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 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL
 
 JTHE 
 GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 BY 
 
 AUGUST STRINDBERG 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the inferno," " THE SON OF A SEKVANT," ETC. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 CLAUD FIELD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 McBRIDE, NAST b" COMPANY 
 
 1914
 
 {^Frinled in England']
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I IN THE FORFX'OURT . 
 
 II BELOW AND ABOVK . 
 
 Ill THE DOCTOK 
 
 IV IN FRONT OF TllK CURTAIN 
 
 V JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT 
 
 VI BEHIND THE CURTAIN 
 
 VII JOHN BECOMES AN AUTFIOU 
 
 VIII THE " runa" CLUB , 
 
 IX BOOKS AND THE STAOE 
 
 X TORN TO PIECES 
 
 XI IDEALISM AND REALISM 
 
 XII A kino's PROTÉOÉ . 
 
 XIII THE WINDING UP 
 
 XIV AMONG THE MALCONTENTS 
 
 XV THE KKD ROOM 
 
 PAOS 
 1 
 
 24 
 
 65 
 
 83 
 
 97 
 
 109 
 
 120 
 
 128 
 
 154 
 
 162 
 
 178 
 
 183 
 
 195 
 
 204 
 
 219
 
 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 
 (1867) 
 
 The steamer had passed Flottsund and Dom- 
 styrken 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 hilarit}^ 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 ^ 
 
 ^ A krona = Is. 2d. 
 B
 
 2 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 govern- 
 ment which certainly regarded Stockholm as answer- 
 ing 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
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 3 
 
 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 conven- 
 tional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the
 
 4 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 re- 
 ported 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 Jolm 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 everydaj^ life. They were realists. 
 
 John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 " Borrow my coat," said Fritz.
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 6 
 
 " 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 institu- 
 tion 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 examina- 
 tion without taking private lessons. John resolved 
 to attend those lectures for which no fee was neces- 
 sary. He went to the Gustavianum to hear a lecture 
 on the history of philosophj^ 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 ever3"where. An assistant -professor 
 expounded Shakespeare's Henry VIII with the 
 commentary, in English, to an audience of five.
 
 6 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 
 sesthetics and modern languages as his chief subject. 
 ^Esthetics comprised the study of Architecture, 
 Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the 
 various S3^stems 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 ^Esthetics. 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
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 7 
 
 power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in 
 Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and m 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 cro\Mi, 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 emplojTnent as private 
 teachers since the railways had made commmiication 
 easier between remote country places and the towns 
 where schools were. He felt that he had embarked 
 upon a foolish undertaking. Wlien he found he 
 could get no more books, he began to make visits 
 among his fellow-students and discovered com- 
 panions in misfortmie. 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 examina- 
 tion was not easy ; one was compelled to seek out 
 secret ways, bribe door-keepers, creep through holes,
 
 8 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 acquaint- 
 ances 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 mone}^, 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 experi- 
 ences for which he ought to have been prepared 
 contributed to embitter him. One day Fritz 
 entered their room with a young count. He intro- 
 duced 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
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 9 
 
 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 difiEer- 
 ence 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 j^outhful stupidit3^ 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 mismiderstanding.
 
 10 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 11 
 
 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 ver}^ modest official post. He was re- 
 ceived 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 daj^ 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.
 
 12 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 " How long ago did you make that resolve," 
 asked Fritz sarcasticall3^ 
 
 " Just this minute." 
 
 " Just now, here ? " 
 
 " Yes, just now, here ! " answered Jolm. 
 
 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 draAvn 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 bj'- an ex- 
 plosion ; 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 ; some- 
 times 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.
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 13 
 
 but his laryiix remained closed. Wliat should he 
 say after all. There was nothing to say but what 
 the silence expressed : " We have nothing more in 
 common." 
 
 And j-et there was something left after all. Some- 
 times 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 byFritz's indifferent manner. 
 They had worn out their friendship by living to- 
 gether. 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. Torn 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 pro- 
 duces 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,"
 
 14 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 " 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 pre- 
 vented 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 ever^^thing that con- 
 cerned 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
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 15 
 
 him to go to the meetmgs of the ckib 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 
 fellow^s, 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 shjaiess, 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
 
 16 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 societj^ of a smaller 
 towai 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 Petters- 
 son, from Ostgothland," " Mine is Andersson, from 
 Småland." There was a keen rivalry' between the 
 members of different provinces. Those from Stock- 
 holm regarded themselves as the first and were 
 therefore envied and despised by the " peasants." 
 There was much dispute as to wdiom the first place 
 really belonged. The Wörmlanders boasted of 
 having produced Geijer whose portrait hung in 
 their hall, while the Smålanders had Tegnér, Berze- 
 lius and Linnaeus. The Stockholm students who 
 had onl}^ 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
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 17 
 
 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 dis- 
 tinguished 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 intro- 
 duced 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, 
 c
 
 18 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 bj'^ 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 him- 
 self. A friend had told him that one might become 
 an elementary teacher in the country without passing 
 any more examinations and could verj^ 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
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 19 
 
 them return to the water. Fowls have been domesti- 
 cated 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 alwaj's 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, orginally 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 main- 
 spring is not strong enough it snaps and the works 
 run dowii, till quiet ensues. As civilisation advances 
 the strain is ever greater and the statistics of in- 
 sanity show a perpetual increase. One cannot 
 swim against the stream of civilisation, but one
 
 20 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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. Li 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 Sbuy 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 luxur3\ 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," saj^s some one. 
 
 " Eight ! is it possible? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " By the railway ? " 
 
 " Oh ! b}^ the railway, — that is onl}' an hour and 
 a half." 
 
 In Sweden there is a railway which carries regu-
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 21 
 
 larly three passengers in its three classes, a factory- 
 o^vncr, a baihft' 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 pro- 
 cured ; iron is already too dear to be used for rail- 
 ways, and the old water-ways ought to be tried. 
 
 It is no use to preach against civilisation, — that 
 one Icnows 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 occasion- 
 ally a skill in their father's line of work, wliich
 
 22 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 3^outh'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 ansemic 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 ?
 
 IN THE FORECOURT 23 
 
 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, especiall}^ 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 elementar}' 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.
 
 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 3'outh to starve or to perish in. 
 His father did not like his idea of becoming an 
 elementar}' school-teacher. Was that to be the 
 only result of so much work ? His ambitious 
 
 24
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 25 
 
 dreams received a shock from the idea of such a 
 come-doAMi. An elementary school-teacher was 
 on a level with a sergeant, on 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 re- 
 garded as a Christmas guest. 
 
 One day he accidentally met in the street a school- 
 teacher whom he Imew, and whom he had not seen 
 for a long time. They talked about the future and 
 Jolm's friend suggested to him a post in the Stock- 
 holm 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.
 
 26 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 One winter morning at half -past eight, John 
 went doAvn 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 out- 
 side 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 27 
 
 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 M^as 
 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. 
 
 " Onl}' 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 kno^Mi about Him.
 
 28 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 know^i of God, the whole catechism 
 and Bible instruction would have been superfluous- 
 They knew that thej^ 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. 
 
 Jolm 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 incHned 
 to say, but checked himself and onl}^ smiled. But 
 he collected himself when he saw that the}^ were 
 laughing at him. " This method would not do," 
 he thought. So he commanded attention and went 
 through the first commandment again till each
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 29 
 
 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 con- 
 tent 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 gener- 
 ally ended by the female teacher (the males did not 
 drive it so far) closing one eye and pretending that 
 the absolute had been reached.
 
 30 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 do\^ai 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 Avhole 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 draAvn 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 Avorst, its culture is bor- 
 rowed 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 31 
 
 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. Jolm 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 bj^ 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 recommend- 
 ing John to use the cane diligently. There remained 
 nothing but to follow this method or to go ; the latter
 
 32 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 j'our 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. The}^ 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 ab- 
 surdit3^ 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 un- 
 necessary, 
 
 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 33 
 
 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 towTi-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 be- 
 longed, 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
 
 34 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 an}^ 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 conscien- 
 tious 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,
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 35 
 
 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 mieducated ones who came from the 
 Seminar3^ 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 
 refuied 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
 
 36 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 un- 
 just. 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 becom- 
 ing situations, and under an aspect which women 
 do not usuall}^ 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, Avho 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 37 
 
 to magnetise the children, others beat them; some 
 imposed on them by their age or their manly appear- 
 ance, etc. The women worked as women, i. e. 
 through a half-forgotten tradition of a past matri- 
 archate. 
 
 John was not competent. He looked too 3"onng 
 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 
 M^hole 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 con- 
 temporaries. 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 expres- 
 sions, 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 thro^\Tl 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
 
 38 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 from the level of the student to the elementary 
 school-teacher. That, however, was no virtue, but 
 a necessit}^ 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 
 sj^mpathics 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 cases the same. The aristocrats seem 
 to have seen this and therefore regard one of them- 
 selves 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 cir- 
 cumstances 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 know-
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 39 
 
 ledge 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 3'outh. 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 diminu- 
 tion 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
 
 40 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 movement will merely end in demanding modera- 
 tion ; 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 cast-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 ! ^Vhat 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 
 verj' large head and staring eyes which rolled and 
 turned about continually. Jolm had to visit his
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 41 
 
 parents in order to find out the reason of his irregular 
 attendance at school and bad behaviour. He there- 
 fore 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 
 probabl}^ 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 accus- 
 tomed to " lick the glasses," — that was the explana- 
 tion 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 pro- 
 visionally opened to families because of the want 
 of houses. Li 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. WTiat could John do there ? 
 Send in a report on a matter which was perfectly 
 well knouii, distribute wood-tickets and orders 
 for meat and clothing. 
 
 In Kungsholmsbergen he came across specimens 
 of proud poverty. There he was shown the door,
 
 42 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 " God be thanked, we have no need of charity. We 
 are all right." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then you should not lot your boy go 
 in torn boots in winter." 
 
 " That is not j^our 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 
 Stallmästergården restaurant, discussed literature, 
 and ate their supper there. "WTiile John was 
 paying his attentions to the waitress, his friend 
 played the piano. Sometimes the latter amused 
 himself b}^ 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,
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 43 
 
 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 suddenl}' 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 3'ou," 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. 
 
 Li 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 doorwa}^ 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
 
 44 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 for she saw that he looked deathly pale and beside 
 himself. But he wrenched himself free and hastened 
 into the Belle vue 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 Avas 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 plmiges 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 3'ears' popularity quietly 
 and proudly, that he was suddenly cast down from 
 his position. He was as though struck by a thunder- 
 bolt, 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 civihsation, 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. 
 WTiat is madness ? A relapse ? Yes, man}' 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 45 
 
 the second place he had insulted an innocent girl. 
 Tlie 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 liim. 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 Avithout any means of retreat. De- 
 ception, 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 cjTiicism, 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. Societj^ 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 mieasy. 
 
 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
 
 46 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 ? "
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 47 
 
 " 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 religous 
 training had accustomed him to occup}^ 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 " ?
 
 48 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 This absorption in self, or the new malady of 
 culture, of which much is written nowadaj^s, 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 plaj% 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 involmitarily 
 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 49 
 
 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 an}^ 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 
 
 E
 
 50 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 super- 
 seded 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 51 
 
 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 j^ears 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 b}^ 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 wicked- 
 ness in Karl Moor. Regarding religion he said, 
 " Just now it is the fashion to make religion a sub- 
 ject 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
 
 52 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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, news- 
 papers sound the alarm, friends drop off, it becomes 
 lonely round one, and an irresistible terror seizes 
 the attacker of society. " If j^ou 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 3^ou 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.
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 53 
 
 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 ^^outh's life there comes a 
 moment when he is in the transition stage between 
 family life and that of society, when he feels dis- 
 gusted 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 tem- 
 porary 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 degener- 
 ated, though perhaps not from an aesthetic or sub- 
 ordinate 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
 
 54 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 alwaj's 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 dutj^ at the 
 age of twentj^-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 environ- 
 ment. Through the recommendation of a friend 
 he was ofTered 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 55 
 
 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 b}^ two o'clock was at his post as 
 private tutor, The house was one of the jfinest 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.
 
 56 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 Here he obtained an insight into a social circle 
 hitherto unknown to him, that of the rich and cul- 
 tured. Here he found liberal-mindedness, courage 
 and the desire for truth. Down below in the 
 elementary school they were coAvardly, 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 3'oung doctors, 
 men of science and letters, and members of parlia- 
 ment who formed a liberal league without constitut- 
 ing themselves a formal societ3^ 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 R3dberg, 
 Meijerberg, Jolin, and man}^ less-knowii 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 57 
 
 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
 
 58 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 going out afterwards to give more lessons in the 
 Nordtiillsgata ; 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 A^ork hard, but 
 he is only the carriage while the teacher is the 
 horse. Teaching is decidedlj" 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 re- 
 plenishing. 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 3'oung 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 citj'. There he read daily 
 for a couple of hours with his girl pupils and a mIioIc 
 number of children besides them. The summer 
 settlement afforded rich and varied opportmiities 
 of social intercourse. It was divided into three 
 camps, — the learned, the esthetic and the civic. 
 John belonged to all three. It has been asserted 
 that loneliness injures the development of character 
 (into an automaton), and it has been also asserted 
 that much social intercourse is bad for the develop- 
 ment 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 59 
 
 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 o\mi history. John got on 
 equally well with all ; he spoke on learned matters 
 \vith 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 
 Avholesale 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 happ3^ 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 Jolm 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 misfor- 
 time 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
 
 60 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 see the landscape because of their eye-glasses, their 
 looks were directed inwards, and they never showed 
 their feelings. They talked in sjdlogisms 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 pla3Td 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 tlie 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 re- 
 garded as disturbing and unsesthetic. They were 
 enthusiasts for art. John spent some hours pleas- 
 antly 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 reall}^ 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 adven- 
 tures and anecdotes. In " Manfred " he renewed
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 61 
 
 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 interest- 
 ing. 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 govern- 
 ment of Providence pleased Jolm. Manfred's de- 
 nunciations 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 inter- 
 course is the greatest pleasure in life. Byron was
 
 62 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 melan- 
 chol}^, sometimes frisk}^, John felt at times an uncon- 
 trollable 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 occa- 
 sionally 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 poetrj' in the grand stylo. But in the middle 
 of the piece, when his ecstasj^ was at its highest, he 
 heard his own voice, became nervous and embar- 
 rassed, 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 
 sa^'ing 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
 
 BELOW AND ABOVE 63 
 
 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 
 Avisdom. 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 
 imoccupied, but he had a strong objection to be 
 enrolled. He did not wish to be a cypher, a cog-
 
 64 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 recollec- 
 tion 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 Jolui. " 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 
 encomitered 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 comitry were spoken 
 about, and light thrown on them bj'- comparison 
 with their originals abroad. Bj- 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 
 
 F G5
 
 66 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 miceasingly, observe continuall}', 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 sup- 
 ported it and it was practically a discarding of 
 Chri^tianit3^ Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, con- 
 firmation, church attendance were all declared to 
 be unnecessary conditions for membership in a
 
 THE DOCTOR 67 
 
 Christian community. Such apparently small re- 
 forms 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 be- 
 came accustomed to regard himself as grown up, 
 and therefore the set-backs he encountered after- 
 wards, were the harder to bear. 
 
 His medical career began with chemical experi- 
 ments in the technological institute. There he 
 obtained a closer view of some of the glories he had
 
 68 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 anal3'sis, the 
 mj'sterious 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 zoolog}^ anatomy, 
 botany, ph3^sic 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
 
 THE DOCTOR 69 
 
 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 accus- 
 tomed the public to sympathise with and feel at 
 home in this superfine world ; one came to forget 
 the lower everj^day 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 liter- 
 ature 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.
 
 70 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 con- 
 sidered 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 ncAv 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 1868 had commenced. There 
 had been so much miscalculation as to the effects 
 of the new State constitution that there was wide- 
 spread discontent. Societj^ was turned topsy-turvey. 
 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
 
 THE DOCTOR 71 
 
 to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of siippl}^ 
 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 unfavour- 
 able harvest could turn them into members of the 
 proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society. 
 What did the artisans loiow about society ? How 
 did they wish it to be constituted ? Did they wish
 
 72 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 it to be remodelled in their interest, although the 
 peasantry should be ruined ? But that meant 
 cutting ofE their oa\ii legs, for Sweden is not a land 
 of exporting industries. Therefore the four million 
 consumers m the land, as soon as their purchasing 
 power was diminished, would involuntarity 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 countr3\ 
 
 Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet cor- 
 rupted 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 ? Did 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 Imows ? The statue 
 was ready and the unveiling was to take place. 
 Stands were erected for the spectators, but so un-
 
 THE DOCTOR 73 
 
 skilfully 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 subscrip- 
 tion 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 doMii, 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, folloAved 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 oaati school-mates 
 and afterwards his pupils ; they formed the dark
 
 74 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 background against which the society he had just 
 quitted, stood out like a brilhant 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 thej^ 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 skj^ 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 wa}^ 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 solidaritj^ had had their
 
 THE DOCTOR 75 
 
 hands free, they would probably have thrown the 
 first stone through the wmdow, behmd which he 
 had sat ^vith 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 ceremon}^ 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 ! "
 
 76 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 The policeman looked at his assailant in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " 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. Joliii tore himself loose ; the crowd 
 were now driven back by bayonets towards the 
 guard-house in the Gustaf Adolf market. After 
 them folloAved 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 re- 
 turned the pressure, and saw close beside him a 
 middle-aged man, well-dressed, with distorted fea- 
 tures. They did not know each other, nor did the}^ 
 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 depart- 
 ment. This yoimg 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
 
 THE DOCTOR 77 
 
 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 Jolm'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 fairl}^ 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
 
 78 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 dis- 
 content 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 stand- 
 ard of morality for himself and lived according to 
 it. Therefore he lived at harmon}^ 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
 
 THE DOCTOR 79 
 
 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 over- 
 come the tedious preliminary studies which he him- 
 self 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, com- 
 mence 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 rela- 
 tions, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the
 
 80 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 waj^ 
 out one looked at a collection of pam tings, and talked 
 about artists. This was something novel and inter- 
 esting, 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, Chateau- 
 briand'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 ; 
 sestheticism had laid hold of him, and actual life 
 seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His inter- 
 course with artists had opened his eyes to a new
 
 THE DOCTOR 81 
 
 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 Imowledge 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 
 
 G
 
 82 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 con- 
 sequences, and his comrades had warned him of 
 them. When he went up early in spring in order 
 to write the obHgator}^ 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 ; 
 
 83
 
 84 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 however, it is no use for you have not studied in 
 the professor's laborator^'." 
 
 " That is true ; but the course at the Institute is 
 niuch better." 
 
 " No matter, — it is not liis." 
 
 " We shall see," said Jolin, " whether laiowledge 
 does not tell in any case." 
 
 *' 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 j^ou will learn from the 
 assistant. Secondly, j^ou must not go to be examined 
 in a frock coat and white tie ; least of all, dressed 
 as well as you are now. Therefore j^ou 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. Jolm 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
 
 IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN 85 
 
 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 sus- 
 picion 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 liimself 
 the next day. " It would be soon over," said the 
 old man. 
 
 The next day he sat on a seat opposite the pro- 
 fessor. 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.
 
 86 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 " If I have an estate, where I suspect the presence 
 of saltpetre, how shall I begin to construct a salt- 
 petre factory ? " 
 
 John suggested a saltpetre analj^sis. 
 
 "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 " exam- 
 ination 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 
 laborator}^ and can do chemical analysis." 
 
 " Yes, you laiow how to make up prescriptions, 
 but you have not digested 3'our 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 bo transferred to
 
 IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN 87 
 
 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 irri- 
 tated 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 profes- 
 sion where one had to analj^se 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 b}', and stood laughing 
 outside the Carolina library. They looked up to 
 the windows, through which long rows of books 
 were visible, shelf after shelf. They laughed, — the 
 men and women laughed at the books. He thought
 
 88 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 he recognised them. Yes, they were Levasseur's 
 French actors, whom he had seen in Stockhohn 
 and who were now visiting Upsala. They laughed 
 at the books ! Luckj^ people who could be im- 
 porters of genius and culture without books. Per- 
 haps everj^ soul had something to give which was 
 not in books, but would be there some day. Yes, 
 certainl}^ it was so. He himself possessed stories 
 of experience and thoughts, which could enrich 
 anthropology, and were ready to be thro^vn out. 
 
 Again there stole upon him the thought of enter- 
 ing 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 miiversal 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, 
 cast 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 for- 
 ward and harangue the public. He believed that 
 he could choose his proper role, and he knew before- 
 hand which it would be. The fact that he, like all
 
 IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN 89 
 
 others, believed that he had the capacity to become 
 an actor, sprang from the siiperfluitj' of unused force, 
 produced b}^ 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 im- 
 pulse 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
 
 90 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 any- 
 thing 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 defuiite appointment and he 
 saw his way clear. 
 
 When he went do^ai the street, he walked with 
 his eyes wide open, as though he gazed into a brilliant 
 future ; victory was already his ; he felt its intoxi-
 
 IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN 91 
 
 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 liis education, the fear, — " What will people 
 say ? " His imagination made the act seem like 
 a crime. It was certainlj^ 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, ^ something of the proclaimer, 
 the prophet, and the soothsayer. 
 
 WTiat most of all elevated his ideas of the great 
 significance of the theatre was the perusal of 
 1 Vide the Son of a Servant.
 
 92 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 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 strength- 
 ened and beautified from a hundred ej^es, 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 J^oung people and the middle class who can
 
 IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN 93 
 
 still feel the illusion of actors and painted canvas. 
 For older and cultivated people it is a recreation 
 in wliich the actor's art is the chief object of atten- 
 tion. 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, especi- 
 ally 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 Théätre-Fran9ais 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 pla^^ed ; and when they are pla^x^d,
 
 94 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 con- 
 tained the thoughts and experiences of men with 
 whom, though most of them were dead, he could 
 converse familiarly, without being betra^^ed. 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 
 happilj'' 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 signifi- 
 cance ; 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 Dramaturgic 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
 
 IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN 95 
 
 that the theatre had come down owing to the 
 inferioritj'' 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 him- 
 self 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 shjTiess, 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 atten- 
 tion 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
 
 96 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 unwil- 
 ling muscles obedient.
 
 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 probationar}^ student. 
 He was4jappy 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 Copen- 
 hagen to visit Thorwaldsen's Museum, An enter- 
 prising 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 Jolm should accompany him with one of the 
 boys. The occasion of the expedition was the 
 
 H 97
 
 98 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 cro^^^l 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 Jolm 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 
 alread}^ 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 loiapsacks, 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, Jolm 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 onl}' a little 
 cash and they had counted on the excellent pro- 
 visions which the doctor's wife had })ut up for them. 
 Accordingly they had to eat from the sculptor's 
 box, which only contained poor dry victuals. 
 
 Then they wanted to lie do"\Mi. 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 doAMi on the bare deck and the boys drew a
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT 99 
 
 tarpaulin over themselves, for the dew was falling 
 and it was bitterly cold. They awoke at Södertelje, 
 freezing, for the sailors had taken aA^'ay the tar- 
 paulin. 
 
 On the canal bank there now appeared the organ- 
 iser 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 journe}^ 
 but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. The 
 steamer M'ent 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 them- 
 selves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a 
 simple meal out of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, 
 A\'ho had slept on a bale down in the luggage-hold, 
 was in a good humour and Imew all the passengers' 
 characters and names. 
 
 The dinner-table was now crowded. It M'as 
 presided over b}^ a master chimney-sweep with his 
 family. Then there came paAvnbrokers, public- 
 house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with 
 their families, a number of young shop boj^s and 
 some girls. John suffered when he saw stewed 
 perch and strawberries together with claret and 
 sherry, for he had been so spoilt bj^ luxury that 
 simple food made him poorly. This was the '' upper
 
 100 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 loAver class from the fore-deck hung on the 
 gunwales and hand-rails and listened. The pariahs 
 in the lifeboat Avere ignored. People knew that 
 they were there, but did not see them. They may 
 very likely have wished the " white cap " awaj^, 
 for there were tAvo 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 ; there- 
 fore they ate. Yes, but he had Avorked as much as 
 they, though not in the same Avay. He had deriA'cd 
 honour from his Avork, AA'hile the}' took the good 
 eating and dispensed AA'ith the honour. One could 
 not luiA^c both. 
 
 The people sat there satisfied and happ}-, drank 
 their coffee and liqueurs, and occupied the Avhole 
 poop. They noAV became bold and made remarks 
 over those in the lifeboat, Avho could only suffer in 
 silence, because the others A\ere in the majority 
 and the upper class, for the}' AAere consumers. 
 
 John felt himself in an element Avhich AAas not 
 his. There Avas an atmosphere of hostility about
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT 101 
 
 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 onl}^ 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 ; the}" 
 would never be such tjTants 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. Jolm 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 hardlj^ 
 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 j^ou ? " 
 
 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 Jolm, " And 
 such a 3"oung devil has a tutor who cannot teach 
 boys to Imow their proper place ! We know well 
 enough who you are." Then they rained abuse on 
 liis 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,
 
 102 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 and that he had not intended anj^ 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 twentj^- 
 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 j^et. 
 
 John and his friends went again on deck. " One 
 cannot argue Avith these people," he said. 
 
 His nerves were shaken by the scene just wit- 
 nessed. 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. Thej' had become his 
 enemies ; the bridge between him and them was 
 broken åo\Y\\ ; but the tie of blood remained and he 
 cherished the same hatred towards aristocratic 
 society, and its unjust ascendenc}^ as thej' 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 Spicgelbergers.^ 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 
 1 Vide Schiller's " Robbers,'-'-
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT 103 
 
 had made him more democratic tlian thej' ; 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 out- 
 break 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 doAvn. 
 On the middle deck stood the accused surrounded 
 b}^ a crowd. A pawnbroker waved his arms about 
 and shouted. John asked what the matter was. 
 
 " He has stolen ni}^ cap," shouted the paAvn- 
 broker. 
 
 " I don't believe it possible," said John. 
 
 " Yes, I saw it ; he has put it in this clothes bag." 
 
 It was Jolm'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
 
 104 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 gentle- 
 man's pardon for the mistake, and I ask my pupil 
 to do the same." 
 
 The latter did so, though unM'illingl3\ 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 sufficientl}'- humiliated for such a trifle. 
 
 At last the}' reached Copenhagen. Hungrj^ 
 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, men- 
 tioned the name of Molins, the Swedish sculptor, 
 and the}' got in, leaving the other passengers out- 
 side. Albert was delighted, and could not help 
 making a face at the master chimney-sweep who
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT 105 
 
 remained outside. But the one who enjoyed it 
 most was the 5^oung 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 roj-al entry, but 
 sat on the tow^r 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 Malmo. Thej^' stood in 
 the street in the rain. They could not go to an hotel, 
 for thej" had no money. Albert resolved to go to 
 a public-house and ask for a night's lodging. The}^ 
 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 vo3'age home by sea was one long 
 penance . Without pro visi ons 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
 
 106 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 enjoj^ed himself. He slept on the poop with the 
 passengers and amused them with stories ; he was 
 akin to them, and laiew 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 otliers 
 starve, and sees only friends everj'where. But his 
 day will come when he will no longer be one of the 
 lower class, when luxury and refuied 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 demo- 
 cratic way of thinking, as though it were a virtue. 
 What virtue is there in hating those who are above ? 
 Wliat is the meaning of "aristocrat"? "Aqiotoq 
 means the best, and xgazéoj " I rule." Therefore an 
 aristocrat is one who wishes that the best should 
 rule and a democrat one who wishes that the worst 
 sliould 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 pohtical power, 
 witli the knowledge that it would be in the hands
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT 107 
 
 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 
 chimnej^-sweep and cab-o^Mier 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 everj^ one, or whether there need be any governing 
 body at all. 
 
 He had come across the worst aristocracj^ of all, 
 the upper stratum of the lower class, or, to name 
 them bj'^ their usual ugl}^ title, " the Philistines." 
 They were a bad cop}^ of the aristocracy ; the}^ 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-o"\vner through the 
 wretched cabbies and hacks, the pa-uiibroker 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
 
 108 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 for monej', could beg or borroAV the means for it, 
 as so manj^ students did, and there was no virtue 
 in that at any rate. Yet one could not help feeling 
 superior to others when one Imew more and observed 
 the laws of social life so as to injure no one. All 
 that remained for the real democracj' was to reduce 
 everything to a dead level, so that no one need feel 
 themselves below, and no one could think they were 
 above.
 
 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 
 Avithin 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 Roj'al, 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 Ro3'al 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 imcultivated person at the head of 
 it ? " To this it was ansAvered, " We have just had 
 one of the most learned men in the country as 
 director, and how did that answer ? Although he 
 
 109
 
 110 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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, Jolm 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 noAv 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 Avas 
 probably not the first or the last which had taken 
 place in that room.
 
 BEHIND THE CURTAIN 111 
 
 "Be reasonable, sir ; one must study this profession 
 like all others. No one becomes an adept all of a 
 sudden. Creep before 3'ou 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 Härved Boson in Hedberg's Marriage of Ulfosa. 
 
 John read over the part at home, and was aston- 
 ished. 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 >\'as 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
 
 112 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 elementary or Simdaj^ 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 trj^ a part in Bjornson'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 intermediär}' with a 
 challenge to Count Bothwell." That was the whole 
 part ! Such was to be his debut ! 
 
 f At the appointed time he went up the little back 
 stairs, passed the door-keeper and came on the 
 stage. It Avas 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
 
 BEHIND THE CURTAIN 113 
 
 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 Tj^ants " while John stood 
 trembhng 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. Jolm felt 
 alarmed. How could one preserve the illusion here 
 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 Avas led into the lobby where they were going 
 to dance for half-an-hour the gavotte, which intro- 
 duced the play. It was broad daylight. The old 
 music teacher sat on a chair and plaj^ed 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 Imow, 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 daj'-time was not a seeml}^ 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
 
 114 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 penalt}^ will over- 
 whelm them as the sea overwhelmed Pharaoh 's army . ' ' 
 
 Lindsay. " Look, how they whisper ! The infect- 
 ing 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 every- 
 thing. Knox was as hard as stone with his Puritan- 
 ism and gloomy Christianit3^
 
 BEHIND THE CURTAIN 115 
 
 It was after all something to step forward and 
 enact a piece of historj^ 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 jQrmly 
 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 wliich 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 
 News). John for his part had translated Schiller's 
 essay, The Theatre Regarded as a Moral Institu- 
 tion, and as the subject of the theatre had now 
 come 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 -wdtli a member of the medical 
 journal, the Lancet, which treated of the question 
 whether women Avere fit for a medical career. With- 
 out hesitation and instinctivel}^ John decided 
 against it. He had an indescribable reverence for 
 women as woman, mother and wife, but as a matter
 
 116 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 tlie duties involved in it. 
 Every occupation taken from t lie 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 marrj^, however 
 great the difficulties in which the}^ might become 
 involved. Moreover women had abundant oppor- 
 tunities of work ; they could become servants, house- 
 keepers, governesses, teachers, midwives, seam- 
 stresses, actresses, artists, authoresses, queens, 
 empresses, besides wives and mothers. Many of 
 these vocations ^^ere also open to the unmarried. 
 Anything more than this was an encroachment on 
 the man's territor3^ If the woman did that, the 
 man should be free from the cares of providing 
 for the famil}', and inquiries after paternit}' should 
 not be made. But society would not consent to 
 that. On the contrar}^ it began to persecute the 
 prostitutes b}^ 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
 
 BEHIND THE CURTAIN 117 
 
 had also been ridiculed bj'' Rudolf Wall in his comedy, 
 Miss Garibaldi. But while j^ears went on, the 
 women had worked in silence. 
 
 Great therefore was the surprise of the doctor and 
 Jolm when thej^ 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. 
 " The}' want to humihate 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 pla3% and if he went away, an outcry was raised. 
 
 In the Theatrical Academy roles were merely 
 learnt by heart. Children who had onl}^ gone 
 through an elementar}^ school, began to read Goethe's 
 Faust, naturally without understanding an3^thing 
 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 
 anj'thing, 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
 
 118 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 and indifferent, never spoke of art, but only of 
 engagements and honorariums. There was no trace 
 of the gay life behind the scenes, of \vhich so much 
 had been written. The}^ 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, Jolm sat alone in the lobby reading a paper. 
 The actor Dahlqvist, who was taking the part of 
 John Kjiox, 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 
 througli 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
 
 BEHIND THE CURTAIN 119 
 
 auditorium. But behold ! the illusion was gone ! 
 There was Mr. So-and-so and Mrs. So-and-so, there 
 was the background for Quentin Dunvard, there 
 sat Högfelt, 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 
 honourabl3\ 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 declama- 
 torj^ 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 bod}- 
 felt the fever of shame and intoxication. What 
 should he do ? He must save his honour. He must 
 still hold out for tAvo or three months and try again. 
 That da}' 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 reconcihation 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 
 w^oman-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 l^'ing on the sofa he felt an unusual 
 degree of fever, during which his brain seemed to 
 
 120
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR 121 
 
 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 comed}^ 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-opera- 
 tion . 
 
 But now he had to write it. In four daj's the 
 piece Avas 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 
 3'ears 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 w^ould 
 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. Wlien 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 compliment ar}" answer, in being told not to drive 
 in a hired carriage, when he had one of his oa\ii.
 
 122 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 Avas 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 authorshij) fairly secret and remain 
 at the theatre till the end of the season, so that his 
 failure as an actor might not be ImoAvn, 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
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR 123 
 
 with glass, asli-traj'S and matches. This was the 
 first time he had entertained guests, and the experi- 
 ence 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, 
 
 \\lien they had gone, he fell on his laiees 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 child- 
 hood, 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.
 
 124 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 voj^age, but always ready to tack Avhen 
 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 bellj'ing 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 consider- 
 ably. 
 
 His creative energj?^ during this period was im- 
 mense. He had the writing fever daily; within 
 two months he composed two comedies and a 
 rhymed traged}^, 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 sub- 
 jective 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 declama- 
 tion. 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 immoralitj^ and 
 want of patriotism of the youth of the time. He 
 made Demosthenes speak disparagingly of a dema- 
 gogue, and express something of what he had felt 
 towards the master chinmey-sweep and pawnbroker
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR 125 
 
 on the journey to Copenhagen. The head of the 
 Theatrical iVcademy 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 Roj^al. While it was under consideration, 
 he went on cheerfully with his work as super- 
 numerary 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 3'outh 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 remodelhng here and there. 
 
 One evening when the Academj^ closed, the head 
 instructor expressed a wish to speak with John. 
 " Now we see what 3'ou are good for," he said. 
 " You have a fine career in front of jou ; wh}^ should 
 you choose an inferior one ? You can become an 
 actor probably if you Avork for some 3Tars, but why
 
 126 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 toil at this thankless task ? Go back to Upsala 
 and take j'our degree if j'ou 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 univcrsit}^ 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 
 legac}^ due to him from his mother of a few hundred 
 kronas. With them he could support himself for 
 a half-3'car at the univcrsit}'. 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 Avith 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 stud}'.
 
 JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR 127 
 
 The theatrical season now approached its end. 
 The Theatrical Academ}' gave their ciistomar}^ 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 ques- 
 tion was never decided. 
 
 In the evening after the performance, a dinner 
 was given to the Academy pupils. Jolm 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.^ In what relation does the philo- 
 sophic system which prevails in a given period 
 stand to the period itself ? The S3'stem seems like 
 a collection of the thoughts of the period at a par- 
 ticular 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 philo- 
 sophy had three defects ; it wished to be definitely 
 Swedish ; it came too late ; and it wished to out- 
 live 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. 
 
 1 Boström : Swodiah Philosopher (1797-1866). 
 128
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 129 
 
 Boström, as a philosopher, was not, as it were, shot 
 out of a cannon. All laiowledge 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 owai. That was all. 
 He seems to have derived his fundamental prin- 
 ciple 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 philo- 
 sopher 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 rever- 
 ence for the philosopher, had still to declare, conform- 
 ably 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 b}^ such an idea ? Can 
 one draw an inference from the accidental circum- 
 stance that he, a poor man's son from Norrland, 
 came into too close touch with King John and his 
 court, in his capacit}^ 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.
 
 130 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 Boström as an idealist was subjective — so subjective 
 that he denied reahty an independent existence, 
 declaring that, "to be is to be perceived (bj^ 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 us 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 philoso- 
 phers, 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
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 131 
 
 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 Irresponsi- 
 bility and Divine Right of the Kitig and Are the 
 Estates of the Realm Justified in Resolving on and 
 Carrying Out the Change in the So-called (/) Repre- 
 sentation of the People ? (1865). 
 
 In his capacity as an ideahst, Boström is, for the 
 present generation, not only without significance, 
 but positively reactionary. He is nothing but a 
 necessary link in the worthless reactionary philo- 
 sophy 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 
 sesthetic 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, express- 
 ing 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.
 
 132 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 them- 
 selves 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 begiiming, 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. Li 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 Bjork'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
 
 THE ' RUNA ' CLUB 133 
 
 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 tjTanny, tasting early the sweets of 
 homage and reverence, he ceased to grow. He 
 accepted Bostrom'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 person- 
 ality, and fhid 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 psj^chologists to unravel. 
 
 Björck composed poems both for the reformation
 
 134 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 laiew 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 satis- 
 faction 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 neigh- 
 bourhood ; 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 neighbour- 
 ing mountain-tops. From NorAvay 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
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 135 
 
 with Danish and Norwegian Hterature, 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 commimication 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 
 Avine was well adapted for exportation ; pamphlets 
 grew in size as they travelled and in Sweden became 
 literature. Thoughts came to the top and person- 
 alities 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 
 satisfjdng, and the poet seemed to have had too much 
 sympathy with his hero to have described his over- 
 throw with cold irony. 
 
 Brand gave John a good deal of trouble. He
 
 136 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 (Brand) had dropped Christianity but kept its stem 
 ascetic morality ; he demanded obedience for his 
 old doctrines though they were no more practicable ; 
 he despised the tendencj^ of the time towards human- 
 ity 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 wa^^, for you only are right ! 
 Jolm'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.^ 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 back-bone in his weak back, for 
 he had long periods during wliich 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 no pattern 
 for one who felt a vague inclination to revolt against 
 all old ideals. 
 
 Brand after all was a fuie plant, but without 
 any roots in its own period ; and, therefore, it belonged 
 
 ^ Vide the end of Brand.
 
 THE ' RUNA ' CLUB 137 
 
 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 Björnsen. 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 char- 
 acter, of the same kind as the English " spleen ; " 
 and possibly the intimate relations of Norway with 
 the hypochondriacal islanders may have impressed
 
 138 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 traces on its civilisation. In Jonas Lie's Clair- 
 voyant this melancholy is depicted, 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 darloiess and cold. 
 There we have depicted the tragic lot of the 
 Norseman banished from sminy lands to gloomy 
 wildernesses, and seeking relief b}'^ emigration, the 
 ethnographical significance of which has been over- 
 looked in view of its economical aspect. The 
 Norwegian character is the result of many hundred 
 3^ears 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 \vith his ideal demands, with which the 
 romanticised and cheerful Swede cannot sincerely 
 sympathise. Therefore this foreign garb suits him 
 so badl}^ ; 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 docs not need 
 to seek himself in the past ; melancholy has not so 
 beset him in his open fiat 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 throAvn away the Norwegian husk.
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 139 
 
 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 imperi- 
 ous women in Härtnännen who again are pure Norse. 
 In them the emotions have become frozen or 
 distorted b^^ 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 cosmo- 
 politan ; 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 encounter- 
 ing a personal foe, who cajoled him out of his Avishes 
 and antipathies, and forced him to bend. Since he 
 still believed himself under God's personal provi- 
 dence, 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 alternatel}'. 
 
 He asked himself again, " Wliat have you to do 
 here ? " To take his degree, but especially to cover
 
 140 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 culti- 
 vated 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 aftorAvards. 
 One evening he chanced to meet a young com- 
 panion 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
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 141 
 
 young poets into a club for literary work. The 
 plan was carried out. Besides Jolin and the other 
 founder of the club, four j^oung students were 
 elected to it. They were fine young fellows of an 
 ideali.st 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 notliing at all of the struggle for a subsistence. 
 John, on the other hand, had just left the most un- 
 pleasant 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 re- 
 naissance 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 B j örnson '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
 
 142 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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, espe- 
 cially the happiness of childhood ; fourthly-, a silent 
 worshipper of nature, and, lastly, an eclectic philo- 
 sopher 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, accord- 
 ing 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 'RUNA' CLUB 143 
 
 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 Jolm'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
 
 144 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 a restaurant, or in each other's rooms. But the 
 time was not wasted in view of his future author- 
 ship. 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 liimseK 
 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 recom- 
 mended him to get out of his difficulties by writing 
 a one -act play in verse for the Theatre Roj^al. 
 
 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 per- 
 suaded and determined to carry out a small idea 
 he had of a short play based on Thorwaldsen's first
 
 THE 'RUNA" CLUB 145 
 
 visit to Rome. His friend lent him books on Italy 
 and John set to work. In fourteen days the piece 
 was readJ^ 
 
 " 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, Jolm 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, fuiished their half- 
 empty glasses at sunrise and went out to continue 
 the celebration of the occasion. 
 
 The sjanpathy 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 Holm's 
 debt of gratitude bj^ 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 con- 
 tinual carouse. The club had a small room in the 
 restaurant Lilla 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. 
 
 L
 
 146 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 At six o'clock one June morning the four members 
 of the club met at Skeppsholm, where they had hired 
 a rowdng-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 ap- 
 pointed, 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 plaj^ 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 brandj^-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 rhythmic- 
 ally. 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 Lilla
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 147 
 
 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 Je^^ash 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 ducts. 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 emptj^; 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 tliis 
 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 awaj^ all the
 
 148 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 be- 
 comes 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
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 149 
 
 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 ^ 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-gromided opinion on it. Later on, it some- 
 times happened that his father sat at the piano, and 
 hummed Bellmann's songs. The boy found it in- 
 comprehensible 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 
 
 ^ Famous Swedish poet.
 
 150 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 Ljiinggren'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. Wliy had he been dis- 
 interred by Atterbom ? Because the pugnacious 
 romantic school required an embodiment of irregu- 
 larity 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 writ- 
 ings ; they were reinforced by the clerical element, 
 and thus the idol was set up for worship. Byström, 
 the sculptor, had already magnified the little lottery- 
 secretary and court-poet into a Dion3'sus and lent 
 him the features of an antique bust of Bacchus. 
 
 Bellmann 's idylls are careless, extemporised com- 
 positions 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 waves beat while the 
 boat is floating calmly on the waters. They simply
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 151 
 
 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. 
 
 " Tegnér and Atterbom say so." 
 
 " That is no proof." 
 
 " Simply because you have a spirit of contra- 
 diction," 
 
 " 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 indi^^dualistic, there are, on theother hand, judg- 
 ments 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 Bell- 
 mann 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
 
 152 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 verj^ cruelly with poor people." 
 He would like to have said to the Good Templars 
 who sang Bellmann's songs, " You are singing drink- 
 ing songs wliich were written during fits of intoxica- 
 tion and celebrate drink." For his own part, John 
 held that Bellmann's songs were pleasant to sing 
 because of the light French melodies which accom- 
 panied them, and as for their French moraHty 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 ideahsts 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 ? AVhat 
 is jest ? The reluctance of the cowardl}^ 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 
 immoralitj" which is after all so enticing and seduc- 
 tive. Humour speaks with two tongues, — one of 
 the satyr, the other of the monk. The humorist 
 lets the maenad loose, but for old unsomid 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
 
 THE 'RUNA' CLUB 153 
 
 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 wear}^, the members 
 of the club landed in Stockholm harbour.
 
 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 anjbody. 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. 
 
 154
 
 BOOKS AND THE STAGE 155 
 
 Johii had spent his youth in accumulating anti- 
 quarian lore. He knew all about Marathon and 
 Cannae, the war of the Spanish succession and the 
 Thirty Years' War, the Middle Ages and antiquit}^ ; 
 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 — sesthetics, — 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 
 Oehlenschlager's Helge, Tegner's Frithiofs Saga 
 seemed to him petty ; he fomid 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 
 awoke to poetic activity, and looked upon poetry 
 and romance as identical. Other contributory 
 circumstances were his liking for Norse antiquities
 
 156 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 stud}' of aesthetics as 
 expounded by Ljunggren in two closely printed 
 volumes, containing the views of all philosophers on 
 the Beautiful, but giving no satisfactory defmition 
 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 fuid 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 Jolm 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. Accord-
 
 BOOKS AND THE STAGE 157 
 
 ingly 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 draper}' of the principal figure being especially 
 tasteless although the judgment of the majority 
 regards the work as sublime. Therefore the subhme 
 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. 
 
 Jolm'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 Jolm was 
 also older. The}'' 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 grämde nation. In the
 
 158 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 evenings when thej' 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 fu-st 
 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 ; liis 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 autunm, 
 before the university term began, the piece was per- 
 formed. 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 pre- 
 sumptuous outburst against contemporary rhjTiiers. 
 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 Mas a piece 
 of temerity ^\'hich fomid its own punishment. Jolm 
 stole to the bottom of the third row of seats to \'iew 
 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
 
 BOOKS AND THE STAGE 159 
 
 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 de- 
 scription of the relationship between father and 
 son was c;yiiical. 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 seme was more appropriate than he 
 had expected. Everything was good except the 
 piece itself. He wandered down to the Norrström, 
 and felt inclined to dro%\ii 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 Jolm was ashamed as an ordinary man, to 
 have been mitruthful in his writing and to have 
 worn disguise.
 
 160 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 sufifers 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. Jolm 
 found his play stupid. It had lain by for half a 
 year, and perhaps he had outgroAvn 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 per- 
 formance 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.
 
 BOOKS AND THE STAGE 161 
 
 The3^ 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 3'ou good, 30U old death's-head ! " said a shop- 
 assistant. John was soon pulled doAvn from his 
 imaginative flight. " What have 3'ou got to be 
 melancholy for/' he was asked, " Avhen you have 
 had a play acted by the Theatre Ro^^al ? " He 
 could not tell them. His boldest ambition was 
 fulfilled ; but it was probabl}^ 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 Avas Avritten in choice language, and 
 (since it was anon3'mous) probably by a well- 
 knoAvn art-critic Avho had moved among artistic 
 circles at Rome. That wrs 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 widoA\' of a clergyman, that he might complete 
 his studies under proper supervision. 
 
 M
 
 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 Avas for the eighth time in 
 love. Again the object of his affections was un- 
 attainable, 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 societ}-. Besides this a great deal 
 of drinking went on nearly ever}^ evening. On one 
 of the first days after his arrival appeared a criticism 
 of his pla}^ in one of the evening papers. It was very 
 sharji but just, and therefore hit John hard. He felt 
 stripped and seen through. The critic said that the 
 author had concealed his insignificant personahty 
 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 oaati Avith other 
 
 162
 
 TORN TO PIECES 103 
 
 bad plays, Avliich 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 M'as AAorse 
 did not make his jjiece better. 
 
 John became shy and averse to company. This 
 was increased by the students' club starting a paper 
 in A\hich they made merr}" over him and his play. 
 He fancied he saw grimaces and contempt every- 
 where, 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. Wliile 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 responsi- 
 bility 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
 
 164 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 why at tinics of solitude, \\licn the past rises up un- 
 escapabl} , we do not feel remorse for our faults, 
 but for our follies and necessary cruelties. Mis- 
 takes 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 Avhich he 
 imagined a crimiral 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 solel}' as a writer, although his 
 production was a year old, and he himself, therefore, 
 maturer than it, b}^ 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 pla}'. 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 latel}^ 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
 
 TORN TO PIECES 165 
 
 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 person- 
 ality. Unfortunately they were both abnormal and 
 therefore had only a disturbing effect upon his 
 development. 
 
 The author was Kierkegaard,^ 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 stjde, but not been specially influenced 
 b}' it, — a proof that books have little effect, when 
 they do not find readers in sympathj'^ wdth the 
 author. But upon John the book made the im- 
 pression intended b}' the author. He read the first 
 part containing " The Confessions of an ^Esthete." 
 He felt sometimes carried away by it, but alwaj^s 
 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 
 ^ Danish theologian,
 
 166 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 philo- 
 sopher's "Discourse on Life as a Duty," made a 
 deeper impression on Jolm, It showed him that 
 he himself was an " aesthete " who had conceived 
 of authorship as a form of enjoj^ment. Kierke- 
 gaard said that it should be regarded as a calling. 
 Wh}' ? The proof was wanting, and John, who did 
 not laiow that Kierkegaard was a Christian, but 
 thought the contrary, not having seen his Edifying 
 Discourses, imbibed unaware the Christian sj'stem 
 of ethics with its doctrine of self-sacrifice and dut3\ 
 Along with these the idea of sin returned. Enjo}'- 
 ment was a sin, and one had to do one's dut3\ 
 Why ? Was it for the sake of societ}^ to which one 
 Avas under obligations ? No ! merelj^ because it 
 was duty. That was simpl}- 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 onl}^ 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 Christi- 
 anity — possibly — for it is difficult to decide that
 
 TORN TO PIECES 1C7 
 
 now, but to receive Christianity again seemed to 
 him Hke replacing a tooth Avhich had been torn out, 
 and joyfull}' thrown into the fire, along with the 
 accompanying toothache. It was also possible that 
 if he had liiiown that the book Either — Or was in- 
 tended to scourge one to the Cross he might have 
 thrown it awa}' 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 o^vn 
 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 con- 
 sisted of a w^eb 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 bj'. Life was a perpetual interchange 
 and struggle between pleasure and pain. His 
 sensualit}^ or desire for enjoyment had not injured 
 others nor caused them trouble. He had never 
 seduced the innocent, and had never enjoj'ed 
 liimsclf without paying the price. He was moral 
 from habit, from instinct, from fear of the conse-
 
 168 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 quences, 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 b}- it. He did 
 not see that it was a two-thousand-years-old 
 Christianity in disguise. 
 
 Kierkegaard \\'ould not have made so deep an 
 impression on him, if a number of concurrent circum- 
 stances had not contributed to that result. Li 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 ugl}^ sceneri' of Upsala ; he suffered 
 from the discomfort of his rooms ; he suffered from 
 examination-books ; he suffered from a bad con- 
 science because he did not stud}' 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 enjoy- 
 ment. Study was an enjoyment ; authorship, in 
 spite of all its pains, was a wonderful cnjojanent ; 
 the life with his comrades was sheer festivity and 
 jollit}-. But his plebeian consciousness awoke and 
 told him that it was not right to enjo}' Avhile others 
 worked ; his work was an enjoyment, for it brought 
 him a good deal of honour, and perhaps money. This
 
 TORN TO PIECES 109 
 
 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 en- 
 joyed ? Did he already have a foreboding of that 
 sense of justice, which in our daj^s 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 libera- 
 tion 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 philo- 
 sophers to make peace between passion and reason, 
 between enjoyment and dut3\ 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 onlj^ 
 valid for the priests of the church who called them- 
 selves Christians. 
 
 Kierkegaard saw no further, and from him who 
 wrote liis book in 1843, and had a clerical education, 
 one could not expect that he should ^ay : " Either 
 a Christianity like this, or none ! " In that case
 
 170 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 people would probably have chosen none. Instead 
 of that Kierkegaard said : " A'Miether 3^011 are 
 sesthetical or ethical j'ou must cast yourself into 
 the arms of Christ." His mistake was to oppose 
 ethics and aesthetics to each other, for tliej^ can go 
 very well together. But John did not succeed in 
 harmonising them till, after endless struggles, at 
 the age of thirt3'-seven, he attempted a compromise 
 when he discovered that work and duty are forms of 
 enjoj'ment, 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 
 stj^le to Goethe's Faust, Avhich it certainly did 
 surpass by far. John could not at that time under- 
 stand that the pillar-saint Kierkegaard had himself 
 known what enjoj-ment 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 wa3\ 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,
 
 TORN TO PIECES 171 
 
 " x\li, a genius ! " 
 
 None of the members of the club believed that 
 the}' were geniuses, not even John, and it is doubtful 
 whether an}^ poet has reallj' 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 under- 
 stands better than others, but genius, — that is some- 
 thing 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 vuider the name of Is. He 
 was not a poet, they were told, but ver}' learned and 
 a powerful critic. 
 
 One evening when the club-meeting was at Tliurs' 
 rooms he came — a little thin person, without an 
 overcoat, dressed like a labourer on his holiday. His 
 clothes looked as though the}^ 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 dirt}' 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
 
 172 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 room and introduced him, the meeting was declared 
 open. Is began to speak and thej^ listened. His 
 voice was like a woman's and sank sometimes, 
 ^vithout apology, to a whisper, as though the speaker 
 demanded perfect silence or spoke for his owti 
 satisfaction. It would be difficult to repeat what 
 he spoke of, for his speech ranged over everj^thing 
 that he had read, and since he had read for ten 
 years more than the youths of twenty, the}' 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 fuiished 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, sesthetics and historj'. He 
 spoke sometimes with a melanchoty expression in 
 his dark unfathomable eyes, which never rested on 
 those present, as though he sought an unseen 
 audience far in the distance, in unknoAm 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, the}' asked whether they still believed — mean- 
 ing whether each thought the other called to be a 
 poet. It was just the same sort of doubt which 
 John had felt Mhen he had Avondered whether he 
 was a child of God. Is was to read John's drama,
 
 TORN TO PIECES 173 
 
 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 noA\' taken hold of 
 John's soul. Through conversations with Thurs, 
 he knew which strings to pull, and did so, as he 
 chose. He burrowed in John's mind, not out of 
 sympath}', but from a spider-like curiosity. He 
 did not speak dirccth' 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 Avhen he left him, as 
 though his friend had taken his soul, picked it to 
 pieces and thrown them away after he had satisfied 
 his curiosit3\ 
 
 But John came again, sat on the wise mans sofa, 
 listened to his words as though they were an oracle, 
 and felt himself completely under his power. Some- 
 times he thought it was a ghost who walked on the 
 carpet when his body disappeartl 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 t3^pe 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 Avhether he had com- 
 mitted some crime, for he seemed driven about by a
 
 174 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 A\ ondered 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 poetr}^ he must de- 
 spise. They who were themselves in the full bloom 
 of romanticism did not detect the ansemic romantic 
 who had lost his footing on firm ground. They did 
 not see in his long hair and shabby hat the cop}' of 
 Murger's Bohemian ; they did not know that this 
 dilapidated condition was a Parisian fashion ; that 
 this holloAv wisdom was a Aveb 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 B3Tonic 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 John, one fuie evening, 
 burnt his new play. It was the work of three months 
 which Mcnt 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 mis- 
 take, 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
 
 TORN TO PIECES 175 
 
 definite result, he entered his name for t lie written 
 examination in Latin, without, however, having 
 written an}- of the requisite preliminary exercises 
 or essay's. 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 Avanted. 
 
 " 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 examina- 
 tion." 
 
 " That has nothing to do with this. You must go 
 by the rules." 
 
 " I know no rules about the three essa^-s." 
 
 " 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 Avould 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."
 
 176 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 Jolin started up, dressed himself, and hurried 
 with his friend to the Jernbrogatan where W. Uved. 
 They rushed up tlie stairs and came to a dark 
 attic. 
 
 " Is it here ? " 
 
 " No, here ! " 
 
 Jolm fek 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 pre- 
 viously 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 
 compan}^ or whether he disturbed him. Jolm 
 answered sincerel}'' that he did disturb him, and 
 W. went away with a melancholy air. Was it a 
 case of a loneh^ drowning man who sought a com- 
 panion and Mas repulsed ? John felt almost guilty 
 of his death. But he was not intended for a com- 
 forter. Now the dead man seemed to haunt liim ; 
 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 apparentl}^ 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 whisk}^ which were brought in on 
 a tray. Each of them drank four glasses in four
 
 TORN TO PIECES 177 
 
 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, Jolm 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-pro- 
 duction of thought, were corroded by stagnant waters 
 which had no outlet, and took fire like millstones 
 which revolved without having anything to grind.
 
 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 gro\vTi up into young women and managed 
 the house. All were at work with the exception of 
 himself. When he compared his irregular, dissi- 
 pated life, which knew no rest or peace, with theirs, 
 he considered them happier and better than himself. 
 They took Hfc 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 
 
 178
 
 IDEALISM AND REALISM 179 
 
 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 some- 
 thing new from him, stirred him up to re-write, in 
 the form of a one-act plaj^the drama he had burnt. 
 He fmished 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 :
 
 180 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 " Are you here again ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What do you want ? " 
 
 " I Avant to go in for the Latin Composition 
 examination." 
 
 " Without having written a test-composition ? " 
 
 " I have done that in Stockhohn — and I only want 
 to ask w^hether 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 lmo\vn 
 his purpose and described what had passed. 
 
 " Yes," said the dean, "the statutes say nothing 
 about the matter, but old P. can pluck j'ou 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 3'our own way ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do." 
 
 " Are you so sure about the matter ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very well ! Good luck to j^ou ! " said the Dean, 
 and clapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 So John went up for the examination and after a 
 week received a telegram to sa}' 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 OA\n diligence
 
 IDEALISM AND REALISM 181 
 
 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 Ideahsm and Reahsm. Its object was firstlj^ to 
 convince the professor that the writer was well- 
 read in resthetics and particularly in Danish litera- 
 ture, 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 Oehlenschlager's 
 Hakon Jarl and Kierkegaard's Either — Or. 
 
 At the appointed time Jolm 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
 
 182 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 a certificate which was not so good as he had hoped, 
 and teUing him that universit}^ studies could only 
 be properly carried on at the universit3^ 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 stud}' here." 
 
 John let fall some remarks on college lectures, and 
 they parted, not as particularly good friends.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A king's protegee 
 (1871) 
 
 During the whole of this time, John had been 
 on pleasant terms with his father, and the old man 
 had sho^v^l 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 pro- 
 fessor, his father vacillated. His opinion was that 
 right was alwaj^s right, but he did not like the dis- 
 respectful way in which John spoke of the professor. 
 Meanwhile Jolm saw that he had won the game and 
 that his father had a lively interest in his success. 
 
 But one day in spring Jolm went into the country, 
 183
 
 184 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 telling the servant that he would be absent for the 
 da}'. When he returned the next morning he had 
 an unpleasant reception. 
 
 " You go aAvay without telling me ? " 
 
 " I told the servant." 
 
 " I require j^ou to ask permission of me as long as 
 j^ou eat my bread." 
 
 " Ask permission ! \^^iat 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 
 Stockliolm, A\'liere tliej^ 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 b}' the fact that John w^as exercising a 
 perceptible influence on his father, brotjliers 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 health}^ 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 suc- 
 ceeded a desire to make converts of others, and a 
 great amount of self-satisfaction. The latter is
 
 A KING'S PROTEGE 185 
 
 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. Kierke- 
 gaard's influence was strong upon him ; he wished 
 to be moral, and thundered against sestheticism. 
 
 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 for- 
 gotten all the petty troubles of his childhood. He 
 missed most of all his brothers and sisters, especiall}^ 
 his sisters whom he had really learnt to know. 
 Toiling Avith 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 Avas wild and 
 shy. The clothes, which 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. Everj^thing 
 seemed to him constrained, conventional and un- 
 natural. 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
 
 186 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 com- 
 menced, he took his travelling-bag and journeyed 
 thither, without having more than a krona to call 
 his own, and without knowing where he would fuid 
 a room and something to eat. On his arrival he 
 took up his quarters with Rejd, and set about work- 
 ing. 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 restaur- 
 ant. He spoke in his usual stj'le and mangled his 
 prey, who, on the other hand, defended himself, 
 struck back, and attacked the aesthete. Is con- 
 templated his hungry companion while he ate, and 
 intoxicated himself with the brandj^-bottle. He 
 adopted a maternal air and offered to lend John 
 mone3\ 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 Jolm 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 
 ])ublicity. Conspicuous persons obtain a greater
 
 A KINGS PROTEGÉ 187 
 
 individuality through the attention they receive, 
 or they attract attention for the simple reason 
 that the}^ have a greater individuality. John felt 
 that he was working in the right way for his future ; 
 he pressed forward with energj^ 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 proudl}^ plaj'ed the " gentleman " and con- 
 tinued 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 
 somebod}^ 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
 
 188 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 latter close to him. Li the meantime his drama had 
 been pla3'ed 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 
 Avas 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 
 Ave re extolled at the expense of the men. In one 
 passage the autlior expressed his opinion as to the 
 position of a poet in life. " Are you a man, Orm ? " 
 asks tlie duke. " I am onl}^ 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 onl}' 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 wh}^ is it better to have only one " ego," since 
 in anj' case a single "ego " is not more one's ovm 
 than many " egos," seeing that even one "ego " is 
 a compound product derived from parents, edu- 
 cators, 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. 
 
 Ill the drama John had incorporated himself in 
 five persons ; — in the Jarl, who is at war with his
 
 A KING'S PROTEGÉ 189 
 
 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 s^^mpathy ; in the Daughter, who 
 for the sake of her faith breaks Avith her father ; 
 in the Lover, whose love is ill-starred. John under- 
 stood the motives of all the dramatis personse ; 
 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 AM'ong 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 blindl}^ obeying 
 desire and impulse ; in that they resemble our 
 " men of action " ! 
 When John returned to Upsala, he was again
 
 190 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 followed by disparaging criticisms. To some ex- 
 tent they were true, e. g. the assertion that the form 
 of the piece was borrowed from the Kongsemncrne, 
 but only to some extent, for Jolin 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 circum- 
 stances, a week after his overthrow, there came a 
 letter from the chamberlain of the Theatre Royal 
 at Stockholm, requesting him to go there immedi- 
 atel}^ as the king wished to see him. Morbidlj' 
 suspicious he believed that it was a practical joke, 
 and took the letter to his wise friend — the student 
 of Natural Histor}-. The latter telegraphed in the 
 evening to a well-knoAMi actor of the Theatre Royal 
 requesting him to ask the chamberlain whether he 
 had A\Titten to John. The latter spent a restless 
 night, tossed to and fro betAvccn hope and fear. The 
 next morning the answer came that it was indeed 
 so and that John should come at once. He set ofiE 
 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 part}^ ; 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 uf»per classes the best, as he
 
 A KING'S PROTEGE 191 
 
 had shown in his tragedy, Sinking Hellas, in which 
 he expressed contempt for the demagogues. He 
 hated tyrants, but this king was no tyrant. There- 
 fore there was no reason for hesitation within him 
 or without him. Accordingly he travelled to Stock- 
 holm 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 3^oung 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 3'oung 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 gratefull}^ 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 Avho had paid him, had asked him ^^■hether he 
 thought later on of obtaining a post in some public 
 department or in the Royal Librar3\ His ambition 
 had never soared so high and did not yet do so.
 
 192 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 The chief object of human existence seems to be, 
 and must indeed be, to sjDend one's life till death 
 in the least unpleasant manner jDOssible. This aim 
 does not exclude solicitude for the good of others, 
 for happiness includes the consciousness of not 
 having infringed others' rights unnecessarily. There- 
 fore 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 happ3\ 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 
 penur}^ 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, "\\'hich 
 had been narrowed by hunger and over-exertion, 
 broadened itself ; his back grew straighter ; life 
 no longer seemed so melancholy. He was con- 
 tented with his lot ; things took on a more cheerful 
 aspect, and he ^\ould 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
 
 A KINCrS PROTJ^Gl^ 193 
 
 accustomed to see him below them. But when he 
 came upwards, near them and above them, they 
 found him necessarily^ altered by altered circum- 
 stances. 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 bj^ 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, Astronom}^ 
 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. Phj^siologists usually ascribe this weak- 
 ness to an injury in the left temple. And as a matter 
 of fact Jolin had two scars above his left eye. One 
 was caused by the blow of an axe, the other hy 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 
 o
 
 194 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 learning what lie 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 
 ro3^al 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 be- 
 lieved 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 croAMi princes, are democrats, 
 inasmuch as we wish those above us to come down 
 to our level ; but when we ascend, w^e do not wish 
 to be pulled down. The question is only whether 
 that which 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 
 Ijnng on the sofa. Then the desire would some- 
 times 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 him- 
 self to philosoph}', but when he read the history of 
 it, he found all systems equally valid or invalid, and 
 his mind resisted all new ideas. 
 
 Li the literary club there was disunion and 
 lethargy. All their youthful poems had been 
 read and no one produced any more, bo that they 
 
 195
 
 196 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 only met together to drink punch. Is had exposed 
 himself, and after a scene with another member, he 
 had been throAMi out. He drew his Imife and got 
 M'ell thrashed. He saved himself from Morse 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 
 ^Esthetic Societ}^ had been founded by the professor 
 of iEsthetics, and this made their own literär}- 
 society, the " Runa," superfluous. 
 
 At one of the meetings of the former, John's dis- 
 content with classical authorities broke out. He 
 had been drinking that evening and was half- 
 intoxicated. Li 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 over- 
 estimated. John had plent}^ of reasons to allege 
 for his opinion, but could not express them to advan- 
 tage when the professor set upon him, and the whole 
 company gathered round the disputants, who were 
 squeezed into a corner bj- 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 emplo3'ed shortly 
 before in the Vision of Albericns. Furthermore his 
 opinion was tliat in this poem Dante did not reflect 
 the culture and thoughts of his period, because he 
 was so uncuUured that he did not even know Greek. 
 He was not a philosopher, for he hampered thought
 
 THE WINDING UP 197 
 
 by the fetters of revelation, and therefore lie was no 
 precursor of the Renaissance or the Reformation. 
 He was no patriot, for he venerated the German 
 empire as estabhshed by God. He was at most a 
 local patriot of Florence. Nor was he a democrat, 
 for he always dreamt of a iniion of the empire and 
 the papac}". 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 self- 
 criticism ; — while he reckons ingratitude to friends 
 and betrayal of one's fatherland among the worst 
 of crimes, he places his o\mi friend and teacher, 
 Brunetto Latini, in hell, and supports the German 
 Emperor, Henr}^ 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 dis- 
 honour on so many contemporary persons and 
 families ? He even scolds his own dear native cit}', 
 exclaiming when he finds five nobly-born Florentines 
 in Hell : " Rejoice ! Florence ! for thy name is 
 not only great over land and sea, but also in hell. 
 Five of th}^ citizens are in tliieves' 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 ! "
 
 198 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 As is usual in such debates, the attacked and the 
 attacker often changed their ground. Jolin wished 
 to prove to the professor that from his point of ^'iew 
 the Cmnmedia was a poHtical pamphlet, but then 
 the professor veered round, adopted the enemy's 
 point of view and said that he should value it as 
 such. ^Vhercupon 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 Jolm, " but you have 
 judged it by the standard of our time and all suc- 
 ceeding times, and therefore 3'ou are wrong. But 
 even Mith regard to its ovm. time the work is not an 
 epoch-making one ; it is not in advance of its period, 
 but belongs strictl}- 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 in- 
 capable 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
 
 THE WINDING UP 199 
 
 themselves to his mind, but Avithout result. The 
 grey dirty town vexed him, the scener}- around de- 
 pressed 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 Avished to go into the country but it was 
 still only February, the sk}^ 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 i3reparations. 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 Avith 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!" 
 
 Jolm, Avho had already, Avith the greatest calm, 
 composed a song Avith a guitar-accompaniment, 
 thought it not impossible for him to paint, and he 
 borroAved an easel, colours, and a paint-brush. Then 
 he Avent 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 Avhcn he had conjured
 
 200 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 up green bushes and grass he felt unspeakably happy 
 as though he had eaten haschish. His first effort 
 Avas successful. But now he wished to copy a paint- 
 ing. That was harder. Everything was green and 
 bro AMI. He could not make his colours harmonise 
 with the original and felt in despair. 
 
 One da}^ when he had shut himself up he heard a 
 visitor talking with his friend in the next room. 
 They whispered as though the}' were near a sick 
 person. " Now he is actually painting," said his 
 friend in a depressed tone. 
 
 ^'VTiat 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. ^Vhat 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 countr}', where the patients 
 could walk about and Avork 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 Jolm 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. 
 
 Thai danger, then, was over. But he Avished to 
 get out into active life Avhenever it might be. 
 
 One day he heard that a traA^elling theatrical 
 compan}^ had come to the toAvn. He AATote a letter 
 to the manager and solicited an engagement, but he 
 received no ansAver and did not call on the manager. 
 Thus he Avas tossed to and fro, till at last fate inter-
 
 THE WINDING UP 201 
 
 vened 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 onl}- a single donation. 
 However, in consideration of his needy circum- 
 stances, 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 after- 
 Avards the turn which affairs had taken made him 
 uneasy, for the papers had stated that he A\as 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 hardl}^ 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 secreth' 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 AAas 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
 
 202 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 palace, instead of going with it, which his sense of 
 independence forbade him to do. Ten 3'ears later 
 he heard quite a new exj)lanation 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 quickl}^ 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 uneas}'. MeauAvhile 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, aclmowledging the obligations which 
 each owes to those he meets in social intercourse. 
 Every personality is not develoi)ed simply out of 
 itself, but derives something from each Avith whom 
 it comes in contact, just as the bee gathering her 
 honey from a million floA\ers, appropriates it and 
 gives it out as her OAvn. 
 
 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 noAv to be a
 
 THE WINDING UP 203 
 
 man and leave boyhood behind ; he was to become 
 a member of societj', a useful citizen and eat his 
 own bread. 
 
 So ho 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 borroAAed 
 money in order to hire a room near the Ladugård- 
 slandet. Ahvaj's under the away 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 fuic views over the sea 
 which was close at hand. There was plenty of light 
 and air. When lie went for his morning walk he could 
 choose his route according tc his mood. If he was 
 sad and depressed, he went along the Sirishofsvägen ; 
 if he Avas 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 Ladugårdsgärdet, where 
 no one could disturb his self-communings and his 
 praj'ers to G^od. Sometimes, when his soul was in a 
 tumult, he remained standing by the cross-ways 
 above the bridge near the Zoological Gardens, irreso- 
 
 204
 
 AMONG THE MALCONTENTS 205 
 
 lute which way to take. On such occasion a thou- 
 sand 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 w^as for him just like sitting do\^ai 
 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 Nor- 
 wegian 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 expres- 
 sion to one's inner feelings and not depict mere 
 sticks and stones which are meaningless in them-
 
 206 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 selves 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 ahva3"s 
 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 
 Astronom}^, Philology, ^Esthetics, Latin and Chemis- 
 try 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 liimself, it did not occur to him to make use 
 of his old connection with the Afionhlaclety but 
 he MTOte for a small evening paper which had lately
 
 AMONG THE MALCONTENTS 207 
 
 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 Jolm 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 tlic}^ 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 
 sj'mpathise 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 demo- 
 crat," and found fault with the incorrect conception
 
 208 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 of Göran Persson , whom in his own tragedy Eric XIV 
 (subsequently burnt) he had represented as an enemy 
 of the noblHt}^ and friend of the people. 
 
 Descended from his OAvn height as a promising 
 student, author and royal protegé 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 flour- 
 ishes, the articles were printed. The editor told 
 him the}' were piquant, but advised him to employ 
 a more flowing style. He had not j^et caught the 
 journalistic Imack. 
 
 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 com- 
 parison between the prospects of a student and that 
 of a workman, declaring the latter to be far better 
 off. The Avorkman was generally in good health, 
 could support himself at eighteen and marr}^ at 
 twent}?-, while the student could not think of marriage 
 and making a livelihood before thirty. As a remedy 
 he recommended doing away with the final examina- 
 tion as Jaabaek had already done m Nor\va3% 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
 
 AMONG THE MALCONTENTS 209 
 
 was all clear to him as earl}- as 1872, j^t when he 
 made similar suggestions twelve 5^ears 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 verj- kind, 
 but let him work too hard, and gave him all kinds of 
 commissions to execute. After he had sjDent 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 fuiallj^ written his 
 columns carefull}', 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 
 certainly hardl}' 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
 
 210 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 comes to think, M'liat assurance is there for the 
 capacity- and insight of the law-givers in parhament, 
 in the ministr}^ on the throne ? None whatever ! 
 It is therefore the same all round. There were, how- 
 ever, 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 enjoj-ed 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 sjaionymous terms. At home he 
 had heard the usual phrase that " no one was honour- 
 able whose name had not appeared in the paper 
 Fatherland.''' In the street the}" 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 un- 
 popular group. Did he choose reallj^ ? 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 badl}^ 
 lived like beggars — one of them lived in the same 
 room with the servant — and ate what they could get ; 
 the}^ could hardly read, and had no knowledge of 
 orthography. At the same time they talked like
 
 AMONG THE MALCONTENTS 211 
 
 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. The}' ate with Imives, 
 used their sleeves as napkins, had no handkerchiefs 
 and only one coat in winter. However, John felt 
 at home with them, though of late yeavs, he had been 
 conversant onl}' with cultivated and well-to-do 
 young people. It was not that he was superior to 
 them, for that they did not aclmowledge, nor was it 
 an}^ use to quote books to them, for the}' accepted no 
 authoritj' . His doubts as regards books, especiallj^ 
 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 j^ears 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 elementar}' school, 
 he had now flung himself on the most up-to-date 
 Ijooks 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 mathe-
 
 212 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 matician and a pilot. The former can calculate in 
 logarithms, the latter can turn them to practical 
 use. But Mans also Avas critically disposed and 
 did not believe in books blindly. He had no readj^- 
 made scheme or s^^stem into which to fit his thoughts ; 
 he alwa^'s 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 ho\v to be silent as to certain conclusions, 
 which, if expressed tactlessly and in the wrong 
 place, might have injured him. As his literär}^ 
 adviser, he had a telegraph-assistant whose knowledge 
 Måns knew better how to use than its o\nier 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 im- 
 pulses, he stood outside everything, contemplating 
 and smiling at the free pla}' of thought which he 
 enjoyed as a work of art, with the accompan;ying 
 certainty that it was after all only an illusion. 
 
 With both of tliese John luid many friendl}^ 
 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 emo- 
 tional and passionate descriptions, the latter took
 
 AMONG THE MALCONTENTS 213 
 
 out his microscope, found the weak sjJot where to 
 insert his knife, and cut. On such occasions Jolrn 
 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 un- 
 learned men that John learned a philosophy which 
 was not known at Upsala. In the course of conver- 
 sation, his opponents often referred to an authority 
 whom they called " Buckle," John rejected an 
 authority of whom he had heard nothing in Uj)sala. 
 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, Man, 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 theologj^ 
 and what was worse, an inquisition, which wished
 
 214 THE GROAVTH OF A SOUL 
 
 to confine the many.sidedncss of the Morld-process 
 within the limits of an individual system. " No 
 S3'stem " is Buckle's motto. Doubt is the beginning 
 of all wisdom, doubt means investigation and stimu- 
 lates intellectual progress. The truth which one 
 seeks is simply the discovery of natural laws. 
 Knowledge is the highest, moralit}' is only an acci- 
 dental form of behaviour, which depends upon 
 different social conventions. Only l-aiowledge 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 necessar}' 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 Avas 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- 
 vo3'ages of poetrj^ nor the will-o'-the-wisps of Grerman 
 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 M'as so stupid or Kant who 
 was so obscure. The study of the history of philo- 
 sophy, in which he had seen how each philosopher 
 pointed to his sj'stem 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 clear presentations of facts
 
 AMONG THE MALCONTENTS 215 
 
 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 un- 
 kno\\n are like animals in a forest who fear every 
 rustle in the bushes, or like primitive men who 
 sacrificed to the thunder instead of erecting light- 
 ning 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 universit}^ 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 Avrong, 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 the}' only understood Latin and German. 
 Buckle's History of Civilisation iyi Eiiglmid was 
 written in 1857, but didnot 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.
 
 216 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 '■ No literature," saj^s 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 abj-ss of contra- 
 dictions, 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, criti- 
 cism, 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 Avrong 
 in the world wa^ Avrong in accordance with necessary 
 law, but he became furious when he made the 
 further discovery that our social condition, our re- 
 ligion and morality were absurdities. He wished to 
 understand and pardon his opponents, since in their
 
 AM0NC4 THE MALCONTENTS 217 
 
 actions they were no more free than he was, but he 
 was in duty bound to strangle them since tliey 
 hindered the evohition of society towards universal 
 happiness, and that was the onl}^ 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 3'ears 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 pro- 
 mulgation 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 Bru3'cre, " 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 ! "
 
 218 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 " Write ! " answered his friend. 
 
 " Yes, but what ? " 
 
 Where should he begin ? Buckle had already 
 written everj'thing, and 3'et it A\'as as though it had 
 not been written. The AA^orst thing Mas 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 moder- 
 ately ambitious, because he was now onl}' 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-\\alls 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 bo patient and not to explode. 
 He entrenched himself in doubt as in a fortress, and 
 as a means of self-preserA'ation 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 3'ear 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 be- 
 longed to John's circle of friends had just received 
 a ro^^al 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, Mas an impressionist 
 219
 
 220 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 and took 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. Jolin 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 Ro^'al 
 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 fuid 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 doMai 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 ^vas no good ; the public would never accept 
 a new reading of their characters till critical inquiry 
 had done its preliminary- \\ork. 
 
 That was true, but the blow Avas 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
 
 THE RED ROOM 221 
 
 wait and wile away the time. To think of re- 
 modelhng 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 Toe que ville 's Democracy 
 in America and Prevost-Paradol's The Neiv France. 
 The former increased his doubts as to the possibility 
 of democrac}' 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 sincerel}^ the 
 dangers of democrac}', 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 contradic- 
 tion : " 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 inner- 
 most citadel." 
 
 An individualist like John did not perceive that
 
 222 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 this pride can and must be overcome. Nor did 
 he see that wisdom and inteUigence can be spread 
 b}^ 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 majorit3\ 
 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 majorit3^ under arms. To juries ? They are 
 formed b}' a majority which possesses the right to 
 judge." De Tocqueville goes on to sa}' that the 
 happiness of the majority which consists in main- 
 taining its rights deserves recognition, and that it 
 is better for a minority to suffer from pressure than 
 a majorit}', but the sufferings which an intelligent 
 minority suffer from an unintelligent majority 
 are much greater than those which an intelligent 
 minority inflict upon a majorit3\ On the other 
 hand, the minoritj' understands much better than 
 the majorit}' what conduces to their own and the 
 general happiness, and therefore the t3Tann3' of the 
 minority is not to be compared with that of the 
 majorit3^ 
 
 " Yes, but," thought John, " did not the European 
 peoples generall3^ suffer from the t3Tann3^ of a 
 minorit3" ? " The mere fact that there were upper 
 classes la3' like a heav3' cloud on the life of the masses. 
 Nowadavs the question ma3' be raised, " Why 
 should a different class-education result in an
 
 THE RED ROOM 223 
 
 intelligent minoritj- and an unintelligent majoritj' ? " 
 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 
 usuall}^ 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 Toe que ville that the}^ 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 tj^ranny 
 of the masses transcends any despotism known to 
 Europe. I Imow no country where there is, generally 
 speaking, less independence of opinion and real 
 freedom of discussion than America. The majority 
 draw a terribl}- narrow circle round all thought. 
 Within that circle an author may saj' what he likes, 
 but woe to him if he step across the limit. He has 
 no auio-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 Imown 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 them- 
 selves, are silent and withdraw'. He gives waj^ ; 
 he finally collapses under the strain of daily renewed 
 effort, and resumes silence, as though he regretted 
 having spoken the truth.
 
 224 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 " In democratic republics, tyranni' 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 ; 3'our life and property will remain un- 
 touched, but from the day that j'ou express a differ- 
 ent view from mine, j^ou will be a stranger among 
 us. You will retain your rights and privileges as 
 a citizen, but the}- will be useless to j'ou. You ^\^ll 
 remain among men, but be deprived of all a man's 
 rights. Wlien j'ou approach your equals thej' will 
 flee 3^ou 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 3'ou life, but a life which shall 
 be harder and bitterer than death ! ' " 
 
 That is the true and credible picture which the 
 noble De Toe que ville, friend of the people and 
 tyrant-hater as he was, has dra\Mi 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 preach- 
 ing 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 latelv from an ignorant 
 theatre-management behind which stood the un-
 
 THE RED ROOM 225 
 
 cultivated 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 
 Avould 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 Ava« provisionall}^ 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 aris- 
 tocrat than John dared to be in the year 1872, 
 though he belonged to no party which claimed the 
 right to muzzle him. 
 
 Prévobt-Paradol had dealt with the same theme 
 Q
 
 226 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 as Tocqueville, but ho suggested a secret device 
 against the tyranny of the masses — the cumulative 
 vote or the privilege of A^riting 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. Noav he had to 
 adopt a role, learn it, and carry it out. He com- 
 posed 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 mdeed 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, Avhich is certainly untrue. 
 The world calls the weaker side of men their " better 
 self," because this weakness is more advantageous 
 for the Avorld and self-interest seems to dictate its 
 judgment. Jolm 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
 
 THE RED ROOM 227 
 
 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 phil- 
 anthropic, and reason blasjjliemed, — 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 1
 
 228 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 All minds that were aAvake 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. There- 
 fore 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. Jolm, 
 who felt akin to this rebel, was aware of a pain which 
 resembled anxiety, and a perpetual boring *' tooth- 
 ache 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 safet3\ 
 Attacks of illness can certainl}' colour men's vieAvs, 
 and every one well knows how gloomy our thoughts 
 are Avhen Ave have attacks of fever. But patients
 
 THE RED ROOM 229 
 
 Buch as Samuel Oedmann or Olaf Eneroth were 
 neither sulky nor bitter, but, on the contrary, 
 mild, perhaps languid from want of strength. Vol- 
 taire, 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 Imowledge, or with worse knowledge. Kierke- 
 gaard'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 
 alwaj's 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 necessit}^ 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 annoj^ance as can result in siclmess. 
 The loss of dear friends through death, may in this
 
 230 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 way cause consumption, and the loss of a social 
 position or of propert}', madness. 
 
 If ever}' 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 \^e 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 con- 
 sist 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 ho 
 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 ho did not hate them, 
 nor did he study tliem critically till they had broken
 
 THE RED ROOM 231 
 
 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 3'ielded 
 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 societj^ in order 
 to exploit it for his own purposes, he was simplj- 
 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 solitarj^ 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 plaj'ing 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
 
 232 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 hy old friends whom they met 
 again. They were first of all recruited bj^ the 
 presentable former scholars of the Clara School, — 
 a postal clerk who was at the same time a bass 
 singer, pianist and composer ; a secretarj^ of the 
 Court treasurer ; and the trump card of the society, — 
 a lieutenant of artillerj-. To these were added 
 later, the composer's indispensable friend, a litho- 
 grapher, who published his music, and a notary who 
 sang his compositions. The club was not homo- 
 geneous, but they soon managed to shake down 
 together. 
 
 But since the laymen had no wish to hear dis- 
 cussions on art, literature and philosophy, their 
 conversations were only on general subjects. John, 
 who did not wish to discuss anj'^ 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 stupiditj^, 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
 
 THE RED ROOM 233 
 
 a short time they were all sceptics, and began to 
 use a special language of their own. This health}^ 
 scepticism in the infallibilit}- of each other's judg- 
 ments 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 
 praiseworthy, for one was cut short with " Are you 
 sentimental, poor devil ? Take bi-carbonate." 
 
 If an}^ one complained of toothache, all he received 
 bj'' way of answer was, " That does not rouse my 
 sympath}^ 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 pre- 
 tending to finer emotions. To borrow money or 
 to get goods on credit without being certain of being 
 able to paj^ 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,
 
 234 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 Once during such a conversation the Heutenant 
 got up to go and attend church-parade Mith his 
 compan3\ " Where are 3'ou 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 uneasj^, 
 but did not wish to hurt an 3^ one's feelings that day. 
 When John opened the door to go out, Mfms 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 ! j'ou feel 
 as embarrassed at going with Måns as I do." 
 
 " True," replied Jolm, " 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 betra5nng a trace 
 of ill-humour. " Your health, Måns, because you
 
 THE RED ROOM 235 
 
 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 b}^ com- 
 pulsory regulations, has made it possible for anti- 
 quated 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 teclmique and artistic conception. John con- 
 sidered 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 
 the}' fear being regarded as godless. 
 
 Ever}' one attacked Christ, for He was thought 
 to have been overthrowii 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 com- 
 mentators he had studied, he criticised the com- 
 position and meagre character drawing of Hamlet. 
 It is noteworth}' that the Swedish Shakespeare- 
 worshipper, Shuck, through an inconsistenc}' due 
 to the current confusion of thought and compulsory 
 cowardice, made just as severe criticisms of Hamlet
 
 236 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 regarded as a wark of art, though he had previously 
 extolled it above the skies. If Joliii 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 unsatisfactorj^ of all . . . the composi- 
 tion 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 specta- 
 tor'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 
 moralit3^" 
 
 And then the obscuritj'' 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 Kiiig 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 char- 
 acterisation, 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
 
 THE RED ROOM 237 
 
 unprejudiced man fly in a rago 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 A\'ell-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 mean- 
 ingless 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 contradic- 
 tion. 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
 
 238 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 thoughts demanded a new phraseology. Anecdotes 
 and old jokes were done away with ; stereotj'ped 
 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 be- 
 came accustomed to produce something from his 
 0"WTi stock of original observation and acquired 
 the faculty of judging from a fresh point of view. 
 
 Jolui had discovered that men in general were 
 automata. All thought the same ; all judged in 
 the same fashion ; and the more learned they Avere, 
 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 
 qud books which had turned these learned men 
 into automata. Ho 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
 
 THE RED ROOM 239 
 
 of exalting what was old and established, and 
 therefore of hindering further development. 
 
 Meanwhile Jolin'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 engage- 
 ment in a provincial theatre. There mere nobodies 
 often plaj^ed leading roles in tragedies, made them- 
 selves a name, and finished by getting an appoint-
 
 240 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 ment 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 toAvn. Gloom}^ 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 land- 
 scape 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. \^Tien 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 move- 
 ments A\'hich were going on in the Avorld. What a 
 short way it was from here to Copenhagen, Christi- 
 ania, 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
 
 THE RED ROOM 241 
 
 since he was only in the insignificant position of 
 an actor. 
 
 John sought out the theatre-director and intro- 
 duced himself as a person who wished to do the 
 theatre a service. The director, however, con- 
 sidered 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 Dielrichson's Workman, the great success of 
 the day. John had discovered a certain likeness 
 between Stephenson's first locomotive and his 
 rejected play ; he Avished 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 
 
 R
 
 242 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 unpracticalitj^ 
 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 con- 
 tributors to a Literary Calendar which had just 
 appeared. The Calendar, which was received with 
 universal disapprobation, was not without signifi- 
 cance 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 indifi^ercnt quality, and sometimes even 
 bad, — bad because it gave no sign that the poet
 
 THE RED ROOM 243 
 
 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 Avhether 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, 
 Biirger ? 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 sub- 
 sequently triumphed in Snoilsk}', 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 in- 
 capacity of their writers. 
 
 Jolm had contributed to the Calendar a free
 
 244 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 version of " An Basveig's Saga." In this ho 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 im- 
 portance 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 Hart- 
 mann'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
 
 THE RED ROOM 245 
 
 been pessimists, and had seen through and unmasked 
 the illusions of life. Only wild animals, children, 
 and commonplace people could therefore be happ^^, 
 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. 
 
 Wlien he contemplated life and especially the 
 course of history he saw only cycles of errors and 
 mistakes repeating themselves .^ The men of the 
 
 ^ In his pamphlet " The Conscious Will in the World- 
 history '* (1903), Strindberg takes the opposite view to that 
 expressed here.
 
 246 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 present dreamt of a republic, as Greeks and Romans 
 had done two thousand years before ; the civiHsation 
 of the Egyptians had decayed when they perceived 
 its futihty ; Asia was wrapped in an eternal sleep 
 after it had been impelled bj'' an unconscious will 
 to conquer the world ; all nations had invented 
 narcotics and intoxicants in order to quench con- 
 sciousness ; 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
 
 THE RED ROOM 247 
 
 floods, eradicate superstitions, remove despots, 
 prevent war ? Is it not presumptuous or simple- 
 minded to believe that man, himself governed by 
 chemical, ph3'sical, and ph^-siological 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 pres- 
 sure 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 freel}^ ? 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 alreadj^ exists among 
 the savages of Australia ; if in commmiity 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 un- 
 pleasantnesses 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
 
 248 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 necessitj^ 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 thej^ desire, 
 however absurd it is, is a necessarj^ 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 sj'stem already has its 
 programme drawn up and consequently works 
 automaticall}^ 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 ^\^th 
 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 \nll be succeeded 
 by something else. 
 
 The bourgeois is an ojDtimist because he cannot
 
 THE RED ROOM 249 
 
 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 hypo- 
 chondriac 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 hypo- 
 chondriac 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 hj'po- 
 chondriacal, 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 possibihty, although it has every 
 probabihty on its side, since the instinct of self- 
 preservation, the first condition of life, consists
 
 250 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 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 sociahsts, who wished to 
 arouse the expectation that their teaching was 
 practicable, explained it as the foreboding of over- 
 throw in a class, of whom Hartmann was the repre- 
 sentative. But Hartmann believes in socialism 
 and the new social sj^stem, although only as tran- 
 sitional forms. He is not despairing, not even 
 melancholy. He seems to be the first philosopher 
 who, quite independently of Christianitj^ European 
 culture and idealism, tries to explain the world's 
 progress from the purely materiafistic 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 susceptibihty 
 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." Ideahsts may feel empty and de- 
 spairing when confronted by the naked truth, but
 
 THE RED ROOM 251 
 
 the meliorist feels an inexpressible calm. Man will 
 be modest when he takes the measure of his little- 
 ness 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 
 reahst, and the title " pessimist " in its old signifi- 
 cance 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 health}'- 
 view of tilings in contrast to which sociaHsm 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 
 sj^stem 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 onl}^ left a 
 certain deposit and gave a kepiote 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
 
 252 THE GROWTH OF A SOUL 
 
 somewhere outside himself. Taken on the large 
 scale, life was meaningless, but if one wanted to 
 live, one had to come to grips with realitj^ 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." 
 
 Richard Clay Jc Soni, Limited, London and Bungay.
 
 19 
 
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