On the Seaboard

August Strindberg

Description

What starts out as an account of a humdrum administrative assignment is elevated to an existential examination of the meaning of life in Swedish author August Strindberg's novel On the Seaboard. A bureaucrat is sent to a remote island outpost with the task of educating the local fishermen about advances in fishing techniques, but he is unprepared for the pushback he receives from the staunchly traditional community.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776534753
• Langue: English

Extrait

ON THE SEABOARD
A NOVEL OF THE BALTIC ISLANDS
* * *
AUGUST STRINDBERG
Translated by
ELIZABETH CLARKE WESTERGREN
 
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On the Seaboard A Novel of the Baltic Islands First published in 1913 Epub ISBN 978-1-77653-475-3 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77653-476-0 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Preface Chapter First Chapter Second Chapter Third Chapter Fourth Chapter Fifth Chapter Sixth Chapter Seventh Chapter Eighth Chapter Ninth Chapter Tenth Chapter Eleventh Chapter Twelfth Chapter Thirteenth Chapter Fourteenth
Preface
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August Strindberg's first literary productions were warmly received,and would have aroused lasting enthusiasm and admiration had the youngauthor's prolific pen been less aggressive, in this, for his country,a totally new style of novel. His intrepid sarcasm which emanatedfrom a physical disability, known only to a few of his most intimatefriends, called forth severe criticism from the old aristocrats and theconservative element, which drove the gifted dramatist from his owncountry to new spheres. Life's vicissitudes at Vierwaldstätter See, andBerlin, also later on at Paris from whence his fame spread rapidly overEurope, changed his realism to pessimism.
After years of ceaseless work, during which he dipped into almost everybranch of science, he suddenly determined to transfer his activitiesto this side of the Atlantic, where he was desirous of becoming known.For this purpose his most singular novel was chosen for translation;meantime some invisible power drew him back to his birthplace,Stockholm, and a new generation cheered his coming.
Later on critics called him "A demolisher and a reformer that came likea cyclone, with his daring thought and daring words, which broke inupon the everlasting tenets and raised Swedish culture."
His delineations are photographical exactness without retouch, bearingalways a strong reflection of his personality.
MAGNUS WESTERGREN.
Boston, Mass. April, 1913.
Chapter First
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A fishing boat lay one May evening to beam-wind, out on Goosestonebay. "Rokarna," known to all on the coast by their three pyramids,were changing to blue, while upon the clear sky clouds were formingjust as the sun began to sink. Already there was dashing outside thepoints, and a disagreeable flapping in the mainsail signified that theland-breeze would soon break against newborn currents of air, fromabove, from the sea and from aft.
At the tiller sat the Custom House Surveyor of the East Skerries, agiant with black long full beard. Occasionally he exchanged a look withtwo subordinates who were sitting in the bow, one of whom was tendingthe clutch-pole, keeping the big square sail to the wind.
Sometimes the steersman cast a searching look at the little gentlemanwho was crouching at the mast seemingly afraid and frozen, now and thendrawing his shawl closer round his body.
The surveyor must have found him ridiculous, for frequently he turnedleeward with a pretense of spitting tobacco juice to conceal a risinglaugh.
The little gentleman was dressed in a beaver-colored spring coat underwhich a pair of wide moss-green pants peeped out, flaring at the bottomround a pair of crocodile shagreen shoes topped with brown cloth andblack buttons. Nothing of his under dress was visible, but round hisneck was twisted a cream-colored foulard, while his hands were wellprotected in a pair of salmon-colored three-button glacé-gloves, andthe right wrist was encircled by a gold bracelet carved in the form ofa serpent biting its tail. Ridges upon the gloves showed that ringswere worn beneath. The face, as much as could be seen, was thin andhaggard; a small black mustache with ends curled upwards increased thepaleness and gave it a foreign expression. The hat was turned back,exposing a black closely cut bang resembling a calotte.
What seemed most to attract the indefatigable attention of thesteersman was the bracelet, mustache and bang.
During the long voyage from Dalaro this man, who was a great humorist,had tried to get up a cheery conversation with the Fish Commissioner,whom he had in charge to take to the station at the East Skerries, butthe young doctor had shown an injured unsusceptibility to his wittyimportunities which convinced the surveyor that the "instructor" wasinsolent.
Meanwhile the wind freshened as they passed Hanstone to windward andthe dangerous sail began to flutter. The fish commissioner, who hadbeen sitting with a navy chart in his hand, noting the answers to hisquestions, placed it in his pocket and turned toward the man at thetiller saying in a voice more like a woman's than a man's:
"Please sail more carefully!"
"Is the instructor afraid?" asked the helmsman scornfully.
"Yes, I am careful of my life and keep close hold of it," answered thecommissioner.
"But not of other's lives?" asked the helmsman.
"At least not so much as my own," returned the commissioner, "andsailing is a dangerous occupation, especially with a square sail."
"So, sir, you have often sailed before with a square sail?"
"Never in my life, but I can see where the wind directs its power andcan reckon how much resistance the weight of the boat can make and welljudge when the sail will jibe."
"Well, take the tiller yourself then!" snubbingly remarked the surveyor.
"No! that is your place! I do not ride on the coachman's box when Itravel on the Crown's errands."
"Oh, you cannot manage a boat, of course."
"If I could not, it is certainly easy to learn, since every otherschoolboy can do it and every custom house subordinate, therefore Ineed not be ashamed that I cannot, only sail carefully now as I wouldnot willingly have my gloves spoiled and get wet."
It was an order, and the surveyor, who was cock of the walk at the EastSkerries, felt himself degraded. After a movement on the tiller thesail filled and the boat sped onward steadily towards the rock, withits white custom house cottage brightly shining in the rays of thesetting sun.
The seaboard was vanishing, there was a feeling that all kindlyprotection was left behind, when venturing out on the open boundlesswater, with darkness threatening toward the east. There was no prospectof crawling to leeward of islands or rocks, no possibility in case ofstorm to lay up to and reef, out right into the middle of destruction,over the black gulf, out to that little rock that looks no larger thana buoy cast into the middle of the sea. The fish commissioner, assignified before, held fast to his only life and was intelligent enoughto count his insignificant resistance against nature's superiority.Now he felt depressed. He was too clear-sighted with his thirty-sixyears to overestimate the insight and daring of the man at the tiller.He did not look with reliance at his brown and whiskered visage, norwould he believe that a muscular arm was equal to a wind which blewwith thousands of pounds pressure against a rocking sail. He viewedsuch courage as founded upon faulty judgment. What stupidity, thoughthe, to risk one's life in a little open boat when there exist deckersand steamers. What incredible folly to hoist such a big sail on aspruce mast, which bends like a bow when a strong wind strikes it. Thelee-shroud was hanging slack, likewise the forestay, and the whole windpressure was lying on the windward-shroud, which seemed rotten. Trustto such an uncertain residue as a few flax ropes more or less cohesive,he would not, and therefore he turned with the next gust of wind tothe subordinate who was sitting close to the halyard, and in a shortpenetrating voice commanded, "Let the sail run!"
The two Inferiors looked toward the stern, awaiting the helmsman'sorders, but the fish commissioner repeated his command instantly andwith such emphasis that the sail sank.
The surveyor in the stern shrieked.
"Who the Devil commands the maneuvering of my boat?"
"I," answered the commissioner.
Whereupon he turned to the subordinates with the order.
"Put out the oars!"
The oars were put out and the boat gave a few rolls, for the surveyorhad left the tiller angrily at the command, exclaiming,
"Yes, then he can take the helm himself!"
The commissioner at once took his place in the stern and the tiller wasunder his arm before the surveyor had ceased swearing.
The glacé-glove cracked instantly at the thumb, but the boat made evenspeed while the surveyor sat with laughter in his whiskers, and one oarready to push out to give course to the boat. The commissioner had noattention to bestow upon the doubting seaman, but stared attentivelywindward and could soon discern a heaving sea with its swell manymeters long, from the surge with its short water fall, then after ahasty glance astern he measured the leeway, and in the wake noted thesetting of the currents, it was perfectly clear what course must beheld not to drift past the East Skerries.
The surveyor, who had searched long to meet the black burning glancesthat they might mark his laughter, became tired, for it looked asthough they would have no contact with anything that could soil ordisturb them. After a moment's beseeching the surveyor becoming absentand dejected began to observe the maneuvering.
The sun had reached the horizon, the waves were breaking purple blackat the base, deep green at the side, and where the crests rose highestthey lighted up grass green. The foam sprouted and hissed red champagnecolored in the sun. The boat and men were now low dow