THE DOCTOR
(1868)
John now found his new home with the homeless, the Israelites. He
was immediately surrounded by a new atmosphere. Here there was no
recollection of Christianity; one neither plagued oneself or others;
there was no grace at meals, no going to church, no catechism.
"It is good to be here," thought John. "These are liberal-minded men
who have brought the best of foreign culture home, without being
obliged to take what is bad." Here for the first time, he encountered
foreign influences. The family had journeyed much, had relatives
abroad, spoke all languages, and received foreign guests. Both the
small and great affairs of the country were spoken about, and light
thrown on them by comparison with their originals abroad. By this means
John's mental horizon was widened and he was enabled to estimate his
native country better.
The patriarchal constitution of the family had not assumed the form of
domestic tyranny. On the contrary the children treated their parents
more as their equals, and the parents were gentle with them without
losing their dignity. Placed in an unfriendly part of the world,
surrounded by half-enemies, the members of the family helped each other
and held together. To be without a native country, which is regarded
as such a hard-ship, has this advantage that it keeps the intelligence
alive and vigorous. Men who are wanderers have to watch unceasingly,
observe continually, and gain new and rich experiences, while those who
sit at home become lazy and lean upon others.
The children of Israel occupy a peculiar and exceptional position from
a social point of view. They have forgotten the Messianic promise and
do not believe in it. In most European countries they have remained
among the middle classes; to join the lower classes was for the most
part denied them, though not so widely as is generally believed. Nor
could they join the upper classes; therefore they feel related to
neither of the latter. They are aristocrats from habit and inclination,
but have the same interests as the lower classes, _i.e_. they wish to
roll away the stone which lies upon and presses them. But they fear the
proletariat who have no religious sense and who do not love the rich.
Therefore the children of Abraham rather aspire to those above them,
than seek sympathy from those below.
About this time (1868) the question of Jewish emancipation began to be
raised. All liberals supported it and it was practically a discarding
of Christianity. Baptism, ecclesiastical marriage, confirmation,
church attendance were all declared to be unnecessary conditions for
membership in a Christian community. Such apparently small reforms
make an impression on the state, like the dropping of water on a rock.
At that time a cheerful tone prevailed in the family, the sons having a
brighter future in prospect than their fathers, whose academic course
had been hindered by State regulations.
A liberal table was kept in the house; everything was of the best
quality, and there was plenty of it. The servants managed the house
and were allowed a free hand in everything; they were not regarded as
servants. The housemaid was a pietist and allowed to be so, as much
as she pleased. She was good-natured and humorous, and, illogically
enough, adopted the jesting tone of the cheerful paganism which reigned
in the house. On the other hand, no one laughed at her belief. John
himself was treated as an intimate friend and a child alternately and
lived with the boys. His work was easy and he was rather required to
keep the boys company than to give them lessons. Meanwhile he became
somewhat "spoiled" as people, who have the usual idea of keeping youth
in the background, call it. Though only nineteen, he was received
on an equal footing among well-known and mature artists, doctors,
_littérateurs_ and officials. He became accustomed to regard himself as
grown up, and therefore the set-backs he encountered afterwards, were
the harder to bear.
His medical career began with chemical experiments in the technological
institute. There he obtained a closer view of some of the glories he
had dreamed of in his childhood. But how dry and tedious were the
rudiments of science! To stand and pour acids on salts and to watch the
solution change colour, was not pleasant; to produce salts from two or
more solutions was not very interesting. But later on, when the time
came for analysis, the mysterious part began. To fill a glass about
the size of a punch-bowl with a liquid as clear as water and then to
exhibit in the filter the possibly twenty elements it contained,--this
really seemed like penetrating into nature's secrets. When he was alone
in the laboratory he made small experiments on his own account, and it
was not long before with some danger he had prepared a little phial
of prussic acid. To have death enclosed in a few drops under a glass
stopper was a curiously pleasant feeling.
At the same time he studied zoology, anatomy, botany, physic and
Latin,--still more Latin! To read and master a subject was congenial to
him, but to learn by heart he hated. His head was already filled with
so many subjects, that it was hard for anything more to enter, but it
was obliged to.
A worse drawback was that so many other interests began to vie in his
mind with his medical studies. The theatre was only a stone's throw
from the doctor's house and he went there twice a week. He had a
standing place at the end of the third row. From thence he saw elegant
and cheerful French comedies played on a Brussels carpet. The light
Gallic humour, admired by the melancholy Swedes as their missing
complement, completely captivated him. What a mental equilibrium, what
a power of resistance to the blows of fate were possessed by this
race of a southern sunnier land! His thoughts became still more gloomy
as he grew conscious of his Germanic "Weltschmerz" lying like a veil
over everything, which a hundred years of French education could not
have lifted. But he did not know that Parisian theatrical life differs
widely from that of the industrious and thrifty Parisian at the desk
and the counter. French comedies were written for the parvenus of
the Second Empire; politics and religion were subject to the censor,
but not morals. French comedy was aristocratic in tone, but had a
liberating effect on the mind as it was in touch with reality, though
it did not interfere in social questions. It accustomed the public to
sympathise with and feel at home in this superfine world; one came to
forget the lower everyday world, and when one left the theatre it felt
as though one had been at supper with a friendly duke.
As chance fell out, the doctor's wife possessed a good library in
which all the best literature of the world was represented. It was
indeed a treasure to have all these at one's elbow! Moreover the doctor
possessed a number of pictures by Swedish masters and a valuable
collection of engravings. There was an efflorescence of æstheticism
on all sides, even in the schools, where lectures on literature were
delivered. The conversation in the family circle mostly turned on
pictures, dramas, actors, books, authors, and the doctor felt from time
to time impelled to flavour it with details of his practice.
Now and then John began to read the papers. Political and social life
with their various questions opened up before him, but at first with a
repelling effect, as he was an æsthete and domestic egoist. Politics
did not seem to touch him at all; he considered it a special branch of
knowledge like any other.
He continued his lessons to the girls and his intercourse with
their family. Outside the house he met grown up relatives, who were
tradesmen, and their acquaintances. His circle was therefore widened,
and he saw life from more than one point of view. But this constant
occupation with children had a hampering effect on his development. He
never felt himself older, and he could not treat the young with an air
of superiority. He already noticed that they were in advance of him,
that they were born with new thoughts, and that they built on, where he
had ceased. When later on in life, he met grown-up pupils, he looked up
to them as though they were the older.
The autumn of 1865 had commenced. There had been so much miscalculation
as to the effects of the new State constitution that there was
widespread discontent. Society was turned topsy-turvy. The peasant
threatened the civilised town-dwellers and there was a general feeling
of bitterness.
Has the last word regarding the agrarian party yet been said? Probably
not. It began with a democratic and reforming programme and its attack
on the Civil List was the boldest stroke which had yet been seen. It
was a legal attempt to overthrow the monarchy. If the vote of supply
was screwed down to the lowest possible, the king would go. It was a
simple and at the same time a clever stroke.
At a period which proclaims the right of the majority, one would not
have expected the peasants' cause would encounter resistance. Sweden
was a kingdom of peasants, for the country population numbered four
millions, which in a population of four and a half millions, is
certainly the majority. Should then the half million rule the four or
vice versa? The latter course seemed the fairer. Now naturally the
townsmen talk of the egotism and tyranny of the peasants, but have the
labour party in the town a single item in their programme to improve
the condition of the peasants and cottagers? It is so stupid to talk
of egotism when every one now sees that he profits the whole, in
proportion as he profits himself.
Meanwhile, in 1868, the malcontents discovered a party which could be
opposed to the constitutional majority and whose programme contained
all kinds of thorough-going reforms. That was the new liberal party,
consisting for the most part of authors, some artisans, a professor,
etc. By means of this handful of people who had none of the weighty
interests which landed property involves, and whose social position
was so insecure that a single unfavourable harvest could turn them
into members of the proletariat, it was proposed to remodel society.
What did the artisans know about society? How did they wish it to be
constituted? Did they wish it to be remodelled in their interest,
although the peasantry should be ruined? But that meant cutting off
their own legs, for Sweden is not a land of exporting industries.
Therefore the four million consumers in the land, as soon as their
purchasing power was diminished, would involuntarily ruin the
industries and leave the artisans stranded. That the artisans should
advance is a necessity, but to wish to make all men industrial workers
as the industrial socialists do, is much more unreasonable than to make
them all peasants as the agrarian socialists purpose doing. Capital,
which the labour party now attack, is the foundation of industry and if
that is touched, industry is overthrown, and then the workmen must go
back whence they came and still daily come,--to the country.
Meanwhile, the agrarian party was not yet corrupted by intercourse with
aristocrats; it was neither conservative nor did it make compromises.
The war seemed to be between the country and the town. The atmosphere
was electric and the smallest cause might produce a thunderstorm.
In the capital there prevailed a general desire to erect a statue to
Charles XII. Why? Was this last knight of the Middle Ages the ideal
of the age? Bid the character of the idol of Gustav IV, Adolf, and
Charles XV suitably express the spirit of the new peaceful period
which now commenced? Or did the idea originate, as so often is the
case in the sculptor's studio? Who knows? The statue was ready and the
unveiling was to take place. Stands were erected for the spectators,
but so unskilfully that the ceremony could not be witnessed by the
general public, and the space railed off could only contain the
invited guests, the singers and those who paid for their seats. But
the subscription had been national and all believed they had a right
to see. The arrangements were obnoxious to the people. Petitions were
made to have the stands removed, but without success. The crowd began
to make attempts to tear them down, but the military intervened. The
doctor that day was giving a dinner to the Italian Opera Company. They
had just risen from dessert when a noise was heard from the street; it
was at first like rain falling on an iron roof, but then cries were
distinctly audible. John listened, but for the moment nothing more was
to be heard. The wine-glasses clinked amid Italian and French phrases
which flew hither and thither over the table; there was such a noise of
jests and laughter that those at the table could hardly hear themselves
speak. But now there came a roar from the street, followed immediately
by the tramp of horses, the rattle of weapons and harness. There was
silence in the room for a moment, and one and another turned pale.
"What is it?" asked the prima donna.
"The mob making a noise," answered a professor.
John stood up from the table, went into his room, took his hat and
stick and hurried out. "The mob!"--the words rang in his ear while
he went down the street. "The mob!" They were his mother's former
associates, his own school-mates and afterwards his pupils; they formed
the dark background against which the society he had just quitted,
stood out like a brilliant picture. He felt again as though he were a
deserter, and had done wrong in working his way up. But he must get
above if he was to do anything for those below. Yes many had said
that, but when once they did get above, they found it so pleasant,
that they forgot those below. These cavalrymen, for instance, whose
origin was of the humblest, what airs they gave themselves! With what
unmixed pleasure they cut down their former comrades, though it must
be confessed they would have even more enjoyed cutting down the "black
hats."
He went on and came to the market-place. The stands for the spectators
stood out against the November sky like gigantic market booths, and
the space below swarmed with men. From the opening of the Arsenal
street the tramp of horses was heard only a short way off. Then they
came riding forth, the blue guardsmen, the support of society, on whom
the upper class relied. John was seized with a wild desire to dash
against this mass of horses, men and sabres, as though he saw in them
oppression incarnate. That was the enemy! very well--at them! The troop
rode on and John stationed himself in the middle of the street. Whence
had he derived this hatred against the supporters of law and order, who
some day would protect him and his rights after he had clambered up,
and was in a position to oppress others? If the mob with whom he now
felt his solidarity had had their hands free, they would probably have
thrown the first stone through the window, behind which he had sat with
four wine-glasses in front of him. Certainly, but that did not prevent
his taking their side just as the upper class often, inconsistently
enough, takes sides against the police. This mania for freedom in the
abstract is probably the natural man's small revolt against society.
He was going against the cavalry with a vague idea of striking them
all to the ground or something of the sort, when fortunately some one
seized him by the arm firmly but in a friendly way. He was brought back
to the doctor's who had sent out to seek for him. After he had given
his word of honour not to go out again he sank on a sofa, and lay all
the evening in fever.
On the day of the unveiling of Charles XII's statue, he was one of the
student singers, therefore among the elect, the "upper ten thousand,"
and had no reason to be discontented with his lot. When the ceremony
was over, the people rushed forward. The police forced them back, and
then they began to throw stones. The mounted police drew their sabres
and struck, arresting some and assaulting others.
John had entered the market in front of the Jakob's church when he saw
a policeman lay hold of a man, under a shower of stones which knocked
off the constables' helmets. Without hesitation he sprang on the
policeman, seized him by the collar, shook him and shouted, "Let the
fellow go!"
The policeman looked at his assailant in astonishment.
"Who are you?" he asked irresolutely.
"I am Satan, and I will take you, if you don't let him go."
He actually did let him go and tried to seize John. At the same instant
a stone knocked off his three-cornered hat. John tore himself loose;
the crowd were now driven back by bayonets towards the guard-house in
the Gustaf Adolf market. After them followed a swarm of well-dressed
men, obviously members of the upper classes, shouting wildly, and as it
seemed, resolved to free the prisoners. John ran with them; it was as
though they were all impelled by a storm-wind. Men who had not been
molested or oppressed at all, who had high positions in society, rushed
blindly forward, risking their position, their domestic happiness,
their living, everything. John felt a hand grasp his. He returned the
pressure, and saw close beside him a middle-aged man, well-dressed,
with distorted features. They did not know each other, nor did they
speak together, but ran hand in hand, as if seized by one impulse.
They came across a third in whom John recognised an old school-fellow,
subsequently a civil service official, son of the head of a department.
This young man had never sided with the opposition party in school,
but on the contrary, was looked upon as a re-actionary with a future
in front of him. He was now as white as a corpse, his cheeks were
bloodless, the muscles of his forehead swollen, and his face resembled
a skull in which two eyes were burning. They could not speak, but
took each other's hands and ran on against the guards whom they were
attacking. The human waves advanced till they were met by the bayonets,
and then as always, dispersed in foam. Half-an-hour later John was
discussing a beefsteak with some students in the Opera restaurant. He
spoke of his adventure as though it were something which had happened
independently of him and his will. Nay, he even jested at it. That
may have been fear of public opinion, but also it may have been the
case that he regarded his outbreak objectively and now quietly judged
it as a member of society. The trap-door had opened for a moment, the
prisoner had put his head out, and then it had closed again.
His unknown fellow-criminal, as he discovered later, was a pronounced
conservative, a wholesale tradesman. He always avoided meeting John's
eye, when they met after this. One time they met on a narrow pavement,
and had to look at each other, but did not smile.
While they were sitting in the restaurant, came the news of the death
of Blanche. The students took it fairly coolly, the artists and middle
class citizens more warmly, but the lower classes talked of murder.
They knew that he had personally besought Charles XV to have the
spectators' stands taken down; they knew also, that though he was
very prosperous himself, he had always thought of them and they were
thankful. Stupid people objected, as is usual in such cases, that it
required no great skill on his part to speak on behalf of the poor,
when he was rich and celebrated. Did it not? It required the greatest.
It is remarkable that the chief outbreak of discontent was directed,
not as elsewhere against the King, but against the governor and the
police. Charles XV was a _persona grata_; he could do as he liked
without becoming unpopular. He was neither condescending nor democratic
in his tastes, but rather proud. Stories were told of some of his
favourites having fallen into disgrace for want of respect on some
mirthful occasion. He could put tobacco into his soldiers' mouths,
but he scolded officers who did not at once fall in with his moods.
He could box people's ears at a fire, and did not laugh when he was
caricatured in a comic paper, as was supposed. He was a ruler and
believed he was also a warrior and a statesman; he interfered in the
government and could snub specialists with a "You don't understand
that!" But he was popular and remained so. Swedes, who do not like to
see a man's will slackening, admired this will and bowed before it.
It was also strange, that they forgave his irregular life; perhaps it
was because he made no secret of it. He had laid down a standard of
morality for himself and lived according to it. Therefore he lived at
harmony with himself, and harmony is always pleasant to contemplate.
People might be revolters by instinct, but they did not believe in the
transition form to a better social constitution, _i.e_. a republic.
They had seen how two French republics had been followed by new
monarchies. There were secret anarchists, but no republicans, and they
had persuaded themselves that the monarchy offered no barrier to the
progress of liberty.
These were the ideas of the younger men. The elder men with Blanche
thought a republic the only means of social salvation and therefore in
our days the old liberal school has become conservative-republican.
* * * * *
When the doctor saw that his wife's literary books threatened to
encroach upon John's medical studies, he resolved to give him a
glimpse into the secrets of his profession, and to allow him such a
foretaste of real work as should entice him to overcome the tedious
preliminary studies which he himself thought too extensive. John now
knew more chemistry and physics than the doctor, and the latter thought
it was merely malicious to hinder a rival's course by imposing too
hard preliminary studies. Why should he not, as in America, commence
dissection, which was a special branch of study? Now after the
theoretical study of anatomy, he could begin practice as an assistant.
That was a new life full of variety and reality. One went for instance
into a dark alley and came into a porter's room, where a woman lay,
sick of fever, surrounded by poor children, the grandmother and other
relations, who stole about on tip-toe, awaiting the doctor's verdict.
The malodorous ragged bed-cover would be lifted, a sunken heaving chest
exposed to view, and a prescription written. Then one went to the
Tvädgårdsgatan and was conducted over soft carpets through splendid
rooms into a bed-chamber which looked liked a temple; one lifted a
blue silk coverlet and put in splints the leg of an angelic-looking
child, dressed in lace. On the way out one looked at a collection of
paintings, and talked about artists. This was something novel and
interesting, but what connection had it with Titus Livius and the
history of philosophy?
But then came the details of surgery. One was roused at seven o'clock
in the morning, came into the doctor's dark room, and manually assisted
at the cauterising of a syphilitic sore. The room reeked of human
flesh, and was repugnant to an empty stomach. Or he had to hold a
patient's head and felt it twitch with pain while the doctor with a
fork extracted glands from his throat.
"One soon gets accustomed to that," said the doctor, and that was true,
but John's thoughts were busy with Goethe's Faust, Wieland's Epicurean
romances, George Sand's social phantasies, Chateaubriand's soliloquies
with nature, and Lessing's common-sense theories. His imagination
was set in motion and his memory refused to work; the reality of
cauterisations and flowing blood was ugly; æstheticism had laid hold
of him, and actual life seemed to him tedious and repulsive. His
intercourse with artists had opened his eyes to a new world, a free
society within Society. They would come to a well-spread table where
cultivated people were sitting with badly-fitting clothes, black nails,
and dirty linen, as if they were not merely equal, but superior to the
rest,--in what?
They could scarcely write their names, they borrowed money without
repaying it, and their talk was coarse. Everything was permitted to
them, which was not permitted to others. Why? They could paint. They
studied at the Academy, and the Academy did not ask whether all who
enrolled themselves as students were geniuses. How was it known that
they were geniuses? Was painting greater than knowledge and science?
They also had, as was well recognised, a peculiar morality of their
own. They opened studios, hired models, and boasted of their paramours,
while other men were ashamed of theirs and incurred disapproval on
account of them. They laughed at what were very serious matters for
other men, nay, it seemed to be part of an artist's equipment to be a
"scoundrel," as any one else would be called for similar conduct.
"That was a glad free world," thought John, and one in which he could
thrive, without conventional fetters or social obligations, and above
all, without contact with banal realities. But he was not a genius?
How should he get the entrée to it? Should he learn to paint and so be
initiated? No! that would not do; he had never thought of painting;
that demanded a special vocation, he thought, and painting would not
express all he had to say, when once he began to speak. If he _had_
to find a medium for self-expression it would be the theatre. An actor
could step forward, and say all kinds of truths, however bitter they
might be, without being brought to book for them. That was certainly a
tempting career.