Page:Strindberg the Man (1920).djvu/51

which made the same pleasing impression on me as some clownery in the circus. It was at the same time amusing and cleverly executed. He would inhale a big puff of smoke which he managed in such a manner that it made two consecutive circuits through his nose and throat.

This smoker's tour d'adresse seemed to me to be something more than a mere trick. It bared one side of Strindberg even more than any of the words he had pronounced on this occasion: it testified to how great and flaming a passion he had always been in this cold world.

The spirit kept rising gradually the longer we continued. We were drinking Swedish nectar,^[1] and little by little we had got into the student atmosphere which Strindberg had a special ability to produce. This ability he retained even to old age. Despite the fact that he had already made a great name in Europe and had been overwhelmed with international marks of esteem, he had not acquired any overbearing manners. He was plain and natural and did not pound the humble opponent to death with peremptory language.

But he was also at this time an entirely different man from the pale Loke whom I had seen descending the hotel stairs. His cheeks had taken on color, his eyes had grown darker and seemed to be dark-blue, they were beaming and open and had lost every sign of suspicion. The Strindberg who extended his hand to me with a good-night was a man full of grace and good will, and I grasped his hand as firmly and as cordially as though I