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Strindberg, August, 1849-1912

"Married"

The fresh air had the
effect of a bath. He felt a free man, at last, and he used his freedom
to go out for a morning stroll with his gun. But this exhilarating
feeling of bodily freedom soon passed. Up to now he had at least had a
bedroom of his own. He had been master of his thoughts during the day
and his dreams at night. That was over. The thought of that common
bedroom tormented him; there was something unclean about it. Shame was
cast aside like a mask, all delicacy of feeling was dispensed with,
every illusion of the "high origin" of man destroyed; to come into
such close contact with nothing but the beast in man had been too much
for him, for he had been brought up by idealists. He was staggered by
the enormity of the hypocrisy displayed in the intercourse between men
and women; it was a revelation to him to find that the inmost substance
of that indescribable womanliness was nothing but the fear of
consequences. But supposing he had married the doctor's daughter,
or the gardener's little girl? Then to be alone with her would be
bliss, while to be alone with his wife was depressing and unlovely;
then the coarse desire to satisfy a curiosity and a want would be
transformed into an ecstasy more spiritual than carnal.


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