The Inferno - August Strindberg (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📗

head with brown butter before me. I understand that it is an unconscious mistake on her part, but can only eat with scarcely-concealed repugnance and simulated appetite.

“You are not eating anything!”

It is too much! Formerly I attributed these annoyances to feminine malice; now I acquit everyone and say, “It is the Devil!”

From my early days I am accustomed to plan out the day’s work during my morning walk. No one, not even my wife, has ever been allowed to accompany me on it. And, as a matter of fact, in the morning my mind rejoices in a feeling of harmony and happy elevation which borders on ecstasy. My corporeal part seems to have disappeared, my griefs too have fled; I am all soul. The early morning is my time of self-collection, my hour of prayer, my matins.

Now I must sacrifice it all, and give up my most innocent pleasure. The powers compel me to renounce this last and purest enjoyment. My little daughter wishes to accompany me. I embrace her tenderly, and tell her why I wish to be alone, but she does not understand it. She cries, and I have not the heart to sadden her today, but make a firm resolve not to allow her again to misuse her rights. She is certainly thoroughly fascinating as a child, with her originality, her cheerfulness, her gratitude for trifles, that is, when one has leisure to be occupied with her. But when one is absentminded and distracted, it is intensely annoying to be plagued with endless questions and changes of mood about mere nothings.

My little one is as jealous as a lover about my thoughts; she seems to watch for the exact opportunity to destroy a carefully-woven web of thought with her prattle⁠—but no, it is not she who does it; she is only an instrument, but I seem to be the object of deliberate attacks by a poor little innocent. I go on with slow steps; I don’t seek to escape any more, but my soul is a prisoner, and my brain exhausted by the effort of continually having to descend to a child’s level. What, however, pains me intensely is the deep, reproachful look she casts at me when she thinks I find her a nuisance, and imagines that I love her no longer. Then her open joyous little face falls, her looks are averted, her heart is closed to me, and I feel myself bereft of the light which this child had brought into my dark soul. I kiss her, take her on my arm, look for flowers and pretty pebbles for her, cut a switch for her, and pretend to be a cow which she is driving to the meadow. She is contented and happy, and life smiles at me again.

I have sacrificed my morning hour. So do I atone for the evil which in a moment of madness I had wished to conjure down on this angel’s head. What a penance⁠—to be loved! Truly the powers are not so cruel as we are!

IX Extracts from the Diary of a Damned Soul

October, November, 1896

The Brahmin has fulfilled his duty as regards life when he has begotten a child. Then he goes into the desert, to dedicate himself to solitude and asceticism.

My mother-in-law.⁠—“What have you done in your former human existence that Fate deals so hardly with you?”

I.⁠—“Think! Remember a man who was first married to another man’s wife, like myself, and who separated from her in order to marry an Austrian, like myself! Then his little Austrian is torn from him, as mine has been from me, and their only child is kept in the Bohemian mountains as mine is. Do you remember the hero of my romance, On the Open Sea, who commits suicide on an island⁠—”

M.⁠—“Enough! Enough!”

I.⁠—“You don’t know that my father’s mother was called Neipperg⁠—”

M.⁠—“Stop! Unhappy man!”

I.⁠—“And that my little Christina resembles the greatest murderer of the century to a hair. Only look at her, the little tyrant, the man-tamer at two and a half!”

M.⁠—“You are mad.”

I.⁠—“Yes! And what sins have you women formerly committed, since your lot is still harder than ours? See how justly I have called woman our evil angel. Each has his or her deserts.”

M.-“To be a woman is a twofold hell.”

I.⁠—“And so woman is a twofold devil. As regards reincarnation, that is a Christian doctrine which has been maintained by some of the clergy. Christ said that John the Baptist was Elijah reborn on earth. Is that an authority or not?”

M.⁠—“Yes, but the Roman Church forbids inquiry into secrets.”

I.⁠—“And science permits it, as soon as science itself is tolerated.”

The spirits of discord are abroad, and despite of the fact that we are quite aware of their game and our freedom from blame in the matter, our repeated misunderstandings leave a bitter wish for revenge behind them. Moreover, both sisters suspect that my evil wishes caused their mother’s mysterious illness, and remembering that it is to my interest to have my separation from my wife terminated, they cannot suppress the fairly reasonable thought that the death of the old lady would cause me joy. The mere existence of this wish makes me hateful in their eyes, and I do not venture any more to ask how their mother is because I fear to be regarded as a hypocrite.

The situation is strained, and my two former friends exhaust themselves in endless discussions regarding my person, my character, my feelings, and the sincerity of my love for the little one. At one time they regard me as a saint, and the scars in my hands as wound-prints. And certainly the marks on my palms resemble large nail-holes. But in order to put an end to all ideas of saintship, I designate myself the penitent thief, who has come down from the cross and started on his pilgrimage to Paradise.

Another time, they try to solve the riddle