



Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
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GROWTH OF A SOUL

BY

AUGUST STRINDBERG


AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC.


TRANSLATED BY CLAUD FIELD



NEW YORK

McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY

1914



     CONTENTS

     I IN THE FORECOURT
    II BELOW AND ABOVE
   III THE DOCTOR
    IV IN FRONT OF THE CURTAIN
     V JOHN BECOMES AN ARISTOCRAT
    VI BEHIND THE CURTAIN
   VII JOHN BECOMES AN AUTHOR
  VIII THE "RUNA" CLUB
    IX BOOKS AND THE STAGE
     X TORN TO PIECES
    XI IDEALISM AND REALISM
   XII A KING'S PROTEGE
  XIII THE WINDING UP
   XIV AMONG THE MALCONTENTS
    XV THE RED ROOM



THE GROWTH OF A SOUL



CHAPTER I

IN THE FORECOURT

(1867)


The steamer had passed Flottsund and Domstyrken and the university
buildings of Upsala began to appear. "Now begins the real
stone-throwing!" exclaimed one of his companions,--an expression
borrowed from the street-riots of 1864. The hilarity induced by punch
and breakfast abated; one felt that things were now serious and that
the battle of life was beginning. No vows of perpetual friendship were
made, no promises of helping each other. The young men had awakened
from their romantic dreams; they knew that they would part at the
gang-way, new interests would scatter the company which the school-room
had united; competition would break the bonds which had united them and
all else would be forgotten. The "real stone-throwing" was about to
begin.

John and his friend Fritz hired a room in the Klostergraenden. It
contained two beds, two tables, two chairs and a cupboard. The rent was
30 kronas[1] a term,--15 kronas each. Their midday meal was brought
by the servant for 12 kronas a month,--6 kronas each. For breakfast
and supper they had a glass of milk and some bread and butter. That
was all. They bought wood in the market,--a small bundle for 4 kronas.
John had also received a bottle of petroleum from home as a present,
and he could send his washing to Stockholm. He had 80 kronas in his
table-drawer with which to meet all the expenses of the term.

It was a new and peculiar society into which he now entered, quite
unlike any other. It had privileges like the old house of peers and a
jurisdiction of its own; but it was a "little Pedlington" and reeked
of rusticity. All the professors were country-born; not a single one
hailed from Stockholm. The houses and streets were like those of
Nykoeping. And it was here that the head-quarters of culture had been
placed, owing to an inconsistency of the government which certainly
regarded Stockholm as answering to that description.

The students were regarded as the upper class in the town and the
citizens were stigmatised by the contemptuous epithet of "Philistines."
The students were outside and above the civic law. To smash windows,
break down fences, tussle with the police, disturb the peace of the
streets,--all was allowed to them and went unpunished; at most they
received a reprimand, for the old lock-up in the castle was no more
used. For their militia-service they had a special uniform of their
own which carried privileges with it. Thus they were systematically
educated as aristocrats, a new order of nobility after the fall of the
house of peers.

What would have been a crime in a citizen was a "practical joke" in a
student. Just at this time the students' spirits were at a high pitch,
as a band of student-singers had gone to Paris, had been successful
there, and were acclaimed as conquerors on their return.

John now wished to work for his degree but did not possess a single
book. "During the first term one must take one's bearings" was the
saying. John went to the student's club. The constitution of the club
was antiquated,--so much so that the annexed provinces Skane, Halland
and Blekinge were not represented in it. It was well arranged and
divided into classes, not according to merit, but according to age
and certain dubious qualities. In the list the title "nobilis" still
stood after the names of those of high birth. There were several ways
of gaining influence in the club, through an aristocratic name, family
influence, money, talent, pluck and adaptability, but the last quality
by itself was not enough among these intelligent and sceptical youths.
On the first evening in the club John made his observations. There were
several of his old companions from the Clara School present, but he
avoided them as much as possible and they him. He had deserted them and
gone by a short cut through the private school, while they had tramped
along the regular course through the state school. They all seemed
to him somewhat conventional and stunted. Fritz plunged among the
aristocrats and obtained introductions, made acquaintances easily and
got on well.

As they went home in the evening John asked him who was the "snob" in
the velvet jacket with stirrups painted on his collar. Fritz answered
that he was not a snob, and that it was as stupid to judge people by
fine clothes as by poor ones. John with his democratic ideas did not
understand this and stuck to his opinion. Fritz asserted that the youth
referred to was a very fine fellow and the senior in the club, and
in order to rouse John further, added that he had expressed himself
satisfied with the newcomers' appearance and manners; he was reported
to have said "they had an air about them; formerly the fellows from
Stockholm when they came there, looked like workmen."

John was ruffled at this information and felt that something had come
in between him and his friend. Fritz's father had been a miller's
servant, but his mother had been of noble birth. He had inherited from
his mother what John had from his.

The days passed on. Fritz put on his frock coat every morning and went
to pay his respects to the professors. He intended to be a jurist;
that was a proper career, for lawyers were the only ones who obtained
real knowledge which was of use in public life, who tried to obtain
deeper insight into social organisation and to keep in touch with the
practical business of everyday life. They were realists.

John had no frock coat, no books, no acquaintances.

"Borrow my coat," said Fritz.

"No, I will not go and pay court to the professors," said John.

"You are stupid," answered Fritz, and in that he was right, for the
professors gave real though somewhat hazy information regarding the
courses of study. It was a piece of pride in John that he did not
wish to owe his progress to anything but his own work, and what was
worse, he thought it ignominious to be regarded as a flunkey. Would
not an old professor at once perceive that he was flattering him for
his own purposes? To submit himself to his superiors was, in his mind,
synonymous with grovelling.

Moreover everything was too indefinite. The university which he had
imagined to be an institution for free investigation, was only one for
tasks and examinations. The professors gave lectures for the sake of
appearances or to maintain their income, but it was useless to go up
for an examination without taking private lessons. John resolved to
attend those lectures for which no fee was necessary. He went to the
Gustavianum to hear a lecture on the history of philosophy. For the
three-quarters of an hour during which the lecture lasted the professor
went through the introduction to Aristotle's Ethics. John calculated
that with three lectures a week he would require forty years to go
through the history of philosophy. "Forty years," he thought, "that is
too long for me." And did not go again. It was the same everywhere.
An assistant-professor expounded Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_ with the
commentary, in English, to an audience of five. John went there a few
times, but reckoned that it would be ten years before _Henry VIII_ was
finished.

It began to dawn upon him what the requirements of the degree
examination were. The first was to write a Latin essay; therefore he
must learn more Latin, which he did not like. He had chosen aesthetics
and modern languages as his chief subject. AEsthetics comprised the
study of Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Literary History and the
various systems of aesthetics. That was work enough for a lifetime. The
modern languages were French, German, English, Italian and Spanish,
with comparative grammar. How was he to obtain the requisite books? And
he had not the means of paying for private lessons.

Meanwhile he set to work at AEsthetics. He found that one could borrow
books from the club and so he took out the volumes of Atterbom's
_Prophets and Poets_ which happened to be there. These unfortunately
only dealt with Swedenborg and contained Thorild's epistles. Swedenborg
seemed to him crazy, and Thorild's epistles did not interest him.
Swedenborg and Thorild were two arrogant Swedes who had lived in
retirement and fallen a prey to megalomania, the special disease
of solitary people. It is remarkable how often outbreaks of this
hallucination occur in Sweden, owing probably to the isolated position
of the country and to the fact that a sparse population is scattered
over enormous distances. Megalomania is apparent in the imperial
projects of Gustavus Adolphus, in Charles X's ambition of becoming
a great European power, in Charles XII's Attila-like schemes, in
Rudbeck's Atlantic-mania, and in Swedenborg's and Thorild's dreams of
storming heaven and of world-conflagrations. John thought them mad and
threw them aside. Was that the sort of stuff he was expected to read?

He began to reflect over his situation. What did he expect to do in
Upsala? To support himself for six years on 80 kronas till he took
his degree. And then? his thoughts did not stretch further; he had no
higher plan or ambition than to take his degree--the laurel crown, the
graduate's coat, and then to teach the catechism in the Jakob school
till his death. No, he did not wish to do that.

Time went on, and Christmas approached. The little stock of money in
his table-drawer diminished slowly but surely. And then? It was not so
easy for students to obtain employment as private teachers since the
railways had made communication easier between remote country places
and the towns where schools were. He felt that he had embarked upon a
foolish undertaking. When he found he could get no more books, he began
to make visits among his fellow-students and discovered companions in
misfortune. Among them were two who had spent the whole term playing
chess and possessed nothing between them but a hymn-book which the
mother of one had placed in his box. They were also asking themselves
the question "What have we to do here?" The way to the degree
examination was not easy; one was compelled to seek out secret ways,
bribe door-keepers, creep through holes, run into debt for books, be
seen at lectures and much more besides.

In order to fill up the time, he learnt to play the B-cornet in the
band of the students' club by the advice of Fritz who played the
trombone. But the practices were very irregular and began to cause
disputes. John also played backgammon, which Fritz hated, and so he
wandered about to acquaintances with his backgammon board and played
with them. He found it as dull as reading Swedenborg.

"Why do you not study?" Fritz often asked him.

"I have no books," answered John. That was a good reason. He could
not visit the restaurants, for he had no money, and lived very
quietly. At the midday meal he drank only water, and when on Sundays
he and Fritz drank half a bottle of beer, they remained sitting at
table half-fuddled and telling each other, perhaps for the hundredth
time, old school adventures. The term crept along intolerably slow,
uneventful and torpid. John perceived that, as one of the lower class,
he could plod on thus far but no further. The economic question brought
his plans to a standstill. Or was it that he was tired of living a
one-sided mental life without muscular exercise? Trifling experiences
for which he ought to have been prepared contributed to embitter him.
One day Fritz entered their room with a young count. He introduced
John to him, and the count tried to remember whether they had not been
comrades at the Clara School. John seemed to remember something of
the kind. The old friends and intimate companions addressed each other
as "count" and "sir." Then John remembered how he and the young count
had once played as boys in a tobacco store on the Sabbatsberg, and how
something had made him prophesy, "In a few years, old fellow, we shall
not know each other any more." The young count had protested strongly
against this and felt hurt. Why did John remember this just then
particularly, since it is quite natural that comrades should become
strangers to each other when intercourse has been so long broken off?
Because at the sight of the noble, he felt the slave blood seethe in
his veins. This kind of feeling has been ascribed to the difference of
races. But that is not so, for then the stronger plebeian race would
feel superior to the weaker aristocratic. It is simply class-hatred.

The count in question was a pale, tall, slender youth of no striking
appearance. He was very poor and looked half-starved. He was
intelligent, industrious, and not at all proud. Later on in life
John came across him again and found him to be a sociable, pleasant
man, leading an inconspicuous life as an official, amid difficulties
resembling John's own. Why should he hate him? And then they both
laughed at their youthful stupidity. That was possible then, for John
seemed to have "got ahead" as the saying is; otherwise he would not
have laughed at all. "Stand up that I may sit down," this was the
more malicious than luminous way of expressing the aspiration of the
lower orders in those days. But it was a misunderstanding. Formerly
one strove to elbow one's way up to the other; now one would rather
pull the other down to save oneself the trouble of clambering up where
nothing is to be found. "Move a little so that we can both sit" would
now be the proper formula.

It has been said that those who are "above" are there by a law of
necessity and would be there under all circumstances; competition
is free and each can ascend if he likes, and if the conditions were
changed, the same race would begin again. "Good!" say the lower
classes, "let us race again, but come down here and stand where I
do. You have got a start with privileges and capital, but now let us
be weighed with carriage harness and racing saddle after the modern
fashion. You have got ahead by cheating. The race is therefore declared
null and void and we will run it again, unless we come to an agreement
to do away with all racing, as an antiquated sport of ancient times."

Fritz saw things from another point of view. He did not wish to pull
those above down, but to become an aristocrat himself, climb up to
them and be like them. He began to lisp and made elegant gestures with
his hands, greeted people as though he were a cabinet minister, and
threw his head back as though he had a private income. But he respected
himself too much to become ridiculous and satirised himself and his
ambition. The fact was that the aristocrats whom he wished to resemble
had simple, easy, unaffected manners,--some of them indeed quite like
the middle class, while Fritz was fashioning himself after an ancient
theatrical pattern which no longer existed. He did not therefore
become what he expected in life though he had dozed away many a summer
in the castles of his friends, and ended in a very modest official
post. He was received as a student in their guest-rooms but came no
further; as a district judge he was not introduced in the salons which
as a student he had entered without introduction.

The effects of the different circles in which John and Fritz moved
began now to be apparent, first in mutual coldness, then in hostility.
One evening it broke out at the card-table.

Fritz one day towards the end of the term said to John, "You should not
go about with such bounders as you do."

"What is the matter with them?"

"Nothing, but it would be better if you went with me to my friends."

"They don't suit me."

"Well, they suit me, but they think you are proud."

"I?"

"Yes; and to show you are not, come with me this evening and drink
punch."

John went though unwillingly. They were a solid-looking set of
law-students who played cards. They discussed the stakes for which they
should play, and John succeeded in reducing them to a minimum, though
they made sour faces. Then a game of "knack" was proposed. John said
that he never played it.

"On principle?" he was asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"How long ago did you make that resolve," asked Fritz sarcastically.

"Just this minute."

"Just now, here?"

"Yes, just now, here!" answered John.

They exchanged hostile looks and that was the end. They went home
silent; went to bed silent; and got up silent. For five weeks they ate
their dinner at the same table and never spoke to each other. A gulf
had opened between them and their friendship was ended; they had no
more intercourse with each other and there was nothing to bring them
together again. How had that come about?

These two characters so opposed to each other had held together for
five years through habit, through comradeship in the class-room,
and common interests