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

through far too quickly⁠—instead of moving, took the liberty of asking whether he had not better wait until all the members of the management were assembled.

“The management?” shouted the great tragedian. “I am the management. If you have any questions to ask, address yourself to me! If you want advice, come to me! To me, sir! To nobody else! That’s all! You can go now!”

The skirt of Rehnhjelm’s coat must have caught on a nail, for he turned on the threshold to see what the last words looked like; but he saw only the red gums, which had the appearance of an instrument of torture, and the bloodshot eyes; he felt no desire to ask for an explanation, but went straight to the vaults of the town hall to have some dinner and meet Falander.

Falander was sitting at one of the tables, calm and indifferent, as if he were prepared for the worst. He was not surprised to hear that Rehnhjelm had been engaged, although this news considerably increased his gloom.

“And what did you think of the manager?” he asked.

“I wanted to box his ears, but I hadn’t the courage.”

“Nor has the management, and therefore he rules autocratically⁠—brutality always rules! Perhaps you know that he is a playwright as well as all the rest?”

“I’ve heard about it.”

“He writes a sort of historical play which is always successful. The reason is that he writes parts instead of creating characters; he manipulates the applause at the exits and trades on so-called patriotism. His characters never talk, they quarrel; men and women, old and young, all of them; for this reason his popular piece, The Sons of King Gustavus, is rightly called a historical quarrel in five acts; it contains no action, nothing but quarrels: family rows, street brawls, scenes in Parliament, and so on. Questions are answered by sly cuts, which do not provoke scenes, but the most terrible scuffles. There is no dialogue, nothing but squabbling, in which the characters insult each other, and the highest dramatic effect is attained by blows. The critics call his characterisation great. What has he made of Gustavus Vasa in the play I just mentioned? A broad-shouldered, long-bearded, bragging, untenable fellow of enormous strength; at the meeting of Parliament at Västeros, he breaks a table with his fist, and at Vadstena he kicks a door panel to pieces. On one occasion however the critics said there was no meaning in his plays; it made him angry, and he resolved to write comedies with plenty of meaning. He had a boy at school⁠—the blackguard’s married⁠—who had been playing pranks and got a thrashing. Immediately his father wrote a comedy in which he drew the masters and exposed the inhuman treatment boys receive at school in these days. On another occasion he was criticized by an honest reviewer, and immediately he wrote a comedy, libelling the liberal journalists of the town. But I’ll say no more about him!”

“Why does he hate you?”

“Because I said, at a rehearsal, Don Pasquale, in spite of his maintaining that the proper pronunciation was Pascal. Result: I was ordered, on penalty of a fine, to pronounce the word in his way. It was immaterial to him, he said, how the rest of the world pronounced the word, at X-köping it was to be pronounced Pascal, because it was his wish.”

“Where does he come from? What was he before?”

“Can’t you guess that he was a wheelwright? He’d poison you if he thought you knew it. But let us change the subject; how do you feel after last night’s revels?”

“Splendid! I quite forgot to thank you!”

“Don’t mention it! Are you fond of the girl? I mean Agnes?”

“Yes, I’m very fond of her.”

“And she loves you? That’s all right, then! Take her!”

“What nonsense you talk! We couldn’t be married for a long time!”

“Who told you to be married?”

“What are you driving at?”

“You’re eighteen, she’s sixteen! You’re in love with each other! If you’re agreed, only the most private detail is wanting.”

“I don’t understand what you mean! Are you trying to encourage me to behave like a scoundrel towards her?”

“I am trying to encourage you to obey the great voice of nature and snap your fingers at the petty commands of men. It’s only envy if men condemn your conduct; their much-talked-of morality is nothing but malice, in a suitable, presentable guise. Hasn’t nature called you for some time to her great banquet, the delight of the gods and the horror of society afraid of having to pay alimony?”

“Why don’t you advise me to marry her?”

“Because that’s quite another thing! One doesn’t bind oneself for life after having spent one evening together; it doesn’t follow that he who has enjoyed the rapture, must also undergo the pain. Matrimony is an affair of souls; there can be no question of this in your case. However, there’s no need for me to spur you on; the inevitable is bound to happen. Love each other while you’re young, before it’s too late; love each other as birds love, without worrying about how to furnish a home; love as the flowers of the species Diœcia.”

“You’ve no right to talk disrespectfully of the girl. She is good, innocent, and to be pitied, and whoever denies it is a liar. Have you ever seen more innocent eyes than hers? Doesn’t truth proclaim itself in the sound of her voice? She is worthy of a great and pure love, not merely of the passion you speak of. Don’t ever talk to me about her in this way again. You can tell her that I shall look upon it as the greatest happiness, the highest honour, to ask her to marry me when I’m worthy of her.”

Falander shook his head so violently that the snakes on his forehead wriggled.

“Worthy of her? Marriage? What stuff!”

“I mean it!”

“Dreadful! And if I should tell you that the girl does not only lack all the qualities which you ascribe to her, but possesses all the reverse ones,