August Strindberg's first literary productions were warmly received,and would have aroused lasting enthusiasm and admiration had the youngauthor's prolific pen been less aggressive, in this, for his country,a totally new style of novel. His intrepid sarcasm which emanatedfrom a physical disability, known only to a few of his most intimatefriends, called forth severe criticism from the old aristocrats and theconservative element, which drove the gifted dramatist from his owncountry to new spheres. Life's vicissitudes at Vierwaldstätter See, andBerlin, also later on at Paris from whence his fame spread rapidly overEurope, changed his realism to pessimism.
After years of ceaseless work, during which he dipped into almost everybranch of science, he suddenly determined to transfer his activitiesto this side of the Atlantic, where he was desirous of becoming known.For this purpose his most singular novel was chosen for translation;meantime some invisible power drew him back to his birthplace,Stockholm, and a new generation cheered his coming.
Later on critics called him "A demolisher and a reformer that came likea cyclone, with his daring thought and daring words, which broke inupon the everlasting tenets and raised Swedish culture."
His delineations are photographical exactness without retouch, bearingalways a strong reflection of his personality.
MAGNUS WESTERGREN.
Boston, Mass.
April, 1913.
A fishing boat lay one May evening to beam-wind, out on Goosestonebay. "Rokarna," known to all on the coast by their three pyramids,were changing to blue, while upon the clear sky clouds were formingjust as the sun began to sink. Already there was dashing outside thepoints, and a disagreeable flapping in the mainsail signified that theland-breeze would soon break against newborn currents of air, fromabove, from the sea and from aft.
At the tiller sat the Custom House Surveyor of the East Skerries, agiant with black long full beard. Occasionally he exchanged a look withtwo subordinates who were sitting in the bow, one of whom was tendingthe clutch-pole, keeping the big square sail to the wind.
Sometimes the steersman cast a searching look at the little gentlemanwho was crouching at the mast seemingly afraid and frozen, now and thendrawing his shawl closer round his body.
The surveyor must have found him ridiculous, for frequently he turnedleeward with a pretense of spitting tobacco juice to conceal a risinglaugh.
The little gentleman was dressed in a beaver-colored spring coat underwhich a pair of wide moss-green pants peeped out, flaring at the bottomround a pair of crocodile shagreen shoes topped with brown cloth andblack buttons. Nothing of his under dress was visible, but round hisneck was twisted a cream-colored foulard, while his hands were wellprotected in a pair of salmon-colored three-button glacé-gloves, andthe right wrist was encircled by a gold bracelet carved in the form ofa serpent biting its tail. Ridges upon the gloves showed that ringswere worn beneath. The face, as much as could be seen, was thin andhaggard; a small black mustache with ends curled upwards in