The Red Room, August Strindberg [the mitten read aloud txt] 📗

you shall! Go on eating! Why the devil don’t you? It costs you nothing!”

When the birds had been carved, Charles Nicholas poured out the claret with a certain solemnity. The guests paused, anticipating a speech. The host raised his glass, smelt the bouquet of the wine and said with profound gravity:

“Your health, you hogs!”

Nyström responded by raising his glass and drinking; but Levin left his untouched, looking as if he were secretly sharpening a knife.

When supper was over Levin, strengthened by food and drink, his senses befogged by the fumes of the wine, began to nurse a feeling of independence; a strong yearning for freedom stirred in his heart. His voice grew more resonant; he pronounced his words with increasing assurance, and his movements betrayed greater ease.

“Give me a cigar!” he said in a commanding tone; “no, not a weed like these, a good one.”

Charles Nicholas, regarding his words as a good joke, obeyed.

“Your brother isn’t here tonight,” remarked Levin casually. There was something ominous and threatening in his voice; Falk felt it and became uneasy.

“No!” he said shortly, but his voice was unsteady.

Levin waited for a few moments before striking a second blow. One of his most lucrative occupations was his interference in other people’s business; he carried gossip from family to family; sowed a grain of discord here and another there, merely to play the grateful part of the mediator afterwards. In this way he had obtained a great deal of influence, was feared by his acquaintances, and managed them as if they were marionettes.

Falk felt this disagreeable influence and attempted to shake it off; but in vain. Levin knew how to whet his curiosity; and by hinting at more than he knew, he succeeded in bluffing people into betraying their secrets.

At the present moment Levin held the whip and he promised himself to make his oppressor feel it. He was still merely playing with it, but Falk was waiting for the blow. He tried to change the subject of conversation. He urged his friends to drink and they drank. Levin grew whiter and colder as his intoxication increased, and went on playing with his victim.

“Your wife has visitors this evening,” he suddenly remarked.

“How do you know?” asked Falk, taken aback.

“I know everything,” answered Levin, showing his teeth. It was almost true; his widely extending business connections compelled him to visit as many public places as possible, and there he heard much; not only the things which were spoken of in his society, but also those which were discussed by others.

Falk was beginning to feel afraid without knowing why, and he thought it best to divert the threatening danger. He became civil, humble even, but Levin’s boldness still increased. There was no alternative, he must make a speech, remind his companions of the cause of the gathering, acknowledge the hero of the day. There was no other escape. He was a poor speaker, but the thing had to be done. He tapped against the bowl, filled the glasses, and recollecting an old speech, made by his father when Falk became his own master, he rose and began, very slowly:

“Gentlemen! I have been my own master these eight years; I was only thirty years old.⁠ ⁠…”

The change from a sitting position to a standing one caused a rush of blood to his head; he became confused; Levin’s mocking glances added to his embarrassment. His confusion grew; the figure thirty seemed something so colossal that it completely disconcerted him.

“Did I say thirty? I didn’t⁠—mean it. I was in my father’s employ⁠—for many years. It would take too long to recount everything⁠—I suffered during those years; it’s the common lot. Perhaps you think me selfish.⁠ ⁠…”

“Hear! hear!” groaned Nyström who was resting his heavy head on the table.

Levin puffed the smoke of his cigar in the direction of the speaker, as if he were spitting in his face.

Falk, really intoxicated now, continued his speech; his eyes seemed to seek a distant goal without being able to find it.

“Everybody is selfish, we all know that. Ye-es! My father, who made a speech when I became my own master, as I was just saying⁠—”

He pulled out his gold watch and took it off the chain. The two listeners opened their eyes wide. Was he going to make a present of it to Levin?

“Handed me on that occasion this gold watch which he, in his turn, had received from his father in the year.⁠ ⁠…”

Again those dreadful figures⁠—he must refer back.

“This gold watch, gentlemen, was presented to me, and I cannot think without emotion of the moment⁠—when I received it. Perhaps you think I’m selfish gentlemen? I’m not. I know it’s not good form to speak of oneself, but on such an occasion as this it seems very natural to glance at⁠—the past. I only want to mention one little incident.”

He had forgotten Levin and the significance of the day and was under the impression that he was celebrating the close of his bachelor-life. All of a sudden he remembered the scene between himself and his brother, and his triumph. He felt a pressing need to talk of this triumph, but he could not remember the details. He merely remembered having proved that his brother was a blackguard; he had forgotten the chain of evidence with the exception of only two facts: his brother and a blackguard: he tried to link them together, but they always fell apart. His brain worked incessantly and picture followed on picture. He must tell them of a generous action he had done; he recollected that he had given his wife some money in the morning, and had allowed her to sleep as long as she liked and have breakfast in bed; but that wasn’t a suitable subject. He was in an unpleasant position, but fear of a silence and the two pairs of sharp eyes which followed his every movement, helped him to pull himself together. He realized that he was still standing, watch in hand. The watch? How had it