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AUGUST STRINDBERG
Anything so white I never before beheld on this unclean earth, except in my dreams; yes, this is my youth's dream of a house wherein dwelled peace and purity. I greet thee white house . . . Now I am at home.
In this play Strindberg's whole stormy life, symbolically masked, passes in review. Here are found pall-mall The Beggar, The Doctor, The Sister, The Mother, The Confessor, The Fool, The Shadows—all but one and the same individuality in different disguise. With the cross in his hand—the symbol of salvation, snatched from a roadside calvaire—The Stranger advances higher and higher towards the sky. But he falls and is found in a state of delirium by some of the inmates of the monastery who bring him to the hospital. After he emerges from the trance he finds himself seated in the Refectory in company with all those whom he has injured in life and with whom his own fate has in some way been bound up. The dominant note of the whole scene is one of overwhelming guilt—that guilt which like a red thread runs through Strindberg’s entire life. The Confessor reads aloud The Curse of Deuteronomy and every word cuts the Stranger to the quick, making him feel the whole crushing weight of the Law, but he suffers it all in resignation for he has reached the rock-bottom of life and accomplished his self redemption—the spiritual deliverance from all those passions which bound him to the past.
This deliverance is the subject of a large number of plays which, generally speaking, resemble To Damascus in thought, contents and dramatic construction. Such are among others Advent, Easter, The Dance of Death and The Dream Play, which