Strindberg’s string of misfortunes: Part III

The previous articles in the series inspired by Colin Wilson’s account in The Occult of an episode from August Strindberg’s Inferno describe some of the unpleasant experiences that Strindberg brought on himself by deliberately using occult techniques in an attempt to influence his family remotely.

One of these experiences was being persecuted by noise. This article gives some more details of his ordeal.

Taking the problem with him

Strindberg eventually left the noisy hotel where people played pianos in the rooms next to his - he had to pawn some belongings to pay the bill - and went to live in a monastic establishment for Catholic students where women and children are not permitted.

Surely he would get some peace there.

Not a chance! Not with the bad energy that was surrounding him. 

Even though it was against the rules of the house, a family soon took up residence in the room next to his. He heard people quarrelling and babies howling. This reminded him of the ‘good old days’ when he was with his own family.

Strange and sinister sounds

The family left, but weird things happened in an adjoining room. The new occupant mirrored Strindberg’s actions:

“The Unknown never speaks; he appears to be occupied in writing on the other side of the wall which divides us. Curiously enough, whenever I move my chair, he moves his also, and, in general, imitates all my movements as though he wished to annoy me. Thus it goes on for three days. 

On the fourth day I make the following observations: If I prepare to go to sleep, he also prepares to go to sleep in the next room; when I lie down in bed, I hear him lie down on the bed by my wall. I hear him stretch himself out parallel with me; he turns over the pages of a book, then puts out the lamp, breathes loud, turns himself on his side, and goes to sleep. He apparently occupies the rooms on both sides of me, and it is unpleasant to be beset on two sides at once. “

The same man was shadowing Strindberg on both sides? Even weirder.

The noises here were disturbing not because they were deafening but because they were synchronised with Strindberg’s actions and movements.

No escape from the noise

Although Strindberg ran, he couldn’t hide. Wherever he went he was tormented by more noise:

“Whenever I take up my quarters in an hotel there breaks out a fiendish noise, just as there did ... in Paris; I hear shuffling footsteps and the moving of furniture. I change my room, I go into another hotel, and still there is the noise over my head. I visit the restaurants, but as soon as I sit down to a meal the noise begins there also.

And it should be observed that whenever I ask those present whether they hear the same noise too, they say "yes," and their description of it tallies with mine. It is then no acoustic hallucination from which I suffer; everywhere there are plots, I say to myself. But one day, as I go by chance into a shoemaker's shop, the noise instantaneously breaks out. It is no plot, then! It is the Devil himself!”

It is obvious from reading Inferno that Strindberg was often in a very strange state. He may have sometimes been delusional or even psychotic.  However if other people heard the same noises he did, they must have been real.

Unbearable background noise

Noise that may have been caused by Strindberg’s presence and bad influence is one thing; noise that would have happened whether he was around or not is something else, yet it was just as difficult to endure: 

“The first thing that disturbs me is the noise of a machine...I have a roaring in my ears like the sound of a water-wheel. Doubting the objective existence of this noise, I ask the cause of it, and learn that it is the printing-press close by. The explanation is plausible...”

Being driven to distraction by minor annoyances is not funny, but there is something amusing about this account of a disastrous visit:

“...I remove into a large chamber near that of my mother-in-law, I feel that my stay here will not be of long duration. As a matter of fact, all possible trifles combine to poison my life and to deprive me of the necessary quiet for work.

The planks of the floor sway under my feet, the table wobbles, the chair is unsteady, the articles on the washing-stand clash together, the bed creaks, and the rest of the furniture moves whenever I cross the floor. The lamp smokes, the ink-pot is too narrow so that the pen-holder gets inky.

The farmhouse smells of dung and manure, ammonia, sulphuretted hydrogen, and sulphuric acid. The whole day there is a noise of cows, swine, calves, cocks, turkeys, and doves. Flies and wasps worry me by day, and gnats by night.”

Strindberg was obviously in an extreme, hyper-sensitive state, one in which every little thing is the last straw and small annoyances such as a wobbly chair and the cooing of doves make life seem not worth living!

Still to come is an article about the bad effect that Strindberg had on some people while under the influence of the punishment for his evil action and the strange, unwelcome way that some people reacted to and treated him.

August Strindberg making some noise of his own: