The Red Room - August Strindberg (best summer reads TXT) 📗

“ ‘Doesn’t the Master of the Rolls come here, then?’ I asked.

“ ‘He hasn’t been here these five years, and now he’s ashamed to turn up.’

“ ‘But who does his work?’

“ ‘The librarian.’

“ ‘But what is his work in a department like the Board of Payment of Employees’ Salaries?’

“ ‘The messengers sort the receipts, chronologically and alphabetically, and send them to the bookbinders; the librarian supervises their being placed on shelves specially adapted for the purpose.’ ”

The conversation now seemed to amuse Struve; he scribbled a word every now and then on his cuff, and as Falk paused he thought it incumbent on him to ask an important question.

“But how did the Master of the Rolls get his salary?”

“It was sent to his private address. Wasn’t that simple enough? However, my young friend advised me to present myself to the actuary and ask him to introduce me to the other employees who were now dropping in to poke the fires in their tiled stoves and enjoy the last glimmer of the glowing wood. My friend told me that the actuary was an influential and good-natured individual, very susceptible to little courtesies.

“I, who had come across him in his character as Registrar of the Exchequer, had formed a different opinion of him, but believing that my friend knew better, I went to see him.

“The redoubtable actuary sat in a capacious easy-chair with his feet on a reindeer skin. He was engaged in seasoning a real meerschaum pipe, sewn up in soft leather. So as not to appear idle, he was glancing at yesterday’s Post, acquainting himself in this way with the wishes of the government.

“My entrance seemed to annoy him; he pushed his spectacles on to his bald head; hiding his right eye behind the edge of the newspaper, he shot a conical bullet at me with the left. I proffered my request. He took the mouthpiece of his meerschaum into his right hand and examined it to find out how far he had coloured it. The dreadful silence which followed confirmed my apprehensions. He cleared his throat; there was a loud, hissing noise in the heap of glowing coal. Then he remembered the newspaper and continued his perusal of it. I judged it wise to repeat my request in a different form. He lost his temper. ‘What the devil do you want? What are you doing in my room? Can’t I have peace in my own quarters? What? Get out, get out, get out! sir, I say! Can’t you see that I’m busy. Go to the protonotary if you want anything! Don’t come here bothering me!’

“I went to the protonotary.

“The Committee of Supplies was sitting; it had been sitting for three weeks already. The protonotary was in the chair and three clerks were keeping the minutes. The samples sent in by the purveyors lay scattered about on the tables, round which all disengaged clerks, copyists and notaries were assembled. In spite of much diversity of opinion, it had been agreed to order twenty reams of Lessebo paper, and after repeatedly testing their cutting capacity, the purchase of forty-eight pairs of Grantorp scissors, which had been awarded a prize, had been decided on. (The actuary held twenty-five shares in this concern.) The test writing with the steel nibs had taken a whole week, and the minutes concerning it had taken up two reams of paper. It was now the turn of the penknives, and the committee was intent on testing them on the leaves of the black table.

“ ‘I propose ordering Sheffield doubleblades No. 4, without a corkscrew,’ said the protonotary, cutting a splinter off the table large enough to light a fire with. ‘What does the first notary say?’

“The first notary, who had cut too deeply into the table, had come across a nail and damaged an Eskilstuna No. 2, with three blades, suggested buying the latter.

“After everybody had given his opinion and alleged reasons for holding it, adding practical tests, the chairman suggested buying two gross of Sheffields.

“But the first notary protested, and delivered a long speech, which was taken down on record, copied out twice, registered, sorted (alphabetically and chronologically), bound and placed by the messenger⁠—under the librarian’s supervision⁠—on a specially adapted shelf. This protest displayed a warm, patriotic feeling; its principal object was the demonstration of the necessity of encouraging home industries.

“But this being equivalent to a charge brought against the government⁠—seeing that it was brought against one of its employees⁠—the protonotary felt it his duty to meet it. He started with a historical digression on the origin of the discount on manufactured goods⁠—at the word discount all the adjuncts pricked up their ears⁠—touched on the economic developments of the country during the last twenty years, and went into such minute details that the clock on the Riddarholms church struck two before he had arrived at his subject. At the fatal stroke of the clock the whole assembly rushed from their places as if a fire had broken out. When I asked a colleague what it all meant, the old notary, who had heard my question, replied: ‘The primary duty of a government employee is punctuality, sir!’ At two minutes past two not a soul was left in one of the rooms.

“ ‘We shall have a hot day tomorrow,’ whispered a colleague, as we went downstairs. ‘What in the name of fortune is going to happen?’ I asked uneasily. ‘Lead pencils,’ he replied. There were hot days in store for us. Sealing-wax, envelopes, paper-knives, blotting-paper, string. Still, it might all be allowed to pass, for everyone was occupied. But a day came when there was nothing to do. I took my courage in my hands and asked for work. I was given seven reams of paper for making fair copies at home, a feat by which ‘I should deserve well of my country.’ I did my work in a very short time, but instead of receiving appreciation and encouragement, I was treated with suspicion; industrious people were not in favour. Since then I’ve