- Project Runeberg -  The Confession of a Fool /
307

(1912) [MARC] Author: August Strindberg Translator: Ellie Schleussner
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your dowry to cover sums which I had recklessly
guaranteed. My greatest grief now is the fact that you cannot
touch the proceeds of my works. Send for a notary at
once, so that I can settle on you all my nominal or real
property.... Above everything, promise that you will
return to the stage which you gave up to please me.”

She refused to listen any further, treated my confession
as a joke, advised me to go to sleep and rest, and assured
me that everything would come right, and that I was not
on the point of death.

I seized her hand, exhausted. I begged her to stay
with me until I had fallen asleep. Grasping her little
hand more firmly, I again implored her to forgive me for
all the wrong I had done her. A delicious drowsiness
stole over me and closed my tired eyelids. Under the
radiations of her shining eyes, which expressed infinite
tenderness, I felt as if I were melting away as ice melts
in the rays of the sun. Her cool lips, touching my
forehead, seemed to press a seal on it, and I was plunged into
the depths of ineffable bliss.

It was broad daylight when I awoke from my stupor.
The rays of the sun fell on a Utopian landscape. To
judge from the matutinal sounds which rose from below, it
must have been above five o’clock. I had slept soundly
during the whole night without dreaming or waking up.
On the little table by my bedside stood the cup which
had contained the elder-tea; the chair on which my wife
had been sitting when I fell asleep was still in its place.
I was covered with her cloak; the soft hairs of the fox
skins with which it was lined tickled my chin.

My brain felt as refreshed and rested as if I had slept
for the first time in ten years. I collected my thoughts,
which had been rushing hither and thither in wild
disorder, and with this powerful, well-drilled and disciplined

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