absurd it is, is a necessary mistake through which men -must pass to reach a better. Both the danger and the hope of progress -consist in the fact that the socialistic system already has its -programme drawn up and consequently works automatically, _i.e_. like a -blind, irresistible mass. If it reconstitutes society after the pattern -of the working-class who are a minority, and makes all men mechanics, -one may venture to doubt, without being regarded as quite mad, whether -that will be happiness. Socialism as a social reform is inevitable, -for Europe in its self-idolatry has not perceived how far backward it -is. Provided with an Asiatic form of government, which interferes in -details, supporting ancient superstitions, living under the terrible -tyranny of capital, which is maintained by force of arms, it sets -on foot political and religious persecutions, it venerates embalmed -monarchs like mummies of the Pharaohs, it civilises savages with waste -goods and Krupp guns; it forgets that its civilisation came from the -east, and was better then than it is now. Hartmann and the pessimists -believe that the social reform which is called socialism will come, but -that afterwards, it will be succeeded by something else. - -The bourgeois is an optimist because he cannot see or think outside -the narrow circle of everyday occurrences. That is his good fortune, -but not his merit, for he has no choice in the matter. Nay, he does not -even understand what pessimism is, but thinks it means the opinion that -this is the worst of all worlds. How could any one have a well-grounded -view on that? Voltaire, who was no pessimist, wrote a whole book to -demonstrate that this world, at any rate, was not the best of worlds -for us, as Leibnitz imagined. It is naturally the best for itself, -although not for us, and the difference between the point of view of -the hypochondriac and the pessimist consists in the fact that the -former believes that the world is the worst possible for him, while -the pessimist disregards what it may be for the individual. Hartmann -is no hypochondriac as people have tried to make out, and he seeks to -alleviate the pain of life as much as possible by placing himself in a -state of unconsciousness. - -The men of the younger generation of to-day are sad, because they -have awoke to consciousness and lost many illusions. But they are not -hypochondriacal, and work at bringing the world forward into the last -stage of illusion or a new social system, as though hoping thereby to -alleviate their pain, and they work the more fanatically, the deeper -they feel it. - -Meanwhile, supposing that Hartmann's philosophy may be a mistake, and a -sceptic must be willing to entertain that possibility, although it has -every probability on its side, since the instinct of self-preservation, -the first condition of life, consists in the removal of pain, which -is the first motive-power,--we must seek to explain historically -how this philosophy has come to the birth and spread. Superficial -observers like the mystic Caro, do not hesitate, inconsistently -enough, to attribute it to bodily ill-health. The socialists, who -wished to arouse the expectation that their teaching was practicable, -explained it as the foreboding of overthrow in a class, of whom -Hartmann was the representative. But Hartmann believes in socialism -and the new social system, although only as transitional forms. He -is not despairing, not even melancholy. He seems to be the first -philosopher who, quite independently of Christianity, European culture -and idealism, tries to explain the world's progress from the purely -materialistic point of view. He states facts and processes exactly as -they are. From unconscious minerals we have developed into globules -of albumen, acquired conscious nerve-centres and finally brains -with ever-increasing self-consciousness. The more highly organised -the life, the greater the capacity for pain and susceptibility to -impressions. Not till our time did the cosmic brain succeed in arriving -at clear perception and, accordingly, at divining the order of the -world. Hartmann can therefore be regarded as one who arrived at the -highest degree of consciousness, and he will be remembered as the -great unmasker before whose keen gaze the bandages fell away. It is -consequently a mistake to call him "the prophet of despair." Idealists -may feel empty and despairing when confronted by the naked truth, but -the meliorist feels an inexpressible calm. Man will be modest when he -takes the measure of his littleness as an atom of the cosmic dust. -He will no longer build his happiness on a future life, but will be -impelled by pessimism to order the only life he has as well as he can -for himself and for others. He will see how useless it is to lament -over the misery of existence; he will accept pain as a fact, and -alleviate it as well as he can. Hartmann is a realist, and the title -"pessimist" in its old significance has been fastened on him out of -malice. He shudders at the misery of the world, but does not even call -it misery. He only shows that life is not so great and beautiful as men -like to make out, and pain in his view is not a mere bodily ailment, -but an impelling motive. His is a sound and healthy view of things in -contrast to which socialism may sometimes look like idealism, since it -wishes to remodel society according to its desires, not according to -the possibilities of the case. - -Meanwhile the review article on Hartmann had a quickening effect on -John. There was then a system in the apparent madness of the universe, -and his consciousness had rightly foreboded that the whole scheme of -things was something very insignificant. But a new philosophic system -is not absorbed by a brain in a day. It only left a certain deposit and -gave a keynote to his thoughts. As a theoretical point of view it was -still obscured by his idealistic education, darkened by his inborn and -acquired hatred of the upper class, and his natural tendency to seek -his point of equilibrium somewhere outside himself. Taken on the large -scale, life was meaningless, but if one wanted to live, one had to come -to grips with reality, and adopt an everyday point of view, which alas! -one very readily did. Enormous difficulties stood in the way of earning -a living or making a name. Honour, viewed absolutely, was nothing, but -in relation to the petty circumstances of life it was something great, -and worth striving for. The Philistines did not understand that, and -derived much amusement, when they saw him, pessimist as he was, toiling -after distinctions. They, with their clock-work brains, thought this -inconsistent, since they did not understand that the term "honour" has -two values, an absolute and a "relative." - - -[1] In his pamphlet "The Conscious Will in the World-history" (1903), -Strindberg takes the opposite view to that expressed here. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Growth of a Soul, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - -***** This file should be named 44107-8.txt or 44107-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44107/ - -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 Growth of a Soul - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44107] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<h1>GROWTH OF A SOUL</h1> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>AUGUST STRINDBERG</h2> - - -<h4>AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC.</h4> - - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD</h4> - - - -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> - -<h5>McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY</h5> - -<h5>1914</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> - -<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="#CHAPTER_I">IN THE FORECOURT</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">II</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">BELOW AND ABOVE</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">III</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">THE DOCTOR</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">IV</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">V</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VI</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">BEHIND THE CURTAIN</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VII</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">THE "RUNA" CLUB</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">IX</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">BOOKS AND THE STAGE</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">X</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">TORN TO PIECES</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XI</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">IDEALISM AND REALISM</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XII</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">A KING'S PROTÃGÃ</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XIII</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">THE WINDING UP</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XIV</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">AMONG THE MALCONTENTS</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XV</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">THE RED ROOM</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>THE GROWTH OF A SOUL</h3> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - -<h4>IN THE FORECOURT</h4> - -<h4>(1867)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The steamer had passed Flottsund and Domstyrken and the university -buildings of Upsala began to appear. "Now begins the real -stone-throwing!" exclaimed one of his companions,—an expression -borrowed from the street-riots of 1864. The hilarity induced by punch -and breakfast abated; one felt that things were now serious and that -the battle of life was beginning. No vows of perpetual friendship were -made, no promises of helping each other. The young men had awakened -from their romantic dreams; they knew that they would part at the -gang-way, new interests would scatter the company which the school-room -had united; competition would break the bonds which had united them and -all else would be forgotten. The "real stone-throwing" was about to -begin.</p> - -<p>John and his friend Fritz hired a room in the KlostergrÀnden. It -contained two beds, two tables, two chairs and a cupboard. The rent was -30 kronas<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> a term,—15 kronas each. Their midday meal was brought -by the servant for 12 kronas a month,—6 kronas each. For breakfast -and supper they had a glass of milk and some bread and butter. That -was all. They bought wood in the market,—a small bundle for 4 kronas. -John had also received a bottle of petroleum from home as a present, -and he could send his washing to Stockholm. He had 80 kronas in his -table-drawer with which to meet all the expenses of the term.</p> - -<p>It was a new and peculiar society into which he now entered, quite -unlike any other. It had privileges like the old house of peers and a -jurisdiction of its own; but it was a "little Pedlington" and reeked -of rusticity. All the professors were country-born; not a single one -hailed from Stockholm. The houses and streets were like those of -Nyköping. And it was here that the head-quarters of culture had been -placed, owing to an inconsistency of the government which certainly -regarded Stockholm as answering to that description.</p> - -<p>The students were regarded as the upper class in the town and the -citizens were stigmatised by the contemptuous epithet of "Philistines." -The students were outside and above the civic law. To smash windows, -break down fences, tussle with the police, disturb the peace of the -streets,—all was allowed to them and went unpunished; at most they -received a reprimand, for the old lock-up in the castle was no more -used. For their militia-service they had a special uniform of their -own which carried privileges with it. Thus they were systematically -educated as aristocrats, a new order of nobility after the fall of the -house of peers.</p> - -<p>What would have been a crime in a citizen was a "practical joke" in a -student. Just at this time the students' spirits were at a high pitch, -as a band of student-singers had gone to Paris, had been successful -there, and were acclaimed as conquerors on their return.</p> - -<p>John now wished to work for his degree but did not possess a single -book. "During the first term one must take one's bearings" was the -saying. John went to the student's club. The constitution of the club -was antiquated,—so much so that the annexed provinces SkÃ¥ne, Halland -and Blekinge were not represented in it. It was well arranged and -divided into classes, not according to merit, but according to age -and certain dubious qualities. In the list the title "nobilis" still -stood after the names of those of high birth. There were several ways -of gaining influence in the club, through an aristocratic name, family -influence, money, talent, pluck and adaptability, but the last quality -by itself was not enough among these intelligent and sceptical youths. -On the first evening in the club John made his observations. There were -several of his old companions from the Clara School present, but he -avoided them as much as possible and they him. He had deserted them and -gone by a short cut through the private school, while they had tramped -along the regular course through the state school. They all seemed -to him somewhat conventional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the -aristocrats and obtained introductions, made acquaintances easily and -got on well.</p> - -<p>As they went home in the evening John asked him who was the "snob" in -the velvet jacket with stirrups painted on his collar. Fritz answered -that he was not a snob, and that it was as stupid to judge people by -fine clothes as by poor ones. John with his democratic ideas did not -understand this and stuck to his opinion. Fritz asserted that the youth -referred to was a very fine fellow and the senior in the club, and -in order to rouse John further, added that he had expressed himself -satisfied with the newcomers' appearance and manners; he was reported -to have said "they had an air about them; formerly the fellows from -Stockholm when they came there, looked like workmen."</p> - -<p>John was ruffled at this information and felt that something had come -in between him and his friend. Fritz's father had been a miller's -servant, but his mother had been of noble birth. He had inherited from -his mother what John had from his.</p> - -<p>The days passed on. Fritz put on his frock coat every morning and went -to pay his respects to the professors. He intended to be a jurist; -that was a proper career, for lawyers were the only ones who obtained -real knowledge which was of use in public life, who tried to obtain -deeper insight into social organisation and to keep in touch with the -practical business of everyday life. They were realists.</p> - -<p>John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaintances.</p> - -<p>"Borrow my coat," said Fritz.</p> - -<p>"No, I will not go and pay court to the professors," said John.</p> - -<p>"You are stupid," answered Fritz, and in that he was right, for the -professors gave real though somewhat hazy information regarding the -courses of study. It was a piece of pride in John that he did not -wish to owe his progress to anything but his own work, and what was -worse, he thought it ignominious to be regarded as a flunkey. Would -not an old professor at once perceive that he was flattering him for -his own purposes? To submit himself to his superiors was, in his mind, -synonymous with grovelling.</p> - -<p>Moreover everything was too indefinite. The university which he had -imagined to be an institution for free investigation, was only one for -tasks and examinations. The professors gave lectures for the sake of -appearances or to maintain their income, but it was useless to go up -for an examination without taking private lessons. John resolved to -attend those lectures for which no fee was necessary. He went to the -Gustavianum to hear a lecture on the history of philosophy. For the -three-quarters of an hour during which the lecture lasted the professor -went through the introduction to Aristotle's Ethics. John calculated -that with three lectures a week he would require forty years to go -through the history of philosophy. "Forty years," he thought, "that is -too long for me." And did not go again. It was the same everywhere. -An assistant-professor expounded Shakespeare's <i>Henry VIII</i> with the -commentary, in English, to an audience of five. John went there a few -times, but reckoned that it would be ten years before <i>Henry VIII</i> was -finished.</p> - -<p>It began to dawn upon him what the requirements of the degree -examination were. The first was to write a Latin essay; therefore he -must learn more Latin, which he did not like. He had chosen Êsthetics -and modern languages as his chief subject. Ãsthetics comprised the -study of Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the -various systems of Êsthetics. That was work enough for a lifetime. The -modern languages were French, German, English, Italian and Spanish, -with comparative grammar. How was he to obtain the requisite books? And -he had not the means of paying for private lessons.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile he set to work at Ãsthetics. He found that one could borrow -books from the club and so he took out the volumes of Atterbom's -<i>Prophets and Poets</i> which happened to be there. These unfortunately -only dealt with Swedenborg and contained Thorild's epistles. Swedenborg -seemed to him crazy, and Thorild's epistles did not interest him. -Swedenborg and Thorild were two arrogant Swedes who had lived in -retirement and fallen a prey to megalomania, the special disease -of solitary people. It is remarkable how often outbreaks of this -hallucination occur in Sweden, owing probably to the isolated position -of the country and to the fact that a sparse population is scattered -over enormous distances. Megalomania is apparent in the imperial -projects of Gustavus Adolphus, in Charles X's ambition of becoming -a great European power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in -Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and in Swedenborg's and Thorild's dreams of -storming heaven and of world-conflagrations. John thought them mad and -threw them aside. Was that the sort of stuff he was expected to read?</p> - -<p>He began to reflect over his situation. What did he expect to do in -Upsala? To support himself for six years on 80 kronas till he took -his degree. And then? his thoughts did not stretch further; he had no -higher plan or ambition than to take his degree—the laurel crown, the -graduate's coat, and then to teach the catechism in the Jakob school -till his death. No, he did not wish to do that.</p> - -<p>Time went on, and Christmas approached. The little stock of money in -his table-drawer diminished slowly but surely. And then? It was not so -easy for students to obtain employment as private teachers since the -railways had made communication easier between remote country places -and the towns where schools were. He felt that he had embarked upon a -foolish undertaking. When he found he could get no more books, he began -to make visits among his fellow-students and discovered companions in -misfortune. Among them were two who had spent the whole term playing -chess and possessed nothing between them but a hymn-book which the -mother of one had placed in his box. They were also asking themselves -the question "What have we to do here?" The way to the degree -examination was not easy; one was compelled to seek out secret ways, -bribe door-keepers, creep through holes, run into debt for books, be -seen at lectures and much more besides.</p> - -<p>In order to fill up the time, he learnt to play the B-cornet in the -band of the students' club by the advice of Fritz who played the -trombone. But the practices were very irregular and began to cause -disputes. John also played backgammon, which Fritz hated, and so he -wandered about to acquaintances with his backgammon board and played -with them. He found it as dull as reading Swedenborg.</p> - -<p>"Why do you not study?" Fritz often asked him.</p> - -<p>"I have no books," answered John. That was a good reason. He could -not visit the restaurants, for he had no money, and lived very -quietly. At the midday meal he drank only water, and when on Sundays -he and Fritz drank half a bottle of beer, they remained sitting at -table half-fuddled and telling each other, perhaps for the hundredth -time, old school adventures. The term crept along intolerably slow, -uneventful and torpid. John perceived that, as one of the lower class, -he could plod on thus far but no further. The economic question brought -his plans to a standstill. Or was it that he was tired of living a -one-sided mental life without muscular exercise? Trifling experiences -for which he ought to have been prepared contributed to embitter him. -One day Fritz entered their room with a young count. He introduced -John to him, and the count tried to remember whether they had not been -comrades at the Clara School. John seemed to remember something of -the kind. The old friends and intimate companions addressed each other -as "count" and "sir." Then John remembered how he and the young count -had once played as boys in a tobacco store on the Sabbatsberg, and how -something had made him prophesy, "In a few years, old fellow, we shall -not know each other any more." The young count had protested strongly -against this and felt hurt. Why did John remember this just then -particularly, since it is quite natural that comrades should become -strangers to each other when intercourse has been so long broken off? -Because at the sight of the noble, he felt the slave blood seethe in -his veins. This kind of feeling has been ascribed to the difference of -races. But that is not so, for then the stronger plebeian race would -feel superior to the weaker aristocratic. It is simply class-hatred.</p> - -<p>The count in question was a pale, tall, slender youth of no striking -appearance. He was very poor and looked half-starved. He was -intelligent, industrious, and not at all proud. Later on in life -John came across him again and found him to be a sociable, pleasant -man, leading an inconspicuous life as an official, amid difficulties -resembling John's own. Why should he hate him? And then they both -laughed at their youthful stupidity. That was possible then, for John -seemed to have "got ahead" as the saying is; otherwise he would not -have laughed at all. "Stand up that I may sit down," this was the -more malicious than luminous way of expressing the aspiration of the -lower orders in those days. But it was a misunderstanding. Formerly -one strove to elbow one's way up to the other; now one would rather -pull the other down to save oneself the trouble of clambering up where -nothing is to be found. "Move a little so that we can both sit" would -now be the proper formula.</p> - -<p>It has been said that those who are "above" are there by a law of -necessity and would be there under all circumstances; competition -is free and each can ascend if he likes, and if the conditions were -changed, the same race would begin again. "Good!" say the lower -classes, "let us race again, but come down here and stand where I -do. You have got a start with privileges and capital, but now let us -be weighed with carriage harness and racing saddle after the modern -fashion. You have got ahead by cheating. The race is therefore declared -null and void and we will run it again, unless we come to an agreement -to do away with all racing, as an antiquated sport of ancient times."</p> - -<p>Fritz saw things from another point of view. He did not wish to pull -those above down, but to become an aristocrat himself, climb up to -them and be like them. He began to lisp and made elegant gestures with -his hands, greeted people as though he were a cabinet minister, and -threw his head back as though he had a private income. But he respected -himself too much to become ridiculous and satirised himself and his -ambition. The fact was that the aristocrats whom he wished to resemble -had simple, easy, unaffected manners,—some of them indeed quite like -the middle class, while Fritz was fashioning himself after an ancient -theatrical pattern which no longer existed. He did not therefore -become what he expected in life though he had dozed away many a summer -in the castles of his friends, and ended in a very modest official -post. He was received as a student in their guest-rooms but came no -further; as a district judge he was not introduced in the salons which -as a student he had entered without introduction.</p> - -<p>The effects of the different circles in which John and Fritz moved -began now to be apparent, first in mutual coldness, then in hostility. -One evening it broke out at the card-table.</p> - -<p>Fritz one day towards the end of the term said to John, "You should not -go about with such bounders as you do."</p> - -<p>"What is the matter with them?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, but it would be better if you went with me to my friends."</p> - -<p>"They don't suit me."</p> - -<p>"Well, they suit me, but they think you are proud."</p> - -<p>"I?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; and to show you are not, come with me this evening and drink -punch."</p> - -<p>John went though unwillingly. They were a solid-looking set of -law-students who played cards. They discussed the stakes for which they -should play, and John succeeded in reducing them to a minimum, though -they made sour faces. Then a game of "knack" was proposed. John said -that he never played it.</p> - -<p>"On principle?" he was asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he answered.</p> - -<p>"How long ago did you make that resolve," asked Fritz sarcastically.</p> - -<p>"Just this minute."</p> - -<p>"Just now, here?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, just now, here!" answered John.</p> - -<p>They exchanged hostile looks and that was the end. They went home -silent; went to bed silent; and got up silent. For five weeks they ate -their dinner at the same table and never spoke to each other. A gulf -had opened between them and their friendship was ended; they had no -more intercourse with each other and there was nothing to bring them -together again. How had that come about?</p> - -<p>These two characters so opposed to each other had held together for -five years through habit, through comradeship in the class-room, -and common interests; they had felt drawn to each other by common -recollections, defeats and victories. It was a compromise between fire -and water which must cease sooner or later and might cease at any -moment. Now they flew asunder as if by an explosion; the masks fell; -they did not become enemies, but simply discovered that they <i>were</i> -born enemies, <i>i.e.</i> two oppositely-disposed natures which must go, -each its own way. They did not close accounts with a quarrel or useless -accusations, but simply made an end without more ado. An unnatural -silence prevailed at their midday meal; sometimes in lifting dishes -their hands crossed but their looks avoided each other; now and then -Fritz's lips moved, as though he wished to say something, but his -larynx remained closed. What should he say after all. There was nothing -to say but what the silence expressed: "We have nothing more in common."</p> - -<p>And yet there was something left after all. Sometimes Fritz came home -in the evening, cheerful, and obviously prepared to say, "Come! cheer -up old fellow!" But then he stood still in the middle of the room, -petrified by John's icy manner, and went out again. Sometimes also -it occurred to John, who suffered under the breach of friendship to -say to his friend, "How stupid we are!" But then he felt frozen again -by Fritz's indifferent manner. They had worn out their friendship by -living together. They knew each other by heart, all one another's -secrets and weaknesses, and precisely what answer either would give. -That was the end. Nothing more remained.</p> - -<p>A miserable torpid time followed. Tom away from the common life of -school where he had worked like part of a machine in unison with -others, and abandoned to himself, he ceased to live in the proper sense -of the word. Without books, papers or social intercourse, he remained -empty; for the brain produces of itself very little, perhaps nothing; -in order to make combinations it must be supplied with material from -without. Now nothing came; the channels were stopped, the ways blocked, -and his soul pined away. Sometimes he took Fritz's books and looked -into them; among them he came across Geijer's History for the first -time. Geijer was a great name and known through his "Kolargossen," -"Sista Kampen," "Vikingen" and other poems. John now read his history -of Gustav Vasa. He was astonished to find no illuminating point of -view nor any fresh information. The style, which he had heard praised, -was pedestrian. It was like a mere memorial sketch, this history of a -long-lived king's reign, and cursory also like a text-book. Printed in -small type, and without notes, the history of this important king would -not have been longer than a small pamphlet. One day John asked some of -his friends what they thought of Geijer.</p> - -<p>"He is devilish dull," they answered.</p> - -<p>That was the common opinion before jubilee-commemorations and the -erection of statues prevented people saying plainly what they thought.</p> - -<p>John then looked for a little into law-books, but was alarmed at the -idea of having to study that sort of thing. His home life and religious -education had given him a distaste for everything that concerned the -common interests of people. Through the ceaseless repetition of the -maxim that young men should not interfere with politics, that is to -say, with the common weal, and through Christian individualism and -introspection, John had become a consistent egoist.</p> - -<p>"Let every one mind his own business" was the first command of this -egotistic morality. Therefore he read no papers and troubled little how -things were going on about him, what was happening in the world, how -the destinies of men were being shaped, or what were the thoughts of -the leading minds of the time. Therefore it never occurred to him to -go to the meetings of the club where questions of common interest were -dealt with. "There were enough to look after those things," he thought.</p> - -<p>He was not alone in that opinion, so that the meetings of the club were -managed by a few energetic fellows, who were regarded perhaps wrongly, -as egoists and managed public business in their own interests. John who -let the affairs of the little society go as they liked, was perhaps a -greater egoist, occupied as he was with the affairs of his own soul. -But in his own defence and on behalf of many of his countrymen it must -be said that he and they were shy. This shyness, however, should have -been got rid of at school by practice in public speaking. In this -shyness there was also a degree of cowardice, the fear of opposition -or ridicule, and especially the fear of being thought presumptuous or -wishing to push oneself forward. Every youth who did so, was at once -suppressed, for here the aristocracy of seniority prevailed in a very -high degree.</p> - -<p>When he found the room too stuffy, he went out of the town. But the -depressing landscape with its endless expanse of clay made him sad. He -was no plain-dweller, but had his roots in the undulating scenery of -Stockholm, diversified by water channels. The flat country depressed -him and he suffered from homesickness to such a degree that when he -returned to Stockholm at Christmas and saw again the smiling contours -of the coast of Brunsvik, he was moved to the point of sentimentality. -When he saw once more the gentle curves of the woods of Haga Park he -felt his soul, as it were, attuned again, after having been so long -out of tune. To such a degree were his nerves affected by his natural -surroundings.</p> - -<p>Under other circumstances, the society of a smaller town like Upsala -would have been more congenial to him than that of the great town -which he hated. Had the small town been but a developed form of the -village, preserving the simple rustic appliances for health and -comfort, with fragments of landscape between the houses, it would have -been far preferable to the great town. But now the small town was -merely a shabby pretentious copy of the great town with its mistakes, -and therefore the more offensive. It also reeked with provinciality. -Every one mentioned their birthplace, "My name is Pettersson, from -Ostgothland," "Mine is Andersson, from SmÃ¥land." There was a keen -rivalry between the members of different provinces. Those from -Stockholm regarded themselves as the first and were therefore envied -and despised by the "peasants." There was much dispute as to whom the -first place really belonged. The Wormlanders boasted of having produced -Geijer whose portrait hung in their hall, while the SmÃ¥landers had -Tegner, Berzelius and LinnÊus. The Stockholm students who had only -Bergfalk and Bellmann were called "gutter-snipes." This was not a very -brilliant piece of wit especially as it emanated from a Kalmar student -who was thereupon asked "whether there were no gutters in Kalmar?"</p> - -<p>There was something pettifogging also in the way in which the -professors fought for advancement by means of pamphlets and newspaper -articles. The election to any particular professorial chair rested in -the last resource with the Chancellor of the University who lived at -Stockholm.</p> - -<p>In 1867 the University had no especially distinguished teachers. Some -of them were merely old decayed tipplers. Others were young immature -dilettantes who had obtained advancement through their wives and the -modicum of talent which they possessed. The only one who enjoyed a -certain reputation was Swedelius. This, however, was rather due to -his bonhomie and the anecdotes which gathered round him, then to his -own talent. His learned activity was confined to the composition in -an austere style of textbooks and memorial addresses. These were not -strictly scientific, but showed traces of original research.</p> - -<p>On the whole all the subjects of study were introduced from abroad, -for the most part from Germany. The textbooks in most departments -were in German or French. Very few were in English which was little -known. Even the Professor of Literary History could not pronounce -English and began his lectures with an apology for not being able -to do so. There was no doubt that he knew the language for he had -published translations of Swedish poems. "But why did he not learn -the pronunciation?" the students asked. Most of the dissertations for -degrees were mere compilations from the German; occasionally they were -direct translations which caused a scandal.</p> - -<p>The fact was that the period had no special feature to characterise -it. There is no such thing as Swedish culture any more than there is -Belgian, Swiss, or Hungarian. Sweden had indeed produced a LinnÊus and -a Berzelius, but they had had no successors.</p> - -<p>John had no spirit of enterprise. At school his work had been settled -for him; at the university it was all left to him. He was overcome by -lethargy and listlessness and worried by not knowing what to do at the -end of the term. He saw that he must seek for a position in which he -could support himself. A friend had told him that one might become an -elementary teacher in the country without passing any more examinations -and could very well support oneself in such a post. Now it was John's -dream to live in the country. He had a natural dislike to towns though -he had been born in the metropolis. He could not accustom himself -to live without light and air, nor flourish in these streets and -market-places, where the outward signs of a higher or lower position in -the absurd social scale counted for so much, <i>e.g.</i> such subordinate -things as dress and manner. He had hostility to culture in his blood -and could never conceive of himself as anything else than a natural -product, which did not wish to be severed from its organic connection -with the earth. He was like a plant vainly feeling with its roots -between the pavement-stones for some soil; like an animal pining for -the forest.</p> - -<p>There is a fish which climbs up trees, and an eel can go on land to -look for a pease-field, but both of them return to the water. Fowls -have been domesticated so long that their ancestral characteristics -have died out, but they preserve the habit of sleeping on a perch which -represents the branch on which the black-cock and the wood-grouse -roost. Geese become restless in autumn, for an instinct in their blood -tells them that it is migrating time. So in spite of accommodation to -new circumstances there is always a tendency to go back.</p> - -<p>Thus is it also with men. The dweller in the north, so long as he -preserves civilised habits, has not been able to acclimatise himself -thoroughly, and is still liable to consumption. His stomach, nerves, -heart and skin were able to accommodate themselves, but not his lungs. -The Eskimo on the other hand, originally a southerner, succeeded in -acclimatising himself but had to give up civilised habits.</p> - -<p>And what is the meaning of the northerner's longing for the south -unless it be the wish to return to his first home, the land of the -sun, the bank of the Ganges where he was cradled? And the dislike -of children to meat, their longing for fruit and love of climbing, -what is it all but "reversion to type?" Therefore civilisation means -a continual strain and struggle to combat this backward tendency. -Education winds up the clock, but when the mainspring is not strong -enough it snaps and the works run down, till quiet ensues. As -civilisation advances the strain is ever greater and the statistics -of insanity show a perpetual increase. One cannot swim against the -stream of civilisation, but one may escape to land. Modern Socialism -which wishes to bring down the upper classes with their worthless -and dangerous motto "Higher!" is a backward movement in a healthy -direction. The strain will decrease as the pressure from above -decreases, and thereby a great deal of superfluous luxury will be got -rid of. In certain parts of German Switzerland there is already a -certain relative quiet. There we find no restless hunting after honours -and distinctions because there are none to be had. A millionaire -lives in a large cottage and laughs at the bedizened townsfolk,—a -good-natured laugh without any envy in it, for he knows that he could -buy up their finery for ready cash, if he chose. But he will not, for -luxury has no value in his neighbours' eyes.</p> - -<p>Men could therefore be happier if competition were not so keen and -they will yet be so, for the chief constituent of happiness is peace -along with less toil and less luxury. It is not the railways which are -to be blamed, but the superabundance of them. In Arcadian Switzerland -railways have ruined whole districts where no freightage is required -and people usually go on foot. To this day distances are reckoned by -pedestrian measures.</p> - -<p>"It is eight hours to Zurich," says some one.</p> - -<p>"Eight! is it possible?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, certainly."</p> - -<p>"By the railway?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! by the railway,—that is only an hour and a half."</p> - -<p>In Sweden there is a railway which carries regularly three passengers -in its three classes, a factory-owner, a bailiff and a clerk. We may -live to see them shut up the railway stations for want of coal when -the coal strikes have sent up the price, for want of guards when wages -rise, and for want of freight when wood and oats can no longer be -procured; iron is already too dear to be used for railways, and the old -water-ways ought to be tried.</p> - -<p>It is no use to preach against civilisation,—that one knows well, but -if we observe the currents of the time we shall see that a return to -nature is in process of going on. Turgenieff has already described this -by the word "simplification." That is the mistake of the evolutionists -that in everything which is in motion or course of development they -see a progress towards human happiness, forgetting that a sickness may -develop to death or recovery.</p> - -<p>After all, what a superficial appendage civilisation is! Make a -nobleman drunk and he can become like a savage; let a child loose in -a wood without any one to look after it (provided that it can feed -itself) and it will not learn to speak of itself. Out of a peasant's -son who is generally considered so low in the social scale, one -can make in a single generation a man of science, a minister, an -arch-bishop, or an artist. Here there can be no talk of heredity, for -the peasant-father who stood apparently at such a low level, could not -have inherited anything from cultivated brains. On the other hand, the -children of a genius inherit usually nothing but used-up brains, except -occasionally a skill in their father's line of work, which they have -acquired by daily intercourse with their father.</p> - -<p>The town is the fire-place whither the living fuel from the country is -brought and devoured; it is to keep the present social machinery at -work, it is true, but in the long run the fuel will prove too dear, and -the machine come to a standstill. The society of the future will not -need this machine in order to work or they will be more sparing of the -fuel. But it is a mistake to conjecture the needs of a future state of -society from the present one.</p> - -<p>Our present society is perhaps a natural product, but inorganic; the -future society will be an organic product and a higher one, for it -will not deprive men of the first conditions for an organic existence. -There will be the same difference between these two forms of society as -between paved streets and grass meadows.</p> - -<p>The youth's dream often left artificial society to wander at large -in nature. Society had been formed by men doing violence to natural -laws, just as one may bleach a plant under a flower-pot and produce an -edible salad, but the plant's capacity to live healthily and propagate -itself as a plant is destroyed. Such a plant is the civilised man -made by artificial bleaching useful for an anÊmic society, but, as -an individual, wretched and unhealthy. Must the process of bleaching -continue in order to insure the existence of this decayed society? -Must the individual remain wretched in order to maintain an unhealthy -society? For how can society be healthy when its individual members -are ailing? A single individual cannot demand that society should be -sacrificed for his sake, but a majority of individuals have a right to -bring about such changes in the society, which they themselves compose, -as may be beneficial to themselves.</p> - -<p>Under the simpler conditions of country life John believed he could -be happy in an obscure post, without feeling that he had sunk in the -social scale. But he could not be so in the town where he would be -continually reminded of the height from which he had fallen. To come -down voluntarily is not painful if the onlookers can be persuaded that -it <i>is</i> voluntarily, but to fall is bitter, especially as a fall always -arouses satisfaction in those standing below. To mount, strive upwards -and better one's position has become a social instinct, and the youth -felt the force of it, though in his view the "upper" was not always -higher.</p> - -<p>John wished now to realise some result,—an active life which should -bring him an income. He looked through many advertisements for teachers -in elementary schools. Positions were advertised to which were attached -salaries of 300 or 600 kronas, a house, a meadow and a garden. He tried -for one of these places after another but obtained no answer.</p> - -<p>When the term was over and his 80 kronas spent, he returned home, not -knowing whither to turn, what he should become, or how he should live. -He had glanced in the forecourt and seen that there was no room in it -for him.</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> A krona = 1s. <i>2d</i>.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - -<h4>BELOW AND ABOVE</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>"Are you a complete scholar now?" With this and similar questions John -was greeted ironically on his return home. His father took the matter -seriously and strove to frame plans without coming to any result. John -was a student; that was a fact; but what was to follow?</p> - -<p>It was winter, and so the white student cap could not bestow on him -a mild halo of glory or bring any honour to the family. Some one has -asserted that war would cease if uniforms were done away with; and it -is certain there would not be so many students if they had no outward -sign to parade. In Paris where they have none, they disappear in the -crowd, and no one makes a fuss about them; in Berlin on the other hand, -they have a privileged place by the side of officers. Therefore also -Germany is a land of professors and France of the bourgeois.</p> - -<p>John's father now saw that he had educated a good-for-nothing for -society who could not dig, but perhaps was not ashamed to beg. The -world stood open for the youth to starve or to perish in. His father -did not like his idea of becoming an elementary school-teacher. Was -that to be the only result of so much work? His ambitious dreams -received a shock from the idea of such a come-down. An elementary -school-teacher was on a level with a sergeant, oil a plane from which -there was no hope of mounting. Climb one must as long as others did; -one must climb till one broke one's neck, so long as society was -divided into ranks and classes. John had not passed the student's -examination for the sake of knowledge, but of belonging to the upper -class, and now he seemed to be meditating a descent to the lower.</p> - -<p>It became painful for him at home for he felt as though he were eating -the bread of charity when Christmas was over, and he could no longer be -regarded as a Christmas guest.</p> - -<p>One day he accidentally met in the street a school-teacher whom he -knew, and whom he had not seen for a long time. They talked about the -future and John's friend suggested to him a post in the Stockholm -elementary school as suitable for him while reading for his degree. He -would get a thousand kronas salary and have an hour to himself daily. -John objected "Anywhere except in Stockholm." His friend replied that -several students had been teachers in the elementary school, "Really! -then he would have companions in misfortune." Yes, and one had come -from the New Elementary School where he was a teacher. John went, made -an application, and was appointed with a salary of 900 kronas. His -father approved his decision when he heard that it would help him to -read for his degree, and John undertook to live as a boarder at home. -One winter morning at half-past eight, John went down the Nordtullsgata -to the Clara School, exactly as he had done when he was eight years -old. There were the same streets and the same Clara bells, and he was -to teach the lowest class! It was like being put back to learn a lesson -of eleven years ago. Just as afraid as then,—yes, more afraid of -coming too late he entered the large class-room, where together with -two female teachers he was to have the oversight of a hundred children. -There they sat,—children like those in the Jakob School, but younger. -Ugly, stunted, pale, swollen, sickly, with cast-down looks, in coarse -clothes and heavy shoes. Suffering, most probably, suffering from the -consciousness that others were more fortunate, and would always be -so, as one then believed, had impressed on their faces the stamp of -pain, which neither religious resignation nor the hope of heaven could -obliterate. The upper classes avoided them with a bad conscience, built -themselves houses outside the town, and left it to the professional -over-seers of the poor to come in contact with these outcasts.</p> - -<p>A hymn was sung, the Lord's Prayer was read; everything was as before; -no progress had been made except that the forms had been exchanged for -seats and desks, and the room was light and airy. John had to fold his -hands and join in the hymn, thus already being obliged to do violence -to his conscience. Prayers over, the head-master entered. He spoke to -John in a fatherly way and as his superintendent gave him instruction -and advice. This class, he said, was the worst, and the teacher must -be strict.</p> - -<p>So John took his class into a special room to begin the lesson. The -room was exactly like that in the Clara School, and there stood the -dreadful desk with steps, which resembled a scaffold and was painted -red as though stained with blood. A stick was put into his hand with -which he might rap or strike as he chose. He mounted the scaffold. He -felt shy before the thirsty faces of girls and boys opposite who looked -curiously at him, to see if he were going to worry them.</p> - -<p>"What is your lesson?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"The first commandment," the whole class exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Only one must answer at a time. You, top boy what is your name?"</p> - -<p>"Hallberg," cried the whole class.</p> - -<p>"No, only one at a time,—the one I ask."</p> - -<p>The children giggled. "He is not dangerous," they thought.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, what is the first commandment?" John asked the top boy.</p> - -<p>"Thou shalt have no other gods but Me." He knew that then.</p> - -<p>"What is that?" John asked again, trying to lay as little emphasis -as possible on the "that." Then he asked fifteen children the same -question and a quarter of an hour had passed. John thought this -idiotic. What should he do now? Say what he knew about God? But the -common point of view then was, that nothing was known about Him. John -was a theist, and still believed in a personal God, but could say -nothing more. He would have liked to have attacked the divinity of -Christ, but would have been dismissed had he done so.</p> - -<p>A pause followed. There was an unnatural stillness while he reflected -on his false position and the foolish method of teaching. If he had -now said that nothing was known of God, the whole catechism and Bible -instruction would have been superfluous. They knew that they must not -steal or lie. Why then make such a fuss? He felt a mad wish to make -friends and fellow-sinners of the children.</p> - -<p>"What shall we do now?" he said.</p> - -<p>The whole class looked at each other and giggled.</p> - -<p>"This is a jolly sort of teacher," they thought.</p> - -<p>"What must the teacher do when he has heard the lesson?" he asked the -top boy.</p> - -<p>"Hm! he generally explains it," he and one or two others answered.</p> - -<p>John could certainly explain the origin and growth of the conception of -God, but that would not do.</p> - -<p>"You need not do any more," he said, "but don't make a noise."</p> - -<p>The children looked at him, and he at them mutually smiling.</p> - -<p>"Don't you think this is absurd," he felt inclined to say, but checked -himself and only smiled. But he collected himself when he saw that they -were laughing at him. "This method would not do," he thought. So he -commanded attention and went through the first commandment again till -each child had had a question. After extraordinary exertions on his -part, the clock at last struck nine, and the lesson was over.</p> - -<p>Then the three divisions of the class were assembled in the great -hall to prepare for going into the play-ground to get fresh air. -"Prepare" is the right word for such a simple affair as going into the -play-ground demanded a long preparation. An exact description would -fill a whole printed page, and perhaps be regarded as a caricature; we -will be content with giving a hint.</p> - -<p>In the first place, all the hundred children had to sit motionless, -absolutely motionless, and silent, absolutely silent, in their seats as -though they were to be photographed. From the master's desk the whole -assembly looked like a grey carpet with bright patterns, but the next -moment one of them moved the head; the offender had to rise from his -seat and stand by the wall. The total effect was now disturbed, and -there had to be a good many raps with the cane before two hundred arms -lay parallel on the desks and a hundred heads were at right angles -with their collar-bones. When quiet was in some degree restored a new -rapping began which demanded absolute quiet. But at the very moment -when the absolute was all but attained, some muscle grew tired, some -nerve slackened, some sinew relaxed. Again there was confusion, cries, -blows, and a new attempt to reach the absolute. It generally ended by -the female teacher (the males did not drive it so far) closing one eye -and pretending that the absolute had been reached.</p> - -<p>Then came the important moment, when, at a given signal the whole -hundred must spring from their seats and stand in order, but nothing -more. It was a ticklish moment when slates fell down and rulers -clattered. Then they had to sit down and begin all over again by -keeping perfectly still.</p> - -<p>When they had really got on their legs, they were marched off in -divisions but on tip-toe without exception. Otherwise they had to turn -round and sit down again, get up again and so on. They had to go on -tip-toe in wooden sabots and water-boots. It was a great mistake; it -accustomed the children to stealthiness and gave their whole appearance -something cat-like and deceitful. In the play-ground a teacher had -to arrange those who wanted to drink in a straight line before the -water-tap by the entrance; at the same time the lavatories at the -other end of the play-ground had to be inspected, and games had to be -organised and watched over. Then the children were again drawn up and -marched into school. If it was not done quietly, they had to go out -again.</p> - -<p>Then another lesson began. The children read out of a patriotic -reading-book the principal object of which seemed to be to instil -respect for the upper classes and to represent Sweden as the best -country in Europe, although as regards climate and social economy, -it is one of the worst, its culture is borrowed from abroad, and all -its kings were of foreign origin. They did not venture to give such -teaching to the children of the upper classes in the Clara School and -the Lyceum, but in the Jakob School they had sufficient courage to -make poor children sing a patriotic song about the Duke of Ostgothland. -In this occurred a verse addressed to the crew of the fleet, saying -victory was sure in the battle they wished for "because Prince Oscar -leads us on," or something of the sort.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the reading-lesson began. But just at that moment the -head-master came in. John wished to stop but the head-master beckoned -to him to go on. The children who had lost their respect for him after -the catechism-lesson were inattentive. John scolded them, but without -result. Then the head-master came forward with a cane; took the book -from John and made a little speech, to the effect that this division -was the worst, but now their teacher should see how to deal with them. -The exercise which followed seemed to have as its object the attainment -of perfect attention. The absolute again seemed to be the standard by -which these children were to be trained in this incomplete world of -relativity.</p> - -<p>The boy who was reading was interrupted, and another name called at -random out of the class. To follow attentively was assumed to be the -easiest thing in the world by this old man who certainly must have -experienced how thoughts wander their own way while the eyes pass -over the printed page. The inattentive one was dragged by his hair or -clothes and caned till he fell howling on the ground.</p> - -<p>Then the head-master departed after recommending John to use the cane -diligently. There remained nothing but to follow this method or to go; -the latter did not suit John's plans, therefore he remained. He made a -speech to the children and referred to the head-master. "Now," he said, -"you know how you must behave if you want to escape a thrashing. He who -gets one, has himself to thank. Don't blame me. Here is the stick, and -there is your lesson. Learn your lesson or you will get the stick,—and -it isn't my fault."</p> - -<p>That was cunningly put, but it was unmerciful, for one ought to have -first ascertained how far the children could do their work. They could -not, for they were the most lively and therefore the most inattentive. -So the cane was kept going all day, accompanied by cries of pain, and -fear on the faces of the innocent. It was terrible! To pay attention -is not in the power of the will, and therefore all this punishment was -mere torture. John felt the absurdity of the part he had to play, but -he had to do his duty. Sometimes he was tired and let things go as they -liked, but then his colleagues, male and female, came and made friendly -representations. Sometimes he found the whole thing so ridiculous -that he could not help smiling with the children while he caned them. -Both sides saw that they were working at something impossible and -unnecessary.</p> - -<p>Ibsen, who does not believe in the aristocracy of birth or of wealth, -has lately (1886) expressed his belief that the industrial class -are the true nobility. But why should they necessarily be so? If to -do no manual labour tends to degeneration, perhaps degeneration is -brought about even more quickly by excessive labour and want. All -these children born of manual labourers looked more sickly, weak and -stupid than the upper-class children which he had seen. One or the -other muscle might be more strongly developed,—a shoulder-blade, a -hand, or a foot,—but they looked anÊmic under their pale skins. -Many had extraordinarily large heads which seemed to be swollen with -water, their ears and noses ran, their hands were frost-bitten. The -various professional diseases of town-labourers seemed to have been -inherited; one saw in miniature the gas-worker's lungs and blood spoilt -by sulphur-fumes, the smith's shoulders and feet bent out-wards, the -painter's brain atrophied by varnishes and poisonous colours, the -scrofulous eruption of the chimney sweeper, the contracted chest of -the book-binder; here one heard the cough of the workers in metal -and asphalt, smelt the poisons of the paper-stainer, observed the -watch-maker's short-sightedness, in second editions, so to speak. In -truth this was no race to which the future belonged, or on which the -future could build; nor was it a race which could permanently increase, -for the ranks of the workers are continually recruited from the country.</p> - -<p>It was not till about two o'clock that the great school-room was -emptied, for it took them about an hour with blows and raps to get out -of it into the street. The most unpractical part of it was that the -children had to march into the hall in troops to get their overcoats -and cloaks, and then march into the school-room again, instead of -going straight home. When John got into the street, he asked himself -"Is that the celebrated education which they have given to the lower -classes with so much sacrifice?" He could ask, and he was answered, -"Can it be done in any other way?" "No," he was obliged to answer. "If -it is your intention to educate a slavish lower class, always ready to -obey, train them with the stick,—if you mean to bring up a proletariat -to demand nothing of life, tell them lies about heaven. Tell them that -your method of teaching is ridiculous, let them begin to criticise -or get their way in one point and you have taken a step towards the -dissolution of society. But society is built up upon an obedient -conscientious lower class; therefore keep them down from the first; -deprive them of will and reason, and teach them to hope for nothing but -to be content." There was method in this madness.</p> - -<p>As regards the instruction in the elementary school, there was both -a good and bad side to it; the good was that they had introduced -object-teaching after the example of Pestalozzi, Rousseau's disciple; -the bad, that the students who taught in the elementary schools had -introduced "scientific" teaching. The simple learning by heart of the -multiplication table was not enough; it, together with fractions, -had to be understood. Understood? And yet an engineer who has been -through the technical high school cannot explain "why" a fraction -can be diminished by three if the sum of the figures is divisible by -three. On this principle seamen would not be allowed to use logarithm -tables, because they cannot calculate logarithms. To be always -relaying the foundation instead of building on what is already laid is -an educational luxury and leads to the over-multiplication of lessons -in schools.</p> - -<p>Some one may object that John should first have reformed himself -as teacher, before he set about reforming the system of education; -but he could not; he was a passive instrument in the hands of the -superintendent and the school authorities. The best teachers, that is -to say, those who forced the worst (in this case the best) results out -of the pupils were the uneducated ones who came from the Seminary. They -were not sceptical about the methods in use and had no squeamishness -about caning, but the children respected them the most. A great coarse -fellow who had formerly been a carriage-maker had the bigger boys -completely under his thumb. The lower class seem to have really more -fear and respect for those of their own rank than the upper class. -Bailiffs and foremen are more awe-imposing than superintendents and -teachers. Do the lower classes see that the superior who has come out -of their ranks understands their affairs better, and therefore pay him -more respect? The female teachers also enjoyed more respect than the -male. They were pedantic, demanded absolute perfection, and were not at -all soft-hearted, but rather cruel. They were fond of practising the -refined cruelty of blows on the palm of the hand and showed in so doing -a want of intelligence which the most superficial study of physiology -would have remedied. When a child by involuntary reflex action, drew -his fingers back, he was punished all the more for not keeping his -fingers still. As if one could prevent blinking, when something blew -into one's eye! The female teachers had the advantage of knowing very -little about teaching and were plagued with no doubts. It was not true -that they had less pay than the men teachers. They had relatively more; -and if after passing a paltry teacher's examination they had received -more than the students, that would have been unjust. They were treated -with partiality, regarded as miracles, when they were competent, and -received allowances for travelling abroad.</p> - -<p>As comrades, they were friendly and helpful if one was polite and -submissive and let them hold the reins. There was not the slightest -trace of flirtation; the men saw them in anything but becoming -situations, and under an aspect which women do not usually show to -the other sex, viz. that of jailers. They made notes of everything, -prepared themselves for their lessons, were narrow-minded and content, -and saw through nothing. It was a very suitable occupation for them -under existing circumstances.</p> - -<p>When John was thoroughly sick of caning, or could not manage a boy, or -was in despair generally, he sent the black sheep to a female teacher, -who willingly undertook the unpleasant rÃŽle of executioner.</p> - -<p>What it is that makes the competent teacher is not clear. Some produced -an effect by their quiet manner, others by their nervousness; some -seemed to magnetise the children, others beat them; some imposed on -them by their age or their manly appearance, etc. The women worked as -women, <i>i.e.</i> through a half-forgotten tradition of a past matriarchate.</p> - -<p>John was not competent. He looked too young and was only just nineteen; -he was sceptical about the methods employed and everything else; with -all his seriousness he was playful and boyish. The whole matter to him -was only an employment by the way, for he was ambitious and wished to -advance, but did not know in which direction.</p> - -<p>Moreover he was an aristocrat like his contemporaries. Through -education his habits and senses had been refined, or spoilt, as one may -choose to call it; he found it hard to tolerate unpleasant smells, ugly -objects, distorted bodies, coarse expressions, torn clothes. Life had -given him much, and these daily reminders of poverty plagued him like -an evil conscience. He himself might have been one of the lower class -if his mother had married one of her own position.</p> - -<p>"He was proud" a shop-boy would have said, who had mounted to the -position of editor of a paper and boasted that he was content with his -lot, forgetting that he might well be content since he had risen from -a low position. "He was proud" a master shoemaker would have said, who -would have rather thrown himself into the sea than become an apprentice -again. John <i>was</i> proud, of that there was no doubt, as proud as the -master shoemaker, but not in such a high degree, as he had descended -from the level of the student to the elementary school-teacher. That, -however, was no virtue, but a necessity, and he did not therefore boast -of his step downward, nor give himself the air of being a friend of -the people. One cannot command sympathies and antipathies, and for the -lower class to demand love and self-sacrifice from the upper class is -mere idealism. The lower class is sacrificed for the upper class, but -they have offered themselves willingly. They have the right to take -back their rights, but they should do it themselves. No one gives up -his position willingly, therefore the lower class should not wait for -kings and the upper class to go. "Pull us down! but all together."</p> - -<p>If an intelligent man of the upper class help in such an operation, -those below should be thankful to him especially since such an act is -liable to the imputation of being inspired by impure motives. Therefore -the lower class should not too narrowly inspect the motives of those -who help them; the result is in all eases the same. The aristocrats -seem to have seen this and therefore regard one of themselves who sides -with the proletariat as a traitor. He is a traitor to his class, that -is true; and the lower class should put it to his credit.</p> - -<p>John was not an aristocrat in the sense that he used the word "mob" or -despised the poor. Through his mother he was closely allied to them, -but circumstances had estranged him from them. That was the fault of -class-education. This fault might be done away with for the future, if -elementary schools were reformed by the inclusion of the knowledge of -civil duties in their programme, and by their being made obligatory for -all, without exception, as the militia-schools are. Then it would be no -longer a disgrace to become an elementary school-teacher as it now is, -and made a matter of reproach to a man that he has been one.</p> - -<p>John, in order to keep himself above, applied himself to his future -work. To this end he studied Italian grammar in his spare time at the -school. He could now buy books and did so. He was honest enough not to -construe these efforts at climbing up as an ideal thirst for knowledge -or a striving for the good of humanity. He simply read for his degree.</p> - -<p>But the meagre diet he had lived on in Upsala, his midday meals at 6 -kronas, the milk and the bread had undermined his strength, and he -was now in the pleasure-seeking period of youth. It was tedious at -home, and in the afternoons he went to the café or the restaurant, -where he met friends. Strong drinks invigorated him and he slept well -after them. The desire for alcohol seems to appear regularly in each -adolescent. All northerners are born of generations of drinkers from -the early heathen times, when beer and mead was drunk, and it is quite -natural that this desire should be felt as a necessity. With John it -was an imperious need the suppression of which resulted in a diminution -of strength. It may be questioned whether abstinence for us may not -involve the same risk, as the giving up of poison for an arsenic-eater. -Probably the otherwise praiseworthy temperance movement will merely -end in demanding moderation; that is a virtue and not a mere exhibition -of will power which results in boasting and self-righteousness.</p> - -<p>John who had hitherto only worn east-off suits, began to wear fine -clothes. His salary seemed to him extraordinarily great and in the -magnifying-glass of his fancy assumed huge proportions, with the result -that he soon ran into debt. Debt which grew and grew and could never be -paid, became the vulture gnawing at his life, the object of his dreams, -the wormwood which poisoned his content. What foolish hopefulness, what -colossal self-deceit it was to incur debts! What did he expect? To gain -an academic dignity. And then? To become a teacher with a salary of 750 -kronas! Less than he had now! Not the least trying part of his work was -to accommodate his brain to the capacity of the children. That meant -to come down to the level of the younger and less intelligent, and to -screw down the hammer so that it might hit the anvil,—an operation -which injured the machine.</p> - -<p>On the other hand he derived real profit from his observations in -the families of the children, whom his duty required him to visit on -Sundays. There was one boy in his class who was the most difficult of -all. He was dirty and ill-dressed, grinned continually, smelt badly, -never knew his lessons and was always being caned. He had a very large -head and staring eyes which rolled and turned about continually. John -had to visit his parents in order to find out the reason of his -irregular attendance at school and bad behaviour. He therefore went -to the Apelbergsgata where they kept a public-house. He found that -the father had gone to work, but the mother was at the counter. The -public-house was dark and evil-smelling, filled with men who looked -threateningly at John as he entered probably taking him for a plain -clothes policeman. He gave his message to the mother and was asked -into a room behind the counter. One glance at it sufficed to explain -everything. The mother blamed her son and excused him alternately and -she had some reason for the latter. The boy was accustomed to "lick the -glasses,"—that was the explanation and that was enough. What could be -done in such a case? A change of dwelling, better food, a nurse to look -after him and so on. All these were questions of money!</p> - -<p>Afterwards he came to the Clara poor-house, which was empty of its -usual occupants and provisionally opened to families because of the -want of houses. In a great hall lay and stood quite a dozen families, -who had divided the floor with strokes of chalk. There stood a -carpenter with his planing-bench, here sat a shoemaker with his board; -round about on both sides of the chalk-line women sat and children -crawled. What could John do there? Send in a report on a matter which -was perfectly well known, distribute wood-tickets and orders for meat -and clothing.</p> - -<p>In Kungsholmsbergen he came across specimens of proud poverty. There he -was shown the door, "God be thanked, we have no need of charity. We -are all right."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! Then you should not let your boy go in torn boots in winter."</p> - -<p>"That is not your business, sir," and the door was slammed.</p> - -<p>Sometimes he saw sad scenes,—a child sick, the room full of sulphur -fumes of coke, and all coughing from the grandmother down to the -youngest. What could he do except feel dispirited and make his escape? -At that period there was no other means of help except charity; writers -who described the state of things, contented themselves with lamenting -it; no one saw any hope. Therefore there was nothing to do except to be -sorry, help temporarily, and fly in order not to despair.</p> - -<p>All this lay like a heavy cloud upon him, and he lost pleasure in -study. He felt there was something wrong here, but nothing could be -done said all the newspapers and books and people. It must be so but -every one is free to climb. You climb too!</p> - -<p>Time went on and spring approached. John's closest acquaintance -was a teacher from the Slöjd School. He was a poet, well-versed -in literature, and also musical. They generally walked to the -Stallmastergarden restaurant, discussed literature, and ate their -supper there. While John was paying his attentions to the waitress, -his friend played the piano. Sometimes the latter amused himself by -writing comic verses to girls. John was seized with a craze for writing -verse but could not. The gift must be born with one, he thought, and -inspiration descend all of a sudden, as in the case of conversion. -He was evidently not one of the elect, and felt himself neglected by -nature and maimed.</p> - -<p>One evening when John was sitting and chatting with the girl, she said -quite suddenly to him, "Friday is my birthday; you must write some -verses for me."</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered John, "I will."</p> - -<p>Later on when he met his friend, he told him of his hasty promise.</p> - -<p>"I will write them for you," he said. The next day he brought a poem, -copied out in a fine hand-writing and composed in John's name. It was -piquant and amusing. John dispatched it on the morning of the birthday.</p> - -<p>In the evening of the same day both the friends came to eat their -supper and to congratulate the girl. She did not appear for an hour for -she had to serve guests. The teachers' meal was brought and they began -to eat.</p> - -<p>Then the girl appeared in the doorway and beckoned John. She looked -almost severe. John went to her and they ascended a flight of stairs. -"Have you written the verses?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"No," said John.</p> - -<p>"Ah, I thought so. The lady behind the buffet said she had read them -two years ago when the teacher sent them to Majke who was an ugly girl. -For shame, John!"</p> - -<p>He took his cap and wanted to rush out, but the girl caught hold of him -and tried to keep him back for she saw that he looked deathly pale -and beside himself. But he wrenched himself free and hastened into -the Bellevue Park. He ran into the wood leaving the beaten tracks. -The branches of the bushes flew into his face, stones rolled over his -feet, and frightened birds rose up. He was quite wild with shame, and -instinctively sought the wood in order to hide himself. It is a curious -phenomenon that at the utmost pitch of despair a man runs into the -wood before he plunges into the water. The wood is the penultimate and -the water the ultimate resource. It is related of a famous author, who -had enjoyed a twenty years' popularity quietly and proudly, that he -was suddenly cast down from his position. He was as though struck by a -thunderbolt, went half-mad and sought the shelter of the woods where -he recovered himself. The wood is the original home of the savage and -the enemy of the plough and therefore of culture. When a civilised man -suddenly strips off the garb of civilisation, the artistically woven -fabric of his repute, he becomes in a moment a savage or a wild beast. -When a man becomes mad, he begins to throw off his clothes. What is -madness? A relapse? Yes, many think animals mad.</p> - -<p>It was evening when John entered the wood. In the midst of some -bushes he laid down on a great block of stone. He was ashamed of -himself,—that was the chief impression on his mind. An emotional man -is more severe with himself than others think. He scourged himself -unmercifully. He had wished to shine in borrowed plumage, and so lied; -and in the second place he had insulted an innocent girl. The first -part of the accusation affected him in a very sensitive point,—his -want of poetic capacity. He wished to do more than he could. He was -discontent with the position which nature and society had assigned -him. Yes, but (and now his self-defence began after the evening air -had cooled his blood), in the school one had been always exhorted to -strive upwards; those who did so were praised, and discontent with -the position one might happen to be in, was justified. Yes but (here -the scourge descended!) he had tried to deceive. To deceive! That was -unpardonable. He was ashamed, stripped and unmasked without any means -of retreat. Deception, falsity, cheating! So it was!</p> - -<p>As a quondam Christian, John was most afraid of having a fault, and -as a member of society he feared lest it should be visible. Everybody -knew that one had faults, but to acknowledge them was regarded as a -piece of cynicism, for society always wishes to appear better than it -is. Sometimes, however, society demanded that one should confess one's -fault if one wished for forgiveness, but that was a trick. Society -wished for confession in order to enjoy the punishment, and was very -deceitful. John had confessed his fault, been punished, and still his -conscience was uneasy.</p> - -<p>The second point regarding the girl was also difficult. She had loved -him purely and he had insulted her. How coarse and vulgar! Why should -he think that a waitress could not love innocently? His own mother had -been in the same position as that girl. He had insulted her. Shame -upon him!</p> - -<p>Now he heard shouts in the park, and his name being called. The girl's -voice and his friend's echoed among the trees, but he did not answer -them. For a moment the scourge fell out of his hands; he became sobered -and thought, "I will go back, we will have supper, call Riken and drink -a glass with her, and it will be all over." But no! He was too high up -and one cannot descend all at once.</p> - -<p>The voices became silent. He lay back in a state of semi-stupefaction -and ground his double crime between the mill-stones of rumination. He -had lied and hurt her feelings.</p> - -<p>It began to grow dark. There was a rustling in the bushes; he started -and a sweat broke out upon him. Then he went out and sat upon a seat -till the dew fell. He shivered and felt poorly. Then he got up and went -home.</p> - -<p>Now his head was clear and he could think. What a stupid business it -all was! He did not really mean that she should take him for a poet, -and had been quite ready to explain the whole trick. It was all a joke. -His friend had made a fool of him, but it did not matter.</p> - -<p>When he got home he found his friend sleeping in his bed. He wanted -to rise but John would not let him. He wished to scourge himself once -more. He lay on the floor, put a cigar-box under his head and drew a -volunteer's cloak over him. In the morning when he awoke, John asked in -trembling tones, "How did she take it?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, she laughed; then we drank a glass, and it was over. She liked the -verses."</p> - -<p>"She laughed! Was she not angry?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all."</p> - -<p>"Then she only humbugged me."</p> - -<p>John wished to hear no more. This trifle had kept him on the rack for a -whole dreadful night. He felt ashamed of having asked whether she was -disquieted about him. But since she had laughed and drunk punch she -could not have been. Not even anxious about his life!</p> - -<p>He dressed himself and went down to the school.</p> - -<p>The habit of self-criticism derived from his religious training had -accustomed him to occupy himself with his ego, to fondle and cherish -it, as though it were a separate and beloved personality. So cherished -the ego expanded and kept continually looking within instead of -without upon the world. It was an interesting personal acquaintance, a -friend who must be flattered, but who must also hear the truth and be -corrected.</p> - -<p>It was the mental malady of the time reduced to a system by Fichte, -who taught that everything took place in the ego and through the ego, -without which there was no reality. It was the formula for romanticism -and for subjective idealism.</p> - -<p>"I stood on the shore under the king's castle," "I dwell in the cave -of the mountain," "I, small boy, watch the door," "I think of the -beautiful times,"—all these phrases struck the same note. Was this "I" -really so proud. Was not the poet's "I" more modest than the editor's -royal "we"?</p> - -<p>This absorption in self, or the new malady of culture, of which much -is written nowadays, has been common with all men who have not worked -with their bodies. The brain is only an organ for imparting movement -to the muscles. Now when in a civilised man the brain cannot act upon -the muscles, nor bring its power into play, there results a disturbance -of equilibrium. The brain begins to dream; too full of juices which -cannot be absorbed by muscular activity, it converts them involuntarily -into systems, into thought-combinations, into the hallucinations which -haunt painters, sculptors and poets. If no outlet can be found, there -follows stagnation, violent outbreaks, depression, and at last madness. -Schools which are often vestibules for asylums, have recourse to -gymnastics, but with what result? There is no connection between the -pupil's cerebral activity and the muscular activity called into play by -gymnastics; the latter is only directed by another's will through the -word of command.</p> - -<p>All studious youths are aware of this tendency to congestion of the -brain. It is a good thing that they often go out to improve or to -beautify society, but it would be better if the equilibrium were -restored, and a sound mind dwelt in a sound body. It has been sought to -introduce physical work into schools as a remedy. It would be better -to let elementary knowledge be acquired at home, to make the school -a day-school, and to let every one look after himself. For the rest -the emancipation of the lower classes will compel the higher classes -to undertake some of the physical labour now carried on by domestics -and so the equilibrium will be restored. That such labour does not -blunt the intelligence can be easily seen by observing that some of -the strongest minds of the time have had such daily contact with -reality, <i>e.g.</i> Mill the civil service official, Spencer, the civil -engineer, Edison the telegraphist. The student period of life, the most -unwholesome because not under discipline, is also the most dangerous. -The brain continually takes in, without producing anything, not even -anything intellectual, while the whole muscular system is unoccupied.</p> - -<p>John at this time was suffering from an over-production of thought and -imagination. The mechanical school-work continually revolving in the -same circle with the same questions and answers afforded no relief. -It increased on the other hand his stock of observations of children -and teachers. There lay and fermented in his mind a quantity of -experiences, perceptions, criticisms and thoughts without any order. He -therefore sought for society in order to speak his mind out. But it was -not sufficient, and as he did not find any one who was willing to act -as a sounding-board, he took to declaiming poetry.</p> - -<p>In the early sixties declamation was much the fashion. In families they -used to read aloud "The Kings of Salamis." In the numerous volunteer -concerts the same pieces were declaimed over and over again. These -declamations were what the quartette singing had been, an outlet for -all the hope and enthusiasm called forth by the awakening of 1865. -Since Swedes are neither born nor trained orators, they became singers -and reciters, perhaps because their want of originality sought a -ready-made means of expression. They could execute but not create. The -same want of originality showed itself in the bachelor's gatherings -where reciters of anecdotes were much in request. This feeble and -tedious form of amusement was superseded when the new questions of the -day provided food for conversation and discussion.</p> - -<p>One day John came to his friend the elementary school-teacher whom he -found together with another young colleague. When the conversation -began to slacken, his friend produced a volume of Schiller, whose poems -had just then appeared in a cheap edition and were bought mostly for -that reason. They opened "The Robbers" and read round in turn, John -taking the part of Karl Moor. The first scene of the first act took -place between old Moor and Franz. Then came the second scene: John -read, "I am sick of this quill-driving age when I read of great men -in Plutarch." He did not know the play and had never seen bandits. -At first he read absent-mindedly, but his interest was soon aroused. -The play struck a new note. He found his obscure dreams expressed -in words; his rebellious criticisms printed. Here then was another, -a great and famous author who felt the same disgust at the whole -course of education in school and university as he did, who would -rather be Robinson Crusoe or a bandit than be enrolled in this army -which is called society. He read on; his voice shook, his cheeks -glowed, his breast heaved: "They bar out healthy nature with tasteless -conventionalities."... There it stood all in black and white. "And that -is Schiller!" he exclaimed, "the same Schiller who wrote the tedious -history of the Thirty Years' War, and the tame drama "Wallenstein" -which is read in schools!" Yes, it was the same man. Here (in "The -Robbers") he preached revolt, revolt against law, society, morals -and religion. That was in the revolt of 1781 eight years before the -great revolution. That was the anarchists' programme a hundred years -before its time, and Karl Moor was a nihilist. The drama came out with -a lion on the title-page and with the inscription "In Tyrannos." The -author then (1781) aged two-and-twenty had to fly. There was no doubt -therefore about the intention of the piece. There was also another -motto from Hippocrates which showed this intention as plainly; "What is -not cured by medicine must be cured by iron; what is not cured by iron -must be cured by fire."</p> - -<p>That was clear enough! But in the preface the author apologised and -recanted. He disclaimed all sympathy with Franz Moor's sophisms and -said that he wished to exhibit the punishment of wickedness in Karl -Moor. Regarding religion he said, "Just now it is the fashion to make -religion a subject for one's wit to play upon as Voltaire and Frederick -the Great did, and a man is scarcely reckoned a genius unless he can -make the holiest truths the object of his godless satire...." I hope -I have exacted no ordinary revenge for religion and sound morality in -handing over these obstinate despisers of Scripture in the person of -this scoundrelly bandit, to public contumely. Was then Schiller true -when he wrote the drama, and false when he wrote the preface? True in -both cases, for man is a complex creature, and sometimes appears in his -natural sometimes in his artificial character. At his writing-table -in loneliness, when the silent letters were being written down on -paper, Schiller seems like other young authors to have worked under the -influence of a blind natural impulse without regard to mens' opinion, -without thinking of the public, or laws, or constitutions. The veil -was lifted for a moment and the falsity of society seen through in its -whole extent. The silence of the night when literary work—especially -in youth,—is carried on, causes one to forget the noisy artificial -life outside, and darkness hides the heaps of stones over which animals -which are ill-adapted to their environment stumble. Then comes the -morning, the light of day, the street noises, men, friends, police, -clocks striking, and the seer is afraid of his own thoughts. Public -opinion raises its cry, newspapers sound the alarm, friends drop off, -it becomes lonely round one, and an irresistible terror seizes the -attacker of society. "If you will not be with us," society says, "then -go into the woods. If you are an animal ill-adapted to its environment, -or a savage, we will deport you to a lower state of society which -you will suit." And from its own point of view society is right and -always will be right. But the society of the future will celebrate the -revolter, the individual, who has brought about social improvement, and -the revolter is justified long after his death.</p> - -<p>In every intelligent youth's life there comes a moment when he is in -the transition stage between family life and that of society, when -he feels disgusted at artificial civilisation and breaks out. If he -remains in society, he is soon suppressed by the united wet-blankets -of sentiment and anxiety about living; he becomes tired, dazzled, -drops off and leaves other young men to continue the fight. This -unsophisticated glance into things, this outbreak of a healthy nature -which must of necessity take place in an unspoilt youth, has been -stigmatised by a name which is intended to depreciate the idealistic -impulses of youth. It is called "spring fever" by which is meant that -it is only a temporary illness of childhood, a rising of the vernal -sap, which produces stoppage of the circulation and giddiness. But who -knows whether the youth did not see right before society put out his -eyes? And why do they despise him afterwards?</p> - -<p>Schiller had to creep into a public post for the sake of a living and -even eat the bread of charity from a duke's hand. Therefore his writing -degenerated, though perhaps not from an Êsthetic or subordinate point -of view. But his hatred of tyrants is everywhere manifest. It declares -itself against Philip II of Spain, Dorea of Genoa, Gessler of Austria, -but therefore ceases to be effective. Schiller's rebellion which was in -the first instance directed against society, was afterwards directed -against the monarchy alone. He closes his career with the following -advice to a world reformer (not, however, till he had seen the reaction -which followed the French Revolution). "For rain and dew and for the -welfare of mankind, let heaven care to-day, my friend, as it has always -done." Heaven, the unfortunate old heaven will care for it, just as -well as it has done before.</p> - -<p>Just as a man once does his militia duty at the age of twenty-one, so -Schiller did his. How many have shirked it!</p> - -<p>John did not take the preface to "The Robbers" very seriously or rather -ignored it; but he took Karl Moor literally for he was congenial. He -did not imitate him, for he was so like him that he had no need to do -so. He was just as mutinous, just as wavering, and just as ready at an -alarm to go and deliver himself into the hands of justice.</p> - -<p>His disgust at everything continually increased and he began to make -plans for flight from organised society. Once it occurred to him to -journey to Algiers and enlist in the Foreign Legion. That would be -fine he thought to live in the desert in a tent, to shoot at half-wild -men or perhaps be shot by them. But circumstances occurred at the -right moment, to reconcile him again with his environment. Through the -recommendation of a friend he was offered the post of tutor to two -girls in a rich and cultured family. The children were to be educated -in a new and liberal-minded method and neither to go to a girls' school -nor have a governess. That was an important task to which he was -called and John did not feel himself adequate to it; besides which he -objected that he was only an elementary school-teacher. He was answered -that his future employers knew that, but were liberal-minded. How -liberal-minded people were at that time!</p> - -<p>Now there commenced a new double life for him. From the penal -institution of the elementary school with its compulsory catechism and -Bible, its poverty, wretchedness, and cruelty, he went to dinner at -one o'clock, which he swallowed in a quarter of an hour, and then by -two o'clock was at his post as private tutor. The house was one of the -finest at that time in Stockholm with a porter, Pompeian stair-cases -and painted windows in the hall. In a handsome, large, well-lighted -corner room with flowers, bird-cages and an aquarium he was to give -lessons to two well-dressed, washed and combed little girls, who -looked cheerful and satisfied after their dinner. Here he could give -expression to his own thoughts. The catechism was banished, and only -select Bible stories were to be read together with broad-minded -explanations of the life and teachings of the Ideal Man, for the -children were not to be confirmed, but brought up after a new model. -They read Schiller and were enthusiastic for William Tell and the -fortunate little land of freedom. John taught them all that he knew and -spent more time in talking than in asking questions; he roused in them -the hopes of a better future which he shared himself.</p> - -<p>Here he obtained an insight into a social circle hitherto unknown to -him, that of the rich and cultured. Here he found liberal-mindedness, -courage and the desire for truth. Down below in the elementary school -they were cowardly, conservative and untruthful. Would the parents of -the children be willing to have religious teaching done away with, -even if the school authorities recommended it? Probably not. Must -then illumination come from the upper classes? Certainly, though not -from the highest class of all, but from the republic of truth-seeking -scientists. John saw that one must get an upper place in order to be -heard; therefore he must strive upwards or pull culture down and cast -the sparks of it among all. One needed to be economically independent -in order to be liberally minded; a position was necessary in order to -give one's words weight; thus aristocracy ruled in this sphere also.</p> - -<p>There was at that time a group of young doctors, men of science and -letters, and members of parliament who formed a liberal league without -constituting themselves a formal society. They gave popular lectures, -engaged not to receive any honorary decorations, cherished liberal -views on the subject of the State Church and wrote in the papers. Among -them were Axel Key, Nordenskiöld, Christian Loven, Harald Wieselgren, -Hedlund, Victor Rydberg, Meijerberg, Jolin, and many less-known names. -These, with one or two exceptions, worked quietly without creating -excitement. After the reaction of 1872 they fell off and became tired; -they could not join any political party which was rather an advantage -than otherwise for the country party had already begun to be corrupted -by yearly visiting Stockholm and attendance at the court. They now all -belong to the moderate or respectable liberal party, except those of -them who have joined the indifferents, a fact not to be wondered at, -after they had for so many years fought uselessly for nothing.</p> - -<p>Through the family of his pupils John came into external touch with -this group, obtained a closer view of them, and heard their speeches at -dinners and suppers. To John they sometimes seemed the very men whom -the time needed, who would first spread enlightenment and then work -for reform. Here he met the superintendent of the elementary school -and was surprised at finding him among the liberals. But he had the -school authorities over him and was as good as powerless. At a cheerful -dinner, when John had plucked up heart, he wished to have an intimate -talk with him and to come to an understanding. "Here," he thought, -"we can play the part of augurs and laugh with each other over our -champagne." But the superintendent did not want to laugh and asked him -to postpone the conversation till they met in the school. No, John did -not want to do that, for in the school both would have other views, and -speak of something else.</p> - -<p>John's debts increased and so did his work. He was in the school from -eight till one; then he ate his dinner and went to give his private -lessons within half-an-hour, arriving out of breath, with food half -digested, and sleepy; then he taught till four o'clock going out -afterwards to give more lessons in the Nordtullsgata; he returned to -his girl pupils in the evening, and then read far into the night for -his examination after ten hours' teaching. That was over-work. The -pupil thinks his work hard, but he is only the carriage while the -teacher is the horse. Teaching is decidedly harder than standing by a -screw or the crane of a machine, and equally monotonous.</p> - -<p>His brain, dulled by work and disturbed digestion, needed to be roused, -and his strength needed replenishing. He chose the shortest and best -method by going into a café, drinking a glass of wine, and sitting for -a while. It was good that there were such places of recreation, where -young men could meet and fathers of families recruit themselves over a -newspaper and talk of something else than business.</p> - -<p>The following summer he went out to a summer settlement outside the -city. There he read daily for a couple of hours with his girl pupils -and a whole number of children besides them. The summer settlement -afforded rich and varied opportunities of social intercourse. It was -divided into three camps,—the learned, the Êsthetic and the civic. -John belonged to all three. It has been asserted that loneliness -injures the development of character (into an automaton), and if -has been also asserted that much social intercourse is bad for the -development of character. Everything can be said and can be true; it -all depends upon the point of view. But no doubt for the development -of the soul into a rich and free life much social intercourse is -necessary. The more men one sees and talks with, the more points -of view and experiences one gains. Every one conceals a grain of -originality in himself, every individual has his own history. John got -on equally well with all; he spoke on learned matters with the learned, -discussed art and literature with the Êsthetes, sang quartettes and -danced with the young people, taught the children and botanised, -sailed, rode and swam with them. But after he had spent some time in -the rush, he withdrew into solitude for a day or two to digest his -impressions. Those who were really happy were the townsmen. They came -from their work in the town, shook off their cares and played in the -evening. Old wholesale merchants played in the ring and sang and danced -like children. The learned and the Êsthetic on the other hand sat -on chairs, spoke of their work, were worried by their thoughts as by -nightmares and never seemed to be really happy. They could not free -themselves from the tyranny of thought. The tradesmen, however, had -preserved a little green spot in their hearts which neither the thirst -for gain nor speculation nor competition had been able to parch up. -There was something emotional and hearty about them which John was -inclined to call "nature." They could laugh like lunatics, scream like -savages, and be swayed by the emotions of the moment. They wept over -a friend's misfortune or death, embraced each other when delighted -and could be carried out of themselves by a beautiful sunset. The -professors sat in chairs and could not see the landscape because of -their eye-glasses, their looks were directed inwards, and they never -showed their feelings. They talked in syllogisms and formulas; their -laughter was bitter, and all their learning seemed like a puppet play. -Is that then the highest point of view? It is not a defect to have let -a whole region of the soul's life lie fallow?</p> - -<p>It was the third camp with which John was on the most intimate -terms. This was a little clique consisting of a doctor's family and -their friends. There sang the renowned tenor W. while Professor M. -accompanied him; there played and sang the composer J.; there the -old Professor P. talked about his journeys to Rome in the company -of painters of high birth. Here the emotions had full play, but -were under the control of good taste. They enjoyed the sunsets, but -analysed the lights and shades and talked of lines and "values." The -more noisy enjoyments of the tradesmen were regarded as disturbing -and unÊsthetic. They were enthusiasts for art. John spent some hours -pleasantly with these amiable people, but when he heard the sound of -quartette singing and dance-music from the villa close by, he longed to -be there. That was certainly more lively.</p> - -<p>In hours of solitude he read, and now for the first time, became really -acquainted with Byron. "Don Juan," which he already knew, he had found -merely frivolous. It really dealt with nothing and the descriptions -of scenery were intolerably long. The work seemed merely a string of -adventures and anecdotes. In "Manfred" he renewed acquaintance with -Karl Moor in another dress. Manfred was no hater of men; he hated -himself more, and went to the Alps in order to fly himself, but always -found his guilty self beside him, for John guessed at once that he had -been guilty of incest. Nowadays it is generally believed that Byron -hinted at this crime, which was purely imaginary, in order to make -himself appear interesting. To become interesting as a romanticist at -whatever price would at the present time be called "differentiating -oneself, going beyond and above the others." Crime was regarded as -a sign of strength, therefore it was considered desirable to have a -crime to boast about, but not such a one as could be punished. They did -not want to have anything to do with the police and penal servitude. -There was certainly a spirit of opposition to law and morality in this -boasting of crime.</p> - -<p>Manfred's discontent with heaven and the government of Providence -pleased John. Manfred's denunciations of men were really levelled at -society, though society as we now understand it, had not then been -discovered. Rousseau, Byron and the rest were by no means discontented -misogynists. It was only primitive Christianity which demanded that men -should love men. To say that one was interested in them would be more -modest and truthful. One who has been overreached and thrust aside in -the battle of life may well fear men, but one cannot hate them when -one realises one's solidarity with humanity and that human intercourse -is the greatest pleasure in life. Byron was a spirit who awoke before -the others and might have been expected to hate his contemporaries, but -none the less strove and suffered for the good of all.</p> - -<p>When John saw that the poem was written in blank verse he tried to -translate it, but had not got far, before he discovered that he could -not write verse. He was not "called." Sometimes melancholy, sometimes -frisky, John felt at times an uncontrollable desire to quench the -burning fire of thought in intoxication and bring the working of his -brain to a standstill. Though he was shy, he felt occasionally impelled -to step forward, to make himself impressive, to collect hearers and -appear on a stage. When he had drunk a good deal, he wanted to declaim -poetry in the grand style. But in the middle of the piece, when his -ecstasy was at its highest, he heard his own voice, became nervous and -embarrassed, found himself ridiculous, suddenly dropped into a prosaic -and comic tone and ended with a grimace; he could be pathetic, but -only for a while; then came self-criticism and he laughed at his own -overwrought feelings. The romantic was in his blood, but the realistic -side of him was about to wake up.</p> - -<p>He was also liable to attacks of caprice and self-punishment. Thus he -remained away from a dinner to which he had been invited and lay in his -room hungry till the evening. He excused himself by saying that he had -overslept.</p> - -<p>The summer approached its end and he looked forward to the beginning of -the autumn term in the elementary school with dread. He had now been -in circles where poverty never showed its emaciated face; he had tasted -the enticing wine of culture and did not wish to become sober again.</p> - -<p>His depression increased; he retired into himself and withdrew from the -circle of his friends. But one evening, there was a knock at his door; -the old doctor who had been his most intimate friend and lived in the -same villa, stepped in.</p> - -<p>"How are the moods?" he asked, and sat down with the air of an old -fatherly friend.</p> - -<p>John did not wish to confess. How was he to say that he was -discontented with his position, and acknowledge that he was ambitious -and wished to advance in life? But the doctor had seen and understood -all. "You must be a doctor," he said. "That is a practical vocation -which will suit you, and bring you into touch with real life. You have -a lively imagination which you must hold in check, or it will do harm. -Now are you inclined to this? Have I guessed right?"</p> - -<p>He had. Through his intercourse from afar with these new prophets who -succeeded the priests and confessors, John had come to see in their -practical knowledge of men's lives, the highest pitch of human wisdom. -To become a wise man who could solve the riddles of life,—that was for -a while his dream. For a while, for he did not really wish to enter any -career in which he could be enrolled as a regular member of society. -It was not from dislike of work, for he worked strenuously and was -unhappy when unoccupied, but he had a strong objection to be enrolled. -He did not wish to be a cypher, a cog-wheel, or a screw in the social -machine. He wished to stand outside and contemplate, learn and preach. -A doctor was in a certain sense free; he was not an official, had no -superiors, set in no public office, was not tied by the clock. That was -a fairly enticing prospect, and John was enticed. But how was he to -take a medical degree, which required eight years' study? His friend, -however, had seen a way out of this difficulty. "Live with us and teach -my boys," he said.</p> - -<p>This was certainly a business-like offer which carried with it no sense -of accepting a humiliating favour. But what about his place in the -school? Should he give it up?</p> - -<p>"That is not your place!" the doctor cut him short. "Every one should -work where his talents can have free scope, and yours cannot in the -elementary school, where you have to teach, as prescribed by the school -authorities."</p> - -<p>John found this reasonable, but he had been so imbued with ascetic -teaching that he felt a pang of conscience. He wanted to leave the -school, but a strange feeling of duty and obligation held him back. He -felt quite ashamed of being suspected of such a natural weakness as -ambition. And his place, as the son of a servant, had been assigned to -him below. But his father had literally pulled him up, why should he -sink and strike his roots down there again?</p> - -<p>He fought a short bloody conflict, then accepted the offer thankfully, -and sent in his resignation as a school-teacher.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - -<h4>THE DOCTOR</h4> - -<h4>(1868)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>John now found his new home with the homeless, the Israelites. He -was immediately surrounded by a new atmosphere. Here there was no -recollection of Christianity; one neither plagued oneself or others; -there was no grace at meals, no going to church, no catechism.</p> - -<p>"It is good to be here," thought John. "These are liberal-minded men -who have brought the best of foreign culture home, without being -obliged to take what is bad." Here for the first time, he encountered -foreign influences. The family had journeyed much, had relatives -abroad, spoke all languages, and received foreign guests. Both the -small and great affairs of the country were spoken about, and light -thrown on them by comparison with their originals abroad. By this means -John's mental horizon was widened and he was enabled to estimate his -native country better.</p> - -<p>The patriarchal constitution of the family had not assumed the form of -domestic tyranny. On the contrary the children treated their parents -more as their equals, and the parents were gentle with them without -losing their dignity. Placed in an unfriendly part of the world, -surrounded by half-enemies, the members of the family helped each other -and held together. To be without a native country, which is regarded -as such a hard-ship, has this advantage that it keeps the intelligence -alive and vigorous. Men who are wanderers have to watch unceasingly, -observe continually, and gain new and rich experiences, while those who -sit at home become lazy and lean upon others.</p> - -<p>The children of Israel occupy a peculiar and exceptional position from -a social point of view. They have forgotten the Messianic promise and -do not believe in it. In most European countries they have remained -among the middle classes; to join the lower classes was for the most -part denied them, though not so widely as is generally believed. Nor -could they join the upper classes; therefore they feel related to -neither of the latter. They are aristocrats from habit and inclination, -but have the same interests as the lower classes, <i>i.e</i>. they wish to -roll away the stone which lies upon and presses them. But they fear the -proletariat who have no religious sense and who do not love the rich. -Therefore the children of Abraham rather aspire to those above them, -than seek sympathy from those below.</p> - -<p>About this time (1868) the question of Jewish emancipation began to be -raised. All liberals supported it and it was practically a discarding -of Christianity. Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, confirmation, -church attendance were all declared to be unnecessary conditions for -membership in a Christian community. Such apparently small reforms -make an impression on the state, like the dropping of water on a rock.</p> - -<p>At that time a cheerful tone prevailed in the family, the sons having a -brighter future in prospect than their fathers, whose academic course -had been hindered by State regulations.</p> - -<p>A liberal table was kept in the house; everything was of the best -quality, and there was plenty of it. The servants managed the house -and were allowed a free hand in everything; they were not regarded as -servants. The housemaid was a pietist and allowed to be so, as much -as she pleased. She was good-natured and humorous, and, illogically -enough, adopted the jesting tone of the cheerful paganism which reigned -in the house. On the other hand, no one laughed at her belief. John -himself was treated as an intimate friend and a child alternately and -lived with the boys. His work was easy and he was rather required to -keep the boys company than to give them lessons. Meanwhile he became -somewhat "spoiled" as people, who have the usual idea of keeping youth -in the background, call it. Though only nineteen, he was received -on an equal footing among well-known and mature artists, doctors, -<i>littérateurs</i> and officials. He became accustomed to regard himself as -grown up, and therefore the set-backs he encountered afterwards, were -the harder to bear.</p> - -<p>His medical career began with chemical experiments in the technological -institute. There he obtained a closer view of some of the glories he -had dreamed of in his childhood. But how dry and tedious were the -rudiments of science! To stand and pour acids on salts and to watch the -solution change colour, was not pleasant; to produce salts from two or -more solutions was not very interesting. But later on, when the time -came for analysis, the mysterious part began. To fill a glass about -the size of a punch-bowl with a liquid as clear as water and then to -exhibit in the filter the possibly twenty elements it contained,—this -really seemed like penetrating into nature's secrets. When he was alone -in the laboratory he made small experiments on his own account, and it -was not long before with some danger he had prepared a little phial -of prussic acid. To have death enclosed in a few drops under a glass -stopper was a curiously pleasant feeling.</p> - -<p>At the same time he studied zoology, anatomy, botany, physic and -Latin,—still more Latin! To read and master a subject was congenial to -him, but to learn by heart he hated. His head was already filled with -so many subjects, that it was hard for anything more to enter, but it -was obliged to.</p> - -<p>A worse drawback was that so many other interests began to vie in his -mind with his medical studies. The theatre was only a stone's throw -from the doctor's house and he went there twice a week. He had a -standing place at the end of the third row. From thence he saw elegant -and cheerful French comedies played on a Brussels carpet. The light -Gallic humour, admired by the melancholy Swedes as their missing -complement, completely captivated him. What a mental equilibrium, what -a power of resistance to the blows of fate were possessed by this -race of a southern sunnier land! His thoughts became still more gloomy -as he grew conscious of his Germanic "Weltschmerz" lying like a veil -over everything, which a hundred years of French education could not -have lifted. But he did not know that Parisian theatrical life differs -widely from that of the industrious and thrifty Parisian at the desk -and the counter. French comedies were written for the parvenus of -the Second Empire; politics and religion were subject to the censor, -but not morals. French comedy was aristocratic in tone, but had a -liberating effect on the mind as it was in touch with reality, though -it did not interfere in social questions. It accustomed the public to -sympathise with and feel at home in this superfine world; one came to -forget the lower everyday world, and when one left the theatre it felt -as though one had been at supper with a friendly duke.</p> - -<p>As chance fell out, the doctor's wife possessed a good library in -which all the best literature of the world was represented. It was -indeed a treasure to have all these at one's elbow! Moreover the doctor -possessed a number of pictures by Swedish masters and a valuable -collection of engravings. There was an efflorescence of Êstheticism -on all sides, even in the schools, where lectures on literature were -delivered. The conversation in the family circle mostly turned on -pictures, dramas, actors, books, authors, and the doctor felt from time -to time impelled to flavour it with details of his practice.</p> - -<p>Now and then John began to read the papers. Political and social life -with their various questions opened up before him, but at first with a -repelling effect, as he was an Êsthete and domestic egoist. Politics -did not seem to touch him at all; he considered it a special branch of -knowledge like any other.</p> - -<p>He continued his lessons to the girls and his intercourse with -their family. Outside the house he met grown up relatives, who were -tradesmen, and their acquaintances. His circle was therefore widened, -and he saw life from more than one point of view. But this constant -occupation with children had a hampering effect on his development. He -never felt himself older, and he could not treat the young with an air -of superiority. He already noticed that they were in advance of him, -that they were born with new thoughts, and that they built on, where he -had ceased. When later on in life, he met grown-up pupils, he looked up -to them as though they were the older.</p> - -<p>The autumn of 1865 had commenced. There had been so much miscalculation -as to the effects of the new State constitution that there was -widespread discontent. Society was turned topsy-turvy. The peasant -threatened the civilised town-dwellers and there was a general feeling -of bitterness.</p> - -<p>Has the last word regarding the agrarian party yet been said? Probably -not. It began with a democratic and reforming programme and its attack -on the Civil List was the boldest stroke which had yet been seen. It -was a legal attempt to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of supply -was screwed down to the lowest possible, the king would go. It was a -simple and at the same time a clever stroke.</p> - -<p>At a period which proclaims the right of the majority, one would not -have expected the peasants' cause would encounter resistance. Sweden -was a kingdom of peasants, for the country population numbered four -millions, which in a population of four and a half millions, is -certainly the majority. Should then the half million rule the four or -vice versa? The latter course seemed the fairer. Now naturally the -townsmen talk of the egotism and tyranny of the peasants, but have the -labour party in the town a single item in their programme to improve -the condition of the peasants and cottagers? It is so stupid to talk -of egotism when every one now sees that he profits the whole, in -proportion as he profits himself.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, in 1868, the malcontents discovered a party which could be -opposed to the constitutional majority and whose programme contained -all kinds of thorough-going reforms. That was the new liberal party, -consisting for the most part of authors, some artisans, a professor, -etc. By means of this handful of people who had none of the weighty -interests which landed property involves, and whose social position -was so insecure that a single unfavourable harvest could turn them -into members of the proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society. -What did the artisans know about society? How did they wish it to be -constituted? Did they wish it to be remodelled in their interest, -although the peasantry should be ruined? But that meant cutting off -their own legs, for Sweden is not a land of exporting industries. -Therefore the four million consumers in the land, as soon as their -purchasing power was diminished, would involuntarily ruin the -industries and leave the artisans stranded. That the artisans should -advance is a necessity, but to wish to make all men industrial workers -as the industrial socialists do, is much more unreasonable than to make -them all peasants as the agrarian socialists purpose doing. Capital, -which the labour party now attack, is the foundation of industry and if -that is touched, industry is overthrown, and then the workmen must go -back whence they came and still daily come,—to the country.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet corrupted by intercourse with -aristocrats; it was neither conservative nor did it make compromises. -The war seemed to be between the country and the town. The atmosphere -was electric and the smallest cause might produce a thunderstorm.</p> - -<p>In the capital there prevailed a general desire to erect a statue to -Charles XII. Why? Was this last knight of the Middle Ages the ideal -of the age? Bid the character of the idol of Gustav IV, Adolf, and -Charles XV suitably express the spirit of the new peaceful period -which now commenced? Or did the idea originate, as so often is the -case in the sculptor's studio? Who knows? The statue was ready and the -unveiling was to take place. Stands were erected for the spectators, -but so unskilfully that the ceremony could not be witnessed by the -general public, and the space railed off could only contain the -invited guests, the singers and those who paid for their seats. But -the subscription had been national and all believed they had a right -to see. The arrangements were obnoxious to the people. Petitions were -made to have the stands removed, but without success. The crowd began -to make attempts to tear them down, but the military intervened. The -doctor that day was giving a dinner to the Italian Opera Company. They -had just risen from dessert when a noise was heard from the street; it -was at first like rain falling on an iron roof, but then cries were -distinctly audible. John listened, but for the moment nothing more was -to be heard. The wine-glasses clinked amid Italian and French phrases -which flew hither and thither over the table; there was such a noise of -jests and laughter that those at the table could hardly hear themselves -speak. But now there came a roar from the street, followed immediately -by the tramp of horses, the rattle of weapons and harness. There was -silence in the room for a moment, and one and another turned pale.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" asked the prima donna.</p> - -<p>"The mob making a noise," answered a professor.</p> - -<p>John stood up from the table, went into his room, took his hat and -stick and hurried out. "The mob!"—the words rang in his ear while -he went down the street. "The mob!" They were his mother's former -associates, his own school-mates and afterwards his pupils; they formed -the dark background against which the society he had just quitted, -stood out like a brilliant picture. He felt again as though he were a -deserter, and had done wrong in working his way up. But he must get -above if he was to do anything for those below. Yes many had said -that, but when once they did get above, they found it so pleasant, -that they forgot those below. These cavalrymen, for instance, whose -origin was of the humblest, what airs they gave themselves! With what -unmixed pleasure they cut down their former comrades, though it must -be confessed they would have even more enjoyed cutting down the "black -hats."</p> - -<p>He went on and came to the market-place. The stands for the spectators -stood out against the November sky like gigantic market booths, and -the space below swarmed with men. From the opening of the Arsenal -street the tramp of horses was heard only a short way off. Then they -came riding forth, the blue guardsmen, the support of society, on whom -the upper class relied. John was seized with a wild desire to dash -against this mass of horses, men and sabres, as though he saw in them -oppression incarnate. That was the enemy! very well—at them! The troop -rode on and John stationed himself in the middle of the street. Whence -had he derived this hatred against the supporters of law and order, who -some day would protect him and his rights after he had clambered up, -and was in a position to oppress others? If the mob with whom he now -felt his solidarity had had their hands free, they would probably have -thrown the first stone through the window, behind which he had sat with -four wine-glasses in front of him. Certainly, but that did not prevent -his taking their side just as the upper class often, inconsistently -enough, takes sides against the police. This mania for freedom in the -abstract is probably the natural man's small revolt against society.</p> - -<p>He was going against the cavalry with a vague idea of striking them -all to the ground or something of the sort, when fortunately some one -seized him by the arm firmly but in a friendly way. He was brought back -to the doctor's who had sent out to seek for him. After he had given -his word of honour not to go out again he sank on a sofa, and lay all -the evening in fever.</p> - -<p>On the day of the unveiling of Charles XII's statue, he was one of the -student singers, therefore among the elect, the "upper ten thousand," -and had no reason to be discontented with his lot. When the ceremony -was over, the people rushed forward. The police forced them back, and -then they began to throw stones. The mounted police drew their sabres -and struck, arresting some and assaulting others.</p> - -<p>John had entered the market in front of the Jakob's church when he saw -a policeman lay hold of a man, under a shower of stones which knocked -off the constables' helmets. Without hesitation he sprang on the -policeman, seized him by the collar, shook him and shouted, "Let the -fellow go!"</p> - -<p>The policeman looked at his assailant in astonishment.</p> - -<p>"Who are you?" he asked irresolutely.</p> - -<p>"I am Satan, and I will take you, if you don't let him go."</p> - -<p>He actually did let him go and tried to seize John. At the same instant -a stone knocked off his three-cornered hat. John tore himself loose; -the crowd were now driven back by bayonets towards the guard-house in -the Gustaf Adolf market. After them followed a swarm of well-dressed -men, obviously members of the upper classes, shouting wildly, and as it -seemed, resolved to free the prisoners. John ran with them; it was as -though they were all impelled by a storm-wind. Men who had not been -molested or oppressed at all, who had high positions in society, rushed -blindly forward, risking their position, their domestic happiness, -their living, everything. John felt a hand grasp his. He returned the -pressure, and saw close beside him a middle-aged man, well-dressed, -with distorted features. They did not know each other, nor did they -speak together, but ran hand in hand, as if seized by one impulse. -They came across a third in whom John recognised an old school-fellow, -subsequently a civil service official, son of the head of a department. -This young man had never sided with the opposition party in school, -but on the contrary, was looked upon as a re-actionary with a future -in front of him. He was now as white as a corpse, his cheeks were -bloodless, the muscles of his forehead swollen, and his face resembled -a skull in which two eyes were burning. They could not speak, but -took each other's hands and ran on against the guards whom they were -attacking. The human waves advanced till they were met by the bayonets, -and then as always, dispersed in foam. Half-an-hour later John was -discussing a beefsteak with some students in the Opera restaurant. He -spoke of his adventure as though it were something which had happened -independently of him and his will. Nay, he even jested at it. That -may have been fear of public opinion, but also it may have been the -case that he regarded his outbreak objectively and now quietly judged -it as a member of society. The trap-door had opened for a moment, the -prisoner had put his head out, and then it had closed again.</p> - -<p>His unknown fellow-criminal, as he discovered later, was a pronounced -conservative, a wholesale tradesman. He always avoided meeting John's -eye, when they met after this. One time they met on a narrow pavement, -and had to look at each other, but did not smile.</p> - -<p>While they were sitting in the restaurant, came the news of the death -of Blanche. The students took it fairly coolly, the artists and middle -class citizens more warmly, but the lower classes talked of murder. -They knew that he had personally besought Charles XV to have the -spectators' stands taken down; they knew also, that though he was -very prosperous himself, he had always thought of them and they were -thankful. Stupid people objected, as is usual in such cases, that it -required no great skill on his part to speak on behalf of the poor, -when he was rich and celebrated. Did it not? It required the greatest.</p> - -<p>It is remarkable that the chief outbreak of discontent was directed, -not as elsewhere against the King, but against the governor and the -police. Charles XV was a <i>persona grata</i>; he could do as he liked -without becoming unpopular. He was neither condescending nor democratic -in his tastes, but rather proud. Stories were told of some of his -favourites having fallen into disgrace for want of respect on some -mirthful occasion. He could put tobacco into his soldiers' mouths, -but he scolded officers who did not at once fall in with his moods. -He could box people's ears at a fire, and did not laugh when he was -caricatured in a comic paper, as was supposed. He was a ruler and -believed he was also a warrior and a statesman; he interfered in the -government and could snub specialists with a "You don't understand -that!" But he was popular and remained so. Swedes, who do not like to -see a man's will slackening, admired this will and bowed before it. -It was also strange, that they forgave his irregular life; perhaps it -was because he made no secret of it. He had laid down a standard of -morality for himself and lived according to it. Therefore he lived at -harmony with himself, and harmony is always pleasant to contemplate.</p> - -<p>People might be revolters by instinct, but they did not believe in the -transition form to a better social constitution, <i>i.e</i>. a republic. -They had seen how two French republics had been followed by new -monarchies. There were secret anarchists, but no republicans, and they -had persuaded themselves that the monarchy offered no barrier to the -progress of liberty.</p> - -<p>These were the ideas of the younger men. The elder men with Blanche -thought a republic the only means of social salvation and therefore in -our days the old liberal school has become conservative-republican.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the doctor saw that his wife's literary books threatened to -encroach upon John's medical studies, he resolved to give him a -glimpse into the secrets of his profession, and to allow him such a -foretaste of real work as should entice him to overcome the tedious -preliminary studies which he himself thought too extensive. John now -knew more chemistry and physics than the doctor, and the latter thought -it was merely malicious to hinder a rival's course by imposing too -hard preliminary studies. Why should he not, as in America, commence -dissection, which was a special branch of study? Now after the -theoretical study of anatomy, he could begin practice as an assistant. -That was a new life full of variety and reality. One went for instance -into a dark alley and came into a porter's room, where a woman lay, -sick of fever, surrounded by poor children, the grandmother and other -relations, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the doctor's verdict. -The malodorous ragged bed-cover would be lifted, a sunken heaving chest -exposed to view, and a prescription written. Then one went to the -TvÀdgÃ¥rdsgatan and was conducted over soft carpets through splendid -rooms into a bed-chamber which looked liked a temple; one lifted a -blue silk coverlet and put in splints the leg of an angelic-looking -child, dressed in lace. On the way out one looked at a collection of -paintings, and talked about artists. This was something novel and -interesting, but what connection had it with Titus Livius and the -history of philosophy?</p> - -<p>But then came the details of surgery. One was roused at seven o'clock -in the morning, came into the doctor's dark room, and manually assisted -at the cauterising of a syphilitic sore. The room reeked of human -flesh, and was repugnant to an empty stomach. Or he had to hold a -patient's head and felt it twitch with pain while the doctor with a -fork extracted glands from his throat.</p> - -<p>"One soon gets accustomed to that," said the doctor, and that was true, -but John's thoughts were busy with Goethe's Faust, Wieland's Epicurean -romances, George Sand's social phantasies, Chateaubriand's soliloquies -with nature, and Lessing's common-sense theories. His imagination -was set in motion and his memory refused to work; the reality of -cauterisations and flowing blood was ugly; Êstheticism had laid hold -of him, and actual life seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His -intercourse with artists had opened his eyes to a new world, a free -society within Society. They would come to a well-spread table where -cultivated people were sitting with badly-fitting clothes, black nails, -and dirty linen, as if they were not merely equal, but superior to the -rest,—in what?</p> - -<p>They could scarcely write their names, they borrowed money without -repaying it, and their talk was coarse. Everything was permitted to -them, which was not permitted to others. Why? They could paint. They -studied at the Academy, and the Academy did not ask whether all who -enrolled themselves as students were geniuses. How was it known that -they were geniuses? Was painting greater than knowledge and science?</p> - -<p>They also had, as was well recognised, a peculiar morality of their -own. They opened studios, hired models, and boasted of their paramours, -while other men were ashamed of theirs and incurred disapproval on -account of them. They laughed at what were very serious matters for -other men, nay, it seemed to be part of an artist's equipment to be a -"scoundrel," as any one else would be called for similar conduct.</p> - -<p>"That was a glad free world," thought John, and one in which he could -thrive, without conventional fetters or social obligations, and above -all, without contact with banal realities. But he was not a genius? -How should he get the entrée to it? Should he learn to paint and so be -initiated? No! that would not do; he had never thought of painting; -that demanded a special vocation, he thought, and painting would not -express all he had to say, when once he began to speak. If he <i>had</i> -to find a medium for self-expression it would be the theatre. An actor -could step forward, and say all kinds of truths, however bitter they -might be, without being brought to book for them. That was certainly a -tempting career.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - -<h4>IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN</h4> - -<h4>(1869)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>John's proposal to transfer the university from Upsala to Stockholm was -destined to have consequences, and his comrades had warned him of them. -When he went up early in spring in order to write the obligatory Latin -essay he had sent the professor by post the three test-essays and the -15 krona fee. So he could carry out his purpose unhindered and enrolled -himself.</p> - -<p>But now in May he wished to go and pass the preliminary examination in -chemistry. In order to be well prepared, he had himself tested by the -assistant-professor at the technological institute. The latter did so -and declared that he already knew more than was needed for the medical -examination. Thus prepared, he went up to Upsala. His first visit was -to a comrade, who had already passed the preliminary examination in -chemistry, and knew the "tips" for it.</p> - -<p>John began: "I can do synthesis and analysis, and have studied organic -chemistry."</p> - -<p>"That is very well, for we only need synthesis; however, it is no use -for you have not studied in the professor's laboratory."</p> - -<p>"That is true; but the course at the Institute is much better."</p> - -<p>"No matter,—it is not his."</p> - -<p>"We shall see," said John, "whether knowledge does not tell in any -ease."</p> - -<p>"If you are so sure, then try, but consider first what I say. You must -first go to the assistant-professor and get a 'tip'."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"For a krona he will give you an hour's polishing, and ask you all the -important questions which the professor has put during the past year. -Just now he is in the habit of asking whether matches can be made out -of his carcase and ammonia from your old boots. But that you will -learn from the assistant. Secondly, you must not go to be examined -in a frock coat and white tie; least of all, dressed as well as you -are now. Therefore you must borrow my riding-coat, which is green in -the shoulders and red in the seams, and my top-boots, for he does not -like elastic boots."</p> - -<p>John followed his friend's instructions and went first to the -assistant-professor who gave him the questions which had been last -asked. In return John promised that under all circumstances he would -return and tell him the questions which he himself had been asked, as a -means of enlarging his catechism.</p> - -<p>The next day John went to his friend to array himself. His trousers -were drawn up so that the tops of the boots should be seen and his -loose collar turned on one side, so that the skin should show between -the tie and the collar. Thus equipped, he went up for his first trial.</p> - -<p>The professor of chemistry had formerly been a fortification officer, -and had received in his time a not very cordial welcome from the -learned staff in Upsala. He was a soldier, not academically cultivated, -and thus a kind of "Philistine." This had galled him and made him -bilious. In order to efface the effect of his laymen-like exterior, he -affected the airs of an over-read and blunt professor. He went about -ill-dressed and behaved eccentrically. Though many hundreds besides -himself had been pupils of Berzelius, he was fond of mentioning the -fact; it was his trump card. Berzelius, among other things, went about -in shabby trousers, therefore a hole in one's clothes was the sign of a -learned chemist, and so on. Hence all these peculiarities.</p> - -<p>John presented himself, was regarded with suspicion and bidden to come -again in a week. He replied that he had come from Stockholm and was -too poor to support himself for a week in the town. He managed to get -permission to present himself the next day. "It would be soon over," -said the old man.</p> - -<p>The next day he sat on a seat opposite the professor. It was a sunny -afternoon in May, and the old man seemed to have digested his dinner -badly. He looked grim as he threw out his first question from his -rocking-chair. The answers were correct at the beginning. Then the -questions became more tortuous like snakes.</p> - -<p>"If I have an estate, where I suspect the presence of saltpetre, how -shall I begin to construct a saltpetre factory?"</p> - -<p>John suggested a saltpetre analysis.</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, I don't know anything else."</p> - -<p>There was silence and the flies buzzed,—a long and terrible silence. -"Now will come the question about the boots or the matches," thought -John, "and there I shall shine." He coughed by way of rousing the -professor, but the silence continued. John wondered whether he had been -seen through and whether the old man recognised the "examination coat."</p> - -<p>Then came a new question which was unanswered, and then another.</p> - -<p>"You have come too soon," said the old man, and rose up.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but I have worked a whole year in the laboratory, and can do -chemical analysis."</p> - -<p>"Yes, you know how to make up prescriptions, but you have not digested -your knowledge. In the Institute only manual dexterity is necessary, -but here scientific knowledge is required."</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact the case was exactly the reverse for the medical -students in Upsala complained that they had to stand like cooks and -make up mixtures and salts, without having time to look at an analysis, -which last was just what a doctor ought to do while synthesis was the -apothecary's work. But now the proposal made some years before whether -the university had not better be transferred to Stockholm had roused a -feeling in Upsala against the capital. Moreover the laboratory of the -newly-built technological institute was as famous for its excellent -equipment, as that of Upsala was notorious for its poor one. Here, -therefore, petty prejudices were at work and John felt the unfairness -of it. "I do not then get a certificate?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"No, sir, not this year; but come again next year."</p> - -<p>The professor was ashamed to say, "Go to my only soul-saving -laboratory."</p> - -<p>John went out furious. Here then again neither diligence nor knowledge -prevailed, but only cash and cringing! Had he tried short cuts? No, -on the contrary, he had been obliged to travel by painful circuitous -paths, while others had gone the direct road, and the directest is the -shortest.</p> - -<p>He went to the Carolina Park, as angry as an irritated bee. He did -not wish to return at once to the town, but sat down on a seat. If he -could only set this devil's hole on fire! Another year? No, never! Why -read so much unnecessary stuff, which would only be forgotten, and be -of no practical use? And slave in order to enter this dirty profession -where one had to analyse urine, pick about in vomit, poke about in all -the recesses of the body? Faugh! Just as he was sitting there, a group -of cheerful-looking people came by, and stood laughing outside the -Carolina library. They looked up to the window's, through which long -rows of books were visible, shelf after shelf. They laughed,—the men -and women laughed at the books. He thought he recognised them. Yes, -they were Levasseur's French actors, whom he had seen in Stockholm and -who were now visiting Upsala. They laughed at the books! Lucky people -who could be importers of genius and culture without books. Perhaps -every soul had something to give which was not in books, but would be -there some day. Yes, certainly it was so. He himself possessed stories -of experience and thoughts, which could enrich anthropology, and were -ready to be throw out.</p> - -<p>Again there stole upon him the thought of entering this privileged -profession, which stood outside and above petty social conventions -which ignored distinctions of rank, and in which one need never be -conscious of belonging to the lower classes. There one could appeal to -the universal judgment, and work in full publicity instead of being -hung up here in a remote dark hole, without a verdict, examination, or -witnesses.</p> - -<p>Strengthened by this new idea, he stood up, east a glance at the books -above, and went down to the town resolved to go home and seek for an -engagement in the Theatre Royal.</p> - -<p>Every townsman has probably felt once in his life the wish to appear -as an actor. This is probably due to the impulse of the cultivated -man to magnify and make himself something, to identify himself with -great and celebrated personalities. John, who was a romanticist, had -also the desire to step forward and harangue the public. He believed -that he could choose his proper rÃŽle, and he knew beforehand which it -would be. The fact that he, like all others, believed that he had the -capacity to become an actor, sprang from the superfluity of unused -force, produced by a want of sufficient physical exercise, and from the -tendency to megalomania connected with mental over-exertion. He saw no -difficulties in the profession itself, but expected opposition from -another quarter.</p> - -<p>To attribute his being stage-struck to hereditary tendencies would -perhaps be hasty, since we have just remarked that it is an almost -universal impulse. But his paternal grandfather, a Stockholm citizen, -had written dramatic pieces for an amateur theatre, and a young -distant relative still lived as a warning example. The latter had been -an engineer, had been through a course of instruction in the Motala -iron-works, and had a post on the Köping-Hult railway. He therefore had -fine prospects in front of him, but suddenly threw them up, and became -an actor. This step of his was an incessant trouble to his family. Up -to this time the young man had become nothing but was still travelling -about with an obscure theatrical company. The danger of becoming like -him was the difficult point. "Yes," said John to himself, "but I shall -have luck." Why? Because he believed it; and he believed it because he -wished it.</p> - -<p>Some might be inclined to derive this strong impulse on John's part -from the fact that he loved to play, as a child, with a toy theatre, -but that is not sufficient, as all children do the same and he had got -the taste from seeing them do it. The theatre was an unreal better -world which enticed one out of the tedious real one. The latter would -not have seemed so tedious if his education had been more harmonious -and realistic and not given him such a strong tendency to romance. -Enough; his resolution was taken; and without saying anything to any -one, he went to the director of the Theatrical Academy the dramaturgist -of the Theatre Royal.</p> - -<p>When he heard the sound of his own words "I want to be an actor," -he shuddered. He felt as though he tore down the veil of his inborn -modesty, and did violence to his own nature.</p> - -<p>The director asked what he was doing at present.</p> - -<p>"Studying medicine."</p> - -<p>"And you want to give up such a career, for one that is the hardest and -the worst of all?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>All actors called their profession the "hardest and the worst" though -they had such a good time of it. That was in order to frighten away -aspirants.</p> - -<p>John asked for private lessons in order that he might make his début. -The director replied that he was now going to the country for the -theatrical season was at an end, but he told John to come again on the -1st of September when the theatre opened, and the board of management -came again to the town. That was a definite appointment and he saw his -way clear.</p> - -<p>When he went down the street, he walked with his eyes wide open, as -though he gazed into a brilliant future; victory was already his; he -felt its intoxicating eating fumes, and hurried, though with unsteady -steps, down the street.</p> - -<p>He said nothing to the doctor nor to any one else. He had still three -months in front of him in which to train and prepare himself, but in -secret, for he was shy and timid. He was afraid of annoying his father -and the doctor, afraid of the whole town knowing that he thought -himself capable of being an actor, afraid of his relatives' scorn, his -friends' grimaces and efforts to dissuade him. This was the fruit of -his education, the fear,—"What will people say?" His imagination made -the act seem like a crime. It was certainly an interference with other -people's peace of mind for relations and friends feel a shock, when -they see a link torn out of the social chain. He felt it himself, and -had to shake off the scruples of conscience.</p> - -<p>For his début he had chosen the rÃŽles of Karl Moor and Wijkander's -Lucidor. This was no mere chance but perfectly logical. In both of -these characters he had found the expression of his inner experience, -and therefore he wished to speak with their tongues. He conceived of -Lucidor as a higher nature undermined and ruined by poverty. A higher -nature of course! In his enthusiasm for the theatre he felt again what -he had felt when he had preached, and when he had revolted against the -school prayers,<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> something of the proclaimer, the prophet, and the -soothsayer.</p> - -<p>What most of all elevated his ideas of the great significance of the -theatre was the perusal of Schiller's essay, "The theatre regarded -as an instrument of moral education." Sentences like the following -show how lofty was the goal at which Schiller aimed. "The stage is -the chief channel through which the light of wisdom descends from -the better, thinking portion of the populace in order to spread its -beneficent light over the whole state." "In this world of art we -dream ourselves away from the real one, we find ourselves again, our -feelings are roused, wholesome emotions stir our slumbering nature and -drive our blood in swift currents. The unhappy here forget their own -sorrows in watching those of others, the happy become sober, and the -self-confident, reflective. The effeminate weakling is hardened into a -man, the coarse and callous here begin to feel. And then finally,—what -a triumph for thee O Nature, so often trodden down and so often -re-arisen,—when men of all climates and conditions, casting away all -fetters of convention and fashion, set free from the iron hand of fate, -fraternising in one all-embracing sympathy, dissolved into <i>one</i> race, -forget themselves and the world, and approach their heavenly origin. -Each individual enjoys the delight of all, which is mirrored back to -him strengthened and beautified from a hundred eyes, and his breast has -only room for one aspiration,—to be a man!"</p> - -<p>Thus wrote the young Schiller at twenty-five, and the youth of twenty -subscribed it.</p> - -<p>The theatre is certainly still a means of culture for young people and -the middle class who can still feel the illusion of actors and painted -canvas. For older and cultivated people it is a recreation in which the -actor's art is the chief object of attention. Therefore old critics -are almost invariably discontent and crabbed. They have lost their -illusions and do not pass over any mistake in the acting.</p> - -<p>Modern times have overprised the theatre, especially the actor's art in -an exaggerated degree, and a re-action has followed. Actors have tried -to ply their art independently of the dramatist, believing that they -could stand on their own legs. Therefore particular "stars" become the -objects of homage and therefore also opposition has been aroused. In -Paris, where people had gone to the greatest lengths, a reaction first -showed itself. The <i>Figaro</i> called the heroes of the Théâtre-Français -to order, and reminded them that they were only the author's puppets.</p> - -<p>The decay of all the great European theatres shows that the actor's -art has lost its interest. Cultivated people no more go to the -theatre because their sense for reality has been developed, and -their imagination which is a relic of the savage has diminished; the -uncultivated lack the time, and the money to go. The future seems to -belong to the variety theatre, which amuses without instructing, for it -is mere play and recreation. All important writers choose another, more -suitable form in which to handle important questions. Ibsen's dramas -have always produced their effect in book form before they were played; -and when they are played, the spectators' interest is generally -concentrated on the <i>manner</i> of their performance; consequently it is a -secondary interest.</p> - -<p>John committed the usual mistake of youth, <i>i.e.</i> of confusing the -actor with the author; the actor is the mere enunciator of the -sentiments for which the author who stands behind him, is responsible.</p> - -<p>In the spring John resigned his post as tutor to the two girls, and -now he had leisure during the summer to study his art in secret, -and on his own responsibility. He had scoffed at books, and now the -first things he sought were books. They contained the thoughts and -experiences of men with whom, though most of them were dead, he could -converse familiarly, without being betrayed. He had heard that in the -castle there was a library which belonged to the State, and from which -one could borrow books. He obtained a surety and went there. It was a -solemn place with small rooms full of books where grey-haired silent -old men sat and read. He got his books and went shyly and happily home.</p> - -<p>He wished to study the matter thoroughly in all its aspects, as was his -custom. In Schiller he found the assurance that the theatre was of deep -significance; in Goethe he found a whole treatise on the histrionic -art with directions how one should walk and stand, behave oneself, sit -down, come in and go out; in Lessing's <i>Hamburgische Dramaturgie</i> he -found a whole volume of theatrical critiques filled with the closest -observations. Lessing especially roused his hopes, for he went so far -as to declare that the theatre had come down owing to the inferiority -of the actors, and said that it would be better to employ amateurs -from the cultivated classes who would play better than the drilled and -often uncultured actors. He also read Raymond de St. Albin, whose often -quoted observations on the actor's art are of great value.</p> - -<p>At the same time he exercised himself practically. At the doctor's he -arranged a stage when the boys were out. He practised entrances and -exits; he arranged the stage for "The Robbers," dressed himself like -Karl Moor, and played that part. He went to the National Museum and -studied gestures of antique sculptures and gave up using his walking -stick in order to accustom himself to walk freely. He did violence -to his shyness, which had almost produced in him "agoraphobia," or -the dread of crossing open places, and accustomed himself to walk -across Karl XIII's square where great crowds used to be found. He did -gymnastics every day at home, and fenced with his pupils. He gave -attention to every movement of the muscles; practised walking with head -erect and chest expanded, with arms hanging free and hands loosely -clenched, as Goethe directs.</p> - -<p>The chief difficulty he found was in the cultivation of his voice, -for he was overheard when he declaimed in the house. Then it occurred -to him to go outside the town. The only place where he could be -undisturbed was the LadugÃ¥rdsgÀrdet. There he could look over the plain -for a great distance and see whether any one was coming; there sounds -died away so quickly that it cost him an effort to hear himself. This -strengthened his voice.</p> - -<p>Every day he went out there, and declaimed against heaven and earth. -The town whose church tower rose opposite LadugÃ¥rdsgÀrdet symbolised -society, while he stood out here alone with Nature. He shook his fist -at the castle, the churches, and the barracks, and stormed at the -troops who during their manoeuvres often came too close to him. There -was something fanatical in his work and he spared himself no pains in -order to make his unwilling muscles obedient.</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> <i>Vide</i> the <i>Son of a Servant</i>.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - -<h4>JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT</h4> - -<h4>(1869)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Among those who frequented the doctor's house was a young man who -studied sculpture. He had come from the lower strata of society, had -been a smith's apprentice, and had now entered the Academy, where he -was a probationary student. He was happy and always cheerful, believed -himself called by providence to his new career, and narrated how he -had been aroused and impelled by the spirit to work in the service -of the Beautiful. John liked him because he was not introspective or -self-critical and quite free from self-consciousness. Moreover he was a -fellow culprit, who was making the same daring attempt as John to work -his way out of the lower class, but entirely lacked the consciousness -of guilt which persecuted the latter.</p> - -<p>One day this friend, whose name was Albert, came to him and said -that he was going to Copenhagen to visit Thorwaldsen's Museum. An -enterprising speculator had arranged a trip there through the canal -and back by sea for a very small fare. "You come too," he said, and it -was soon settled that John should accompany him with one of the boys. -The occasion of the expedition was the crown princess's entry into -Copenhagen, but that was a secondary object in the eyes of the pilgrims -to Thorwaldsen's tomb.</p> - -<p>On an August evening John sat on the poop of the steamer with the -sculptor, one of the boys and a school friend of his. In the twilight -which had already fallen one saw ladies and gentlemen coming on board. -The society seemed to be first-class. Stout fathers of families with -field-glasses and tourist knapsacks, ladies in summer dresses and hats -of the latest fashion. There was a bustle and stir, as each sought a -sleeping-place which was guaranteed to all. John and his companions sat -quietly waiting. They had their provisions and rugs and feared nothing. -When the steamer had started and the confusion had ceased, John said, -"Now we will have some bread and butter before we lie down."</p> - -<p>They looked for their knapsacks and the provision basket, but they were -not to be found. They discovered that they had not come with them. This -was a hard blow, for they had only a little cash and they had counted -on the excellent provisions which the doctor's wife had put up for -them. Accordingly they had to eat from the sculptor's box, which only -contained poor dry victuals.</p> - -<p>Then they wanted to lie down. On all sides people were asking for -sleeping-places, but could not find any. The passengers were in an -uproar and there was a storm of curses. They had therefore to sit on -deck; there were inquiries for the organiser of the expedition, but he -was not on board. John lay down on the bare deck and the boys drew a -tarpaulin over themselves, for the dew was falling and it was bitterly -cold. They awoke at Södertelje, freezing, for the sailors had taken -away the tarpaulin.</p> - -<p>On the canal bank there now appeared the organiser of the excursion, -who was an upholsterer. The passengers rushed at him, drew him on -board, and loaded him with reproaches. He defended himself and tried -to land again, but in vain. A court martial was held; they resolved -to continue their journey, but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. -The steamer went on through the canal, but as it was passing through a -lock, the man-swung himself up on the dam and disappeared amid a hail -of curses.</p> - -<p>The journey was continued and by midday they were in the Gotha canal. -Dinner was laid on the poop. John and his companions ensconced -themselves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a simple meal out -of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, who had slept on a bale do mu in -the luggage-hold, was in a good humour and knew all the passengers' -characters and names.</p> - -<p>The dinner-table was now crowded. It was presided over by a master -chimney-sweep with his family. Then there came pawnbrokers, -public-house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with their families, -a number of young shop boys and some girls. John suffered when he saw -stewed perch and strawberries together with claret and sherry, for he -had been so spoilt by luxury that simple food made him poorly. This -was the "upper class" among the passengers. The master chimney-sweep -played the grand gentleman, he made a grimace at the claret and scolded -the waitress who said that the restaurant-keeper was responsible. The -porter from the Record Office affected the learned man, and as an -official seemed to look down on the "Philistines."</p> - -<p>While the sherry circulated, speeches were made. The lower class -from the fore-deck hung on the gunwales and hand-rails and listened. -The pariahs in the lifeboat were ignored. People knew that they were -there, but did not see them. They may very likely have wished the -"white cap" away, for there were two eyes under its peak, which saw -that they were no better than himself. John felt that. He had just -emerged from this class to which he belonged by birth, but he had no -food and was nothing. He felt his inferiority and his superiority; and -their superiority. They had worked; therefore they ate. Yes, but he -had worked as much as they, though not in the same way. He had derived -honour from his work, while they took the good eating and dispensed -with the honour. One could not have both.</p> - -<p>The people sat there satisfied and happy, drank their coffee and -liqueurs, and occupied the whole poop. They now became bold and made -remarks over those in the lifeboat, who could only suffer in silence, -because the others were in the majority and the upper class, for they -were consumers.</p> - -<p>John felt himself in an element which was not his. There was an -atmosphere of hostility about him, and he felt depressed. There were -no police on board to help him, no arbitration to appeal to, and if -there were a quarrel, all would condemn him. There only needed a sharp -retort on his part, and he would be struck. "The deuce!" he thought, -"it would be better to obey officers and officials; they would never -be such tyrants as these democrats." Later on, at Albert's advice, he -sought to approach them, but they were inaccessible.</p> - -<p>Further on during the voyage between Venersborg and Göteborg the -explosion came. John and his companions' hunger increased so much that -one day they determined to go down to the dining-saloon and eat some -bread and butter. It was so full of people eating and drinking that -they could hardly find room. John's pupil, according to the custom of -his class, kept his hat on. The master chimney-sweep noticed this. -"Hullo!" he said, "is the ceiling too high for you?"</p> - -<p>The boy seemed not to understand him.</p> - -<p>"Take your hat off, boy!" he shouted again.</p> - -<p>The hat remained as it was. A shop assistant knocked it off. The boy -picked up the hat, and put it again on his head. Then the storm burst. -They all rushed on him like one man and knocked the hat off. Then they -went for John, "And such a young devil has a tutor who cannot teach -boys to know their proper place! We know well enough who <i>you</i> are." -Then they rained abuse on his parents. John tried to inform them that -in the social circles to which the boy belonged, it was the custom to -keep one's hat on in public places, and that he had not intended any -expression of contempt by it. But his explanation was ill-received. -What did he mean by "those circles"? What nonsense he talked! Did he -want to teach them manners? And so on.</p> - -<p>Yes, he could; for it was precisely from these circles that they had -learnt five-and-twenty years ago to take their hats off, which was no -longer the custom, and he could have told them that in twenty-five -years more they would keep their hats on as soon as they got wind that -<i>that</i> was the fashion. But they had not discovered it yet.</p> - -<p>John and his friends went again on deck. "One cannot argue with these -people," he said.</p> - -<p>His nerves were shaken by the scene just witnessed. He had seen an -outbreak of class-hatred and the flashing eyes of people whom he had -not injured; he had felt the foot of the upper class of the future upon -his breast. They had become his enemies; the bridge between him and -them was broken down; but the tie of blood remained and he cherished -the same hatred towards aristocratic society, and its unjust ascendency -as they did; he felt the same grudge against the conventions before -which they all had to bow; yes, he had Karl Moor's replies in his mind, -but those who had just defeated him were all Spiegelbergers.<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> If they -got the upper hand they would trample on all,—great and small; if he -got the upper hand, he would only trample on the great. That was the -difference between them. It was, however, education which had made him -more democratic than they; he would therefore side with the educated. -They would work for those below, but from a distance, and from above. -One could not handle this raw uncouth mass.</p> - -<p>The stay on board was now intolerable. An outbreak might take place at -any moment. And it came.</p> - -<p>They were now in the Kattegat, and John was sitting on the upper deck -when he heard a loud noise beneath him of voices and cries. He thought -he recognised his pupil's voice, and rushed down. On the middle deck -stood the accused surrounded by a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms -about and shouted. John asked what the matter was.</p> - -<p>"He has stolen my cap," shouted the pawnbroker.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe it possible," said John.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I saw it; he has put it in this clothes bag."</p> - -<p>It was John's bag. "That is mine," said John. "You can look into it -yourself." He opened the bag and there lay the pawnbroker's cap! There -was general excitement. John stood convicted and a storm was on the -point of breaking out against the two thieves. A student who stole! -That was a bonne bouche. How had it happened? Now John remembered. He -had a grey cap similar to the pawnbroker's which he used to sleep in -at night. He had told the boy to put it in his bag; the boy had taken -the wrong one. John turned to the foredeck passengers: "Gentlemen," he -began, "do you think it likely that a rich man's son would go and take -a greasy cap when he has a perfectly new one? Do you not see that there -has been a mistake?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the plebeians, "there has."</p> - -<p>Only the pawnbroker was obstinate and stuck to his statement.</p> - -<p>"Then it only remains for me to beg this gentleman's pardon for the -mistake, and I ask my pupil to do the same."</p> - -<p>The latter did so, though unwillingly. There was general satisfaction -and a murmured opinion that he had "spoken like a gentleman." The -matter was fortunately settled.</p> - -<p>"You see," said John to the boy, "the people are open to reason after -all!"</p> - -<p>"Bah! That was only because they felt flattered at being called -gentlemen,—the cursed rabble!"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," answered John, who felt that he had been sufficiently -humiliated for such a trifle.</p> - -<p>At last they reached Copenhagen. Hungry, freezing, and in the worst of -humours they sat in the rain outside the Thorwaldsen Museum, which was -closed on account of the festivities. But Albert swore he would get -in. After they had waited for an hour with the master chimney-sweep, -the public-house keeper, and all the other passengers there came an -old man who looked learned and wished to enter. Albert rushed after -him, mentioned the name of Molins, the Swedish sculptor, and they got -in, leaving the other passengers outside. Albert was delighted, and -could not help making a face at the master chimney-sweep who remained -outside. But the one who enjoyed it most was the young sinner, who -hated the mob.</p> - -<p>"Now we are gentlemen," he said.</p> - -<p>John was not in the mood to enjoy Thorwaldsen's works. He regarded -him as an average artist talented enough to win fame. Albert found -the antiques too elaborate, but did not dare to criticise them. -They did not witness the royal entry, but sat on the tower of the -Fruekirke and looked at the view. At nightfall, when they felt tired -and exhausted, they wanted to go down to the steamer to sleep, but it -had gone to Malmö. They stood in the street in the rain. They could -not go to an hotel, for they had no money. Albert resolved to go to a -public-house and ask for a night's lodging. They found a sailors' inn -near the public-house. The landlord said it was only for seamen, but -they answered that they must have shelter. They were taken into a back -room where there were two camp-beds, but a basin was not to be seen. -The walls were unpapered and looked shabby. In one of the beds lay a -sailor. Who was to be his bed-fellow? Albert undertook that, and slept -with the stranger, who was a Dutchman. So they all went to sleep, John -cursing the whole adventure, for the bed-clothes were malodorous.</p> - -<p>The return voyage home by sea was one long penance. Without provisions -and hardly any money they had to sustain life on raw eggs which they -bought in the small towns they touched at. These along with stale -bread and brandy, composed their diet for three days. Albert alone -was cheerful and enjoyed himself. He slept on the poop with the -passengers and amused them with stories; he was akin to them, and knew -their language. He drank with them and got hot food; he even went into -the kitchen sometimes and begged himself a plate of soup. "How easily -he takes life!" thought John. "He does not miss luxuries, for he has -never known them; he will never be expelled as an intruder when he -approaches people; he feasts while others starve, and sees only friends -everywhere. But his day will come when he will no longer be one of the -lower class, when luxury and refined habits will make him as helpless -and unfortunate as me."</p> - -<p>When he got home he was furious. So it was everywhere. Those who were -above trampled on those below, and those who were below tried to -pull one back when one tried to mount. What was the meaning of all -this talk about aristocrats and democrats? The lower class spoke of -their democratic way of thinking, as though it were a virtue. What -virtue is there in hating those who are above? What is the meaning of -"aristocrat"? ÎÏιÏÏÎ¿Ï means the best, and κÏαÏÎÏ "I rule." Therefore -an aristocrat is one who wishes that the best should rule and a -democrat one who wishes that the worst should do so. But then comes the -question: Who are really the best? Are a low social position, poverty -and ignorance things that make men better? No, for then one would not -try to do away with poverty and ignorance. Into whose hands then should -men commit political power, with the knowledge that it would be in the -hands of the least mischievous? Into the hands of those who knew most? -Then one would have professorial government, and Upsala would be—no, -not the professors! To whom then should power be given? He could not -answer, but certainly not to the chimney-sweep and cab-owner who were -on the steamer.</p> - -<p>On this occasion he did not go deeper into the matter, for the question -had not yet been raised whether the same culture could not be imparted -to every one, or whether there need be any governing body at all.</p> - -<p>He had come across the worst aristocracy of all, the upper stratum -of the lower class, or, to name them by their usual ugly title, "the -Philistines." They were a bad copy of the aristocracy; they sided with -the powerful, aped the habits of their superiors, grew rich by others' -labours, quoted authorities and hated opposition with the exception of -their silent opposition to those above them. The master chimney-sweep -made money through the toil of the abjectly poor, the cab-owner through -the wretched cabbies and hacks, the pawnbroker wrung unrighteous -gain from the need of the poverty-stricken, and so on, everywhere. -A teacher, on the other hand, a doctor, an artist, could not depute -slaves to his work; he must do it himself, and was therefore not such -a shark as those below. If, then, culture brought men happiness and -made them better, then the aristocracy were justified and beneficent, -and could regard themselves as better than those below. Yes, but one -could buy culture for money, could beg or borrow the means for it, -as so many students did, and there was no virtue in that at any rate. -Yet one could not help feeling superior to others when one knew more -and observed the laws of social life so as to injure no one. All that -remained for the real democracy was to reduce everything to a dead -level, so that no one need feel themselves below, and no one could -think they were above.</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> <i>Vide</i> Schiller's "Robbers."</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - -<h4>BEHIND THE CURTAIN</h4> - -<h4>(1869)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The Swedish theatre was at this time exposed to many attacks, and when -is a theatre not in that condition? The theatre is a miniature society -within society, with a monarch, ministers, officials, and a whole -number of classes, ranged above one another in ranks. Is it any wonder -that this society is always exposed to the attacks of the malcontents? -But at this period the attacks had a more practical object. A former -provincial actor had written a pamphlet against the Theatre Royal, of -little real importance, but with the result that the author was invited -to a seat on the board of directors. This aroused imitators, and many -published treatises in order to attain the same result.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, the Theatre Royal was neither better nor worse -than it had been before. "But," it was asked, "if the theatre is -an institution supported by subscriptions for forwarding culture, -why set an uncultivated person at the head of it?" To this it was -answered, "We have just had one of the most learned men in the country -as director, and how did that answer? Although he had the advantage -of plebeian birth he was worried to death by the democratic press, -which incessantly carped at him." At last, in our time, the utopia of -self-government has been realised, the theatre has a man from the lower -classes at its head, and there is general satisfaction.</p> - -<p>On the day fixed, John went to the theatre in order to announce his -intention of making his début. After some delay, he was sent for and -asked his business.</p> - -<p>"I want to make my début."</p> - -<p>"Oh! have you studied any special character?"</p> - -<p>"Karl Moor in 'The Robbers,'" he answered more defiantly than was -necessary.</p> - -<p>They looked at each other and smiled. "But one must have three rÃŽles; -have you got no other to suggest?"</p> - -<p>"Lucidor!"</p> - -<p>There was a consultation, and John was informed that these dramas were -not now in the repertory of the theatre. He objected that this was not -a sufficient reason for his not undertaking those rÃŽles, but received -the perfectly fair answer, that the theatre could not stage such -important dramas and disarrange its programme for untried débutants. -Then the director proposed to John that he should take the rÃŽle of the -"Warrior of Ravenna." But after the great success which had attended -the last actor of that part, he dared not. They finally suggested that -he should have a talk with the literary manager. Then began a battle -which was probably not the first or the last which had taken place in -that room.</p> - -<p>"Be reasonable, sir; one must study this profession like all others. No -one becomes an adept all of a sudden. Creep before you walk. Undertake -at first a minor rÃŽle."</p> - -<p>"No, the rÃŽle must be great enough to sustain me. In a minor rÃŽle one -must be a great artist in order to attract attention."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but listen to me, sir; I have experience."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but others have made their début in leading parts, without having -been on the stage before."</p> - -<p>"But you will break your neck."</p> - -<p>"Very well, then! I will!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but the board of directors will not give the best stage in the -country to the first chance aspirant to make experiments on."</p> - -<p>That seemed reasonable. He therefore consented to undertake a minor -rÃŽle. He was given the part of HÀrved Boson in Hedberg's <i>Marriage of -Ulfosa</i>.</p> - -<p>John read over the part at home, and was astonished. It was quite -insignificant. He only had a few quarrels with his brother-in-law and -then embraced his wife. But he had to undertake the part, as he had -agreed to do.</p> - -<p>The rehearsals began. To have to shout out empty words without meaning -was repugnant to him.</p> - -<p>After some trials the teacher declared that he had no more time and -recommended John to take lessons in the Dramatic Academy.</p> - -<p>"But I won't be a pupil," he said.</p> - -<p>"No, of course."</p> - -<p>They talked of the Dramatic Academy, as of an elementary or Sunday -School; all kinds of pupils were accepted whether they had any -education or not. John did not intend to become a pupil, but went -just to listen. He went there reluctantly. Accustomed to be a teacher -himself, he was received as a sort of honorary guest, and sat down, but -attracted an uncomfortable amount of attention. The hour was passed in -reciting "Vintergatan," which he knew by heart, and some other pieces -of verse.</p> - -<p>"But one can't learn anything for the stage here," he ventured to say -to the teacher.</p> - -<p>"Well! come on the stage, and try before the footlights."</p> - -<p>"How can I do that?"</p> - -<p>"As a supernumerary actor."</p> - -<p>"Supernumerary! H'm! That is like going downhill before beginning," -thought John. But he determined to go through with it. One morning he -received an invitation to try a part in Björnson's <i>Maria Stuart</i>. -The theatre messenger gave him a little blue note-book on which was -written, "A nobleman," and inside, on a white sheet of paper, "The -Lords have sent an intermediary with a challenge to Count Both well." -That was the whole part! Such was to be his début!</p> - -<p>At the appointed time he went up the little back stairs, passed the -door-keeper and came on the stage. It was the first time that he was -behind the scenes, and saw the reverse of the medal. The stage looked -like a great warehouse with black walls; a cracked and dirty floor like -that of a hay loft, and grey linen screens mounted on rough wood.</p> - -<p>It was here that he had seen represented majestic scenes from the -world's history; here Masaniello had shouted "Death to Tyrants" while -John stood trembling at the end of the fourth row among the audience; -here Hamlet had given vent to his scorn and suffered his sorrows, and -from here Karl Moor had defied society and the whole world. John felt -alarmed. How could one preserve the illusion hero in sight of the -unpainted wood and the grey canvas? Everything looked dusty and dirty; -the workmen were poor melancholy devils, and the actors and actresses -looked insignificant in their ordinary clothes.</p> - -<p>He was led into the lobby where they were going to dance for -half-an-hour the gavotte, which introduced the play. It was broad -daylight. The old music teacher sat on a chair and played the viol. The -ballet-master shouted, struck his hands together and arranged them in -their places. "I didn't bargain for this," thought John, but it was too -late. So he found himself in the midst of a complicated dance which he -did not know, and was pushed about and scolded. "No, I am not going to -do this," he thought, but he could not get out of it.</p> - -<p>A feeling of shame came over him. Dancing in the day-time was not a -seemly occupation. And then to descend from teacher to pupil, and be -the last here; he had never before gone back so far.</p> - -<p>The bell rang for the rehearsal, and they were driven on the stage. -Then they were arranged for the gavotte. By the footlights stood the -chief actors who had the important rÃŽles; and behind them the rest in -two lines occupied the background.</p> - -<p>The orchestra struck up and the dance began in slow solemn rhythm. From -the footlights were heard the deep voices of the two Puritans lamenting -the depravity of the court.</p> - -<p><i>Lindsay</i>. "Look! the dancing lines wind like snakes in the sun. -Listen! the music plays with the flames of hell! The devil's roar of -laughter is in it."</p> - -<p><i>Andrew Kerr</i>. "Hush, hush; the penalty will overwhelm them as the sea -overwhelmed Pharaoh's army."</p> - -<p><i>Lindsay</i>. "Look, how they whisper! The infecting breath of sin! See -their voluptuous smiles; see the ladies' frivolous gowns."</p> - -<p><i>Citizen</i>. "All that Knox preaches is wasted on this court."</p> - -<p><i>Lindsay</i>. "He is as the prophet in Israel, he does not speak in vain; -for the Lord Himself shall perform His word upon the ungodly race."</p> - -<p>The piece had an arresting effect, and John felt it. The men actors had -their hats, overcoats and sticks, and the women their cloaks and muffs, -but still the drama was impressive in its simple greatness. He stood in -the wings and listened to the whole of it; Mary Stuart did not please -him; she was cruel and coquettish; Bothwell was too rough and strong; -his favourite was Darnley, the weak, Hamlet-like man whose love to this -woman continued to burn in spite of unfaithfulness, scorn, malice and -everything. Knox was as hard as stone with his Puritanism and gloomy -Christianity.</p> - -<p>It was after all something to step forward and enact a piece of history -in the garb of such persons. There was something solemn about it as he -had felt before in the church. After he had gone on the stage and made -his speech he went away firmly resolved to bear all on behalf of sacred -art.</p> - -<p>He had thus taken the decisive step. To his father he had written a -high-flown letter, and declared that he would either become something -great in the career which he had now entered or would retire from it -altogether; he had resolved not to go home till he had succeeded. The -doctor was sorry but made no fuss, for he saw it was impossible to -stop him. But he had other secret plans for saving him which he now -began to set in motion. In the first place he induced John to translate -one or two medical pamphlets for which he had found a publisher. Now -he came with a proposal that they should together write articles for -the <i>Aftonbladet (Evening New's</i>). John for his part had translated -Schiller's essay, <i>The Theatre Regarded as a Moral Institution</i>, and as -the subject of the theatre had now conic up in the Reichstag the doctor -wrote an introduction to it in which he seriously expostulated with -the Agrarian party on their indifference to culture. The whole article -was inserted. Another day the doctor came with a member of the medical -journal, the <i>Lancet</i>, which treated of the question whether women were -fit for a medical career. Without hesitation and instinctively John -decided against it. He had an indescribable reverence for women as -woman, mother and wife, but as a matter of fact, society was founded -upon the man regarded as provider for the family, and upon the woman -as wife and mother; thus man had a full right to his work-market and -all the duties involved in it. Every occupation taken from the man -would mean a marriage less or one more overworked family-provider, for -the impulse to marry was so strong in men that they would not cease -to marry, however great the difficulties in which they might become -involved. Moreover women had abundant opportunities of work; they -could become servants, house-keepers, governesses, teachers, midwives, -seamstresses, actresses, artists, authoresses, queens, empresses, -besides wives and mothers. Many of these vocations were also open to -the unmarried. Anything more than this was an encroachment on the man's -territory. If the woman did that, the man should be free from the cares -of providing for the family, and inquiries after paternity should not -be made. But society would not consent to that. On the contrary it -began to persecute the prostitutes by way of forcing men to marry. Once -caught in the snares of the married women's property law, they would -sink to the level of domestic slaves.</p> - -<p>John instinctively took sides in this complicated problem, which was -destined to take many years to solve, and wrote against the women's -movement, which he saw would involve, if victorious, man's overthrow. -The movement for the emancipation of women had during the fifties, -assumed the wildest forms, and the war-cry, "No lords! No lords!" had -shown the true nature of the movement, which had also been ridiculed -by Rudolf Wall in his comedy, <i>Miss Garibaldi</i>. But while years went -on, the women had worked in silence.</p> - -<p>Great therefore was the surprise of the doctor and John when they found -their article in the <i>Aftonbladet</i> so altered that it seemed in favour -of the movement. "The editor is under the thumbs of women," said the -doctor, and thereby the matter was explained.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile John's theatrical career approached a crisis. He had been -sent into a green room where brandy was drunk and everything was dirty, -to put on his clothes with the supernumeraries. "They want to humiliate -me," he thought, "but patience!"</p> - -<p>Now he was simply appointed as supernumerary in one opera after the -other. He declared that he feared neither the footlights nor the -public after having preached in church, but it was no good. The worst -was, having to lounge about at the rehearsals for hours together with -nothing to do. If he read a book, he was told he had no interest in the -play, and if he went away, an outcry was raised.</p> - -<p>In the Theatrical Academy roles were merely learnt by heart. Children -who had only gone through an elementary school, began to read Goethe's -<i>Faust</i>, naturally without understanding anything of it. But curiously -enough, their very boldness saved them; they got on so well that one -was inclined to think there was no need for an actor to understand -anything, if only he could say his piece fluently. After a few -months John was sick of it all. It was all mechanical. The greatest -actors were blasé and indifferent, never spoke of art, but only of -engagements and honorariums. There was no trace of the gay life behind -the scenes, of which so much had been written. They sat silent waiting -for their turns to come; the dancers and actresses in their costumes, -sewing and stitching. In the lobby the actors went about on tip-toe, -looked at the clock and put on their false beards, without speaking a -word.</p> - -<p>One evening, when <i>Maria Stuart</i> was being acted, John sat alone in -the lobby reading a paper. The actor Dahlqvist, who was taking the -part of John Knox, came in. John, who cherished a deep admiration -for the great actor, stood up and bowed. If he could only speak with -such a man. He trembled at the very thought. Knox, with his venerable -long white hair, his black dress, and his great eyes half-sunk in his -powerful deeply-lined face, sat down at the table. He yawned. "What is -the time?" he asked in a sepulchral tone. John answered that it was -half-past ten, unbuttoning his Burgundian velvet jacket to look for the -watch which was not there.</p> - -<p>"The time is going devilish slow this evening," said Knox and yawned -again. Then he began to retail bits of gossip. He was only a ruin of -his former greatness when his acting of Karl Moor had cast all his -rivals into the shade. He too had seen through everything and was weary -of it all. And yet he had once thought so highly of his art.</p> - -<p>Since John had now the right of free entrance into the theatre he -tried to study acting from the auditorium. But behold! the illusion -was gone! There was Mr. So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so, there was the -background for <i>Quentin Durward</i>, there sat Högfelt, and there behind -the scenes, stood Boberg. There was no further possibility of illusion.</p> - -<p>He was sick of the wretched rÃŽle which he had to repeat continually. -But he also felt remorse and feared that he could not retire from the -game honourably. At last he plucked up courage and demanded a leading -part. The piece in which it occurred had already been performed fifty -times, and the chief actors were tired of it, but they had to come. The -rehearsal took place without costumes or scenery. John was accustomed -to the declamatory manner usual then, and shouted like a preacher. It -was a failure. After the rehearsal the head of the theatrical academy -pronounced his verdict and advised John to enter it for a course of -training, but he would not. He wept for rage, went home and took an -opium pill which he had long kept by him, but without effect; then a -friend took him out and he got intoxicated.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - -<h4>JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR</h4> - -<h4>(1869)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The next morning he felt in a state of complete collapse. His nerves -still trembled and his body felt the fever of shame and intoxication. -What should he do? He must save his honour. He must still hold out -for two or three months and try again. That day he remained at home -and read <i>The Stories of a Barber-Surgeon</i>. As he read it seemed -to him that they recorded his own experience; they were about the -reconciliation of a step-son to his step-mother. The breach in -his domestic life had always weighed upon him like a sin, and he -longed for reconciliation and peace. That day this longing took an -unusually melancholy form, and as he lay on the sofa, his brain began -to evolve various plans for smoothing away the domestic discord. A -woman-worshipper as he then was, and under the influence of the book he -had been reading, he thought that only a woman could reconcile him with -his father. This noble rÃŽle he assigned to his step-mother.</p> - -<p>While thus tying on the sofa he felt an unusual degree of fever, -during which his brain seemed to work at arranging memories of the -past, cutting out some scenes, and adding others. New minor characters -entered; he saw them mixing in the action, and heard them speaking, -just as he had done on the stage. After one or two hours had passed, -he had a comedy in two acts ready in his head. This was both a painful -and pleasurable form of work if it could be called a work; for it went -forward of itself, without his will or co-operation.</p> - -<p>But now he had to write it. In four days the piece was ready. He kept -on going from the writing-table to the sofa and back; and in the -intervals of his work, he collapsed like a rag. When the work was -finished, he drew a deep sigh of relief, as though years of pain were -over, as though a tumour had been cut out. He was so glad, that he felt -as though some one was singing within him. Now he would offer his piece -to the theatre;—that was the way of salvation. The same evening he -sat down to write a note of congratulation to a relative who had found -a situation. When he had written the first line, it seemed to him to -read like a verse. Then he added the second line which rhymed with the -first. Was it no harder than that? Then with a single effort he wrote a -four-page letter in rhyme and discovered that he could write verse. Was -it no harder than that? Only a few months before he had asked a friend -to help him with some verses for a special occasion. He had, however, -received a negative but complimentary answer, in being told not to -drive in a hired carriage, when he had one of his own.</p> - -<p>One was not then born to write verses, he said to himself, nor did one -learn it, though all kinds of verse-measures were taught in school, -but it came,—or did not come. It seemed to him like the working of -the Holy Spirit. Had the psychical convulsion, which he had felt at -his defeat as an actor, been so strong that it had turned upside down -all the strata of his memories and impressions, and had the violent -impulse set his imagination to work? There had doubtless been a long -preparation going on. Was it not his imagination, which had conjured up -pictures, when as a child he had been afraid of the dark? Had he not -written essays in school and letters for years? Had he not formed his -style through reading, translating and writing for the papers? Yes, he -had, but it was not till now that he noticed in himself the so-called -creative power of the artist.</p> - -<p>The art of the actor was therefore not the one suited to his powers; -his having thought so was a mistake which could easily be rectified. -Meanwhile he must keep his authorship fairly secret and remain at the -theatre till the end of the season, so that his failure as an actor -might not be known, or at any rate till his piece was accepted, as it -naturally would be, for he thought it good.</p> - -<p>But he wished to make sure of it, and for that purpose invited two -of his learned friends outside the theatrical circle. In the evening -before they came, he arranged the lumber-room which he had hired in -the doctor's house. He tidied it up, lighted two candles instead of -the study lamp, covered the table with a clean cloth and set on it a -punch-bowl with glass, ash-trays and matches. This was the first time -he had entertained guests, and the experience was novel and strange.</p> - -<p>The work of an author has often been compared to childbirth, and the -comparison has something to justify it. He felt a kind of peace like -that which follows parturition; something or some one seemed to be -there which, or who, was not there before; there had been suffering and -crying and now there was silence and peace. He felt in a festival mood -as he used to do in the old times at home; the children were in their -Sunday best, and their father in his black frock coat cast a last look -round on the arrangements before the guests came.</p> - -<p>His friends arrived and he read the piece through in silence till the -end. They gave their verdict, and John was greeted by his elders as an -author.</p> - -<p>When they had gone, he fell on his knees on the floor, and thanked -God for having delivered him from difficulty and bestowed on him the -gift of poetry. His communion with God had been very irregular; it -was a curious fact, that in cases of great necessity he rallied his -powers within himself and did not cry to the Lord at all; but on joyful -occasions, on the other hand, he involuntarily felt the need of at once -thanking the Giver of all good. It was just the contrary to what it had -been in his childhood, and that was natural since his idea of God had -developed into that of the Author and Giver of all good things, whereas -the God of his childhood had been a God of terror whose hand was full -of misfortunes.</p> - -<p>At last he had found his calling, his true rÃŽle in life and his -wavering character began to develop a backbone. He had a pretty good -idea now of what he wanted, and this gave him at least a rudder to -steer by. Now he pushed off from land to go for a long voyage, but -always ready to tack when he encountered too strong a head wind,—not, -however, to fall to leeward, but the next moment to luff his ship up to -the wind with bellying sails.</p> - -<p>By writing this comedy, he had now relieved himself of his domestic -troubles. He next described the religious conflicts he remembered so -vividly in a three-act play. This lightened the ship considerably.</p> - -<p>His creative energy during this period was immense. He had the writing -fever daily; within two months he composed two comedies and a rhymed -tragedy, besides occasional verses. The tragedy was his first real -"work of art," as the phrase is, for it did not deal with any of his -subjective experiences. "Sinking Hellas" was the not inconsiderable -theme. The composition was finished and clear, but the situations were -somewhat threadbare, and there was a good deal of declamation. The -only original elements in it were an austere moral tone and contempt -for uncultured demagogues. Thus, for instance, he introduced an old -man inveighing against the immorality and want of patriotism of the -youth of the time. He made Demosthenes speak disparagingly of a -demagogue, and express something of what he had felt towards the master -chimney-sweep and pawnbroker on the journey to Copenhagen. The head -of the Theatrical Academy also got a rap over the knuckles because -he had often lamented over John's "lack of culture." The piece was -aristocratic in tone, and the freedom celebrated in it was that which -was the object of aspiration in the sixties,—national freedom.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile he had sent his domestic comedy anonymously to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. While it was under consideration, he -went on cheerfully with his work as supernumerary actor. "Just you -wait!" he said to himself, "then my turn will come and I shall have a -word to say in the matter." He was now quite cool on the stage, and -felt, even when dressed as a peasant youth in <i>Wilhelm Tell</i>, like a -prince in disguise. "I am certainly no swineherd, though you may think -so," he hummed to himself.</p> - -<p>He had to wait long for an answer about his piece. At last he lost -patience and revealed himself as the author to the head of the -Theatrical Academy. The latter had read the piece and found talent in -it, but said it could not be played. This was not a great blow for him, -for he still had the tragedy in reserve. That was better received, but -he was told it needed remodelling here and there.</p> - -<p>One evening when the Academy closed, the head instructor expressed a -wish to speak with John. "Now we see what you are good for," he said. -"You have a fine career in front of you; why should you choose an -inferior one? You can become an actor probably if you work for some -years, but why toil at this thankless task? Go back to Upsala and take -your degree if you can. Then become an author, for one must first have -experiences in order to write well."</p> - -<p>To become an author,—that John agreed with, and also with the -suggestion that he should give up the theatre; but as for returning to -Upsala,—no! He hated the university, and did not see how the useless -things one learnt there could help him as an author; he rather needed -to study life at first hand. But then he began to reflect, and when -he considered that, at present, he could get no piece of his accepted -so as to serve as a plank to save himself by, he grasped at the other -straw,—Upsala. There was no disgrace in becoming a student again, and -at the theatre they knew that he was not only an unsuccessful débutant, -but also an author.</p> - -<p>At the same time he learnt that there was a legacy due to him from his -mother of a few hundred kronas. With them he could support himself for -a half-year at the university. He went to his father, not as a prodigal -son, but as a promising author, and as a creditor. There was a vehement -dispute between them which ended in John receiving his legacy. He had -now conceived the plan of a tragedy with the startling title "Jesus of -Nazareth." It dealt in dramatic form with the life of Christ, and was -intended, with one blow and once for all, to shatter the divine image -and eradicate Christianity. But when he had completed some scenes, he -saw that the subject-matter was too great and would demand prolonged -and tedious study.</p> - -<p>The theatrical season now approached its end. The Theatrical Academy -gave their customary stage performance. John had received no rÃŽle in -it, but undertook the task of prompter. And his career as an actor -closed in the prompter's box. To this was reduced his ambition of -acting Karl Moor on the stage of the Great Theatre! Did he deserve this -fate? Was he worse equipped for acting than the rest? That was probably -not so, but the question was never decided.</p> - -<p>In the evening after the performance, a dinner was given to the -Academy pupils. John was invited and made a speech in verse in order -to make his exit seem as little like a fiasco as possible. He became -intoxicated, as usual, behaved foolishly and disappeared from the -scene.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - -<h4>THE "RUNA" CLUB</h4> - -<h4>(1870)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The Upsala of the sixties showed signs of the end and dissolution of a -period which might be called the Boströmic.<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> In what relation does -the philosophic system which prevails in a given period stand to the -period itself? The system seems like a collection of the thoughts of -the period at a particular point of time. The philosopher does not -make the period, but the period makes the philosopher. He collects all -the thoughts of his period and thereby exercises an influence on it, -and with the close of the period his influence ends. The Boströmic -philosophy had three defects; it wished to be definitely Swedish; -it came too late; and it wished to outlive its period. To attempt -to construct a purely Swedish philosophy was absurd, for that meant -trying to break loose from the connection with the great mother-stem -which grows on the Continent and only sends out seeds towards the -Northern peninsula. The attempt came too late, for time is necessary to -construct a system, and before the system was constructed, the period -had passed. Boström, as a philosopher, was not, as it were, shot out -of a cannon. All knowledge is collecting-work, and is coloured by -the personality of the collector. Boström was a branch grown out of -Kant and Hegel, watered by Biberg and Grubbe, and finally producing -some offshoots of his own. That was all. He seems to have derived -his fundamental principle from Krause's Pantheism, which itself was -an attempt to unite the philosophy of Kant and Fichte with that of -Schelling and Hegel. This eclecticism had been already attempted by -Grubbe. Boström first studied theology, and this seemed to have a -hampering effect on his mind when he wrote about speculative theology. -His moral philosophy he derived from Kant. To call him an original -philosopher is provincial patriotism. His influence did not reach -beyond the frontiers of Sweden, nor did it outlast the sixties. His -political system was already antiquated in 1865, when the students out -of reverence for the philosopher, had still to declare, conformably to -his textbook, that the representation of the four estates was the only -reasonable one—a doctrine which was subsequently contradicted in the -college lectures.</p> - -<p>How did Boström come by such an idea? Can one draw an inference from -the accidental circumstance that he, a poor man's son from Norrland, -came into too close touch with King John and his court, in his capacity -of tutor to the princes? Could the philosopher escape the common lot -of generalising in <i>certain</i> respects, from his own predilections and -current time-sanctioned ideas? Probably not. Boström as an idealist -was subjective—so subjective that he denied reality an independent -existence, declaring that, "to be is to be perceived (by men)." The -world of phenomena therefore, according to him, exists only in and -through our perceptions. The error of the deduction was overlooked, and -it was a double one. The system rested on an unproved assumption, and -had to be corrected; it is true that the phenomenal world only exists -for its through our perception, but that does not prevent its existing -for itself without our perception. In fact science has demonstrated -that the earth already existed with a very high degree of organic life, -before any one was there to perceive it.</p> - -<p>Boström broke with ecclesiastical Christianity, but, like Kant and -the later evolutionist philosophers, retained Christian morality. -Kant had been arrested in the bold progress of his thought by a want -of psychological knowledge, and had simply laid down as axioms the -categorical imperative and the practical postulate. The moral law, -which depends on the epoch and changes with it, received in his system -quite a Christian colouring as God's command. Boström was still -"under the law"; he judged the moral worth or baseness of an action -simply by its motives; according to him the only satisfactory motive -is that regard for the spiritual nature of duty which is revealed in -conscience. But there are as many consciences as there are religions -and races; therefore his moral system was quite sterile.</p> - -<p>Boström's importance for theological development only consisted in -his coming forward against Bishop Beckman in the discussion regarding -the doctrine of hell (1864), although that doctrine had recently been -rejected by the cultivated with the assistance of the rationalists. -On the other hand Boström was obstructive in his pamphlets <i>The -Irresponsibility and Divine Right of the King</i> and <i>Are the Estates of -the Realm Justified in Resolving on and Carrying Out the Change in the -So-called (!) Representation of the People</i>? (1865).</p> - -<p>In his capacity as an idealist, Boström is, for the present generation, -not only without significance, but positively reactionary. He is -nothing but a necessary link in the worthless reactionary philosophy -which followed with such fatal obscurantism the "illuminative" -philosophy of the eighteenth century. He has lived and is dead. Peace -to his ashes!</p> - -<p>Literature ought to be another barometer for testing the atmosphere of -any given period. And in order to be that, it must be free to deal with -the questions of that period; but this, the then prevailing Êsthetic -theories forbade.</p> - -<p>Poetry ought to be and was (according to Boström) a recreation like the -other fine arts. Under such a theory and influenced by the prevalent -idolatry of the "ego," poetry became merely lyrical, expressing -the poet's small personal feelings and inclination, and reflecting -therefore only some of the features of the period, and those perhaps, -not the most important. Only two names in the poetry of the sixties -were of importance—Snoilsky and Björck. Snoilsky was "awake," to use -a pietistic expression, Björck was dead. Both were born poets, as the -saying is; that is to say, their talents showed themselves earlier -than usual. Both attained distinction while still at school, early won -honour and renown, and by birth and position were enabled to view life -from its sunny heights. Snoilsky, without knowing it, was under the -power of the spirit of the new age. Freed from the fear of hell and -monkish morality, experiencing the retrenchment of his privileges as a -nobleman, he gave free play both to mind and body. In his first poems -he was a revolutionary and praised the cap of liberty; he preached the -emancipation of the flesh and had a certain dislike to over-culture as -a conventional restraint. But as a poet, he did not escape the poet's -tragic destiny—not to be taken seriously. Poetry in the eyes of the -public, was simply poetry, and Snoilsky was a poet. Björck had a mind -which was not capable of receiving strong impressions. At peace with -himself, languid, complete from the beginning, he lived his life sunk -in his own reflections or noticed only the trifling events of the -outer world and described them neatly and correctly. In the opinion of -the great majority who live the peaceful life of automata his poetry -shows a remarkable degree of philanthropy. But why does not this -philanthropy extend itself further to large circles of men, and to -humanity at large? In the writer's opinion Björck's philanthropy does -not extend beyond the limits of the personal quiet which the individual -attains when he ignores the duties of social life. He is satisfied -with the world because the world has been kind to him; he avoids -strife because it disturbs his own serenity. Björck is an example of -the fortunate man whose life is not in conflict with his upbringing, -but who rather builds up stone by stone, on the foundation already -laid; everything proceeds in a workmanlike way by level and rule; the -house is finished, as it was designed, without the plan undergoing any -alteration. Stunted by domestic tyranny, tasting early the sweets -of homage and reverence, he ceased to grow. He accepted Boström's -compromise with Christianity without examining it, and in doing so, he -had finished his life-work. His poetry is especially praised for its -purity and spiritual character. What is this "purity" which in our -days is so sharply contrasted with the sensual? The secret is, that he -did not get her; just as Dante's heavenly love for Beatrice was due to -the same involuntary cause. Björck therefore sang of the unattainable -with the quiet melancholy of unsatisfied love. But that, however, is no -virtue, and purity should be a virtue.</p> - -<p>In short, Björck and Snoilsky sang of water and drank wine, and in this -were just the opposite to the poets of our time, who are said to sing -of wine and drink water. A poet's life always seems to be at variance -with his teachings. Why? Is it that, in composing, he wishes to escape -from his own personality, and find another? Is it a wish to disguise -himself? Or is it modesty, the fear of giving himself away, and of -self-exposure? This is a weighty problem for future psychologists to -unravel.</p> - -<p>Björck composed poems both for the reformation of the constitution -in 1865, and for the restoration to power of the King. He saw harmony -everywhere, and when he celebrated the restored union between Sweden -and Norway in 1864, he was extremely melodious. He also praised -Abraham Lincoln; negro-emancipation and white slavery—that is the -ideal of freedom of the Holy Alliance! Revolution certainly, but legal -revolution by the will of God! Well, he knew no better, and few did at -that time. Therefore we do not judge the man but only his work, the -motives inspiring which are a matter of indifference to posterity.</p> - -<p>Young men read these poets, many of them with great edification. -They proclaimed no new era, but prophesied after the event that -now the millennium was come, the ideal realised, and lines of -demarcation obliterated once for all. They looked with satisfaction -on their creations, rubbed their hands, and found them all good. An -atmosphere of peace had spread itself over the whole of Upsala and -its neighbourhood; now one might sleep till Doomsday was the belief -of old and young. But then discordant sounds began to be heard, and -in the days of universal peace fire-beacons began to be seen on the -neighbouring mountain-tops. From Norway open water was signalled -and the revolving lights were kindled. Rome captured Greece, but -Greece re-captured Rome. Sweden had captured Norway, but now Norway -re-captured Sweden. Lorenz Dietrichson was appointed as professor -at the university of Upsala in 1861, and he was the forerunner of -Norwegian influence. He made Sweden acquainted with Danish and -Norwegian literature, then almost unknown, and founded the literary -society which produced poets like Snoilsky and Björck.</p> - -<p>After Norway had broken loose from the Danish monarchy and had ceased -to be a branch of the head office in Copenhagen, it was not grafted -into Sweden but retreated into itself. At the same time it opened -direct communication with the continent. Its awakening to independence -was coincident with a strong stream of foreign influence. It was -Björnson who first roused Norway to self-consciousness; but when this -degenerated into a narrow patriotism, Ibsen came with the pruning -shears.</p> - -<p>As the strife became fiercer and Christiania would not lend itself -to be a field of battle, the conflict was transferred to hospitable -Sweden. The Norwegian wine was well adapted for exportation; pamphlets -grew in size as they travelled and in Sweden became literature. -Thoughts came to the top and personalities settled at the bottom of -the vessel. Ibsen and Björnson broke into Sweden; Tidemand and Gude -took prizes in the art exhibition of 1866; Kierulf and Nordraak were -authorities in singing and music. Then came Ibsen's <i>Brand</i>. This had -appeared in 1866, but John did not see it till 1869. It made a deep -impression on the primitive Christian side of him, but it was gloomy -and severe. The final utterance in it regarding "Deus caritatis" was -not satisfying, and the poet seemed to have had too much sympathy with -his hero to have described his overthrow with cold irony.</p> - -<p><i>Brand</i> gave John a good deal of trouble. He (Brand) had dropped -Christianity but kept its stern ascetic morality; he demanded obedience -for his old doctrines though they were no more practicable; he despised -the tendency of the time towards humanity and compromise, but ended by -recommending the God of compromise. Brand was a fanatic, a pietist, -who dared to believe himself right against the whole world, and John -felt himself related to this terrible egoist who was wrong besides. No -half-measures! go straight on; break down everything that stands in the -way, for you only are right! John's tender conscience, which suffered -at every step he took lest it should vex his father or friends, was -stupefied by Brand. All ties of consideration and of love should be -torn asunder for the sake of "the cause." That John was no longer a -pietist was a piece of good fortune, otherwise he too would have been -overwhelmed by the avalanche.<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> But Brand gave him a belief in a -conscience which was purer than that which education had given him, and -a law which was higher than conventional law. And he needed this iron -backbone in his weak back, for he had long periods during which by -fits and starts and out of mildness he thought himself wrong, and the -first who came, right; therefore, he was also very easily misled. Brand -was the last Christian who followed an old ideal, therefore he could be -110 pattern for one who felt a vague inclination to revolt against all -old ideals.</p> - -<p><i>Brand</i> after all was a fine plant, but without any roots in its own -period; and, therefore, it belonged to the herbarium. Then came -<i>Peer Gynt</i>. This was rather obscure than deep and had its value as -an antidote against the national self-love. The fact that Ibsen was -neither banished nor persecuted after having said such bitter things -against the proud Norwegians, shows that in Norway they were more -honourable fighters than the Swedes afterwards showed themselves to be.</p> - -<p>Ibsen was at that time regarded as a misanthrope and as an enemy and -envier of Björnson. People were divided into two camps, and the dispute -as to which of the two was the greater was endless, for it concerned an -artistic problem—"contents or form."</p> - -<p>The influence of Norwegian on Swedish poetry has been great and partly -beneficent, but there was a peculiarly Norwegian element in it, which -was not adaptable to Sweden, a land with quite another development. -In the sequestered valleys of Norway there lived a people who, under -the pressure of need and poverty, found ready to their hand in the -Christian doctrine of renunciation an ascetic philosophy which promised -heaven as a compensation for earth's hardships. Nature in her most -gloomy and parsimonious aspect, a damp climate, long winters, great -distances between the villages,—all co-operated to preserve an -austere mediÊval type of Christianity. There is something which may -be said to resemble insanity in the Norwegian character, of the same -kind as the English "spleen;" and possibly the intimate relations of -Norway with the hypochondriacal islanders may have impressed traces -on its civilisation. In Jonas Lie's <i>Clair-voyant</i> this melancholy -is depleted, and in it one finds the same weird atmosphere as in the -Icelandic sagas, and the theme also is similar,—the struggle of the -spirit against physical darkness and cold. There we have depicted -the tragic lot of the Norseman banished from sunny lands to gloomy -wildernesses, and seeking relief by emigration, the ethnographical -significance of which has been overlooked in view of its economical -aspect. The Norwegian character is the result of many hundred years of -tyranny, of injustice, of hard struggling for a livelihood, of want of -gladness.</p> - -<p>Swedish literature should have avoided absorbing these national -peculiarities, but they have made it half-Norwegian. Brand still haunts -Swedish literature with his ideal demands, with which the romanticised -and cheerful Swede cannot sincerely sympathise. Therefore this foreign -garb suits him so badly; therefore modern Swedish music sounds so -unharmonious, like an echo of the violins of Hardanger, tuned over -again by Grieg; therefore the talk of greater moral purity sounds -discordant in the mouth of the vivacious Swede. He has not suffered -from long oppression and does not need to seek himself in the past; -melancholy has not so beset him in his open flat land of lakes and -rivers, and therefore a sour mien becomes him ill.</p> - -<p>When the Swedes received great and novel ideas by way of Norway or -direct from the Continent through Ibsen and Björnson, they should have -kept the kernel and thrown away the Norwegian husk. Even the <i>Doll's -House</i> is Norwegian. Nora is related to the Icelandic women who wished -to set up a matriarchate; she belongs to the weird imperious women in -<i>HÀrmÀnnen</i> who again are pure Norse. In them the emotions have become -frozen or distorted by centuries of cognate marriages.</p> - -<p>The whole Swedish literature of feminism is ultra-Norwegian; it -contains the same immodest demands on the man and petting of the spoilt -woman. Several young authors have introduced the Norwegian style into -Swedish; one authoress has placed the scene of her book in Norway, and -made her hero talk Norwegian! Further one could not go!</p> - -<p>Let us welcome foreign influence which is cosmopolitan; but not -Norwegian, for that is provincial, and we have plenty of the same kind -ourselves.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So John found himself again in Upsala,—the same Upsala from which he -had fled nine months before, and to which he most unwillingly returned. -To be compelled to a course which he did not wish always made him feel -as though he were encountering a personal foe, who cajoled him out of -his wishes and antipathies, and forced him to bend. Since he still -believed himself under God's personal providence, he accepted that as -though it were for his best. Later on he had a feeling that there was -a malignant power; this developed into the belief that there were two -ruling powers, one good, one evil, which divided the empery, or ruled -alternately.</p> - -<p>He asked himself again, "What have you to do here?" To take his degree, -but especially to cover his retreat from the theatre. Privately he -wished to write a play, and, under the screen of its success, wriggle -out of the examination.</p> - -<p>At first he was not at all comfortable in his lonely attic. He had -become accustomed to luxury, a large room, a good table, attendance -and society. After having been habituated to be treated as a man and -to have intercourse with older and cultivated people, he found himself -again in a state of pupilage as a student. But he cast himself into -the crowd and soon found himself on social terms with three distinct -circles. The first consisted of friends whom he met by day, who were -students of medicine and natural history and atheists. From them he -heard for the first time the name of Darwin; but it passed by him like -a doctrine for which he was not yet ripe. His evening society consisted -of a priest and a lawyer with whom he played cards till deep in the -night. He considered himself now in Upsala merely to grow and get -older, and that it was a matter of indifference what he did, as long as -he killed the time. He drew up the scheme of a new tragedy, Eric XIV, -but found it poor, and burnt it, for his faculty of self-criticism had -awakened and was severer in its demands.</p> - -<p>Later on in the term he entered a third society, which formed his -special circle during the whole of his time at Upsala and for a long -while afterwards. One evening he chanced to meet a young companion -with whom he had been a pupil at the private school. They discussed -literature, and over a glass of toddy made the plan of forming some -young poets into a club for literary work. The plan was carried out. -Besides John and the other founder of the club, four young students -were elected to it. They were fine young fellows of an idealist turn of -mind, as the saying is, with high purposes and enthusiastic for vague -ideals. They had not yet come into contact with the hard realities of -life; they had all well-to-do parents, no cares, and knew nothing at -all of the struggle for a subsistence. John, on the other hand, had -just left the most unpleasant surroundings; he had seen people who -were always ready to quarrel, conceited, empty-headed pupils of the -Theatrical Academy. Here he found himself transplanted into an entirely -new world. There were these happy youths going to their well-supplied -tables, smoking fine cigars, taking walks, and poetising beautifully -over the beauty of life which they knew nothing of.</p> - -<p>Rules were drawn up for the club, which received the name "Runa," -<i>i.e</i>. "song." The choice of this title was probably due to the -Northern renaissance which came in with the Scandinavian movement. -Its chief ornaments were Karl XV in poetry, Winge and Malmström in -painting, and Molin in sculpture. Recently it had been quickened by -Björnson's and Ibsen's dramas on subjects from the old Norse life. -The study of Icelandic, which had been newly introduced into the -university, also lent strength to this movement.</p> - -<p>The number of members of the club was not to exceed nine; each of -them was known by a Runic sign. John was called "Frö" and the other -founder of the club, "Ur." Every variety of opinion was represented. -Ur was a great patriot and venerated Sweden with its memories. In his -opinion it had the most brilliant history in Europe, and had always -been free. For the rest he was a practically minded man with a special -faculty for statistics, politics, and biography; he was a severe and -clever critic, and also managed the affairs of the club. He was a -reliable friend, good company, helpful and hearty. Secondly, there -was a full-blooded romanticist who read Heine and drank absinthe—a -sensitive youth enthusiastic for all old ideals, but especially for -Heine. There was also a seraph who sang of the indescribably little, -especially the happiness of childhood; fourthly, a silent worshipper of -nature, and, lastly, an eclectic philosopher and improvisator, who had -an extraordinary faculty for improvising in any style whatever, when -requested. Two minutes after he had been asked, he would stand up and -speak or sing on the spur of the moment in the character of Anacreon, -Horace, the Edda, or any one else, and even in foreign languages.</p> - -<p>The first meeting of the club was at Thurs', who was lodged the most -comfortably in two rooms and had the best pipes. As one of the founders -of the club John first of all read his prologue, which, according -to the rules of the society, had to be in verse. It began by asking -after the ancient bard Brage and his harp which was now silent. Brage -represented the new Norse element, the resuscitation of which was -believed necessary. The whole programme of the idealists was called -"a trivial striving." All the great efforts of their contemporaries -after reality and for the improvement of the conditions of life was -"trivial." The spirit was taken prisoner in matter, and therefore -all that was material was to be regarded as the enemy. Such was the -teaching of the romanticists, and of John's prologue. Then the poet -went out into nature, listened to the bells of the cathedral, the -wind, the pines, and the singing of the birds in order to ask the very -natural question: "Nature sings; why should I then be silent?" He -resolved to be no longer silent but to sing,—about the joyous youthful -spring-time of life, its autumn, and about love to one's native soil. -Then (he said) came the wise man with the frozen heart, took his song, -dissected it and found that it was all nonsense. Thus the song was -killed by "overwiseness."</p> - -<p>It is not easy to say exactly now what John meant by "overwiseness" -in 1870. He probably had simply forebodings of future critics, and -the "wise man" was no other than the reviewer. Then he inveighed -against the wretched mercenary souls who worship the golden calf but -do not love songs. This had no connection with contemporary matters, -for the sixties were remarkable for bad harvests and consequently -for want of gold. The swindles by company-promoters began with the -seventies. But it was the custom of the contemporary poets to attack -money and the golden calf, and therefore John did so in his prologue. -Now began a life of poetic idleness. Every evening they met either in -a restaurant, or in each other's rooms. But the time was not wasted -in view of his future authorship. John could borrow books from the -well-stocked libraries of his friends, and the interchange of opinions -accustomed him to look at literature from different points of view. But -for them real life, public interests, contemporary politics did not -exist; they lived in dreams. Sometimes his lower-class consciousness -awoke, and he asked himself what he had to do among these rich youths. -But he soon stilled these scruples by drink and talk, and encouraged -himself to go forward and demand something of life, for he had in his -companions' opinion a good chance.</p> - -<p>His room was a wretched one; the rain came through the roof, and he had -no proper bed, but only a plank-bed, which in the day-time served as a -sofa. When time hung heavily on his hands and he grew weary of poetical -discussions he looked up his old school-fellow, the natural history -student. There he looked through the microscope, and heard of Darwin -and the new scientific views. His friend gave him well-meant practical -advice and recommended him to get out of his difficulties by writing a -one-act play in verse for the Theatre Royal.</p> - -<p>John objected that his dramatic talent had not scope enough in one act, -and said that he would rather write a tragedy in five.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but it is harder to get that accepted," replied his friend. -Finally he let himself be persuaded and determined to carry out a -small idea he had of a short play based on Thorwaldson's first visit -to Rome. His friend lent him books on Italy and John set to work. In -fourteen days the piece was ready.</p> - -<p>"That will be acted," said his friend. "It has dramatic points, you -see."</p> - -<p>Since it was still a long time to the next meeting of the club, John -hastened in the evening to Thurs and Rejd and read the piece to them. -They were both of the same opinion as the natural history student, -that the piece would be performed. They had a champagne supper, and -kept drinking till the morning, and then went to sleep on the floor of -Rejd's room with the punch-glasses by them. In a couple of hours they -awoke, finished their half-empty glasses at sunrise and went out to -continue the celebration of the occasion.</p> - -<p>The sympathy of John's friends was hearty, unselfish and warm, without -a trace of envy. He always remembered with pleasure this first success -as one of the brightest recollections of his youth. The enthusiastic, -devoted Rejd increased Hohn's debt of gratitude by copying out the -piece in his graceful hand-writing. Then it was sent to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. Spring arrived and they spent the -month of May in a continual carouse. The club had a small room in the -restaurant Lilia Förderfvet for their evening suppers. There they -talked, made speeches, and drank enormously. At last the term ended and -they had to part, but they arranged to meet once more at Stockholm, -and celebrate the festival day of the club by an excursion into the -country.</p> - -<p>At six o'clock one June morning the four members of the club met at -Skeppsholm, where they had hired a rowing-boat. The chest of the club, -a card-board box containing documents, was stowed away with baskets of -provisions and bottles of wine. After Os and Rejd had taken the oars, -they steered the boat to the canal leading through the Zoological -Gardens, in order to reach the place they had appointed, a promontory -of Liding Island. Thurs played airs on the flute to Bellmann's songs, -and Frö (John) accompanied him on a guitar which he had learnt to play -at Upsala.</p> - -<p>As soon as they landed, breakfast was laid in a meadow by the shore. -The club-chest adorned with leaves and flowers was set in the middle -of the table-cloth, and on it were set the brandy-bottles and glasses. -John, who had studied antiquities for his play, <i>Sinking Hellas</i>, -arranged the meal in the Greek style, so that they wore garlands, and -ate reclining. A fire was lit between some stones and coffee was made. -At nine o'clock in the morning they drank brandy and punch.</p> - -<p>John read his drama, <i>The Free-thinker</i>, which was duly criticised. -Then they gave full course to their eloquence. Thurs was the best -speaker; he could express emotions and thoughts rhythmically. Poems -were read and received with applause. John sang folk-songs to the -accompaniment of his guitar, some on sentimental subjects, and some on -improper ones. At noon they were still in high spirits but inclined to -be sleepy.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon when the sun was over Lilia VÀrtan they had a short -sleep, and then the carouse passed into a new phase. Thurs, the -Israelite, had recited a poem on the greatness of the North, and called -on the old gods of Scandinavia. Ur, the patriot, denied him the right -to appropriate other people's gods. The Jewish question came up; they -took fire and nearly quarrelled, but ended by embracing.</p> - -<p>Then began the sentimental stage. They had to weep, for alcohol has -this effect on the membranes of the stomach and the lachrymal duets. -Ur first felt this and unconsciously sought for a melancholy subject. -He burst into tears. When asked why, he did not know, but said at last -that he had been treated as a buffoon, which he always was. He declared -that he had a very serious nature and that he also had great troubles -which no one knew about, but now he unburdened his heart and told us a -domestic story. After he had done so, he became cheerful again.</p> - -<p>But the evening was long and they began to wish to go home. Their -brains were empty; they were tired of each other, and weary of play -and drinking. They began to reflect and examine the philosophy of -intoxication. From whence do men derive this desire to make themselves -senseless? What lies behind it? Is it the southern exile's longing -for a lost sunny existence in northern lands? There must be some felt -necessity underlying intoxication, for a vice like this would not -have laid hold of all mankind without reason. Is it that the member -of society in a state of intoxication throws away all the lies of -society? For the laws of social intercourse involuntarily forbid one to -speak out all one's thoughts. Otherwise whence comes the saying, <i>In -vino veritas</i>? Why did the Greeks honour Bacchus as one who improved -men and manners? Why did Dionysus love peace, and why was he said -to increase riches? Has wine, which is chiefly drunk by men, some -influence on the development of man's intelligence and activity, so -that he becomes superior to woman? And why do the Muhammadans who drink -no wine stand on what is regarded as a lower level of civilisation? -As salt is used as a daily nutrient to replace the salts which their -hunting forefathers found in the blood of beasts of the chase, does not -wine compensate for some lost nutritive matter belonging to earlier -stages, and, if so, which? Some idea or necessity must underlie so -singular a custom.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the need of losing consciousness justifies the axiom of the -pessimists that consciousness is the beginning of suffering. Wine makes -one naive and unconscious as a child; or even as an animal. Is it -the lost paradise which one wishes to recover? But the remorse which -follows it? Remorse and acidity of the stomach have the same symptoms. -Is there then a confusion, and are sensations called "remorse" which -are only heart-burn? Or does the drinker returned to consciousness -regret that he has exposed himself by daylight and betrayed his -secrets? There is something to feel remorse for in that! He is ashamed -that he has been taken by surprise, he feels afraid because he has -exposed himself and given away his weapons. Remorse and fear are close -neighbours.</p> - -<p>Yet once more the members of the club drowned their consciousness in -drink and then got into the boat to proceed home. John and Thurs began -a dispute about Bellmann<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> which lasted till they reached Skeppsholm, -and closed with sharp remarks on both sides.</p> - -<p>John had an old grudge against this poet. Once as a child, he had been -ill for a whole summer, and had by chance taken Bellmann's <i>Fredman's -Epistles</i> out of his father's book-case. The book seemed to him silly, -but he was too young to form a well-grounded opinion on it. Later on, -it sometimes happened that his father sat at the piano, and hummed -Bellmann's songs. The boy found it incomprehensible that his father and -uncle admired them so much. Subsequently one Christmas he saw a violent -controversy break out between his mother and his uncle on the subject -of Bellmann. The latter set the poet above everything—Bible, sermons -and all. There were depths, he said, in Bellmann. Depths indeed! -Probably Atterbom's romanticist one-sided criticism had filtered -through the daily papers to the middle classes. As a school-boy and -student, John had sung "Up, Amaryllis" and other idylls of Bellmann's, -naturally without understanding them or thinking of the meaning of the -words. He sang in a quartette, or choir, for it sounded well. Finally, -in 1867, he read Ljunggren's lectures and a light broke upon him, but -not one of Ljunggren's kindling. He thought the latter mad. Bellmann -was a ballad-singer, that was true, but a great poet, the greatest poet -of the North?—impossible!</p> - -<p>Bellmann had sung his songs composed on the French model for the -Court and his own friends, but not for the common people, who would -not have understood "Amaryllis," "Eol," "The Tritons," "Fröja" and -all the rococo stock-in-trade. He died and was forgotten. Why had -he been disinterred by Atterbom? Because the pugnacious romantic -school required an embodiment of irregularity to set up against the -classicists, as they had nothing of their own to boast of. Thus the -romantic school gained the day; and when one considers how cowardly -most people are in the face of public opinion, and the tendency of the -middle-class to ape its superiors and reverence authority, one ceases -to be surprised at the elevation of Bellmann. Ljunggren and Eichhorn -outstripped Atterbom in finding beauty and genius in his writings they -were reinforced by the clerical element, and thus the idol was set up -for worship. Bystrom, the sculptor, had already magnified the little -lottery-secretary and court-poet into a Dionysus and lent him the -features of an antique bust of Bacchus.</p> - -<p>Bellmann's idylls are careless, extemporised compositions with forced -rhymes, and as disconnected as the thoughts in the brain of a drunkard. -One does not know whether it is day or night, the thunder rolls in the -sunshine, and the weaves beat while the boat is floating calmly on the -waters. They simply provide a text for music, and for that purpose -one might use a book of addresses. The meaning of the words does not -matter, as long as they sound well.</p> - -<p>According to his custom Thurs took the matter personally. It was an -attack on his good taste and on his honour, for John said that his -admiration of Bellmann was mere humbug; that he had read himself into -it, and that it was not genuine. Thurs on the other hand declared John -to be presumptuous, because he wished to criticise the greatest Swedish -poet.</p> - -<p>"Prove that he is the greatest," said John.</p> - -<p>"Tegner and Atterbom say so."</p> - -<p>"That is no proof."</p> - -<p>"Simply because you have a spirit of contradiction."</p> - -<p>"Doubt is the beginning of certainty, and absurd assertions must arouse -opposition in a healthy brain."</p> - -<p>And so on.</p> - -<p>Although there is no such thing as a judgment which holds good -universally, since every judgment is individualistic, there are, on the -other hand, judgments of a majority and of a party. By means of these -John was suppressed and kept silence on the subject of Bellmann for -many years. Only when later on the old historian Fryxell proved that -Bellmann was not the apostle of sobriety which Eichhorn and Ljunggren -had made him out to be, and also no god, but a mediocre ballad-singer, -did John see a gleam of hope that his individual opinion might become -some day the opinion of the majority. But he already saw the question -from another point of view; Sweden would have been neither unhappier -nor worse, if Bellmann had never lived. He would like to have said to -the patriots and democrats, "Bellmann was a poet of Stockholm and of -the Court, who jested very cruelly with poor people." He would like -to have said to the Good Templars who sang Bellmann's songs, "You are -singing drinking songs which were written during fits of intoxication -and celebrate drink." For his own part, John held that Bellmann's -songs were pleasant to sing because of the light French melodies which -accompanied them, and as for their French morality it did not vex him -at all—quite the contrary. But earlier, at the age of twenty-one, he -was vexed by it, for he was an idealist and desired purity in poetry, -just as the surviving idealists and admirers of Bellmann do at the -present time.</p> - -<p>These have used the word "humour" to save themselves and their -morality. But what do they mean by "humour"? Is it jest or earnest? -What is jest? The reluctance of the cowardly to speak out his mind? -Humour reflects the double nature of man,—the indifference of the -natural man to conventional morality, and the Christian's sigh over -immorality which is after all so enticing and seductive. Humour speaks -with two tongues,—one of the satyr, the other of the monk. The -humorist lets the mÊnad loose, but for old unsound reasons thinks that -he ought to flog her with rods. This is a transitional form of humour -which is passing away, and already at the last gasp. The greatest -modern writers have thrown away the rod, and play the hypocrite -no longer, but speak their minds plainly out. The old tippler's -sentimentality can no longer count for "a good heart," for it has been -discovered to be merely bad nerves.</p> - -<p>After arguing till they were weary, the members of the club landed in -Stockholm harbour.</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> Boström: Swedish Philosopher (1797-1866).</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> <i>Vide</i> the end of <i>Brand</i>.</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> Famous Swedish poet.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - -<h4>BOOKS AND THE STAGE</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The history of the development of a soul can be sometimes written by -giving a simple bibliography; for a man who lives in a narrow circle -and never meets great men personally, seeks to make their acquaintance -through books. The fact that the same books do not make the same -impression, nor have the same effect upon all, shows their relative -powerlessness to convert anybody. For example, we call the criticism -with which we agree good; the criticism which contradicts our views is -bad. Thus we seem to be educated with preconceived views, and the book -which strengthens, expresses and develops these makes an impression -on us. The danger of a one-sided education through books is that most -books, especially those composed at the end of an era, and at the -university, are antiquated. The youth who has received old ideals from -his parents and teachers is accordingly necessarily out of date before -his education is completed. When he enters manhood, he is generally -obliged to fling away his whole stock of old ideas, and be born again, -as it were. Time has gone by him, while he was reading the old books, -and he finds himself a stranger among his contemporaries.</p> - -<p>John had spent his youth in accumulating antiquarian lore. He knew all -about Marathon and Cannae, the war of the Spanish succession and the -Thirty Years' War, the Middle Ages and antiquity; but when the war -between France and Germany broke out, he did not know the cause of it. -He read about it as he would have read a play, and was interested to -see what the result of it would be.</p> - -<p>In Kristineberg, where he spent the summer with his parents, he lay -out on the grass in the park and read OehlenschlÀger. For his degree -examination, he had, besides his chief subject—Êsthetics,—to -choose a special one, and, enticed by Dietrichson's lectures, he had -chosen Danish literature. In OehlenschlÀger he had found the summit -of Northern poetry. That was for him the quintessence of poetry,—the -directness which he admired perhaps for the very reason that he had -not got it. The Danish language perhaps also contributed to this -result; it seemed to him an idealised Swedish, and sounded like his -mother-speech from the lips of a woman worshipped from afar. When he -read OehlenschlÀger's <i>Helge</i>, Tegner's <i>Frithiof's Saga</i> seemed to him -petty; he found it unwieldy, prosaic, clerical, unpoetic.</p> - -<p>OehlenschlÀger's dramas were a book which had an influence on John by -way of a supplementary contrast. Perhaps the romantic element in them -found an echo in the youth's mind, which had now awoken* to poetic -activity, and looked upon poetry and romance as identical. Other -contributory circumstances were his liking for Norse antiquities which -OehlenschlÀger had just discovered, and the unrequited love he had -just then for a blond maiden who was engaged to a lieutenant. But the -impression made by OehlenschlÀger was only fleeting, and hardly lasted -a year; it was a light spring breeze which passed by.</p> - -<p>It fared worse with John's study of Êsthetics as expounded by -Ljunggren in two closely printed volumes, containing the views of all -philosophers on the Beautiful, but giving no satisfactory definition of -it.</p> - -<p>John had studied the antique in the National Museum, and asked himself -how the pot-house scenes of the Dutch genre painters which, when -they occurred in reality, were called ugly, could be reckoned among -beautiful pictures, although they were in no way idealised. To this the -Êsthetic philosophers gave no answer. They shirked the question and -set up one theory after another, but the only excuse they could find -for the admission of ugliness was that it acted as a foil, and provided -a comic element. But a strong suspicion had been aroused in John that -the "Beautiful" was not always beautiful.</p> - -<p>Furthermore, he was troubled by doubts whether it was possible to -have independent standards of taste. In the newly-founded paper, the -<i>Schwedische Zeitschrift</i>, he had read discussions about works of -art, and seen how disputants on both sides defended their position -with equally strong arguments. One sought beauty in form, another in -subject, and a third in the harmony between the two. Accordingly a -well-painted subject from still life can rank higher than the Niobe, -for this group of statuary is not beautiful in its outlines, the -arrangement of the drapery of the principal figure being especially -tasteless although the judgment of the majority regards the work as -sublime. Therefore the sublime does not necessarily consist in beauty -of form.</p> - -<p>Victor Hugo's romances had found a fertile soil in John's mind. The -revolt against society; the reverence paid to Nature by the poet living -on a lonely island; the scorn for the ever-prevalent stupidity; the -indignation against formal religion and the enthusiasm for God as the -Creator of all,—all that was germinating in the young man's mind began -to grow, but was stifled by the autumn leaf-drifts of old books.</p> - -<p>John's life in the domestic circle was now a quiet one. The storms -had subsided; his brothers and sisters were grown up. His father, who -still always sat over his account-ledgers, calculating the ways and -means of providing for his flock of children, had become older, and -now perceived that John was also older. They often discussed together -topics of common interest. As regards the Franco-German War they were -both fairly neutral. As Latinised Teutons they did not love the German. -They hated and feared him as a sort of uncle with a right of seniority -against the Swedes, and they did not forget that victorious Prussia had -once been a Swedish province. The Swede had become more French than he -was aware, and now he felt conscious of his relationship to <i>la grande -nation</i>. In the evenings when they sat in the garden and the noise of -traffic had ceased, they heard the singing of the Marseillaise from -Blanch's café, and the hurrahs which were soon to be silent.</p> - -<p>In August, when the theatres re-opened, John received the long-desired -news that his play had been accepted for the stage. That was the first -intoxicating success which he had experienced. To have a play accepted -at the Theatre Royal when he was only twenty-one was sufficient -compensation for all his misfortunes. His words would reach the public -from the first stage in the land; his failure as an actor would be -forgotten; his father would see that his son amid all his notorious -fluctuations had chosen right, and all would be well. In autumn, before -the university term began, the piece was performed. It was naive, -pious and full of reverence for art, but had one dramatic scene which -saved it in spite of its slightness—Thorwaldsen about to shatter -the statue of Jason with his hammer. But on the other hand the piece -contained a presumptuous outburst against contemporary rhymers. What -was the author's intention in that? How could a beginner who had so -many forced rhymes himself, cast a stone at another? It was a piece -of temerity which found its own punishment. John stole to the bottom -of the third row of seats to view the performance of his piece from a -standing position. Rejd was already there before him and the curtain -was up. John felt as though he stood under an electric machine. Every -nerve quivered, his legs shook, and his tears ran the whole time from -pure nervousness. Rejd had to hold his hand in order to quiet him. -Now and then there was applause, but John knew that it was mostly from -his relatives and friends, and did not let himself be deceived. Every -stupidity which had inadvertently escaped him now jarred on his ear, -and made him quiver; he saw nothing but crudeness in the piece; he felt -so ashamed that his ears burned; before the curtain fell he rushed away -out into the dark market-place.</p> - -<p>He felt as though annihilated. The attack on the priests was stupid and -unjust; the glorification of poverty and pride seemed to him false, his -description of the relationship between father and son was cynical. How -could he have shown off in this absurd way? It seemed to him as though -he had exposed his nakedness, and shame overpowered every other feeling.</p> - -<p>On the other hand he found the actors good; the <i>mise en scÚne</i> was -more appropriate than he had expected. Everything was good except the -piece itself. He wandered down to the Norrstrom, and felt inclined -to drown himself. What most annoyed him was that he had so openly -exhibited his feelings. Whence came that? And why should one in general -be ashamed of such exhibitions? Why are the feelings so sacred? Perhaps -because the feelings in general are false, as they only express a -physical sensation, in which personality of the individual does not -fully participate. If it is really so, then John was ashamed as an -ordinary man, to have been untruthful in his writing and to have worn -disguise.</p> - -<p>To be moved at the sight of human suffering is regarded as a mark of -fine feeling and meritorious, but it is said to be only a natural -reflex-movement. One involuntarily transfers the sufferings of the -other to oneself and suffers for one's own sake. Another's tears could -bring one to weep just as another's yawning could make one yawn. That -was all. John felt ashamed that he had lied and caught himself in the -act, though the public had not caught him.</p> - -<p>No one is such a merciless critic as a dramatist who sees his own play -acted. He lets no single word pass through his sieve. He does not lay -the blame on the actors, but generally admires them for rendering his -stupidities with such taste. John found his play stupid. It had lain -by for half a year, and perhaps he had outgrown it. Another piece was -performed after it which lasted for two hours. During the whole time -he wandered about the streets in the darkness, feeling ashamed of -himself. He had made an appointment to drink a glass with some friends -and relatives after the performance in the HÃŽtel du Nord, but remained -away. He saw they were looking for him but did not wish to meet them. -So they went in again to see the second play. At last it was over. The -spectators streamed out and dispersed through the streets. He hastened -away in order not to hear their comments.</p> - -<p>At last he saw a single group standing under the portico of the -dramatic theatre. They were looking out in all directions and called -him. Finally he came forward as pale and melancholy as a corpse.</p> - -<p>They congratulated him on his success. The play had been applauded and -was very good. They repeated to him the verdicts of other spectators -and quieted him. Then they dragged him to a restaurant and compelled -him to eat and drink. "That will do you good, you old death's-head!" -said a shop-assistant. John was soon pulled down from his imaginative -flight. "What have you got to be melancholy for," he was asked, "when -you have had a play acted by the Theatre Royal?" He could not tell -them. His boldest ambition was fulfilled; but it was probably not -what he wanted. The thought that in any case it was an honour did not -comfort him.</p> - -<p>The next morning he went into a shop, and bought the morning paper -and read a criticism to the effect that the piece was written in -choice language, and (since it was anonymous) probably by a well-known -art-critic who had moved among artistic circles at Rome. That was -pleasant and cheered his spirits.</p> - -<p>At noon he started for Upsala. His father had engaged a room for him -in a boarding-house, kept by the widow of a clergyman, that he might -complete his studies under proper supervision.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - -<h4>TORN TO PIECES</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>John's entrance into the boarding-house secured for him intercourse -with a large and varied circle,—perhaps too varied. There were -students of all ages, of all subjects, and from all districts, from -clergymen who were reading for their last examination to young medical -and law students. There were also ladies in the house, and John was -for the eighth time in love. Again the object of his affections -was unattainable, being engaged to another. The variety of this -social intercourse overloaded his brain with impressions from all -circles; his personality became relaxed and distracted through the -self-adaptation and compromises with other people's views which are -necessary in society. Besides this a great deal of drinking went on -nearly every evening. On one of the first days after his arrival -appeared a criticism of his play in one of the evening papers. It was -very sharp but just, and therefore hit John hard. He felt stripped -and seen through. The critic said that the author had concealed his -insignificant personality behind a great name—Thorwaldsen—but -that the disguise did not avail him and so on. John felt altogether -bankrupt. In such cases one tries to defend oneself, and he compared -his own with other bad plays, which the same severe critic had -praised. He felt treated unjustly, and indeed when compared with others -it was so, but not when he was regarded by himself alone. The fact that -the critic was worse did not make his piece better.</p> - -<p>John became shy and averse to company. This was increased by the -students' club starting a paper in which they made merry over him and -his play. He fancied he saw grimaces and contempt everywhere, and went -preferably by back streets on his walks.</p> - -<p>Then there came a yet severer blow. A friend had, on his own account, -published one of John's first plays,—the <i>Free-thinker</i>. While he was -spending an evening with Rejd an acquaintance brought in the hated -evening paper. It contained a scathing article on the play, which was -mocked at and cut to pieces. John was obliged to read the article in -the presence of his friends. He had, against his will, to admit that -the critic was not unjust, but it upset him terribly.</p> - -<p>Why is it so hard to hear the truth from others, while at the same -time one can be so severe against oneself? Probably because the social -masquerade in which we all take part makes every one fear being -unmasked, probably also because responsibility and unpleasantness are -involved in it. One feels oneself overreached and cheated. The critic -who sits at ease and unmasks others would feel himself equally scourged -and exposed if his secrets were betrayed. Social life is honeycombed -with falsity, but who likes to be discovered? That is why at times of -solitude, when the past rises up unescapably, we do not feel remorse -for our faults, but for our follies and necessary cruelties. Mistakes -were necessary and had some use, but follies were merely injurious and -should have been avoided. It is for this reason that men pay greater -honour to intelligence than to morality, for the former is a reality, -the latter an idea.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile John felt the same pains which he imagined a criminal must -feel. He felt impelled to obliterate as soon as possible the impression -made by his stupidity. But he felt also that a kind of injustice -had been done him since he had been criticised simply and solely as -a writer, although his production was a year old, and he himself, -therefore, maturer than it, by a year. But it was not the fault of the -critic that there was an incongruity between the criticism and the -<i>corpus delicti</i>.</p> - -<p>He began to compose another tragedy, <i>The Assistant at the Sacrifice</i>. -This was intended to deal with Christendom in artistic form, and to -handle the same problem and the same questions as his former play. By -"artistic form" at that period was meant the laying of the scene of -the play in a past epoch. John wrote the piece under the influence of -OehlenschlÀger and the Icelandic sagas which he had lately read in the -original.</p> - -<p>He had, however, a severe struggle with his conscience, for his father -had exacted a promise from him not to write for the stage till he had -passed his examination. It was, therefore, an act of deceit to take -help from his father and not to fulfil the conditions on which it was -granted. But he silenced his scruples by saying to himself, "Father -will be pleased enough if I have a speedy and great success." In that -he was not far wrong.</p> - -<p>But another element now entered into his life, and had a decided -influence both on his views of things and his work. This was his -acquaintance with two men,—an author and a remarkable personality. -Unfortunately they were both abnormal and therefore had only a -disturbing effect upon his development.</p> - -<p>The author was Kierkegaard,<a name="FNanchor_1_7" id="FNanchor_1_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_7" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> whose book, <i>Either—Or</i>, John had -borrowed from a member of the Song Club, and read with fear and -trembling. His friends had also read it as a work of genius, had -admired the style, but not been specialty influenced by it,—a proof -that books have little effect, when they do not find readers in -sympathy with the author. But upon John the book made the impression -intended by the author. He read the first part containing "The -Confessions of an Ãsthete." He felt sometimes carried away by it, but -always had an uncomfortable feeling as though present at a sick-bed. -The perusal of the first part left a feeling of emptiness and despair -behind it. The book agitated him. "The Diary of a Seducer" he regarded -as the fancies of an unclean imagination. Things were not like that in -real life. Moreover John was no sybarite, but on the contrary inclined -to asceticism and self-torment. Such egotistic sensuality as that of -the hero of Kierkegaard's work was absurd because the suffering he -caused by the satisfaction of his desires necessarily involved him in -suffering and, therefore, defeated his object.</p> - -<p>The second part of the work containing the philosopher's "Discourse on -Life as a Duty," made a deeper impression on John. It showed him that -he himself was an "Êsthete" who had conceived of authorship as a form -of enjoyment. Kierkegaard said that it should be regarded as a calling. -Why? The proof was wanting, and John, who did not know that Kierkegaard -was a Christian, but thought the contrary, not having seen his -<i>Edifying Discourses</i>, imbibed unaware the Christian system of ethics -with its doctrine of self-sacrifice and duty Along with these the idea -of sin returned. Enjoyment was a sin, and one had to do one's duty. -Why? Was it for the sake of society to which one was under obligations? -No! merely because it was duty. That was simply Kant's categorical -imperative. When he reached the end of the work <i>Either—Or</i> and found -the moral philosopher also in despair, and that all this teaching about -duty had only produced a Philistine, he felt broken in two. "Then," he -thought, "better be an Êsthete." But one cannot be an Êsthete if one -has been a Christian for five-sixths of one's life, and one cannot be -moral without Christ. Thus he was tossed to and fro like a ball between -the two, and ended in sheer despair.</p> - -<p>Had he now read Kierkegaard's discourses, he might possibly have -come a step nearer to Christianity—possibly—for it is difficult to -decide that now, but to receive Christianity again seemed to him like -replacing a tooth which had been torn out, and joyfully thrown into the -fire, along with the accompanying toothache. It was also possible that -if he had known that the book <i>Either—Or</i> was intended to scourge one -to the Cross he might have thrown it away as a jesuitical writing and -been saved from his embarrassment. All that he felt now, however, was -a terrible discord. He had to choose and make the jump between ethics -and Êsthetics, but choose how? and jump whither? He could not jump -out in space to embrace a paradox or Christ,—that would have been -self-destruction or madness. But Kierkegaard preached madness? Was -it the despair of the over-self-conscious at finding himself always -self-conscious? Was it the longing of one who sees too deeply for the -unconsciousness of intoxication?</p> - -<p>John knew well what the battle between his own will and the will of -others meant. He had given his father trouble enough when he crossed -his plans; but the trouble was mutual; the whole of life consisted of -a web of wills crossing one another. The death of one was life-breath -to another; no one could gain an advantage without hurting the one -he passed by. Life was a perpetual interchange and struggle between -pleasure and pain. His sensuality or desire for enjoyment had not -injured others nor caused them trouble. He had never seduced the -innocent, and had never enjoyed himself without paying the price. He -was moral from habit; from instinct, from fear of the consequences, -from good taste or from education, but the very fact that he did -not feel himself immoral, was a defect and a sin. After reading -<i>Either—Or</i> he felt sinful. The categorical imperative stole on him -under a Latin name and without a cross on its back, and he let himself -be beguiled by it. He did not see that it was a two-thousand-years-old -Christianity in disguise.</p> - -<p>Kierkegaard would not have made so deep an impression on him, if a -number of concurrent circumstances had not contributed to that result. -In the letters of the Êsthete, Kierkegaard expounded suffering as -enjoyment. John suffered from public contumely; he suffered from his -hard work; he suffered from unrequited affection; he suffered from -unsatisfied desires; he suffered from drink, for he was intoxicated -nearly every evening; he suffered as an artist from mental struggles -and doubts; he suffered from the ugly scenery of Upsala; he suffered -from the discomfort of his rooms; he suffered from examination-books; -he suffered from a bad conscience because he did not study but wrote -plays. But something else lay at the bottom of all this. He had been -brought up to fulfil hard tasks and duties. Now he lived well amid ease -and enjoyment. Study was an enjoyment; authorship, in spite of all its -pains, was a wonderful enjoyment; the life with his comrades was sheer -festivity and jollity. But his plebeian consciousness awoke and told -him that it was not right to enjoy while others worked; <i>his</i> work was -an enjoyment, for it brought him a good deal of honour, and perhaps -money. This accounted for his persistently uneasy conscience which -persecuted him without a cause. Was it that he felt already the signs -of this awakening consciousness of tremendous guilt as regards the -lower classes, the slaves who toiled, while he enjoyed? Did he already -have a foreboding of that sense of justice, which in our days has laid -so strong a hold on many of the upper classes that they have restored -capital which was not quite honestly earned, have expended time and -toil for the liberation of the lower classes, and have worked from -impulse and instinct against their own interests, in order to do right? -Possibly.</p> - -<p>But Kierkegaard was not the man to resolve the discord. It was reserved -for the evolutionary philosophers to make peace between passion and -reason, between enjoyment and duty. They cancelled the deceptive -<i>Either</i>—<i>Or</i>, and substituted <i>Both—And,</i> giving both flesh and -spirit their due. The real significance of Kierkegaard became clear -to John many years later. Then he saw in him the simple pietist, the -ultra-Christian who wished to realise in modern society oriental ideals -of two thousand years ago. But Kierkegaard was right in one point: if -we were to have Christianity, we ought to have it thoroughly; but his -<i>Either—Or</i> was only valid for the priests of the church who called -themselves Christians.</p> - -<p>Kierkegaard saw no further, and from him who wrote his book in 1843, -and had a clerical education, one could not expect that he should say: -"Either a Christianity like this, or none!" In that case people would -probably have chosen none. Instead of that Kierkegaard said: "Whether -you are Êsthetical or ethical you must cast yourself into the arms -of Christ." His mistake was to oppose ethics and Êsthetics to each -other, for they can go very well together. But John did not succeed -in harmonising them till, after endless struggles, at the age of -thirty-seven, he attempted a compromise when he discovered that work -and duty are forms of enjoyment, and that enjoyment itself, well-used, -is a duty.</p> - -<p>But at that time, the book weighed on him like a nightmare. He was -angry when his friends wished to regard it as mere literature. He was -not pacified by their regarding it superior in richness, depth and -style to Goethe's <i>Faust</i>, which it certainly did surpass by far. John -could not at that time understand that the pillar-saint Kierkegaard had -himself known what enjoyment was when he wrote the first part, and that -the seducer and Don Juan were the author himself, who satisfied his -desires in imagination. No, he thought it was poetry.</p> - -<p>John had been already predisposed to receive Kierkegaard's influence, -and now came the other acquaintance, which would not have played a -great rÃŽle in his life if circumstances had not prepared him for -that also. His companions merely regarded the person in question as -ludicrous.</p> - -<p>It came about in the following way. Thurs the Jew came one day and told -John that he had made the acquaintance of a genius who wished to join -their Song Club.</p> - -<p>"Ah, a genius!"</p> - -<p>None of the members of the club believed that they were geniuses, not -even John, and it is doubtful whether any poet has really believed -or felt that he was one. One can, when one makes comparisons, find -that one has produced better work than others, and a clever man -will naturally feel that he understands better than others, but -genius,—that is something else. This title is not generally bestowed -on any one till after death and is now dropping out of common use, -since the secret of the evolution of genius has been discovered.</p> - -<p>The novelty aroused attention, and the stranger was elected to the -club under the name of Is. He was not a poet, they were told, but very -learned and a powerful critic.</p> - -<p>One evening when the club-meeting was at Thurs' rooms he came—a -little thin person, without an overcoat, dressed like a labourer on -his holiday. His clothes looked as though they were borrowed, for -their elbows and knees were not in the right places. John, who used -to succeed to his elder brother's clothes, noticed this at once. In -his hand he held a dirty beer-soup-coloured hat, such as is only worn -by organ-grinders. His face looked like that of a southern rat-trap -seller. His black hair hung on his shoulders and a black beard fell on -his breast.</p> - -<p>"Is it possible?" they asked themselves. "Can he be a student?" He -looked forty, but was only thirty. He stood with his hat in his hand -at the door like a beggar, and hardly ventured to come forward. After -Thurs had drawn him into the room and introduced him, the meeting was -declared open. Is began to speak and they listened. His voice was like -a woman's and sank sometimes, without apology, to a whisper, as though -the speaker demanded perfect silence or spoke for his own satisfaction. -It would be difficult to repeat what he spoke of, for his speech ranged -over everything that he had read, and since he had read for ten years -more than the youths of twenty, they found his learning wonderful.</p> - -<p>After that, another member of the club read a poem. Is had to deliver -an opinion on it. He began with Kant, quoted Schopenhauer and -Thackeray, and finished with a lecture on George Sand. No one noticed -that he said nothing about the poem.</p> - -<p>Then they went into a restaurant to eat. Is talked philosophy, -Êsthetics and history. He spoke sometimes with a melancholy expression -in his dark unfathomable eyes, which never rested on those present, as -though he sought an unseen audience far in the distance, in unknown -space. The club listened reverently with absorbed attention.</p> - -<p>John was to hear this man's opinion on his work. He, as well as one of -the most poetical members of the club, began to have serious doubts as -to their vocation. Often, when they had drunk a good deal, they asked -whether they still believed—meaning whether each thought the Other -called to be a poet. It was just the same sort of doubt which John had -felt when he had wondered whether he was a child of God. Is was to -read John's drama, <i>The Assistant at the Sacrifice</i>, and to give his -opinion.</p> - -<p>One morning John went up to his room to hear his verdict. Is spoke -till noon. About what? About everything. But he had now taken hold of -John's soul. Through conversations with Thurs, he know which strings to -pull, and did so, as he chose. He burrowed in John's mind, not out of -sympathy, but from a spider-like curiosity. He did not speak directly -of John's play but suggested the plan of a new one after his own ideas. -He had the effect of a mesmeriser, and John was magnetised. But he -felt in a state of despair when he left him, as though his friend had -taken his soul, picked it to pieces and thrown them away after he had -satisfied his curiosity.</p> - -<p>But John came again, sat on the wise man's sofa, listened to his words -as though they were an oracle, and felt himself completely under his -power. Sometimes he thought it was a ghost who walked on the carpet -when his body disappeared in clouds of tobacco-smoke. The man exercised -what is called a "demonic" influence, <i>i.e</i>. inexplicable at first -sight. He had no blood in his veins, no feelings, no will, no desires. -He was a talking head. His standpoint was nothing and all at the same -time. He was a decoction of books, and the type of a book-worm who had -never lived.</p> - -<p>Often when the other members of the club were alone, they talked -about Is. Thurs was already tired of him and wondered whether he -had committed some crime, for he seemed driven about by a constant -restlessness. Then it was reported that he was a poet, but never would -show his poems, for he had such a high idea of the poetic art. They -also wondered why no one ever saw a book in the learned man's rooms. -It was also strange that he should seek the company of these youths, -to whom he was so superior, and whose poetry he must despise. They who -were themselves in the full bloom of romanticism did not detect the -anÊmic romantic who had lost his footing on firm ground. They did not -see in his long hair and shabby hat the copy of Murger's Bohemian; they -did not know that this dilapidated condition was a Parisian fashion; -that this hollow wisdom was a web woven out of German metaphysics; that -this experimental psychology was derived from a peep into Kierkegaard; -and that that interesting air of hinting at uncommitted crimes and -secret griefs was Byronic in origin. All this they did not understand. -Therefore Is could play with John's soul and catch him in his snare. -Yes, John was so thoroughly taken by him that in a speech he called -himself Gamaliel, who sat at Paul's Is's feet to learn wisdom.</p> - -<p>The upshot of it all was that Julm, one fine evening, burnt his new -play. It was the work of three months which went up in flames. As he -collected the ashes, he wept. Is, without saying so directly, had shown -him that he was no poet. So everything was a mistake, this also! Then -he felt in despair, because he had deceived his father and could take -no work home to justify his neglect of his wishes. In a fit of remorse, -and in order to be able to point to some definite result, he entered -his name for the written examination in Latin, without, however, having -written any of the requisite preliminary exercises or essays. The Latin -professor saw his name in the list and did not know it. One Sunday -evening, when John had returned to his rooms in good spirits after a -supper, the university bedell appeared to summon him. John went boldly -to the professor and asked what he wanted.</p> - -<p>"You wish to take the written examination in Latin?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"But I do not see your name on my list."</p> - -<p>"I entered myself before for the medical examination."</p> - -<p>"That has nothing to do with this. You must go by the rules."</p> - -<p>"I know no rules about the three essays."</p> - -<p>"I think you are impertinent, sir."</p> - -<p>"It may seem so——"</p> - -<p>"Out with you, sir!—or——"</p> - -<p>The door was opened, and John was ejected. He swore to himself he -would still go up for the written examination, but the next morning he -overslept himself.</p> - -<p>So even that last straw failed.</p> - -<p>Shortly afterwards one morning a friend came and woke him.</p> - -<p>"Do you know that W. is dead?" (W. sat at the same table in the -boarding-house.)</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>"Yes! he has cut his throat."</p> - -<p>John started up, dressed himself, and hurried with his friend to the -Jernbrogatan where W. lived. They rushed up the stairs and came to a -dark attic.</p> - -<p>"Is it here?"</p> - -<p>"No, here!"</p> - -<p>John felt for a door; the door gave way and fell upon him. At the same -moment he saw a pool of blood on the ground. He turned round, let go -of the door, and was at the bottom of the stairs before the door fell -on the ground. This scene shook him terribly and woke his memory. Some -days previously John had gone into the Carolina Park to work at his -play in solitude. W. came up, greeted him, and asked whether he might -bear him company or whether he disturbed him. John answered sincerely -that he did disturb him, and W. went away with a melancholy air. Was -it a case of a lonely drowning man who sought a companion and was -repulsed? John felt almost guilty of his death. But he was not intended -for a comforter. Now the dead man seemed to haunt him; he dared not go -to his room, but slept with his friend. One night he slept with Rejd. -The latter had to keep a light burning and was woken several times in -the night by John, who could not sleep.</p> - -<p>One day Rejd found John with a bottle of prussic acid. He apparently -approved the idea of suicide, but first asked him to take a farewell -drink with him. They went to the restaurant and ordered eight glasses -of whisky, which were brought in on a tray. Each of them drank four -glasses in four pulls, with the desired result that John became dead -drunk. He was carried home, but since the house door was locked, he was -carried over an empty piece of ground and thrown over a fence. There he -remained lying in a snow-drift, till he recovered his senses, and crept -up into his room.</p> - -<p>The last night which he spent in Upsala some days later he slept on a -sofa in Thurs' rooms; his friends kept watch over him, and the room -was lighted up. They watched good-naturedly till morning, then they -accompanied him to the station, and put him in the coupé. When the -train had passed Bergsbrunna, John breathed again. He felt as though -he had left something dreadful and weird, like a northern winter night -with thirty degrees of cold, behind him, and registered a vow never -again to settle in this town, where men's souls, banished from life and -society, grew rotten from over-production of thought, were corroded -by stagnant waters which had no outlet, and took fire like millstones -which revolved without having anything to grind.</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> Danish theologian.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - -<h4>IDEALISM AND REALISM</h4> - -<h4>(1871)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>When John again reached his parents' house, he felt himself in shelter -like one who has reached land after a stormy sea-passage by night. -Again he had quiet nights in his old tent-bed in the brothers' room. -Here were quiet patient men, who came and went, worked and slept at -stated times without being disturbed by dreams or ambitious designs. -His sisters had grown up into young women and managed the house. All -were at work with the exception of himself. When he compared his -irregular, dissipated life, which knew no rest or peace, with theirs, -he considered them happier and better than himself. They took life -seriously, went about their work and fulfilled their duties without -noise or boasting.</p> - -<p>John now looked up his old acquaintances among the tradespeople, -clerks, and sea-captains, and found intercourse with them novel and -refreshing. They led his thoughts back to reality and he felt firm -ground once more under his feet. At the same time he began to despise -false ideality, and saw that it was vulgar of the students to look down -on the "Philistines."</p> - -<p>He now confessed quite simply and openly to his father, but without -remorse, the wretched life he had led at Upsala, and begged him to let -him stay at home and prepare for his examination there,—otherwise he -would be lost. His father granted permission, and now John prepared his -plan of campaign for the spring term. In the first place he meant to -take lessons in Latin composition with a good teacher in Stockholm, and -then go up in spring, and pass the examination. Furthermore he would -write his disquisition for a certificate in Êsthetics and prepare for -the examination in that subject. With these resolutions he began a -quiet and industrious manner of life with the new year.</p> - -<p>But the failure of his play the <i>Free-thinker</i> still weighed upon his -mind, and the questions of his friends as to whether they should soon -see something new from him, stirred him up to re-write, in the form -of a one-act play, the drama he had burnt. He finished it, and then -continued his studies.</p> - -<p>Shortly before April he wrote a test-composition for his teacher, who -declared that he would pass. His father did not disapprove of his plan -when he heard that John felt quite confident, but he suggested that it -would be more practical if he conformed to custom and wrote exercises -for the Upsala professor. "No," said John, "it was now a question of -principle and a matter of honour." So he went to Upsala.</p> - -<p>He called on the professor on his at-home day and waited till his turn -for an interview. When the latter saw him, he grew red in the face and -asked:</p> - -<p>"Are you here again?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"What do you want?"</p> - -<p>"I want to go in for the Latin Composition examination."</p> - -<p>"Without having written a test-composition?"</p> - -<p>"I have done that in Stockholm—and I only want to ask whether the -statutes allow me to go up for the examination."</p> - -<p>"The statutes? Ask the dean about that; I only know what I require."</p> - -<p>John went straight to the dean, who was a young, lively and sympathetic -man. John made known his purpose and described what had passed.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the dean, "the statutes say nothing about the matter, but -old P. can pluck you without their help."</p> - -<p>"Well, we shall see. Will you allow me, Mr. Dean, to go up for the -written examination, that is the question?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I can't refuse that. You mean then to have your own way?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I do."</p> - -<p>"Arc you so sure about the matter?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Very well! Good luck to you!" said the Dean, and clapped him on the -shoulder.</p> - -<p>So John went up for the examination and after a week received a -telegram to say that he had passed. Some ascribed this result to -the professor's generosity and disapproved of John's rebellious -procedure; but John considered his success due to his own diligence -and knowledge, although he could not deny that the professor had acted -honourably in not plucking him when he had the power to do so.</p> - -<p>The examination in Êsthetics was fixed for May. Contrary to all usage -John sent his disquisition by post to Upsala with the written request -that he might stand for the examination.</p> - -<p>His essay was entitled "Hakon Jarl," and treated of Idealism and -Realism. Its object was firstly to convince the professor that -the writer was well-read in Êsthetics and particularly in Danish -literature, and secondly, to clear up to the writer himself his own -point of view. The essay, in imitation of Kierkegaard, was in the form -of a correspondence between A and B, criticising OehlenschlÀger's -<i>Hakon Jarl</i> and Kierkegaard's <i>Either—Or</i>.</p> - -<p>At the appointed time John appeared before the professor, who had -the reputation of being liberal-minded, but felt at once that he had -no sympathy with him. With an almost contemptuous air the professor -handed him back his essay and declared that it was best suited for the -female readers of the <i>Illustrated News</i>. He further stated that Danish -literature was not a subject of sufficient importance to be taken up as -a special branch of study.</p> - -<p>John felt annoyed, and asserted that Danish literature had greater -interest for Sweden than Boileau and Malesherbes, for example, on whom -students wrote essays.</p> - -<p>His examination then began and took the form of a violent argument. -It was continued in the afternoon and ended by the professor giving -him a certificate which was not so good as he had hoped, and telling -him that university studies could only be properly carried on at the -university. John replied that Êsthetic studies could be best carried -on at Stockholm where one had the National Museum, Library, Theatre, -Academy of Music and Artists.</p> - -<p>"No," said the professor, "that is nonsense; one ought to study here."</p> - -<p>John let fall some remarks on college lectures, and they parted, not as -particularly good friends.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - -<h4>A KING'S PROTÃGÃ</h4> - -<h4>(1871)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>During the whole of this time, John had been on pleasant terms with his -father, and the old man had shown himself to a certain extent willing -to be educated, but his tactless pride sometimes broke out and annoyed -John. The latter, who was now continually at home, spent many evening -hours with the old man in conversations on all sorts of subjects, and -finally on religion. One day John spoke for half-an-hour about Theodore -Parker, so that his father at last expressed a wish to read some of -him. He kept the book for several days, but said nothing, and John -found it again in his room. His father was too proud to acknowledge -that he liked the book, but John learned through one of his brothers -that he was especially delighted with the famous sermon "On Old Age."</p> - -<p>In the matter of John's opposition to the professor, his father -vacillated. His opinion was that right was always right, but he did -not like the disrespectful way in which John spoke of the professor. -Meanwhile John saw that he had won the game and that his father had a -lively interest in his success.</p> - -<p>But one day in spring John went into the country, telling the servant -that he would be absent for the day. When he returned the next morning -he had an unpleasant reception.</p> - -<p>"You go away without telling me?"</p> - -<p>"I told the servant."</p> - -<p>"I require you to ask permission of me as long as you eat my bread."</p> - -<p>"Ask permission! What nonsense!"</p> - -<p>John departed, borrowed three hundred kronas from a friendly tradesman, -and then with three of his club associates went to one of the islands -near Stockholm, where they hired rooms in a fisher's house at a rent -of thirty kronas per month. No one tried to stop him, and probably -this crisis was occasioned by the fact that John was exercising a -perceptible influence on his father, brothers and sisters in matters -concerning domestic arrangements. The mistress of the house feared that -the power would be taken out of her hands.</p> - -<p>He spent the summer in strenuously working for his examination, for -he had now no hope of receiving further supplies from home. It was -a healthy and ascetic life with innocent amusements. He went about -in dressing-gown, drawers and sea-boots, and the toilette of his -companions was still more scanty. They bathed, sailed, fenced, and -John gave himself over increasingly to a process of decivilisation. -There were almost always spirituous liquors on the table, and John -feared them, for they made him mad. But to this asceticism and industry -succeeded a desire to make converts of others, and a great amount of -self-satisfaction. The latter is always the case, whether the ascetic -feels that in this respect he is better than others, or whether he -makes the sacrifice in order to feel himself better. Therefore he -preached to one brother who drank, and moralised over the others who -did not work, but went to Dalarö to dance or to feast. Kierkegaard's -influence was strong upon him; he wished to be moral, and thundered -against Êstheticism.</p> - -<p>He now studied philology, and went through Dante, Shakespeare and -Goethe. The last he hated because he was an Êsthete. Behind all, like -a dark background, was the breach with his father. After their life -together during the last winter, he saw him as it were transfigured, -justified him with respect to all that had happened in the past, and -had forgotten all the petty troubles of his childhood. He missed most -of all his brothers and sisters, especially his sisters whom he -had really learnt to know. Toiling with a lexicon and investigating -roots of words had become painful to him, but he enjoyed this pain, -and disciplined his imagination by hard work, looking upon it as his -professional duty.</p> - -<p>Towards the end of the summer he was wild and shy. The clothes, winch -he rummaged out again, were too tight, his collar, which he had not -worn for months, tormented him as though it had been of iron, and his -shoes pinched him. Everything seemed to him constrained, conventional -and unnatural. Once he had been enticed to an evening party at Dalarö -but had immediately returned. He was shy and could not bear frivolity -and laughter. This time it was not the consciousness of belonging -to the lower classes, for he had ceased to regard himself as one of -them. Meanwhile the ascetic life he had been leading increased his -will-power and his activity. When the next term at Upsala commenced, -he took his travelling-bag and journeyed thither, without having more -than a krona to call his own, and without knowing where he would find a -room and something to eat. On his arrival he took up his quarters with -Rejd, and set about working. The first evening, feeling half famished, -he looked up Is, who had remained the whole summer alone in Upsala -and seemed more melancholy than usual. His appearance was that of a -shadow, and solitude had made him still more morbid. He went out with -John and invited him to supper at a restaurant. He spoke in his usual -style and mangled his prey, who, on the other hand, defended himself, -struck back, and attacked the Êsthete. Is contemplated his hungry -companion while he ate, and intoxicated himself with the brandy-bottle. -He adopted a maternal air and offered to lend John money. The latter -was touched, thanked him, and borrowed about ten kronas, for, since he -believed he had a future before him, he borrowed without fear. Finally -Is became drunk and raved. He changed his attitude, called John an -egoist, and reproached him for having taken the ten kronas.</p> - -<p>To be suspected of egotism was the worst thing John knew, for Christ -had taught him that the "ego" must be crucified. His individuality had -grown since it had been freed from pressure and attained publicity. -Conspicuous persons obtain a greater individuality through the -attention they receive, or they attract attention for the simple reason -that they have a greater individuality. John felt that he was working -in the right way for his future; he pressed forward with energy and -will and the help of many friends, but not as a charlatan or schemer. -But Is's accusation struck him in the face, as it must all men who -have an "ego." He wished to return the money, but Is drew himself up -proudly, played the "gentleman" and continued to romance. It struck -John that this idealist was a mean fellow who behaved in this fantastic -way in order to conceal his vexation at the temporary loss of the ten -kronas.</p> - -<p>Now the students returned for the term, and all of them with money. -John wandered about with his travelling-bag and his books, and -discovered how soon a welcome is worn out when one lies upon somebody -else's sofa. He borrowed money to hire a room with. It was a real -rats' nest with a camp-bed without sheets or cushions. No candlestick, -nothing. But he lay in bed in his under-clothes and read by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle. His friends here and there provided him -with meals. But then came the winter. He used to go out after dark and -buy a quantity of wood, which he carried home in his bag. A scientific -friend taught him how to make a charcoal fire. Moreover, the shaft of -a chimney passed through his room and was warm every washing-day. He -stood beside it with his hands behind him and read out of a book which -he had placed on the chest of drawers, dragging the latter close to -him. In the meantime his drama had been played and coldly received. The -subject-matter was religious. It dealt with heathendom and Christendom, -the former being defended as an epoch-making movement, not as a creed. -Christ was placed on one side and the only true God exalted. The drama -also contained a domestic struggle, and, after the fashion of the -time, women were extolled at the expense of the men. In one passage -the author expressed his opinion as to the position of a poet in life. -"Are you a man, Orm?" asks the duke. "I am only a poet," answers Orm. -"Therefore you will never become anything," is the rejoinder.</p> - -<p>In fact, John believed now that the poet's life was a shadow existence, -that he had no individuality, but only lived in that of others. But is -it then so certain that the poet possesses no individuality because -he has more than one? Perhaps he is richer because he possesses more -than the others. And why is it better to have only one "ego," since -in any case a single "ego" is not more one's own than many "egos," -seeing that even one "ego" is a compound product derived from parents, -educators, social intercourse and books? Perhaps it is for this reason -that society, like a machine, demands that the single "egos" shall act -each like a wheel, screw, or separate piece of the machine in a limited -automatic way. But the poet is more than a piece of a machine, since he -is a whole machine in himself.</p> - -<p>In the drama John had incorporated himself in five persons;—in the -Jarl, who is at war with his contemporaries; in the Poet, who looks -over things and looks through them; in the Mother, who is angry and -revengeful but whose thirst for vengeance is counteracted by her -sympathy; in the Daughter, who for the sake of her faith breaks with -her father; in the Lover, whose love is ill-starred. John understood -the motives of all the dramatis personae; and spoke from their varying -points of view. But a drama written for the average man who has -ready-made views on all subjects, must at least take sides with one -of its characters in order to win the excitable and partisan public. -John could not do this, because he believed in no absolute right or -wrong, for the simple reason that all these ideas are relative. One may -be right as regards the future, and wrong as regards the present; one -may be wrong in one year and right in the next; a father may justify -his son while the mother condemns him; a daughter is right in loving -the man she loves, but in her father's view she is wrong in loving a -heathen. There comes in doubt: Why do men hate and despise the doubter? -Because doubt is the seed of development and progress, and the average -man hates development because it disturbs his quiet. Only the stupid -man is certain; only the ignorant one thinks he has found the truth. -Doubt undermines energy, they say. But it is better to act without -considering the consequences. The animal and the savage act blindly, -obeying desire and impulse; in that they resemble our "men of action"!</p> - -<p>When John returned to Upsala, he was again followed by disparaging -criticisms. To some extent they were true, <i>e.g</i>. the assertion that -the form of the piece was borrowed from the <i>Kongsemnerne,</i> but only -to some extent, for John had taken the frigid tone and the rough -phraseology direct from the Icelandic sagas, and the views of life he -expressed were original. Scorn followed him, and he was regarded as a -man who was ambitious of being a poet, the worst suspicion under which -any one can fall.</p> - -<p>But in the midst of his toil and needy circumstances, a week after his -overthrow, there came a letter from the chamberlain of the Theatre -Royal at Stockholm, requesting him to go there immediately as the -king wished to see him. Morbidly suspicious he believed that it was a -practical joke, and took the letter to his wise friend—the student of -Natural History. The latter telegraphed in the evening to a well-known -actor of the Theatre Royal requesting him to ask the chamberlain -whether he had written to John. The latter spent a restless night, -tossed to and fro between hope and fear. The next morning the answer -came that it was indeed so and that John should come at once. He set -off forthwith.</p> - -<p>Why did he, a born rebel, accept the royal favour without hesitation? -For the simple reason that he did not belong to the democratic party; -he had never promised his father or mother not to receive a favour from -the king. Furthermore he believed in the aristocracy or the right of -the best to govern, and he considered the upper classes the best, as -he had shown in his tragedy, <i>Sinking Hellas</i>, in which he expressed -contempt for the demagogues. He hated tyrants, but this king was no -tyrant. Therefore there was no reason for hesitation within him or -without him. Accordingly he travelled to Stockholm and was received in -audience by the king. The latter was just now very ill, and looked so -emaciated as to make a painful impression. He stood with a benevolent -aspect, smoking his long tobacco-pipe, and smiled at the young -beardless author, walking awkwardly between the rows of aide-de-camps -and chamberlains. He thanked him for the pleasure which he had derived -from his drama, adding that he himself when young had competed for an -academical prize with a poem on the Vikings, and was fond of the old -Norse legends. He said that he wished to help the young student to take -his doctor's degree, and closed the interview by referring him to the -treasurer, who had been ordered to make him a first payment. Later on -he would receive more, and the king said he supposed there were still -two or three years to elapse before he took his degree.</p> - -<p>John's immediate future was now secure. He felt gratefully moved by -this kindness on the part of a king who had so many things to think -about. On his return to Upsala, he saw for two months how the court -sunshine had turned him into a star. The official who had paid him, -had asked him whether he thought later on of obtaining a post in some -public department or in the Royal Library. His ambition had never -soared so high and did not yet do so.</p> - -<p>The chief object of human existence seems to be, and must indeed be, to -spend one's life till death in the least unpleasant manner possible. -This aim does not exclude solicitude for the good of others, for -happiness includes the consciousness of not having infringed others' -rights unnecessarily. Therefore ill-gotten wealth cannot secure a -pleasant life, nor can any path which leads over the prostrate bodies -of others. Accordingly Utilitarianism, or the philosophy which aims at -the greatest happiness of the greatest number, is not immoral.</p> - -<p>In spite of all his asceticism John could not help feeling happy. -His happiness consisted in the half-consciousness that he could live -his life without the great anxiety which the insecurity of means -of existence causes. He had been threatened by penury and was now -secure; life had been restored to him, and it is a happy thing to be -able to live before one has done growing. His chest, which had been -narrowed by hunger and over-exertion, broadened itself; his back grew -straighter; life no longer seemed so melancholy. He was contented with -his lot; things took on a more cheerful aspect, and he would have been -ungrateful had he still remained among the malcontents.</p> - -<p>But this did not last long. When he saw his old comrades round him in -a position in which <i>his</i> happiness had effected no change, he found -that there was a want of harmony between them. They had been accustomed -to help him as one in need and now he needed their help no longer. -They had liked him, because they protected him and were accustomed -to see him below them. But when he came upwards, near them and above -them, they found him necessarily altered by altered circumstances. The -necessitous man is not so bold in his opinions nor so stiff in the back -as the prosperous one. He was altered for them, but was he therefore -worse? Self-esteem under other circumstances is generally well thought -of. Enough! He annoyed others by the fact that he was fortunate, and -still more because he wished to help others to be so.</p> - -<p>The present he had received entailed obligations, and John gave -himself diligently to study. He passed his examinations in Philology, -Astronomy, and Political Science, but received in none of these -subjects such a good testimonial as he had expected. He had studied too -much in one way and too little in another.</p> - -<p>In examination time he generally had an attack of aphasia. -Physiologists usually ascribe this weakness to an injury in the left -temple. And as a matter of fact John had two scars above his left eye. -One was caused by the blow of an axe, the other by a rock against which -he had struck himself in jumping down the Observatory hill. He was -inclined to trace to this the great difficulty he had in delivering -public addresses and speaking foreign languages.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, during examinations, he would sit there, unable to give -an answer although he knew more than was asked. Then there came over -him a spirit of defiance, of self-torment, of ill-humour, and he felt -tempted to throw up the whole thing. He criticised the text-books and -felt dishonest in learning what he despised. The rÃŽle assigned to him -began to oppress him; he longed to get away from it all to something -else, wherever it might be. It was not that he regarded the king's -present as a benefaction. It was a stipend, a reward for merit, such -as artists at all periods have received for the purpose of carrying -on their self-cultivation. His royal patron was not merely the king -but his personal friend and admirer. Therefore the gift exercised no -kind of restraint upon his rebellious thoughts; he only let himself be -temporarily deceived, and believed that all was right with the world, -because he prospered. His radicalism had been considerably mitigated; -he no longer thought that all which was wrong in the state was the -fault of the monarchy, nor did he believe with the pagans that better -harvests would follow if the king was sacrificed on an idol-altar. His -mother would have wept for joy at his distinction, had she lived, so -strong were her aristocratic leanings.</p> - -<p>All of us, including crown princes, are democrats, inasmuch as we wish -those above us to come down to our level; but when we ascend, we do -not wish to be pulled down. The question is only whether that winch -is "above" us is so in a spiritual sense, and whether it ought to be -there. That was what John began to be doubtful of.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - -<h4>THE WINDING UP</h4> - -<h4>(1872)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>At the beginning of the spring term, John took up his quarters with an -elder comrade in order to continue his studies. But when he had again -the old books before him which he had already studied so long, he felt -a distaste for them. His brain was full of impressions, of collected -literary material, and refused to take in any more; his imagination -and thought were busily at work and would not let memory be alone -active; he had fits of doubt and apathy and often remained the whole -day lying on the sofa. Then the desire would sometimes awake to be -altogether free and to plunge into the life of activity. But the royal -stipend held him fast in fetters and imposed on him obligations. Having -received it, he was bound to go on studying for his doctor's degree, -the course of reading for which he had half completed. So he applied -himself to philosophy, but when he read the history of it, he found all -systems equally valid or invalid, and his mind resisted all new ideas.</p> - -<p>In the literary club there was disunion and lethargy. All their -youthful poems had been read and no one produced any more, so that -they only met together to drink punch. Is had exposed himself, and -after a scene with another member, he had been thrown out. He drew his -knife and got well thrashed. He saved himself from worse by affecting -to treat the affair as a joke, and was now a mere laughing-stock, since -it had been discovered that his wisdom consisted in quotations from the -students' periodicals which the others had not had the wit to utilise. -At the beginning of term an Ãsthetic Society had been founded by the -professor of Ãsthetics, and this made their own literary society, the -"Runa," superfluous.</p> - -<p>At one of the meetings of the former, John's discontent with classical -authorities broke out. He had been drinking that evening and was -half-intoxicated. In conversation with the professor dangerous ground -was touched upon and John was enticed so far out of his reserve as to -declare Dante without significance for humanity and overestimated. John -had plenty of reasons to allege for his opinion, but could not express -them to advantage when the professor set upon him, and the whole -company gathered round the disputants, who were squeezed into a corner -by the stove. He wanted in the first place to say that the construction -of the <i>Divine Comedy</i> was not original, but a very ordinary form which -had already been employed shortly before in the <i>Vision of Albericus</i>. -Furthermore his opinion was that in this poem Dante did not reflect -the culture and thoughts of his period, because he was so uncultured -that he did not even know Greek. He was not a philosopher, for he -hampered thought by the fetters of revelation, and therefore he was no -precursor of the Renaissance or the Reformation. He was no patriot, for -he venerated the German empire as established by God. He was at most a -local patriot of Florence. Nor was he a democrat, for he always dreamt -of a union of the empire and the papacy. He did not attack the papacy, -but only individual popes who lived immoral lives, as he himself -had done in his youth. He was a monk, a truly idiotic child of his -age, for he sent unbaptised children to hell. He was a narrow-minded -royalist who put Brutus next to Satan in the deepest hell. He was -entirely wanting in the power of selfcriticism;—while he reckons -ingratitude to friends and betrayal of one's fatherland among the worst -of crimes, he places his own friend and teacher, Brunetto Latini, in -hell, and supports the German Emperor, Henry VII, against his native -city Florence. He had bad literary taste, for he reckoned as the six -greatest poets of the world Homer, Horace, Lucan, Ovid, Virgil and -himself. How could modern critics who were so severe on all scandalous -literature praise Dante, who in his poem cast dishonour on so many -contemporary persons and families? He even scolds his own dear native -city, exclaiming when he finds five nobly-born Florentines in Hell: -"Rejoice! O Florence! for thy name is not only great over land and -sea, but also in hell. Five of thy citizens are in thieves' company; -my cheeks blush at the sight of them. But one thing I know; punishment -will light upon thee, Florence, and may it happen soon!"</p> - -<p>As is usual in such debates, the attacked and the attacker often -changed their ground. John wished to prove to the professor that from -his point of view the <i>Commedia</i> was a political pamphlet, but then -the professor veered round, adopted the enemy's point of view and said -that <i>he</i> should value it as such. Whereupon John answered that it was -exactly as such that he designated it, but not as a magnificent poem -of everlasting value, which the professor had declared it to be in his -lectures. Again the professor changed his ground, and said that the -poem should be judged by the standard of the period at which it was -composed.</p> - -<p>"Exactly so," answered John, "but you have judged it by the standard -of our time and all succeeding times, and therefore you are wrong. But -even with regard to its own time the work is not an epoch-making one; -it is not in advance of its period, but belongs strictly to it, or -rather lags behind it. It is a linguistic monument for Italy, nothing -more, and should never be read in a Swedish university, because the -language is antiquated, and finally because it is too insignificant to -be regarded as a link in the development of culture."</p> - -<p>The result of the controversy was that John was regarded as shameless -and half-cracked.</p> - -<p>After this explosion he was exhausted and incapable of work. The whole -of the life in a town where he did not feel at home was distasteful -to him. His companions advised him to take a thorough rest, for he -had worked too hard, and so, as a matter of fact, he had. Various -schemes again presented themselves to his mind, but without result. -The grey dirty town vexed him, the scenery around depressed him; he -lay on a sofa and looked at the illustrations in a German newspaper. -Views of foreign scenery had the same effect as music on his mind and -he felt a longing to see green trees and blue seas; he wished to go -into the country but it was still only February, the sky was as grey -as sack-cloth, the streets and roads were muddy. When he felt most -depressed, he went to his friend the natural science student. It -refreshed him to see his herbarium and microscope, his aquarium and -physiological preparations. Most of all he found a pleasure in the -society of the quiet, peaceable atheist, who let the world go its way, -for he knew that he worked better for the future, in his small measure, -than the poet with his excitable outbreaks. He had a little of the -artist left in him and painted in oils. To think that he could call up -as if by enchantment a green landscape amid the mists of this wintry -spring and hang it on his wall!</p> - -<p>"Is painting difficult?" he asked his friend.</p> - -<p>"No, indeed! It is easier than drawing. Try it!"</p> - -<p>John, who had already, with the greatest calm, composed a song with a -guitar-accompaniment, thought it not impossible for him to paint, and -he borrowed an easel, colours, and a paint-brush. Then he went home -and shut himself up in his room. From an illustrated paper he copied a -picture of a ruined castle. When he saw the clear blue of the sky he -felt sentimental, and when he had conjured up green bushes and grass -he felt unspeakably happy as though he had eaten haschish. His first -effort was successful. But now he wished to copy a painting. That was -harder. Everything was green and brown. He could not make his colours -harmonise with the original and felt in despair.</p> - -<p>One day when he had shut himself up he heard a visitor talking with his -friend in the next room. They whispered as though they were near a sick -person. "Now he is actually painting," said his friend in a depressed -tone.</p> - -<p>What did that mean? Did they consider him cracked? Yes. He began to -think about himself, and like all brooders came to the conclusion that -he was cracked. What was to be done? If they shut him up, he would -certainly go quite mad. "Better anticipate them," he thought, and as he -had heard of private asylums in the country, where the patients could -walk about and work in the garden, he wrote to the director of one of -them. After some time he received a friendly answer advising him to be -quiet. His correspondent had received information about John through -his friend and understood his state of mind. He told him it was only a -crisis which all sensitive natures must pass through, etc.</p> - -<p><i>That</i> danger, then, was over. But he wished to get out into active -life when ever it might be.</p> - -<p>One day he heard that a travelling theatrical company had come to the -town. He wrote a letter to the manager and solicited an engagement, -but he received no answer and did not call on the manager. Thus he -was tossed to and fro, till at last fate intervened and set him -free. Three months had passed and he had received no money from the -court-treasurer. His companions advised him to write and make a polite -inquiry. In reply he was told that it had never been his Majesty's -intention to pay him a regular pension, but only a single donation. -However, in consideration of his needy circumstances, by way of -exception, he had made him a grant of 200 kronas, which would shortly -be sent.</p> - -<p>John at first felt glad, for he was free, but afterwards the turn which -affairs had taken made him uneasy, for the papers had stated that -he was the king's stipendiary, and the king had really promised him -a stipend during the year that he must read for his degree. Besides -this the court-marshal had given him a sort of half promise for the -future which could hardly be considered as adequately fulfilled by -a donation of 200 kronas. Different opinions were expressed on the -matter. Some thought that the king had forgotten, others that the state -of his finances did not allow of a further gift, or that his good -wishes exceeded his powers. No one expressed disapproval, and John was -secretly glad, had he not felt a certain disgrace in the withdrawal -of the stipend, so that he might be suspected of having groundlessly -boasted of it. Those who believed that John was in disfavour at court -ascribed this to the fact that he had omitted to wait upon the king -in person when he was in Stockholm at Christmas and the New Year. -Others attributed it to the fact that he had not formally presented -his tragedy, <i>Sinking Hellas</i>, but had simply sent it to the palace, -instead of going with it, which his sense of independence forbade -him to do. Ten years later he heard quite a new explanation of this -disfavour. He was said to have composed a lampoon on the king. But this -was a pure legend, probably the only one of its obscure fabricator -which would reach posterity. Anyhow facts remained as they were and -his resolve was quickly taken. He would go to Stockholm and become -a literary man, an author if possible, should he prove to possess -sufficient capacity for that calling.</p> - -<p>The student who shared his room undertook to pay his return journey, -and alleged as a pretext that John must wait some time in Stockholm -lest the landlord should be uneasy. Meanwhile he could collect enough -money to pay the rent which was due at the end of the term.</p> - -<p>His friends gave John a farewell feast and John thanked them, -acknowledging the obligations which each owes to those he meets in -social intercourse. Every personality is not developed simply out -of itself, but derives something from each with whom it comes in -contact, just as the bee gathering her honey from a million flowers, -appropriates it and gives it out as her own.</p> - -<p>Thus he stepped into life, abandoning dreams and the past to live in -reality and the present. But he was ill-prepared and the university is -not the proper school for life. He felt also that the decisive hour had -come. In a clumsy speech he called the feast a "svensexa," <i>i.e</i>. a -farewell supper for a bachelor on the eve of his marriage, for he was -now to be a man and leave boyhood behind; he was to become a member of -society, a useful citizen and eat his own bread.</p> - -<p>So he believed at the time, but he soon discovered that his education -had unfitted him for society, and as he did not wish to be an outlaw -the doubt awoke in him whether society, of which after all school and -university were a part, was not to blame for his education, and whether -it had not serious defects which needed a remedy.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - -<h4>AMONG THE MALCONTENTS</h4> - -<h4>(1872)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>When John came to Stockholm, he borrowed money in order to hire a -room near the LadugÀrdslandet. Always under the sway of sentiment, he -chose this quarter of the town because he always used to walk there -in his childhood on the 1st of May, and the High Street especially -had something of a holiday air about it. Moreover it soon opened into -the Zoological Gardens, which became his favourite place for walks. -The barracks with their drums and trumpets had something exhilarating -about them, and there were fine views over the sea which was close at -hand. There was plenty of light and air. When he went for his morning -walk he could choose his route according to his mood. If he was sad -and depressed, he went along the SirishofsvÀgen; if he was cheerful -he turned off to the level ground of Manilla, where the paradisial -rose-valley exhaled joy and delight; if he was despairing and anxious -to avoid people he went out to LadugÀrdsgardet, where no one could -disturb his self-communings and his prayers to God. Sometimes, when his -soul was in a tumult, he remained standing by the cross-ways above the -bridge near the Zoological Gardens, irresolute which way to take. On -such occasion a thousand forces seemed to pull him in all directions.</p> - -<p>His room was very simple and commanded no view. It smelt of poverty, -as the whole house did, in which the only person of standing was the -deputy-landlord, a policeman. John began his active career by painting, -out of a sense of need to give his feelings shape and to express them -in a palpable way, for the little letters huddled together on the paper -were dead and could not express his mind so plainly and simultaneously. -He did not think of being a painter in order to exhibit or sell -pictures. To step to the easel was for him just like sitting down and -singing. At the same time he renewed his acquaintance with his friend -the sculptor, who introduced him to a circle of young painters. These -were all discontent with the Academy and the antiquated methods which -could not express their vague dreams. They still preserved the Bohemian -type, so late did the waves of modern ideas beat on the far coasts of -the North. They wore long hair, slouched hats, brilliant cravats, and -lived like the birds of heaven. They read and quoted Byron and dreamt -of enormous canvases and subjects such as no studio could contain. A -sculptor and a Norwegian had conceived the idea of hewing a statue out -of the Dovre rock; a painter wished to paint the sea not merely as a -level, but with such a wide horizon as to show the convex curve of the -globe.</p> - -<p>This took John's fancy. One should give expression to one's inner -feelings and not depict mere sticks and stones which are meaningless in -themselves till they have passed through the alembic of a percipient -mind. Therefore the artists did not make studies out of doors, but -painted at home from their memory and imagination. John always painted -the sea with a coast in the foreground, some gnarled pine-trees, a -couple of rocky islets in the distance and a white-painted buoy. The -atmosphere was generally gloomy, with a weak or strong light on the -horizon; it was always sunset or moonlight, never clear daylight.</p> - -<p>But he was soon woken out of this dream-life partly by hunger, partly -by recollecting the reality which he had sought in order to save -himself from his dreams.</p> - -<p>Although John knew little of contemporary politics, he knew that the -democracy or peasant-class had arrived at power, that they had declared -war on the official and middle classes, and that they were hated in -Upsala. And now he himself was to enter the ranks of the combatants -and attack the old order of things. The only item of the knowledge -which he had brought with him from Upsala which was likely to be useful -here, was the small amount of political science which he had studied. -Of what use were Astronomy, Philology, Ãsthetics, Latin and Chemistry -here? He knew something about the land-laws and communal-laws, but had -no idea of political economy, finance or jurisprudence. When he now -began to look about for a suitable paper to which to attach himself, -it did not occur to him to make use of his old connection with the -<i>Aftonbladet</i>, but he wrote for a small evening paper which had lately -appeared, which was regarded as radical and was issued by the New -Liberal Union. The editor held receptions in the La Croix Café, and -here John was introduced into the society of journalists. He felt ill -at ease among them. They did not think as he did, seemed uncultivated, -as indeed they were, and rather gossiped than discussed important -matters. They certainly busied themselves with facts, but these were -rather trifles than great questions. They were full of phrases, but -did not seem to have a proper command of their material. John, though -against his will, was too much of an academic aristocrat to sympathise -with these democrats, who for the most part had not chosen their -career, but been forced into it by the pressure of circumstances. He -found the atmosphere stifling for his idealism, and came no more to the -receptions after he had done his business, and been invited to write -for the paper.</p> - -<p>He made his début as an art-critic. His first criticism concerned -Winge's "Thor with the giants" and Rosen's "Eric XIV and Karin -Monsdotter." The young critic naturally wished to display his learning, -though all he had was what he had picked up in lectures and books. -Therefore his criticism of Winge was a mere eulogy. His remarks chiefly -regarded the subject of the picture as a Norse one and treated in the -grand style. The painters did not like this sort of criticism, as -they considered the only point to be criticised in a work of art was -the execution. "Eric the XIV" he judged from his monomaniacal point -of view, "aristocrat or democrat," and found fault with the incorrect -conception of Göran Persson, whom in his own tragedy <i>Eric XIV</i> -(subsequently burnt) he had represented as an enemy of the nobility and -friend of the people.</p> - -<p>Descended from his own height as a promising student, author and royal -protégé to the then less regarded class of journalists, he felt himself -again one of the lower orders.</p> - -<p>After the editor had struck out his learned flourishes, the articles -were printed. The editor told him they were piquant, but advised him -to employ a more flowing style. He had not yet caught the journalistic -knack.</p> - -<p>Then John planned a series of articles in which, under the title -"Perspective," he treated of social and economic questions. In these he -attacked university life, the divisions of the classes, the injurious -over-reading and the unfortunate position of the students. Since the -labour-question at that time was not a burning one, he ventured on a -comparison between the prospects of a student and that of a workman, -declaring the latter to be far better off. The workman was generally -in good health, could support himself at eighteen and marry at twenty, -while the student could not think of marriage and making a livelihood -before thirty. As a remedy he recommended doing away with the final -examination as Jaabaek had already done in Norway, and the transference -of the university to Stockholm in order that the students might have -a chance of earning something during their course. As an example he -adduced the case of modern students at Athens who learn a trade while -they study. This was all clear to him as early as 1872, yet when he -made similar suggestions twelve years later, he was thought to have -conceived them on the spur of the moment.</p> - -<p>At the same time he took an engagement on a small illustrated ladies' -paper and wrote biographical notices and novelettes. The ladies were -very kind, but let him work too hard, and gave him all kinds of -commissions to execute. After he had spent two or three days in paying -visits, dived into a publisher's place of business, read biographical -romances in three or four volumes, made researches in the library, -run to the printing-office and finally written his columns carefully, -setting each person treated of in a proper historical light, and -analysing his career, he received, for all that work, fifteen kronas. -He calculated that this was less pay per hour than a servant earned. -The bread of the literary man was certainty hardly earned, and that -this is the common lot of authors does not make matters better. But the -profession was also despised, and John felt that in social position he -stood below his brothers who were tradesmen, below the actors, yes, -even below the elementary school-teachers.</p> - -<p>The journalists led a subterranean existence, but they styled -themselves "we" and wrote as though they were sovereigns of God's -appointment; they had men's weal or woe in their hand, since the chief -weapon in the struggle for existence in our civilised days is social -reputation. How was it that society had given these free lances such -terrible power without taking any guarantees? But when one comes -to think, what assurance is there for the capacity and insight of -the law-givers in parliament, in the ministry, on the throne? None -whatever! It is therefore the same all round. There were, however, two -classes of newspapers; the conservative, which wished to preserve the -social condition with all its defects, and the liberal, which wished -to improve it. The former enjoyed a certain respect, the latter, none -at all. John instinctively sided with the last, and at once felt that -he was regarded as every one's enemy. A liberal journalist and a -chronicler of scandals were synonymous terms. At home he had heard the -usual phrase that "no one was honourable whose name had not appeared -in the paper <i>Fatherland</i>." In the street they had pointed out to him -a man who looked like a bandit, with the mark of a dagger-stab between -his eyes, and said, "There goes the journalist X." In the Café La Croix -he felt depressed among his new colleagues, but none the less chose to -associate with this unpopular group. Did he choose really? One does not -choose one's impulses, and it is no virtue to be a democrat when one -hates the upper classes and has no pleasure in their company.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile for social intercourse he went to the artists. It was a -strange world in which they lived. There was so much nature among -these men who busied themselves with art. They dressed badly, lived -like beggars—one of them lived in the same room with the servant—and -ate what they could get; they could hardly read, and had no knowledge -of orthography. At the same time they talked like cultivated people, -they looked at things from an independent point of view, were keenly -observant and unfettered by dogmas. One of them four years previously -had minded geese, a second had wielded the smith's hammer, a third -had been a farmer's servant and walked behind the dung-cart, and a -fourth had been a soldier. They ate with knives, used their sleeves as -napkins, had no handkerchiefs and only one coat in winter. However, -John felt at home with them, though of late years he had been -conversant only with cultivated and well-to-do young people. It was not -that he was superior to them, for that they did not acknowledge, nor -was it any use to quote books to them, for they accepted no authority. -His doubts as regards books, especially text-books, began to be -aroused, and he began to suspect that old books may injure a modern -man's thinking powers. This doubt became a certainty when he met one of -the group whom all regarded as a genius.</p> - -<p>He was a painter about thirty years old, formerly a farmer's servant -who had come to the Academy in order to become an artist. After he -had spent some time in the painting school he came to the conclusion -that art was insufficient as a medium for expressing his thoughts, -and he lived now on nothing, while he busied himself by reflecting on -the questions of the time. Badly educated at an elementary school, he -had now flung himself on the most up-to-date books and had a start of -John, since he had begun where the latter had left off. Between John -and him there was the same difference as between a mathematician and -a pilot. The former can calculate in logarithms, the latter can turn -them to practical use. But MÃ¥ns also was critically disposed and did -not believe in books blindly. He had no ready-made scheme or system -into which to fit his thoughts; he always thought freely, investigated, -sifted and only retained what he recognised as tenable. More free from -passions than John, he could draw more reckless inferences, even when -they went against his own wishes and interests, though with certain -matter-of-course limitations. He was more-over prudent, as indeed he -must have been to have worked himself up from such a low position, -and understood how to be silent as to certain conclusions, which, if -expressed tactlessly and in the wrong place, might have injured him. -As his literary adviser, he had a telegraph-assistant whose knowledge -Mans knew better how to use than its owner himself; the latter had not -a very lively intellect, although in his knowledge of languages he -possessed the key to the three great modern literatures. Passionless -and self-conscious, with a strong control over his impulses, he stood -outside everything, contemplating and smiling at the free play of -thought which he enjoyed as a work of art, with the accompanying -certainly that it was after all only an illusion.</p> - -<p>With both of these John had many friendly disputes. When he drew up -his schemes for the future of men and society he could rouse MÃ¥ns' -enthusiasm and carry him along with him, but when he had taken his -hearer a certain way with his emotional and passionate descriptions, -the latter took out his microscope, found the weak spot where to -insert his knife, and cut. On such occasions John was impatient and -motioned his opponent away. "You are a pedant," he said, "and fasten -on details." But sometimes it turned out that the "detail" was a -premise the excision of which made the whole grand fabric of inference -collapse. John was always a poet, and had he continued as such -unhindered he might have brought it to something. The poet can speak -to the point like the preacher, and that is an advantageous position. -He can rattle on without being interrupted, and therefore he can -persuade if not convince. It was through these two unlearned men that -John learned a philosophy which was not known at Upsala. In the course -of conversation, his opponents often referred to an authority whom -they called "Buckle." John rejected an authority of whom he had heard -nothing in Upsala. But the name continually recurred and worried him to -such an extent that he at last asked his friends to lend him the book. -The effect of reading it was such that John regarded his acquaintance -with the book as the vestibule of his intellectual life. Here there -was an atmosphere of pure naked truth. So it should be and so it was. -MÃ¥ns, like all other organised beings, was under the control of natural -laws; all so-called spiritual qualities rest on a material basis, and -chemical affinities are as spiritual as the sympathies of souls. The -whole of speculative philosophy which wished to evolve laws from the -inner consciousness was only a better kind of theology, and what was -worse, an inquisition, which wished to confine the many-sidedness -of the world-process within the limits of an individual system. "No -system" is Buckle's motto. Doubt is the beginning of all wisdom, doubt -means investigation and stimulates intellectual progress. The truth -which one seeks is simply the discovery of natural laws. Knowledge is -the highest, morality is only an accidental form of behaviour, which -depends upon different social conventions. Only knowledge can make men -happy, and the simple-minded or ignorant with their moral strivings, -their benevolence and their philanthropy are only injurious or useless.</p> - -<p>And now he drew the necessary conclusions. Heavenly love and its -result, marriage, is conditioned as to that result by such a prosaic -matter as the price of provisions; the rate of suicide varies with -wages, and religion is conditioned by natural scenery, climate and -soil. His mind was predisposed to receive the new doctrines, and now -they made their triumphant entry. John had always planted his feet -firmly on the earth, and neither the balloon-voyages of poetry nor the -will-o'-the-wisps of German philosophy had found a sincere adherent in -him. He had sat in despair over Kant's <i>Kritik der reinen Vernunft</i>, -and asked himself with curiosity, whether it was he who was so stupid -or Kant who was so obscure. The study of the history of philosophy, -in which he had seen how each philosopher pointed to his system as -the true one, and championed it against others, had left him amazed. -Now it was clear to him that the idealists who mingle their obscure -perceptions with dear presentations of facts were only savages or -children, and that the realists, who were alone capable of clear -perceptions, were the most highly developed in the scale of creation. -The poets and philosophers are somnambulists, and the religious who -always live in fear of the unknown are like animals in a forest who -fear every rustic in the bushes, or like primitive men who sacrificed -to the thunder instead of erecting lightning rods.</p> - -<p>Now he had a weapon in his hand to wield against the old authorities -and against the schools and universities which were enslaved by -patronage. Buckle himself had run away from school, had never been at -a university, and hated them. Apropos of Locke he remarks, "Were this -deep thinker now alive, he would inveigh against our great universities -and schools, where countless subjects are learnt which no one needs, -and which few take the trouble to remember."</p> - -<p>Accordingly Upsala had been wrong, and John right. He knew that there -were ignorant savants there, and that it was on account of their own -want of culture that the professors of philosophy could teach nothing -but German philosophy. They neither knew English nor French philosophy -for the simple reason that they only understood Latin and German. -Buckle's <i>History of Civilisation in England</i> was written in 1857, but -did not reach Sweden till 1871-72. Even then the soil was not ready for -the seed. The learned critics were unfavourable to Buckle, and the seed -took root only in some young minds who had no authoritative voice.</p> - -<p>"No literature," says Buckle himself, "can be useful to a people, if -they are not prepared to receive it." Thus it was with Buckle and -his work, which preceded that of Darwin (1858) and contained all its -inferences—a proof that evolution in the world of thought is not so -strictly conditioned as has been believed. Buckle did not know Mill or -Spencer, whose thoughts now rule the world, but he said most of what -they said subsequently.</p> - -<p>Now, if John had had a character, <i>i.e</i>. if he had been ruled by -a single quiet purpose directed towards one object, he would have -extracted from Buckle all that answered his purpose and left out all -that told against it. But he was a truth-seeker and did not shrink from -looking into the abyss of contradictions, especially as Buckle never -asserted that he had found the truth, and because truth is relative -and it is often found on both sides. Doubt, criticism, inquiry are the -chief matter, and the only useful course to pursue, as they guarantee -liberty. Sermons, programmes, certainty, system, "truth" are various -forms of constraint and stupidity. But it is impossible to be a -consistent doubter when one is crammed full with "complete evidence," -and when one's judgment is swayed by class-prejudice, anxiety for a -living and struggles for a position. John became calm when he learnt -that all that was wrong in the world was wrong in accordance with -necessary law, but he became furious when he made the further discovery -that our social condition, our religion and morality were absurdities. -He wished to understand and pardon his opponents, since in their -actions they were no more free than he was, but he was in duty bound -to strangle them since they hindered the evolution of society towards -universal happiness, and that was the only and greatest crime that -could be committed. But as there were no criminals, how could one get -hold of the crime?</p> - -<p>He was rejoiced that the mistakes had now been discovered, but despair -oppressed him again when he saw that the discovery was premature. -Nothing could be done for many years to come. Social evolution was a -very slow process. Consequently he must lie at anchor in the roadstead -waiting for the tide. But this waiting was too long for him; he heard -an inner voice bidding him speak, for if one does not spread what -light one has, how can popular views be changed? Yes, but a premature -promulgation of new ideas can do no good. Thus he was tossed to and -fro. Everything round him now seemed so old and out of date that he -could not read a newspaper without getting an attack of cramp. <i>They</i> -only had regard to the present moment; no one thought of the future. -His philosophical friend comforted and calmed him, through, among other -sayings, a sentence of La BruyÚre, "Don't be angry because men are -stupid and bad, or you will have to be angry because a stone falls; -both are subject to the same laws; one must be stupid and the other -fall."</p> - -<p>"That is all very well," said John, "but think of having to be a -bird and live in a ditch! Air! light! I cannot breathe or see," he -exclaimed; "I suffocate!"</p> - -<p>"Write!" answered his friend.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but what?"</p> - -<p>Where should he begin? Buckle had already written everything, and -yet it was as though it had not been written. The worst thing was -that he felt he lacked the power. Hitherto he had only felt a very -moderate degree of ambition. He did not wish to march at the head, to -be a conqueror and so on. But to go in front with an axe as a simple -pioneer, to fell trees, root up thickets, and let others build bridges -and throw up redoubts, was enough for him. It is often observable that -great ambition is only the sign of great power. John was moderately -ambitious, because he was now only conscious of moderate powers. -Formerly when he was young and strong he had great confidence in -himself. He was a fanatic, <i>i.e</i>. his will was supported by powerful -passions, but his awakened insight and healthy doubt had sobered his -self-confidence. The work before him took the form of rock-walls which -must be pulled down, but he was not so simple as to venture on the task.</p> - -<p>Now he began to habituate himself forcibly to doubt in order to be -patient and not to explode. He entrenched himself in doubt as in a -fortress, and as a means of self-preservation he determined to depict -his struggles and doubts in a drama. The subject matter which he had -been turning over in his mind for a year he took from the history of -the Reformation in Sweden. Thus was composed the drama later on known -as <i>The Apostate</i>.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - -<h4>THE RED ROOM</h4> - -<h4>(1872)</h4> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>In autumn occurred the death of Charles XV. With the mourning, which -was fairly sincere and widespread, there mingled gloomy anxieties for -the future. One of the young painters who belonged to John's circle of -friends had just received a royal stipend and gone to Norway. He had -now to return quite destitute and without any prospects for the future. -John was accustomed to go with him into the Zoological Gardens in order -to paint, and occupy his mind while he was waiting for an answer from -the theatrical manager to whom he had sent his drama.</p> - -<p>There is indeed no occupation which so absorbs all the thoughts and -emotions so much as painting. John watched and enjoyed the delicate -harmonies of the lines in the branch-formation of the trees, in the -wave-like curves of the ground, but his paint-brush was too coarse to -reproduce the contours as he wished. Then he took his pen and made a -drawing in detail. But when he tried to transfer it to his canvas and -paint it, the whole appeared but a smudge.</p> - -<p>Pelle, on the other hand, was an impressionist and look no notice -of details. He took up the landscape at a stroke, so to speak, and -gave the colours their due value, but the various objects melted into -uncertain silhouettes. John thought Pelle's landscapes more beautiful -than the reality, although he cherished great reverence for the works -of the Creator. After he had wiled away about a month in painting, -he went one evening into the Café La Croix. The first person he met -was his former editor, who said, "I have just heard from X." (a young -author) "that the Theatre Royal has refused <i>The Apostate</i>."</p> - -<p>"I know nothing about it," answered John. He did not feel well and left -the company as soon as possible. The next day he went to his former -instructor to find how the matter stood. The latter began first to -praise, and then to criticise it, which is the right method. He said -that the characters of Olaus Petri and Gustav Wasa had been brought -down from their proper level and distorted. John, on the other hand, -held that he had given a realistic representation of them as they -probably were, before their figures had been idealised by patriotic -considerations. His friend replied that that was no good; the public -would never accept a new reading of their characters till critical -inquiry had done its preliminary work.</p> - -<p>That was true, but the blow was a heavy one, although dealt with as -much consideration as possible, and the author was invited to remodel -his drama. He had again been premature in his attempt. There was -nothing left for him but to wait and wile away the time. To think -of remodelling it now was not possible for him, for he saw, when he -read it through again, that it was all cast in one piece and that the -details could not be altered. He could not change it, unless he changed -his thoughts, and therefore he must wait.</p> - -<p>Now he took to reading again. Chance brought into his hand two of -"the best books which one can read." They were De Tocqueville's -<i>Democracy in America</i> and Prévost-Paradol's <i>The New France.</i> The -former increased his doubts as to the possibility of democracy in -an uncultivated community. Written with sincere admiration for the -political institutions of America, which the author holds up as a -pattern for Europe, this work points out so sincerely the dangers of -democracy, as to make even a born hater of the aristocracy pause.</p> - -<p>John's theories received terrible blows, but this time his good sense -triumphed over his prejudices. His loss of faith in his own powers, -however, had a demoralising effect upon him, and he was soon ripe -for absolute scepticism. Sentences such as the following admitted -at that time of no contradiction: "The moral power of the majority -is based partly upon the conviction that a number of men have more -understanding, intelligence and wisdom than an individual, and a -great number of lawgivers more than a selection of them. That is the -principle of equality applied to intellectual gifts. This doctrine -attacks the pride of humanity in its innermost citadel."</p> - -<p>An individualist like John did not perceive that this pride can and -must be overcome. Nor did he see that wisdom and intelligence can be -spread by means of good schools among the masses.</p> - -<p>"When a man or a party in the United States suffers injustice, to whom -shall he turn? To public opinion? That is the opinion of the majority. -To the legislative officials? They are nominated by the majority -and obey it blindly. To the executive power? That is chosen by the -majority and serves it as a passive instrument. To the military forces -of the State? They are simply the majority under arms. To juries? -They are formed by a majority which possesses the right to judge." De -Tocqueville goes on to say that the happiness of the majority which -consists in maintaining its rights deserves recognition, and that it is -better for a minority to suffer from pressure than a majority, but the -sufferings which an intelligent minority suffer from an unintelligent -majority are much greater than those which an intelligent minority -inflict upon a majority. On the other hand, the minority understands -much better than the majority what conduces to their own and the -general happiness, and therefore the tyranny of the minority is not to -be compared with that of the majority.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but," thought John, "did not the European peoples generally -suffer from the tyranny of a minority?" The mere fact that there -were upper classes lay like a heavy cloud on the life of the masses. -Nowadays the question may be raised, "Why should a different -class-education result in an intelligent minority and an unintelligent -majority?" But such questions were not raised then. Moreover had such -a state really ever been seen in which an intelligent minority had the -power to "oppress"? No, for sovereigns, ministers and parliaments had -usually the due modicum of intelligence.</p> - -<p>That which more than anything else inclined John to fear the power of -the masses, was the fact noted by De Tocqueville that they tyrannised -over freedom of thought.</p> - -<p>"When one tries to ascertain," he says, "how much freedom of thought -there is in the United States it becomes apparent how much the tyranny -of the masses transcends any despotism known to Europe. I know no -country where there is, generally speaking, less independence of -opinion and real freedom of discussion than America. The majority -draw a terribly narrow circle round all thought. Within that circle -an author may say what he likes, but woe to him if he step across the -limit. He has no <i>auto-da-fé</i> to fear, but he is made the mark for all -kinds of unpleasantness and daily persecutions. Every good quality is -denied him, even honour. Before he published his views, he thought he -had adherents; after he has made them known to all the world he sees -that he no longer has any, for his critics have raised an outcry, -and those who thought as he did, but lacked the courage to express -themselves, are silent and withdraw. He gives way; he finally collapses -under the strain of daily renewed effort, and resumes silence, as -though he regretted having spoken the truth,</p> - -<p>"In democratic republics, tyranny lets the body alone and attacks the -soul. In them the dominant power does not say, 'You must think as I -do, or die;' it says, 'You are free to differ from me in opinion; your -life and property will remain untouched, but from the day that you -express a different view from mine, you will be a stranger among us. -You will retain your rights and privileges as a citizen, but they will -be useless to you. You will remain among men, but be deprived of all -a man's rights. When you approach your equals they will flee you as -though you were a leper; even those who believe in your innocence will -abandon you, lest they should be themselves abandoned. Go in peace! -I grant you life, but a life which shall be harder and bitterer than -death!'"</p> - -<p>That is the true and credible picture which the noble De Tocqueville, -friend of the people and tyrant-hater as he was, has drawn of the -tyranny of the masses, those masses whose feet John had felt trampling -on him at home, at school, in the steamer and the theatre, those -masses whom he had satirised in the play <i>Sinking Hellas</i>, and whom -he had described as throwing the first stone at Olaus Petri just at -the moment when he was preaching to them of freedom! If it is thus in -America, how can one expect anything better in Europe. He found himself -in a cul-de-sac. His hereditary disposition prevented his becoming an -aristocrat, nor could he come to terms with the people. Had he not -himself suffered lately from an ignorant theatre-management behind -which stood the uncultivated public, and found the way blocked for -his new and liberal ideas. There was then already a mob-despotism in -Sweden, and the director of the Theatre Royal was only their servant.</p> - -<p>It was all absurdity! And even suppose society were ruled by those who -knew most. Then they would be under professors with their heads full of -antiquarian ideas. Even if the director had put his drama on the stage, -it would have certainly been hissed off by the tradesmen in the stalls, -and no critics could have helped him!</p> - -<p>His thoughts struggled like fishes in a net, and ended by being caught. -It was not worth the trouble of thinking about and he tried to banish -the thought, but could not. He felt a continual trouble and despair -in his mind that the world was going idiotically, majestically and -unalterably to the devil. "Unalterably," he thought, for as yet a large -number of strong minds had not attacked the problem, which was soluble -after all. Ten years later it was provisionally solved, when knowledge -on the subject of this sphinx-riddle had been so widely spread that -even a workman had obtained some insight into it, and in a public -meeting had declared that equality was impossible, for the block-heads -could not be equal to the sharp-sighted, and that the utmost one could -demand was equality of position. This workman was more of an aristocrat -than John dared to be in the year 1872, though he belonged to no party -which claimed the right to muzzle him.</p> - -<p>Prévost-Paradol had dealt with the same theme as Tocqueville, but -he suggested a secret device against the tyranny of the masses—the -cumulative vote or the privilege of writing the same name several times -on the ballot-paper. But John considered this method, which had been -tried in England, doubtful.</p> - -<p>He had set great hopes on his drama, and borrowed money on the strength -of them, and now felt much depressed. The disproportion between his -fancied and his real value galled him. Now he had to adopt a rÃŽle, -learn it, and carry it out. He composed one for himself, consisting -of the sceptic, the materialist and the liar, and found that it -suited him excellently. This was for the simple reason that it was a -sceptical and materialistic period, and because he had unconsciously -developed into a man of his time. But he still believed that his -earlier discarded personality, ruled indeed by wild passions, but -cherishing ideals of a higher calling, love to mankind and similar -imaginations, was his true and better self which he hid from the world. -All men make similar mistakes when they value sickly sentimentality -above strong thought, when they look back to their youth and think -they were purer and more virtuous then, which is certainly untrue. -The world calls the weaker side of men their "better self," because -this weakness is more advantageous for the world and self-interest -seems to dictate its judgment. John found that in his new rÃŽle he was -freed from all possible prejudices—religious, social, political and -moral. He had only one opinion,—that everything was absurd, only -one conviction,—that nothing could be done at present, and only one -hope,—that the time would come when one might effectively intervene, -and when there would be improvement. But from that time he altogether -gave up reading newspapers. To hear stupidity praised, selfish acts -lauded as philanthropic, and reason blasphemed,—that was too much for -a fanatical sceptic. Sometimes, however, he thought that the majority -were right in just being at the point of view where they were, and that -it was unnecessary that some few individuals, because of a specialised -education, should run far ahead of the rest. In quiet moments he -recognised that his mental development which had taken place so -rapidly, without his ever seeing an idea realised, could be a pattern -for such a slowly-working machine as society is. Why did he run so far -ahead? It was not the fault of the school or university, for they had -held him back equally with the majority.</p> - -<p>Yes, but those already out in the world, by their own hearths, had -already reached the stage of Buckle's scepticism as regards the social -order, so that he was not so far ahead after all. The slow rate of -progress was enough to make one despair. What Schiller's Karl Moor -had seen a hundred years previously, what the French Revolution had -actually brought about were now regarded as brand-new ideas. After -the Revolution, social development had gone backwards; religious -superstitions were revived, belief in a better state of things lost, -and economic and industrial progress was accompanied by sweating and -terrible poverty. It was absurd! All minds that were awake at all -had to suffer,—suffer like every living organism when hindered in -growth and pressed backward. The century had been inaugurated by the -destruction of hopes, and nothing has such a paralysing effect on the -soul as disappointed hope, which, as statistics show, is one of the -most frequent causes of madness. Therefore all great spirits were, -vulgarly speaking, mad. Chateaubriand was a hypochondriac, Musset a -lunatic, Victor Hugo a maniac. The automatic pygmies of everyday life -cannot realise what such suffering means, and yet believe themselves -capable of judging in the matter.</p> - -<p>The ancient poet is psychologically correct in representing -Prometheus as having his liver gnawed by a vulture. Prometheus was -the revolutionary who wished to spread mental illumination among -men. Whether he did it from altruistic motives, or from the selfish -one of wishing to breathe a purer mental atmosphere, may be left -undecided. John, who felt akin to this rebel, was aware of a pain which -resembled anxiety, and a perpetual boring "toothache in the liver." Was -Prometheus then a liver-patient who confusedly ascribed his pain to -causes outside himself? Probably not! But he was certainly embittered -when he saw that the world is a lunatic asylum in which the idiots go -about as they like, and the few who preserve reason are watched as -though dangerous to the public safety. Attacks of illness can certainly -colour men's views, and every one well knows how gloomy our thoughts -are when we have attacks of fever. But patients such as Samuel Oedmann -or Olaf Eneroth were neither sulky nor bitter, but, on the contrary, -mild, perhaps languid from want of strength. Voltaire, who was never -well, had an imperturbably good temper. And Musset did not write as he -did because he drank absinthe, but he drank from the same cause that -he wrote in that manner, <i>i.e</i>. from despair. Therefore it is not in -good faith that idealists who deny the existence of the body, ascribe -the discontent of many authors to causes such as indigestion, etc., the -supposition of which contradicts their own principles, but it must be -against their better knowledge, or with worse knowledge. Kierkegaard's -gloomy way of writing can be ascribed to an absurd education, -unfortunate family relations, dreary social surroundings, and alongside -of these to some organic defects, but not to the latter alone.</p> - -<p>Discontent with the existing state of things will always assert itself -among those who are in process of development, and discontent has -pushed the world forwards, while content has pushed it back. Content -is a virtue born of necessity, hopelessness or superfluity; it can be -cancelled with impunity.</p> - -<p>Catarrh of the stomach may cause ill temper, but it has never produced -a great politician, <i>i.e.</i> a great malcontent. But sickliness may -impart to a malcontent's energy a stronger colour and greater rapidity, -and therefore cannot be denied a certain influence. On the other hand, -a conscious insight into grievances can produce such a degree of mental -annoyance as can result in sickness. The loss of dear friends through -death, may in this way cause consumption, and the loss of a social -position or of property, madness.</p> - -<p>If every modern individual shows a geological stratification of the -stages of development through which his ancestors passed, so in every -European mind are found traces of the primitive Aryan,—class-feeling, -fixed family ideas, religious motives, etc. From the early Christians -we have the idea of equality, love to our neighbour, contempt for mere -earthly life; from the mediÊval monks, self-castigation and hopes of -heaven. Besides these, we inherit traits from the sensuous cultured -pagans of the Renaissance, the religious and political fanatics of the -sixteenth century, the sceptics of the "illumination" period, and the -anarchists of the Revolution. Education should therefore consist in the -obliteration of old stains which continually reappear however often we -polish them away.</p> - -<p>John proceeded to obliterate the monk, the fanatic and the -self-tormentor in himself as well as he could, and took as the leading -principle of his provisional life (for it was only provisional till he -struck out a course for himself) the well-understood one of personal -advantage, which is actually, though unconsciously, employed by all, to -whatever creed they belong.</p> - -<p>He did not transgress the ordinary laws, because he did not wish -to appear in a court of justice; he encroached on no one's rights -because he wished his own not to be encroached upon. He met men -sympathetically, for he did not hate them, nor did he study them -critically till they had broken their promises and shown a want of -sympathy to him. He justified them all so long as he could, and when -he could not, well,—he could not, but he tried by working to place -himself in a position to be able to do so. He regarded his talent as a -capital sum, which, although at present it yielded no interest, gave -him the right and imposed on him the duty to live at any price. He was -not the kind of man to force his way into society in order to exploit -it for his own purposes, he was simply a man of capacity conscious of -his own powers, who placed himself at the disposal of society modestly, -and in the first place to be used as a dramatist. The theatre, as a -matter of fact, needed him to contribute to its Swedish repertory.</p> - -<p>After a solitary day's work, it was his habit to go to a café to meet -his acquaintances there. To seek "more elevated" recreations in family -circles such as meaningless gossip, card playing and such like had no -attraction for him. Whenever he entered a family circle he felt himself -surrounded by a musty atmosphere like that exhaled from stagnant -water. Married couples who had been badgering each other, were glad to -welcome him as a sort of lightning conductor, but he had no pleasure -in playing that part. Family life appeared to him as a prison in which -two captives spied on each other, as a place in which children were -tormented, and servant-girls quarrelled. It was something nasty from -which he ran away to the restaurants. In them there was a public room -where no one was guest and no one was host: one enjoyed plenty of -space and light, heard music, saw people and met friends. John and -his friends were accustomed to meet in a back room of Bern's great -restaurant which, because of the colour of the furniture, was called -the "red room." The little club consisted originally of John and a few -artistic and philosophical friends. But their circle was soon enlarged -by old friends whom they met again. They were first of all recruited -by the presentable former scholars of the Clara School,—a postal -clerk who was at the same time a bass singer, pianist and composer; a -secretary of the Court treasurer; and the trump card of the society,—a -lieutenant of artillery. To these were added later, the composer's -indispensable friend, a lithographer, who published his music, and a -notary who sang his compositions. The club was not homogeneous, but -they soon managed to shake down together.</p> - -<p>But since the laymen had no wish to hear discussions on art, literature -and philosophy, their conversations were only on general subjects. -John, who did not wish to discuss any more problems, adopted a -sceptical tone, and baffled all attempts at discussion by a play upon -words, a quibble or a question. His ultimate "why?" behind every -penultimate assertion threw a light on the too-sure conclusions of -stupidity, and let his hearer surmise that behind the usually accepted -commonplaces there were possibilities of truths stretching out in -endless perspective. These views of his must have germinated like seeds -in most of their brains, for in a short time they were all sceptics, -and began to use a special language of their own. This healthy -scepticism in the infallibility of each other's judgments had, as a -natural consequence, a brutal sincerity of speech and thought. It was -of no use to speak of one's feelings as though they were praise worthy, -for one was cut short with "Are you sentimental, poor devil? Take -bi-carbonate."</p> - -<p>If any one complained of toothache, all he received by way of answer -was, "That does not rouse my sympathy at all, for I have never had -toothache, and it has no effect upon my resolve to give a supper."</p> - -<p>They were disciples of Helvetius in believing that one must regard -egotism as the mainspring of all human actions, and therefore it was -no use pretending to finer emotions. To borrow money or to get goods -on credit without being certain of being able to pay, was rightly -regarded as cheating, and so designated. For instance, if a member of -the club appeared in a new overcoat which seemed to have been obtained -on credit, he was asked in a friendly way, "Whom have you cheated about -that coat?" Or on another occasion another would say, "To-day I have -done Samuel out of a new suit."</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, both overcoat and suit were -generally paid for, but as the purchaser at the time he took them was -not sure whether he would be able to pay, he regarded himself as a -potential swindler. This was severe morality and stern self-criticism.</p> - -<p>Once during such a conversation the lieutenant got up to go and attend -church-parade with his company. "Where are you going?" he was asked. -"To play the hypocrite," he answered truthfully.</p> - -<p>This tone of sincerity sometimes assumed the character of a deep -understanding of human nature and the nature of society. One day -the company were leaving John's lodgings for the restaurant. It was -winter, and MÃ¥ns, who was generally ill-dressed, had no overcoat. The -lieutenant, who wore his uniform, was, it is true, somewhat uneasy, but -did not wish to hurt any one's feelings that day. When John opened the -door to go out, MÃ¥ns said, "Go in front; I will come afterwards; I do -not want Jean to injure his position by going with me."</p> - -<p>John offered to walk with MÃ¥ns one way while the others should go by -another, but Jean exclaimed, "Ah! don't pretend to be noble-minded! you -feel as embarrassed at going with MÃ¥ns as I do."</p> - -<p>"True," replied John, "but...."</p> - -<p>"Why, then, do you play the hypocrite?"</p> - -<p>"I did not play the hypocrite; I only wished to try to be free from -prejudice."</p> - -<p>"The deuce! what is the good of being free from prejudice when no one -else is, and it does you harm? It would really show more freedom from -prejudice to tell MÃ¥ns your mind than to deceive him."</p> - -<p>MÃ¥ns had already departed, and arrived about the same time at the -restaurant as they did. He took part in the meal without betraying a -trace of ill-humour. "Your health, MÃ¥ns, because you are a man of -sense," said the lieutenant to cheer him up.</p> - -<p>The habit of speaking out one's inner thoughts without any regard to -current opinion, resulted in the overthrow of all traditional verdicts. -The terrible confusion of thought in which men live, since freedom -of thought has been fettered by compulsory regulations, has made it -possible for antiquated views of men and things to continue. Thus, -to-day a number of works of art are considered unsurpassable in spite -of the great progress made in technique and artistic conception. John -considered that if in the nineteenth century he was to give his views -on Shakespeare, he was not at all bound to give the opinion of the -eighteenth century, but of his own nineteenth, as it had been modified -by new points of view. This aroused a great deal of opposition, perhaps -because people fear being regarded as uncultivated a great deal more -than they fear being regarded as godless.</p> - -<p>Every one attacked Christ, for He was thought to have been overthrown -by learned criticism, but they were afraid of attacking Shakespeare. -John, however, was not. Thoroughly understanding the works of the -poet, whose most important dramas he had read in the original and -whose chief commentators he had studied, he criticised the composition -and meagre character drawing of <i>Hamlet.</i> It is noteworthy that the -Swedish Shakespeare-worshipper, Shuck, through an inconsistency due to -the current confusion of thought and compulsory cowardice, made just -as severe criticisms of <i>Hamlet</i> regarded as a work of art, though -he had previously extolled it above the skies. If John had at that -time been able to read the book of Professor Shuck, he would not have -needed courage in order to subscribe such criticisms as the following: -"<i>Hamlet</i> is the most unsatisfactory of all ... the composition is -superficial and incoherent. After the action of the play has reached -its climax, it suddenly breaks off. Hamlet is suddenly sent to England, -but this journey does not in any way arouse the spectator's interest. -Still worse is the management of the catastrophe. It is a mere chance -that Hamlet's revenge is executed at all, and a similar caprice of -chance causes his overthrow. His killing Claudius just before his own -death has more the appearance of revenge for the attempt on his own -life, than that of a judgment executed in the name of injured morality."</p> - -<p>And then the obscurity which envelops the motives of the principal -persons in the play! "The spectator is left in uncertainty regarding -such an important point as Ophelia's and Hamlet's madness. Moreover -in <i>King Lear</i>, Edward's treachery is so palpable that not the most -ordinarily intelligent man could have been deceived by it!"</p> - -<p>If then the drama was defective precisely in the chief elements of a -drama, construction and characterisation, how could it be incomparable? -The reverence for what is ancient and celebrated is rooted in the -same instinct which creates gods; and pulling down the ancient has -the same effect as attacking the divine. Why else should a sensible -unprejudiced man fly in a rage when he hears some one express a -different opinion to his own (or what he thinks his own) about some old -classic? It ought to be a matter of indifference to him. The national -and intellectual Pantheon can be as angrily defended by atheists as by -monotheists, perhaps more so. People who are otherwise sincere, cringe -before a well-established reputation, and John had heard a pietistic -clergyman say that Shakespeare was a "pure" writer. In his mouth that -was certainly false. A determinist, on the other hand, would not -have used the words "pure" or "impure" because they would have been -meaningless to him. But the poor Christ-worshipper did not dare to bear -a cross for Shakespeare; he had enough already to bear for his own -Master.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile John's method of judging old things from the modern point of -view seemed to be justified, for it gained him a following. That was -the whole secret of what was so little understood later on by theistic -and atheistic theologians—his irreverent handling of ancient things -and persons; they thought in their simplicity quite innocently that -it was what one calls in children a spirit of contradiction. His aim -rather was to bring people's confused ideas into order, and to teach -them to apply logically their materialistic point of view. If they -were materialists, they should not borrow phrases from Christianity, -nor think like idealists. This gave rise to a catchword, which showed -how what was ancient was despised—"That is old!" As new men, they -must think new thoughts, and new thoughts demanded a new phraseology. -Anecdotes and old jokes were done away with; stereotyped phrases and -borrowed expressions were suppressed. One might be plain-spoken and -call things by their right names, but one might not be vulgar; the -latest opera was not to be quoted, nor jokes from the newest comic -paper repeated. Thereby each became accustomed to produce something -from his own stock of original observation and acquired the faculty of -judging from a fresh point of view.</p> - -<p>John had discovered that men in general were automata. All thought the -same; all judged in the same fashion; and the more learned they were, -the less independence of mind they displayed. This made him doubt the -whole value of book education. The graduates who came from Upsala -had, one and all, the same opinions on Rafael and Schiller, though -the differences in their characters would have led one to expect a -corresponding difference in their judgments. Therefore these men did -not think, although they called themselves free-thinkers, but merely -talked and were merely parrots.</p> - -<p>But John could not perceive that it was not books <i>quá</i> books which had -turned these learned men into automata. He himself and his unlearned -philosophical friends had been aroused to self-consciousness through -books. The danger of the university education was that it was derived -from inferior books published under sanction of the government, and -written by the upper classes in the interest of the upper classes, -<i>i.e</i>. with the object of exalting what was old and established, and -therefore of hindering further development.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile John's scepticism had made him sterile. He had perceived -that art had nothing to do with social development, that it was simply -a reflection or phenomena, and was more perfect as art the more it -confined itself to this function. He still preserved the impulse to -re-mould things and it found expression in his painting. His poetic -art, on the other hand, went to pieces since it had to express thoughts -or serve a purpose.</p> - -<p>His failure to have his play accepted had an adverse effect on his -pecuniary circumstances. The friends from whom he had borrowed money -came one evening to John's rooms in order to hear the play read, but -they were so tired after the day's work that, after hearing the first -act, they asked him to put off the rest for another occasion. One of -the audience who had kept more awake than the others thought that there -were too many Biblical quotations in the piece, and that these were not -suitable for the stage.</p> - -<p>John's resources were dried up, and the spectre of want loomed upon -him, unbribeable and stone-deaf. After he had gone without his dinners -for a time, he began to feel weary of life, and looked about him for -the means of subsistence. How should he get bread in the wilderness? -The best means that suggested itself was to seek an engagement in a -provincial theatre. There mere nobodies often played leading roles -in tragedies, made themselves a name, and finished by getting an -appointment at the Theatre Royal. He quickly made his resolve, packed -his travelling bag, borrowed money for his fare, and went to Göteborg. -It was just about the time of the great November storm of 1872.</p> - -<p>Since the environment in which he had been living had had a great -effect on him, he conceived a great dislike to this town. Gloomy, -correct, expensive, proud, reserved it lay, pent in its circle of stone -hills, and depressed the lively native of Upper Sweden, accustomed -to the rich and smiling landscape of Stockholm. It was a copy of the -capital but on a small scale, and John, as one of the upper class, -felt alienated from its inhabitants, who were in a lower stage of -development. But he noticed that there was something here that was -wanting in the capital. When he went down to the harbour he saw ships -which were nearly all destined for foreign parts, and large vessels -kept up continual communication with the continent. The people and -buildings did not look so exclusively Swedish, the papers took more -account of the great movements which were going on in the world. What -a short way it was from here to Copenhagen, Christiania, London, -Hamburg, Havre! Stockholm should have been situated here in a harbour -of the North Sea, whereas it lay in a remote corner of the Baltic. -Here was in truth the nucleus of a new centre, and he now understood -that that position was no longer occupied by Stockholm, but that -Göteborg was about to be the centre of the north. At present, however, -this reflection had no comfort for him since he was only in the -insignificant position of an actor.</p> - -<p>John sought out the theatre-director and introduced himself as a -person who wished to do the theatre a service. The director, however, -considered himself very well served by his present staff. But he -allowed John to give a trial performance in the rÃŽle in which he wished -to make his début. This was Dietrichson's <i>Workman</i>, the great success -of the day. John had discovered a certain likeness between Stephenson's -first locomotive and his rejected play; he wished to show how he, like -the engineer, had to face the ridicule of the ignorant crowd, the -apprehensions of the learned, and the fears of a wasted life on the -part of relatives. He gave his trial performance one evening by the -light of a candle and between bare walls. Naturally he felt hampered -and asked to repeat it in costume. But the director said it was not -necessary; he had heard enough. John, in his opinion, possessed talent, -but it was undeveloped. He offered him an engagement at twelve hundred -kronas yearly, to commence from the first of January. John considered: -Should he spend two months idly in Göteborg and then only have a -supernumerary's part in a provincial theatre? No! He would not! What -remained to be done? Nothing except to borrow money and return home, -which he did.</p> - -<p>Thus his efforts had again ended in failure. His friends had given -him a farewell feast, lent him journey money, done all they could to -help him, and now he came back without having settled anything. Again -he had to hear the old too true accusation that he was unstable. To -be unstable in an ordered society is the extreme of unpracticality. -There persistent and exclusive cultivation of some special branch of -industry or knowledge is necessary in order to outstrip competitors. -Every orderly member of society feels a certain discomfort when he sees -some one wandering from his proper place. This discomfort does not -necessarily spring from excessive egotism, but possibly from a feeling -of solidarity and solicitude for others. John saw that his countless -changes of plan disquieted his friends; he felt ashamed and suffered on -account of it, but could not act otherwise.</p> - -<p>So he found himself at home, and spent the long evenings in the "Red -Room," asking himself whether he really could find no place in a -society which for others opened up so many rich possibilities of a -career.</p> - -<p>At Christmas time John travelled again to Upsala, for he had been -invited thither as one of the contributors to a Literary Calendar which -had just appeared. The <i>Calendar</i>, which was received with universal -disapprobation, was not without significance as an exponent of the -state of literature. The reader who was desired to wade through these -elegant extracts, might justifiably ask, "What have I got to do with -them?" The poetry they contained, like that of Snoilsky and Björck, -might have been written fifty or a hundred years before. It was of -indifferent quality, and sometimes even bad,—bad because it gave no -sign that the poet had developed any powers of perception, indifferent -because it was not rooted in its own period. The date of the book -was 1872, but it contained no echo of the Jubilee of 1865, no hint -of 1870, not a whiff of the conflagration of 1871. Had these young -versifiers been asleep? Yes, certainly. The great mass of students were -realists, sceptics, mockers, as befitted the children of the time, but -the poets were credulous fools with the ideals of Snoilsky and Björck -in their hearts. Their poetry was that of superannuated idealists in -form and thought, for the new views of things had not reached these -isolated individualists who still lived the Bohemian life of the -Romantics. Their poetry consisted of nothing but echoes. In fact it -was a question whether Swedish poetry had hitherto been anything else, -or could be anything else. Was Tegner's poetry anything but an echo -of Schiller, OehlenschlÀger, the Eddas and the old Norse sagas? Was -Atterbom anything else than a musical box pieced together out of Tieck, -Hoffmann, Wieland, Burger? And so on with all the Swedish poets. But -this Literary Calendar was composed of echoes of echoes and dreams of -dreams. Realism, which had already made a premature entry into Sweden -with Kraemer's <i>Diamonds in Coal</i>, and had subsequently triumphed -in Snoilsky, had left no trace on these young poets. The poetry of -Snoilsky's school had been the careless expression of a careless time, -but these poems simply displayed the incapacity of their writers.</p> - -<p>John had contributed to the <i>Calendar</i> a free version of "An Basveig's -Saga." In this he had glorified himself as a kind of male Cinderella, -or ugly duckling of the family. He was moved to do this by the contempt -which had been evinced towards him by his patrons and middle-class -friends on account of his failure as an author. The language of the -piece was marked by a certain bluntness of expression and an attempt to -dignify low things, or at least to rub off the dirt from things which -were not really so, but were called so. Since the word Naturalism had -not yet come into fashion, his language was called coarse and vulgar.</p> - -<p>But an acquaintance which John happened to make during his stay in -Upsala was of greater importance than the <i>Calendar</i> or Christmas -dinner. He lodged with a friend on whose writing-table he found one day -a number of the <i>Svensk Tidskrift</i> containing a notice of Hartmann's -<i>Philosophy of the Unconscious</i>. It was an exposition of Hartmann's -system by a Finn, A.V. Bolin, and betrayed throughout a half-concealed -admiration of it. But the editor, Hans Forssell, had appended to the -essay a note written in his usual style when he came across something -that his brain could not take in. Hartmann's doctrine was pessimism. -Conscious life is suffering because unconscious will is the motive -power of evolution and consciousness obstructs this unconscious will. -It was the old myth of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It -was the kernel of the Buddhistic faith and the chief doctrine of -Christianity,—"Vanitas, vanitatum vanitas."</p> - -<p>Most of the greatest and conscious minds had been pessimists, and had -seen through and unmasked the illusions of life. Only wild animals, -children, and commonplace people could therefore be happy, because they -were unconscious of the illusion, or because they held their ears when -one wanted to tell them the truth and begged not to be robbed of their -illusions.</p> - -<p>John found all this quite natural, and had no important objection to -make. It was true then, what he had so often dreamt, that everything -was nothing! It was the suspicion of this which had governed his -point of view and made all the great and all greatness appear on a -reduced scale. This consciousness had lurked obscurely in him, when, -as a child, although well-formed, healthy and strong, he wept over -an unknown grief, the cause of which he could not find within him or -without. That was the secret of his life, that he could not admire -anything, could not hold to anything, could not live for anything; that -he was too wide awake to be subject to illusions. Life was a form of -suffering which could only be alleviated by removing as many obstacles -as possible from the path of one's will; his own life in particular -was so extremely painful because his social and economical position -constantly prevented his will from expressing itself.</p> - -<p>When he contemplated life and especially the course of history he saw -only cycles of errors and mistakes repeating themselves.<a name="FNanchor_1_8" id="FNanchor_1_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_8" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The men of -the present dreamt of a republic, as Greeks and Romans had done two -thousand years before; the civilisation of the Egyptians had decayed -when they perceived its futility; Asia was wrapped in an eternal sleep -after it had been impelled by an unconscious will to conquer the -world; all nations had invented narcotics and intoxicants in order to -quench consciousness; sleep was blessedness and death the greatest -happiness. But why not take the last step and commit suicide? Because -the unconscious Will continually enticed men to live through the -illusion of hope of a better life. Pessimism, regarded as a view of the -world's order, is more consistent than meliorism, which sees in natural -development a tendency which makes for men's happiness. This latter -view seems to be a disguised relic of belief in divine providence. Can -one believe that the mechanical blindly ruling laws of nature have any -regard for the development of human society when they produce glacial -periods, floods, and volcanic outbreaks? Must an intelligent man be -called "conservative" in a contemptuous sense because he has brought -under his yoke and rules the laws of nature as Stuart Mill facetiously -expresses it? Have men devised any certain preventives against -shipwreck, strokes of lightning, economic crises, losses of relatives -by death and sickness? Can men control at pleasure the inclination of -the earth's axis, and do away with cloud-formations which are likely -to injure harvests? In spite of the present advanced state of science, -have men been able to put an end to the grape pest, to stop floods, -eradicate, superstitions, remove despots, prevent war? Is it not -presumptuous or simple-minded to believe that man, himself governed by -chemical, physical, and physiological laws of nature, stands above them -because he understands how to use some of them to his own advantage, as -birds use the wind for their progress or beavers the pressure of the -stream in constructing their dams? Are not the wings of the falcon and -the fly more perfect means of locomotion than railways and steamers? -How can men be so simple as to think that they stand above nature when -they are themselves so subordinate to nature that they cannot will or -think freely? It looks like a residue of our primitive illusions. If -the present development of European society ends in atheism, that has -already been the case with the Buddhists; if in religious freedom, -that has already been witnessed in the early history of China; if in -polygamy, that already exists among the savages of Australia; if in -community of goods, this prevailed among primitive peoples. The fact is -that Europe has been the last of all the great ethnical groups to wake -to consciousness. It is now in the act of waking and turning itself, -not like some oriental nations, to torpid quietism, but to removing as -far as possible the pains and unpleasantnesses of earthly existence, -although the best way of doing so has not been yet discovered. The -mistake of the industrial socialists is that they, according to -the formula of the ambiguous evolution theory, wish to build upon -existing conditions, which they regard as the product of necessity, -and tending to the good of all. But existing conditions rather tend -to the happiness of the few, and are therefore something abnormal to -build on, which means erecting a house on ground from which the water -has not been drained off. Probably the form of society which they -desire, however absurd it is, is a necessary mistake through which men -must pass to reach a better. Both the danger and the hope of progress -consist in the fact that the socialistic system already has its -programme drawn up and consequently works automatically, <i>i.e</i>. like a -blind, irresistible mass. If it reconstitutes society after the pattern -of the working-class who are a minority, and makes all men mechanics, -one may venture to doubt, without being regarded as quite mad, whether -that will be happiness. Socialism as a social reform is inevitable, -for Europe in its self-idolatry has not perceived how far backward it -is. Provided with an Asiatic form of government, which interferes in -details, supporting ancient superstitions, living under the terrible -tyranny of capital, which is maintained by force of arms, it sets -on foot political and religious persecutions, it venerates embalmed -monarchs like mummies of the Pharaohs, it civilises savages with waste -goods and Krupp guns; it forgets that its civilisation came from the -east, and was better then than it is now. Hartmann and the pessimists -believe that the social reform which is called socialism will come, but -that afterwards, it will be succeeded by something else.</p> - -<p>The bourgeois is an optimist because he cannot see or think outside -the narrow circle of everyday occurrences. That is his good fortune, -but not his merit, for he has no choice in the matter. Nay, he does not -even understand what pessimism is, but thinks it means the opinion that -this is the worst of all worlds. How could any one have a well-grounded -view on that? Voltaire, who was no pessimist, wrote a whole book to -demonstrate that this world, at any rate, was not the best of worlds -for us, as Leibnitz imagined. It is naturally the best for itself, -although not for us, and the difference between the point of view of -the hypochondriac and the pessimist consists in the fact that the -former believes that the world is the worst possible for him, while -the pessimist disregards what it may be for the individual. Hartmann -is no hypochondriac as people have tried to make out, and he seeks to -alleviate the pain of life as much as possible by placing himself in a -state of unconsciousness.</p> - -<p>The men of the younger generation of to-day are sad, because they -have awoke to consciousness and lost many illusions. But they are not -hypochondriacal, and work at bringing the world forward into the last -stage of illusion or a new social system, as though hoping thereby to -alleviate their pain, and they work the more fanatically, the deeper -they feel it.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, supposing that Hartmann's philosophy may be a mistake, and a -sceptic must be willing to entertain that possibility, although it has -every probability on its side, since the instinct of self-preservation, -the first condition of life, consists in the removal of pain, which -is the first motive-power,—we must seek to explain historically -how this philosophy has come to the birth and spread. Superficial -observers like the mystic Caro, do not hesitate, inconsistently -enough, to attribute it to bodily ill-health. The socialists, who -wished to arouse the expectation that their teaching was practicable, -explained it as the foreboding of overthrow in a class, of whom -Hartmann was the representative. But Hartmann believes in socialism -and the new social system, although only as transitional forms. He -is not despairing, not even melancholy. He seems to be the first -philosopher who, quite independently of Christianity, European culture -and idealism, tries to explain the world's progress from the purely -materialistic point of view. He states facts and processes exactly as -they are. From unconscious minerals we have developed into globules -of albumen, acquired conscious nerve-centres and finally brains -with ever-increasing self-consciousness. The more highly organised -the life, the greater the capacity for pain and susceptibility to -impressions. Not till our time did the cosmic brain succeed in arriving -at clear perception and, accordingly, at divining the order of the -world. Hartmann can therefore be regarded as one who arrived at the -highest degree of consciousness, and he will be remembered as the -great unmasker before whose keen gaze the bandages fell away. It is -consequently a mistake to call him "the prophet of despair." Idealists -may feel empty and despairing when confronted by the naked truth, but -the meliorist feels an inexpressible calm. Man will be modest when he -takes the measure of his littleness as an atom of the cosmic dust. -He will no longer build his happiness on a future life, but will be -impelled by pessimism to order the only life he has as well as he can -for himself and for others. He will see how useless it is to lament -over the misery of existence; he will accept pain as a fact, and -alleviate it as well as he can. Hartmann is a realist, and the title -"pessimist" in its old significance has been fastened on him out of -malice. He shudders at the misery of the world, but does not even call -it misery. He only shows that life is not so great and beautiful as men -like to make out, and pain in his view is not a mere bodily ailment, -but an impelling motive. His is a sound and healthy view of things in -contrast to which socialism may sometimes look like idealism, since it -wishes to remodel society according to its desires, not according to -the possibilities of the case.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the review article on Hartmann had a quickening effect on -John. There was then a system in the apparent madness of the universe, -and his consciousness had rightly foreboded that the whole scheme of -things was something very insignificant. But a new philosophic system -is not absorbed by a brain in a day. It only left a certain deposit and -gave a keynote to his thoughts. As a theoretical point of view it was -still obscured by his idealistic education, darkened by his inborn and -acquired hatred of the upper class, and his natural tendency to seek -his point of equilibrium somewhere outside himself. Taken on the large -scale, life was meaningless, but if one wanted to live, one had to come -to grips with reality, and adopt an everyday point of view, which alas! -one very readily did. Enormous difficulties stood in the way of earning -a living or making a name. Honour, viewed absolutely, was nothing, but -in relation to the petty circumstances of life it was something great, -and worth striving for. The Philistines did not understand that, and -derived much amusement, when they saw him, pessimist as he was, toiling -after distinctions. They, with their clock-work brains, thought this -inconsistent, since they did not understand that the term "honour" has -two values, an absolute and a "relative."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_8" id="Footnote_1_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_8"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> In his pamphlet "The Conscious Will in the -World-history" (1903), Strindberg takes the opposite view to that -expressed here.</p></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Growth of a Soul, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - -***** This file should be named 44107-h.htm or 44107-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44107/ - -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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Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. 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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 Growth of a Soul - -Author: August Strindberg - -Translator: Claud Field - -Release Date: November 5, 2013 [EBook #44107] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -GROWTH OF A SOUL - -BY - -AUGUST STRINDBERG - - -AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC. - - -TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD - - - -NEW YORK - -McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY - -1914 - - - - CONTENTS - - I IN THE FORECOURT - II BELOW AND ABOVE - III THE DOCTOR - IV IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - V JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - VI BEHIND THE CURTAIN - VII JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - VIII THE "RUNA" CLUB - IX BOOKS AND THE STAGE - X TORN TO PIECES - XI IDEALISM AND REALISM - XII A KING'S PROTEGE - XIII THE WINDING UP - XIV AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - XV THE RED ROOM - - - -THE GROWTH OF A SOUL - - - -CHAPTER I - -IN THE FORECOURT - -(1867) - - -The steamer had passed Flottsund and Domstyrken and the university -buildings of Upsala began to appear. "Now begins the real -stone-throwing!" exclaimed one of his companions,--an expression -borrowed from the street-riots of 1864. The hilarity induced by punch -and breakfast abated; one felt that things were now serious and that -the battle of life was beginning. No vows of perpetual friendship were -made, no promises of helping each other. The young men had awakened -from their romantic dreams; they knew that they would part at the -gang-way, new interests would scatter the company which the school-room -had united; competition would break the bonds which had united them and -all else would be forgotten. The "real stone-throwing" was about to -begin. - -John and his friend Fritz hired a room in the Klostergraenden. It -contained two beds, two tables, two chairs and a cupboard. The rent was -30 kronas[1] a term,--15 kronas each. Their midday meal was brought -by the servant for 12 kronas a month,--6 kronas each. For breakfast -and supper they had a glass of milk and some bread and butter. That -was all. They bought wood in the market,--a small bundle for 4 kronas. -John had also received a bottle of petroleum from home as a present, -and he could send his washing to Stockholm. He had 80 kronas in his -table-drawer with which to meet all the expenses of the term. - -It was a new and peculiar society into which he now entered, quite -unlike any other. It had privileges like the old house of peers and a -jurisdiction of its own; but it was a "little Pedlington" and reeked -of rusticity. All the professors were country-born; not a single one -hailed from Stockholm. The houses and streets were like those of -Nykoeping. And it was here that the head-quarters of culture had been -placed, owing to an inconsistency of the government which certainly -regarded Stockholm as answering to that description. - -The students were regarded as the upper class in the town and the -citizens were stigmatised by the contemptuous epithet of "Philistines." -The students were outside and above the civic law. To smash windows, -break down fences, tussle with the police, disturb the peace of the -streets,--all was allowed to them and went unpunished; at most they -received a reprimand, for the old lock-up in the castle was no more -used. For their militia-service they had a special uniform of their -own which carried privileges with it. Thus they were systematically -educated as aristocrats, a new order of nobility after the fall of the -house of peers. - -What would have been a crime in a citizen was a "practical joke" in a -student. Just at this time the students' spirits were at a high pitch, -as a band of student-singers had gone to Paris, had been successful -there, and were acclaimed as conquerors on their return. - -John now wished to work for his degree but did not possess a single -book. "During the first term one must take one's bearings" was the -saying. John went to the student's club. The constitution of the club -was antiquated,--so much so that the annexed provinces Skane, Halland -and Blekinge were not represented in it. It was well arranged and -divided into classes, not according to merit, but according to age -and certain dubious qualities. In the list the title "nobilis" still -stood after the names of those of high birth. There were several ways -of gaining influence in the club, through an aristocratic name, family -influence, money, talent, pluck and adaptability, but the last quality -by itself was not enough among these intelligent and sceptical youths. -On the first evening in the club John made his observations. There were -several of his old companions from the Clara School present, but he -avoided them as much as possible and they him. He had deserted them and -gone by a short cut through the private school, while they had tramped -along the regular course through the state school. They all seemed -to him somewhat conventional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the -aristocrats and obtained introductions, made acquaintances easily and -got on well. - -As they went home in the evening John asked him who was the "snob" in -the velvet jacket with stirrups painted on his collar. Fritz answered -that he was not a snob, and that it was as stupid to judge people by -fine clothes as by poor ones. John with his democratic ideas did not -understand this and stuck to his opinion. Fritz asserted that the youth -referred to was a very fine fellow and the senior in the club, and -in order to rouse John further, added that he had expressed himself -satisfied with the newcomers' appearance and manners; he was reported -to have said "they had an air about them; formerly the fellows from -Stockholm when they came there, looked like workmen." - -John was ruffled at this information and felt that something had come -in between him and his friend. Fritz's father had been a miller's -servant, but his mother had been of noble birth. He had inherited from -his mother what John had from his. - -The days passed on. Fritz put on his frock coat every morning and went -to pay his respects to the professors. He intended to be a jurist; -that was a proper career, for lawyers were the only ones who obtained -real knowledge which was of use in public life, who tried to obtain -deeper insight into social organisation and to keep in touch with the -practical business of everyday life. They were realists. - -John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaintances. - -"Borrow my coat," said Fritz. - -"No, I will not go and pay court to the professors," said John. - -"You are stupid," answered Fritz, and in that he was right, for the -professors gave real though somewhat hazy information regarding the -courses of study. It was a piece of pride in John that he did not -wish to owe his progress to anything but his own work, and what was -worse, he thought it ignominious to be regarded as a flunkey. Would -not an old professor at once perceive that he was flattering him for -his own purposes? To submit himself to his superiors was, in his mind, -synonymous with grovelling. - -Moreover everything was too indefinite. The university which he had -imagined to be an institution for free investigation, was only one for -tasks and examinations. The professors gave lectures for the sake of -appearances or to maintain their income, but it was useless to go up -for an examination without taking private lessons. John resolved to -attend those lectures for which no fee was necessary. He went to the -Gustavianum to hear a lecture on the history of philosophy. For the -three-quarters of an hour during which the lecture lasted the professor -went through the introduction to Aristotle's Ethics. John calculated -that with three lectures a week he would require forty years to go -through the history of philosophy. "Forty years," he thought, "that is -too long for me." And did not go again. It was the same everywhere. -An assistant-professor expounded Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_ with the -commentary, in English, to an audience of five. John went there a few -times, but reckoned that it would be ten years before _Henry VIII_ was -finished. - -It began to dawn upon him what the requirements of the degree -examination were. The first was to write a Latin essay; therefore he -must learn more Latin, which he did not like. He had chosen aesthetics -and modern languages as his chief subject. AEsthetics comprised the -study of Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the -various systems of aesthetics. That was work enough for a lifetime. The -modern languages were French, German, English, Italian and Spanish, -with comparative grammar. How was he to obtain the requisite books? And -he had not the means of paying for private lessons. - -Meanwhile he set to work at AEsthetics. He found that one could borrow -books from the club and so he took out the volumes of Atterbom's -_Prophets and Poets_ which happened to be there. These unfortunately -only dealt with Swedenborg and contained Thorild's epistles. Swedenborg -seemed to him crazy, and Thorild's epistles did not interest him. -Swedenborg and Thorild were two arrogant Swedes who had lived in -retirement and fallen a prey to megalomania, the special disease -of solitary people. It is remarkable how often outbreaks of this -hallucination occur in Sweden, owing probably to the isolated position -of the country and to the fact that a sparse population is scattered -over enormous distances. Megalomania is apparent in the imperial -projects of Gustavus Adolphus, in Charles X's ambition of becoming -a great European power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in -Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and in Swedenborg's and Thorild's dreams of -storming heaven and of world-conflagrations. John thought them mad and -threw them aside. Was that the sort of stuff he was expected to read? - -He began to reflect over his situation. What did he expect to do in -Upsala? To support himself for six years on 80 kronas till he took -his degree. And then? his thoughts did not stretch further; he had no -higher plan or ambition than to take his degree--the laurel crown, the -graduate's coat, and then to teach the catechism in the Jakob school -till his death. No, he did not wish to do that. - -Time went on, and Christmas approached. The little stock of money in -his table-drawer diminished slowly but surely. And then? It was not so -easy for students to obtain employment as private teachers since the -railways had made communication easier between remote country places -and the towns where schools were. He felt that he had embarked upon a -foolish undertaking. When he found he could get no more books, he began -to make visits among his fellow-students and discovered companions in -misfortune. Among them were two who had spent the whole term playing -chess and possessed nothing between them but a hymn-book which the -mother of one had placed in his box. They were also asking themselves -the question "What have we to do here?" The way to the degree -examination was not easy; one was compelled to seek out secret ways, -bribe door-keepers, creep through holes, run into debt for books, be -seen at lectures and much more besides. - -In order to fill up the time, he learnt to play the B-cornet in the -band of the students' club by the advice of Fritz who played the -trombone. But the practices were very irregular and began to cause -disputes. John also played backgammon, which Fritz hated, and so he -wandered about to acquaintances with his backgammon board and played -with them. He found it as dull as reading Swedenborg. - -"Why do you not study?" Fritz often asked him. - -"I have no books," answered John. That was a good reason. He could -not visit the restaurants, for he had no money, and lived very -quietly. At the midday meal he drank only water, and when on Sundays -he and Fritz drank half a bottle of beer, they remained sitting at -table half-fuddled and telling each other, perhaps for the hundredth -time, old school adventures. The term crept along intolerably slow, -uneventful and torpid. John perceived that, as one of the lower class, -he could plod on thus far but no further. The economic question brought -his plans to a standstill. Or was it that he was tired of living a -one-sided mental life without muscular exercise? Trifling experiences -for which he ought to have been prepared contributed to embitter him. -One day Fritz entered their room with a young count. He introduced -John to him, and the count tried to remember whether they had not been -comrades at the Clara School. John seemed to remember something of -the kind. The old friends and intimate companions addressed each other -as "count" and "sir." Then John remembered how he and the young count -had once played as boys in a tobacco store on the Sabbatsberg, and how -something had made him prophesy, "In a few years, old fellow, we shall -not know each other any more." The young count had protested strongly -against this and felt hurt. Why did John remember this just then -particularly, since it is quite natural that comrades should become -strangers to each other when intercourse has been so long broken off? -Because at the sight of the noble, he felt the slave blood seethe in -his veins. This kind of feeling has been ascribed to the difference of -races. But that is not so, for then the stronger plebeian race would -feel superior to the weaker aristocratic. It is simply class-hatred. - -The count in question was a pale, tall, slender youth of no striking -appearance. He was very poor and looked half-starved. He was -intelligent, industrious, and not at all proud. Later on in life -John came across him again and found him to be a sociable, pleasant -man, leading an inconspicuous life as an official, amid difficulties -resembling John's own. Why should he hate him? And then they both -laughed at their youthful stupidity. That was possible then, for John -seemed to have "got ahead" as the saying is; otherwise he would not -have laughed at all. "Stand up that I may sit down," this was the -more malicious than luminous way of expressing the aspiration of the -lower orders in those days. But it was a misunderstanding. Formerly -one strove to elbow one's way up to the other; now one would rather -pull the other down to save oneself the trouble of clambering up where -nothing is to be found. "Move a little so that we can both sit" would -now be the proper formula. - -It has been said that those who are "above" are there by a law of -necessity and would be there under all circumstances; competition -is free and each can ascend if he likes, and if the conditions were -changed, the same race would begin again. "Good!" say the lower -classes, "let us race again, but come down here and stand where I -do. You have got a start with privileges and capital, but now let us -be weighed with carriage harness and racing saddle after the modern -fashion. You have got ahead by cheating. The race is therefore declared -null and void and we will run it again, unless we come to an agreement -to do away with all racing, as an antiquated sport of ancient times." - -Fritz saw things from another point of view. He did not wish to pull -those above down, but to become an aristocrat himself, climb up to -them and be like them. He began to lisp and made elegant gestures with -his hands, greeted people as though he were a cabinet minister, and -threw his head back as though he had a private income. But he respected -himself too much to become ridiculous and satirised himself and his -ambition. The fact was that the aristocrats whom he wished to resemble -had simple, easy, unaffected manners,--some of them indeed quite like -the middle class, while Fritz was fashioning himself after an ancient -theatrical pattern which no longer existed. He did not therefore -become what he expected in life though he had dozed away many a summer -in the castles of his friends, and ended in a very modest official -post. He was received as a student in their guest-rooms but came no -further; as a district judge he was not introduced in the salons which -as a student he had entered without introduction. - -The effects of the different circles in which John and Fritz moved -began now to be apparent, first in mutual coldness, then in hostility. -One evening it broke out at the card-table. - -Fritz one day towards the end of the term said to John, "You should not -go about with such bounders as you do." - -"What is the matter with them?" - -"Nothing, but it would be better if you went with me to my friends." - -"They don't suit me." - -"Well, they suit me, but they think you are proud." - -"I?" - -"Yes; and to show you are not, come with me this evening and drink -punch." - -John went though unwillingly. They were a solid-looking set of -law-students who played cards. They discussed the stakes for which they -should play, and John succeeded in reducing them to a minimum, though -they made sour faces. Then a game of "knack" was proposed. John said -that he never played it. - -"On principle?" he was asked. - -"Yes," he answered. - -"How long ago did you make that resolve," asked Fritz sarcastically. - -"Just this minute." - -"Just now, here?" - -"Yes, just now, here!" answered John. - -They exchanged hostile looks and that was the end. They went home -silent; went to bed silent; and got up silent. For five weeks they ate -their dinner at the same table and never spoke to each other. A gulf -had opened between them and their friendship was ended; they had no -more intercourse with each other and there was nothing to bring them -together again. How had that come about? - -These two characters so opposed to each other had held together for -five years through habit, through comradeship in the class-room, -and common interests; they had felt drawn to each other by common -recollections, defeats and victories. It was a compromise between fire -and water which must cease sooner or later and might cease at any -moment. Now they flew asunder as if by an explosion; the masks fell; -they did not become enemies, but simply discovered that they _were_ -born enemies, _i.e._ two oppositely-disposed natures which must go, -each its own way. They did not close accounts with a quarrel or useless -accusations, but simply made an end without more ado. An unnatural -silence prevailed at their midday meal; sometimes in lifting dishes -their hands crossed but their looks avoided each other; now and then -Fritz's lips moved, as though he wished to say something, but his -larynx remained closed. What should he say after all. There was nothing -to say but what the silence expressed: "We have nothing more in common." - -And yet there was something left after all. Sometimes Fritz came home -in the evening, cheerful, and obviously prepared to say, "Come! cheer -up old fellow!" But then he stood still in the middle of the room, -petrified by John's icy manner, and went out again. Sometimes also -it occurred to John, who suffered under the breach of friendship to -say to his friend, "How stupid we are!" But then he felt frozen again -by Fritz's indifferent manner. They had worn out their friendship by -living together. They knew each other by heart, all one another's -secrets and weaknesses, and precisely what answer either would give. -That was the end. Nothing more remained. - -A miserable torpid time followed. Tom away from the common life of -school where he had worked like part of a machine in unison with -others, and abandoned to himself, he ceased to live in the proper sense -of the word. Without books, papers or social intercourse, he remained -empty; for the brain produces of itself very little, perhaps nothing; -in order to make combinations it must be supplied with material from -without. Now nothing came; the channels were stopped, the ways blocked, -and his soul pined away. Sometimes he took Fritz's books and looked -into them; among them he came across Geijer's History for the first -time. Geijer was a great name and known through his "Kolargossen," -"Sista Kampen," "Vikingen" and other poems. John now read his history -of Gustav Vasa. He was astonished to find no illuminating point of -view nor any fresh information. The style, which he had heard praised, -was pedestrian. It was like a mere memorial sketch, this history of a -long-lived king's reign, and cursory also like a text-book. Printed in -small type, and without notes, the history of this important king would -not have been longer than a small pamphlet. One day John asked some of -his friends what they thought of Geijer. - -"He is devilish dull," they answered. - -That was the common opinion before jubilee-commemorations and the -erection of statues prevented people saying plainly what they thought. - -John then looked for a little into law-books, but was alarmed at the -idea of having to study that sort of thing. His home life and religious -education had given him a distaste for everything that concerned the -common interests of people. Through the ceaseless repetition of the -maxim that young men should not interfere with politics, that is to -say, with the common weal, and through Christian individualism and -introspection, John had become a consistent egoist. - -"Let every one mind his own business" was the first command of this -egotistic morality. Therefore he read no papers and troubled little how -things were going on about him, what was happening in the world, how -the destinies of men were being shaped, or what were the thoughts of -the leading minds of the time. Therefore it never occurred to him to -go to the meetings of the club where questions of common interest were -dealt with. "There were enough to look after those things," he thought. - -He was not alone in that opinion, so that the meetings of the club were -managed by a few energetic fellows, who were regarded perhaps wrongly, -as egoists and managed public business in their own interests. John who -let the affairs of the little society go as they liked, was perhaps a -greater egoist, occupied as he was with the affairs of his own soul. -But in his own defence and on behalf of many of his countrymen it must -be said that he and they were shy. This shyness, however, should have -been got rid of at school by practice in public speaking. In this -shyness there was also a degree of cowardice, the fear of opposition -or ridicule, and especially the fear of being thought presumptuous or -wishing to push oneself forward. Every youth who did so, was at once -suppressed, for here the aristocracy of seniority prevailed in a very -high degree. - -When he found the room too stuffy, he went out of the town. But the -depressing landscape with its endless expanse of clay made him sad. He -was no plain-dweller, but had his roots in the undulating scenery of -Stockholm, diversified by water channels. The flat country depressed -him and he suffered from homesickness to such a degree that when he -returned to Stockholm at Christmas and saw again the smiling contours -of the coast of Brunsvik, he was moved to the point of sentimentality. -When he saw once more the gentle curves of the woods of Haga Park he -felt his soul, as it were, attuned again, after having been so long -out of tune. To such a degree were his nerves affected by his natural -surroundings. - -Under other circumstances, the society of a smaller town like Upsala -would have been more congenial to him than that of the great town -which he hated. Had the small town been but a developed form of the -village, preserving the simple rustic appliances for health and -comfort, with fragments of landscape between the houses, it would have -been far preferable to the great town. But now the small town was -merely a shabby pretentious copy of the great town with its mistakes, -and therefore the more offensive. It also reeked with provinciality. -Every one mentioned their birthplace, "My name is Pettersson, from -Ostgothland," "Mine is Andersson, from Smaland." There was a keen -rivalry between the members of different provinces. Those from -Stockholm regarded themselves as the first and were therefore envied -and despised by the "peasants." There was much dispute as to whom the -first place really belonged. The Wormlanders boasted of having produced -Geijer whose portrait hung in their hall, while the Smalanders had -Tegner, Berzelius and Linnaeus. The Stockholm students who had only -Bergfalk and Bellmann were called "gutter-snipes." This was not a very -brilliant piece of wit especially as it emanated from a Kalmar student -who was thereupon asked "whether there were no gutters in Kalmar?" - -There was something pettifogging also in the way in which the -professors fought for advancement by means of pamphlets and newspaper -articles. The election to any particular professorial chair rested in -the last resource with the Chancellor of the University who lived at -Stockholm. - -In 1867 the University had no especially distinguished teachers. Some -of them were merely old decayed tipplers. Others were young immature -dilettantes who had obtained advancement through their wives and the -modicum of talent which they possessed. The only one who enjoyed a -certain reputation was Swedelius. This, however, was rather due to -his bonhomie and the anecdotes which gathered round him, then to his -own talent. His learned activity was confined to the composition in -an austere style of textbooks and memorial addresses. These were not -strictly scientific, but showed traces of original research. - -On the whole all the subjects of study were introduced from abroad, -for the most part from Germany. The textbooks in most departments -were in German or French. Very few were in English which was little -known. Even the Professor of Literary History could not pronounce -English and began his lectures with an apology for not being able -to do so. There was no doubt that he knew the language for he had -published translations of Swedish poems. "But why did he not learn -the pronunciation?" the students asked. Most of the dissertations for -degrees were mere compilations from the German; occasionally they were -direct translations which caused a scandal. - -The fact was that the period had no special feature to characterise -it. There is no such thing as Swedish culture any more than there is -Belgian, Swiss, or Hungarian. Sweden had indeed produced a Linnaeus and -a Berzelius, but they had had no successors. - -John had no spirit of enterprise. At school his work had been settled -for him; at the university it was all left to him. He was overcome by -lethargy and listlessness and worried by not knowing what to do at the -end of the term. He saw that he must seek for a position in which he -could support himself. A friend had told him that one might become an -elementary teacher in the country without passing any more examinations -and could very well support oneself in such a post. Now it was John's -dream to live in the country. He had a natural dislike to towns though -he had been born in the metropolis. He could not accustom himself -to live without light and air, nor flourish in these streets and -market-places, where the outward signs of a higher or lower position in -the absurd social scale counted for so much, _e.g._ such subordinate -things as dress and manner. He had hostility to culture in his blood -and could never conceive of himself as anything else than a natural -product, which did not wish to be severed from its organic connection -with the earth. He was like a plant vainly feeling with its roots -between the pavement-stones for some soil; like an animal pining for -the forest. - -There is a fish which climbs up trees, and an eel can go on land to -look for a pease-field, but both of them return to the water. Fowls -have been domesticated so long that their ancestral characteristics -have died out, but they preserve the habit of sleeping on a perch which -represents the branch on which the black-cock and the wood-grouse -roost. Geese become restless in autumn, for an instinct in their blood -tells them that it is migrating time. So in spite of accommodation to -new circumstances there is always a tendency to go back. - -Thus is it also with men. The dweller in the north, so long as he -preserves civilised habits, has not been able to acclimatise himself -thoroughly, and is still liable to consumption. His stomach, nerves, -heart and skin were able to accommodate themselves, but not his lungs. -The Eskimo on the other hand, originally a southerner, succeeded in -acclimatising himself but had to give up civilised habits. - -And what is the meaning of the northerner's longing for the south -unless it be the wish to return to his first home, the land of the -sun, the bank of the Ganges where he was cradled? And the dislike -of children to meat, their longing for fruit and love of climbing, -what is it all but "reversion to type?" Therefore civilisation means -a continual strain and struggle to combat this backward tendency. -Education winds up the clock, but when the mainspring is not strong -enough it snaps and the works run down, till quiet ensues. As -civilisation advances the strain is ever greater and the statistics -of insanity show a perpetual increase. One cannot swim against the -stream of civilisation, but one may escape to land. Modern Socialism -which wishes to bring down the upper classes with their worthless -and dangerous motto "Higher!" is a backward movement in a healthy -direction. The strain will decrease as the pressure from above -decreases, and thereby a great deal of superfluous luxury will be got -rid of. In certain parts of German Switzerland there is already a -certain relative quiet. There we find no restless hunting after honours -and distinctions because there are none to be had. A millionaire -lives in a large cottage and laughs at the bedizened townsfolk,--a -good-natured laugh without any envy in it, for he knows that he could -buy up their finery for ready cash, if he chose. But he will not, for -luxury has no value in his neighbours' eyes. - -Men could therefore be happier if competition were not so keen and -they will yet be so, for the chief constituent of happiness is peace -along with less toil and less luxury. It is not the railways which are -to be blamed, but the superabundance of them. In Arcadian Switzerland -railways have ruined whole districts where no freightage is required -and people usually go on foot. To this day distances are reckoned by -pedestrian measures. - -"It is eight hours to Zurich," says some one. - -"Eight! is it possible?" - -"Yes, certainly." - -"By the railway?" - -"Oh! by the railway,--that is only an hour and a half." - -In Sweden there is a railway which carries regularly three passengers -in its three classes, a factory-owner, a bailiff and a clerk. We may -live to see them shut up the railway stations for want of coal when -the coal strikes have sent up the price, for want of guards when wages -rise, and for want of freight when wood and oats can no longer be -procured; iron is already too dear to be used for railways, and the old -water-ways ought to be tried. - -It is no use to preach against civilisation,--that one knows well, but -if we observe the currents of the time we shall see that a return to -nature is in process of going on. Turgenieff has already described this -by the word "simplification." That is the mistake of the evolutionists -that in everything which is in motion or course of development they -see a progress towards human happiness, forgetting that a sickness may -develop to death or recovery. - -After all, what a superficial appendage civilisation is! Make a -nobleman drunk and he can become like a savage; let a child loose in -a wood without any one to look after it (provided that it can feed -itself) and it will not learn to speak of itself. Out of a peasant's -son who is generally considered so low in the social scale, one -can make in a single generation a man of science, a minister, an -arch-bishop, or an artist. Here there can be no talk of heredity, for -the peasant-father who stood apparently at such a low level, could not -have inherited anything from cultivated brains. On the other hand, the -children of a genius inherit usually nothing but used-up brains, except -occasionally a skill in their father's line of work, which they have -acquired by daily intercourse with their father. - -The town is the fire-place whither the living fuel from the country is -brought and devoured; it is to keep the present social machinery at -work, it is true, but in the long run the fuel will prove too dear, and -the machine come to a standstill. The society of the future will not -need this machine in order to work or they will be more sparing of the -fuel. But it is a mistake to conjecture the needs of a future state of -society from the present one. - -Our present society is perhaps a natural product, but inorganic; the -future society will be an organic product and a higher one, for it -will not deprive men of the first conditions for an organic existence. -There will be the same difference between these two forms of society as -between paved streets and grass meadows. - -The youth's dream often left artificial society to wander at large -in nature. Society had been formed by men doing violence to natural -laws, just as one may bleach a plant under a flower-pot and produce an -edible salad, but the plant's capacity to live healthily and propagate -itself as a plant is destroyed. Such a plant is the civilised man -made by artificial bleaching useful for an anaemic society, but, as -an individual, wretched and unhealthy. Must the process of bleaching -continue in order to insure the existence of this decayed society? -Must the individual remain wretched in order to maintain an unhealthy -society? For how can society be healthy when its individual members -are ailing? A single individual cannot demand that society should be -sacrificed for his sake, but a majority of individuals have a right to -bring about such changes in the society, which they themselves compose, -as may be beneficial to themselves. - -Under the simpler conditions of country life John believed he could -be happy in an obscure post, without feeling that he had sunk in the -social scale. But he could not be so in the town where he would be -continually reminded of the height from which he had fallen. To come -down voluntarily is not painful if the onlookers can be persuaded that -it _is_ voluntarily, but to fall is bitter, especially as a fall always -arouses satisfaction in those standing below. To mount, strive upwards -and better one's position has become a social instinct, and the youth -felt the force of it, though in his view the "upper" was not always -higher. - -John wished now to realise some result,--an active life which should -bring him an income. He looked through many advertisements for teachers -in elementary schools. Positions were advertised to which were attached -salaries of 300 or 600 kronas, a house, a meadow and a garden. He tried -for one of these places after another but obtained no answer. - -When the term was over and his 80 kronas spent, he returned home, not -knowing whither to turn, what he should become, or how he should live. -He had glanced in the forecourt and seen that there was no room in it -for him. - - -[1] A krona = 1s. _2d_. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -BELOW AND ABOVE - - -"Are you a complete scholar now?" With this and similar questions John -was greeted ironically on his return home. His father took the matter -seriously and strove to frame plans without coming to any result. John -was a student; that was a fact; but what was to follow? - -It was winter, and so the white student cap could not bestow on him -a mild halo of glory or bring any honour to the family. Some one has -asserted that war would cease if uniforms were done away with; and it -is certain there would not be so many students if they had no outward -sign to parade. In Paris where they have none, they disappear in the -crowd, and no one makes a fuss about them; in Berlin on the other hand, -they have a privileged place by the side of officers. Therefore also -Germany is a land of professors and France of the bourgeois. - -John's father now saw that he had educated a good-for-nothing for -society who could not dig, but perhaps was not ashamed to beg. The -world stood open for the youth to starve or to perish in. His father -did not like his idea of becoming an elementary school-teacher. Was -that to be the only result of so much work? His ambitious dreams -received a shock from the idea of such a come-down. An elementary -school-teacher was on a level with a sergeant, oil a plane from which -there was no hope of mounting. Climb one must as long as others did; -one must climb till one broke one's neck, so long as society was -divided into ranks and classes. John had not passed the student's -examination for the sake of knowledge, but of belonging to the upper -class, and now he seemed to be meditating a descent to the lower. - -It became painful for him at home for he felt as though he were eating -the bread of charity when Christmas was over, and he could no longer be -regarded as a Christmas guest. - -One day he accidentally met in the street a school-teacher whom he -knew, and whom he had not seen for a long time. They talked about the -future and John's friend suggested to him a post in the Stockholm -elementary school as suitable for him while reading for his degree. He -would get a thousand kronas salary and have an hour to himself daily. -John objected "Anywhere except in Stockholm." His friend replied that -several students had been teachers in the elementary school, "Really! -then he would have companions in misfortune." Yes, and one had come -from the New Elementary School where he was a teacher. John went, made -an application, and was appointed with a salary of 900 kronas. His -father approved his decision when he heard that it would help him to -read for his degree, and John undertook to live as a boarder at home. -One winter morning at half-past eight, John went down the Nordtullsgata -to the Clara School, exactly as he had done when he was eight years -old. There were the same streets and the same Clara bells, and he was -to teach the lowest class! It was like being put back to learn a lesson -of eleven years ago. Just as afraid as then,--yes, more afraid of -coming too late he entered the large class-room, where together with -two female teachers he was to have the oversight of a hundred children. -There they sat,--children like those in the Jakob School, but younger. -Ugly, stunted, pale, swollen, sickly, with cast-down looks, in coarse -clothes and heavy shoes. Suffering, most probably, suffering from the -consciousness that others were more fortunate, and would always be -so, as one then believed, had impressed on their faces the stamp of -pain, which neither religious resignation nor the hope of heaven could -obliterate. The upper classes avoided them with a bad conscience, built -themselves houses outside the town, and left it to the professional -over-seers of the poor to come in contact with these outcasts. - -A hymn was sung, the Lord's Prayer was read; everything was as before; -no progress had been made except that the forms had been exchanged for -seats and desks, and the room was light and airy. John had to fold his -hands and join in the hymn, thus already being obliged to do violence -to his conscience. Prayers over, the head-master entered. He spoke to -John in a fatherly way and as his superintendent gave him instruction -and advice. This class, he said, was the worst, and the teacher must -be strict. - -So John took his class into a special room to begin the lesson. The -room was exactly like that in the Clara School, and there stood the -dreadful desk with steps, which resembled a scaffold and was painted -red as though stained with blood. A stick was put into his hand with -which he might rap or strike as he chose. He mounted the scaffold. He -felt shy before the thirsty faces of girls and boys opposite who looked -curiously at him, to see if he were going to worry them. - -"What is your lesson?" he asked. - -"The first commandment," the whole class exclaimed. - -"Only one must answer at a time. You, top boy what is your name?" - -"Hallberg," cried the whole class. - -"No, only one at a time,--the one I ask." - -The children giggled. "He is not dangerous," they thought. - -"Well, then, what is the first commandment?" John asked the top boy. - -"Thou shalt have no other gods but Me." He knew that then. - -"What is that?" John asked again, trying to lay as little emphasis -as possible on the "that." Then he asked fifteen children the same -question and a quarter of an hour had passed. John thought this -idiotic. What should he do now? Say what he knew about God? But the -common point of view then was, that nothing was known about Him. John -was a theist, and still believed in a personal God, but could say -nothing more. He would have liked to have attacked the divinity of -Christ, but would have been dismissed had he done so. - -A pause followed. There was an unnatural stillness while he reflected -on his false position and the foolish method of teaching. If he had -now said that nothing was known of God, the whole catechism and Bible -instruction would have been superfluous. They knew that they must not -steal or lie. Why then make such a fuss? He felt a mad wish to make -friends and fellow-sinners of the children. - -"What shall we do now?" he said. - -The whole class looked at each other and giggled. - -"This is a jolly sort of teacher," they thought. - -"What must the teacher do when he has heard the lesson?" he asked the -top boy. - -"Hm! he generally explains it," he and one or two others answered. - -John could certainly explain the origin and growth of the conception of -God, but that would not do. - -"You need not do any more," he said, "but don't make a noise." - -The children looked at him, and he at them mutually smiling. - -"Don't you think this is absurd," he felt inclined to say, but checked -himself and only smiled. But he collected himself when he saw that they -were laughing at him. "This method would not do," he thought. So he -commanded attention and went through the first commandment again till -each child had had a question. After extraordinary exertions on his -part, the clock at last struck nine, and the lesson was over. - -Then the three divisions of the class were assembled in the great -hall to prepare for going into the play-ground to get fresh air. -"Prepare" is the right word for such a simple affair as going into the -play-ground demanded a long preparation. An exact description would -fill a whole printed page, and perhaps be regarded as a caricature; we -will be content with giving a hint. - -In the first place, all the hundred children had to sit motionless, -absolutely motionless, and silent, absolutely silent, in their seats as -though they were to be photographed. From the master's desk the whole -assembly looked like a grey carpet with bright patterns, but the next -moment one of them moved the head; the offender had to rise from his -seat and stand by the wall. The total effect was now disturbed, and -there had to be a good many raps with the cane before two hundred arms -lay parallel on the desks and a hundred heads were at right angles -with their collar-bones. When quiet was in some degree restored a new -rapping began which demanded absolute quiet. But at the very moment -when the absolute was all but attained, some muscle grew tired, some -nerve slackened, some sinew relaxed. Again there was confusion, cries, -blows, and a new attempt to reach the absolute. It generally ended by -the female teacher (the males did not drive it so far) closing one eye -and pretending that the absolute had been reached. - -Then came the important moment, when, at a given signal the whole -hundred must spring from their seats and stand in order, but nothing -more. It was a ticklish moment when slates fell down and rulers -clattered. Then they had to sit down and begin all over again by -keeping perfectly still. - -When they had really got on their legs, they were marched off in -divisions but on tip-toe without exception. Otherwise they had to turn -round and sit down again, get up again and so on. They had to go on -tip-toe in wooden sabots and water-boots. It was a great mistake; it -accustomed the children to stealthiness and gave their whole appearance -something cat-like and deceitful. In the play-ground a teacher had -to arrange those who wanted to drink in a straight line before the -water-tap by the entrance; at the same time the lavatories at the -other end of the play-ground had to be inspected, and games had to be -organised and watched over. Then the children were again drawn up and -marched into school. If it was not done quietly, they had to go out -again. - -Then another lesson began. The children read out of a patriotic -reading-book the principal object of which seemed to be to instil -respect for the upper classes and to represent Sweden as the best -country in Europe, although as regards climate and social economy, -it is one of the worst, its culture is borrowed from abroad, and all -its kings were of foreign origin. They did not venture to give such -teaching to the children of the upper classes in the Clara School and -the Lyceum, but in the Jakob School they had sufficient courage to -make poor children sing a patriotic song about the Duke of Ostgothland. -In this occurred a verse addressed to the crew of the fleet, saying -victory was sure in the battle they wished for "because Prince Oscar -leads us on," or something of the sort. - -Meanwhile the reading-lesson began. But just at that moment the -head-master came in. John wished to stop but the head-master beckoned -to him to go on. The children who had lost their respect for him after -the catechism-lesson were inattentive. John scolded them, but without -result. Then the head-master came forward with a cane; took the book -from John and made a little speech, to the effect that this division -was the worst, but now their teacher should see how to deal with them. -The exercise which followed seemed to have as its object the attainment -of perfect attention. The absolute again seemed to be the standard by -which these children were to be trained in this incomplete world of -relativity. - -The boy who was reading was interrupted, and another name called at -random out of the class. To follow attentively was assumed to be the -easiest thing in the world by this old man who certainly must have -experienced how thoughts wander their own way while the eyes pass -over the printed page. The inattentive one was dragged by his hair or -clothes and caned till he fell howling on the ground. - -Then the head-master departed after recommending John to use the cane -diligently. There remained nothing but to follow this method or to go; -the latter did not suit John's plans, therefore he remained. He made a -speech to the children and referred to the head-master. "Now," he said, -"you know how you must behave if you want to escape a thrashing. He who -gets one, has himself to thank. Don't blame me. Here is the stick, and -there is your lesson. Learn your lesson or you will get the stick,--and -it isn't my fault." - -That was cunningly put, but it was unmerciful, for one ought to have -first ascertained how far the children could do their work. They could -not, for they were the most lively and therefore the most inattentive. -So the cane was kept going all day, accompanied by cries of pain, and -fear on the faces of the innocent. It was terrible! To pay attention -is not in the power of the will, and therefore all this punishment was -mere torture. John felt the absurdity of the part he had to play, but -he had to do his duty. Sometimes he was tired and let things go as they -liked, but then his colleagues, male and female, came and made friendly -representations. Sometimes he found the whole thing so ridiculous -that he could not help smiling with the children while he caned them. -Both sides saw that they were working at something impossible and -unnecessary. - -Ibsen, who does not believe in the aristocracy of birth or of wealth, -has lately (1886) expressed his belief that the industrial class -are the true nobility. But why should they necessarily be so? If to -do no manual labour tends to degeneration, perhaps degeneration is -brought about even more quickly by excessive labour and want. All -these children born of manual labourers looked more sickly, weak and -stupid than the upper-class children which he had seen. One or the -other muscle might be more strongly developed,--a shoulder-blade, a -hand, or a foot,--but they looked anaemic under their pale skins. -Many had extraordinarily large heads which seemed to be swollen with -water, their ears and noses ran, their hands were frost-bitten. The -various professional diseases of town-labourers seemed to have been -inherited; one saw in miniature the gas-worker's lungs and blood spoilt -by sulphur-fumes, the smith's shoulders and feet bent out-wards, the -painter's brain atrophied by varnishes and poisonous colours, the -scrofulous eruption of the chimney sweeper, the contracted chest of -the book-binder; here one heard the cough of the workers in metal -and asphalt, smelt the poisons of the paper-stainer, observed the -watch-maker's short-sightedness, in second editions, so to speak. In -truth this was no race to which the future belonged, or on which the -future could build; nor was it a race which could permanently increase, -for the ranks of the workers are continually recruited from the country. - -It was not till about two o'clock that the great school-room was -emptied, for it took them about an hour with blows and raps to get out -of it into the street. The most unpractical part of it was that the -children had to march into the hall in troops to get their overcoats -and cloaks, and then march into the school-room again, instead of -going straight home. When John got into the street, he asked himself -"Is that the celebrated education which they have given to the lower -classes with so much sacrifice?" He could ask, and he was answered, -"Can it be done in any other way?" "No," he was obliged to answer. "If -it is your intention to educate a slavish lower class, always ready to -obey, train them with the stick,--if you mean to bring up a proletariat -to demand nothing of life, tell them lies about heaven. Tell them that -your method of teaching is ridiculous, let them begin to criticise -or get their way in one point and you have taken a step towards the -dissolution of society. But society is built up upon an obedient -conscientious lower class; therefore keep them down from the first; -deprive them of will and reason, and teach them to hope for nothing but -to be content." There was method in this madness. - -As regards the instruction in the elementary school, there was both -a good and bad side to it; the good was that they had introduced -object-teaching after the example of Pestalozzi, Rousseau's disciple; -the bad, that the students who taught in the elementary schools had -introduced "scientific" teaching. The simple learning by heart of the -multiplication table was not enough; it, together with fractions, -had to be understood. Understood? And yet an engineer who has been -through the technical high school cannot explain "why" a fraction -can be diminished by three if the sum of the figures is divisible by -three. On this principle seamen would not be allowed to use logarithm -tables, because they cannot calculate logarithms. To be always -relaying the foundation instead of building on what is already laid is -an educational luxury and leads to the over-multiplication of lessons -in schools. - -Some one may object that John should first have reformed himself -as teacher, before he set about reforming the system of education; -but he could not; he was a passive instrument in the hands of the -superintendent and the school authorities. The best teachers, that is -to say, those who forced the worst (in this case the best) results out -of the pupils were the uneducated ones who came from the Seminary. They -were not sceptical about the methods in use and had no squeamishness -about caning, but the children respected them the most. A great coarse -fellow who had formerly been a carriage-maker had the bigger boys -completely under his thumb. The lower class seem to have really more -fear and respect for those of their own rank than the upper class. -Bailiffs and foremen are more awe-imposing than superintendents and -teachers. Do the lower classes see that the superior who has come out -of their ranks understands their affairs better, and therefore pay him -more respect? The female teachers also enjoyed more respect than the -male. They were pedantic, demanded absolute perfection, and were not at -all soft-hearted, but rather cruel. They were fond of practising the -refined cruelty of blows on the palm of the hand and showed in so doing -a want of intelligence which the most superficial study of physiology -would have remedied. When a child by involuntary reflex action, drew -his fingers back, he was punished all the more for not keeping his -fingers still. As if one could prevent blinking, when something blew -into one's eye! The female teachers had the advantage of knowing very -little about teaching and were plagued with no doubts. It was not true -that they had less pay than the men teachers. They had relatively more; -and if after passing a paltry teacher's examination they had received -more than the students, that would have been unjust. They were treated -with partiality, regarded as miracles, when they were competent, and -received allowances for travelling abroad. - -As comrades, they were friendly and helpful if one was polite and -submissive and let them hold the reins. There was not the slightest -trace of flirtation; the men saw them in anything but becoming -situations, and under an aspect which women do not usually show to -the other sex, viz. that of jailers. They made notes of everything, -prepared themselves for their lessons, were narrow-minded and content, -and saw through nothing. It was a very suitable occupation for them -under existing circumstances. - -When John was thoroughly sick of caning, or could not manage a boy, or -was in despair generally, he sent the black sheep to a female teacher, -who willingly undertook the unpleasant role of executioner. - -What it is that makes the competent teacher is not clear. Some produced -an effect by their quiet manner, others by their nervousness; some -seemed to magnetise the children, others beat them; some imposed on -them by their age or their manly appearance, etc. The women worked as -women, _i.e._ through a half-forgotten tradition of a past matriarchate. - -John was not competent. He looked too young and was only just nineteen; -he was sceptical about the methods employed and everything else; with -all his seriousness he was playful and boyish. The whole matter to him -was only an employment by the way, for he was ambitious and wished to -advance, but did not know in which direction. - -Moreover he was an aristocrat like his contemporaries. Through -education his habits and senses had been refined, or spoilt, as one may -choose to call it; he found it hard to tolerate unpleasant smells, ugly -objects, distorted bodies, coarse expressions, torn clothes. Life had -given him much, and these daily reminders of poverty plagued him like -an evil conscience. He himself might have been one of the lower class -if his mother had married one of her own position. - -"He was proud" a shop-boy would have said, who had mounted to the -position of editor of a paper and boasted that he was content with his -lot, forgetting that he might well be content since he had risen from -a low position. "He was proud" a master shoemaker would have said, who -would have rather thrown himself into the sea than become an apprentice -again. John _was_ proud, of that there was no doubt, as proud as the -master shoemaker, but not in such a high degree, as he had descended -from the level of the student to the elementary school-teacher. That, -however, was no virtue, but a necessity, and he did not therefore boast -of his step downward, nor give himself the air of being a friend of -the people. One cannot command sympathies and antipathies, and for the -lower class to demand love and self-sacrifice from the upper class is -mere idealism. The lower class is sacrificed for the upper class, but -they have offered themselves willingly. They have the right to take -back their rights, but they should do it themselves. No one gives up -his position willingly, therefore the lower class should not wait for -kings and the upper class to go. "Pull us down! but all together." - -If an intelligent man of the upper class help in such an operation, -those below should be thankful to him especially since such an act is -liable to the imputation of being inspired by impure motives. Therefore -the lower class should not too narrowly inspect the motives of those -who help them; the result is in all eases the same. The aristocrats -seem to have seen this and therefore regard one of themselves who sides -with the proletariat as a traitor. He is a traitor to his class, that -is true; and the lower class should put it to his credit. - -John was not an aristocrat in the sense that he used the word "mob" or -despised the poor. Through his mother he was closely allied to them, -but circumstances had estranged him from them. That was the fault of -class-education. This fault might be done away with for the future, if -elementary schools were reformed by the inclusion of the knowledge of -civil duties in their programme, and by their being made obligatory for -all, without exception, as the militia-schools are. Then it would be no -longer a disgrace to become an elementary school-teacher as it now is, -and made a matter of reproach to a man that he has been one. - -John, in order to keep himself above, applied himself to his future -work. To this end he studied Italian grammar in his spare time at the -school. He could now buy books and did so. He was honest enough not to -construe these efforts at climbing up as an ideal thirst for knowledge -or a striving for the good of humanity. He simply read for his degree. - -But the meagre diet he had lived on in Upsala, his midday meals at 6 -kronas, the milk and the bread had undermined his strength, and he -was now in the pleasure-seeking period of youth. It was tedious at -home, and in the afternoons he went to the cafe or the restaurant, -where he met friends. Strong drinks invigorated him and he slept well -after them. The desire for alcohol seems to appear regularly in each -adolescent. All northerners are born of generations of drinkers from -the early heathen times, when beer and mead was drunk, and it is quite -natural that this desire should be felt as a necessity. With John it -was an imperious need the suppression of which resulted in a diminution -of strength. It may be questioned whether abstinence for us may not -involve the same risk, as the giving up of poison for an arsenic-eater. -Probably the otherwise praiseworthy temperance movement will merely -end in demanding moderation; that is a virtue and not a mere exhibition -of will power which results in boasting and self-righteousness. - -John who had hitherto only worn east-off suits, began to wear fine -clothes. His salary seemed to him extraordinarily great and in the -magnifying-glass of his fancy assumed huge proportions, with the result -that he soon ran into debt. Debt which grew and grew and could never be -paid, became the vulture gnawing at his life, the object of his dreams, -the wormwood which poisoned his content. What foolish hopefulness, what -colossal self-deceit it was to incur debts! What did he expect? To gain -an academic dignity. And then? To become a teacher with a salary of 750 -kronas! Less than he had now! Not the least trying part of his work was -to accommodate his brain to the capacity of the children. That meant -to come down to the level of the younger and less intelligent, and to -screw down the hammer so that it might hit the anvil,--an operation -which injured the machine. - -On the other hand he derived real profit from his observations in -the families of the children, whom his duty required him to visit on -Sundays. There was one boy in his class who was the most difficult of -all. He was dirty and ill-dressed, grinned continually, smelt badly, -never knew his lessons and was always being caned. He had a very large -head and staring eyes which rolled and turned about continually. John -had to visit his parents in order to find out the reason of his -irregular attendance at school and bad behaviour. He therefore went -to the Apelbergsgata where they kept a public-house. He found that -the father had gone to work, but the mother was at the counter. The -public-house was dark and evil-smelling, filled with men who looked -threateningly at John as he entered probably taking him for a plain -clothes policeman. He gave his message to the mother and was asked -into a room behind the counter. One glance at it sufficed to explain -everything. The mother blamed her son and excused him alternately and -she had some reason for the latter. The boy was accustomed to "lick the -glasses,"--that was the explanation and that was enough. What could be -done in such a case? A change of dwelling, better food, a nurse to look -after him and so on. All these were questions of money! - -Afterwards he came to the Clara poor-house, which was empty of its -usual occupants and provisionally opened to families because of the -want of houses. In a great hall lay and stood quite a dozen families, -who had divided the floor with strokes of chalk. There stood a -carpenter with his planing-bench, here sat a shoemaker with his board; -round about on both sides of the chalk-line women sat and children -crawled. What could John do there? Send in a report on a matter which -was perfectly well known, distribute wood-tickets and orders for meat -and clothing. - -In Kungsholmsbergen he came across specimens of proud poverty. There he -was shown the door, "God be thanked, we have no need of charity. We -are all right." - -"Indeed! Then you should not let your boy go in torn boots in winter." - -"That is not your business, sir," and the door was slammed. - -Sometimes he saw sad scenes,--a child sick, the room full of sulphur -fumes of coke, and all coughing from the grandmother down to the -youngest. What could he do except feel dispirited and make his escape? -At that period there was no other means of help except charity; writers -who described the state of things, contented themselves with lamenting -it; no one saw any hope. Therefore there was nothing to do except to be -sorry, help temporarily, and fly in order not to despair. - -All this lay like a heavy cloud upon him, and he lost pleasure in -study. He felt there was something wrong here, but nothing could be -done said all the newspapers and books and people. It must be so but -every one is free to climb. You climb too! - -Time went on and spring approached. John's closest acquaintance -was a teacher from the Sloejd School. He was a poet, well-versed -in literature, and also musical. They generally walked to the -Stallmastergarden restaurant, discussed literature, and ate their -supper there. While John was paying his attentions to the waitress, -his friend played the piano. Sometimes the latter amused himself by -writing comic verses to girls. John was seized with a craze for writing -verse but could not. The gift must be born with one, he thought, and -inspiration descend all of a sudden, as in the case of conversion. -He was evidently not one of the elect, and felt himself neglected by -nature and maimed. - -One evening when John was sitting and chatting with the girl, she said -quite suddenly to him, "Friday is my birthday; you must write some -verses for me." - -"Yes," answered John, "I will." - -Later on when he met his friend, he told him of his hasty promise. - -"I will write them for you," he said. The next day he brought a poem, -copied out in a fine hand-writing and composed in John's name. It was -piquant and amusing. John dispatched it on the morning of the birthday. - -In the evening of the same day both the friends came to eat their -supper and to congratulate the girl. She did not appear for an hour for -she had to serve guests. The teachers' meal was brought and they began -to eat. - -Then the girl appeared in the doorway and beckoned John. She looked -almost severe. John went to her and they ascended a flight of stairs. -"Have you written the verses?" she asked. - -"No," said John. - -"Ah, I thought so. The lady behind the buffet said she had read them -two years ago when the teacher sent them to Majke who was an ugly girl. -For shame, John!" - -He took his cap and wanted to rush out, but the girl caught hold of him -and tried to keep him back for she saw that he looked deathly pale -and beside himself. But he wrenched himself free and hastened into -the Bellevue Park. He ran into the wood leaving the beaten tracks. -The branches of the bushes flew into his face, stones rolled over his -feet, and frightened birds rose up. He was quite wild with shame, and -instinctively sought the wood in order to hide himself. It is a curious -phenomenon that at the utmost pitch of despair a man runs into the -wood before he plunges into the water. The wood is the penultimate and -the water the ultimate resource. It is related of a famous author, who -had enjoyed a twenty years' popularity quietly and proudly, that he -was suddenly cast down from his position. He was as though struck by a -thunderbolt, went half-mad and sought the shelter of the woods where -he recovered himself. The wood is the original home of the savage and -the enemy of the plough and therefore of culture. When a civilised man -suddenly strips off the garb of civilisation, the artistically woven -fabric of his repute, he becomes in a moment a savage or a wild beast. -When a man becomes mad, he begins to throw off his clothes. What is -madness? A relapse? Yes, many think animals mad. - -It was evening when John entered the wood. In the midst of some -bushes he laid down on a great block of stone. He was ashamed of -himself,--that was the chief impression on his mind. An emotional man -is more severe with himself than others think. He scourged himself -unmercifully. He had wished to shine in borrowed plumage, and so lied; -and in the second place he had insulted an innocent girl. The first -part of the accusation affected him in a very sensitive point,--his -want of poetic capacity. He wished to do more than he could. He was -discontent with the position which nature and society had assigned -him. Yes, but (and now his self-defence began after the evening air -had cooled his blood), in the school one had been always exhorted to -strive upwards; those who did so were praised, and discontent with -the position one might happen to be in, was justified. Yes but (here -the scourge descended!) he had tried to deceive. To deceive! That was -unpardonable. He was ashamed, stripped and unmasked without any means -of retreat. Deception, falsity, cheating! So it was! - -As a quondam Christian, John was most afraid of having a fault, and -as a member of society he feared lest it should be visible. Everybody -knew that one had faults, but to acknowledge them was regarded as a -piece of cynicism, for society always wishes to appear better than it -is. Sometimes, however, society demanded that one should confess one's -fault if one wished for forgiveness, but that was a trick. Society -wished for confession in order to enjoy the punishment, and was very -deceitful. John had confessed his fault, been punished, and still his -conscience was uneasy. - -The second point regarding the girl was also difficult. She had loved -him purely and he had insulted her. How coarse and vulgar! Why should -he think that a waitress could not love innocently? His own mother had -been in the same position as that girl. He had insulted her. Shame -upon him! - -Now he heard shouts in the park, and his name being called. The girl's -voice and his friend's echoed among the trees, but he did not answer -them. For a moment the scourge fell out of his hands; he became sobered -and thought, "I will go back, we will have supper, call Riken and drink -a glass with her, and it will be all over." But no! He was too high up -and one cannot descend all at once. - -The voices became silent. He lay back in a state of semi-stupefaction -and ground his double crime between the mill-stones of rumination. He -had lied and hurt her feelings. - -It began to grow dark. There was a rustling in the bushes; he started -and a sweat broke out upon him. Then he went out and sat upon a seat -till the dew fell. He shivered and felt poorly. Then he got up and went -home. - -Now his head was clear and he could think. What a stupid business it -all was! He did not really mean that she should take him for a poet, -and had been quite ready to explain the whole trick. It was all a joke. -His friend had made a fool of him, but it did not matter. - -When he got home he found his friend sleeping in his bed. He wanted -to rise but John would not let him. He wished to scourge himself once -more. He lay on the floor, put a cigar-box under his head and drew a -volunteer's cloak over him. In the morning when he awoke, John asked in -trembling tones, "How did she take it?" - -"Ah, she laughed; then we drank a glass, and it was over. She liked the -verses." - -"She laughed! Was she not angry?" - -"Not at all." - -"Then she only humbugged me." - -John wished to hear no more. This trifle had kept him on the rack for a -whole dreadful night. He felt ashamed of having asked whether she was -disquieted about him. But since she had laughed and drunk punch she -could not have been. Not even anxious about his life! - -He dressed himself and went down to the school. - -The habit of self-criticism derived from his religious training had -accustomed him to occupy himself with his ego, to fondle and cherish -it, as though it were a separate and beloved personality. So cherished -the ego expanded and kept continually looking within instead of -without upon the world. It was an interesting personal acquaintance, a -friend who must be flattered, but who must also hear the truth and be -corrected. - -It was the mental malady of the time reduced to a system by Fichte, -who taught that everything took place in the ego and through the ego, -without which there was no reality. It was the formula for romanticism -and for subjective idealism. - -"I stood on the shore under the king's castle," "I dwell in the cave -of the mountain," "I, small boy, watch the door," "I think of the -beautiful times,"--all these phrases struck the same note. Was this "I" -really so proud. Was not the poet's "I" more modest than the editor's -royal "we"? - -This absorption in self, or the new malady of culture, of which much -is written nowadays, has been common with all men who have not worked -with their bodies. The brain is only an organ for imparting movement -to the muscles. Now when in a civilised man the brain cannot act upon -the muscles, nor bring its power into play, there results a disturbance -of equilibrium. The brain begins to dream; too full of juices which -cannot be absorbed by muscular activity, it converts them involuntarily -into systems, into thought-combinations, into the hallucinations which -haunt painters, sculptors and poets. If no outlet can be found, there -follows stagnation, violent outbreaks, depression, and at last madness. -Schools which are often vestibules for asylums, have recourse to -gymnastics, but with what result? There is no connection between the -pupil's cerebral activity and the muscular activity called into play by -gymnastics; the latter is only directed by another's will through the -word of command. - -All studious youths are aware of this tendency to congestion of the -brain. It is a good thing that they often go out to improve or to -beautify society, but it would be better if the equilibrium were -restored, and a sound mind dwelt in a sound body. It has been sought to -introduce physical work into schools as a remedy. It would be better -to let elementary knowledge be acquired at home, to make the school -a day-school, and to let every one look after himself. For the rest -the emancipation of the lower classes will compel the higher classes -to undertake some of the physical labour now carried on by domestics -and so the equilibrium will be restored. That such labour does not -blunt the intelligence can be easily seen by observing that some of -the strongest minds of the time have had such daily contact with -reality, _e.g._ Mill the civil service official, Spencer, the civil -engineer, Edison the telegraphist. The student period of life, the most -unwholesome because not under discipline, is also the most dangerous. -The brain continually takes in, without producing anything, not even -anything intellectual, while the whole muscular system is unoccupied. - -John at this time was suffering from an over-production of thought and -imagination. The mechanical school-work continually revolving in the -same circle with the same questions and answers afforded no relief. -It increased on the other hand his stock of observations of children -and teachers. There lay and fermented in his mind a quantity of -experiences, perceptions, criticisms and thoughts without any order. He -therefore sought for society in order to speak his mind out. But it was -not sufficient, and as he did not find any one who was willing to act -as a sounding-board, he took to declaiming poetry. - -In the early sixties declamation was much the fashion. In families they -used to read aloud "The Kings of Salamis." In the numerous volunteer -concerts the same pieces were declaimed over and over again. These -declamations were what the quartette singing had been, an outlet for -all the hope and enthusiasm called forth by the awakening of 1865. -Since Swedes are neither born nor trained orators, they became singers -and reciters, perhaps because their want of originality sought a -ready-made means of expression. They could execute but not create. The -same want of originality showed itself in the bachelor's gatherings -where reciters of anecdotes were much in request. This feeble and -tedious form of amusement was superseded when the new questions of the -day provided food for conversation and discussion. - -One day John came to his friend the elementary school-teacher whom he -found together with another young colleague. When the conversation -began to slacken, his friend produced a volume of Schiller, whose poems -had just then appeared in a cheap edition and were bought mostly for -that reason. They opened "The Robbers" and read round in turn, John -taking the part of Karl Moor. The first scene of the first act took -place between old Moor and Franz. Then came the second scene: John -read, "I am sick of this quill-driving age when I read of great men -in Plutarch." He did not know the play and had never seen bandits. -At first he read absent-mindedly, but his interest was soon aroused. -The play struck a new note. He found his obscure dreams expressed -in words; his rebellious criticisms printed. Here then was another, -a great and famous author who felt the same disgust at the whole -course of education in school and university as he did, who would -rather be Robinson Crusoe or a bandit than be enrolled in this army -which is called society. He read on; his voice shook, his cheeks -glowed, his breast heaved: "They bar out healthy nature with tasteless -conventionalities."... There it stood all in black and white. "And that -is Schiller!" he exclaimed, "the same Schiller who wrote the tedious -history of the Thirty Years' War, and the tame drama "Wallenstein" -which is read in schools!" Yes, it was the same man. Here (in "The -Robbers") he preached revolt, revolt against law, society, morals -and religion. That was in the revolt of 1781 eight years before the -great revolution. That was the anarchists' programme a hundred years -before its time, and Karl Moor was a nihilist. The drama came out with -a lion on the title-page and with the inscription "In Tyrannos." The -author then (1781) aged two-and-twenty had to fly. There was no doubt -therefore about the intention of the piece. There was also another -motto from Hippocrates which showed this intention as plainly; "What is -not cured by medicine must be cured by iron; what is not cured by iron -must be cured by fire." - -That was clear enough! But in the preface the author apologised and -recanted. He disclaimed all sympathy with Franz Moor's sophisms and -said that he wished to exhibit the punishment of wickedness in Karl -Moor. Regarding religion he said, "Just now it is the fashion to make -religion a subject for one's wit to play upon as Voltaire and Frederick -the Great did, and a man is scarcely reckoned a genius unless he can -make the holiest truths the object of his godless satire...." I hope -I have exacted no ordinary revenge for religion and sound morality in -handing over these obstinate despisers of Scripture in the person of -this scoundrelly bandit, to public contumely. Was then Schiller true -when he wrote the drama, and false when he wrote the preface? True in -both cases, for man is a complex creature, and sometimes appears in his -natural sometimes in his artificial character. At his writing-table -in loneliness, when the silent letters were being written down on -paper, Schiller seems like other young authors to have worked under the -influence of a blind natural impulse without regard to mens' opinion, -without thinking of the public, or laws, or constitutions. The veil -was lifted for a moment and the falsity of society seen through in its -whole extent. The silence of the night when literary work--especially -in youth,--is carried on, causes one to forget the noisy artificial -life outside, and darkness hides the heaps of stones over which animals -which are ill-adapted to their environment stumble. Then comes the -morning, the light of day, the street noises, men, friends, police, -clocks striking, and the seer is afraid of his own thoughts. Public -opinion raises its cry, newspapers sound the alarm, friends drop off, -it becomes lonely round one, and an irresistible terror seizes the -attacker of society. "If you will not be with us," society says, "then -go into the woods. If you are an animal ill-adapted to its environment, -or a savage, we will deport you to a lower state of society which -you will suit." And from its own point of view society is right and -always will be right. But the society of the future will celebrate the -revolter, the individual, who has brought about social improvement, and -the revolter is justified long after his death. - -In every intelligent youth's life there comes a moment when he is in -the transition stage between family life and that of society, when -he feels disgusted at artificial civilisation and breaks out. If he -remains in society, he is soon suppressed by the united wet-blankets -of sentiment and anxiety about living; he becomes tired, dazzled, -drops off and leaves other young men to continue the fight. This -unsophisticated glance into things, this outbreak of a healthy nature -which must of necessity take place in an unspoilt youth, has been -stigmatised by a name which is intended to depreciate the idealistic -impulses of youth. It is called "spring fever" by which is meant that -it is only a temporary illness of childhood, a rising of the vernal -sap, which produces stoppage of the circulation and giddiness. But who -knows whether the youth did not see right before society put out his -eyes? And why do they despise him afterwards? - -Schiller had to creep into a public post for the sake of a living and -even eat the bread of charity from a duke's hand. Therefore his writing -degenerated, though perhaps not from an aesthetic or subordinate point -of view. But his hatred of tyrants is everywhere manifest. It declares -itself against Philip II of Spain, Dorea of Genoa, Gessler of Austria, -but therefore ceases to be effective. Schiller's rebellion which was in -the first instance directed against society, was afterwards directed -against the monarchy alone. He closes his career with the following -advice to a world reformer (not, however, till he had seen the reaction -which followed the French Revolution). "For rain and dew and for the -welfare of mankind, let heaven care to-day, my friend, as it has always -done." Heaven, the unfortunate old heaven will care for it, just as -well as it has done before. - -Just as a man once does his militia duty at the age of twenty-one, so -Schiller did his. How many have shirked it! - -John did not take the preface to "The Robbers" very seriously or rather -ignored it; but he took Karl Moor literally for he was congenial. He -did not imitate him, for he was so like him that he had no need to do -so. He was just as mutinous, just as wavering, and just as ready at an -alarm to go and deliver himself into the hands of justice. - -His disgust at everything continually increased and he began to make -plans for flight from organised society. Once it occurred to him to -journey to Algiers and enlist in the Foreign Legion. That would be -fine he thought to live in the desert in a tent, to shoot at half-wild -men or perhaps be shot by them. But circumstances occurred at the -right moment, to reconcile him again with his environment. Through the -recommendation of a friend he was offered the post of tutor to two -girls in a rich and cultured family. The children were to be educated -in a new and liberal-minded method and neither to go to a girls' school -nor have a governess. That was an important task to which he was -called and John did not feel himself adequate to it; besides which he -objected that he was only an elementary school-teacher. He was answered -that his future employers knew that, but were liberal-minded. How -liberal-minded people were at that time! - -Now there commenced a new double life for him. From the penal -institution of the elementary school with its compulsory catechism and -Bible, its poverty, wretchedness, and cruelty, he went to dinner at -one o'clock, which he swallowed in a quarter of an hour, and then by -two o'clock was at his post as private tutor. The house was one of the -finest at that time in Stockholm with a porter, Pompeian stair-cases -and painted windows in the hall. In a handsome, large, well-lighted -corner room with flowers, bird-cages and an aquarium he was to give -lessons to two well-dressed, washed and combed little girls, who -looked cheerful and satisfied after their dinner. Here he could give -expression to his own thoughts. The catechism was banished, and only -select Bible stories were to be read together with broad-minded -explanations of the life and teachings of the Ideal Man, for the -children were not to be confirmed, but brought up after a new model. -They read Schiller and were enthusiastic for William Tell and the -fortunate little land of freedom. John taught them all that he knew and -spent more time in talking than in asking questions; he roused in them -the hopes of a better future which he shared himself. - -Here he obtained an insight into a social circle hitherto unknown to -him, that of the rich and cultured. Here he found liberal-mindedness, -courage and the desire for truth. Down below in the elementary school -they were cowardly, conservative and untruthful. Would the parents of -the children be willing to have religious teaching done away with, -even if the school authorities recommended it? Probably not. Must -then illumination come from the upper classes? Certainly, though not -from the highest class of all, but from the republic of truth-seeking -scientists. John saw that one must get an upper place in order to be -heard; therefore he must strive upwards or pull culture down and cast -the sparks of it among all. One needed to be economically independent -in order to be liberally minded; a position was necessary in order to -give one's words weight; thus aristocracy ruled in this sphere also. - -There was at that time a group of young doctors, men of science and -letters, and members of parliament who formed a liberal league without -constituting themselves a formal society. They gave popular lectures, -engaged not to receive any honorary decorations, cherished liberal -views on the subject of the State Church and wrote in the papers. Among -them were Axel Key, Nordenskioeld, Christian Loven, Harald Wieselgren, -Hedlund, Victor Rydberg, Meijerberg, Jolin, and many less-known names. -These, with one or two exceptions, worked quietly without creating -excitement. After the reaction of 1872 they fell off and became tired; -they could not join any political party which was rather an advantage -than otherwise for the country party had already begun to be corrupted -by yearly visiting Stockholm and attendance at the court. They now all -belong to the moderate or respectable liberal party, except those of -them who have joined the indifferents, a fact not to be wondered at, -after they had for so many years fought uselessly for nothing. - -Through the family of his pupils John came into external touch with -this group, obtained a closer view of them, and heard their speeches at -dinners and suppers. To John they sometimes seemed the very men whom -the time needed, who would first spread enlightenment and then work -for reform. Here he met the superintendent of the elementary school -and was surprised at finding him among the liberals. But he had the -school authorities over him and was as good as powerless. At a cheerful -dinner, when John had plucked up heart, he wished to have an intimate -talk with him and to come to an understanding. "Here," he thought, -"we can play the part of augurs and laugh with each other over our -champagne." But the superintendent did not want to laugh and asked him -to postpone the conversation till they met in the school. No, John did -not want to do that, for in the school both would have other views, and -speak of something else. - -John's debts increased and so did his work. He was in the school from -eight till one; then he ate his dinner and went to give his private -lessons within half-an-hour, arriving out of breath, with food half -digested, and sleepy; then he taught till four o'clock going out -afterwards to give more lessons in the Nordtullsgata; he returned to -his girl pupils in the evening, and then read far into the night for -his examination after ten hours' teaching. That was over-work. The -pupil thinks his work hard, but he is only the carriage while the -teacher is the horse. Teaching is decidedly harder than standing by a -screw or the crane of a machine, and equally monotonous. - -His brain, dulled by work and disturbed digestion, needed to be roused, -and his strength needed replenishing. He chose the shortest and best -method by going into a cafe, drinking a glass of wine, and sitting for -a while. It was good that there were such places of recreation, where -young men could meet and fathers of families recruit themselves over a -newspaper and talk of something else than business. - -The following summer he went out to a summer settlement outside the -city. There he read daily for a couple of hours with his girl pupils -and a whole number of children besides them. The summer settlement -afforded rich and varied opportunities of social intercourse. It was -divided into three camps,--the learned, the aesthetic and the civic. -John belonged to all three. It has been asserted that loneliness -injures the development of character (into an automaton), and if -has been also asserted that much social intercourse is bad for the -development of character. Everything can be said and can be true; it -all depends upon the point of view. But no doubt for the development -of the soul into a rich and free life much social intercourse is -necessary. The more men one sees and talks with, the more points -of view and experiences one gains. Every one conceals a grain of -originality in himself, every individual has his own history. John got -on equally well with all; he spoke on learned matters with the learned, -discussed art and literature with the aesthetes, sang quartettes and -danced with the young people, taught the children and botanised, -sailed, rode and swam with them. But after he had spent some time in -the rush, he withdrew into solitude for a day or two to digest his -impressions. Those who were really happy were the townsmen. They came -from their work in the town, shook off their cares and played in the -evening. Old wholesale merchants played in the ring and sang and danced -like children. The learned and the aesthetic on the other hand sat -on chairs, spoke of their work, were worried by their thoughts as by -nightmares and never seemed to be really happy. They could not free -themselves from the tyranny of thought. The tradesmen, however, had -preserved a little green spot in their hearts which neither the thirst -for gain nor speculation nor competition had been able to parch up. -There was something emotional and hearty about them which John was -inclined to call "nature." They could laugh like lunatics, scream like -savages, and be swayed by the emotions of the moment. They wept over -a friend's misfortune or death, embraced each other when delighted -and could be carried out of themselves by a beautiful sunset. The -professors sat in chairs and could not see the landscape because of -their eye-glasses, their looks were directed inwards, and they never -showed their feelings. They talked in syllogisms and formulas; their -laughter was bitter, and all their learning seemed like a puppet play. -Is that then the highest point of view? It is not a defect to have let -a whole region of the soul's life lie fallow? - -It was the third camp with which John was on the most intimate -terms. This was a little clique consisting of a doctor's family and -their friends. There sang the renowned tenor W. while Professor M. -accompanied him; there played and sang the composer J.; there the -old Professor P. talked about his journeys to Rome in the company -of painters of high birth. Here the emotions had full play, but -were under the control of good taste. They enjoyed the sunsets, but -analysed the lights and shades and talked of lines and "values." The -more noisy enjoyments of the tradesmen were regarded as disturbing -and unaesthetic. They were enthusiasts for art. John spent some hours -pleasantly with these amiable people, but when he heard the sound of -quartette singing and dance-music from the villa close by, he longed to -be there. That was certainly more lively. - -In hours of solitude he read, and now for the first time, became really -acquainted with Byron. "Don Juan," which he already knew, he had found -merely frivolous. It really dealt with nothing and the descriptions -of scenery were intolerably long. The work seemed merely a string of -adventures and anecdotes. In "Manfred" he renewed acquaintance with -Karl Moor in another dress. Manfred was no hater of men; he hated -himself more, and went to the Alps in order to fly himself, but always -found his guilty self beside him, for John guessed at once that he had -been guilty of incest. Nowadays it is generally believed that Byron -hinted at this crime, which was purely imaginary, in order to make -himself appear interesting. To become interesting as a romanticist at -whatever price would at the present time be called "differentiating -oneself, going beyond and above the others." Crime was regarded as -a sign of strength, therefore it was considered desirable to have a -crime to boast about, but not such a one as could be punished. They did -not want to have anything to do with the police and penal servitude. -There was certainly a spirit of opposition to law and morality in this -boasting of crime. - -Manfred's discontent with heaven and the government of Providence -pleased John. Manfred's denunciations of men were really levelled at -society, though society as we now understand it, had not then been -discovered. Rousseau, Byron and the rest were by no means discontented -misogynists. It was only primitive Christianity which demanded that men -should love men. To say that one was interested in them would be more -modest and truthful. One who has been overreached and thrust aside in -the battle of life may well fear men, but one cannot hate them when -one realises one's solidarity with humanity and that human intercourse -is the greatest pleasure in life. Byron was a spirit who awoke before -the others and might have been expected to hate his contemporaries, but -none the less strove and suffered for the good of all. - -When John saw that the poem was written in blank verse he tried to -translate it, but had not got far, before he discovered that he could -not write verse. He was not "called." Sometimes melancholy, sometimes -frisky, John felt at times an uncontrollable desire to quench the -burning fire of thought in intoxication and bring the working of his -brain to a standstill. Though he was shy, he felt occasionally impelled -to step forward, to make himself impressive, to collect hearers and -appear on a stage. When he had drunk a good deal, he wanted to declaim -poetry in the grand style. But in the middle of the piece, when his -ecstasy was at its highest, he heard his own voice, became nervous and -embarrassed, found himself ridiculous, suddenly dropped into a prosaic -and comic tone and ended with a grimace; he could be pathetic, but -only for a while; then came self-criticism and he laughed at his own -overwrought feelings. The romantic was in his blood, but the realistic -side of him was about to wake up. - -He was also liable to attacks of caprice and self-punishment. Thus he -remained away from a dinner to which he had been invited and lay in his -room hungry till the evening. He excused himself by saying that he had -overslept. - -The summer approached its end and he looked forward to the beginning of -the autumn term in the elementary school with dread. He had now been -in circles where poverty never showed its emaciated face; he had tasted -the enticing wine of culture and did not wish to become sober again. - -His depression increased; he retired into himself and withdrew from the -circle of his friends. But one evening, there was a knock at his door; -the old doctor who had been his most intimate friend and lived in the -same villa, stepped in. - -"How are the moods?" he asked, and sat down with the air of an old -fatherly friend. - -John did not wish to confess. How was he to say that he was -discontented with his position, and acknowledge that he was ambitious -and wished to advance in life? But the doctor had seen and understood -all. "You must be a doctor," he said. "That is a practical vocation -which will suit you, and bring you into touch with real life. You have -a lively imagination which you must hold in check, or it will do harm. -Now are you inclined to this? Have I guessed right?" - -He had. Through his intercourse from afar with these new prophets who -succeeded the priests and confessors, John had come to see in their -practical knowledge of men's lives, the highest pitch of human wisdom. -To become a wise man who could solve the riddles of life,--that was for -a while his dream. For a while, for he did not really wish to enter any -career in which he could be enrolled as a regular member of society. -It was not from dislike of work, for he worked strenuously and was -unhappy when unoccupied, but he had a strong objection to be enrolled. -He did not wish to be a cypher, a cog-wheel, or a screw in the social -machine. He wished to stand outside and contemplate, learn and preach. -A doctor was in a certain sense free; he was not an official, had no -superiors, set in no public office, was not tied by the clock. That was -a fairly enticing prospect, and John was enticed. But how was he to -take a medical degree, which required eight years' study? His friend, -however, had seen a way out of this difficulty. "Live with us and teach -my boys," he said. - -This was certainly a business-like offer which carried with it no sense -of accepting a humiliating favour. But what about his place in the -school? Should he give it up? - -"That is not your place!" the doctor cut him short. "Every one should -work where his talents can have free scope, and yours cannot in the -elementary school, where you have to teach, as prescribed by the school -authorities." - -John found this reasonable, but he had been so imbued with ascetic -teaching that he felt a pang of conscience. He wanted to leave the -school, but a strange feeling of duty and obligation held him back. He -felt quite ashamed of being suspected of such a natural weakness as -ambition. And his place, as the son of a servant, had been assigned to -him below. But his father had literally pulled him up, why should he -sink and strike his roots down there again? - -He fought a short bloody conflict, then accepted the offer thankfully, -and sent in his resignation as a school-teacher. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE DOCTOR - -(1868) - - -John now found his new home with the homeless, the Israelites. He -was immediately surrounded by a new atmosphere. Here there was no -recollection of Christianity; one neither plagued oneself or others; -there was no grace at meals, no going to church, no catechism. - -"It is good to be here," thought John. "These are liberal-minded men -who have brought the best of foreign culture home, without being -obliged to take what is bad." Here for the first time, he encountered -foreign influences. The family had journeyed much, had relatives -abroad, spoke all languages, and received foreign guests. Both the -small and great affairs of the country were spoken about, and light -thrown on them by comparison with their originals abroad. By this means -John's mental horizon was widened and he was enabled to estimate his -native country better. - -The patriarchal constitution of the family had not assumed the form of -domestic tyranny. On the contrary the children treated their parents -more as their equals, and the parents were gentle with them without -losing their dignity. Placed in an unfriendly part of the world, -surrounded by half-enemies, the members of the family helped each other -and held together. To be without a native country, which is regarded -as such a hard-ship, has this advantage that it keeps the intelligence -alive and vigorous. Men who are wanderers have to watch unceasingly, -observe continually, and gain new and rich experiences, while those who -sit at home become lazy and lean upon others. - -The children of Israel occupy a peculiar and exceptional position from -a social point of view. They have forgotten the Messianic promise and -do not believe in it. In most European countries they have remained -among the middle classes; to join the lower classes was for the most -part denied them, though not so widely as is generally believed. Nor -could they join the upper classes; therefore they feel related to -neither of the latter. They are aristocrats from habit and inclination, -but have the same interests as the lower classes, _i.e_. they wish to -roll away the stone which lies upon and presses them. But they fear the -proletariat who have no religious sense and who do not love the rich. -Therefore the children of Abraham rather aspire to those above them, -than seek sympathy from those below. - -About this time (1868) the question of Jewish emancipation began to be -raised. All liberals supported it and it was practically a discarding -of Christianity. Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, confirmation, -church attendance were all declared to be unnecessary conditions for -membership in a Christian community. Such apparently small reforms -make an impression on the state, like the dropping of water on a rock. - -At that time a cheerful tone prevailed in the family, the sons having a -brighter future in prospect than their fathers, whose academic course -had been hindered by State regulations. - -A liberal table was kept in the house; everything was of the best -quality, and there was plenty of it. The servants managed the house -and were allowed a free hand in everything; they were not regarded as -servants. The housemaid was a pietist and allowed to be so, as much -as she pleased. She was good-natured and humorous, and, illogically -enough, adopted the jesting tone of the cheerful paganism which reigned -in the house. On the other hand, no one laughed at her belief. John -himself was treated as an intimate friend and a child alternately and -lived with the boys. His work was easy and he was rather required to -keep the boys company than to give them lessons. Meanwhile he became -somewhat "spoiled" as people, who have the usual idea of keeping youth -in the background, call it. Though only nineteen, he was received -on an equal footing among well-known and mature artists, doctors, -_litterateurs_ and officials. He became accustomed to regard himself as -grown up, and therefore the set-backs he encountered afterwards, were -the harder to bear. - -His medical career began with chemical experiments in the technological -institute. There he obtained a closer view of some of the glories he -had dreamed of in his childhood. But how dry and tedious were the -rudiments of science! To stand and pour acids on salts and to watch the -solution change colour, was not pleasant; to produce salts from two or -more solutions was not very interesting. But later on, when the time -came for analysis, the mysterious part began. To fill a glass about -the size of a punch-bowl with a liquid as clear as water and then to -exhibit in the filter the possibly twenty elements it contained,--this -really seemed like penetrating into nature's secrets. When he was alone -in the laboratory he made small experiments on his own account, and it -was not long before with some danger he had prepared a little phial -of prussic acid. To have death enclosed in a few drops under a glass -stopper was a curiously pleasant feeling. - -At the same time he studied zoology, anatomy, botany, physic and -Latin,--still more Latin! To read and master a subject was congenial to -him, but to learn by heart he hated. His head was already filled with -so many subjects, that it was hard for anything more to enter, but it -was obliged to. - -A worse drawback was that so many other interests began to vie in his -mind with his medical studies. The theatre was only a stone's throw -from the doctor's house and he went there twice a week. He had a -standing place at the end of the third row. From thence he saw elegant -and cheerful French comedies played on a Brussels carpet. The light -Gallic humour, admired by the melancholy Swedes as their missing -complement, completely captivated him. What a mental equilibrium, what -a power of resistance to the blows of fate were possessed by this -race of a southern sunnier land! His thoughts became still more gloomy -as he grew conscious of his Germanic "Weltschmerz" lying like a veil -over everything, which a hundred years of French education could not -have lifted. But he did not know that Parisian theatrical life differs -widely from that of the industrious and thrifty Parisian at the desk -and the counter. French comedies were written for the parvenus of -the Second Empire; politics and religion were subject to the censor, -but not morals. French comedy was aristocratic in tone, but had a -liberating effect on the mind as it was in touch with reality, though -it did not interfere in social questions. It accustomed the public to -sympathise with and feel at home in this superfine world; one came to -forget the lower everyday world, and when one left the theatre it felt -as though one had been at supper with a friendly duke. - -As chance fell out, the doctor's wife possessed a good library in -which all the best literature of the world was represented. It was -indeed a treasure to have all these at one's elbow! Moreover the doctor -possessed a number of pictures by Swedish masters and a valuable -collection of engravings. There was an efflorescence of aestheticism -on all sides, even in the schools, where lectures on literature were -delivered. The conversation in the family circle mostly turned on -pictures, dramas, actors, books, authors, and the doctor felt from time -to time impelled to flavour it with details of his practice. - -Now and then John began to read the papers. Political and social life -with their various questions opened up before him, but at first with a -repelling effect, as he was an aesthete and domestic egoist. Politics -did not seem to touch him at all; he considered it a special branch of -knowledge like any other. - -He continued his lessons to the girls and his intercourse with -their family. Outside the house he met grown up relatives, who were -tradesmen, and their acquaintances. His circle was therefore widened, -and he saw life from more than one point of view. But this constant -occupation with children had a hampering effect on his development. He -never felt himself older, and he could not treat the young with an air -of superiority. He already noticed that they were in advance of him, -that they were born with new thoughts, and that they built on, where he -had ceased. When later on in life, he met grown-up pupils, he looked up -to them as though they were the older. - -The autumn of 1865 had commenced. There had been so much miscalculation -as to the effects of the new State constitution that there was -widespread discontent. Society was turned topsy-turvy. The peasant -threatened the civilised town-dwellers and there was a general feeling -of bitterness. - -Has the last word regarding the agrarian party yet been said? Probably -not. It began with a democratic and reforming programme and its attack -on the Civil List was the boldest stroke which had yet been seen. It -was a legal attempt to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of supply -was screwed down to the lowest possible, the king would go. It was a -simple and at the same time a clever stroke. - -At a period which proclaims the right of the majority, one would not -have expected the peasants' cause would encounter resistance. Sweden -was a kingdom of peasants, for the country population numbered four -millions, which in a population of four and a half millions, is -certainly the majority. Should then the half million rule the four or -vice versa? The latter course seemed the fairer. Now naturally the -townsmen talk of the egotism and tyranny of the peasants, but have the -labour party in the town a single item in their programme to improve -the condition of the peasants and cottagers? It is so stupid to talk -of egotism when every one now sees that he profits the whole, in -proportion as he profits himself. - -Meanwhile, in 1868, the malcontents discovered a party which could be -opposed to the constitutional majority and whose programme contained -all kinds of thorough-going reforms. That was the new liberal party, -consisting for the most part of authors, some artisans, a professor, -etc. By means of this handful of people who had none of the weighty -interests which landed property involves, and whose social position -was so insecure that a single unfavourable harvest could turn them -into members of the proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society. -What did the artisans know about society? How did they wish it to be -constituted? Did they wish it to be remodelled in their interest, -although the peasantry should be ruined? But that meant cutting off -their own legs, for Sweden is not a land of exporting industries. -Therefore the four million consumers in the land, as soon as their -purchasing power was diminished, would involuntarily ruin the -industries and leave the artisans stranded. That the artisans should -advance is a necessity, but to wish to make all men industrial workers -as the industrial socialists do, is much more unreasonable than to make -them all peasants as the agrarian socialists purpose doing. Capital, -which the labour party now attack, is the foundation of industry and if -that is touched, industry is overthrown, and then the workmen must go -back whence they came and still daily come,--to the country. - -Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet corrupted by intercourse with -aristocrats; it was neither conservative nor did it make compromises. -The war seemed to be between the country and the town. The atmosphere -was electric and the smallest cause might produce a thunderstorm. - -In the capital there prevailed a general desire to erect a statue to -Charles XII. Why? Was this last knight of the Middle Ages the ideal -of the age? Bid the character of the idol of Gustav IV, Adolf, and -Charles XV suitably express the spirit of the new peaceful period -which now commenced? Or did the idea originate, as so often is the -case in the sculptor's studio? Who knows? The statue was ready and the -unveiling was to take place. Stands were erected for the spectators, -but so unskilfully that the ceremony could not be witnessed by the -general public, and the space railed off could only contain the -invited guests, the singers and those who paid for their seats. But -the subscription had been national and all believed they had a right -to see. The arrangements were obnoxious to the people. Petitions were -made to have the stands removed, but without success. The crowd began -to make attempts to tear them down, but the military intervened. The -doctor that day was giving a dinner to the Italian Opera Company. They -had just risen from dessert when a noise was heard from the street; it -was at first like rain falling on an iron roof, but then cries were -distinctly audible. John listened, but for the moment nothing more was -to be heard. The wine-glasses clinked amid Italian and French phrases -which flew hither and thither over the table; there was such a noise of -jests and laughter that those at the table could hardly hear themselves -speak. But now there came a roar from the street, followed immediately -by the tramp of horses, the rattle of weapons and harness. There was -silence in the room for a moment, and one and another turned pale. - -"What is it?" asked the prima donna. - -"The mob making a noise," answered a professor. - -John stood up from the table, went into his room, took his hat and -stick and hurried out. "The mob!"--the words rang in his ear while -he went down the street. "The mob!" They were his mother's former -associates, his own school-mates and afterwards his pupils; they formed -the dark background against which the society he had just quitted, -stood out like a brilliant picture. He felt again as though he were a -deserter, and had done wrong in working his way up. But he must get -above if he was to do anything for those below. Yes many had said -that, but when once they did get above, they found it so pleasant, -that they forgot those below. These cavalrymen, for instance, whose -origin was of the humblest, what airs they gave themselves! With what -unmixed pleasure they cut down their former comrades, though it must -be confessed they would have even more enjoyed cutting down the "black -hats." - -He went on and came to the market-place. The stands for the spectators -stood out against the November sky like gigantic market booths, and -the space below swarmed with men. From the opening of the Arsenal -street the tramp of horses was heard only a short way off. Then they -came riding forth, the blue guardsmen, the support of society, on whom -the upper class relied. John was seized with a wild desire to dash -against this mass of horses, men and sabres, as though he saw in them -oppression incarnate. That was the enemy! very well--at them! The troop -rode on and John stationed himself in the middle of the street. Whence -had he derived this hatred against the supporters of law and order, who -some day would protect him and his rights after he had clambered up, -and was in a position to oppress others? If the mob with whom he now -felt his solidarity had had their hands free, they would probably have -thrown the first stone through the window, behind which he had sat with -four wine-glasses in front of him. Certainly, but that did not prevent -his taking their side just as the upper class often, inconsistently -enough, takes sides against the police. This mania for freedom in the -abstract is probably the natural man's small revolt against society. - -He was going against the cavalry with a vague idea of striking them -all to the ground or something of the sort, when fortunately some one -seized him by the arm firmly but in a friendly way. He was brought back -to the doctor's who had sent out to seek for him. After he had given -his word of honour not to go out again he sank on a sofa, and lay all -the evening in fever. - -On the day of the unveiling of Charles XII's statue, he was one of the -student singers, therefore among the elect, the "upper ten thousand," -and had no reason to be discontented with his lot. When the ceremony -was over, the people rushed forward. The police forced them back, and -then they began to throw stones. The mounted police drew their sabres -and struck, arresting some and assaulting others. - -John had entered the market in front of the Jakob's church when he saw -a policeman lay hold of a man, under a shower of stones which knocked -off the constables' helmets. Without hesitation he sprang on the -policeman, seized him by the collar, shook him and shouted, "Let the -fellow go!" - -The policeman looked at his assailant in astonishment. - -"Who are you?" he asked irresolutely. - -"I am Satan, and I will take you, if you don't let him go." - -He actually did let him go and tried to seize John. At the same instant -a stone knocked off his three-cornered hat. John tore himself loose; -the crowd were now driven back by bayonets towards the guard-house in -the Gustaf Adolf market. After them followed a swarm of well-dressed -men, obviously members of the upper classes, shouting wildly, and as it -seemed, resolved to free the prisoners. John ran with them; it was as -though they were all impelled by a storm-wind. Men who had not been -molested or oppressed at all, who had high positions in society, rushed -blindly forward, risking their position, their domestic happiness, -their living, everything. John felt a hand grasp his. He returned the -pressure, and saw close beside him a middle-aged man, well-dressed, -with distorted features. They did not know each other, nor did they -speak together, but ran hand in hand, as if seized by one impulse. -They came across a third in whom John recognised an old school-fellow, -subsequently a civil service official, son of the head of a department. -This young man had never sided with the opposition party in school, -but on the contrary, was looked upon as a re-actionary with a future -in front of him. He was now as white as a corpse, his cheeks were -bloodless, the muscles of his forehead swollen, and his face resembled -a skull in which two eyes were burning. They could not speak, but -took each other's hands and ran on against the guards whom they were -attacking. The human waves advanced till they were met by the bayonets, -and then as always, dispersed in foam. Half-an-hour later John was -discussing a beefsteak with some students in the Opera restaurant. He -spoke of his adventure as though it were something which had happened -independently of him and his will. Nay, he even jested at it. That -may have been fear of public opinion, but also it may have been the -case that he regarded his outbreak objectively and now quietly judged -it as a member of society. The trap-door had opened for a moment, the -prisoner had put his head out, and then it had closed again. - -His unknown fellow-criminal, as he discovered later, was a pronounced -conservative, a wholesale tradesman. He always avoided meeting John's -eye, when they met after this. One time they met on a narrow pavement, -and had to look at each other, but did not smile. - -While they were sitting in the restaurant, came the news of the death -of Blanche. The students took it fairly coolly, the artists and middle -class citizens more warmly, but the lower classes talked of murder. -They knew that he had personally besought Charles XV to have the -spectators' stands taken down; they knew also, that though he was -very prosperous himself, he had always thought of them and they were -thankful. Stupid people objected, as is usual in such cases, that it -required no great skill on his part to speak on behalf of the poor, -when he was rich and celebrated. Did it not? It required the greatest. - -It is remarkable that the chief outbreak of discontent was directed, -not as elsewhere against the King, but against the governor and the -police. Charles XV was a _persona grata_; he could do as he liked -without becoming unpopular. He was neither condescending nor democratic -in his tastes, but rather proud. Stories were told of some of his -favourites having fallen into disgrace for want of respect on some -mirthful occasion. He could put tobacco into his soldiers' mouths, -but he scolded officers who did not at once fall in with his moods. -He could box people's ears at a fire, and did not laugh when he was -caricatured in a comic paper, as was supposed. He was a ruler and -believed he was also a warrior and a statesman; he interfered in the -government and could snub specialists with a "You don't understand -that!" But he was popular and remained so. Swedes, who do not like to -see a man's will slackening, admired this will and bowed before it. -It was also strange, that they forgave his irregular life; perhaps it -was because he made no secret of it. He had laid down a standard of -morality for himself and lived according to it. Therefore he lived at -harmony with himself, and harmony is always pleasant to contemplate. - -People might be revolters by instinct, but they did not believe in the -transition form to a better social constitution, _i.e_. a republic. -They had seen how two French republics had been followed by new -monarchies. There were secret anarchists, but no republicans, and they -had persuaded themselves that the monarchy offered no barrier to the -progress of liberty. - -These were the ideas of the younger men. The elder men with Blanche -thought a republic the only means of social salvation and therefore in -our days the old liberal school has become conservative-republican. - - * * * * * - -When the doctor saw that his wife's literary books threatened to -encroach upon John's medical studies, he resolved to give him a -glimpse into the secrets of his profession, and to allow him such a -foretaste of real work as should entice him to overcome the tedious -preliminary studies which he himself thought too extensive. John now -knew more chemistry and physics than the doctor, and the latter thought -it was merely malicious to hinder a rival's course by imposing too -hard preliminary studies. Why should he not, as in America, commence -dissection, which was a special branch of study? Now after the -theoretical study of anatomy, he could begin practice as an assistant. -That was a new life full of variety and reality. One went for instance -into a dark alley and came into a porter's room, where a woman lay, -sick of fever, surrounded by poor children, the grandmother and other -relations, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the doctor's verdict. -The malodorous ragged bed-cover would be lifted, a sunken heaving chest -exposed to view, and a prescription written. Then one went to the -Tvaedgardsgatan and was conducted over soft carpets through splendid -rooms into a bed-chamber which looked liked a temple; one lifted a -blue silk coverlet and put in splints the leg of an angelic-looking -child, dressed in lace. On the way out one looked at a collection of -paintings, and talked about artists. This was something novel and -interesting, but what connection had it with Titus Livius and the -history of philosophy? - -But then came the details of surgery. One was roused at seven o'clock -in the morning, came into the doctor's dark room, and manually assisted -at the cauterising of a syphilitic sore. The room reeked of human -flesh, and was repugnant to an empty stomach. Or he had to hold a -patient's head and felt it twitch with pain while the doctor with a -fork extracted glands from his throat. - -"One soon gets accustomed to that," said the doctor, and that was true, -but John's thoughts were busy with Goethe's Faust, Wieland's Epicurean -romances, George Sand's social phantasies, Chateaubriand's soliloquies -with nature, and Lessing's common-sense theories. His imagination -was set in motion and his memory refused to work; the reality of -cauterisations and flowing blood was ugly; aestheticism had laid hold -of him, and actual life seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His -intercourse with artists had opened his eyes to a new world, a free -society within Society. They would come to a well-spread table where -cultivated people were sitting with badly-fitting clothes, black nails, -and dirty linen, as if they were not merely equal, but superior to the -rest,--in what? - -They could scarcely write their names, they borrowed money without -repaying it, and their talk was coarse. Everything was permitted to -them, which was not permitted to others. Why? They could paint. They -studied at the Academy, and the Academy did not ask whether all who -enrolled themselves as students were geniuses. How was it known that -they were geniuses? Was painting greater than knowledge and science? - -They also had, as was well recognised, a peculiar morality of their -own. They opened studios, hired models, and boasted of their paramours, -while other men were ashamed of theirs and incurred disapproval on -account of them. They laughed at what were very serious matters for -other men, nay, it seemed to be part of an artist's equipment to be a -"scoundrel," as any one else would be called for similar conduct. - -"That was a glad free world," thought John, and one in which he could -thrive, without conventional fetters or social obligations, and above -all, without contact with banal realities. But he was not a genius? -How should he get the entree to it? Should he learn to paint and so be -initiated? No! that would not do; he had never thought of painting; -that demanded a special vocation, he thought, and painting would not -express all he had to say, when once he began to speak. If he _had_ -to find a medium for self-expression it would be the theatre. An actor -could step forward, and say all kinds of truths, however bitter they -might be, without being brought to book for them. That was certainly a -tempting career. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -John's proposal to transfer the university from Upsala to Stockholm was -destined to have consequences, and his comrades had warned him of them. -When he went up early in spring in order to write the obligatory Latin -essay he had sent the professor by post the three test-essays and the -15 krona fee. So he could carry out his purpose unhindered and enrolled -himself. - -But now in May he wished to go and pass the preliminary examination in -chemistry. In order to be well prepared, he had himself tested by the -assistant-professor at the technological institute. The latter did so -and declared that he already knew more than was needed for the medical -examination. Thus prepared, he went up to Upsala. His first visit was -to a comrade, who had already passed the preliminary examination in -chemistry, and knew the "tips" for it. - -John began: "I can do synthesis and analysis, and have studied organic -chemistry." - -"That is very well, for we only need synthesis; however, it is no use -for you have not studied in the professor's laboratory." - -"That is true; but the course at the Institute is much better." - -"No matter,--it is not his." - -"We shall see," said John, "whether knowledge does not tell in any -ease." - -"If you are so sure, then try, but consider first what I say. You must -first go to the assistant-professor and get a 'tip'." - -"What do you mean?" - -"For a krona he will give you an hour's polishing, and ask you all the -important questions which the professor has put during the past year. -Just now he is in the habit of asking whether matches can be made out -of his carcase and ammonia from your old boots. But that you will -learn from the assistant. Secondly, you must not go to be examined -in a frock coat and white tie; least of all, dressed as well as you -are now. Therefore you must borrow my riding-coat, which is green in -the shoulders and red in the seams, and my top-boots, for he does not -like elastic boots." - -John followed his friend's instructions and went first to the -assistant-professor who gave him the questions which had been last -asked. In return John promised that under all circumstances he would -return and tell him the questions which he himself had been asked, as a -means of enlarging his catechism. - -The next day John went to his friend to array himself. His trousers -were drawn up so that the tops of the boots should be seen and his -loose collar turned on one side, so that the skin should show between -the tie and the collar. Thus equipped, he went up for his first trial. - -The professor of chemistry had formerly been a fortification officer, -and had received in his time a not very cordial welcome from the -learned staff in Upsala. He was a soldier, not academically cultivated, -and thus a kind of "Philistine." This had galled him and made him -bilious. In order to efface the effect of his laymen-like exterior, he -affected the airs of an over-read and blunt professor. He went about -ill-dressed and behaved eccentrically. Though many hundreds besides -himself had been pupils of Berzelius, he was fond of mentioning the -fact; it was his trump card. Berzelius, among other things, went about -in shabby trousers, therefore a hole in one's clothes was the sign of a -learned chemist, and so on. Hence all these peculiarities. - -John presented himself, was regarded with suspicion and bidden to come -again in a week. He replied that he had come from Stockholm and was -too poor to support himself for a week in the town. He managed to get -permission to present himself the next day. "It would be soon over," -said the old man. - -The next day he sat on a seat opposite the professor. It was a sunny -afternoon in May, and the old man seemed to have digested his dinner -badly. He looked grim as he threw out his first question from his -rocking-chair. The answers were correct at the beginning. Then the -questions became more tortuous like snakes. - -"If I have an estate, where I suspect the presence of saltpetre, how -shall I begin to construct a saltpetre factory?" - -John suggested a saltpetre analysis. - -"No." - -"Well, then, I don't know anything else." - -There was silence and the flies buzzed,--a long and terrible silence. -"Now will come the question about the boots or the matches," thought -John, "and there I shall shine." He coughed by way of rousing the -professor, but the silence continued. John wondered whether he had been -seen through and whether the old man recognised the "examination coat." - -Then came a new question which was unanswered, and then another. - -"You have come too soon," said the old man, and rose up. - -"Yes, but I have worked a whole year in the laboratory, and can do -chemical analysis." - -"Yes, you know how to make up prescriptions, but you have not digested -your knowledge. In the Institute only manual dexterity is necessary, -but here scientific knowledge is required." - -As a matter of fact the case was exactly the reverse for the medical -students in Upsala complained that they had to stand like cooks and -make up mixtures and salts, without having time to look at an analysis, -which last was just what a doctor ought to do while synthesis was the -apothecary's work. But now the proposal made some years before whether -the university had not better be transferred to Stockholm had roused a -feeling in Upsala against the capital. Moreover the laboratory of the -newly-built technological institute was as famous for its excellent -equipment, as that of Upsala was notorious for its poor one. Here, -therefore, petty prejudices were at work and John felt the unfairness -of it. "I do not then get a certificate?" he asked. - -"No, sir, not this year; but come again next year." - -The professor was ashamed to say, "Go to my only soul-saving -laboratory." - -John went out furious. Here then again neither diligence nor knowledge -prevailed, but only cash and cringing! Had he tried short cuts? No, -on the contrary, he had been obliged to travel by painful circuitous -paths, while others had gone the direct road, and the directest is the -shortest. - -He went to the Carolina Park, as angry as an irritated bee. He did -not wish to return at once to the town, but sat down on a seat. If he -could only set this devil's hole on fire! Another year? No, never! Why -read so much unnecessary stuff, which would only be forgotten, and be -of no practical use? And slave in order to enter this dirty profession -where one had to analyse urine, pick about in vomit, poke about in all -the recesses of the body? Faugh! Just as he was sitting there, a group -of cheerful-looking people came by, and stood laughing outside the -Carolina library. They looked up to the window's, through which long -rows of books were visible, shelf after shelf. They laughed,--the men -and women laughed at the books. He thought he recognised them. Yes, -they were Levasseur's French actors, whom he had seen in Stockholm and -who were now visiting Upsala. They laughed at the books! Lucky people -who could be importers of genius and culture without books. Perhaps -every soul had something to give which was not in books, but would be -there some day. Yes, certainly it was so. He himself possessed stories -of experience and thoughts, which could enrich anthropology, and were -ready to be throw out. - -Again there stole upon him the thought of entering this privileged -profession, which stood outside and above petty social conventions -which ignored distinctions of rank, and in which one need never be -conscious of belonging to the lower classes. There one could appeal to -the universal judgment, and work in full publicity instead of being -hung up here in a remote dark hole, without a verdict, examination, or -witnesses. - -Strengthened by this new idea, he stood up, east a glance at the books -above, and went down to the town resolved to go home and seek for an -engagement in the Theatre Royal. - -Every townsman has probably felt once in his life the wish to appear -as an actor. This is probably due to the impulse of the cultivated -man to magnify and make himself something, to identify himself with -great and celebrated personalities. John, who was a romanticist, had -also the desire to step forward and harangue the public. He believed -that he could choose his proper role, and he knew beforehand which it -would be. The fact that he, like all others, believed that he had the -capacity to become an actor, sprang from the superfluity of unused -force, produced by a want of sufficient physical exercise, and from the -tendency to megalomania connected with mental over-exertion. He saw no -difficulties in the profession itself, but expected opposition from -another quarter. - -To attribute his being stage-struck to hereditary tendencies would -perhaps be hasty, since we have just remarked that it is an almost -universal impulse. But his paternal grandfather, a Stockholm citizen, -had written dramatic pieces for an amateur theatre, and a young -distant relative still lived as a warning example. The latter had been -an engineer, had been through a course of instruction in the Motala -iron-works, and had a post on the Koeping-Hult railway. He therefore had -fine prospects in front of him, but suddenly threw them up, and became -an actor. This step of his was an incessant trouble to his family. Up -to this time the young man had become nothing but was still travelling -about with an obscure theatrical company. The danger of becoming like -him was the difficult point. "Yes," said John to himself, "but I shall -have luck." Why? Because he believed it; and he believed it because he -wished it. - -Some might be inclined to derive this strong impulse on John's part -from the fact that he loved to play, as a child, with a toy theatre, -but that is not sufficient, as all children do the same and he had got -the taste from seeing them do it. The theatre was an unreal better -world which enticed one out of the tedious real one. The latter would -not have seemed so tedious if his education had been more harmonious -and realistic and not given him such a strong tendency to romance. -Enough; his resolution was taken; and without saying anything to any -one, he went to the director of the Theatrical Academy the dramaturgist -of the Theatre Royal. - -When he heard the sound of his own words "I want to be an actor," -he shuddered. He felt as though he tore down the veil of his inborn -modesty, and did violence to his own nature. - -The director asked what he was doing at present. - -"Studying medicine." - -"And you want to give up such a career, for one that is the hardest and -the worst of all?" - -"Yes." - -All actors called their profession the "hardest and the worst" though -they had such a good time of it. That was in order to frighten away -aspirants. - -John asked for private lessons in order that he might make his debut. -The director replied that he was now going to the country for the -theatrical season was at an end, but he told John to come again on the -1st of September when the theatre opened, and the board of management -came again to the town. That was a definite appointment and he saw his -way clear. - -When he went down the street, he walked with his eyes wide open, as -though he gazed into a brilliant future; victory was already his; he -felt its intoxicating eating fumes, and hurried, though with unsteady -steps, down the street. - -He said nothing to the doctor nor to any one else. He had still three -months in front of him in which to train and prepare himself, but in -secret, for he was shy and timid. He was afraid of annoying his father -and the doctor, afraid of the whole town knowing that he thought -himself capable of being an actor, afraid of his relatives' scorn, his -friends' grimaces and efforts to dissuade him. This was the fruit of -his education, the fear,--"What will people say?" His imagination made -the act seem like a crime. It was certainly an interference with other -people's peace of mind for relations and friends feel a shock, when -they see a link torn out of the social chain. He felt it himself, and -had to shake off the scruples of conscience. - -For his debut he had chosen the roles of Karl Moor and Wijkander's -Lucidor. This was no mere chance but perfectly logical. In both of -these characters he had found the expression of his inner experience, -and therefore he wished to speak with their tongues. He conceived of -Lucidor as a higher nature undermined and ruined by poverty. A higher -nature of course! In his enthusiasm for the theatre he felt again what -he had felt when he had preached, and when he had revolted against the -school prayers,[1] something of the proclaimer, the prophet, and the -soothsayer. - -What most of all elevated his ideas of the great significance of the -theatre was the perusal of Schiller's essay, "The theatre regarded -as an instrument of moral education." Sentences like the following -show how lofty was the goal at which Schiller aimed. "The stage is -the chief channel through which the light of wisdom descends from -the better, thinking portion of the populace in order to spread its -beneficent light over the whole state." "In this world of art we -dream ourselves away from the real one, we find ourselves again, our -feelings are roused, wholesome emotions stir our slumbering nature and -drive our blood in swift currents. The unhappy here forget their own -sorrows in watching those of others, the happy become sober, and the -self-confident, reflective. The effeminate weakling is hardened into a -man, the coarse and callous here begin to feel. And then finally,--what -a triumph for thee O Nature, so often trodden down and so often -re-arisen,--when men of all climates and conditions, casting away all -fetters of convention and fashion, set free from the iron hand of fate, -fraternising in one all-embracing sympathy, dissolved into _one_ race, -forget themselves and the world, and approach their heavenly origin. -Each individual enjoys the delight of all, which is mirrored back to -him strengthened and beautified from a hundred eyes, and his breast has -only room for one aspiration,--to be a man!" - -Thus wrote the young Schiller at twenty-five, and the youth of twenty -subscribed it. - -The theatre is certainly still a means of culture for young people and -the middle class who can still feel the illusion of actors and painted -canvas. For older and cultivated people it is a recreation in which the -actor's art is the chief object of attention. Therefore old critics -are almost invariably discontent and crabbed. They have lost their -illusions and do not pass over any mistake in the acting. - -Modern times have overprised the theatre, especially the actor's art in -an exaggerated degree, and a re-action has followed. Actors have tried -to ply their art independently of the dramatist, believing that they -could stand on their own legs. Therefore particular "stars" become the -objects of homage and therefore also opposition has been aroused. In -Paris, where people had gone to the greatest lengths, a reaction first -showed itself. The _Figaro_ called the heroes of the Theatre-Francais -to order, and reminded them that they were only the author's puppets. - -The decay of all the great European theatres shows that the actor's -art has lost its interest. Cultivated people no more go to the -theatre because their sense for reality has been developed, and -their imagination which is a relic of the savage has diminished; the -uncultivated lack the time, and the money to go. The future seems to -belong to the variety theatre, which amuses without instructing, for it -is mere play and recreation. All important writers choose another, more -suitable form in which to handle important questions. Ibsen's dramas -have always produced their effect in book form before they were played; -and when they are played, the spectators' interest is generally -concentrated on the _manner_ of their performance; consequently it is a -secondary interest. - -John committed the usual mistake of youth, _i.e._ of confusing the -actor with the author; the actor is the mere enunciator of the -sentiments for which the author who stands behind him, is responsible. - -In the spring John resigned his post as tutor to the two girls, and -now he had leisure during the summer to study his art in secret, -and on his own responsibility. He had scoffed at books, and now the -first things he sought were books. They contained the thoughts and -experiences of men with whom, though most of them were dead, he could -converse familiarly, without being betrayed. He had heard that in the -castle there was a library which belonged to the State, and from which -one could borrow books. He obtained a surety and went there. It was a -solemn place with small rooms full of books where grey-haired silent -old men sat and read. He got his books and went shyly and happily home. - -He wished to study the matter thoroughly in all its aspects, as was his -custom. In Schiller he found the assurance that the theatre was of deep -significance; in Goethe he found a whole treatise on the histrionic -art with directions how one should walk and stand, behave oneself, sit -down, come in and go out; in Lessing's _Hamburgische Dramaturgie_ he -found a whole volume of theatrical critiques filled with the closest -observations. Lessing especially roused his hopes, for he went so far -as to declare that the theatre had come down owing to the inferiority -of the actors, and said that it would be better to employ amateurs -from the cultivated classes who would play better than the drilled and -often uncultured actors. He also read Raymond de St. Albin, whose often -quoted observations on the actor's art are of great value. - -At the same time he exercised himself practically. At the doctor's he -arranged a stage when the boys were out. He practised entrances and -exits; he arranged the stage for "The Robbers," dressed himself like -Karl Moor, and played that part. He went to the National Museum and -studied gestures of antique sculptures and gave up using his walking -stick in order to accustom himself to walk freely. He did violence -to his shyness, which had almost produced in him "agoraphobia," or -the dread of crossing open places, and accustomed himself to walk -across Karl XIII's square where great crowds used to be found. He did -gymnastics every day at home, and fenced with his pupils. He gave -attention to every movement of the muscles; practised walking with head -erect and chest expanded, with arms hanging free and hands loosely -clenched, as Goethe directs. - -The chief difficulty he found was in the cultivation of his voice, -for he was overheard when he declaimed in the house. Then it occurred -to him to go outside the town. The only place where he could be -undisturbed was the Ladugardsgaerdet. There he could look over the plain -for a great distance and see whether any one was coming; there sounds -died away so quickly that it cost him an effort to hear himself. This -strengthened his voice. - -Every day he went out there, and declaimed against heaven and earth. -The town whose church tower rose opposite Ladugardsgaerdet symbolised -society, while he stood out here alone with Nature. He shook his fist -at the castle, the churches, and the barracks, and stormed at the -troops who during their manoeuvres often came too close to him. There -was something fanatical in his work and he spared himself no pains in -order to make his unwilling muscles obedient. - - -[1] _Vide_ the _Son of a Servant_. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT - -(1869) - - -Among those who frequented the doctor's house was a young man who -studied sculpture. He had come from the lower strata of society, had -been a smith's apprentice, and had now entered the Academy, where he -was a probationary student. He was happy and always cheerful, believed -himself called by providence to his new career, and narrated how he -had been aroused and impelled by the spirit to work in the service -of the Beautiful. John liked him because he was not introspective or -self-critical and quite free from self-consciousness. Moreover he was a -fellow culprit, who was making the same daring attempt as John to work -his way out of the lower class, but entirely lacked the consciousness -of guilt which persecuted the latter. - -One day this friend, whose name was Albert, came to him and said -that he was going to Copenhagen to visit Thorwaldsen's Museum. An -enterprising speculator had arranged a trip there through the canal -and back by sea for a very small fare. "You come too," he said, and it -was soon settled that John should accompany him with one of the boys. -The occasion of the expedition was the crown princess's entry into -Copenhagen, but that was a secondary object in the eyes of the pilgrims -to Thorwaldsen's tomb. - -On an August evening John sat on the poop of the steamer with the -sculptor, one of the boys and a school friend of his. In the twilight -which had already fallen one saw ladies and gentlemen coming on board. -The society seemed to be first-class. Stout fathers of families with -field-glasses and tourist knapsacks, ladies in summer dresses and hats -of the latest fashion. There was a bustle and stir, as each sought a -sleeping-place which was guaranteed to all. John and his companions sat -quietly waiting. They had their provisions and rugs and feared nothing. -When the steamer had started and the confusion had ceased, John said, -"Now we will have some bread and butter before we lie down." - -They looked for their knapsacks and the provision basket, but they were -not to be found. They discovered that they had not come with them. This -was a hard blow, for they had only a little cash and they had counted -on the excellent provisions which the doctor's wife had put up for -them. Accordingly they had to eat from the sculptor's box, which only -contained poor dry victuals. - -Then they wanted to lie down. On all sides people were asking for -sleeping-places, but could not find any. The passengers were in an -uproar and there was a storm of curses. They had therefore to sit on -deck; there were inquiries for the organiser of the expedition, but he -was not on board. John lay down on the bare deck and the boys drew a -tarpaulin over themselves, for the dew was falling and it was bitterly -cold. They awoke at Soedertelje, freezing, for the sailors had taken -away the tarpaulin. - -On the canal bank there now appeared the organiser of the excursion, -who was an upholsterer. The passengers rushed at him, drew him on -board, and loaded him with reproaches. He defended himself and tried -to land again, but in vain. A court martial was held; they resolved -to continue their journey, but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. -The steamer went on through the canal, but as it was passing through a -lock, the man-swung himself up on the dam and disappeared amid a hail -of curses. - -The journey was continued and by midday they were in the Gotha canal. -Dinner was laid on the poop. John and his companions ensconced -themselves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a simple meal out -of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, who had slept on a bale do mu in -the luggage-hold, was in a good humour and knew all the passengers' -characters and names. - -The dinner-table was now crowded. It was presided over by a master -chimney-sweep with his family. Then there came pawnbrokers, -public-house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with their families, -a number of young shop boys and some girls. John suffered when he saw -stewed perch and strawberries together with claret and sherry, for he -had been so spoilt by luxury that simple food made him poorly. This -was the "upper class" among the passengers. The master chimney-sweep -played the grand gentleman, he made a grimace at the claret and scolded -the waitress who said that the restaurant-keeper was responsible. The -porter from the Record Office affected the learned man, and as an -official seemed to look down on the "Philistines." - -While the sherry circulated, speeches were made. The lower class -from the fore-deck hung on the gunwales and hand-rails and listened. -The pariahs in the lifeboat were ignored. People knew that they were -there, but did not see them. They may very likely have wished the -"white cap" away, for there were two eyes under its peak, which saw -that they were no better than himself. John felt that. He had just -emerged from this class to which he belonged by birth, but he had no -food and was nothing. He felt his inferiority and his superiority; and -their superiority. They had worked; therefore they ate. Yes, but he -had worked as much as they, though not in the same way. He had derived -honour from his work, while they took the good eating and dispensed -with the honour. One could not have both. - -The people sat there satisfied and happy, drank their coffee and -liqueurs, and occupied the whole poop. They now became bold and made -remarks over those in the lifeboat, who could only suffer in silence, -because the others were in the majority and the upper class, for they -were consumers. - -John felt himself in an element which was not his. There was an -atmosphere of hostility about him, and he felt depressed. There were -no police on board to help him, no arbitration to appeal to, and if -there were a quarrel, all would condemn him. There only needed a sharp -retort on his part, and he would be struck. "The deuce!" he thought, -"it would be better to obey officers and officials; they would never -be such tyrants as these democrats." Later on, at Albert's advice, he -sought to approach them, but they were inaccessible. - -Further on during the voyage between Venersborg and Goeteborg the -explosion came. John and his companions' hunger increased so much that -one day they determined to go down to the dining-saloon and eat some -bread and butter. It was so full of people eating and drinking that -they could hardly find room. John's pupil, according to the custom of -his class, kept his hat on. The master chimney-sweep noticed this. -"Hullo!" he said, "is the ceiling too high for you?" - -The boy seemed not to understand him. - -"Take your hat off, boy!" he shouted again. - -The hat remained as it was. A shop assistant knocked it off. The boy -picked up the hat, and put it again on his head. Then the storm burst. -They all rushed on him like one man and knocked the hat off. Then they -went for John, "And such a young devil has a tutor who cannot teach -boys to know their proper place! We know well enough who _you_ are." -Then they rained abuse on his parents. John tried to inform them that -in the social circles to which the boy belonged, it was the custom to -keep one's hat on in public places, and that he had not intended any -expression of contempt by it. But his explanation was ill-received. -What did he mean by "those circles"? What nonsense he talked! Did he -want to teach them manners? And so on. - -Yes, he could; for it was precisely from these circles that they had -learnt five-and-twenty years ago to take their hats off, which was no -longer the custom, and he could have told them that in twenty-five -years more they would keep their hats on as soon as they got wind that -_that_ was the fashion. But they had not discovered it yet. - -John and his friends went again on deck. "One cannot argue with these -people," he said. - -His nerves were shaken by the scene just witnessed. He had seen an -outbreak of class-hatred and the flashing eyes of people whom he had -not injured; he had felt the foot of the upper class of the future upon -his breast. They had become his enemies; the bridge between him and -them was broken down; but the tie of blood remained and he cherished -the same hatred towards aristocratic society, and its unjust ascendency -as they did; he felt the same grudge against the conventions before -which they all had to bow; yes, he had Karl Moor's replies in his mind, -but those who had just defeated him were all Spiegelbergers.[1] If they -got the upper hand they would trample on all,--great and small; if he -got the upper hand, he would only trample on the great. That was the -difference between them. It was, however, education which had made him -more democratic than they; he would therefore side with the educated. -They would work for those below, but from a distance, and from above. -One could not handle this raw uncouth mass. - -The stay on board was now intolerable. An outbreak might take place at -any moment. And it came. - -They were now in the Kattegat, and John was sitting on the upper deck -when he heard a loud noise beneath him of voices and cries. He thought -he recognised his pupil's voice, and rushed down. On the middle deck -stood the accused surrounded by a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms -about and shouted. John asked what the matter was. - -"He has stolen my cap," shouted the pawnbroker. - -"I don't believe it possible," said John. - -"Yes, I saw it; he has put it in this clothes bag." - -It was John's bag. "That is mine," said John. "You can look into it -yourself." He opened the bag and there lay the pawnbroker's cap! There -was general excitement. John stood convicted and a storm was on the -point of breaking out against the two thieves. A student who stole! -That was a bonne bouche. How had it happened? Now John remembered. He -had a grey cap similar to the pawnbroker's which he used to sleep in -at night. He had told the boy to put it in his bag; the boy had taken -the wrong one. John turned to the foredeck passengers: "Gentlemen," he -began, "do you think it likely that a rich man's son would go and take -a greasy cap when he has a perfectly new one? Do you not see that there -has been a mistake?" - -"Yes," said the plebeians, "there has." - -Only the pawnbroker was obstinate and stuck to his statement. - -"Then it only remains for me to beg this gentleman's pardon for the -mistake, and I ask my pupil to do the same." - -The latter did so, though unwillingly. There was general satisfaction -and a murmured opinion that he had "spoken like a gentleman." The -matter was fortunately settled. - -"You see," said John to the boy, "the people are open to reason after -all!" - -"Bah! That was only because they felt flattered at being called -gentlemen,--the cursed rabble!" - -"Perhaps," answered John, who felt that he had been sufficiently -humiliated for such a trifle. - -At last they reached Copenhagen. Hungry, freezing, and in the worst of -humours they sat in the rain outside the Thorwaldsen Museum, which was -closed on account of the festivities. But Albert swore he would get -in. After they had waited for an hour with the master chimney-sweep, -the public-house keeper, and all the other passengers there came an -old man who looked learned and wished to enter. Albert rushed after -him, mentioned the name of Molins, the Swedish sculptor, and they got -in, leaving the other passengers outside. Albert was delighted, and -could not help making a face at the master chimney-sweep who remained -outside. But the one who enjoyed it most was the young sinner, who -hated the mob. - -"Now we are gentlemen," he said. - -John was not in the mood to enjoy Thorwaldsen's works. He regarded -him as an average artist talented enough to win fame. Albert found -the antiques too elaborate, but did not dare to criticise them. -They did not witness the royal entry, but sat on the tower of the -Fruekirke and looked at the view. At nightfall, when they felt tired -and exhausted, they wanted to go down to the steamer to sleep, but it -had gone to Malmoe. They stood in the street in the rain. They could -not go to an hotel, for they had no money. Albert resolved to go to a -public-house and ask for a night's lodging. They found a sailors' inn -near the public-house. The landlord said it was only for seamen, but -they answered that they must have shelter. They were taken into a back -room where there were two camp-beds, but a basin was not to be seen. -The walls were unpapered and looked shabby. In one of the beds lay a -sailor. Who was to be his bed-fellow? Albert undertook that, and slept -with the stranger, who was a Dutchman. So they all went to sleep, John -cursing the whole adventure, for the bed-clothes were malodorous. - -The return voyage home by sea was one long penance. Without provisions -and hardly any money they had to sustain life on raw eggs which they -bought in the small towns they touched at. These along with stale -bread and brandy, composed their diet for three days. Albert alone -was cheerful and enjoyed himself. He slept on the poop with the -passengers and amused them with stories; he was akin to them, and knew -their language. He drank with them and got hot food; he even went into -the kitchen sometimes and begged himself a plate of soup. "How easily -he takes life!" thought John. "He does not miss luxuries, for he has -never known them; he will never be expelled as an intruder when he -approaches people; he feasts while others starve, and sees only friends -everywhere. But his day will come when he will no longer be one of the -lower class, when luxury and refined habits will make him as helpless -and unfortunate as me." - -When he got home he was furious. So it was everywhere. Those who were -above trampled on those below, and those who were below tried to -pull one back when one tried to mount. What was the meaning of all -this talk about aristocrats and democrats? The lower class spoke of -their democratic way of thinking, as though it were a virtue. What -virtue is there in hating those who are above? What is the meaning of -"aristocrat"? [Greek: Aristos] means the best, and [Greek: krateo] "I -rule." Therefore an aristocrat is one who wishes that the best should -rule and a democrat one who wishes that the worst should do so. But -then comes the question: Who are really the best? Are a low social -position, poverty and ignorance things that make men better? No, for -then one would not try to do away with poverty and ignorance. Into -whose hands then should men commit political power, with the knowledge -that it would be in the hands of the least mischievous? Into the hands -of those who knew most? Then one would have professorial government, -and Upsala would be--no, not the professors! To whom then should power -be given? He could not answer, but certainly not to the chimney-sweep -and cab-owner who were on the steamer. - -On this occasion he did not go deeper into the matter, for the question -had not yet been raised whether the same culture could not be imparted -to every one, or whether there need be any governing body at all. - -He had come across the worst aristocracy of all, the upper stratum -of the lower class, or, to name them by their usual ugly title, "the -Philistines." They were a bad copy of the aristocracy; they sided with -the powerful, aped the habits of their superiors, grew rich by others' -labours, quoted authorities and hated opposition with the exception of -their silent opposition to those above them. The master chimney-sweep -made money through the toil of the abjectly poor, the cab-owner through -the wretched cabbies and hacks, the pawnbroker wrung unrighteous -gain from the need of the poverty-stricken, and so on, everywhere. -A teacher, on the other hand, a doctor, an artist, could not depute -slaves to his work; he must do it himself, and was therefore not such -a shark as those below. If, then, culture brought men happiness and -made them better, then the aristocracy were justified and beneficent, -and could regard themselves as better than those below. Yes, but one -could buy culture for money, could beg or borrow the means for it, -as so many students did, and there was no virtue in that at any rate. -Yet one could not help feeling superior to others when one knew more -and observed the laws of social life so as to injure no one. All that -remained for the real democracy was to reduce everything to a dead -level, so that no one need feel themselves below, and no one could -think they were above. - - -[1] _Vide_ Schiller's "Robbers." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -BEHIND THE CURTAIN - -(1869) - - -The Swedish theatre was at this time exposed to many attacks, and when -is a theatre not in that condition? The theatre is a miniature society -within society, with a monarch, ministers, officials, and a whole -number of classes, ranged above one another in ranks. Is it any wonder -that this society is always exposed to the attacks of the malcontents? -But at this period the attacks had a more practical object. A former -provincial actor had written a pamphlet against the Theatre Royal, of -little real importance, but with the result that the author was invited -to a seat on the board of directors. This aroused imitators, and many -published treatises in order to attain the same result. - -As a matter of fact, the Theatre Royal was neither better nor worse -than it had been before. "But," it was asked, "if the theatre is -an institution supported by subscriptions for forwarding culture, -why set an uncultivated person at the head of it?" To this it was -answered, "We have just had one of the most learned men in the country -as director, and how did that answer? Although he had the advantage -of plebeian birth he was worried to death by the democratic press, -which incessantly carped at him." At last, in our time, the utopia of -self-government has been realised, the theatre has a man from the lower -classes at its head, and there is general satisfaction. - -On the day fixed, John went to the theatre in order to announce his -intention of making his debut. After some delay, he was sent for and -asked his business. - -"I want to make my debut." - -"Oh! have you studied any special character?" - -"Karl Moor in 'The Robbers,'" he answered more defiantly than was -necessary. - -They looked at each other and smiled. "But one must have three roles; -have you got no other to suggest?" - -"Lucidor!" - -There was a consultation, and John was informed that these dramas were -not now in the repertory of the theatre. He objected that this was not -a sufficient reason for his not undertaking those roles, but received -the perfectly fair answer, that the theatre could not stage such -important dramas and disarrange its programme for untried debutants. -Then the director proposed to John that he should take the role of the -"Warrior of Ravenna." But after the great success which had attended -the last actor of that part, he dared not. They finally suggested that -he should have a talk with the literary manager. Then began a battle -which was probably not the first or the last which had taken place in -that room. - -"Be reasonable, sir; one must study this profession like all others. No -one becomes an adept all of a sudden. Creep before you walk. Undertake -at first a minor role." - -"No, the role must be great enough to sustain me. In a minor role one -must be a great artist in order to attract attention." - -"Yes, but listen to me, sir; I have experience." - -"Yes, but others have made their debut in leading parts, without having -been on the stage before." - -"But you will break your neck." - -"Very well, then! I will!" - -"Yes, but the board of directors will not give the best stage in the -country to the first chance aspirant to make experiments on." - -That seemed reasonable. He therefore consented to undertake a minor -role. He was given the part of Haerved Boson in Hedberg's _Marriage of -Ulfosa_. - -John read over the part at home, and was astonished. It was quite -insignificant. He only had a few quarrels with his brother-in-law and -then embraced his wife. But he had to undertake the part, as he had -agreed to do. - -The rehearsals began. To have to shout out empty words without meaning -was repugnant to him. - -After some trials the teacher declared that he had no more time and -recommended John to take lessons in the Dramatic Academy. - -"But I won't be a pupil," he said. - -"No, of course." - -They talked of the Dramatic Academy, as of an elementary or Sunday -School; all kinds of pupils were accepted whether they had any -education or not. John did not intend to become a pupil, but went -just to listen. He went there reluctantly. Accustomed to be a teacher -himself, he was received as a sort of honorary guest, and sat down, but -attracted an uncomfortable amount of attention. The hour was passed in -reciting "Vintergatan," which he knew by heart, and some other pieces -of verse. - -"But one can't learn anything for the stage here," he ventured to say -to the teacher. - -"Well! come on the stage, and try before the footlights." - -"How can I do that?" - -"As a supernumerary actor." - -"Supernumerary! H'm! That is like going downhill before beginning," -thought John. But he determined to go through with it. One morning he -received an invitation to try a part in Bjoernson's _Maria Stuart_. -The theatre messenger gave him a little blue note-book on which was -written, "A nobleman," and inside, on a white sheet of paper, "The -Lords have sent an intermediary with a challenge to Count Both well." -That was the whole part! Such was to be his debut! - -At the appointed time he went up the little back stairs, passed the -door-keeper and came on the stage. It was the first time that he was -behind the scenes, and saw the reverse of the medal. The stage looked -like a great warehouse with black walls; a cracked and dirty floor like -that of a hay loft, and grey linen screens mounted on rough wood. - -It was here that he had seen represented majestic scenes from the -world's history; here Masaniello had shouted "Death to Tyrants" while -John stood trembling at the end of the fourth row among the audience; -here Hamlet had given vent to his scorn and suffered his sorrows, and -from here Karl Moor had defied society and the whole world. John felt -alarmed. How could one preserve the illusion hero in sight of the -unpainted wood and the grey canvas? Everything looked dusty and dirty; -the workmen were poor melancholy devils, and the actors and actresses -looked insignificant in their ordinary clothes. - -He was led into the lobby where they were going to dance for -half-an-hour the gavotte, which introduced the play. It was broad -daylight. The old music teacher sat on a chair and played the viol. The -ballet-master shouted, struck his hands together and arranged them in -their places. "I didn't bargain for this," thought John, but it was too -late. So he found himself in the midst of a complicated dance which he -did not know, and was pushed about and scolded. "No, I am not going to -do this," he thought, but he could not get out of it. - -A feeling of shame came over him. Dancing in the day-time was not a -seemly occupation. And then to descend from teacher to pupil, and be -the last here; he had never before gone back so far. - -The bell rang for the rehearsal, and they were driven on the stage. -Then they were arranged for the gavotte. By the footlights stood the -chief actors who had the important roles; and behind them the rest in -two lines occupied the background. - -The orchestra struck up and the dance began in slow solemn rhythm. From -the footlights were heard the deep voices of the two Puritans lamenting -the depravity of the court. - -_Lindsay_. "Look! the dancing lines wind like snakes in the sun. -Listen! the music plays with the flames of hell! The devil's roar of -laughter is in it." - -_Andrew Kerr_. "Hush, hush; the penalty will overwhelm them as the sea -overwhelmed Pharaoh's army." - -_Lindsay_. "Look, how they whisper! The infecting breath of sin! See -their voluptuous smiles; see the ladies' frivolous gowns." - -_Citizen_. "All that Knox preaches is wasted on this court." - -_Lindsay_. "He is as the prophet in Israel, he does not speak in vain; -for the Lord Himself shall perform His word upon the ungodly race." - -The piece had an arresting effect, and John felt it. The men actors had -their hats, overcoats and sticks, and the women their cloaks and muffs, -but still the drama was impressive in its simple greatness. He stood in -the wings and listened to the whole of it; Mary Stuart did not please -him; she was cruel and coquettish; Bothwell was too rough and strong; -his favourite was Darnley, the weak, Hamlet-like man whose love to this -woman continued to burn in spite of unfaithfulness, scorn, malice and -everything. Knox was as hard as stone with his Puritanism and gloomy -Christianity. - -It was after all something to step forward and enact a piece of history -in the garb of such persons. There was something solemn about it as he -had felt before in the church. After he had gone on the stage and made -his speech he went away firmly resolved to bear all on behalf of sacred -art. - -He had thus taken the decisive step. To his father he had written a -high-flown letter, and declared that he would either become something -great in the career which he had now entered or would retire from it -altogether; he had resolved not to go home till he had succeeded. The -doctor was sorry but made no fuss, for he saw it was impossible to -stop him. But he had other secret plans for saving him which he now -began to set in motion. In the first place he induced John to translate -one or two medical pamphlets for which he had found a publisher. Now -he came with a proposal that they should together write articles for -the _Aftonbladet (Evening New's_). John for his part had translated -Schiller's essay, _The Theatre Regarded as a Moral Institution_, and as -the subject of the theatre had now conic up in the Reichstag the doctor -wrote an introduction to it in which he seriously expostulated with -the Agrarian party on their indifference to culture. The whole article -was inserted. Another day the doctor came with a member of the medical -journal, the _Lancet_, which treated of the question whether women were -fit for a medical career. Without hesitation and instinctively John -decided against it. He had an indescribable reverence for women as -woman, mother and wife, but as a matter of fact, society was founded -upon the man regarded as provider for the family, and upon the woman -as wife and mother; thus man had a full right to his work-market and -all the duties involved in it. Every occupation taken from the man -would mean a marriage less or one more overworked family-provider, for -the impulse to marry was so strong in men that they would not cease -to marry, however great the difficulties in which they might become -involved. Moreover women had abundant opportunities of work; they -could become servants, house-keepers, governesses, teachers, midwives, -seamstresses, actresses, artists, authoresses, queens, empresses, -besides wives and mothers. Many of these vocations were also open to -the unmarried. Anything more than this was an encroachment on the man's -territory. If the woman did that, the man should be free from the cares -of providing for the family, and inquiries after paternity should not -be made. But society would not consent to that. On the contrary it -began to persecute the prostitutes by way of forcing men to marry. Once -caught in the snares of the married women's property law, they would -sink to the level of domestic slaves. - -John instinctively took sides in this complicated problem, which was -destined to take many years to solve, and wrote against the women's -movement, which he saw would involve, if victorious, man's overthrow. -The movement for the emancipation of women had during the fifties, -assumed the wildest forms, and the war-cry, "No lords! No lords!" had -shown the true nature of the movement, which had also been ridiculed -by Rudolf Wall in his comedy, _Miss Garibaldi_. But while years went -on, the women had worked in silence. - -Great therefore was the surprise of the doctor and John when they found -their article in the _Aftonbladet_ so altered that it seemed in favour -of the movement. "The editor is under the thumbs of women," said the -doctor, and thereby the matter was explained. - -Meanwhile John's theatrical career approached a crisis. He had been -sent into a green room where brandy was drunk and everything was dirty, -to put on his clothes with the supernumeraries. "They want to humiliate -me," he thought, "but patience!" - -Now he was simply appointed as supernumerary in one opera after the -other. He declared that he feared neither the footlights nor the -public after having preached in church, but it was no good. The worst -was, having to lounge about at the rehearsals for hours together with -nothing to do. If he read a book, he was told he had no interest in the -play, and if he went away, an outcry was raised. - -In the Theatrical Academy roles were merely learnt by heart. Children -who had only gone through an elementary school, began to read Goethe's -_Faust_, naturally without understanding anything of it. But curiously -enough, their very boldness saved them; they got on so well that one -was inclined to think there was no need for an actor to understand -anything, if only he could say his piece fluently. After a few -months John was sick of it all. It was all mechanical. The greatest -actors were blase and indifferent, never spoke of art, but only of -engagements and honorariums. There was no trace of the gay life behind -the scenes, of which so much had been written. They sat silent waiting -for their turns to come; the dancers and actresses in their costumes, -sewing and stitching. In the lobby the actors went about on tip-toe, -looked at the clock and put on their false beards, without speaking a -word. - -One evening, when _Maria Stuart_ was being acted, John sat alone in -the lobby reading a paper. The actor Dahlqvist, who was taking the -part of John Knox, came in. John, who cherished a deep admiration -for the great actor, stood up and bowed. If he could only speak with -such a man. He trembled at the very thought. Knox, with his venerable -long white hair, his black dress, and his great eyes half-sunk in his -powerful deeply-lined face, sat down at the table. He yawned. "What is -the time?" he asked in a sepulchral tone. John answered that it was -half-past ten, unbuttoning his Burgundian velvet jacket to look for the -watch which was not there. - -"The time is going devilish slow this evening," said Knox and yawned -again. Then he began to retail bits of gossip. He was only a ruin of -his former greatness when his acting of Karl Moor had cast all his -rivals into the shade. He too had seen through everything and was weary -of it all. And yet he had once thought so highly of his art. - -Since John had now the right of free entrance into the theatre he -tried to study acting from the auditorium. But behold! the illusion -was gone! There was Mr. So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so, there was the -background for _Quentin Durward_, there sat Hoegfelt, and there behind -the scenes, stood Boberg. There was no further possibility of illusion. - -He was sick of the wretched role which he had to repeat continually. -But he also felt remorse and feared that he could not retire from the -game honourably. At last he plucked up courage and demanded a leading -part. The piece in which it occurred had already been performed fifty -times, and the chief actors were tired of it, but they had to come. The -rehearsal took place without costumes or scenery. John was accustomed -to the declamatory manner usual then, and shouted like a preacher. It -was a failure. After the rehearsal the head of the theatrical academy -pronounced his verdict and advised John to enter it for a course of -training, but he would not. He wept for rage, went home and took an -opium pill which he had long kept by him, but without effect; then a -friend took him out and he got intoxicated. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR - -(1869) - - -The next morning he felt in a state of complete collapse. His nerves -still trembled and his body felt the fever of shame and intoxication. -What should he do? He must save his honour. He must still hold out -for two or three months and try again. That day he remained at home -and read _The Stories of a Barber-Surgeon_. As he read it seemed -to him that they recorded his own experience; they were about the -reconciliation of a step-son to his step-mother. The breach in -his domestic life had always weighed upon him like a sin, and he -longed for reconciliation and peace. That day this longing took an -unusually melancholy form, and as he lay on the sofa, his brain began -to evolve various plans for smoothing away the domestic discord. A -woman-worshipper as he then was, and under the influence of the book he -had been reading, he thought that only a woman could reconcile him with -his father. This noble role he assigned to his step-mother. - -While thus tying on the sofa he felt an unusual degree of fever, -during which his brain seemed to work at arranging memories of the -past, cutting out some scenes, and adding others. New minor characters -entered; he saw them mixing in the action, and heard them speaking, -just as he had done on the stage. After one or two hours had passed, -he had a comedy in two acts ready in his head. This was both a painful -and pleasurable form of work if it could be called a work; for it went -forward of itself, without his will or co-operation. - -But now he had to write it. In four days the piece was ready. He kept -on going from the writing-table to the sofa and back; and in the -intervals of his work, he collapsed like a rag. When the work was -finished, he drew a deep sigh of relief, as though years of pain were -over, as though a tumour had been cut out. He was so glad, that he felt -as though some one was singing within him. Now he would offer his piece -to the theatre;--that was the way of salvation. The same evening he -sat down to write a note of congratulation to a relative who had found -a situation. When he had written the first line, it seemed to him to -read like a verse. Then he added the second line which rhymed with the -first. Was it no harder than that? Then with a single effort he wrote a -four-page letter in rhyme and discovered that he could write verse. Was -it no harder than that? Only a few months before he had asked a friend -to help him with some verses for a special occasion. He had, however, -received a negative but complimentary answer, in being told not to -drive in a hired carriage, when he had one of his own. - -One was not then born to write verses, he said to himself, nor did one -learn it, though all kinds of verse-measures were taught in school, -but it came,--or did not come. It seemed to him like the working of -the Holy Spirit. Had the psychical convulsion, which he had felt at -his defeat as an actor, been so strong that it had turned upside down -all the strata of his memories and impressions, and had the violent -impulse set his imagination to work? There had doubtless been a long -preparation going on. Was it not his imagination, which had conjured up -pictures, when as a child he had been afraid of the dark? Had he not -written essays in school and letters for years? Had he not formed his -style through reading, translating and writing for the papers? Yes, he -had, but it was not till now that he noticed in himself the so-called -creative power of the artist. - -The art of the actor was therefore not the one suited to his powers; -his having thought so was a mistake which could easily be rectified. -Meanwhile he must keep his authorship fairly secret and remain at the -theatre till the end of the season, so that his failure as an actor -might not be known, or at any rate till his piece was accepted, as it -naturally would be, for he thought it good. - -But he wished to make sure of it, and for that purpose invited two -of his learned friends outside the theatrical circle. In the evening -before they came, he arranged the lumber-room which he had hired in -the doctor's house. He tidied it up, lighted two candles instead of -the study lamp, covered the table with a clean cloth and set on it a -punch-bowl with glass, ash-trays and matches. This was the first time -he had entertained guests, and the experience was novel and strange. - -The work of an author has often been compared to childbirth, and the -comparison has something to justify it. He felt a kind of peace like -that which follows parturition; something or some one seemed to be -there which, or who, was not there before; there had been suffering and -crying and now there was silence and peace. He felt in a festival mood -as he used to do in the old times at home; the children were in their -Sunday best, and their father in his black frock coat cast a last look -round on the arrangements before the guests came. - -His friends arrived and he read the piece through in silence till the -end. They gave their verdict, and John was greeted by his elders as an -author. - -When they had gone, he fell on his knees on the floor, and thanked -God for having delivered him from difficulty and bestowed on him the -gift of poetry. His communion with God had been very irregular; it -was a curious fact, that in cases of great necessity he rallied his -powers within himself and did not cry to the Lord at all; but on joyful -occasions, on the other hand, he involuntarily felt the need of at once -thanking the Giver of all good. It was just the contrary to what it had -been in his childhood, and that was natural since his idea of God had -developed into that of the Author and Giver of all good things, whereas -the God of his childhood had been a God of terror whose hand was full -of misfortunes. - -At last he had found his calling, his true role in life and his -wavering character began to develop a backbone. He had a pretty good -idea now of what he wanted, and this gave him at least a rudder to -steer by. Now he pushed off from land to go for a long voyage, but -always ready to tack when he encountered too strong a head wind,--not, -however, to fall to leeward, but the next moment to luff his ship up to -the wind with bellying sails. - -By writing this comedy, he had now relieved himself of his domestic -troubles. He next described the religious conflicts he remembered so -vividly in a three-act play. This lightened the ship considerably. - -His creative energy during this period was immense. He had the writing -fever daily; within two months he composed two comedies and a rhymed -tragedy, besides occasional verses. The tragedy was his first real -"work of art," as the phrase is, for it did not deal with any of his -subjective experiences. "Sinking Hellas" was the not inconsiderable -theme. The composition was finished and clear, but the situations were -somewhat threadbare, and there was a good deal of declamation. The -only original elements in it were an austere moral tone and contempt -for uncultured demagogues. Thus, for instance, he introduced an old -man inveighing against the immorality and want of patriotism of the -youth of the time. He made Demosthenes speak disparagingly of a -demagogue, and express something of what he had felt towards the master -chimney-sweep and pawnbroker on the journey to Copenhagen. The head -of the Theatrical Academy also got a rap over the knuckles because -he had often lamented over John's "lack of culture." The piece was -aristocratic in tone, and the freedom celebrated in it was that which -was the object of aspiration in the sixties,--national freedom. - -Meanwhile he had sent his domestic comedy anonymously to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. While it was under consideration, he -went on cheerfully with his work as supernumerary actor. "Just you -wait!" he said to himself, "then my turn will come and I shall have a -word to say in the matter." He was now quite cool on the stage, and -felt, even when dressed as a peasant youth in _Wilhelm Tell_, like a -prince in disguise. "I am certainly no swineherd, though you may think -so," he hummed to himself. - -He had to wait long for an answer about his piece. At last he lost -patience and revealed himself as the author to the head of the -Theatrical Academy. The latter had read the piece and found talent in -it, but said it could not be played. This was not a great blow for him, -for he still had the tragedy in reserve. That was better received, but -he was told it needed remodelling here and there. - -One evening when the Academy closed, the head instructor expressed a -wish to speak with John. "Now we see what you are good for," he said. -"You have a fine career in front of you; why should you choose an -inferior one? You can become an actor probably if you work for some -years, but why toil at this thankless task? Go back to Upsala and take -your degree if you can. Then become an author, for one must first have -experiences in order to write well." - -To become an author,--that John agreed with, and also with the -suggestion that he should give up the theatre; but as for returning to -Upsala,--no! He hated the university, and did not see how the useless -things one learnt there could help him as an author; he rather needed -to study life at first hand. But then he began to reflect, and when -he considered that, at present, he could get no piece of his accepted -so as to serve as a plank to save himself by, he grasped at the other -straw,--Upsala. There was no disgrace in becoming a student again, and -at the theatre they knew that he was not only an unsuccessful debutant, -but also an author. - -At the same time he learnt that there was a legacy due to him from his -mother of a few hundred kronas. With them he could support himself for -a half-year at the university. He went to his father, not as a prodigal -son, but as a promising author, and as a creditor. There was a vehement -dispute between them which ended in John receiving his legacy. He had -now conceived the plan of a tragedy with the startling title "Jesus of -Nazareth." It dealt in dramatic form with the life of Christ, and was -intended, with one blow and once for all, to shatter the divine image -and eradicate Christianity. But when he had completed some scenes, he -saw that the subject-matter was too great and would demand prolonged -and tedious study. - -The theatrical season now approached its end. The Theatrical Academy -gave their customary stage performance. John had received no role in -it, but undertook the task of prompter. And his career as an actor -closed in the prompter's box. To this was reduced his ambition of -acting Karl Moor on the stage of the Great Theatre! Did he deserve this -fate? Was he worse equipped for acting than the rest? That was probably -not so, but the question was never decided. - -In the evening after the performance, a dinner was given to the -Academy pupils. John was invited and made a speech in verse in order -to make his exit seem as little like a fiasco as possible. He became -intoxicated, as usual, behaved foolishly and disappeared from the -scene. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE "RUNA" CLUB - -(1870) - - -The Upsala of the sixties showed signs of the end and dissolution of a -period which might be called the Bostroemic.[1] In what relation does -the philosophic system which prevails in a given period stand to the -period itself? The system seems like a collection of the thoughts of -the period at a particular point of time. The philosopher does not -make the period, but the period makes the philosopher. He collects all -the thoughts of his period and thereby exercises an influence on it, -and with the close of the period his influence ends. The Bostroemic -philosophy had three defects; it wished to be definitely Swedish; -it came too late; and it wished to outlive its period. To attempt -to construct a purely Swedish philosophy was absurd, for that meant -trying to break loose from the connection with the great mother-stem -which grows on the Continent and only sends out seeds towards the -Northern peninsula. The attempt came too late, for time is necessary to -construct a system, and before the system was constructed, the period -had passed. Bostroem, as a philosopher, was not, as it were, shot out -of a cannon. All knowledge is collecting-work, and is coloured by -the personality of the collector. Bostroem was a branch grown out of -Kant and Hegel, watered by Biberg and Grubbe, and finally producing -some offshoots of his own. That was all. He seems to have derived -his fundamental principle from Krause's Pantheism, which itself was -an attempt to unite the philosophy of Kant and Fichte with that of -Schelling and Hegel. This eclecticism had been already attempted by -Grubbe. Bostroem first studied theology, and this seemed to have a -hampering effect on his mind when he wrote about speculative theology. -His moral philosophy he derived from Kant. To call him an original -philosopher is provincial patriotism. His influence did not reach -beyond the frontiers of Sweden, nor did it outlast the sixties. His -political system was already antiquated in 1865, when the students out -of reverence for the philosopher, had still to declare, conformably to -his textbook, that the representation of the four estates was the only -reasonable one--a doctrine which was subsequently contradicted in the -college lectures. - -How did Bostroem come by such an idea? Can one draw an inference from -the accidental circumstance that he, a poor man's son from Norrland, -came into too close touch with King John and his court, in his capacity -of tutor to the princes? Could the philosopher escape the common lot -of generalising in _certain_ respects, from his own predilections and -current time-sanctioned ideas? Probably not. Bostroem as an idealist -was subjective--so subjective that he denied reality an independent -existence, declaring that, "to be is to be perceived (by men)." The -world of phenomena therefore, according to him, exists only in and -through our perceptions. The error of the deduction was overlooked, and -it was a double one. The system rested on an unproved assumption, and -had to be corrected; it is true that the phenomenal world only exists -for its through our perception, but that does not prevent its existing -for itself without our perception. In fact science has demonstrated -that the earth already existed with a very high degree of organic life, -before any one was there to perceive it. - -Bostroem broke with ecclesiastical Christianity, but, like Kant and -the later evolutionist philosophers, retained Christian morality. -Kant had been arrested in the bold progress of his thought by a want -of psychological knowledge, and had simply laid down as axioms the -categorical imperative and the practical postulate. The moral law, -which depends on the epoch and changes with it, received in his system -quite a Christian colouring as God's command. Bostroem was still -"under the law"; he judged the moral worth or baseness of an action -simply by its motives; according to him the only satisfactory motive -is that regard for the spiritual nature of duty which is revealed in -conscience. But there are as many consciences as there are religions -and races; therefore his moral system was quite sterile. - -Bostroem's importance for theological development only consisted in -his coming forward against Bishop Beckman in the discussion regarding -the doctrine of hell (1864), although that doctrine had recently been -rejected by the cultivated with the assistance of the rationalists. -On the other hand Bostroem was obstructive in his pamphlets _The -Irresponsibility and Divine Right of the King_ and _Are the Estates of -the Realm Justified in Resolving on and Carrying Out the Change in the -So-called (!) Representation of the People_? (1865). - -In his capacity as an idealist, Bostroem is, for the present generation, -not only without significance, but positively reactionary. He is -nothing but a necessary link in the worthless reactionary philosophy -which followed with such fatal obscurantism the "illuminative" -philosophy of the eighteenth century. He has lived and is dead. Peace -to his ashes! - -Literature ought to be another barometer for testing the atmosphere of -any given period. And in order to be that, it must be free to deal with -the questions of that period; but this, the then prevailing aesthetic -theories forbade. - -Poetry ought to be and was (according to Bostroem) a recreation like the -other fine arts. Under such a theory and influenced by the prevalent -idolatry of the "ego," poetry became merely lyrical, expressing -the poet's small personal feelings and inclination, and reflecting -therefore only some of the features of the period, and those perhaps, -not the most important. Only two names in the poetry of the sixties -were of importance--Snoilsky and Bjoerck. Snoilsky was "awake," to use -a pietistic expression, Bjoerck was dead. Both were born poets, as the -saying is; that is to say, their talents showed themselves earlier -than usual. Both attained distinction while still at school, early won -honour and renown, and by birth and position were enabled to view life -from its sunny heights. Snoilsky, without knowing it, was under the -power of the spirit of the new age. Freed from the fear of hell and -monkish morality, experiencing the retrenchment of his privileges as a -nobleman, he gave free play both to mind and body. In his first poems -he was a revolutionary and praised the cap of liberty; he preached the -emancipation of the flesh and had a certain dislike to over-culture as -a conventional restraint. But as a poet, he did not escape the poet's -tragic destiny--not to be taken seriously. Poetry in the eyes of the -public, was simply poetry, and Snoilsky was a poet. Bjoerck had a mind -which was not capable of receiving strong impressions. At peace with -himself, languid, complete from the beginning, he lived his life sunk -in his own reflections or noticed only the trifling events of the -outer world and described them neatly and correctly. In the opinion of -the great majority who live the peaceful life of automata his poetry -shows a remarkable degree of philanthropy. But why does not this -philanthropy extend itself further to large circles of men, and to -humanity at large? In the writer's opinion Bjoerck's philanthropy does -not extend beyond the limits of the personal quiet which the individual -attains when he ignores the duties of social life. He is satisfied -with the world because the world has been kind to him; he avoids -strife because it disturbs his own serenity. Bjoerck is an example of -the fortunate man whose life is not in conflict with his upbringing, -but who rather builds up stone by stone, on the foundation already -laid; everything proceeds in a workmanlike way by level and rule; the -house is finished, as it was designed, without the plan undergoing any -alteration. Stunted by domestic tyranny, tasting early the sweets -of homage and reverence, he ceased to grow. He accepted Bostroem's -compromise with Christianity without examining it, and in doing so, he -had finished his life-work. His poetry is especially praised for its -purity and spiritual character. What is this "purity" which in our -days is so sharply contrasted with the sensual? The secret is, that he -did not get her; just as Dante's heavenly love for Beatrice was due to -the same involuntary cause. Bjoerck therefore sang of the unattainable -with the quiet melancholy of unsatisfied love. But that, however, is no -virtue, and purity should be a virtue. - -In short, Bjoerck and Snoilsky sang of water and drank wine, and in this -were just the opposite to the poets of our time, who are said to sing -of wine and drink water. A poet's life always seems to be at variance -with his teachings. Why? Is it that, in composing, he wishes to escape -from his own personality, and find another? Is it a wish to disguise -himself? Or is it modesty, the fear of giving himself away, and of -self-exposure? This is a weighty problem for future psychologists to -unravel. - -Bjoerck composed poems both for the reformation of the constitution -in 1865, and for the restoration to power of the King. He saw harmony -everywhere, and when he celebrated the restored union between Sweden -and Norway in 1864, he was extremely melodious. He also praised -Abraham Lincoln; negro-emancipation and white slavery--that is the -ideal of freedom of the Holy Alliance! Revolution certainly, but legal -revolution by the will of God! Well, he knew no better, and few did at -that time. Therefore we do not judge the man but only his work, the -motives inspiring which are a matter of indifference to posterity. - -Young men read these poets, many of them with great edification. -They proclaimed no new era, but prophesied after the event that -now the millennium was come, the ideal realised, and lines of -demarcation obliterated once for all. They looked with satisfaction -on their creations, rubbed their hands, and found them all good. An -atmosphere of peace had spread itself over the whole of Upsala and -its neighbourhood; now one might sleep till Doomsday was the belief -of old and young. But then discordant sounds began to be heard, and -in the days of universal peace fire-beacons began to be seen on the -neighbouring mountain-tops. From Norway open water was signalled -and the revolving lights were kindled. Rome captured Greece, but -Greece re-captured Rome. Sweden had captured Norway, but now Norway -re-captured Sweden. Lorenz Dietrichson was appointed as professor -at the university of Upsala in 1861, and he was the forerunner of -Norwegian influence. He made Sweden acquainted with Danish and -Norwegian literature, then almost unknown, and founded the literary -society which produced poets like Snoilsky and Bjoerck. - -After Norway had broken loose from the Danish monarchy and had ceased -to be a branch of the head office in Copenhagen, it was not grafted -into Sweden but retreated into itself. At the same time it opened -direct communication with the continent. Its awakening to independence -was coincident with a strong stream of foreign influence. It was -Bjoernson who first roused Norway to self-consciousness; but when this -degenerated into a narrow patriotism, Ibsen came with the pruning -shears. - -As the strife became fiercer and Christiania would not lend itself -to be a field of battle, the conflict was transferred to hospitable -Sweden. The Norwegian wine was well adapted for exportation; pamphlets -grew in size as they travelled and in Sweden became literature. -Thoughts came to the top and personalities settled at the bottom of -the vessel. Ibsen and Bjoernson broke into Sweden; Tidemand and Gude -took prizes in the art exhibition of 1866; Kierulf and Nordraak were -authorities in singing and music. Then came Ibsen's _Brand_. This had -appeared in 1866, but John did not see it till 1869. It made a deep -impression on the primitive Christian side of him, but it was gloomy -and severe. The final utterance in it regarding "Deus caritatis" was -not satisfying, and the poet seemed to have had too much sympathy with -his hero to have described his overthrow with cold irony. - -_Brand_ gave John a good deal of trouble. He (Brand) had dropped -Christianity but kept its stern ascetic morality; he demanded obedience -for his old doctrines though they were no more practicable; he despised -the tendency of the time towards humanity and compromise, but ended by -recommending the God of compromise. Brand was a fanatic, a pietist, -who dared to believe himself right against the whole world, and John -felt himself related to this terrible egoist who was wrong besides. No -half-measures! go straight on; break down everything that stands in the -way, for you only are right! John's tender conscience, which suffered -at every step he took lest it should vex his father or friends, was -stupefied by Brand. All ties of consideration and of love should be -torn asunder for the sake of "the cause." That John was no longer a -pietist was a piece of good fortune, otherwise he too would have been -overwhelmed by the avalanche.[2] But Brand gave him a belief in a -conscience which was purer than that which education had given him, and -a law which was higher than conventional law. And he needed this iron -backbone in his weak back, for he had long periods during which by -fits and starts and out of mildness he thought himself wrong, and the -first who came, right; therefore, he was also very easily misled. Brand -was the last Christian who followed an old ideal, therefore he could be -110 pattern for one who felt a vague inclination to revolt against all -old ideals. - -_Brand_ after all was a fine plant, but without any roots in its own -period; and, therefore, it belonged to the herbarium. Then came -_Peer Gynt_. This was rather obscure than deep and had its value as -an antidote against the national self-love. The fact that Ibsen was -neither banished nor persecuted after having said such bitter things -against the proud Norwegians, shows that in Norway they were more -honourable fighters than the Swedes afterwards showed themselves to be. - -Ibsen was at that time regarded as a misanthrope and as an enemy and -envier of Bjoernson. People were divided into two camps, and the dispute -as to which of the two was the greater was endless, for it concerned an -artistic problem--"contents or form." - -The influence of Norwegian on Swedish poetry has been great and partly -beneficent, but there was a peculiarly Norwegian element in it, which -was not adaptable to Sweden, a land with quite another development. -In the sequestered valleys of Norway there lived a people who, under -the pressure of need and poverty, found ready to their hand in the -Christian doctrine of renunciation an ascetic philosophy which promised -heaven as a compensation for earth's hardships. Nature in her most -gloomy and parsimonious aspect, a damp climate, long winters, great -distances between the villages,--all co-operated to preserve an -austere mediaeval type of Christianity. There is something which may -be said to resemble insanity in the Norwegian character, of the same -kind as the English "spleen;" and possibly the intimate relations of -Norway with the hypochondriacal islanders may have impressed traces -on its civilisation. In Jonas Lie's _Clair-voyant_ this melancholy -is depleted, and in it one finds the same weird atmosphere as in the -Icelandic sagas, and the theme also is similar,--the struggle of the -spirit against physical darkness and cold. There we have depicted -the tragic lot of the Norseman banished from sunny lands to gloomy -wildernesses, and seeking relief by emigration, the ethnographical -significance of which has been overlooked in view of its economical -aspect. The Norwegian character is the result of many hundred years of -tyranny, of injustice, of hard struggling for a livelihood, of want of -gladness. - -Swedish literature should have avoided absorbing these national -peculiarities, but they have made it half-Norwegian. Brand still haunts -Swedish literature with his ideal demands, with which the romanticised -and cheerful Swede cannot sincerely sympathise. Therefore this foreign -garb suits him so badly; therefore modern Swedish music sounds so -unharmonious, like an echo of the violins of Hardanger, tuned over -again by Grieg; therefore the talk of greater moral purity sounds -discordant in the mouth of the vivacious Swede. He has not suffered -from long oppression and does not need to seek himself in the past; -melancholy has not so beset him in his open flat land of lakes and -rivers, and therefore a sour mien becomes him ill. - -When the Swedes received great and novel ideas by way of Norway or -direct from the Continent through Ibsen and Bjoernson, they should have -kept the kernel and thrown away the Norwegian husk. Even the _Doll's -House_ is Norwegian. Nora is related to the Icelandic women who wished -to set up a matriarchate; she belongs to the weird imperious women in -_Haermaennen_ who again are pure Norse. In them the emotions have become -frozen or distorted by centuries of cognate marriages. - -The whole Swedish literature of feminism is ultra-Norwegian; it -contains the same immodest demands on the man and petting of the spoilt -woman. Several young authors have introduced the Norwegian style into -Swedish; one authoress has placed the scene of her book in Norway, and -made her hero talk Norwegian! Further one could not go! - -Let us welcome foreign influence which is cosmopolitan; but not -Norwegian, for that is provincial, and we have plenty of the same kind -ourselves. - - * * * * * - -So John found himself again in Upsala,--the same Upsala from which he -had fled nine months before, and to which he most unwillingly returned. -To be compelled to a course which he did not wish always made him feel -as though he were encountering a personal foe, who cajoled him out of -his wishes and antipathies, and forced him to bend. Since he still -believed himself under God's personal providence, he accepted that as -though it were for his best. Later on he had a feeling that there was -a malignant power; this developed into the belief that there were two -ruling powers, one good, one evil, which divided the empery, or ruled -alternately. - -He asked himself again, "What have you to do here?" To take his degree, -but especially to cover his retreat from the theatre. Privately he -wished to write a play, and, under the screen of its success, wriggle -out of the examination. - -At first he was not at all comfortable in his lonely attic. He had -become accustomed to luxury, a large room, a good table, attendance -and society. After having been habituated to be treated as a man and -to have intercourse with older and cultivated people, he found himself -again in a state of pupilage as a student. But he cast himself into -the crowd and soon found himself on social terms with three distinct -circles. The first consisted of friends whom he met by day, who were -students of medicine and natural history and atheists. From them he -heard for the first time the name of Darwin; but it passed by him like -a doctrine for which he was not yet ripe. His evening society consisted -of a priest and a lawyer with whom he played cards till deep in the -night. He considered himself now in Upsala merely to grow and get -older, and that it was a matter of indifference what he did, as long as -he killed the time. He drew up the scheme of a new tragedy, Eric XIV, -but found it poor, and burnt it, for his faculty of self-criticism had -awakened and was severer in its demands. - -Later on in the term he entered a third society, which formed his -special circle during the whole of his time at Upsala and for a long -while afterwards. One evening he chanced to meet a young companion -with whom he had been a pupil at the private school. They discussed -literature, and over a glass of toddy made the plan of forming some -young poets into a club for literary work. The plan was carried out. -Besides John and the other founder of the club, four young students -were elected to it. They were fine young fellows of an idealist turn of -mind, as the saying is, with high purposes and enthusiastic for vague -ideals. They had not yet come into contact with the hard realities of -life; they had all well-to-do parents, no cares, and knew nothing at -all of the struggle for a subsistence. John, on the other hand, had -just left the most unpleasant surroundings; he had seen people who -were always ready to quarrel, conceited, empty-headed pupils of the -Theatrical Academy. Here he found himself transplanted into an entirely -new world. There were these happy youths going to their well-supplied -tables, smoking fine cigars, taking walks, and poetising beautifully -over the beauty of life which they knew nothing of. - -Rules were drawn up for the club, which received the name "Runa," -_i.e_. "song." The choice of this title was probably due to the -Northern renaissance which came in with the Scandinavian movement. -Its chief ornaments were Karl XV in poetry, Winge and Malmstroem in -painting, and Molin in sculpture. Recently it had been quickened by -Bjoernson's and Ibsen's dramas on subjects from the old Norse life. -The study of Icelandic, which had been newly introduced into the -university, also lent strength to this movement. - -The number of members of the club was not to exceed nine; each of -them was known by a Runic sign. John was called "Froe" and the other -founder of the club, "Ur." Every variety of opinion was represented. -Ur was a great patriot and venerated Sweden with its memories. In his -opinion it had the most brilliant history in Europe, and had always -been free. For the rest he was a practically minded man with a special -faculty for statistics, politics, and biography; he was a severe and -clever critic, and also managed the affairs of the club. He was a -reliable friend, good company, helpful and hearty. Secondly, there -was a full-blooded romanticist who read Heine and drank absinthe--a -sensitive youth enthusiastic for all old ideals, but especially for -Heine. There was also a seraph who sang of the indescribably little, -especially the happiness of childhood; fourthly, a silent worshipper of -nature, and, lastly, an eclectic philosopher and improvisator, who had -an extraordinary faculty for improvising in any style whatever, when -requested. Two minutes after he had been asked, he would stand up and -speak or sing on the spur of the moment in the character of Anacreon, -Horace, the Edda, or any one else, and even in foreign languages. - -The first meeting of the club was at Thurs', who was lodged the most -comfortably in two rooms and had the best pipes. As one of the founders -of the club John first of all read his prologue, which, according -to the rules of the society, had to be in verse. It began by asking -after the ancient bard Brage and his harp which was now silent. Brage -represented the new Norse element, the resuscitation of which was -believed necessary. The whole programme of the idealists was called -"a trivial striving." All the great efforts of their contemporaries -after reality and for the improvement of the conditions of life was -"trivial." The spirit was taken prisoner in matter, and therefore -all that was material was to be regarded as the enemy. Such was the -teaching of the romanticists, and of John's prologue. Then the poet -went out into nature, listened to the bells of the cathedral, the -wind, the pines, and the singing of the birds in order to ask the very -natural question: "Nature sings; why should I then be silent?" He -resolved to be no longer silent but to sing,--about the joyous youthful -spring-time of life, its autumn, and about love to one's native soil. -Then (he said) came the wise man with the frozen heart, took his song, -dissected it and found that it was all nonsense. Thus the song was -killed by "overwiseness." - -It is not easy to say exactly now what John meant by "overwiseness" -in 1870. He probably had simply forebodings of future critics, and -the "wise man" was no other than the reviewer. Then he inveighed -against the wretched mercenary souls who worship the golden calf but -do not love songs. This had no connection with contemporary matters, -for the sixties were remarkable for bad harvests and consequently -for want of gold. The swindles by company-promoters began with the -seventies. But it was the custom of the contemporary poets to attack -money and the golden calf, and therefore John did so in his prologue. -Now began a life of poetic idleness. Every evening they met either in -a restaurant, or in each other's rooms. But the time was not wasted -in view of his future authorship. John could borrow books from the -well-stocked libraries of his friends, and the interchange of opinions -accustomed him to look at literature from different points of view. But -for them real life, public interests, contemporary politics did not -exist; they lived in dreams. Sometimes his lower-class consciousness -awoke, and he asked himself what he had to do among these rich youths. -But he soon stilled these scruples by drink and talk, and encouraged -himself to go forward and demand something of life, for he had in his -companions' opinion a good chance. - -His room was a wretched one; the rain came through the roof, and he had -no proper bed, but only a plank-bed, which in the day-time served as a -sofa. When time hung heavily on his hands and he grew weary of poetical -discussions he looked up his old school-fellow, the natural history -student. There he looked through the microscope, and heard of Darwin -and the new scientific views. His friend gave him well-meant practical -advice and recommended him to get out of his difficulties by writing a -one-act play in verse for the Theatre Royal. - -John objected that his dramatic talent had not scope enough in one act, -and said that he would rather write a tragedy in five. - -"Yes, but it is harder to get that accepted," replied his friend. -Finally he let himself be persuaded and determined to carry out a -small idea he had of a short play based on Thorwaldson's first visit -to Rome. His friend lent him books on Italy and John set to work. In -fourteen days the piece was ready. - -"That will be acted," said his friend. "It has dramatic points, you -see." - -Since it was still a long time to the next meeting of the club, John -hastened in the evening to Thurs and Rejd and read the piece to them. -They were both of the same opinion as the natural history student, -that the piece would be performed. They had a champagne supper, and -kept drinking till the morning, and then went to sleep on the floor of -Rejd's room with the punch-glasses by them. In a couple of hours they -awoke, finished their half-empty glasses at sunrise and went out to -continue the celebration of the occasion. - -The sympathy of John's friends was hearty, unselfish and warm, without -a trace of envy. He always remembered with pleasure this first success -as one of the brightest recollections of his youth. The enthusiastic, -devoted Rejd increased Hohn's debt of gratitude by copying out the -piece in his graceful hand-writing. Then it was sent to the board of -management of the Theatre Royal. Spring arrived and they spent the -month of May in a continual carouse. The club had a small room in the -restaurant Lilia Foerderfvet for their evening suppers. There they -talked, made speeches, and drank enormously. At last the term ended and -they had to part, but they arranged to meet once more at Stockholm, -and celebrate the festival day of the club by an excursion into the -country. - -At six o'clock one June morning the four members of the club met at -Skeppsholm, where they had hired a rowing-boat. The chest of the club, -a card-board box containing documents, was stowed away with baskets of -provisions and bottles of wine. After Os and Rejd had taken the oars, -they steered the boat to the canal leading through the Zoological -Gardens, in order to reach the place they had appointed, a promontory -of Liding Island. Thurs played airs on the flute to Bellmann's songs, -and Froe (John) accompanied him on a guitar which he had learnt to play -at Upsala. - -As soon as they landed, breakfast was laid in a meadow by the shore. -The club-chest adorned with leaves and flowers was set in the middle -of the table-cloth, and on it were set the brandy-bottles and glasses. -John, who had studied antiquities for his play, _Sinking Hellas_, -arranged the meal in the Greek style, so that they wore garlands, and -ate reclining. A fire was lit between some stones and coffee was made. -At nine o'clock in the morning they drank brandy and punch. - -John read his drama, _The Free-thinker_, which was duly criticised. -Then they gave full course to their eloquence. Thurs was the best -speaker; he could express emotions and thoughts rhythmically. Poems -were read and received with applause. John sang folk-songs to the -accompaniment of his guitar, some on sentimental subjects, and some on -improper ones. At noon they were still in high spirits but inclined to -be sleepy. - -In the afternoon when the sun was over Lilia Vaertan they had a short -sleep, and then the carouse passed into a new phase. Thurs, the -Israelite, had recited a poem on the greatness of the North, and called -on the old gods of Scandinavia. Ur, the patriot, denied him the right -to appropriate other people's gods. The Jewish question came up; they -took fire and nearly quarrelled, but ended by embracing. - -Then began the sentimental stage. They had to weep, for alcohol has -this effect on the membranes of the stomach and the lachrymal duets. -Ur first felt this and unconsciously sought for a melancholy subject. -He burst into tears. When asked why, he did not know, but said at last -that he had been treated as a buffoon, which he always was. He declared -that he had a very serious nature and that he also had great troubles -which no one knew about, but now he unburdened his heart and told us a -domestic story. After he had done so, he became cheerful again. - -But the evening was long and they began to wish to go home. Their -brains were empty; they were tired of each other, and weary of play -and drinking. They began to reflect and examine the philosophy of -intoxication. From whence do men derive this desire to make themselves -senseless? What lies behind it? Is it the southern exile's longing -for a lost sunny existence in northern lands? There must be some felt -necessity underlying intoxication, for a vice like this would not -have laid hold of all mankind without reason. Is it that the member -of society in a state of intoxication throws away all the lies of -society? For the laws of social intercourse involuntarily forbid one to -speak out all one's thoughts. Otherwise whence comes the saying, _In -vino veritas_? Why did the Greeks honour Bacchus as one who improved -men and manners? Why did Dionysus love peace, and why was he said -to increase riches? Has wine, which is chiefly drunk by men, some -influence on the development of man's intelligence and activity, so -that he becomes superior to woman? And why do the Muhammadans who drink -no wine stand on what is regarded as a lower level of civilisation? -As salt is used as a daily nutrient to replace the salts which their -hunting forefathers found in the blood of beasts of the chase, does not -wine compensate for some lost nutritive matter belonging to earlier -stages, and, if so, which? Some idea or necessity must underlie so -singular a custom. - -Perhaps the need of losing consciousness justifies the axiom of the -pessimists that consciousness is the beginning of suffering. Wine makes -one naive and unconscious as a child; or even as an animal. Is it -the lost paradise which one wishes to recover? But the remorse which -follows it? Remorse and acidity of the stomach have the same symptoms. -Is there then a confusion, and are sensations called "remorse" which -are only heart-burn? Or does the drinker returned to consciousness -regret that he has exposed himself by daylight and betrayed his -secrets? There is something to feel remorse for in that! He is ashamed -that he has been taken by surprise, he feels afraid because he has -exposed himself and given away his weapons. Remorse and fear are close -neighbours. - -Yet once more the members of the club drowned their consciousness in -drink and then got into the boat to proceed home. John and Thurs began -a dispute about Bellmann[3] which lasted till they reached Skeppsholm, -and closed with sharp remarks on both sides. - -John had an old grudge against this poet. Once as a child, he had been -ill for a whole summer, and had by chance taken Bellmann's _Fredman's -Epistles_ out of his father's book-case. The book seemed to him silly, -but he was too young to form a well-grounded opinion on it. Later on, -it sometimes happened that his father sat at the piano, and hummed -Bellmann's songs. The boy found it incomprehensible that his father and -uncle admired them so much. Subsequently one Christmas he saw a violent -controversy break out between his mother and his uncle on the subject -of Bellmann. The latter set the poet above everything--Bible, sermons -and all. There were depths, he said, in Bellmann. Depths indeed! -Probably Atterbom's romanticist one-sided criticism had filtered -through the daily papers to the middle classes. As a school-boy and -student, John had sung "Up, Amaryllis" and other idylls of Bellmann's, -naturally without understanding them or thinking of the meaning of the -words. He sang in a quartette, or choir, for it sounded well. Finally, -in 1867, he read Ljunggren's lectures and a light broke upon him, but -not one of Ljunggren's kindling. He thought the latter mad. Bellmann -was a ballad-singer, that was true, but a great poet, the greatest poet -of the North?--impossible! - -Bellmann had sung his songs composed on the French model for the -Court and his own friends, but not for the common people, who would -not have understood "Amaryllis," "Eol," "The Tritons," "Froeja" and -all the rococo stock-in-trade. He died and was forgotten. Why had -he been disinterred by Atterbom? Because the pugnacious romantic -school required an embodiment of irregularity to set up against the -classicists, as they had nothing of their own to boast of. Thus the -romantic school gained the day; and when one considers how cowardly -most people are in the face of public opinion, and the tendency of the -middle-class to ape its superiors and reverence authority, one ceases -to be surprised at the elevation of Bellmann. Ljunggren and Eichhorn -outstripped Atterbom in finding beauty and genius in his writings they -were reinforced by the clerical element, and thus the idol was set up -for worship. Bystrom, the sculptor, had already magnified the little -lottery-secretary and court-poet into a Dionysus and lent him the -features of an antique bust of Bacchus. - -Bellmann's idylls are careless, extemporised compositions with forced -rhymes, and as disconnected as the thoughts in the brain of a drunkard. -One does not know whether it is day or night, the thunder rolls in the -sunshine, and the weaves beat while the boat is floating calmly on the -waters. They simply provide a text for music, and for that purpose -one might use a book of addresses. The meaning of the words does not -matter, as long as they sound well. - -According to his custom Thurs took the matter personally. It was an -attack on his good taste and on his honour, for John said that his -admiration of Bellmann was mere humbug; that he had read himself into -it, and that it was not genuine. Thurs on the other hand declared John -to be presumptuous, because he wished to criticise the greatest Swedish -poet. - -"Prove that he is the greatest," said John. - -"Tegner and Atterbom say so." - -"That is no proof." - -"Simply because you have a spirit of contradiction." - -"Doubt is the beginning of certainty, and absurd assertions must arouse -opposition in a healthy brain." - -And so on. - -Although there is no such thing as a judgment which holds good -universally, since every judgment is individualistic, there are, on the -other hand, judgments of a majority and of a party. By means of these -John was suppressed and kept silence on the subject of Bellmann for -many years. Only when later on the old historian Fryxell proved that -Bellmann was not the apostle of sobriety which Eichhorn and Ljunggren -had made him out to be, and also no god, but a mediocre ballad-singer, -did John see a gleam of hope that his individual opinion might become -some day the opinion of the majority. But he already saw the question -from another point of view; Sweden would have been neither unhappier -nor worse, if Bellmann had never lived. He would like to have said to -the patriots and democrats, "Bellmann was a poet of Stockholm and of -the Court, who jested very cruelly with poor people." He would like -to have said to the Good Templars who sang Bellmann's songs, "You are -singing drinking songs which were written during fits of intoxication -and celebrate drink." For his own part, John held that Bellmann's -songs were pleasant to sing because of the light French melodies which -accompanied them, and as for their French morality it did not vex him -at all--quite the contrary. But earlier, at the age of twenty-one, he -was vexed by it, for he was an idealist and desired purity in poetry, -just as the surviving idealists and admirers of Bellmann do at the -present time. - -These have used the word "humour" to save themselves and their -morality. But what do they mean by "humour"? Is it jest or earnest? -What is jest? The reluctance of the cowardly to speak out his mind? -Humour reflects the double nature of man,--the indifference of the -natural man to conventional morality, and the Christian's sigh over -immorality which is after all so enticing and seductive. Humour speaks -with two tongues,--one of the satyr, the other of the monk. The -humorist lets the maenad loose, but for old unsound reasons thinks that -he ought to flog her with rods. This is a transitional form of humour -which is passing away, and already at the last gasp. The greatest -modern writers have thrown away the rod, and play the hypocrite -no longer, but speak their minds plainly out. The old tippler's -sentimentality can no longer count for "a good heart," for it has been -discovered to be merely bad nerves. - -After arguing till they were weary, the members of the club landed in -Stockholm harbour. - -[1] Bostroem: Swedish Philosopher (1797-1866). - -[2] _Vide_ the end of _Brand_. - -[3] Famous Swedish poet. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -BOOKS AND THE STAGE - - -The history of the development of a soul can be sometimes written by -giving a simple bibliography; for a man who lives in a narrow circle -and never meets great men personally, seeks to make their acquaintance -through books. The fact that the same books do not make the same -impression, nor have the same effect upon all, shows their relative -powerlessness to convert anybody. For example, we call the criticism -with which we agree good; the criticism which contradicts our views is -bad. Thus we seem to be educated with preconceived views, and the book -which strengthens, expresses and develops these makes an impression -on us. The danger of a one-sided education through books is that most -books, especially those composed at the end of an era, and at the -university, are antiquated. The youth who has received old ideals from -his parents and teachers is accordingly necessarily out of date before -his education is completed. When he enters manhood, he is generally -obliged to fling away his whole stock of old ideas, and be born again, -as it were. Time has gone by him, while he was reading the old books, -and he finds himself a stranger among his contemporaries. - -John had spent his youth in accumulating antiquarian lore. He knew all -about Marathon and Cannae, the war of the Spanish succession and the -Thirty Years' War, the Middle Ages and antiquity; but when the war -between France and Germany broke out, he did not know the cause of it. -He read about it as he would have read a play, and was interested to -see what the result of it would be. - -In Kristineberg, where he spent the summer with his parents, he lay -out on the grass in the park and read Oehlenschlaeger. For his degree -examination, he had, besides his chief subject--aesthetics,--to -choose a special one, and, enticed by Dietrichson's lectures, he had -chosen Danish literature. In Oehlenschlaeger he had found the summit -of Northern poetry. That was for him the quintessence of poetry,--the -directness which he admired perhaps for the very reason that he had -not got it. The Danish language perhaps also contributed to this -result; it seemed to him an idealised Swedish, and sounded like his -mother-speech from the lips of a woman worshipped from afar. When he -read Oehlenschlaeger's _Helge_, Tegner's _Frithiof's Saga_ seemed to him -petty; he found it unwieldy, prosaic, clerical, unpoetic. - -Oehlenschlaeger's dramas were a book which had an influence on John by -way of a supplementary contrast. Perhaps the romantic element in them -found an echo in the youth's mind, which had now awoken* to poetic -activity, and looked upon poetry and romance as identical. Other -contributory circumstances were his liking for Norse antiquities which -Oehlenschlaeger had just discovered, and the unrequited love he had -just then for a blond maiden who was engaged to a lieutenant. But the -impression made by Oehlenschlaeger was only fleeting, and hardly lasted -a year; it was a light spring breeze which passed by. - -It fared worse with John's study of aesthetics as expounded by -Ljunggren in two closely printed volumes, containing the views of all -philosophers on the Beautiful, but giving no satisfactory definition of -it. - -John had studied the antique in the National Museum, and asked himself -how the pot-house scenes of the Dutch genre painters which, when -they occurred in reality, were called ugly, could be reckoned among -beautiful pictures, although they were in no way idealised. To this the -aesthetic philosophers gave no answer. They shirked the question and -set up one theory after another, but the only excuse they could find -for the admission of ugliness was that it acted as a foil, and provided -a comic element. But a strong suspicion had been aroused in John that -the "Beautiful" was not always beautiful. - -Furthermore, he was troubled by doubts whether it was possible to -have independent standards of taste. In the newly-founded paper, the -_Schwedische Zeitschrift_, he had read discussions about works of -art, and seen how disputants on both sides defended their position -with equally strong arguments. One sought beauty in form, another in -subject, and a third in the harmony between the two. Accordingly a -well-painted subject from still life can rank higher than the Niobe, -for this group of statuary is not beautiful in its outlines, the -arrangement of the drapery of the principal figure being especially -tasteless although the judgment of the majority regards the work as -sublime. Therefore the sublime does not necessarily consist in beauty -of form. - -Victor Hugo's romances had found a fertile soil in John's mind. The -revolt against society; the reverence paid to Nature by the poet living -on a lonely island; the scorn for the ever-prevalent stupidity; the -indignation against formal religion and the enthusiasm for God as the -Creator of all,--all that was germinating in the young man's mind began -to grow, but was stifled by the autumn leaf-drifts of old books. - -John's life in the domestic circle was now a quiet one. The storms -had subsided; his brothers and sisters were grown up. His father, who -still always sat over his account-ledgers, calculating the ways and -means of providing for his flock of children, had become older, and -now perceived that John was also older. They often discussed together -topics of common interest. As regards the Franco-German War they were -both fairly neutral. As Latinised Teutons they did not love the German. -They hated and feared him as a sort of uncle with a right of seniority -against the Swedes, and they did not forget that victorious Prussia had -once been a Swedish province. The Swede had become more French than he -was aware, and now he felt conscious of his relationship to _la grande -nation_. In the evenings when they sat in the garden and the noise of -traffic had ceased, they heard the singing of the Marseillaise from -Blanch's cafe, and the hurrahs which were soon to be silent. - -In August, when the theatres re-opened, John received the long-desired -news that his play had been accepted for the stage. That was the first -intoxicating success which he had experienced. To have a play accepted -at the Theatre Royal when he was only twenty-one was sufficient -compensation for all his misfortunes. His words would reach the public -from the first stage in the land; his failure as an actor would be -forgotten; his father would see that his son amid all his notorious -fluctuations had chosen right, and all would be well. In autumn, before -the university term began, the piece was performed. It was naive, -pious and full of reverence for art, but had one dramatic scene which -saved it in spite of its slightness--Thorwaldsen about to shatter -the statue of Jason with his hammer. But on the other hand the piece -contained a presumptuous outburst against contemporary rhymers. What -was the author's intention in that? How could a beginner who had so -many forced rhymes himself, cast a stone at another? It was a piece -of temerity which found its own punishment. John stole to the bottom -of the third row of seats to view the performance of his piece from a -standing position. Rejd was already there before him and the curtain -was up. John felt as though he stood under an electric machine. Every -nerve quivered, his legs shook, and his tears ran the whole time from -pure nervousness. Rejd had to hold his hand in order to quiet him. -Now and then there was applause, but John knew that it was mostly from -his relatives and friends, and did not let himself be deceived. Every -stupidity which had inadvertently escaped him now jarred on his ear, -and made him quiver; he saw nothing but crudeness in the piece; he felt -so ashamed that his ears burned; before the curtain fell he rushed away -out into the dark market-place. - -He felt as though annihilated. The attack on the priests was stupid and -unjust; the glorification of poverty and pride seemed to him false, his -description of the relationship between father and son was cynical. How -could he have shown off in this absurd way? It seemed to him as though -he had exposed his nakedness, and shame overpowered every other feeling. - -On the other hand he found the actors good; the _mise en scene_ was -more appropriate than he had expected. Everything was good except the -piece itself. He wandered down to the Norrstrom, and felt inclined -to drown himself. What most annoyed him was that he had so openly -exhibited his feelings. Whence came that? And why should one in general -be ashamed of such exhibitions? Why are the feelings so sacred? Perhaps -because the feelings in general are false, as they only express a -physical sensation, in which personality of the individual does not -fully participate. If it is really so, then John was ashamed as an -ordinary man, to have been untruthful in his writing and to have worn -disguise. - -To be moved at the sight of human suffering is regarded as a mark of -fine feeling and meritorious, but it is said to be only a natural -reflex-movement. One involuntarily transfers the sufferings of the -other to oneself and suffers for one's own sake. Another's tears could -bring one to weep just as another's yawning could make one yawn. That -was all. John felt ashamed that he had lied and caught himself in the -act, though the public had not caught him. - -No one is such a merciless critic as a dramatist who sees his own play -acted. He lets no single word pass through his sieve. He does not lay -the blame on the actors, but generally admires them for rendering his -stupidities with such taste. John found his play stupid. It had lain -by for half a year, and perhaps he had outgrown it. Another piece was -performed after it which lasted for two hours. During the whole time -he wandered about the streets in the darkness, feeling ashamed of -himself. He had made an appointment to drink a glass with some friends -and relatives after the performance in the Hotel du Nord, but remained -away. He saw they were looking for him but did not wish to meet them. -So they went in again to see the second play. At last it was over. The -spectators streamed out and dispersed through the streets. He hastened -away in order not to hear their comments. - -At last he saw a single group standing under the portico of the -dramatic theatre. They were looking out in all directions and called -him. Finally he came forward as pale and melancholy as a corpse. - -They congratulated him on his success. The play had been applauded and -was very good. They repeated to him the verdicts of other spectators -and quieted him. Then they dragged him to a restaurant and compelled -him to eat and drink. "That will do you good, you old death's-head!" -said a shop-assistant. John was soon pulled down from his imaginative -flight. "What have you got to be melancholy for," he was asked, "when -you have had a play acted by the Theatre Royal?" He could not tell -them. His boldest ambition was fulfilled; but it was probably not -what he wanted. The thought that in any case it was an honour did not -comfort him. - -The next morning he went into a shop, and bought the morning paper -and read a criticism to the effect that the piece was written in -choice language, and (since it was anonymous) probably by a well-known -art-critic who had moved among artistic circles at Rome. That was -pleasant and cheered his spirits. - -At noon he started for Upsala. His father had engaged a room for him -in a boarding-house, kept by the widow of a clergyman, that he might -complete his studies under proper supervision. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -TORN TO PIECES - - -John's entrance into the boarding-house secured for him intercourse -with a large and varied circle,--perhaps too varied. There were -students of all ages, of all subjects, and from all districts, from -clergymen who were reading for their last examination to young medical -and law students. There were also ladies in the house, and John was -for the eighth time in love. Again the object of his affections -was unattainable, being engaged to another. The variety of this -social intercourse overloaded his brain with impressions from all -circles; his personality became relaxed and distracted through the -self-adaptation and compromises with other people's views which are -necessary in society. Besides this a great deal of drinking went on -nearly every evening. On one of the first days after his arrival -appeared a criticism of his play in one of the evening papers. It was -very sharp but just, and therefore hit John hard. He felt stripped -and seen through. The critic said that the author had concealed his -insignificant personality behind a great name--Thorwaldsen--but -that the disguise did not avail him and so on. John felt altogether -bankrupt. In such cases one tries to defend oneself, and he compared -his own with other bad plays, which the same severe critic had -praised. He felt treated unjustly, and indeed when compared with others -it was so, but not when he was regarded by himself alone. The fact that -the critic was worse did not make his piece better. - -John became shy and averse to company. This was increased by the -students' club starting a paper in which they made merry over him and -his play. He fancied he saw grimaces and contempt everywhere, and went -preferably by back streets on his walks. - -Then there came a yet severer blow. A friend had, on his own account, -published one of John's first plays,--the _Free-thinker_. While he was -spending an evening with Rejd an acquaintance brought in the hated -evening paper. It contained a scathing article on the play, which was -mocked at and cut to pieces. John was obliged to read the article in -the presence of his friends. He had, against his will, to admit that -the critic was not unjust, but it upset him terribly. - -Why is it so hard to hear the truth from others, while at the same -time one can be so severe against oneself? Probably because the social -masquerade in which we all take part makes every one fear being -unmasked, probably also because responsibility and unpleasantness are -involved in it. One feels oneself overreached and cheated. The critic -who sits at ease and unmasks others would feel himself equally scourged -and exposed if his secrets were betrayed. Social life is honeycombed -with falsity, but who likes to be discovered? That is why at times of -solitude, when the past rises up unescapably, we do not feel remorse -for our faults, but for our follies and necessary cruelties. Mistakes -were necessary and had some use, but follies were merely injurious and -should have been avoided. It is for this reason that men pay greater -honour to intelligence than to morality, for the former is a reality, -the latter an idea. - -Meanwhile John felt the same pains which he imagined a criminal must -feel. He felt impelled to obliterate as soon as possible the impression -made by his stupidity. But he felt also that a kind of injustice -had been done him since he had been criticised simply and solely as -a writer, although his production was a year old, and he himself, -therefore, maturer than it, by a year. But it was not the fault of the -critic that there was an incongruity between the criticism and the -_corpus delicti_. - -He began to compose another tragedy, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_. -This was intended to deal with Christendom in artistic form, and to -handle the same problem and the same questions as his former play. By -"artistic form" at that period was meant the laying of the scene of -the play in a past epoch. John wrote the piece under the influence of -Oehlenschlaeger and the Icelandic sagas which he had lately read in the -original. - -He had, however, a severe struggle with his conscience, for his father -had exacted a promise from him not to write for the stage till he had -passed his examination. It was, therefore, an act of deceit to take -help from his father and not to fulfil the conditions on which it was -granted. But he silenced his scruples by saying to himself, "Father -will be pleased enough if I have a speedy and great success." In that -he was not far wrong. - -But another element now entered into his life, and had a decided -influence both on his views of things and his work. This was his -acquaintance with two men,--an author and a remarkable personality. -Unfortunately they were both abnormal and therefore had only a -disturbing effect upon his development. - -The author was Kierkegaard,[1] whose book, _Either--Or_, John had -borrowed from a member of the Song Club, and read with fear and -trembling. His friends had also read it as a work of genius, had -admired the style, but not been specialty influenced by it,--a proof -that books have little effect, when they do not find readers in -sympathy with the author. But upon John the book made the impression -intended by the author. He read the first part containing "The -Confessions of an AEsthete." He felt sometimes carried away by it, but -always had an uncomfortable feeling as though present at a sick-bed. -The perusal of the first part left a feeling of emptiness and despair -behind it. The book agitated him. "The Diary of a Seducer" he regarded -as the fancies of an unclean imagination. Things were not like that in -real life. Moreover John was no sybarite, but on the contrary inclined -to asceticism and self-torment. Such egotistic sensuality as that of -the hero of Kierkegaard's work was absurd because the suffering he -caused by the satisfaction of his desires necessarily involved him in -suffering and, therefore, defeated his object. - -The second part of the work containing the philosopher's "Discourse on -Life as a Duty," made a deeper impression on John. It showed him that -he himself was an "aesthete" who had conceived of authorship as a form -of enjoyment. Kierkegaard said that it should be regarded as a calling. -Why? The proof was wanting, and John, who did not know that Kierkegaard -was a Christian, but thought the contrary, not having seen his -_Edifying Discourses_, imbibed unaware the Christian system of ethics -with its doctrine of self-sacrifice and duty Along with these the idea -of sin returned. Enjoyment was a sin, and one had to do one's duty. -Why? Was it for the sake of society to which one was under obligations? -No! merely because it was duty. That was simply Kant's categorical -imperative. When he reached the end of the work _Either--Or_ and found -the moral philosopher also in despair, and that all this teaching about -duty had only produced a Philistine, he felt broken in two. "Then," he -thought, "better be an aesthete." But one cannot be an aesthete if one -has been a Christian for five-sixths of one's life, and one cannot be -moral without Christ. Thus he was tossed to and fro like a ball between -the two, and ended in sheer despair. - -Had he now read Kierkegaard's discourses, he might possibly have -come a step nearer to Christianity--possibly--for it is difficult to -decide that now, but to receive Christianity again seemed to him like -replacing a tooth which had been torn out, and joyfully thrown into the -fire, along with the accompanying toothache. It was also possible that -if he had known that the book _Either--Or_ was intended to scourge one -to the Cross he might have thrown it away as a jesuitical writing and -been saved from his embarrassment. All that he felt now, however, was -a terrible discord. He had to choose and make the jump between ethics -and aesthetics, but choose how? and jump whither? He could not jump -out in space to embrace a paradox or Christ,--that would have been -self-destruction or madness. But Kierkegaard preached madness? Was -it the despair of the over-self-conscious at finding himself always -self-conscious? Was it the longing of one who sees too deeply for the -unconsciousness of intoxication? - -John knew well what the battle between his own will and the will of -others meant. He had given his father trouble enough when he crossed -his plans; but the trouble was mutual; the whole of life consisted of -a web of wills crossing one another. The death of one was life-breath -to another; no one could gain an advantage without hurting the one -he passed by. Life was a perpetual interchange and struggle between -pleasure and pain. His sensuality or desire for enjoyment had not -injured others nor caused them trouble. He had never seduced the -innocent, and had never enjoyed himself without paying the price. He -was moral from habit; from instinct, from fear of the consequences, -from good taste or from education, but the very fact that he did -not feel himself immoral, was a defect and a sin. After reading -_Either--Or_ he felt sinful. The categorical imperative stole on him -under a Latin name and without a cross on its back, and he let himself -be beguiled by it. He did not see that it was a two-thousand-years-old -Christianity in disguise. - -Kierkegaard would not have made so deep an impression on him, if a -number of concurrent circumstances had not contributed to that result. -In the letters of the aesthete, Kierkegaard expounded suffering as -enjoyment. John suffered from public contumely; he suffered from his -hard work; he suffered from unrequited affection; he suffered from -unsatisfied desires; he suffered from drink, for he was intoxicated -nearly every evening; he suffered as an artist from mental struggles -and doubts; he suffered from the ugly scenery of Upsala; he suffered -from the discomfort of his rooms; he suffered from examination-books; -he suffered from a bad conscience because he did not study but wrote -plays. But something else lay at the bottom of all this. He had been -brought up to fulfil hard tasks and duties. Now he lived well amid ease -and enjoyment. Study was an enjoyment; authorship, in spite of all its -pains, was a wonderful enjoyment; the life with his comrades was sheer -festivity and jollity. But his plebeian consciousness awoke and told -him that it was not right to enjoy while others worked; _his_ work was -an enjoyment, for it brought him a good deal of honour, and perhaps -money. This accounted for his persistently uneasy conscience which -persecuted him without a cause. Was it that he felt already the signs -of this awakening consciousness of tremendous guilt as regards the -lower classes, the slaves who toiled, while he enjoyed? Did he already -have a foreboding of that sense of justice, which in our days has laid -so strong a hold on many of the upper classes that they have restored -capital which was not quite honestly earned, have expended time and -toil for the liberation of the lower classes, and have worked from -impulse and instinct against their own interests, in order to do right? -Possibly. - -But Kierkegaard was not the man to resolve the discord. It was reserved -for the evolutionary philosophers to make peace between passion and -reason, between enjoyment and duty. They cancelled the deceptive -_Either_--_Or_, and substituted _Both--And,_ giving both flesh and -spirit their due. The real significance of Kierkegaard became clear -to John many years later. Then he saw in him the simple pietist, the -ultra-Christian who wished to realise in modern society oriental ideals -of two thousand years ago. But Kierkegaard was right in one point: if -we were to have Christianity, we ought to have it thoroughly; but his -_Either--Or_ was only valid for the priests of the church who called -themselves Christians. - -Kierkegaard saw no further, and from him who wrote his book in 1843, -and had a clerical education, one could not expect that he should say: -"Either a Christianity like this, or none!" In that case people would -probably have chosen none. Instead of that Kierkegaard said: "Whether -you are aesthetical or ethical you must cast yourself into the arms -of Christ." His mistake was to oppose ethics and aesthetics to each -other, for they can go very well together. But John did not succeed -in harmonising them till, after endless struggles, at the age of -thirty-seven, he attempted a compromise when he discovered that work -and duty are forms of enjoyment, and that enjoyment itself, well-used, -is a duty. - -But at that time, the book weighed on him like a nightmare. He was -angry when his friends wished to regard it as mere literature. He was -not pacified by their regarding it superior in richness, depth and -style to Goethe's _Faust_, which it certainly did surpass by far. John -could not at that time understand that the pillar-saint Kierkegaard had -himself known what enjoyment was when he wrote the first part, and that -the seducer and Don Juan were the author himself, who satisfied his -desires in imagination. No, he thought it was poetry. - -John had been already predisposed to receive Kierkegaard's influence, -and now came the other acquaintance, which would not have played a -great role in his life if circumstances had not prepared him for -that also. His companions merely regarded the person in question as -ludicrous. - -It came about in the following way. Thurs the Jew came one day and told -John that he had made the acquaintance of a genius who wished to join -their Song Club. - -"Ah, a genius!" - -None of the members of the club believed that they were geniuses, not -even John, and it is doubtful whether any poet has really believed -or felt that he was one. One can, when one makes comparisons, find -that one has produced better work than others, and a clever man -will naturally feel that he understands better than others, but -genius,--that is something else. This title is not generally bestowed -on any one till after death and is now dropping out of common use, -since the secret of the evolution of genius has been discovered. - -The novelty aroused attention, and the stranger was elected to the -club under the name of Is. He was not a poet, they were told, but very -learned and a powerful critic. - -One evening when the club-meeting was at Thurs' rooms he came--a -little thin person, without an overcoat, dressed like a labourer on -his holiday. His clothes looked as though they were borrowed, for -their elbows and knees were not in the right places. John, who used -to succeed to his elder brother's clothes, noticed this at once. In -his hand he held a dirty beer-soup-coloured hat, such as is only worn -by organ-grinders. His face looked like that of a southern rat-trap -seller. His black hair hung on his shoulders and a black beard fell on -his breast. - -"Is it possible?" they asked themselves. "Can he be a student?" He -looked forty, but was only thirty. He stood with his hat in his hand -at the door like a beggar, and hardly ventured to come forward. After -Thurs had drawn him into the room and introduced him, the meeting was -declared open. Is began to speak and they listened. His voice was like -a woman's and sank sometimes, without apology, to a whisper, as though -the speaker demanded perfect silence or spoke for his own satisfaction. -It would be difficult to repeat what he spoke of, for his speech ranged -over everything that he had read, and since he had read for ten years -more than the youths of twenty, they found his learning wonderful. - -After that, another member of the club read a poem. Is had to deliver -an opinion on it. He began with Kant, quoted Schopenhauer and -Thackeray, and finished with a lecture on George Sand. No one noticed -that he said nothing about the poem. - -Then they went into a restaurant to eat. Is talked philosophy, -aesthetics and history. He spoke sometimes with a melancholy expression -in his dark unfathomable eyes, which never rested on those present, as -though he sought an unseen audience far in the distance, in unknown -space. The club listened reverently with absorbed attention. - -John was to hear this man's opinion on his work. He, as well as one of -the most poetical members of the club, began to have serious doubts as -to their vocation. Often, when they had drunk a good deal, they asked -whether they still believed--meaning whether each thought the Other -called to be a poet. It was just the same sort of doubt which John had -felt when he had wondered whether he was a child of God. Is was to -read John's drama, _The Assistant at the Sacrifice_, and to give his -opinion. - -One morning John went up to his room to hear his verdict. Is spoke -till noon. About what? About everything. But he had now taken hold of -John's soul. Through conversations with Thurs, he know which strings to -pull, and did so, as he chose. He burrowed in John's mind, not out of -sympathy, but from a spider-like curiosity. He did not speak directly -of John's play but suggested the plan of a new one after his own ideas. -He had the effect of a mesmeriser, and John was magnetised. But he -felt in a state of despair when he left him, as though his friend had -taken his soul, picked it to pieces and thrown them away after he had -satisfied his curiosity. - -But John came again, sat on the wise man's sofa, listened to his words -as though they were an oracle, and felt himself completely under his -power. Sometimes he thought it was a ghost who walked on the carpet -when his body disappeared in clouds of tobacco-smoke. The man exercised -what is called a "demonic" influence, _i.e_. inexplicable at first -sight. He had no blood in his veins, no feelings, no will, no desires. -He was a talking head. His standpoint was nothing and all at the same -time. He was a decoction of books, and the type of a book-worm who had -never lived. - -Often when the other members of the club were alone, they talked -about Is. Thurs was already tired of him and wondered whether he -had committed some crime, for he seemed driven about by a constant -restlessness. Then it was reported that he was a poet, but never would -show his poems, for he had such a high idea of the poetic art. They -also wondered why no one ever saw a book in the learned man's rooms. -It was also strange that he should seek the company of these youths, -to whom he was so superior, and whose poetry he must despise. They who -were themselves in the full bloom of romanticism did not detect the -anaemic romantic who had lost his footing on firm ground. They did not -see in his long hair and shabby hat the copy of Murger's Bohemian; they -did not know that this dilapidated condition was a Parisian fashion; -that this hollow wisdom was a web woven out of German metaphysics; that -this experimental psychology was derived from a peep into Kierkegaard; -and that that interesting air of hinting at uncommitted crimes and -secret griefs was Byronic in origin. All this they did not understand. -Therefore Is could play with John's soul and catch him in his snare. -Yes, John was so thoroughly taken by him that in a speech he called -himself Gamaliel, who sat at Paul's Is's feet to learn wisdom. - -The upshot of it all was that Julm, one fine evening, burnt his new -play. It was the work of three months which went up in flames. As he -collected the ashes, he wept. Is, without saying so directly, had shown -him that he was no poet. So everything was a mistake, this also! Then -he felt in despair, because he had deceived his father and could take -no work home to justify his neglect of his wishes. In a fit of remorse, -and in order to be able to point to some definite result, he entered -his name for the written examination in Latin, without, however, having -written any of the requisite preliminary exercises or essays. The Latin -professor saw his name in the list and did not know it. One Sunday -evening, when John had returned to his rooms in good spirits after a -supper, the university bedell appeared to summon him. John went boldly -to the professor and asked what he wanted. - -"You wish to take the written examination in Latin?" - -"Yes." - -"But I do not see your name on my list." - -"I entered myself before for the medical examination." - -"That has nothing to do with this. You must go by the rules." - -"I know no rules about the three essays." - -"I think you are impertinent, sir." - -"It may seem so----" - -"Out with you, sir!--or----" - -The door was opened, and John was ejected. He swore to himself he -would still go up for the written examination, but the next morning he -overslept himself. - -So even that last straw failed. - -Shortly afterwards one morning a friend came and woke him. - -"Do you know that W. is dead?" (W. sat at the same table in the -boarding-house.) - -"No!" - -"Yes! he has cut his throat." - -John started up, dressed himself, and hurried with his friend to the -Jernbrogatan where W. lived. They rushed up the stairs and came to a -dark attic. - -"Is it here?" - -"No, here!" - -John felt for a door; the door gave way and fell upon him. At the same -moment he saw a pool of blood on the ground. He turned round, let go -of the door, and was at the bottom of the stairs before the door fell -on the ground. This scene shook him terribly and woke his memory. Some -days previously John had gone into the Carolina Park to work at his -play in solitude. W. came up, greeted him, and asked whether he might -bear him company or whether he disturbed him. John answered sincerely -that he did disturb him, and W. went away with a melancholy air. Was -it a case of a lonely drowning man who sought a companion and was -repulsed? John felt almost guilty of his death. But he was not intended -for a comforter. Now the dead man seemed to haunt him; he dared not go -to his room, but slept with his friend. One night he slept with Rejd. -The latter had to keep a light burning and was woken several times in -the night by John, who could not sleep. - -One day Rejd found John with a bottle of prussic acid. He apparently -approved the idea of suicide, but first asked him to take a farewell -drink with him. They went to the restaurant and ordered eight glasses -of whisky, which were brought in on a tray. Each of them drank four -glasses in four pulls, with the desired result that John became dead -drunk. He was carried home, but since the house door was locked, he was -carried over an empty piece of ground and thrown over a fence. There he -remained lying in a snow-drift, till he recovered his senses, and crept -up into his room. - -The last night which he spent in Upsala some days later he slept on a -sofa in Thurs' rooms; his friends kept watch over him, and the room -was lighted up. They watched good-naturedly till morning, then they -accompanied him to the station, and put him in the coupe. When the -train had passed Bergsbrunna, John breathed again. He felt as though -he had left something dreadful and weird, like a northern winter night -with thirty degrees of cold, behind him, and registered a vow never -again to settle in this town, where men's souls, banished from life and -society, grew rotten from over-production of thought, were corroded -by stagnant waters which had no outlet, and took fire like millstones -which revolved without having anything to grind. - - -[1] Danish theologian. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IDEALISM AND REALISM - -(1871) - - -When John again reached his parents' house, he felt himself in shelter -like one who has reached land after a stormy sea-passage by night. -Again he had quiet nights in his old tent-bed in the brothers' room. -Here were quiet patient men, who came and went, worked and slept at -stated times without being disturbed by dreams or ambitious designs. -His sisters had grown up into young women and managed the house. All -were at work with the exception of himself. When he compared his -irregular, dissipated life, which knew no rest or peace, with theirs, -he considered them happier and better than himself. They took life -seriously, went about their work and fulfilled their duties without -noise or boasting. - -John now looked up his old acquaintances among the tradespeople, -clerks, and sea-captains, and found intercourse with them novel and -refreshing. They led his thoughts back to reality and he felt firm -ground once more under his feet. At the same time he began to despise -false ideality, and saw that it was vulgar of the students to look down -on the "Philistines." - -He now confessed quite simply and openly to his father, but without -remorse, the wretched life he had led at Upsala, and begged him to let -him stay at home and prepare for his examination there,--otherwise he -would be lost. His father granted permission, and now John prepared his -plan of campaign for the spring term. In the first place he meant to -take lessons in Latin composition with a good teacher in Stockholm, and -then go up in spring, and pass the examination. Furthermore he would -write his disquisition for a certificate in aesthetics and prepare for -the examination in that subject. With these resolutions he began a -quiet and industrious manner of life with the new year. - -But the failure of his play the _Free-thinker_ still weighed upon his -mind, and the questions of his friends as to whether they should soon -see something new from him, stirred him up to re-write, in the form -of a one-act play, the drama he had burnt. He finished it, and then -continued his studies. - -Shortly before April he wrote a test-composition for his teacher, who -declared that he would pass. His father did not disapprove of his plan -when he heard that John felt quite confident, but he suggested that it -would be more practical if he conformed to custom and wrote exercises -for the Upsala professor. "No," said John, "it was now a question of -principle and a matter of honour." So he went to Upsala. - -He called on the professor on his at-home day and waited till his turn -for an interview. When the latter saw him, he grew red in the face and -asked: - -"Are you here again?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you want?" - -"I want to go in for the Latin Composition examination." - -"Without having written a test-composition?" - -"I have done that in Stockholm--and I only want to ask whether the -statutes allow me to go up for the examination." - -"The statutes? Ask the dean about that; I only know what I require." - -John went straight to the dean, who was a young, lively and sympathetic -man. John made known his purpose and described what had passed. - -"Yes," said the dean, "the statutes say nothing about the matter, but -old P. can pluck you without their help." - -"Well, we shall see. Will you allow me, Mr. Dean, to go up for the -written examination, that is the question?" - -"Yes, I can't refuse that. You mean then to have your own way?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Arc you so sure about the matter?" - -"Yes." - -"Very well! Good luck to you!" said the Dean, and clapped him on the -shoulder. - -So John went up for the examination and after a week received a -telegram to say that he had passed. Some ascribed this result to -the professor's generosity and disapproved of John's rebellious -procedure; but John considered his success due to his own diligence -and knowledge, although he could not deny that the professor had acted -honourably in not plucking him when he had the power to do so. - -The examination in aesthetics was fixed for May. Contrary to all usage -John sent his disquisition by post to Upsala with the written request -that he might stand for the examination. - -His essay was entitled "Hakon Jarl," and treated of Idealism and -Realism. Its object was firstly to convince the professor that -the writer was well-read in aesthetics and particularly in Danish -literature, and secondly, to clear up to the writer himself his own -point of view. The essay, in imitation of Kierkegaard, was in the form -of a correspondence between A and B, criticising Oehlenschlaeger's -_Hakon Jarl_ and Kierkegaard's _Either--Or_. - -At the appointed time John appeared before the professor, who had -the reputation of being liberal-minded, but felt at once that he had -no sympathy with him. With an almost contemptuous air the professor -handed him back his essay and declared that it was best suited for the -female readers of the _Illustrated News_. He further stated that Danish -literature was not a subject of sufficient importance to be taken up as -a special branch of study. - -John felt annoyed, and asserted that Danish literature had greater -interest for Sweden than Boileau and Malesherbes, for example, on whom -students wrote essays. - -His examination then began and took the form of a violent argument. -It was continued in the afternoon and ended by the professor giving -him a certificate which was not so good as he had hoped, and telling -him that university studies could only be properly carried on at the -university. John replied that aesthetic studies could be best carried -on at Stockholm where one had the National Museum, Library, Theatre, -Academy of Music and Artists. - -"No," said the professor, "that is nonsense; one ought to study here." - -John let fall some remarks on college lectures, and they parted, not as -particularly good friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A KING'S PROTEGE - -(1871) - - -During the whole of this time, John had been on pleasant terms with his -father, and the old man had shown himself to a certain extent willing -to be educated, but his tactless pride sometimes broke out and annoyed -John. The latter, who was now continually at home, spent many evening -hours with the old man in conversations on all sorts of subjects, and -finally on religion. One day John spoke for half-an-hour about Theodore -Parker, so that his father at last expressed a wish to read some of -him. He kept the book for several days, but said nothing, and John -found it again in his room. His father was too proud to acknowledge -that he liked the book, but John learned through one of his brothers -that he was especially delighted with the famous sermon "On Old Age." - -In the matter of John's opposition to the professor, his father -vacillated. His opinion was that right was always right, but he did -not like the disrespectful way in which John spoke of the professor. -Meanwhile John saw that he had won the game and that his father had a -lively interest in his success. - -But one day in spring John went into the country, telling the servant -that he would be absent for the day. When he returned the next morning -he had an unpleasant reception. - -"You go away without telling me?" - -"I told the servant." - -"I require you to ask permission of me as long as you eat my bread." - -"Ask permission! What nonsense!" - -John departed, borrowed three hundred kronas from a friendly tradesman, -and then with three of his club associates went to one of the islands -near Stockholm, where they hired rooms in a fisher's house at a rent -of thirty kronas per month. No one tried to stop him, and probably -this crisis was occasioned by the fact that John was exercising a -perceptible influence on his father, brothers and sisters in matters -concerning domestic arrangements. The mistress of the house feared that -the power would be taken out of her hands. - -He spent the summer in strenuously working for his examination, for -he had now no hope of receiving further supplies from home. It was -a healthy and ascetic life with innocent amusements. He went about -in dressing-gown, drawers and sea-boots, and the toilette of his -companions was still more scanty. They bathed, sailed, fenced, and -John gave himself over increasingly to a process of decivilisation. -There were almost always spirituous liquors on the table, and John -feared them, for they made him mad. But to this asceticism and industry -succeeded a desire to make converts of others, and a great amount of -self-satisfaction. The latter is always the case, whether the ascetic -feels that in this respect he is better than others, or whether he -makes the sacrifice in order to feel himself better. Therefore he -preached to one brother who drank, and moralised over the others who -did not work, but went to Dalaroe to dance or to feast. Kierkegaard's -influence was strong upon him; he wished to be moral, and thundered -against aestheticism. - -He now studied philology, and went through Dante, Shakespeare and -Goethe. The last he hated because he was an aesthete. Behind all, like -a dark background, was the breach with his father. After their life -together during the last winter, he saw him as it were transfigured, -justified him with respect to all that had happened in the past, and -had forgotten all the petty troubles of his childhood. He missed most -of all his brothers and sisters, especially his sisters whom he -had really learnt to know. Toiling with a lexicon and investigating -roots of words had become painful to him, but he enjoyed this pain, -and disciplined his imagination by hard work, looking upon it as his -professional duty. - -Towards the end of the summer he was wild and shy. The clothes, winch -he rummaged out again, were too tight, his collar, which he had not -worn for months, tormented him as though it had been of iron, and his -shoes pinched him. Everything seemed to him constrained, conventional -and unnatural. Once he had been enticed to an evening party at Dalaroe -but had immediately returned. He was shy and could not bear frivolity -and laughter. This time it was not the consciousness of belonging -to the lower classes, for he had ceased to regard himself as one of -them. Meanwhile the ascetic life he had been leading increased his -will-power and his activity. When the next term at Upsala commenced, -he took his travelling-bag and journeyed thither, without having more -than a krona to call his own, and without knowing where he would find a -room and something to eat. On his arrival he took up his quarters with -Rejd, and set about working. The first evening, feeling half famished, -he looked up Is, who had remained the whole summer alone in Upsala -and seemed more melancholy than usual. His appearance was that of a -shadow, and solitude had made him still more morbid. He went out with -John and invited him to supper at a restaurant. He spoke in his usual -style and mangled his prey, who, on the other hand, defended himself, -struck back, and attacked the aesthete. Is contemplated his hungry -companion while he ate, and intoxicated himself with the brandy-bottle. -He adopted a maternal air and offered to lend John money. The latter -was touched, thanked him, and borrowed about ten kronas, for, since he -believed he had a future before him, he borrowed without fear. Finally -Is became drunk and raved. He changed his attitude, called John an -egoist, and reproached him for having taken the ten kronas. - -To be suspected of egotism was the worst thing John knew, for Christ -had taught him that the "ego" must be crucified. His individuality had -grown since it had been freed from pressure and attained publicity. -Conspicuous persons obtain a greater individuality through the -attention they receive, or they attract attention for the simple reason -that they have a greater individuality. John felt that he was working -in the right way for his future; he pressed forward with energy and -will and the help of many friends, but not as a charlatan or schemer. -But Is's accusation struck him in the face, as it must all men who -have an "ego." He wished to return the money, but Is drew himself up -proudly, played the "gentleman" and continued to romance. It struck -John that this idealist was a mean fellow who behaved in this fantastic -way in order to conceal his vexation at the temporary loss of the ten -kronas. - -Now the students returned for the term, and all of them with money. -John wandered about with his travelling-bag and his books, and -discovered how soon a welcome is worn out when one lies upon somebody -else's sofa. He borrowed money to hire a room with. It was a real -rats' nest with a camp-bed without sheets or cushions. No candlestick, -nothing. But he lay in bed in his under-clothes and read by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle. His friends here and there provided him -with meals. But then came the winter. He used to go out after dark and -buy a quantity of wood, which he carried home in his bag. A scientific -friend taught him how to make a charcoal fire. Moreover, the shaft of -a chimney passed through his room and was warm every washing-day. He -stood beside it with his hands behind him and read out of a book which -he had placed on the chest of drawers, dragging the latter close to -him. In the meantime his drama had been played and coldly received. The -subject-matter was religious. It dealt with heathendom and Christendom, -the former being defended as an epoch-making movement, not as a creed. -Christ was placed on one side and the only true God exalted. The drama -also contained a domestic struggle, and, after the fashion of the -time, women were extolled at the expense of the men. In one passage -the author expressed his opinion as to the position of a poet in life. -"Are you a man, Orm?" asks the duke. "I am only a poet," answers Orm. -"Therefore you will never become anything," is the rejoinder. - -In fact, John believed now that the poet's life was a shadow existence, -that he had no individuality, but only lived in that of others. But is -it then so certain that the poet possesses no individuality because -he has more than one? Perhaps he is richer because he possesses more -than the others. And why is it better to have only one "ego," since -in any case a single "ego" is not more one's own than many "egos," -seeing that even one "ego" is a compound product derived from parents, -educators, social intercourse and books? Perhaps it is for this reason -that society, like a machine, demands that the single "egos" shall act -each like a wheel, screw, or separate piece of the machine in a limited -automatic way. But the poet is more than a piece of a machine, since he -is a whole machine in himself. - -In the drama John had incorporated himself in five persons;--in the -Jarl, who is at war with his contemporaries; in the Poet, who looks -over things and looks through them; in the Mother, who is angry and -revengeful but whose thirst for vengeance is counteracted by her -sympathy; in the Daughter, who for the sake of her faith breaks with -her father; in the Lover, whose love is ill-starred. John understood -the motives of all the dramatis personae; and spoke from their varying -points of view. But a drama written for the average man who has -ready-made views on all subjects, must at least take sides with one -of its characters in order to win the excitable and partisan public. -John could not do this, because he believed in no absolute right or -wrong, for the simple reason that all these ideas are relative. One may -be right as regards the future, and wrong as regards the present; one -may be wrong in one year and right in the next; a father may justify -his son while the mother condemns him; a daughter is right in loving -the man she loves, but in her father's view she is wrong in loving a -heathen. There comes in doubt: Why do men hate and despise the doubter? -Because doubt is the seed of development and progress, and the average -man hates development because it disturbs his quiet. Only the stupid -man is certain; only the ignorant one thinks he has found the truth. -Doubt undermines energy, they say. But it is better to act without -considering the consequences. The animal and the savage act blindly, -obeying desire and impulse; in that they resemble our "men of action"! - -When John returned to Upsala, he was again followed by disparaging -criticisms. To some extent they were true, _e.g._ the assertion that -the form of the piece was borrowed from the _Kongsemnerne,_ but only -to some extent, for John had taken the frigid tone and the rough -phraseology direct from the Icelandic sagas, and the views of life he -expressed were original. Scorn followed him, and he was regarded as a -man who was ambitious of being a poet, the worst suspicion under which -any one can fall. - -But in the midst of his toil and needy circumstances, a week after his -overthrow, there came a letter from the chamberlain of the Theatre -Royal at Stockholm, requesting him to go there immediately as the -king wished to see him. Morbidly suspicious he believed that it was a -practical joke, and took the letter to his wise friend--the student of -Natural History. The latter telegraphed in the evening to a well-known -actor of the Theatre Royal requesting him to ask the chamberlain -whether he had written to John. The latter spent a restless night, -tossed to and fro between hope and fear. The next morning the answer -came that it was indeed so and that John should come at once. He set -off forthwith. - -Why did he, a born rebel, accept the royal favour without hesitation? -For the simple reason that he did not belong to the democratic party; -he had never promised his father or mother not to receive a favour from -the king. Furthermore he believed in the aristocracy or the right of -the best to govern, and he considered the upper classes the best, as -he had shown in his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, in which he expressed -contempt for the demagogues. He hated tyrants, but this king was no -tyrant. Therefore there was no reason for hesitation within him or -without him. Accordingly he travelled to Stockholm and was received in -audience by the king. The latter was just now very ill, and looked so -emaciated as to make a painful impression. He stood with a benevolent -aspect, smoking his long tobacco-pipe, and smiled at the young -beardless author, walking awkwardly between the rows of aide-de-camps -and chamberlains. He thanked him for the pleasure which he had derived -from his drama, adding that he himself when young had competed for an -academical prize with a poem on the Vikings, and was fond of the old -Norse legends. He said that he wished to help the young student to take -his doctor's degree, and closed the interview by referring him to the -treasurer, who had been ordered to make him a first payment. Later on -he would receive more, and the king said he supposed there were still -two or three years to elapse before he took his degree. - -John's immediate future was now secure. He felt gratefully moved by -this kindness on the part of a king who had so many things to think -about. On his return to Upsala, he saw for two months how the court -sunshine had turned him into a star. The official who had paid him, -had asked him whether he thought later on of obtaining a post in some -public department or in the Royal Library. His ambition had never -soared so high and did not yet do so. - -The chief object of human existence seems to be, and must indeed be, to -spend one's life till death in the least unpleasant manner possible. -This aim does not exclude solicitude for the good of others, for -happiness includes the consciousness of not having infringed others' -rights unnecessarily. Therefore ill-gotten wealth cannot secure a -pleasant life, nor can any path which leads over the prostrate bodies -of others. Accordingly Utilitarianism, or the philosophy which aims at -the greatest happiness of the greatest number, is not immoral. - -In spite of all his asceticism John could not help feeling happy. -His happiness consisted in the half-consciousness that he could live -his life without the great anxiety which the insecurity of means -of existence causes. He had been threatened by penury and was now -secure; life had been restored to him, and it is a happy thing to be -able to live before one has done growing. His chest, which had been -narrowed by hunger and over-exertion, broadened itself; his back grew -straighter; life no longer seemed so melancholy. He was contented with -his lot; things took on a more cheerful aspect, and he would have been -ungrateful had he still remained among the malcontents. - -But this did not last long. When he saw his old comrades round him in -a position in which _his_ happiness had effected no change, he found -that there was a want of harmony between them. They had been accustomed -to help him as one in need and now he needed their help no longer. -They had liked him, because they protected him and were accustomed -to see him below them. But when he came upwards, near them and above -them, they found him necessarily altered by altered circumstances. The -necessitous man is not so bold in his opinions nor so stiff in the back -as the prosperous one. He was altered for them, but was he therefore -worse? Self-esteem under other circumstances is generally well thought -of. Enough! He annoyed others by the fact that he was fortunate, and -still more because he wished to help others to be so. - -The present he had received entailed obligations, and John gave -himself diligently to study. He passed his examinations in Philology, -Astronomy, and Political Science, but received in none of these -subjects such a good testimonial as he had expected. He had studied too -much in one way and too little in another. - -In examination time he generally had an attack of aphasia. -Physiologists usually ascribe this weakness to an injury in the left -temple. And as a matter of fact John had two scars above his left eye. -One was caused by the blow of an axe, the other by a rock against which -he had struck himself in jumping down the Observatory hill. He was -inclined to trace to this the great difficulty he had in delivering -public addresses and speaking foreign languages. - -Accordingly, during examinations, he would sit there, unable to give -an answer although he knew more than was asked. Then there came over -him a spirit of defiance, of self-torment, of ill-humour, and he felt -tempted to throw up the whole thing. He criticised the text-books and -felt dishonest in learning what he despised. The role assigned to him -began to oppress him; he longed to get away from it all to something -else, wherever it might be. It was not that he regarded the king's -present as a benefaction. It was a stipend, a reward for merit, such -as artists at all periods have received for the purpose of carrying -on their self-cultivation. His royal patron was not merely the king -but his personal friend and admirer. Therefore the gift exercised no -kind of restraint upon his rebellious thoughts; he only let himself be -temporarily deceived, and believed that all was right with the world, -because he prospered. His radicalism had been considerably mitigated; -he no longer thought that all which was wrong in the state was the -fault of the monarchy, nor did he believe with the pagans that better -harvests would follow if the king was sacrificed on an idol-altar. His -mother would have wept for joy at his distinction, had she lived, so -strong were her aristocratic leanings. - -All of us, including crown princes, are democrats, inasmuch as we wish -those above us to come down to our level; but when we ascend, we do -not wish to be pulled down. The question is only whether that winch -is "above" us is so in a spiritual sense, and whether it ought to be -there. That was what John began to be doubtful of. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE WINDING UP - -(1872) - - -At the beginning of the spring term, John took up his quarters with an -elder comrade in order to continue his studies. But when he had again -the old books before him which he had already studied so long, he felt -a distaste for them. His brain was full of impressions, of collected -literary material, and refused to take in any more; his imagination -and thought were busily at work and would not let memory be alone -active; he had fits of doubt and apathy and often remained the whole -day lying on the sofa. Then the desire would sometimes awake to be -altogether free and to plunge into the life of activity. But the royal -stipend held him fast in fetters and imposed on him obligations. Having -received it, he was bound to go on studying for his doctor's degree, -the course of reading for which he had half completed. So he applied -himself to philosophy, but when he read the history of it, he found all -systems equally valid or invalid, and his mind resisted all new ideas. - -In the literary club there was disunion and lethargy. All their -youthful poems had been read and no one produced any more, so that -they only met together to drink punch. Is had exposed himself, and -after a scene with another member, he had been thrown out. He drew his -knife and got well thrashed. He saved himself from worse by affecting -to treat the affair as a joke, and was now a mere laughing-stock, since -it had been discovered that his wisdom consisted in quotations from the -students' periodicals which the others had not had the wit to utilise. -At the beginning of term an AEsthetic Society had been founded by the -professor of AEsthetics, and this made their own literary society, the -"Runa," superfluous. - -At one of the meetings of the former, John's discontent with classical -authorities broke out. He had been drinking that evening and was -half-intoxicated. In conversation with the professor dangerous ground -was touched upon and John was enticed so far out of his reserve as to -declare Dante without significance for humanity and overestimated. John -had plenty of reasons to allege for his opinion, but could not express -them to advantage when the professor set upon him, and the whole -company gathered round the disputants, who were squeezed into a corner -by the stove. He wanted in the first place to say that the construction -of the _Divine Comedy_ was not original, but a very ordinary form which -had already been employed shortly before in the _Vision of Albericus_. -Furthermore his opinion was that in this poem Dante did not reflect -the culture and thoughts of his period, because he was so uncultured -that he did not even know Greek. He was not a philosopher, for he -hampered thought by the fetters of revelation, and therefore he was no -precursor of the Renaissance or the Reformation. He was no patriot, for -he venerated the German empire as established by God. He was at most a -local patriot of Florence. Nor was he a democrat, for he always dreamt -of a union of the empire and the papacy. He did not attack the papacy, -but only individual popes who lived immoral lives, as he himself -had done in his youth. He was a monk, a truly idiotic child of his -age, for he sent unbaptised children to hell. He was a narrow-minded -royalist who put Brutus next to Satan in the deepest hell. He was -entirely wanting in the power of selfcriticism;--while he reckons -ingratitude to friends and betrayal of one's fatherland among the worst -of crimes, he places his own friend and teacher, Brunetto Latini, in -hell, and supports the German Emperor, Henry VII, against his native -city Florence. He had bad literary taste, for he reckoned as the six -greatest poets of the world Homer, Horace, Lucan, Ovid, Virgil and -himself. How could modern critics who were so severe on all scandalous -literature praise Dante, who in his poem cast dishonour on so many -contemporary persons and families? He even scolds his own dear native -city, exclaiming when he finds five nobly-born Florentines in Hell: -"Rejoice! O Florence! for thy name is not only great over land and -sea, but also in hell. Five of thy citizens are in thieves' company; -my cheeks blush at the sight of them. But one thing I know; punishment -will light upon thee, Florence, and may it happen soon!" - -As is usual in such debates, the attacked and the attacker often -changed their ground. John wished to prove to the professor that from -his point of view the _Commedia_ was a political pamphlet, but then -the professor veered round, adopted the enemy's point of view and said -that _he_ should value it as such. Whereupon John answered that it was -exactly as such that he designated it, but not as a magnificent poem -of everlasting value, which the professor had declared it to be in his -lectures. Again the professor changed his ground, and said that the -poem should be judged by the standard of the period at which it was -composed. - -"Exactly so," answered John, "but you have judged it by the standard -of our time and all succeeding times, and therefore you are wrong. But -even with regard to its own time the work is not an epoch-making one; -it is not in advance of its period, but belongs strictly to it, or -rather lags behind it. It is a linguistic monument for Italy, nothing -more, and should never be read in a Swedish university, because the -language is antiquated, and finally because it is too insignificant to -be regarded as a link in the development of culture." - -The result of the controversy was that John was regarded as shameless -and half-cracked. - -After this explosion he was exhausted and incapable of work. The whole -of the life in a town where he did not feel at home was distasteful -to him. His companions advised him to take a thorough rest, for he -had worked too hard, and so, as a matter of fact, he had. Various -schemes again presented themselves to his mind, but without result. -The grey dirty town vexed him, the scenery around depressed him; he -lay on a sofa and looked at the illustrations in a German newspaper. -Views of foreign scenery had the same effect as music on his mind and -he felt a longing to see green trees and blue seas; he wished to go -into the country but it was still only February, the sky was as grey -as sack-cloth, the streets and roads were muddy. When he felt most -depressed, he went to his friend the natural science student. It -refreshed him to see his herbarium and microscope, his aquarium and -physiological preparations. Most of all he found a pleasure in the -society of the quiet, peaceable atheist, who let the world go its way, -for he knew that he worked better for the future, in his small measure, -than the poet with his excitable outbreaks. He had a little of the -artist left in him and painted in oils. To think that he could call up -as if by enchantment a green landscape amid the mists of this wintry -spring and hang it on his wall! - -"Is painting difficult?" he asked his friend. - -"No, indeed! It is easier than drawing. Try it!" - -John, who had already, with the greatest calm, composed a song with a -guitar-accompaniment, thought it not impossible for him to paint, and -he borrowed an easel, colours, and a paint-brush. Then he went home -and shut himself up in his room. From an illustrated paper he copied a -picture of a ruined castle. When he saw the clear blue of the sky he -felt sentimental, and when he had conjured up green bushes and grass -he felt unspeakably happy as though he had eaten haschish. His first -effort was successful. But now he wished to copy a painting. That was -harder. Everything was green and brown. He could not make his colours -harmonise with the original and felt in despair. - -One day when he had shut himself up he heard a visitor talking with his -friend in the next room. They whispered as though they were near a sick -person. "Now he is actually painting," said his friend in a depressed -tone. - -What did that mean? Did they consider him cracked? Yes. He began to -think about himself, and like all brooders came to the conclusion that -he was cracked. What was to be done? If they shut him up, he would -certainly go quite mad. "Better anticipate them," he thought, and as he -had heard of private asylums in the country, where the patients could -walk about and work in the garden, he wrote to the director of one of -them. After some time he received a friendly answer advising him to be -quiet. His correspondent had received information about John through -his friend and understood his state of mind. He told him it was only a -crisis which all sensitive natures must pass through, etc. - -_That_ danger, then, was over. But he wished to get out into active -life when ever it might be. - -One day he heard that a travelling theatrical company had come to the -town. He wrote a letter to the manager and solicited an engagement, -but he received no answer and did not call on the manager. Thus he -was tossed to and fro, till at last fate intervened and set him -free. Three months had passed and he had received no money from the -court-treasurer. His companions advised him to write and make a polite -inquiry. In reply he was told that it had never been his Majesty's -intention to pay him a regular pension, but only a single donation. -However, in consideration of his needy circumstances, by way of -exception, he had made him a grant of 200 kronas, which would shortly -be sent. - -John at first felt glad, for he was free, but afterwards the turn which -affairs had taken made him uneasy, for the papers had stated that -he was the king's stipendiary, and the king had really promised him -a stipend during the year that he must read for his degree. Besides -this the court-marshal had given him a sort of half promise for the -future which could hardly be considered as adequately fulfilled by -a donation of 200 kronas. Different opinions were expressed on the -matter. Some thought that the king had forgotten, others that the state -of his finances did not allow of a further gift, or that his good -wishes exceeded his powers. No one expressed disapproval, and John was -secretly glad, had he not felt a certain disgrace in the withdrawal -of the stipend, so that he might be suspected of having groundlessly -boasted of it. Those who believed that John was in disfavour at court -ascribed this to the fact that he had omitted to wait upon the king -in person when he was in Stockholm at Christmas and the New Year. -Others attributed it to the fact that he had not formally presented -his tragedy, _Sinking Hellas_, but had simply sent it to the palace, -instead of going with it, which his sense of independence forbade -him to do. Ten years later he heard quite a new explanation of this -disfavour. He was said to have composed a lampoon on the king. But this -was a pure legend, probably the only one of its obscure fabricator -which would reach posterity. Anyhow facts remained as they were and -his resolve was quickly taken. He would go to Stockholm and become -a literary man, an author if possible, should he prove to possess -sufficient capacity for that calling. - -The student who shared his room undertook to pay his return journey, -and alleged as a pretext that John must wait some time in Stockholm -lest the landlord should be uneasy. Meanwhile he could collect enough -money to pay the rent which was due at the end of the term. - -His friends gave John a farewell feast and John thanked them, -acknowledging the obligations which each owes to those he meets in -social intercourse. Every personality is not developed simply out -of itself, but derives something from each with whom it comes in -contact, just as the bee gathering her honey from a million flowers, -appropriates it and gives it out as her own. - -Thus he stepped into life, abandoning dreams and the past to live in -reality and the present. But he was ill-prepared and the university is -not the proper school for life. He felt also that the decisive hour had -come. In a clumsy speech he called the feast a "svensexa," _i.e_. a -farewell supper for a bachelor on the eve of his marriage, for he was -now to be a man and leave boyhood behind; he was to become a member of -society, a useful citizen and eat his own bread. - -So he believed at the time, but he soon discovered that his education -had unfitted him for society, and as he did not wish to be an outlaw -the doubt awoke in him whether society, of which after all school and -university were a part, was not to blame for his education, and whether -it had not serious defects which needed a remedy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AMONG THE MALCONTENTS - -(1872) - - -When John came to Stockholm, he borrowed money in order to hire a -room near the Ladugaerdslandet. Always under the sway of sentiment, he -chose this quarter of the town because he always used to walk there -in his childhood on the 1st of May, and the High Street especially -had something of a holiday air about it. Moreover it soon opened into -the Zoological Gardens, which became his favourite place for walks. -The barracks with their drums and trumpets had something exhilarating -about them, and there were fine views over the sea which was close at -hand. There was plenty of light and air. When he went for his morning -walk he could choose his route according to his mood. If he was sad -and depressed, he went along the Sirishofsvaegen; if he was cheerful -he turned off to the level ground of Manilla, where the paradisial -rose-valley exhaled joy and delight; if he was despairing and anxious -to avoid people he went out to Ladugaerdsgardet, where no one could -disturb his self-communings and his prayers to God. Sometimes, when his -soul was in a tumult, he remained standing by the cross-ways above the -bridge near the Zoological Gardens, irresolute which way to take. On -such occasion a thousand forces seemed to pull him in all directions. - -His room was very simple and commanded no view. It smelt of poverty, -as the whole house did, in which the only person of standing was the -deputy-landlord, a policeman. John began his active career by painting, -out of a sense of need to give his feelings shape and to express them -in a palpable way, for the little letters huddled together on the paper -were dead and could not express his mind so plainly and simultaneously. -He did not think of being a painter in order to exhibit or sell -pictures. To step to the easel was for him just like sitting down and -singing. At the same time he renewed his acquaintance with his friend -the sculptor, who introduced him to a circle of young painters. These -were all discontent with the Academy and the antiquated methods which -could not express their vague dreams. They still preserved the Bohemian -type, so late did the waves of modern ideas beat on the far coasts of -the North. They wore long hair, slouched hats, brilliant cravats, and -lived like the birds of heaven. They read and quoted Byron and dreamt -of enormous canvases and subjects such as no studio could contain. A -sculptor and a Norwegian had conceived the idea of hewing a statue out -of the Dovre rock; a painter wished to paint the sea not merely as a -level, but with such a wide horizon as to show the convex curve of the -globe. - -This took John's fancy. One should give expression to one's inner -feelings and not depict mere sticks and stones which are meaningless in -themselves till they have passed through the alembic of a percipient -mind. Therefore the artists did not make studies out of doors, but -painted at home from their memory and imagination. John always painted -the sea with a coast in the foreground, some gnarled pine-trees, a -couple of rocky islets in the distance and a white-painted buoy. The -atmosphere was generally gloomy, with a weak or strong light on the -horizon; it was always sunset or moonlight, never clear daylight. - -But he was soon woken out of this dream-life partly by hunger, partly -by recollecting the reality which he had sought in order to save -himself from his dreams. - -Although John knew little of contemporary politics, he knew that the -democracy or peasant-class had arrived at power, that they had declared -war on the official and middle classes, and that they were hated in -Upsala. And now he himself was to enter the ranks of the combatants -and attack the old order of things. The only item of the knowledge -which he had brought with him from Upsala which was likely to be useful -here, was the small amount of political science which he had studied. -Of what use were Astronomy, Philology, AEsthetics, Latin and Chemistry -here? He knew something about the land-laws and communal-laws, but had -no idea of political economy, finance or jurisprudence. When he now -began to look about for a suitable paper to which to attach himself, -it did not occur to him to make use of his old connection with the -_Aftonbladet_, but he wrote for a small evening paper which had lately -appeared, which was regarded as radical and was issued by the New -Liberal Union. The editor held receptions in the La Croix Cafe, and -here John was introduced into the society of journalists. He felt ill -at ease among them. They did not think as he did, seemed uncultivated, -as indeed they were, and rather gossiped than discussed important -matters. They certainly busied themselves with facts, but these were -rather trifles than great questions. They were full of phrases, but -did not seem to have a proper command of their material. John, though -against his will, was too much of an academic aristocrat to sympathise -with these democrats, who for the most part had not chosen their -career, but been forced into it by the pressure of circumstances. He -found the atmosphere stifling for his idealism, and came no more to the -receptions after he had done his business, and been invited to write -for the paper. - -He made his debut as an art-critic. His first criticism concerned -Winge's "Thor with the giants" and Rosen's "Eric XIV and Karin -Monsdotter." The young critic naturally wished to display his learning, -though all he had was what he had picked up in lectures and books. -Therefore his criticism of Winge was a mere eulogy. His remarks chiefly -regarded the subject of the picture as a Norse one and treated in the -grand style. The painters did not like this sort of criticism, as -they considered the only point to be criticised in a work of art was -the execution. "Eric the XIV" he judged from his monomaniacal point -of view, "aristocrat or democrat," and found fault with the incorrect -conception of Goeran Persson, whom in his own tragedy _Eric XIV_ -(subsequently burnt) he had represented as an enemy of the nobility and -friend of the people. - -Descended from his own height as a promising student, author and royal -protege to the then less regarded class of journalists, he felt himself -again one of the lower orders. - -After the editor had struck out his learned flourishes, the articles -were printed. The editor told him they were piquant, but advised him -to employ a more flowing style. He had not yet caught the journalistic -knack. - -Then John planned a series of articles in which, under the title -"Perspective," he treated of social and economic questions. In these he -attacked university life, the divisions of the classes, the injurious -over-reading and the unfortunate position of the students. Since the -labour-question at that time was not a burning one, he ventured on a -comparison between the prospects of a student and that of a workman, -declaring the latter to be far better off. The workman was generally -in good health, could support himself at eighteen and marry at twenty, -while the student could not think of marriage and making a livelihood -before thirty. As a remedy he recommended doing away with the final -examination as Jaabaek had already done in Norway, and the transference -of the university to Stockholm in order that the students might have -a chance of earning something during their course. As an example he -adduced the case of modern students at Athens who learn a trade while -they study. This was all clear to him as early as 1872, yet when he -made similar suggestions twelve years later, he was thought to have -conceived them on the spur of the moment. - -At the same time he took an engagement on a small illustrated ladies' -paper and wrote biographical notices and novelettes. The ladies were -very kind, but let him work too hard, and gave him all kinds of -commissions to execute. After he had spent two or three days in paying -visits, dived into a publisher's place of business, read biographical -romances in three or four volumes, made researches in the library, -run to the printing-office and finally written his columns carefully, -setting each person treated of in a proper historical light, and -analysing his career, he received, for all that work, fifteen kronas. -He calculated that this was less pay per hour than a servant earned. -The bread of the literary man was certainty hardly earned, and that -this is the common lot of authors does not make matters better. But the -profession was also despised, and John felt that in social position he -stood below his brothers who were tradesmen, below the actors, yes, -even below the elementary school-teachers. - -The journalists led a subterranean existence, but they styled -themselves "we" and wrote as though they were sovereigns of God's -appointment; they had men's weal or woe in their hand, since the chief -weapon in the struggle for existence in our civilised days is social -reputation. How was it that society had given these free lances such -terrible power without taking any guarantees? But when one comes -to think, what assurance is there for the capacity and insight of -the law-givers in parliament, in the ministry, on the throne? None -whatever! It is therefore the same all round. There were, however, two -classes of newspapers; the conservative, which wished to preserve the -social condition with all its defects, and the liberal, which wished -to improve it. The former enjoyed a certain respect, the latter, none -at all. John instinctively sided with the last, and at once felt that -he was regarded as every one's enemy. A liberal journalist and a -chronicler of scandals were synonymous terms. At home he had heard the -usual phrase that "no one was honourable whose name had not appeared -in the paper _Fatherland_." In the street they had pointed out to him -a man who looked like a bandit, with the mark of a dagger-stab between -his eyes, and said, "There goes the journalist X." In the Cafe La Croix -he felt depressed among his new colleagues, but none the less chose to -associate with this unpopular group. Did he choose really? One does not -choose one's impulses, and it is no virtue to be a democrat when one -hates the upper classes and has no pleasure in their company. - -Meanwhile for social intercourse he went to the artists. It was a -strange world in which they lived. There was so much nature among -these men who busied themselves with art. They dressed badly, lived -like beggars--one of them lived in the same room with the servant--and -ate what they could get; they could hardly read, and had no knowledge -of orthography. At the same time they talked like cultivated people, -they looked at things from an independent point of view, were keenly -observant and unfettered by dogmas. One of them four years previously -had minded geese, a second had wielded the smith's hammer, a third -had been a farmer's servant and walked behind the dung-cart, and a -fourth had been a soldier. They ate with knives, used their sleeves as -napkins, had no handkerchiefs and only one coat in winter. However, -John felt at home with them, though of late years he had been -conversant only with cultivated and well-to-do young people. It was not -that he was superior to them, for that they did not acknowledge, nor -was it any use to quote books to them, for they accepted no authority. -His doubts as regards books, especially text-books, began to be -aroused, and he began to suspect that old books may injure a modern -man's thinking powers. This doubt became a certainty when he met one of -the group whom all regarded as a genius. - -He was a painter about thirty years old, formerly a farmer's servant -who had come to the Academy in order to become an artist. After he -had spent some time in the painting school he came to the conclusion -that art was insufficient as a medium for expressing his thoughts, -and he lived now on nothing, while he busied himself by reflecting on -the questions of the time. Badly educated at an elementary school, he -had now flung himself on the most up-to-date books and had a start of -John, since he had begun where the latter had left off. Between John -and him there was the same difference as between a mathematician and -a pilot. The former can calculate in logarithms, the latter can turn -them to practical use. But Mans also was critically disposed and did -not believe in books blindly. He had no ready-made scheme or system -into which to fit his thoughts; he always thought freely, investigated, -sifted and only retained what he recognised as tenable. More free from -passions than John, he could draw more reckless inferences, even when -they went against his own wishes and interests, though with certain -matter-of-course limitations. He was more-over prudent, as indeed he -must have been to have worked himself up from such a low position, -and understood how to be silent as to certain conclusions, which, if -expressed tactlessly and in the wrong place, might have injured him. -As his literary adviser, he had a telegraph-assistant whose knowledge -Mans knew better how to use than its owner himself; the latter had not -a very lively intellect, although in his knowledge of languages he -possessed the key to the three great modern literatures. Passionless -and self-conscious, with a strong control over his impulses, he stood -outside everything, contemplating and smiling at the free play of -thought which he enjoyed as a work of art, with the accompanying -certainly that it was after all only an illusion. - -With both of these John had many friendly disputes. When he drew up -his schemes for the future of men and society he could rouse Mans' -enthusiasm and carry him along with him, but when he had taken his -hearer a certain way with his emotional and passionate descriptions, -the latter took out his microscope, found the weak spot where to -insert his knife, and cut. On such occasions John was impatient and -motioned his opponent away. "You are a pedant," he said, "and fasten -on details." But sometimes it turned out that the "detail" was a -premise the excision of which made the whole grand fabric of inference -collapse. John was always a poet, and had he continued as such -unhindered he might have brought it to something. The poet can speak -to the point like the preacher, and that is an advantageous position. -He can rattle on without being interrupted, and therefore he can -persuade if not convince. It was through these two unlearned men that -John learned a philosophy which was not known at Upsala. In the course -of conversation, his opponents often referred to an authority whom -they called "Buckle." John rejected an authority of whom he had heard -nothing in Upsala. But the name continually recurred and worried him to -such an extent that he at last asked his friends to lend him the book. -The effect of reading it was such that John regarded his acquaintance -with the book as the vestibule of his intellectual life. Here there -was an atmosphere of pure naked truth. So it should be and so it was. -Mans, like all other organised beings, was under the control of natural -laws; all so-called spiritual qualities rest on a material basis, and -chemical affinities are as spiritual as the sympathies of souls. The -whole of speculative philosophy which wished to evolve laws from the -inner consciousness was only a better kind of theology, and what was -worse, an inquisition, which wished to confine the many-sidedness -of the world-process within the limits of an individual system. "No -system" is Buckle's motto. Doubt is the beginning of all wisdom, doubt -means investigation and stimulates intellectual progress. The truth -which one seeks is simply the discovery of natural laws. Knowledge is -the highest, morality is only an accidental form of behaviour, which -depends upon different social conventions. Only knowledge can make men -happy, and the simple-minded or ignorant with their moral strivings, -their benevolence and their philanthropy are only injurious or useless. - -And now he drew the necessary conclusions. Heavenly love and its -result, marriage, is conditioned as to that result by such a prosaic -matter as the price of provisions; the rate of suicide varies with -wages, and religion is conditioned by natural scenery, climate and -soil. His mind was predisposed to receive the new doctrines, and now -they made their triumphant entry. John had always planted his feet -firmly on the earth, and neither the balloon-voyages of poetry nor the -will-o'-the-wisps of German philosophy had found a sincere adherent in -him. He had sat in despair over Kant's _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_, -and asked himself with curiosity, whether it was he who was so stupid -or Kant who was so obscure. The study of the history of philosophy, -in which he had seen how each philosopher pointed to his system as -the true one, and championed it against others, had left him amazed. -Now it was clear to him that the idealists who mingle their obscure -perceptions with dear presentations of facts were only savages or -children, and that the realists, who were alone capable of clear -perceptions, were the most highly developed in the scale of creation. -The poets and philosophers are somnambulists, and the religious who -always live in fear of the unknown are like animals in a forest who -fear every rustic in the bushes, or like primitive men who sacrificed -to the thunder instead of erecting lightning rods. - -Now he had a weapon in his hand to wield against the old authorities -and against the schools and universities which were enslaved by -patronage. Buckle himself had run away from school, had never been at -a university, and hated them. Apropos of Locke he remarks, "Were this -deep thinker now alive, he would inveigh against our great universities -and schools, where countless subjects are learnt which no one needs, -and which few take the trouble to remember." - -Accordingly Upsala had been wrong, and John right. He knew that there -were ignorant savants there, and that it was on account of their own -want of culture that the professors of philosophy could teach nothing -but German philosophy. They neither knew English nor French philosophy -for the simple reason that they only understood Latin and German. -Buckle's _History of Civilisation in England_ was written in 1857, but -did not reach Sweden till 1871-72. Even then the soil was not ready for -the seed. The learned critics were unfavourable to Buckle, and the seed -took root only in some young minds who had no authoritative voice. - -"No literature," says Buckle himself, "can be useful to a people, if -they are not prepared to receive it." Thus it was with Buckle and -his work, which preceded that of Darwin (1858) and contained all its -inferences--a proof that evolution in the world of thought is not so -strictly conditioned as has been believed. Buckle did not know Mill or -Spencer, whose thoughts now rule the world, but he said most of what -they said subsequently. - -Now, if John had had a character, _i.e_. if he had been ruled by -a single quiet purpose directed towards one object, he would have -extracted from Buckle all that answered his purpose and left out all -that told against it. But he was a truth-seeker and did not shrink from -looking into the abyss of contradictions, especially as Buckle never -asserted that he had found the truth, and because truth is relative -and it is often found on both sides. Doubt, criticism, inquiry are the -chief matter, and the only useful course to pursue, as they guarantee -liberty. Sermons, programmes, certainty, system, "truth" are various -forms of constraint and stupidity. But it is impossible to be a -consistent doubter when one is crammed full with "complete evidence," -and when one's judgment is swayed by class-prejudice, anxiety for a -living and struggles for a position. John became calm when he learnt -that all that was wrong in the world was wrong in accordance with -necessary law, but he became furious when he made the further discovery -that our social condition, our religion and morality were absurdities. -He wished to understand and pardon his opponents, since in their -actions they were no more free than he was, but he was in duty bound -to strangle them since they hindered the evolution of society towards -universal happiness, and that was the only and greatest crime that -could be committed. But as there were no criminals, how could one get -hold of the crime? - -He was rejoiced that the mistakes had now been discovered, but despair -oppressed him again when he saw that the discovery was premature. -Nothing could be done for many years to come. Social evolution was a -very slow process. Consequently he must lie at anchor in the roadstead -waiting for the tide. But this waiting was too long for him; he heard -an inner voice bidding him speak, for if one does not spread what -light one has, how can popular views be changed? Yes, but a premature -promulgation of new ideas can do no good. Thus he was tossed to and -fro. Everything round him now seemed so old and out of date that he -could not read a newspaper without getting an attack of cramp. _They_ -only had regard to the present moment; no one thought of the future. -His philosophical friend comforted and calmed him, through, among other -sayings, a sentence of La Bruyere, "Don't be angry because men are -stupid and bad, or you will have to be angry because a stone falls; -both are subject to the same laws; one must be stupid and the other -fall." - -"That is all very well," said John, "but think of having to be a -bird and live in a ditch! Air! light! I cannot breathe or see," he -exclaimed; "I suffocate!" - -"Write!" answered his friend. - -"Yes, but what?" - -Where should he begin? Buckle had already written everything, and -yet it was as though it had not been written. The worst thing was -that he felt he lacked the power. Hitherto he had only felt a very -moderate degree of ambition. He did not wish to march at the head, to -be a conqueror and so on. But to go in front with an axe as a simple -pioneer, to fell trees, root up thickets, and let others build bridges -and throw up redoubts, was enough for him. It is often observable that -great ambition is only the sign of great power. John was moderately -ambitious, because he was now only conscious of moderate powers. -Formerly when he was young and strong he had great confidence in -himself. He was a fanatic, _i.e_. his will was supported by powerful -passions, but his awakened insight and healthy doubt had sobered his -self-confidence. The work before him took the form of rock-walls which -must be pulled down, but he was not so simple as to venture on the task. - -Now he began to habituate himself forcibly to doubt in order to be -patient and not to explode. He entrenched himself in doubt as in a -fortress, and as a means of self-preservation he determined to depict -his struggles and doubts in a drama. The subject matter which he had -been turning over in his mind for a year he took from the history of -the Reformation in Sweden. Thus was composed the drama later on known -as _The Apostate_. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE RED ROOM - -(1872) - - -In autumn occurred the death of Charles XV. With the mourning, which -was fairly sincere and widespread, there mingled gloomy anxieties for -the future. One of the young painters who belonged to John's circle of -friends had just received a royal stipend and gone to Norway. He had -now to return quite destitute and without any prospects for the future. -John was accustomed to go with him into the Zoological Gardens in order -to paint, and occupy his mind while he was waiting for an answer from -the theatrical manager to whom he had sent his drama. - -There is indeed no occupation which so absorbs all the thoughts and -emotions so much as painting. John watched and enjoyed the delicate -harmonies of the lines in the branch-formation of the trees, in the -wave-like curves of the ground, but his paint-brush was too coarse to -reproduce the contours as he wished. Then he took his pen and made a -drawing in detail. But when he tried to transfer it to his canvas and -paint it, the whole appeared but a smudge. - -Pelle, on the other hand, was an impressionist and look no notice -of details. He took up the landscape at a stroke, so to speak, and -gave the colours their due value, but the various objects melted into -uncertain silhouettes. John thought Pelle's landscapes more beautiful -than the reality, although he cherished great reverence for the works -of the Creator. After he had wiled away about a month in painting, -he went one evening into the Cafe La Croix. The first person he met -was his former editor, who said, "I have just heard from X." (a young -author) "that the Theatre Royal has refused _The Apostate_." - -"I know nothing about it," answered John. He did not feel well and left -the company as soon as possible. The next day he went to his former -instructor to find how the matter stood. The latter began first to -praise, and then to criticise it, which is the right method. He said -that the characters of Olaus Petri and Gustav Wasa had been brought -down from their proper level and distorted. John, on the other hand, -held that he had given a realistic representation of them as they -probably were, before their figures had been idealised by patriotic -considerations. His friend replied that that was no good; the public -would never accept a new reading of their characters till critical -inquiry had done its preliminary work. - -That was true, but the blow was a heavy one, although dealt with as -much consideration as possible, and the author was invited to remodel -his drama. He had again been premature in his attempt. There was -nothing left for him but to wait and wile away the time. To think -of remodelling it now was not possible for him, for he saw, when he -read it through again, that it was all cast in one piece and that the -details could not be altered. He could not change it, unless he changed -his thoughts, and therefore he must wait. - -Now he took to reading again. Chance brought into his hand two of -"the best books which one can read." They were De Tocqueville's -_Democracy in America_ and Prevost-Paradol's _The New France._ The -former increased his doubts as to the possibility of democracy in -an uncultivated community. Written with sincere admiration for the -political institutions of America, which the author holds up as a -pattern for Europe, this work points out so sincerely the dangers of -democracy, as to make even a born hater of the aristocracy pause. - -John's theories received terrible blows, but this time his good sense -triumphed over his prejudices. His loss of faith in his own powers, -however, had a demoralising effect upon him, and he was soon ripe -for absolute scepticism. Sentences such as the following admitted -at that time of no contradiction: "The moral power of the majority -is based partly upon the conviction that a number of men have more -understanding, intelligence and wisdom than an individual, and a -great number of lawgivers more than a selection of them. That is the -principle of equality applied to intellectual gifts. This doctrine -attacks the pride of humanity in its innermost citadel." - -An individualist like John did not perceive that this pride can and -must be overcome. Nor did he see that wisdom and intelligence can be -spread by means of good schools among the masses. - -"When a man or a party in the United States suffers injustice, to whom -shall he turn? To public opinion? That is the opinion of the majority. -To the legislative officials? They are nominated by the majority -and obey it blindly. To the executive power? That is chosen by the -majority and serves it as a passive instrument. To the military forces -of the State? They are simply the majority under arms. To juries? -They are formed by a majority which possesses the right to judge." De -Tocqueville goes on to say that the happiness of the majority which -consists in maintaining its rights deserves recognition, and that it is -better for a minority to suffer from pressure than a majority, but the -sufferings which an intelligent minority suffer from an unintelligent -majority are much greater than those which an intelligent minority -inflict upon a majority. On the other hand, the minority understands -much better than the majority what conduces to their own and the -general happiness, and therefore the tyranny of the minority is not to -be compared with that of the majority. - -"Yes, but," thought John, "did not the European peoples generally -suffer from the tyranny of a minority?" The mere fact that there -were upper classes lay like a heavy cloud on the life of the masses. -Nowadays the question may be raised, "Why should a different -class-education result in an intelligent minority and an unintelligent -majority?" But such questions were not raised then. Moreover had such -a state really ever been seen in which an intelligent minority had the -power to "oppress"? No, for sovereigns, ministers and parliaments had -usually the due modicum of intelligence. - -That which more than anything else inclined John to fear the power of -the masses, was the fact noted by De Tocqueville that they tyrannised -over freedom of thought. - -"When one tries to ascertain," he says, "how much freedom of thought -there is in the United States it becomes apparent how much the tyranny -of the masses transcends any despotism known to Europe. I know no -country where there is, generally speaking, less independence of -opinion and real freedom of discussion than America. The majority -draw a terribly narrow circle round all thought. Within that circle -an author may say what he likes, but woe to him if he step across the -limit. He has no _auto-da-fe_ to fear, but he is made the mark for all -kinds of unpleasantness and daily persecutions. Every good quality is -denied him, even honour. Before he published his views, he thought he -had adherents; after he has made them known to all the world he sees -that he no longer has any, for his critics have raised an outcry, -and those who thought as he did, but lacked the courage to express -themselves, are silent and withdraw. He gives way; he finally collapses -under the strain of daily renewed effort, and resumes silence, as -though he regretted having spoken the truth, - -"In democratic republics, tyranny lets the body alone and attacks the -soul. In them the dominant power does not say, 'You must think as I -do, or die;' it says, 'You are free to differ from me in opinion; your -life and property will remain untouched, but from the day that you -express a different view from mine, you will be a stranger among us. -You will retain your rights and privileges as a citizen, but they will -be useless to you. You will remain among men, but be deprived of all -a man's rights. When you approach your equals they will flee you as -though you were a leper; even those who believe in your innocence will -abandon you, lest they should be themselves abandoned. Go in peace! -I grant you life, but a life which shall be harder and bitterer than -death!'" - -That is the true and credible picture which the noble De Tocqueville, -friend of the people and tyrant-hater as he was, has drawn of the -tyranny of the masses, those masses whose feet John had felt trampling -on him at home, at school, in the steamer and the theatre, those -masses whom he had satirised in the play _Sinking Hellas_, and whom -he had described as throwing the first stone at Olaus Petri just at -the moment when he was preaching to them of freedom! If it is thus in -America, how can one expect anything better in Europe. He found himself -in a cul-de-sac. His hereditary disposition prevented his becoming an -aristocrat, nor could he come to terms with the people. Had he not -himself suffered lately from an ignorant theatre-management behind -which stood the uncultivated public, and found the way blocked for -his new and liberal ideas. There was then already a mob-despotism in -Sweden, and the director of the Theatre Royal was only their servant. - -It was all absurdity! And even suppose society were ruled by those who -knew most. Then they would be under professors with their heads full of -antiquarian ideas. Even if the director had put his drama on the stage, -it would have certainly been hissed off by the tradesmen in the stalls, -and no critics could have helped him! - -His thoughts struggled like fishes in a net, and ended by being caught. -It was not worth the trouble of thinking about and he tried to banish -the thought, but could not. He felt a continual trouble and despair -in his mind that the world was going idiotically, majestically and -unalterably to the devil. "Unalterably," he thought, for as yet a large -number of strong minds had not attacked the problem, which was soluble -after all. Ten years later it was provisionally solved, when knowledge -on the subject of this sphinx-riddle had been so widely spread that -even a workman had obtained some insight into it, and in a public -meeting had declared that equality was impossible, for the block-heads -could not be equal to the sharp-sighted, and that the utmost one could -demand was equality of position. This workman was more of an aristocrat -than John dared to be in the year 1872, though he belonged to no party -which claimed the right to muzzle him. - -Prevost-Paradol had dealt with the same theme as Tocqueville, but -he suggested a secret device against the tyranny of the masses--the -cumulative vote or the privilege of writing the same name several times -on the ballot-paper. But John considered this method, which had been -tried in England, doubtful. - -He had set great hopes on his drama, and borrowed money on the strength -of them, and now felt much depressed. The disproportion between his -fancied and his real value galled him. Now he had to adopt a role, -learn it, and carry it out. He composed one for himself, consisting -of the sceptic, the materialist and the liar, and found that it -suited him excellently. This was for the simple reason that it was a -sceptical and materialistic period, and because he had unconsciously -developed into a man of his time. But he still believed that his -earlier discarded personality, ruled indeed by wild passions, but -cherishing ideals of a higher calling, love to mankind and similar -imaginations, was his true and better self which he hid from the world. -All men make similar mistakes when they value sickly sentimentality -above strong thought, when they look back to their youth and think -they were purer and more virtuous then, which is certainly untrue. -The world calls the weaker side of men their "better self," because -this weakness is more advantageous for the world and self-interest -seems to dictate its judgment. John found that in his new role he was -freed from all possible prejudices--religious, social, political and -moral. He had only one opinion,--that everything was absurd, only -one conviction,--that nothing could be done at present, and only one -hope,--that the time would come when one might effectively intervene, -and when there would be improvement. But from that time he altogether -gave up reading newspapers. To hear stupidity praised, selfish acts -lauded as philanthropic, and reason blasphemed,--that was too much for -a fanatical sceptic. Sometimes, however, he thought that the majority -were right in just being at the point of view where they were, and that -it was unnecessary that some few individuals, because of a specialised -education, should run far ahead of the rest. In quiet moments he -recognised that his mental development which had taken place so -rapidly, without his ever seeing an idea realised, could be a pattern -for such a slowly-working machine as society is. Why did he run so far -ahead? It was not the fault of the school or university, for they had -held him back equally with the majority. - -Yes, but those already out in the world, by their own hearths, had -already reached the stage of Buckle's scepticism as regards the social -order, so that he was not so far ahead after all. The slow rate of -progress was enough to make one despair. What Schiller's Karl Moor -had seen a hundred years previously, what the French Revolution had -actually brought about were now regarded as brand-new ideas. After -the Revolution, social development had gone backwards; religious -superstitions were revived, belief in a better state of things lost, -and economic and industrial progress was accompanied by sweating and -terrible poverty. It was absurd! All minds that were awake at all -had to suffer,--suffer like every living organism when hindered in -growth and pressed backward. The century had been inaugurated by the -destruction of hopes, and nothing has such a paralysing effect on the -soul as disappointed hope, which, as statistics show, is one of the -most frequent causes of madness. Therefore all great spirits were, -vulgarly speaking, mad. Chateaubriand was a hypochondriac, Musset a -lunatic, Victor Hugo a maniac. The automatic pygmies of everyday life -cannot realise what such suffering means, and yet believe themselves -capable of judging in the matter. - -The ancient poet is psychologically correct in representing -Prometheus as having his liver gnawed by a vulture. Prometheus was -the revolutionary who wished to spread mental illumination among -men. Whether he did it from altruistic motives, or from the selfish -one of wishing to breathe a purer mental atmosphere, may be left -undecided. John, who felt akin to this rebel, was aware of a pain which -resembled anxiety, and a perpetual boring "toothache in the liver." Was -Prometheus then a liver-patient who confusedly ascribed his pain to -causes outside himself? Probably not! But he was certainly embittered -when he saw that the world is a lunatic asylum in which the idiots go -about as they like, and the few who preserve reason are watched as -though dangerous to the public safety. Attacks of illness can certainly -colour men's views, and every one well knows how gloomy our thoughts -are when we have attacks of fever. But patients such as Samuel Oedmann -or Olaf Eneroth were neither sulky nor bitter, but, on the contrary, -mild, perhaps languid from want of strength. Voltaire, who was never -well, had an imperturbably good temper. And Musset did not write as he -did because he drank absinthe, but he drank from the same cause that -he wrote in that manner, _i.e_. from despair. Therefore it is not in -good faith that idealists who deny the existence of the body, ascribe -the discontent of many authors to causes such as indigestion, etc., the -supposition of which contradicts their own principles, but it must be -against their better knowledge, or with worse knowledge. Kierkegaard's -gloomy way of writing can be ascribed to an absurd education, -unfortunate family relations, dreary social surroundings, and alongside -of these to some organic defects, but not to the latter alone. - -Discontent with the existing state of things will always assert itself -among those who are in process of development, and discontent has -pushed the world forwards, while content has pushed it back. Content -is a virtue born of necessity, hopelessness or superfluity; it can be -cancelled with impunity. - -Catarrh of the stomach may cause ill temper, but it has never produced -a great politician, _i.e._ a great malcontent. But sickliness may -impart to a malcontent's energy a stronger colour and greater rapidity, -and therefore cannot be denied a certain influence. On the other hand, -a conscious insight into grievances can produce such a degree of mental -annoyance as can result in sickness. The loss of dear friends through -death, may in this way cause consumption, and the loss of a social -position or of property, madness. - -If every modern individual shows a geological stratification of the -stages of development through which his ancestors passed, so in every -European mind are found traces of the primitive Aryan,--class-feeling, -fixed family ideas, religious motives, etc. From the early Christians -we have the idea of equality, love to our neighbour, contempt for mere -earthly life; from the mediaeval monks, self-castigation and hopes of -heaven. Besides these, we inherit traits from the sensuous cultured -pagans of the Renaissance, the religious and political fanatics of the -sixteenth century, the sceptics of the "illumination" period, and the -anarchists of the Revolution. Education should therefore consist in the -obliteration of old stains which continually reappear however often we -polish them away. - -John proceeded to obliterate the monk, the fanatic and the -self-tormentor in himself as well as he could, and took as the leading -principle of his provisional life (for it was only provisional till he -struck out a course for himself) the well-understood one of personal -advantage, which is actually, though unconsciously, employed by all, to -whatever creed they belong. - -He did not transgress the ordinary laws, because he did not wish -to appear in a court of justice; he encroached on no one's rights -because he wished his own not to be encroached upon. He met men -sympathetically, for he did not hate them, nor did he study them -critically till they had broken their promises and shown a want of -sympathy to him. He justified them all so long as he could, and when -he could not, well,--he could not, but he tried by working to place -himself in a position to be able to do so. He regarded his talent as a -capital sum, which, although at present it yielded no interest, gave -him the right and imposed on him the duty to live at any price. He was -not the kind of man to force his way into society in order to exploit -it for his own purposes, he was simply a man of capacity conscious of -his own powers, who placed himself at the disposal of society modestly, -and in the first place to be used as a dramatist. The theatre, as a -matter of fact, needed him to contribute to its Swedish repertory. - -After a solitary day's work, it was his habit to go to a cafe to meet -his acquaintances there. To seek "more elevated" recreations in family -circles such as meaningless gossip, card playing and such like had no -attraction for him. Whenever he entered a family circle he felt himself -surrounded by a musty atmosphere like that exhaled from stagnant -water. Married couples who had been badgering each other, were glad to -welcome him as a sort of lightning conductor, but he had no pleasure -in playing that part. Family life appeared to him as a prison in which -two captives spied on each other, as a place in which children were -tormented, and servant-girls quarrelled. It was something nasty from -which he ran away to the restaurants. In them there was a public room -where no one was guest and no one was host: one enjoyed plenty of -space and light, heard music, saw people and met friends. John and -his friends were accustomed to meet in a back room of Bern's great -restaurant which, because of the colour of the furniture, was called -the "red room." The little club consisted originally of John and a few -artistic and philosophical friends. But their circle was soon enlarged -by old friends whom they met again. They were first of all recruited -by the presentable former scholars of the Clara School,--a postal -clerk who was at the same time a bass singer, pianist and composer; a -secretary of the Court treasurer; and the trump card of the society,--a -lieutenant of artillery. To these were added later, the composer's -indispensable friend, a lithographer, who published his music, and a -notary who sang his compositions. The club was not homogeneous, but -they soon managed to shake down together. - -But since the laymen had no wish to hear discussions on art, literature -and philosophy, their conversations were only on general subjects. -John, who did not wish to discuss any more problems, adopted a -sceptical tone, and baffled all attempts at discussion by a play upon -words, a quibble or a question. His ultimate "why?" behind every -penultimate assertion threw a light on the too-sure conclusions of -stupidity, and let his hearer surmise that behind the usually accepted -commonplaces there were possibilities of truths stretching out in -endless perspective. These views of his must have germinated like seeds -in most of their brains, for in a short time they were all sceptics, -and began to use a special language of their own. This healthy -scepticism in the infallibility of each other's judgments had, as a -natural consequence, a brutal sincerity of speech and thought. It was -of no use to speak of one's feelings as though they were praise worthy, -for one was cut short with "Are you sentimental, poor devil? Take -bi-carbonate." - -If any one complained of toothache, all he received by way of answer -was, "That does not rouse my sympathy at all, for I have never had -toothache, and it has no effect upon my resolve to give a supper." - -They were disciples of Helvetius in believing that one must regard -egotism as the mainspring of all human actions, and therefore it was -no use pretending to finer emotions. To borrow money or to get goods -on credit without being certain of being able to pay, was rightly -regarded as cheating, and so designated. For instance, if a member of -the club appeared in a new overcoat which seemed to have been obtained -on credit, he was asked in a friendly way, "Whom have you cheated about -that coat?" Or on another occasion another would say, "To-day I have -done Samuel out of a new suit." - -Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, both overcoat and suit were -generally paid for, but as the purchaser at the time he took them was -not sure whether he would be able to pay, he regarded himself as a -potential swindler. This was severe morality and stern self-criticism. - -Once during such a conversation the lieutenant got up to go and attend -church-parade with his company. "Where are you going?" he was asked. -"To play the hypocrite," he answered truthfully. - -This tone of sincerity sometimes assumed the character of a deep -understanding of human nature and the nature of society. One day -the company were leaving John's lodgings for the restaurant. It was -winter, and Mans, who was generally ill-dressed, had no overcoat. The -lieutenant, who wore his uniform, was, it is true, somewhat uneasy, but -did not wish to hurt any one's feelings that day. When John opened the -door to go out, Mans said, "Go in front; I will come afterwards; I do -not want Jean to injure his position by going with me." - -John offered to walk with Mans one way while the others should go by -another, but Jean exclaimed, "Ah! don't pretend to be noble-minded! you -feel as embarrassed at going with Mans as I do." - -"True," replied John, "but...." - -"Why, then, do you play the hypocrite?" - -"I did not play the hypocrite; I only wished to try to be free from -prejudice." - -"The deuce! what is the good of being free from prejudice when no one -else is, and it does you harm? It would really show more freedom from -prejudice to tell Mans your mind than to deceive him." - -Mans had already departed, and arrived about the same time at the -restaurant as they did. He took part in the meal without betraying a -trace of ill-humour. "Your health, Mans, because you are a man of -sense," said the lieutenant to cheer him up. - -The habit of speaking out one's inner thoughts without any regard to -current opinion, resulted in the overthrow of all traditional verdicts. -The terrible confusion of thought in which men live, since freedom -of thought has been fettered by compulsory regulations, has made it -possible for antiquated views of men and things to continue. Thus, -to-day a number of works of art are considered unsurpassable in spite -of the great progress made in technique and artistic conception. John -considered that if in the nineteenth century he was to give his views -on Shakespeare, he was not at all bound to give the opinion of the -eighteenth century, but of his own nineteenth, as it had been modified -by new points of view. This aroused a great deal of opposition, perhaps -because people fear being regarded as uncultivated a great deal more -than they fear being regarded as godless. - -Every one attacked Christ, for He was thought to have been overthrown -by learned criticism, but they were afraid of attacking Shakespeare. -John, however, was not. Thoroughly understanding the works of the -poet, whose most important dramas he had read in the original and -whose chief commentators he had studied, he criticised the composition -and meagre character drawing of _Hamlet._ It is noteworthy that the -Swedish Shakespeare-worshipper, Shuck, through an inconsistency due to -the current confusion of thought and compulsory cowardice, made just -as severe criticisms of _Hamlet_ regarded as a work of art, though -he had previously extolled it above the skies. If John had at that -time been able to read the book of Professor Shuck, he would not have -needed courage in order to subscribe such criticisms as the following: -"_Hamlet_ is the most unsatisfactory of all ... the composition is -superficial and incoherent. After the action of the play has reached -its climax, it suddenly breaks off. Hamlet is suddenly sent to England, -but this journey does not in any way arouse the spectator's interest. -Still worse is the management of the catastrophe. It is a mere chance -that Hamlet's revenge is executed at all, and a similar caprice of -chance causes his overthrow. His killing Claudius just before his own -death has more the appearance of revenge for the attempt on his own -life, than that of a judgment executed in the name of injured morality." - -And then the obscurity which envelops the motives of the principal -persons in the play! "The spectator is left in uncertainty regarding -such an important point as Ophelia's and Hamlet's madness. Moreover -in _King Lear_, Edward's treachery is so palpable that not the most -ordinarily intelligent man could have been deceived by it!" - -If then the drama was defective precisely in the chief elements of a -drama, construction and characterisation, how could it be incomparable? -The reverence for what is ancient and celebrated is rooted in the -same instinct which creates gods; and pulling down the ancient has -the same effect as attacking the divine. Why else should a sensible -unprejudiced man fly in a rage when he hears some one express a -different opinion to his own (or what he thinks his own) about some old -classic? It ought to be a matter of indifference to him. The national -and intellectual Pantheon can be as angrily defended by atheists as by -monotheists, perhaps more so. People who are otherwise sincere, cringe -before a well-established reputation, and John had heard a pietistic -clergyman say that Shakespeare was a "pure" writer. In his mouth that -was certainly false. A determinist, on the other hand, would not -have used the words "pure" or "impure" because they would have been -meaningless to him. But the poor Christ-worshipper did not dare to bear -a cross for Shakespeare; he had enough already to bear for his own -Master. - -Meanwhile John's method of judging old things from the modern point of -view seemed to be justified, for it gained him a following. That was -the whole secret of what was so little understood later on by theistic -and atheistic theologians--his irreverent handling of ancient things -and persons; they thought in their simplicity quite innocently that -it was what one calls in children a spirit of contradiction. His aim -rather was to bring people's confused ideas into order, and to teach -them to apply logically their materialistic point of view. If they -were materialists, they should not borrow phrases from Christianity, -nor think like idealists. This gave rise to a catchword, which showed -how what was ancient was despised--"That is old!" As new men, they -must think new thoughts, and new thoughts demanded a new phraseology. -Anecdotes and old jokes were done away with; stereotyped phrases and -borrowed expressions were suppressed. One might be plain-spoken and -call things by their right names, but one might not be vulgar; the -latest opera was not to be quoted, nor jokes from the newest comic -paper repeated. Thereby each became accustomed to produce something -from his own stock of original observation and acquired the faculty of -judging from a fresh point of view. - -John had discovered that men in general were automata. All thought the -same; all judged in the same fashion; and the more learned they were, -the less independence of mind they displayed. This made him doubt the -whole value of book education. The graduates who came from Upsala -had, one and all, the same opinions on Rafael and Schiller, though -the differences in their characters would have led one to expect a -corresponding difference in their judgments. Therefore these men did -not think, although they called themselves free-thinkers, but merely -talked and were merely parrots. - -But John could not perceive that it was not books _qua_ books which had -turned these learned men into automata. He himself and his unlearned -philosophical friends had been aroused to self-consciousness through -books. The danger of the university education was that it was derived -from inferior books published under sanction of the government, and -written by the upper classes in the interest of the upper classes, -_i.e_. with the object of exalting what was old and established, and -therefore of hindering further development. - -Meanwhile John's scepticism had made him sterile. He had perceived -that art had nothing to do with social development, that it was simply -a reflection or phenomena, and was more perfect as art the more it -confined itself to this function. He still preserved the impulse to -re-mould things and it found expression in his painting. His poetic -art, on the other hand, went to pieces since it had to express thoughts -or serve a purpose. - -His failure to have his play accepted had an adverse effect on his -pecuniary circumstances. The friends from whom he had borrowed money -came one evening to John's rooms in order to hear the play read, but -they were so tired after the day's work that, after hearing the first -act, they asked him to put off the rest for another occasion. One of -the audience who had kept more awake than the others thought that there -were too many Biblical quotations in the piece, and that these were not -suitable for the stage. - -John's resources were dried up, and the spectre of want loomed upon -him, unbribeable and stone-deaf. After he had gone without his dinners -for a time, he began to feel weary of life, and looked about him for -the means of subsistence. How should he get bread in the wilderness? -The best means that suggested itself was to seek an engagement in a -provincial theatre. There mere nobodies often played leading roles -in tragedies, made themselves a name, and finished by getting an -appointment at the Theatre Royal. He quickly made his resolve, packed -his travelling bag, borrowed money for his fare, and went to Goeteborg. -It was just about the time of the great November storm of 1872. - -Since the environment in which he had been living had had a great -effect on him, he conceived a great dislike to this town. Gloomy, -correct, expensive, proud, reserved it lay, pent in its circle of stone -hills, and depressed the lively native of Upper Sweden, accustomed -to the rich and smiling landscape of Stockholm. It was a copy of the -capital but on a small scale, and John, as one of the upper class, -felt alienated from its inhabitants, who were in a lower stage of -development. But he noticed that there was something here that was -wanting in the capital. When he went down to the harbour he saw ships -which were nearly all destined for foreign parts, and large vessels -kept up continual communication with the continent. The people and -buildings did not look so exclusively Swedish, the papers took more -account of the great movements which were going on in the world. What -a short way it was from here to Copenhagen, Christiania, London, -Hamburg, Havre! Stockholm should have been situated here in a harbour -of the North Sea, whereas it lay in a remote corner of the Baltic. -Here was in truth the nucleus of a new centre, and he now understood -that that position was no longer occupied by Stockholm, but that -Goeteborg was about to be the centre of the north. At present, however, -this reflection had no comfort for him since he was only in the -insignificant position of an actor. - -John sought out the theatre-director and introduced himself as a -person who wished to do the theatre a service. The director, however, -considered himself very well served by his present staff. But he -allowed John to give a trial performance in the role in which he wished -to make his debut. This was Dietrichson's _Workman_, the great success -of the day. John had discovered a certain likeness between Stephenson's -first locomotive and his rejected play; he wished to show how he, like -the engineer, had to face the ridicule of the ignorant crowd, the -apprehensions of the learned, and the fears of a wasted life on the -part of relatives. He gave his trial performance one evening by the -light of a candle and between bare walls. Naturally he felt hampered -and asked to repeat it in costume. But the director said it was not -necessary; he had heard enough. John, in his opinion, possessed talent, -but it was undeveloped. He offered him an engagement at twelve hundred -kronas yearly, to commence from the first of January. John considered: -Should he spend two months idly in Goeteborg and then only have a -supernumerary's part in a provincial theatre? No! He would not! What -remained to be done? Nothing except to borrow money and return home, -which he did. - -Thus his efforts had again ended in failure. His friends had given -him a farewell feast, lent him journey money, done all they could to -help him, and now he came back without having settled anything. Again -he had to hear the old too true accusation that he was unstable. To -be unstable in an ordered society is the extreme of unpracticality. -There persistent and exclusive cultivation of some special branch of -industry or knowledge is necessary in order to outstrip competitors. -Every orderly member of society feels a certain discomfort when he sees -some one wandering from his proper place. This discomfort does not -necessarily spring from excessive egotism, but possibly from a feeling -of solidarity and solicitude for others. John saw that his countless -changes of plan disquieted his friends; he felt ashamed and suffered on -account of it, but could not act otherwise. - -So he found himself at home, and spent the long evenings in the "Red -Room," asking himself whether he really could find no place in a -society which for others opened up so many rich possibilities of a -career. - -At Christmas time John travelled again to Upsala, for he had been -invited thither as one of the contributors to a Literary Calendar which -had just appeared. The _Calendar_, which was received with universal -disapprobation, was not without significance as an exponent of the -state of literature. The reader who was desired to wade through these -elegant extracts, might justifiably ask, "What have I got to do with -them?" The poetry they contained, like that of Snoilsky and Bjoerck, -might have been written fifty or a hundred years before. It was of -indifferent quality, and sometimes even bad,--bad because it gave no -sign that the poet had developed any powers of perception, indifferent -because it was not rooted in its own period. The date of the book -was 1872, but it contained no echo of the Jubilee of 1865, no hint -of 1870, not a whiff of the conflagration of 1871. Had these young -versifiers been asleep? Yes, certainly. The great mass of students were -realists, sceptics, mockers, as befitted the children of the time, but -the poets were credulous fools with the ideals of Snoilsky and Bjoerck -in their hearts. Their poetry was that of superannuated idealists in -form and thought, for the new views of things had not reached these -isolated individualists who still lived the Bohemian life of the -Romantics. Their poetry consisted of nothing but echoes. In fact it -was a question whether Swedish poetry had hitherto been anything else, -or could be anything else. Was Tegner's poetry anything but an echo -of Schiller, Oehlenschlaeger, the Eddas and the old Norse sagas? Was -Atterbom anything else than a musical box pieced together out of Tieck, -Hoffmann, Wieland, Burger? And so on with all the Swedish poets. But -this Literary Calendar was composed of echoes of echoes and dreams of -dreams. Realism, which had already made a premature entry into Sweden -with Kraemer's _Diamonds in Coal_, and had subsequently triumphed -in Snoilsky, had left no trace on these young poets. The poetry of -Snoilsky's school had been the careless expression of a careless time, -but these poems simply displayed the incapacity of their writers. - -John had contributed to the _Calendar_ a free version of "An Basveig's -Saga." In this he had glorified himself as a kind of male Cinderella, -or ugly duckling of the family. He was moved to do this by the contempt -which had been evinced towards him by his patrons and middle-class -friends on account of his failure as an author. The language of the -piece was marked by a certain bluntness of expression and an attempt to -dignify low things, or at least to rub off the dirt from things which -were not really so, but were called so. Since the word Naturalism had -not yet come into fashion, his language was called coarse and vulgar. - -But an acquaintance which John happened to make during his stay in -Upsala was of greater importance than the _Calendar_ or Christmas -dinner. He lodged with a friend on whose writing-table he found one day -a number of the _Svensk Tidskrift_ containing a notice of Hartmann's -_Philosophy of the Unconscious_. It was an exposition of Hartmann's -system by a Finn, A.V. Bolin, and betrayed throughout a half-concealed -admiration of it. But the editor, Hans Forssell, had appended to the -essay a note written in his usual style when he came across something -that his brain could not take in. Hartmann's doctrine was pessimism. -Conscious life is suffering because unconscious will is the motive -power of evolution and consciousness obstructs this unconscious will. -It was the old myth of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It -was the kernel of the Buddhistic faith and the chief doctrine of -Christianity,--"Vanitas, vanitatum vanitas." - -Most of the greatest and conscious minds had been pessimists, and had -seen through and unmasked the illusions of life. Only wild animals, -children, and commonplace people could therefore be happy, because they -were unconscious of the illusion, or because they held their ears when -one wanted to tell them the truth and begged not to be robbed of their -illusions. - -John found all this quite natural, and had no important objection to -make. It was true then, what he had so often dreamt, that everything -was nothing! It was the suspicion of this which had governed his -point of view and made all the great and all greatness appear on a -reduced scale. This consciousness had lurked obscurely in him, when, -as a child, although well-formed, healthy and strong, he wept over -an unknown grief, the cause of which he could not find within him or -without. That was the secret of his life, that he could not admire -anything, could not hold to anything, could not live for anything; that -he was too wide awake to be subject to illusions. Life was a form of -suffering which could only be alleviated by removing as many obstacles -as possible from the path of one's will; his own life in particular -was so extremely painful because his social and economical position -constantly prevented his will from expressing itself. - -When he contemplated life and especially the course of history he saw -only cycles of errors and mistakes repeating themselves.[1] The men of -the present dreamt of a republic, as Greeks and Romans had done two -thousand years before; the civilisation of the Egyptians had decayed -when they perceived its futility; Asia was wrapped in an eternal sleep -after it had been impelled by an unconscious will to conquer the -world; all nations had invented narcotics and intoxicants in order to -quench consciousness; sleep was blessedness and death the greatest -happiness. But why not take the last step and commit suicide? Because -the unconscious Will continually enticed men to live through the -illusion of hope of a better life. Pessimism, regarded as a view of the -world's order, is more consistent than meliorism, which sees in natural -development a tendency which makes for men's happiness. This latter -view seems to be a disguised relic of belief in divine providence. Can -one believe that the mechanical blindly ruling laws of nature have any -regard for the development of human society when they produce glacial -periods, floods, and volcanic outbreaks? Must an intelligent man be -called "conservative" in a contemptuous sense because he has brought -under his yoke and rules the laws of nature as Stuart Mill facetiously -expresses it? Have men devised any certain preventives against -shipwreck, strokes of lightning, economic crises, losses of relatives -by death and sickness? Can men control at pleasure the inclination of -the earth's axis, and do away with cloud-formations which are likely -to injure harvests? In spite of the present advanced state of science, -have men been able to put an end to the grape pest, to stop floods, -eradicate, superstitions, remove despots, prevent war? Is it not -presumptuous or simple-minded to believe that man, himself governed by -chemical, physical, and physiological laws of nature, stands above them -because he understands how to use some of them to his own advantage, as -birds use the wind for their progress or beavers the pressure of the -stream in constructing their dams? Are not the wings of the falcon and -the fly more perfect means of locomotion than railways and steamers? -How can men be so simple as to think that they stand above nature when -they are themselves so subordinate to nature that they cannot will or -think freely? It looks like a residue of our primitive illusions. If -the present development of European society ends in atheism, that has -already been the case with the Buddhists; if in religious freedom, -that has already been witnessed in the early history of China; if in -polygamy, that already exists among the savages of Australia; if in -community of goods, this prevailed among primitive peoples. The fact is -that Europe has been the last of all the great ethnical groups to wake -to consciousness. It is now in the act of waking and turning itself, -not like some oriental nations, to torpid quietism, but to removing as -far as possible the pains and unpleasantnesses of earthly existence, -although the best way of doing so has not been yet discovered. The -mistake of the industrial socialists is that they, according to -the formula of the ambiguous evolution theory, wish to build upon -existing conditions, which they regard as the product of necessity, -and tending to the good of all. But existing conditions rather tend -to the happiness of the few, and are therefore something abnormal to -build on, which means erecting a house on ground from which the water -has not been drained off. Probably the form of society which they -desire, however absurd it is, is a necessary mistake through which men -must pass to reach a better. Both the danger and the hope of progress -consist in the fact that the socialistic system already has its -programme drawn up and consequently works automatically, _i.e_. like a -blind, irresistible mass. If it reconstitutes society after the pattern -of the working-class who are a minority, and makes all men mechanics, -one may venture to doubt, without being regarded as quite mad, whether -that will be happiness. Socialism as a social reform is inevitable, -for Europe in its self-idolatry has not perceived how far backward it -is. Provided with an Asiatic form of government, which interferes in -details, supporting ancient superstitions, living under the terrible -tyranny of capital, which is maintained by force of arms, it sets -on foot political and religious persecutions, it venerates embalmed -monarchs like mummies of the Pharaohs, it civilises savages with waste -goods and Krupp guns; it forgets that its civilisation came from the -east, and was better then than it is now. Hartmann and the pessimists -believe that the social reform which is called socialism will come, but -that afterwards, it will be succeeded by something else. - -The bourgeois is an optimist because he cannot see or think outside -the narrow circle of everyday occurrences. That is his good fortune, -but not his merit, for he has no choice in the matter. Nay, he does not -even understand what pessimism is, but thinks it means the opinion that -this is the worst of all worlds. How could any one have a well-grounded -view on that? Voltaire, who was no pessimist, wrote a whole book to -demonstrate that this world, at any rate, was not the best of worlds -for us, as Leibnitz imagined. It is naturally the best for itself, -although not for us, and the difference between the point of view of -the hypochondriac and the pessimist consists in the fact that the -former believes that the world is the worst possible for him, while -the pessimist disregards what it may be for the individual. Hartmann -is no hypochondriac as people have tried to make out, and he seeks to -alleviate the pain of life as much as possible by placing himself in a -state of unconsciousness. - -The men of the younger generation of to-day are sad, because they -have awoke to consciousness and lost many illusions. But they are not -hypochondriacal, and work at bringing the world forward into the last -stage of illusion or a new social system, as though hoping thereby to -alleviate their pain, and they work the more fanatically, the deeper -they feel it. - -Meanwhile, supposing that Hartmann's philosophy may be a mistake, and a -sceptic must be willing to entertain that possibility, although it has -every probability on its side, since the instinct of self-preservation, -the first condition of life, consists in the removal of pain, which -is the first motive-power,--we must seek to explain historically -how this philosophy has come to the birth and spread. Superficial -observers like the mystic Caro, do not hesitate, inconsistently -enough, to attribute it to bodily ill-health. The socialists, who -wished to arouse the expectation that their teaching was practicable, -explained it as the foreboding of overthrow in a class, of whom -Hartmann was the representative. But Hartmann believes in socialism -and the new social system, although only as transitional forms. He -is not despairing, not even melancholy. He seems to be the first -philosopher who, quite independently of Christianity, European culture -and idealism, tries to explain the world's progress from the purely -materialistic point of view. He states facts and processes exactly as -they are. From unconscious minerals we have developed into globules -of albumen, acquired conscious nerve-centres and finally brains -with ever-increasing self-consciousness. The more highly organised -the life, the greater the capacity for pain and susceptibility to -impressions. Not till our time did the cosmic brain succeed in arriving -at clear perception and, accordingly, at divining the order of the -world. Hartmann can therefore be regarded as one who arrived at the -highest degree of consciousness, and he will be remembered as the -great unmasker before whose keen gaze the bandages fell away. It is -consequently a mistake to call him "the prophet of despair." Idealists -may feel empty and despairing when confronted by the naked truth, but -the meliorist feels an inexpressible calm. Man will be modest when he -takes the measure of his littleness as an atom of the cosmic dust. -He will no longer build his happiness on a future life, but will be -impelled by pessimism to order the only life he has as well as he can -for himself and for others. He will see how useless it is to lament -over the misery of existence; he will accept pain as a fact, and -alleviate it as well as he can. Hartmann is a realist, and the title -"pessimist" in its old significance has been fastened on him out of -malice. He shudders at the misery of the world, but does not even call -it misery. He only shows that life is not so great and beautiful as men -like to make out, and pain in his view is not a mere bodily ailment, -but an impelling motive. His is a sound and healthy view of things in -contrast to which socialism may sometimes look like idealism, since it -wishes to remodel society according to its desires, not according to -the possibilities of the case. - -Meanwhile the review article on Hartmann had a quickening effect on -John. There was then a system in the apparent madness of the universe, -and his consciousness had rightly foreboded that the whole scheme of -things was something very insignificant. But a new philosophic system -is not absorbed by a brain in a day. It only left a certain deposit and -gave a keynote to his thoughts. As a theoretical point of view it was -still obscured by his idealistic education, darkened by his inborn and -acquired hatred of the upper class, and his natural tendency to seek -his point of equilibrium somewhere outside himself. Taken on the large -scale, life was meaningless, but if one wanted to live, one had to come -to grips with reality, and adopt an everyday point of view, which alas! -one very readily did. Enormous difficulties stood in the way of earning -a living or making a name. Honour, viewed absolutely, was nothing, but -in relation to the petty circumstances of life it was something great, -and worth striving for. The Philistines did not understand that, and -derived much amusement, when they saw him, pessimist as he was, toiling -after distinctions. They, with their clock-work brains, thought this -inconsistent, since they did not understand that the term "honour" has -two values, an absolute and a "relative." - - -[1] In his pamphlet "The Conscious Will in the World-history" (1903), -Strindberg takes the opposite view to that expressed here. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Growth of a Soul, by August Strindberg - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROWTH OF A SOUL *** - -***** This file should be named 44107.txt or 44107.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/0/44107/ - -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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