They were
mighty queer things which often invaded his brain, taking possession of
his thought, paralyzing his will, and refusing to budge, no matter how
earnestly he pleaded. There were times when he grew afraid of himself;
when his imagination got the upper hand, blowing him hither and thither
like a weather-cock. Then the Norse Jekyll came to his rescue and routed
his uncomfortable yoke-fellow. Hence that very curious phenomenon that
the same man who has given us sternly and soberly realistic novels like
"The Family at Gilje" and "The Commodore's Daughters," is also the
author of the collection of tales called "Trold," in which his fancy
runs riot in a phantasmagoria of the grotesquest imaginings. The same
Jonas Lie who comports himself so properly in the parlor is quite
capable, it appears, of joining nocturnally the witches' dance at the
Brocken and cutting up the wildest antics under the pale glimpses of the
moon.
Throughout his boyhood he struggled rather ineffectually against his
Hyde, who made him kill roosters, buy cakes on credit, go on forbidden
expeditions by land and sea, and shamefully neglect his lessons.
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