In Midsummer Days and Other Tales by August Strindberg

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"Climb up the tree, Anna," he shouted. "The bull's coming!" It was
a cry of anguish from the very bottom of his soul.

And he ran after the monster and hit it on the slenderest part of
its hind-legs in the hope of breaking its shin-bone. With superhuman
strength he felled the giant. Anna was saved, and the pilot held
her in his arms.

"Where shall we go?" he asked. "Home, of course?"

It did not occur to him to ask her whence she had come, for reasons
which we shall learn hereafter.

They walked along the footpath, hand in hand, happy at their
unexpected meeting. When they had gone a little way, Victor suddenly
stood still.

"Just wait a moment," he said. "I must go and have a look at the
bull; I'm sorry for it, poor brute!"

The expression of Anna's face changed, and the corners of her eyes
grew bloodshot. "All right! I'll wait," she said, with a savage
and malicious glance at the pilot.

Victor gazed at her sadly, for he knew that she had told him an
untruth. But he followed her. There was something extraordinary
about her walk, and all at once the whole of his left side grew as
cold as ice.

When they had proceeded a little further, Victor stopped again.

"Give me your hand," he said. "No, the left one." He saw that she
was not wearing her engagement ring.

"Where's your ring?" he asked.

"I've lost it," she replied.

"You are my Anna, and yet you are not," he exclaimed. "A stranger
has taken possession of you."

As he said these words, she looked at him with a side-long glance,
and all at once he realised that her eyes were not human, but the
blood-shot eyes of a bull; and then he understood.

"Begone, witch!" he cried, and breathed into her face.

If you could only have seen what happened now! The would-be Anna
was immediately transformed, her face grew green and yellow like
gall, and she burst with rage; at the next moment a black rabbit
jumped over the bilberry bushes and disappeared in the wood.

Victor stood alone in the perplexing, bewildering forest, but he
was not afraid. "I will go on," he thought, "and if I should meet
the devil himself, I will not be afraid; I shall say the Lord's
Prayer, and that will go a long way towards protecting me."

He trudged on and presently he came to a cottage. He knocked; the
door was opened by an old woman; he inquired whether he could stay
the night. He could stay, if he liked, but the old dame had nothing
to offer him but a small attic, which was only so so.

Victor did not mind what it was like, as long as it was a place
where he could sleep.

When they were agreed about the price, he followed her upstairs
to the attic. A huge wasp's nest hung right over the bed, and the
old dame began to make excuses for harbouring such guests.

"It doesn't matter in the least," interrupted the pilot, "wasps
are like human beings, quite inoffensive until you irritate them.
Perhaps you keep snakes, too?"

"Well, there are some, of course."

"I thought so; they like the warmth of the bed, so we shall get
on. Are they adders or vipers? I don't very much mind which, but
on the whole I prefer vipers."

The old dame watched him breathlessly while he arranged his bed,
and in every way betrayed his firm resolution to spend the night
in her cottage.

All at once an excited buzzing could be heard outside the closed
window, and a huge hornet bumped against the glass.

"Let the poor thing come in," said the pilot, opening the window.

"No, no, not that one, kill it!" yelled the old dame.

"Why should I? Perhaps its young ones are in this room, and would
starve. Am I to lie here and listen to the screaming of hungry
babies? No, thank you! Come in, little wasp!"

"It will sting you!" shrieked the old dame.

"No, indeed it won't. It only stings the wicked."

The window was open now. A big hornet, as large as a pigeon's egg,
flew in; buzzing like a bass string, it flew at once to the nest.
And then it was still.

The old dame left the attic, and the pilot got between the sheets.

When he came downstairs into the parlour on the following morning,
the old dame was not there. A black cat sat on the only chair and
purred; cats have been condemned to purr, because they are such
lazy beasts, and they must do something.

"Get up, pussy," said the pilot, "and let me sit down."

And he took the cat and put it on the hearth. But it was no
ordinary cat, for immediately sparks began to fly from its fur,
and the chips caught file.

"If you can light a fire, you can make me some coffee," said the
pilot.

But the cat is so constituted that it never wants to do what it
is told, and so it began at once to swear and spit until the fire
was out.

In the meantime the pilot had heard somebody leaning a spade against
the wall of the cottage. He looked out of the window and saw the
old dame standing in a pit which she had dug in the garden.

"I see you are digging a grave for me, old woman," he said.

The old dame came in. When she saw Victor safe and sound, she was
beside herself with amazement; she confessed that up to now nobody
had ever left the attic alive, and that therefore she had dug his
grave in anticipation.

She was a little short-sighted, but it seemed to her that the pilot
was wearing a strange handkerchief round his neck.

"Ha ha! Have you ever seen such a handkerchief in all your life?"
laughed Victor, putting his hand up to his throat.

Wound round his neck was a snake which had tied itself in front
into a knot with two bright yellow spots; the spots were its ears,
and its eyes shone like diamonds.

"Show auntie your scarfpins, little pet," said the pilot, gently
scratching its head, and the snake opened its mouth and disclosed
two sharp, pointed teeth right in the middle of it.

At the sight of them the old dame fell on her knees and said, "Now
I see that you have received my letter and understood its meaning.
You are a brave lad!"

"So the letter I got out of the automatic machine was from you,"
said the pilot, taking it from his breast pocket. "I shall have it
framed when I get home."

Would you like to know what was written in the letter? Just these
few words in plain English, "Don't be bluffed," which might be
translated, "Fortune favours the Brave."

***

Yes, but how was it that the pilot could walk from the ship down the
passage?" asked Annie-Mary, when her mama had finished the story.
"And did he come back, or had he dreamed the whole story?"

"I'll tell you another time, little Miss Curiosity," said her mama.

"And then there was a verse in the book--"

"What verse? Oh, I see ... in the snail shop. ... Well, I'm afraid
I've forgotten it. But you mustn't ask too many details, for it's
only a fairy tale, little girlie."

PHOTOGRAPHER AND PHILOSOPHER

Once upon a time there was a photographer. He was a splendid
photographer; he did profiles and full-faces, three-quarter and
full-length portraits; he could develop and fix, tone and print
them. He was the deuce of a fellow! But he was always discontented,
for he was a philosopher, a great philosopher and a discoverer. His
theory was that the world was upside down. It was plainly proved by
the plate in the developer. Everything that was on the right side
of the original, now appeared on the left; everything that was
dark, became light; light became shade; blue turned into white,
and silver buttons looked as dark as iron. The world was upside
down.

He had a partner, quite an ordinary man, full of petty characteristics.
For instance, he smoked cigars all day long; he never shut a door;
he put his knife into his mouth, instead of using his fork; he
wore his hat in the room; he cleaned his nails in the studio, and
in the evening he drank three glasses of beer.

He was full of faults!

The philosopher, on the other hand, was perfect, and therefore
he nursed resentment against his imperfect brother; he would have
liked to dissolve the partnership, but he could not, because their
business held them together; and because they were bound to remain
in partnership, the resentment of the philosopher turned into an
unreasonable hatred. It was dreadful!

When the spring came they decided to take a lodging in a summer
resort, and the partner was despatched to find one. He did find
one. And one Saturday they departed together on a steamer.

The philosopher sat all day long on deck and drank punch. He was
a very stout man and suffered from several things; his liver was
out of order, and there was something wrong with his feet, perhaps
rheumatism, or some similar disease. When they arrived, they crossed
the bridge and went ashore.

"Is this the place?" asked the philosopher.

"A very little walk will take us there," answered the partner.

They went along a footpath, full of roots, and the path ended
abruptly before a stile. They had to climb over it. Then the road
became stony, and the philosopher complained of his feet, but he
forgot all about his pains when they came to another stile. After
that, all trace of the road disappeared; they walked on the bare
rock through shrubs and bilberry bushes.

Behind the third fence stood a bull, who chased the philosopher
to the fourth stile, where he arrived in a bath of perspiration,
which opened all the pores of his skin. When they had crossed the
sixth stile, they could see the house. The philosopher went in and
immediately stepped on to the verandah.

"Why are there so many trees?" he asked. "They interrupt the view."

"But they shelter the house from the strong sea-breezes," answered
the partner.

"And the place looks like a churchyard; why, the house stands in
the centre of a pine-wood."

"A very healthy spot," replied the partner.

Then they wanted to go and bathe. But there was no proper bathing-place,
in the philosophical sense of the word. There was nothing but the
stony ground and mud.

After they had bathed the philosopher felt thirsty, and wanted to
drink a glass of water at the spring. It was of a reddish-brown
colour, and had a peculiar, strong taste. It was no good. Nothing
was any good. And meat was unobtainable, there was nothing to be
had but fish.

The philosopher grew gloomy and sat down under a pumpkin to deplore
his fate. But there was no help for it. He had to stay, and his
partner returned to town to look after the business during his
friend's absence.

Six weeks passed and then the partner returned to his philosopher.

He was met on the bridge by a slender youth with red cheeks and a
sunburnt neck. It was the philosopher, rejuvenated and full of high
spirits.

He jumped over the six stiles and chased the bull.

When they were sitting on the verandah, the partner said to him:--

"You are looking very well, what sort of a time have you had?"

"Oh! an excellent time!" said the philosopher. "The fences have
taken off my fat; the stones have massaged my feet; the mud-baths
have cured me of my rheumatism; the plain food has cured my liver,
and the pine-trees my lungs; and, could you believe it, the brown
spring-water contained iron, just what I wanted!"

"Well, you old philosopher," said the partner, "don't you understand
that from the negative you get a positive, where all the shade
becomes light again? If you would only take such a positive picture
of me and try and find out what faults I do _not_ possess, you would
not dislike me so much. Only think: I don't drink, and therefore
I am able to manage the business; I don't steal; I never talk evil of
you behind your back; I never complain; I never make white appear
black; I am never rude to the customers; I rise early in the morning;
I clean my nails so as to keep the developer clean; I leave my
hat on so that no hairs shall fall on the plates; I smoke so as to
purify the air of poisonous gases; I keep the door ajar so as not
to make a noise in the studio; I drink beer in the evening so as
to escape the temptation of drinking whisky; and I put the knife
into my mouth because I am afraid of pricking myself with the fork."

"You really are a great philosopher," said the photographer,
"henceforth we will be friends! Then we shall get on in life!"

HALF A SHEET OF FOOLSCAP

The last furniture van had left; the tenant, a young man with
a crape band round his hat, walked for the last time through the
empty rooms to make sure that nothing had been left behind. No,
nothing had been forgotten, nothing at all. He went out into the
front hall, firmly determined never to think again of all that
had happened to him in these rooms. And all at once his eyes fell
on half a sheet of foolscap, which somehow had got wedged between
the wall and the telephone; the paper was covered with writing,
evidently the writing of more persons than one. Some of the
entries were written quite legibly with pen and ink, while others
were scribbled with a lead-pencil; here and there even a red pencil
had been used. It was a record of everything that had happened to
him in the short period of two years; all these things, which he
had made up his mind to forget, were noted down. It was a slice of
a human life on half a sheet of foolscap.

He detached the paper; it was a piece of scribbling paper, yellow
and shining like the sun. He put it on the mantelpiece in the
drawing-room and glanced at it. Heading the list was a woman's name:
"Alice," the most beautiful name in the world, as it had seemed
to him then, for it was the name of his fiancee. Next to the name
was a number, "15,11." It looked like the number of a hymn, on the
hymn-board. Underneath was written "Bank." That was where his work
lay, his sacred work to which he owed bread, home, and wife--the
foundations of life. But a pen had been drawn through the word, for
the Bank had failed, and although he had eventually found another
berth, it was not until after a short period of anxiety and
uneasiness.

The next entries were: "Flower-shop and livery-stable." They related
to his betrothal, when he had plenty of money in his pockets.

Then came "furniture dealer and paper-hanger "--they were furnishing
their house. "Forwarding agents"--they were moving into it. The
"Box-office of the Opera-house, No. 50,50"--they were newly married,
and went to the opera on Sunday evenings; the most enjoyable hours
of their lives were spent there, for they had to sit quite still,
while their souls met in the beauty and harmony of the fairyland
on the other side of the curtain.

Then followed the name of a man, crossed out. He had been a friend
of his youth, a man who had risen high in the social scale, but
who fell, spoilt by success, fell irremediably, and had to leave
the country.

So unstable was fortune!

Now, something new entered the lives of husband and wife. The next
entry was in a lady's hand: "Nurse." What nurse? Well, of course,
the kindly woman with the big cloak and the sympathetic face, who
walked with a soft footfall, and never went into the drawing-room,
but walked straight down the passage to the bedroom.

Underneath her name was written "Dr. L."

And now, for the first time, a relative appeared on the list:
"Mama." That was his mother-in-law, who had kept away discreetly,
so as not to disturb their newly found happiness, but was glad to
come now, when she was needed.

A great number of entries in red and blue pencil followed: "Servants'
Registry Office"--the maid had left and a new one had to be engaged.
"The chemist's"--hm! life was growing dark. "The dairy"--milk had
been ordered--sterilised milk!

"Butcher, grocer, etc." The affairs of the house were being conducted
by telephone; it argued that the mistress was not at her post. No,
she wasn't, for she was laid up.

He could not read what followed, for it grew dark before his eyes;
he might have been a drowning man trying to see through salt water.
And yet, there it was written, plainly enough: "undertaker--a large
coffin and a small one." And the word "dust" was added in parenthesis.

It was the last word of the whole record. It ended with "dust"!
and that is exactly what happens in life.

He took the yellow paper, kissed it, folded it carefully, and put
it in his pocket.

In two minutes he had lived again through two years of his life.

But he was not bowed down as he left the house. On the contrary,
he carried his head high, like a happy and proud man, for he knew
that the best things life has to bestow had been given to him. And
he pitied all those from whom they are withheld.

CONQUERING HERO AND FOOL

It was on the evening of a spring day in 1880 (a day which will never
be forgotten in Sweden, because it is the day of commemoration of
a national event), when an old couple, simple country people, were
standing on the headland at the entrance to the harbour of Stockholm,
looking at the dark watercourse under the dim stars, and watching
a man who was busy with a dark, undefinable object on the landing
bridge. They stood there for a long, long time, now gazing at the
dark watercourse, now looking at the brilliant lights of the town.

At last a light appeared on the fjord, then another, then many
lights. The old man seized the woman's hand and pressed it, and
in silence, under the stars, they thanked God for having safely
brought home their son whom they had mourned as dead for a whole
year.

It is true, he had not been the leader of the expedition, but he
had been one of the crew. And now he was to dine with the long,
receive an order, and, in addition to a sum of money from the
nation, which Parliament had voted for the purpose, an appointment
which would mean bread and butter for the rest of his life.

The lights grew in size as they approached; a small steamer was
towing a big dark craft, which, seen close by, looked as plain and
simple as most great things do.

And now the man on the bridge, who had been very busy about the
dark object, struck a match.

"Whatever is it?" said the old man, much puzzled. "It looks like
huge wax candles."

They went nearer to examine it more closely.

"It looks like a frame for drying fishes," said the old woman, who
had been born on the coast.

Ratsh! It-sh! Si-si-si-si! it said, and the old people were instantly
surrounded by fire and flames.

Great fiery globes rose up to the skies and, bursting, lit up the
night with a shower of stars; an astronomer, observing the heavens
with a telescope, might have come to the conclusion that new stars
had been born. And he would not have been altogether wrong, for
in the year 1880 new thoughts were kindled in new hearts, and new
light and new discoveries vouchsafed to mankind. Doubtless, there
were weeds, too, growing up together with the splendid wheat; but
weeds have their uses, also; shade and moisture depend on their
presence, and they will be separated from the wheat at harvest
time. But there must be weeds, they are as inseparable from wheat
as chaff is from corn.

What had puzzled the old couple, however, was a rocket frame, and
when all the smoke had cleared away--for there is no fire without
smoke--not a trace of all the magnificence was left.

"It would have been jolly to have been in town with them to-night,"
said the old woman.

"Oh, no!" replied the man. "We should have been in the way, poor
people like we ought never to push themselves to the front. And
there's plenty of time to-morrow for seeing the boy, after he has
left his sweetheart, who is dearer to him than we are."

It was a very sensible speech for the old man to make; but who in
the world is to have sense, if old people have not?

And then they continued their way to the town.

***

Now, let us see what happened to the son.

He was the leadsman, that is to say, it was his business to sound
the depths of the sea; he had plumbed the profound abysses of the
ocean, calculated the elevation of the land and the apparent motion
of the sky; he knew the exact time by looking at the sun, and he
could tell from the stars how far they had travelled. He was a man
of importance; he believed that he held heaven and earth in his
hand, measured time and regulated the clock of eternity. And after
he had been the king's guest and received an order to wear on his
breast, he fancied that he was made of finer stuff than most men;
he was not exactly haughty when he met his poor parents and his
sweetheart, but, although they said nothing, they felt that he
thought himself their superior. Possibly he was a little stiff, he
was built that way.

Well, the official ceremonies were over, but the students also had
decided to pay homage to the heroes, who had returned home after
a prolonged absence. And they went to the capital in full force.

Students are queer people, who read books and study under Dr.
Know-all; consequently they imagine that they know more than other
people. They are also young, and therefore they are thoughtless
and cruel.

The respectful and sensible speeches which the old professors had
been making all the afternoon in honour of the explorers had come
to an end, and the procession of the students had started.

The leadsman and his sweetheart were sitting on a balcony in the
company of the other great men. The ringing of the church bells
and the booming of the guns mingled with the sound of the bugles
and the rolling of the drums; flags were waving and fluttering in
the breeze. And then the procession marched by.

It was headed by a ship, with sailors and everything else belonging
to it; next walruses came and polar bears, and all the rest of it;
then students in disguise, representing the heroes; the Great Man
himself was represented in his fur coat and goggles. It wasn't
quite respectful, of course; it wasn't a very great honour to be
impersonated in this way; but there it was! It was well meant, no
doubt. And gradually every member of the expedition passed by, one
after the other, all represented by the students.

Last of all came the leadsman. It was true, nobody could ever have
dreamt of calling him handsome, but there is no need for a man to
be handsome, as long as he is an able leadsman, or anything else
able. The students had chosen a hideous old grumbler to impersonate
him. That alone would not have mattered; but nature had made one of
his arms shorter than the other, and his representative had made
a feature of this defect. And that was too bad; for a defect is
something for which one ought not to be blamed.

But when the fool who played the leadsman approached the balcony,
he said a few words with a provincial accent, intended to cast
ridicule on the leadsman, who was born in one of the provinces.
It was a silly thing to do, for every man speaks the dialect which
his mother has taught him; and it is nothing at all to be ashamed
of.

Everybody laughed, more from politeness than anything else, for
the entertainment was gratuitous, but the girl was hurt, for she
hated to see her future husband laughed at. The leadsman frowned
and grew silent. He no longer enjoyed the festivities. But he
carefully hid his real feelings, for otherwise he would have been
laughed at for a fool unable to appreciate a joke. But still worse
things happened, for his impersonator danced and cut all sorts of
ridiculous antics, in the endeavour to act the leadsman's name in
dumb charade; first his surname, which he had inherited from his
father, and then his Christian name, which his mother had chosen
for him at his baptism. These names were sacred to him, and although
there may have been a little boastful sound about them, he had
always scorned to change them.

He wanted to rise from his chair and leave, but his sweetheart
caught hold of his hand, and he stayed where he was.

When, the procession was over and everybody who had been sitting
on the balcony had risen, the great man laid a friendly hand on
the girl's shoulder, and said, with his kindly smile:--

"They have a strange way here of celebrating their heroes, one
mustn't mind it!"

In the evening there was a garden party and the leadsman was
present, but his pleasure was gone; he had been laughed at, and he
had grown small in his own estimation, smaller than the fool, who
had made quite a hit as a jester. Therefore he was despondent,
felt uneasy at the thought of the future and doubtful of his own
capability. And wherever he went he met the fool who was caricaturing
him. He saw his faults enlarged, especially his pride and his
boastfulness; all his secret thoughts and weaknesses were made
public.

For three painful hours he examined the account book of his
conscience; what no man had dared to tell him before, the fool had
told him. Perfect knowledge of oneself is a splendid thing, Socrates
calls it the highest of all goods. Towards the end of the evening
the leadsman had conquered himself, admitted his faults, and resolved
to turn over a new leaf.

As he was passing a group of people he heard a voice behind a hedge
saying:--

"It's extraordinary, how the leadsman has improved. He's really
quite a delightful fellow!"

These words did him good; but what pleased him more than anything
else were a few whispered words from his sweetheart.

"You are so nice to-night," she said, "that you look quite handsome."

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