Strindberg himself was not at the greatest moment of mental stability in his life. He had no money, his first marriage to the wife he worshipped was crashing to disaster and they were living in a wing of a dilapidated castle overrun with peacocks and feral dogs and ruled over by a self-styled countess and her companion, a blackmailer, alchemist, magician and thief. It was an overheated concatenation of circumstances that gave rise to Strindberg’s greatest play, Miss Julie, but even in this chaotic context, Strindberg realized that something was very wrong with Nietzsche. Was Nietzsche mad?
From I Am Dynamite!