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

hold him, otherwise he would have risen and made a speech. It was for the first time that Lundell was invited to a dinner of this sort, and the brilliant assembly and luxurious food and drink intoxicated him; but as all the guests were more or less merry, he fortunately excited no unpleasant attention.

Arvid Falk’s heart beat faster at the sight of all these people who had readmitted him to their circle without asking for explanations or apologies. It gave him a sense of security to sit on those old chairs, which had been a part of the home of his childhood. With a feeling of melancholy he recognized the tall table-centre which in the old times had only seen daylight once a year. But the number of new people distracted him; their friendly faces did not deceive him; certainly they did not wish him evil, but their friendship depended on a combination of circumstances.

Moreover, he saw the whole entertainment in the light of a masquerade. What mutual interest could possibly form a bond between his uncultured brother and Professor Borg, the man with the great scientific reputation? They were shareholders in the same company! What was the proud Captain Gyllenborst doing here? Had he come for the sake of the dinner? Impossible, even though a man will go a long way for the sake of a good dinner. And the President? The Admiral? There must have been invisible ties, strong, unbreakable ties perhaps.

The mirth increased, but the laughter was too shrill; the lips were overflowing with wit, but the wit was biting. Falk felt ill at ease; it seemed to him that his father’s eyes were looking angrily at the assembly from the painted canvas which hung over the piano.

Nicholas Falk beamed with satisfaction; he neither saw nor heard any unpleasantness, but he avoided meeting his brother’s eyes as much as possible. They had not spoken to each other yet, for Arvid, in compliance with Levin’s instructions, had not arrived until after all the guests had been assembled.

The dinner was approaching its end. Nicholas made a speech on “the stamina and firm resolution” which are necessary to accomplish a man’s purpose: the achievement of financial independence and a good social position. “These two qualities,” said the speaker, “raise a man’s self-respect and endow him with that firmness without which his efforts are unavailing, at any rate as far as the general good is concerned. And the general welfare, gentlemen, must always be our highest endeavour; I have no doubt that⁠—if the truth were known⁠—it is the ambition of everyone here present. I drink the health of all those who have this day honoured my house, and I hope that I may often⁠—in the future⁠—enjoy the same privilege.”

Captain Gyllenborst, who was slightly intoxicated, replied in a lengthy, facetious speech which, delivered at a different house, before people in a different mood, would have been called scandalous.

He abused the commercial spirit which was spreading, and declared that he had plenty of self-respect, although he was by no means financially independent; he had been obliged, this very morning, to settle some business of a most disagreeable nature⁠—but in spite of this he had sufficient strength of character to be present at the banquet; and as far as his social position was concerned, it was second to none⁠—he felt sure that this was everybody’s opinion, for otherwise he would not be sitting at this table, the guest of so charming a host.

When he had concluded, the party drew a breath of relief. “It was as if a thundercloud had passed over our heads,” remarked the beauty, and Arvid Falk heartily agreed.

There was so much humbug, so much deceit in the atmosphere that Arvid longed to take his leave. These people, who appeared so honest and respectable, seemed to be held by an invisible chain at which they tore every now and then with suppressed fury. Captain Gyllenborst treated his host with open, though facetious contempt. He smoked a cigar in the drawing-room, generally behaved like a boor, and took no notice whatever of the ladies. He spat in the fireplace, mercilessly criticized the oleographs on the walls, and loudly expressed his contempt for the mahogany furniture. The other gentlemen were indifferent; they gave Falk the impression that they were on duty.

Irritated and upset, he left the party unnoticed.

In the street below stood Olle waiting for him.

“I really didn’t think you would come,” said Olle. “It’s so beautifully light up there.”

“What a reason! I wish you’d been there!”

“How is Lundell getting on in smart society?”

“Don’t envy him. He won’t have an easy time if he’s going to make his way as a portrait-painter. But let’s talk of something else. I have been longing for this evening, so as to study the working man at close quarters. It will be like a breath of fresh air after these deadly fumes; I feel as if I were allowed to take a stroll in the wood, after having long been laid up in a hospital. I wonder whether I shall be disillusioned.”

“The working man is suspicious; you will have to be careful.”

“Is he generous? Free from pettiness? Or has the pressure which has lain on him for so long spoiled him?”

“You’ll be able to see for yourself. Most things in this world differ from our expectations.”

“That’s true, unfortunately.”

Half an hour later they had arrived in the great hall of the working men’s union Star of the North. The place was already crowded. Arvid’s black dress-coat did not create a good impression; he caught many an unfriendly glance from angry eyes.

Olle introduced Arvid to a tall, gaunt man with a face full of passion, who seemed to be troubled with an incessant cough.

“Joiner Eriksson!”

“That’s me,” said the latter, “and is this one of those gentlemen who want to put up for election? He doesn’t look big enough for that.”

“No, no,” said Olle, “he’s here for the newspaper.”

“Which newspaper? There are so many different sorts. Perhaps he’s come to