August Strindberg-Reminiscences of a Protégé

AUGUST STRINDBERGREMINISCENCES OF A , , PROTEGE My ACQUAINTANCE and association with August Strindberg began in 1910 and extended over a period of slightly more than two years, until his death on May 14. 1912. His influence, however, was destined to have a decisive bearing on my whole life and future. While a student in a preparatmy school in Stockholm, I had eagerly read almost everything Strindberg had written at the time: plays, novels, short stories, autobiographies, poems, as weD as his historical, scientific and linguistic works, not to mention polemical newspaper and magazine articles. His dramas, above an.had made on me a profound and lasting impression that was strengthened by witnessing performances of some of them at Strindberg and August Falck's Intima Teatem. dedicated exclusively to the presentation of the great Swedish dramatist's own plays. Strongly influenced by all I had read and seen of Strindberg"s works, I devoted all my spare time after school to the writing of a play, which, when finished, I called On the Pf'ecipice. It was a realistic drama, with its action setin modern times. Ithad a tragic ending. One day I summoned sufficient courage to write a letter to Strindberg . asking him whether he would read my first effort and give me the benefit of his opinion of its worth. Once the letter was written, I dispatched it without delay to him at his address in Drottninggatan, where he had lived in seclusion since 1908, and where he later finished his days on earth. To my great surprise and elation I received a reply from him the very next day, April 25, 1910. Trembling with excitement, I read it, almost with unbelief. It was short and concise: "Send the manuscript and I shall read it. Sg." I lost no time in forwarding the manuscript to him, and then anxiously awaited the verdict. I didn't have to wait long. Promptly, in the next morning's mail, I received this letter [undated but probably written on April ~ or 28, 1910] from StriIidberg: Yes, it is well written: it bespeaks experience with life. It is beautifully done. And I find it hard to believe that you yourseH have written it and not a considerably older person than you: a mystification that might be forgivable if you are the actual author. Ifyou can afford to have a thoroughly legible copy made in a form that will meet the requirements of theatrical producers, I shall take care of the matter for you, send it to one of the theaters, and ~6 1962 REMINISCENCES OF STRJNDBERG 277 secure the actress needed. In the meantime, the author's identity should remain secret. Will you call on me between six and seven this evening, then we can talk it over. Sg. My feelings after having read the letter can better be imagined than described. My state of mind was such that I could hardly wait for the appointed time to attive. A minute or two past six o'clock in the evening , I found myself standing outside the door on the fifth floor of "'The Blue Tower," as Strindberg called the house at Drottninggatan 85. I timidly pressed the bell~d waited with throbbing heart. Mter a short while-which to me seemed like an etemity-I heard footsteps from within; and then I glimpsed through the transom above the door a light being turned on in the hall. The lid of the letter box on the upper part of the door opened and I saw five fingers holding down the lid, in order that the person within might perceive and identify the visitor. Then I heard a rather stern voice ask, "Who is it?" I mentioned my name-and the door opened. There stood Strindberg. I shall never forget that moment when I first stood face to face with the great author. What particularly struck me about Strindberg, after I had somewhat regained my composure, was the mighty head with its bushy, gray lion mane, like a halo, around it, and its high, dome-like forehead, the deep-set, penetrating gray-blue eyes and, by comparison, the rather weak, almost feminine mouth beneath the bristling, graying...