humanity of historical figures which, through the operations of
legendary history, had assumed a strange, unhuman aspect. The
methods he employed for these purposes have since been made
familiar to the English-speaking public by the historical plays
of Bernard Shaw and the short stories and novels of Anatole France.

In his eagerness, however, to express what was burning for
utterance in his own breast, the second purpose was sometimes
lost sight of; and at such times Strindberg hesitated as little
to pass the bounds imposed by an historical period as to break
through the much more important limitations of class and personal
antecedents. Thus, for example, the remarks of Olof's mother are
at one moment characterized by the simplicity to be expected from
the aged widow of a small city tradesman in the early part of the
sixteenth century, while in the next--under the pressure of the
author's passion for personal expression--they grow improbably
sophisticated. Yet each figure, when seen in proper perspective,
appears correctly drawn and strikingly consistent with the part
assigned to it in the play. In his very indifference to minor
accuracies, Strindberg sometimes approaches more closely to the
larger truth than men more scrupulous in regard to details. How
true he can be in his delineation of a given type is perhaps best
shown by the figure of Gert. The world's literature holds few
portrayals of the anarchistic temperament that can vie with it in
psychological exactness, and it is as true to-day as it was in
1524 or in 1872.

This verisimilitude on a universal rather than a specific plane
assumes still greater significance if we consider it in the light
of what Strindberg has told us about his purpose with the main