ndberg during his most difficult period--has stood as a model for
THE DOCTOR. We note in particular that the description of the doctor's
house enclosing a courtyard on three sides, tallies with a type of
building which is characteristic of the south of Sweden. When THE DOCTOR
ruthlessly explains to THE STRANGER that the asylum, 'The Good Help,'
was not a hospital but a lunatic asylum, he expresses Strindberg's own
misgivings that the St. Louis Hospital, of which, as mentioned above,
Strindberg was an inmate in the beginning of the year 1895, was really
to be regarded as a lunatic asylum.

Even minor characters, such as CAESAR and THE BEGGAR have their
counterparts in real life, even though in the main they are fantastic
creations of his imagination. The guardian of his daughter, Kerstin, a
relative of Frida Uhl's, was called Dr. Caesar R. v. Weyr. Regarding THE
BEGGAR it may be enough to quote Strindberg's feelings when confronted
with the collections made by his Paris friends:

'I am a beggar who has no right to go to cafes. Beggar! That is the
right word; it rings in my ears and brings a burning blush to my cheeks,
the blush of shame, humiliation, and rage!

'To think that six weeks ago I sat at this table! My theatre manager
addressed me as Dear Master; journalists strove to interview me, the
photographer begged to be allowed to sell my portrait. And now: a
beggar, a branded man, an outcast from society!'

After this we can understand why Strindberg in _The Road to Damascus_
apparently in such surprising manner is seized by the suspicion that he
is himself the beggar.

We have thus seen that Part I of _The Road to Damascus_ is at the same
time a free creation of fantasy and a drama of portrayal. The elements
of realism are starkly manifest, but they are moulded and hammered into
a work of art by a force of combinative imagination rising far above
the task of mere descriptive realism. The scenes unroll themselves in
calculated sequence up to the central asylum picture, from there to
return in reverse order through the second half of the drama, thus
symbolising life's continuous repetition of itself, Kierkegaard's
_Gentagelse_. The first part of _The Road to Damascus_ is the one most
frequently produced on the stage. This is understandable, having regard
to its firm structure and the consistency of its faith in a Providence
directing the fortunes and misfortunes of man, whether the individual
rages in revolt or su