August Strindberg, the Spirit of Revolt: Studies and ImpressionsLind-af-Hageby, L. (Lizzy)
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August Strindberg, the Spirit of Revolt: Studies and Impressions
Lind-af-Hageby, L. (Lizzy)
Strindberg, August, 1849-1912
These delusions of horror were suspended by a letter from his wife
which breathed love and pity, and in which she invited him to come
to Austria and see his little daughter. The thought of the child, of
holding her in his arms, of begging her to forgive him, of making
her happy by a father's tenderness, brought about a spiritual
metamorphosis. He left Sweden, and arrived at his mother-in-law's
country house on the Danube in September, 1896. During the months which
he spent there he did not meet his wife-a separation which he bore with
equanimity, in consequence of "an indefinable lack of harmony in our
temperaments"--but he saw the child daily.
"Every man, if he is sincere, may tread again for himself the road to
Damascus-a journey which must vary for each individual soul," wrote
Victor Hugo. Here, in the presence of the child, Strindberg was brought
face to face with his own sinfulness. He had set out to persecute, but
the light from heaven had prostrated him and struck him with blindness.
Before the scales could fall from his eyes his penance must be made
complete. He had left an infant of six weeks. The little girl of two
and a half years, who now met him, scrutinised his soul with eyes
full of serious inquiry, and then allowed her father to clasp her to
his breast. "This is Dr. Faust's resurrection to earthly life, but
sweeter and purer," he writes. "I cannot cease carrying the little
one in my arms, and feeling her little heart beat against mine. To
love a child is for a man to become woman; it is to lay aside the
manly, to experience the sexless love of the dwellers in heaven, as
Swedenborg called it." But an incident soon occurred which disturbed
his peace. At supper he gently touched the child's hand in order to
help her. She cried out, and, drawing back her hand with a look full
of horror, said, "He hurts me." Another evening he was humiliated by
the mysterious conduct of the child. Pointing at an invisible person
behind Strindberg's chair, she began to cry with fear, and said, "The
sweep is standing there." Her grandmother who believed in clairvoyance
in children made the sign of the cross over the child's head, and-a
painful silence fell upon the company.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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