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

embarrassment increased, but summoning up all his impudence, he replied, “You ought to know that! He’s the president of the Board of Payment of Employees’ Salaries.” No sooner had the words left his lips than he pretended to be called to the other side of the room; but he was in so great a hurry that Falk wondered whether he felt uncomfortable in his society? A blackguard in the company of an honourable man!

The brilliant assembly began to be seated. But the president’s chair was still vacant. Falk was looking for the reporter’s table, and when he discovered Struve and the reporter for the Conservative sitting at a table on the right-hand side of the secretary he took his courage into his hands and marched through the distinguished crowd; just as he had reached the table, the secretary stopped him with a question. “For which paper?” he asked. A momentary silence ensued. “For the Red Cap,” answered Falk, with a slight tremor in his voice; he had recognized in the secretary the actuary of the Board of Payment of Employees’ Salaries. A half-stifled murmur ran through the room; presently the secretary said in a loud voice: “Your place is at the back, over there!” He pointed to the door and a small table standing close to it.

Falk realized in a moment the significance of the word “Conservative,” and also what it meant to be a journalist who was not a Conservative. Boiling inwardly he retraced his footsteps, walking to his appointed place through the sneering crowd; he stared at the grinning faces, challenging them with burning eyes, when his glance met another glance, quite in the background, close to the wall. The eyes, bearing a strong resemblance to a pair of eyes now closed in death, which used to rest on his face full of love, were green with malice and pierced him like a needle; he could have shed tears of sorrow at the thought that a brother could thus look at a brother.

He took his modest place near the door, for he was determined not to beat a retreat. Very soon he was roused from his apparent calm by a newcomer who prodded him in the back as he took off his coat and shoved a pair of rubber overshoes underneath his chair. The newcomer was greeted by the whole assembly which rose from their seats as one man. He was the chairman of the Marine Insurance Society Limited “Triton,” but he was something else beside this. He was a retired district-marshal, a baron, one of the eighteen of the Swedish Academy, an Excellency, a knight of many orders, etc. etc.

A rap with the hammer and amid dead silence the president whispered the following oration: just delivered by him at a meeting of the Coal Company Limited, in the hall of the Polytechnic.

“Gentlemen! Amongst all the patriotic and philanthropic enterprises there are few⁠—if any⁠—of such a noble and beneficial nature as an Insurance Society.”

This statement was received with a unanimous “Hear! hear!” which, however, made no impression on the district-marshal.

“What else is life but a struggle, a life and death struggle, one might say, with the forces of Nature! There will be few among us who do not, sooner or later, come into conflict with them.”

“Hear! hear!”

“For long ages man, more especially primitive man, has been the sport of the elements; a ball tossed hither and thither, a glove blown here and there by the wind like a reed. This is no longer the case. I’m correct in saying it is not. Man has determined to rebel; it is a bloodless rebellion, though, and very different to the revolutions which dishonourable traitors to their country have now and again stirred up against their lawful rulers. No! gentlemen! I’m speaking of a revolution against nature! Man has declared war to the natural forces; he has said, ‘Thus far shalt thou go and no farther!’ ”

“Hear! hear!” and clapping of hands.

“The merchant sends out his steamer, his brig, his schooner, his barge, his yacht, and so forth. The gale breaks the vessel to pieces. ‘Break away!’ says the merchant, for he loses nothing. This is the great aspect of the insurance idea. Imagine the position, gentlemen! The merchant has declared war upon the storms of heaven⁠—and the merchant has won the day!”

A storm of applause brought a triumphant smile to the face of the great man; he seemed thoroughly to enjoy this storm.

“But, gentlemen, do not let us call an Insurance Institution a business. It is not a business; we are not business men. Far from it! We have collected a sum of money and we are ready to risk it. Is this not so, gentlemen?”

“Yes, yes!”

“We have collected a sum of money so as to have it ready to hand over to him whom misfortune has befallen; his percentage⁠—I think he pays one percent⁠—cannot be called a contribution; it is called a premium, and rightly so. Not that we want any sort of reward⁠—‘premium’ means reward⁠—for our little services, which we merely render because we are interested⁠—as far as I am concerned it is purely for this reason. I repeat, I don’t think⁠—there can be any question that anyone in our midst would hesitate⁠—I don’t think that one of us would mind seeing his contribution, if I may be allowed to call the shares by that name, used for the furtherance of the idea.”

“No! No!”

“I will now ask the Managing Director to read the annual report.”

The director rose. He looked as pale as if he had been through a storm; his big cuffs with the onyx studs could hardly hide the slight trembling of his hand; his cunning eyes sought comfort and strength in Smith’s bearded face; he opened his coat and his expansive shirt front swelled as if it were ready to receive a shower of arrows⁠—and read:

“Truly, strange and unexpected are the ways of Providence.⁠ ⁠…”

At the word Providence a considerable number of faces blanched, but