The Count sat there fingering the letter-weight in the shape of a
guillotine. Suddenly he seized it, and looked questioningly at the
old man, who nodded in the affirmative. The letter-weight was thrown
into the paper-basket.
The great bell ceased ringing, the room was quiet, and the old man,
his arms folded over his breast, spoke as though with a sigh of
gratitude.
"The Revolution is over."
"_This_ Revolution!"
"'Tribulation worketh patience; patience, experience; experience,
hope; and hope maketh not ashamed!'"
STRINDBERG'S DEATH-BED
(From the _Aftonbladet_, Stockholm, May 15, 1912)
The last time that Strindberg was in full possession of his senses
was late on Monday afternoon (May 13th). He recognised his daughter
Greta, who sat by his bed, and her husband, Dr. Philp. He was fully
aware that the end was near. He made a sign that he wished to have
his Bible, which lay on the table by the bed. They gave it him; he
took it in his hand and said: "All that is personal is now
obliterated. I have done with life and closed the account. This is
the only truth."
He kissed his daughter, but only said, "Dear Greta." Then he said to
Dr. Philp, "Are you still here, Henry?" After talking a little more,
his last utterance was, "Now I have said my last word.
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