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

got into his hand? Why were his friends sitting down, almost blotted out by the smoke, while he was on his legs? Oh! of course! He had been telling them about the watch, and they were waiting for the continuation of the story.

“This watch, gentlemen, is nothing special at all. It’s only French gold.”

The two whilom owners of silver watches opened their eyes wide. This information was new to them.

“And I believe it has only seven rubies⁠—it’s not a good watch at all⁠—on the contrary⁠—I should rather call it a cheap one.⁠ ⁠…”

Some secret cause of which his brain was hardly conscious, made him angry; he must vent his wrath on something; tapping the table with his watch, he shouted:

“It’s a damned bad watch, I say! Listen to me when I’m speaking! Don’t you believe what I say, Fritz? Answer me! Why do you look so vicious? You don’t believe me. I can read it in your eyes. Fritz, you don’t believe what I’m saying. Believe me, I know human nature. And I might stand security for you once more! Either you are a liar, or I am! Shall I prove to you that you are a scoundrel? Shall I? Listen, Nyström, if⁠—I⁠—forge a bill⁠—am I a scoundrel?”

“Of course you are a scoundrel, the devil take you!” answered Nyström, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Yes⁠—Yes!”

His efforts to remember whether Levin had forged a bill, or was in any way connected with a bill, were in vain. Therefore he was obliged to let the matter drop. Levin was tired; he was also afraid that his victim might lose consciousness, and that he and Nyström would be robbed of the pleasure of enjoying his intended discomfiture. He therefore interrupted Falk with a jest in his host’s own style.

“Your health, old rascal!”

And down came the whip. He produced a newspaper.

“Have you seen the People’s Flag?” he asked Falk in cold murderous accents.

Falk stared at the scandalous paper but said nothing. The inevitable was bound to happen.

“It contains a splendid article on the Board of Payment of Employees’ Salaries.”

Falk’s cheeks grew white.

“Rumour has it that your brother wrote it.”

“It’s a lie! My brother’s no scandalmonger! He isn’t! D’you hear?”

“But unfortunately he had to suffer for it. I’m told he’s been sacked.”

“It’s a lie!”

“I’m afraid it’s true. Moreover, I saw him dining today at the Brass-Button with a rascally looking chap. I’m sorry for the lad.”

It was the worst blow that could have befallen Charles Nicholas. He was disgraced. His name, his father’s name, was dishonoured; all that the old burgesses had achieved had been in vain. If he had been told that his wife had died, he could have borne up under it; a financial loss, too, might have been repaired. If he had been told that his friend Levin, or Nyström, had been arrested for forgery, he would have disowned them, for he had never shown himself in public in their company. But he could not deny his relationship to his brother. And his brother had disgraced him. There was no getting away from the fact.

Levin had found a certain pleasure in retailing his information. Falk, although he had never given his brother the smallest encouragement, was in the habit of boasting of him and his achievements to his friends. “My brother, the assessor, is a man of brains, and he’ll go far, mark my words!” These continual indirect reproaches had long been a source of irritation to Levin, more particularly as Charles Nicholas drew a definite, unsurpassable, although indefinable, line between assessors and secretaries.

Levin, without moving a finger in the matter, had had his revenge at so little cost to himself that he could afford to be generous, and play the part of the comforter.

“There’s no reason why you should take it so much to heart. Even a journalist can be a decent specimen of humanity, and you exaggerate the scandal. There can be no scandal where no definite individuals have been attacked. Moreover, the whole thing’s very witty, and everybody’s reading it.”

This last pill of comfort made Falk furious.

“He’s robbed me of my good name! My name! How can I show myself tomorrow at the Exchange? What will people say?”

By people he meant his wife. She would enjoy the situation because it would make the misalliance less marked. Henceforth they would be on the same social level. The thought was intolerable. A bitter hatred for all mankind took possession of his soul. If only he had been the bastard’s father! Then he could have made use of his parental privilege, washed his hands of him, cursed him, and so have put an end to the matter; but there was no such thing as a brotherly privilege. Was it possible that he himself, was partly to blame for the disgrace? Had he not forced his brother into his profession? Maybe the scene of the morning or his brother’s financial difficulties⁠—caused by him⁠—were to blame? No! he had never committed a base action; he was blameless; he was respected and looked up to; he was no scandalmonger; he had never been sacked by anybody. Did he not carry a paper in his pocketbook, testifying that he was the kindest friend with the kindest heart? Had not the schoolmaster read it aloud a little while ago? Yes, certainly⁠—and he sat down to drink, drink immoderately⁠—not to stupefy his conscience, there was no necessity for that, he had done no wrong, but merely to drown his anger. But it was no use; it boiled over⁠—and scalded those who sat nearest to him.

“Drink, you rascals! That brute there’s asleep! And you call yourselves friends! Waken him up, Levin!”

“Whom are you shouting at?” asked the offended Levin peevishly.

“At you, of course!”

Two glances were exchanged across the table which promised no good. Falk, whose temper improved directly he saw another man in a rage, poured a ladleful of the contents of the bowl on the schoolmaster’s head, so that it trickled down his neck behind his collar.

“Don’t dare to do