A Fortunate Man (1905)
By Henrik Pontoppidan. Translation: Paul Larkin
Chapter Five
Eberhard’s visit and the tidings relating to his father’s ill health did have one particular consequence for Per. For it put an end to his aimless gallivanting around town, by which he had hoped to put his defeat at the hands of Professor Sandrup behind him. That very same evening, he took out his drawings and calculations from the drawer of his commode and then spent the whole night sitting at his table, head in hands, studying his papers intensively, until the lines and markings began to dance before his eyes and his head sang with five figure numbers humming in his brain like bees in a hive. And on that same night, he made a solemn vow that from then on he would not rest until he had either become completely convinced that his plan was unworkable, or he had overcome all its obstacles and had pursued his vision through to a final victorious vindication.
Not too many days after this, by way of a revaluation of his channel lines, Per actually succeeded in rectifying the fundamental error discovered by Professor Sandrup. Moreover, in order to avoid being deceived by yet another fault in his calculations, he then carried out a detailed validation test on his flow velocity estimates, and when he found that his results concurred exactly with his base line estimates, all the tension which had built up inside him was released in a deafening roar of delight. At last, he felt that he was standing on terra firma once again. All his hard work, in other words, had not been squandered; the thousand and one nights he had spent hunched over his desk had not been in vain. – Ha ha! Perhaps even at this late hour, victory could not only be achieved but be seen by his father to have been achieved before he closed his eyes forever at home at the rectory.
Per now quickly settled the acquirement of the Neergaard inheritance without succumbing to any further bouts of scruples. There was no point in being squeamish, Per said to himself. Life was a bare knuckle fight for any man from his kind of background who wanted to force his way to the top. Besides which, it had transpired that the amount in question was not as large as expected. On visiting the solicitor, he was told that the property had been "somewhat indebted". Per digested this news in silence and it did not occur to him to investigate the matter any further. However, the solicitor then offered the view that a few thousand Danish crowns would still remain once the outstanding dues had been settled – in other words, he could work in peace and financial security for at least a year. Thus, without further ado, Per requested an advance on the sum in question so as to clear his debt. The solicitor was only too happy to accommodate him in this regard.
Per then terminated his teaching duties and the other sideline job he had been forced to take on, so that he could devote himself entirely to his magnum opus. Like an impatient young bear emerging from its first winter hibernation, he shook off the indolence that had settled upon him and fell to his work. As autumn settled in across the country, bringing dark clouds with sunlit haloes and dark blue showers of hail, Per sat for the whole day and much of the night in his cramped quarters, bending over his papers, deaf to the calls of the starlings amassing in the trees and oblivious to the fall of the rose red petals from the apple tree, like soft snow showers outside his window. He was woken every morning by the peal of the Nyboder bell, which called people from the general Nyboder area to work, and he would already be sat at his desk by the time Madam Olufsen presented herself to the outside world in her night gown with its big flowery pattern. The good lady had the morning habit of carrying the chamber pot out into the garden, discreetly hidden between her night gown and shift, which she would then use to water her assortment of primulas.
Despite the relative prosperity he now enjoyed, Per made absolutely no changes to his way of life, which if anything was now even more characterised by his innate and long practiced frugality. On the other hand, he procured numerous, and rather expensive illustrated manuals and other technical journals, which he needed in order to develop his studies and work plans. For the same reason, he took out subscriptions in specialist periodicals from both Germany and America. Henceforth, he would never again set foot in the Polytechnic. He suspected that his former student colleagues had gotten wind of the reason for his visit to Professor Sandrup’s chambers and also of its aftermath. Besides, he regarded attendance at the interminable lectures he was forced to suffer there as a complete waste of time. They were nothing more than platforms for boring pedants waffling on about the need to be practical at all times; like cripples, thought Per, giving instruction on the best way to dance.
Fru Engelhardt he never saw again. Of course, the possibility of a reconciliation sometimes crossed his mind, but he had demurred at taking any positive steps towards that purpose. No matter how embarrassed he continued to be over his behaviour that night, the experience had still left him with a residue of wariness with regards to the life of amorous adventure so highly praised by others. He had asked himself whether the many hoops through which one had to jump, the play acting, and more especially the great costs involved, were actually worth all the trouble. Every time he became tempted to renew his acquaintance with this seasoned lady, he simply called to mind the sinful heap of money she had cost him in the run of just one evening – at which point, an undertaking to forget all about her and return to his channel profiles and water level calculations was never too difficult to make.
Whenever the sun shone down from the heavens, he would fling open his windows to the world outside with the result that butterflies and bumblebees would then blunder into his room. However, this never occurred to him as being in any way a romantic or lyrical interlude. At most, his cheerful mood might lead him to whistle out loud, upon which Senior Boatswain Olufsen would often stick his head inside the window (adorned as it invariably was with a brightly coloured calotte) in order to express his pleasure at Per’s great spirits; or Madam Olufsen might place a cup of steaming coffee on the window ledge and bid him take a "moments rest to catch his breath". And if Per’s venerable landlady had ever feared that her favourite lodger had been seriously led astray, her worries were now directed in the opposite direction entirely.
"Take you that drop of coffee while its still nice and hot", she would say in the commanding tone she often adopted to conceal her motherly feelings towards him.
Then Per would cast aside his fountain pen, or drawing implements, light his little shag pipe and lean against the window chatting with the two pensioners as they pottered around in their small patch of garden. Space was at such a premium in the garden that the two of them could barely bend over without bumping into each other with that part of the lower back Senior Boatswain Olufsen would call "the part that was slapped on using the bits that were left over" (a blasphemous reference to the Old Testament and Genesis ).
However, it was never long before a nagging restlessness would come upon him. And once again he would be sat, brooding over his drawings where he saw how the pickaxes and shovels flashed in the sun; saw how huge earth embankments were levelled, marshes and small lakes reclaimed. Sometimes he would also imagine he heard the soft whump of excavation charges, which shook the very depths of the world just by a simple push of his finger. Once again he had revised and expanded his project. For now – in complete harmony with his proposed network of canals – he had drawn up an outline plan for a new, large scale harbour facility on Jutland’s west coast, which would be able to compete on equal terms with Hamburg and Bremen. Nor did he stop there. As he wrestled with his ambitious project, the idea gradually dawned on him that he might be able to harness the huge energy potential offered by the incessant waves coming in from the North Sea, which, by means of large buoys constructed from iron plates riveted together, and positioned along the surf line, would transfer the energy via cables linked to onshore industrial facilities. Wind power was something else he imagined could be utilised, via motors that were able to gather and process the energy. If this were to happen, the conditions could be created that would transform Denmark into an industrial manufacturing power of the first order.
On balmy evenings when facts and figures hammered in his head after a full day’s work, he had formed the habit of joining Senior Boatswain Olufsen on a bench that had been constructed from two planks and attached to the timber fence that surrounded the garden. An old piece of sail cloth had been placed above the bench to act as a canopy. This was the so called "Gazebo", which, according to the old man himself, afforded the best view of the various gardens in the area. Often there would be other visitors who counted as old friends of the house; be it Hr. Bendtz, the moss grown veteran carpenter, who would come rocking along on his cane, all the time complaining about his lumbago; or the perennially cheerful riveter Fuss with his cherry reddened face and white gorilla beard. Madam Olufsen was often on hand to dispense rum toddies for all who came and Trine would then have to run down to Krokodillegade to fetch riveter Fuss’s guitar. A musical ensemble could then be put together because, on the first floor apartment of the house behind them, there was a young leading gunner who was able to play some lovely airs on a drone pipe. Every evening he would sit by his open window with the long, home made instrument in front of him and when riveter Fuss began to accompany him on his guitar, the whole thing became a veritable concert, which brought joy to the whole Hjertensfryd area. All around the place, folk would lean out of windows and doors to listen to what was being played; children would stop their games and clamber on top of fences to see what was going on – indeed, even the sparrows which were beginning to settle down for the night in the trees above, would swoop on to the roofs of the houses and remain there with their heads cocked to one side, as if in veneration of what they heard.
On one such evening of music and song, Per espied a delightful young girl standing by an upstairs window in one of the neighbouring houses. Her hands were crossed lightly behind her lower back and she was apparently quite engrossed in the concert going on down below; at the same time, she gave the odd glance upwards to look at the drifting clouds in the evening sky. However, the increasing ruddy glow from her cheeks betrayed the fact that she was not entirely unaware of the bold, decidedly masculine gaze being directed at her from the vantage point of the senior boatswain’s Gazebo.
The house in question served as the official residence of one of Nyboder’s most esteemed personages, one Master Jacobæus, whose wife was at all times addressed as madam, at least by the master’s underlings. Per discovered from Madam Olufsen, that the young lady was this man’s niece, and that she had recently moved to the city to learn dress making.
From this evening onwards, Per chose to join Senior Boatswain Olufsen and observe the setting sun from the garden bench on a much more regular basis. Here he could monitor the windows of the neighbouring house and, almost without fail, the young lady would appear in one of them, busying herself at a flower vase, or the bird cage. She would also sometimes open a window, move a pot of herbs to one side and lean out so as to gain a better view across the rooftops or down to the neighbouring yard, or up to the heavens – anywhere, in other words, except the most obvious place to look, which was the Senior Boatswain’s garden.
For all this, no direct eye contact was ever established between them, no matter how much Per applied himself to the task of opening an unspoken channel of communication, a telegraph connection, across the timber fence. And then one morning, just as he closed the front door behind him and walked into the street, he saw her for the first time outside her house. As luck would have it, she had chosen just that moment to return from the corner bakery just opposite her own abode – she had green slippers on her feet and carried a wicker basket in her hand. Per could not resist a smile when he observed her crushed demeanour, indeed her indignation, that he should find her on the street in such a shameful state, but her mortification simply made her all the more attractive to his mind, and he made so bold as to raise his hat in greeting. The young lady, however, simply acted as if she had not seen him and she would, that very same day, produce a brilliant riposte to the events of the morning. Per was just returning home from one of his short, sharp "constitutionals" along Langelinie when she came out of her uncle’s house dressed in a chic, bright spring jacket and with a large silk scarf under her chin. She also wore a hat which was graced by a veil. She stood for a moment on the doorstep so as to fasten the last button on a pair of new and shiny black gloves; whereupon she slowly made her way down towards the city walls with both her hands in her jacket pockets – without so much as a glance in the direction from which Per advanced. But even at this, Per could not resist a smile. For he had just fleetingly caught sight of her face up in the street mirror by Master Jacobæus’s house and had guessed that she had seem him going out earlier and had timed her exit, in all her finery, to coincide with his return.
But Per now had the bit between his teeth and resolved to take a bolder approach. He got Trine to ferret out information regarding the dressmakers shop where the young lady was being taught and the times when she normally would depart from said premises, – and then early one evening, at around seven o’clock, he surprised her near Nørrevold, just as she stopped to look in a shop window.
He greeted her with the utmost decorum and inquired as to whether he might introduce himself, and to his great surprise, she took no offence whatsoever at his audacity. It seemed that, with a lack of guile so typical of those from the provinces, the young lady found it quite natural that two close neighbours who had the fortune to meet in the maze of streets in a big town should hold a conversation and accompany each other along the footpath. However, her openness was not entirely without artifice. The young lady revealed this herself. For, as they came closer to Nyboder, she suddenly stopped and announced that he could not accompany her any further. And Per, who knew that Master Jacobæus was the kind of man who was well aware of his responsibilities where his young niece was concerned, and who also guarded his interests jealously, required no further explanation but bade her adieu with a stated wish that he might see her again "very soon".
From then on, they would often meet in the same way and walk the same route homeward together. However, by unspoken agreement, they changed their route on the grounds of prudency so as to take in Kongens Have and Rosenborg gardens, where there was less chance of meeting any of Nyboder’s residents. Per also extended the route slightly on every subsequent meeting, without any objection on her part.
Francesca (for this was the young lady’s name) was of middling height, slim, almost thin, but with an ample bosom and hips. The most noticeable thing about her was her gait, which gave notice of something proud and "secure" in her character. Whenever she walked along the pavement with her hands in her jacket pockets and her youthful bosom thrusting boldly forward, people would instinctively make way for her and Per was amused by the stolen glances sent her way by the menfolk who passed by. Her pale facial tones, which still bore a ruddy glow about them, often bore a petulant expression and her brow was usually drawn and sombre , – all of which did not really mean very much; it was just her way of asserting herself in these new and strange surroundings. Her challenging demeanour, in other words, was meant to let the good burghers of Copenhagen know that country people could be just as sophisticated.
Likewise her, on the face of it, rather daring association with Per could be explained by the exact same fear of being regarded as nothing more than a yokel who had just arrived on an apple cart from the country. Per, for his part, did not misconstrue her apparent boldness. For this mirrored his own need to assert himself as a young man who had been born and reared in rustic Jutland.
The fact that they both hailed from the provinces had, in a very heightened way, the effect of cementing their understanding and appreciation of each other – indeed Per’s strong attraction to her (even though he did not think of it in this way) could be traced back to memories of his youth, as her particular type of beauty, her manner and non Copenhagen dialect, aroused echoes of his first erotic awakenings and his attraction to the blonde and blue eyed valkyries from his own area.
The capricious and artful gods decreed that a period of settled weather should be produced at just that time, with a series of extraordinarily beautiful summer evenings with big, bright skies full of vibrant colour – as if purposely designed to set a stir in two young and free hearts like theirs. Their by now regular promenade had gradually extended so as to take in the city lakes and they always chose to make their way home via the romantic gardens lying behind what remained of Copenhagen’s eastern ramparts. Here they would stroll backwards and forwards along the elevated laneway with its broad crowned trees; making several turns before finally accepting that it was time to part.
And of what did they speak during these meanderings? Well, about the weather, about people they encountered along the way, about mutual acquaintances in Nyboder and the news of the day – and never, ever about love. Per never even broached the subject. In the beginning he refrained from so doing because he did want to scare her. Thereafter, he avoided the subject for his own sake – out of fear of the power she increasingly exerted over him.
His original overtures to her were made without any clear goal in mind. It had just been a question of a young man seeking a diversion by having a bit of fun with a young woman. Per had been so completely engrossed in his work that his keyed up mind had become awash with adrenaline, which in turn had left him physically enervated. Thus, he had instinctively sought out that well of sustenance which sparks off such erotic travails in youth. But it was the very fact that, contrary to his usual practice, he sought nothing from the relationship; and then there was this bright festive air which mother nature had lent to everything night after night, this radiant glow which – just as they met each evening – transformed the city and its environs into a fairytale landscape; then finally the clandestine arrangements to which, for Francesca’s sake, they had to adhere in order that they could meet, and the attendant apprehension and agitation she could no longer hide from him when it was time to go their separate ways – all this had gradually lent a previously unknown, in fact undreamed of, sense of magic to everything; until one day he remarked to himself that he had never before really understood what being in love was actually like.
And he was right.
He really was in love now for the first time. He, who in certain regards was so far ahead of his age group, had lived the life of an innocent, or a caged animal, where the realm of the senses was concerned. Now, he walked around with an almost overwhelming feeling that he was experiencing some kind of birth in his inner self; that a completely new world was revealing itself to him. Per, whose modus operandi with woman had otherwise been to make the distance between words and action as short as possible, became the epitome of courteousness in his dealings with this young lady. For example, he was so anxious not to offend her that it took him a long time to raise enough courage to ask for a kiss on taking his leave of her. And when she yielded to this request and he saw the crimson blush firing her cheeks, he almost regretted his temerity, and he felt that he was committing a sacrilege by touching her innocent mouth with his own and stealing the warm glow from her lips.
Towards the end of the summer, Francesca went home to her parents for an extended visit. Despite the routine they had established in their most recent meetings, and the indiscretion they had shown by choosing to stage their increasingly more tender departure scenes in the direct vicinity of Nyboder; still, there was no one who was aware of what was going on between them – nobody that is except Trine. With the almost clairvoyant state possessed by this simple minded girl in affairs concerning Per, she had known everything for a long time. Besides which, Per had once felt obliged to bring her into his confidence in order to bring a billet doux across to Francesca's house – an awkward task, not without its risks, that she performed as if she were the bearer of tidings from Mount Olympus. Using the self conceived pretext that she needed to fetch a clothes peg that had blown over the fence, she gained access to Mester Jacobæus’s fortified redoubt and successfully conveyed her secret message into the right hands. But directly afterwards, when Per had left her again, she crept around in such a ghostlike fashion, and sought the refuge of the outhouse with such frequency that Madam Olufsen assumed she was sick and finally ordered her to bed placing a powerful poultice in the form of a mustard plaster on her stomach.
When Francesca returned in October, the feelings which she and Per felt for each soon reached such a pitch of intensity that something had to be done. Per was beset by angst. The thought that he might allow his feelings to run over into a full blown seduction he rejected out of hand. On the other hand, he could not, in the cold light of day, see any way in which he might transform their situation into that of an official engagement; but this, without doubt, was the outcome which Francesca desired. Indeed, she awaited Per’s next move with no little impatience. She had on a number of occasions – completely unsolicited – made him aware of her family background; even going so far on one occasion as to make a passing remark relating to her father’s considerable wealth. But to marry a saddle maker’s daughter from a small town on the island of Fyn – that was completely at odds with the great aims in life which he had set for himself. Every time he felt tempted by the thought, he saw Neergaard in front of him and recalled his words about the swineherd who became a prince, words which had already, on another occasion, revealed themselves in an aura of blazing letters, a Mene-Tekel – "counted and counted, weighed and divided", an admonishing Biblical scripture on tablets of fiery stone.
Then something happened which brought matters to an unexpected but decisive conclusion.
Master Jacobæus had, for some time, entertained suspicions regarding the veracity of his niece’s explanations for her increasingly late arrival from the dressmakers and one day he decided to investigate matters more thoroughly. This led to an interrogation of the young girl under which she was eventually forced to make a clean breast of things.
The very next day saw Master Jacobæus in Per’s quarters where, without so much as an introduction, he bluntly asked him whether it was now his intention to make a decent woman of his niece. Per’s immediate reaction was to talk his way out of the situation, ask the gentleman to take a seat and let on that he did not really understand what was going on. But the angry man snorted and threw his head back, demanded that Per desist from blackguarding him and that he give a straight answer to a straight question. A yes or no was all he wanted.
Still Per hesitated before replying. He weighed the fact that, were he to say no, it was more than likely that he would never set eyes on Francesca again – and his heart sank at this thought. He saw her standing in front of him, just as she was probably pacing the floor in the house across the street at that very moment, clenching her hands in anxiety and tension as she waited for word of what had transpired. And in truth, at that moment, the thought crossed his mind like an epiphany in his soul, that he might cast all his dreams of greatness to one side and hold tight to this bird, this lucky sparrow, he held in his hand and turn his back on the majestic birds which soared above the roofs and vertiginous mountain slopes. But, once again, Neergaard’s gleaming skull emerged from the depths to mock him. And he drew himself up and said no.
A scene now took place which Per could never thereafter think about without biting his lip in shame. With both hands in his trouser pockets, as if trying to control his urge to strike out, Master Jacobæus stepped so far into Per’s personal space that the hair on his bushy grey beard tickled his face. And this complete stranger in his room denounced him as a pup, a lout and a corner boy, and left him in no doubt that if Per should ever again in his life approach his niece, he would be thrashed unmercifully and turfed out of Nyboder like the scabby dog that he was.
Per’s face had turned chalk white with rage; but not a muscle did he move, nor did he attempt to answer in kind. Though it was not this man’s threats that reduced him to silence. This was not the first time he had been confronted by balled fists, and there is no doubt that his first thought as the man closed in on him was to grab him by the throat and slam him up against the wall and pin him there until the madness had flailed its way out him. But when he stared down into this pale, contorted face with its quivering mouth, which far more clearly than any spluttering speech showed how seriously the whole affair had affected him, how grief stricken and embarrassed this man was, a profound sense of guilt was bestirred in Per, a guilt that kept his hands down and his mouth shut.
It must be said that in the aftermath, when Master Jacobæus had left, Per did ask himself what sin exactly he had committed. After all, he had not meant to cause Francesca any harm. If he had known from the beginning that they would end up falling in love, he would simply have avoided her; but the truth was that at no stage had he abused the trust she had placed in him. God knows, the kisses they had exchanged in all innocence could hardly cast a shadow over her future life. So what harm exactly had been caused?
It was nothing more than his own "conscience" come spooking him again – this vague, eerie phenomenon that would suddenly place him in a hall of mirrors, in which he saw himself reflected in horrible distortions. Lucky Per who believed that he had been liberated from all thoughts of black marks and shadows on the soul, now stood there like a fool, burning with shame – and in the end it was more his annoyance with himself that helped him to almost completely forget both Francesca and their abrupt separation.
As things turned out, Mester Jacobæus’s threats proved to be quite needless. For, acting on her own initiative, Francesca returned home to Fyn the very next day. Two days later Per received a small parcel with certain gifts he had given to her as the occasion arose. She returned everything without a single accompanying word of either explanation or reproach. However, every single article had been carefully wrapped in rose tinted tissue paper. And as Per now stood there holding these objects in his hands, a new humiliation enveloped him. His eyes began to moisten. He was simply unable to avoid it. Indeed, had he not hurried to stuff the whole package down into his drawer, an even bigger embarrassment could easily have befallen him, as he was just about to burst into a flood of tears.
And yet, and yet, Lady Luck had not in fact deserted him. Not long after these traumatic events, something happened which not only led him to forget his sudden banishment from Aphrodite’s hallowed halls but almost appeared to be an uplifting nod from the fates themselves – a reward for his refusal to yield to a momentary weakness. If he had many times felt that his ship had lain becalmed in endless dog days as he waited for a favourable wind to carry him further on his adventures, a storm of events now began to swirl around him that would bear him along into new and open seas.
* *
*
A good while previously, he had made such promising progress in his work on his project that he had decided he could once again submit his plans to a recognised authority for adjudication. On this occasion, he had made an approach to the chairman of the Royal Institute of Engineers, a retired military engineering officer with the rank of colonel, whom he had often heard described as a shrewd, open minded and very influential technocrat who was also, amongst other things, the editor in chief of the institute’s highly respected monthly journal. Per had sent him his synopsis of the project along with a letter signed "P. Sidenius, Engineer", in which he had provided a condensed description of his various ideas and boldly expressed the hope that the colonel would feel himself in a position to acknowledge the importance of the philosophy underpinning his proposals and recommend that they be published in the monthly journal.
For several weeks he had waited impatiently for a reply and had finally given up hope of receiving any kind of answer. But the colonel had chosen that very moment to write to him stating that he had read the outline proposals with "great interest" and invited him to call in to his offices at a convenient time; he should also bring with him the detailed plans that were referred to so that they could discuss the issues involved in greater detail.
As soon as Per was done racing through the letter, he knocked on the low ceiling with the back of his hand, a signal for Trine that her presence was required downstairs.
"Tell their royal highnesses that we are having a trooping of the colour!" he commanded.
After which he took out a bottle from the bottom of his clothes press which held the remains of some Swedish punch, set up three glasses in a line on the table and filled them up.
"What’s all this about Per?", Madam Olufsen asked as she stuck her curler bedecked head into the doorway. The Senior Boatswain, meanwhile, could be heard lurching stiffly down the stairway.
"A great turn in the tide of life Madam Olufsen! … Come in and congratulate me!"
"My God, Hr. Sidenius, have you gone and got engaged?"
"No you didn’t get it this time said the old hag in the fairytale, ha ha. Try again, Madam Olufsen!"
"Have you won the Lotto then?"
"Well I suppose you could call it that … Anyway, it doesn’t matter! I raise my glass to my old, steadfast friends! And give my thanks for the kindness you have always shown me! Cheers Senior Boatswain Olufsen! … And may ye not get a heart attack if you see my name in lights very shortly!"
The very next day Per was to be found standing outside the colonel’s door with his drawings rolled under his arm. A young girl opened the door for him and after being forced to wait in a kind of hallway, whilst the girl delivered his business card, he was led in to a large studio with a three bayed window, which allowed bright and airy light to flood in from a nearby garden. A small, flushed, man with tight frizzy hair got up from a writing table and bustled towards him. He held a pince-nez in one of his hands. But halfway across the floor, the man stopped in mid stride, perched his glasses and pince-nez on his nose and looked Per up and down, giving all the indications of a man who had received an unpleasant shock.
"Good God in heaven!" he exclaimed. "Are you, I mean … the engineer Hr. Sidenius?"
"Yes, the very same".
"Well – I never! – You’re nothing more than a pup."
"Ah," said Per in a slightly hurt tone. "Well I’m twenty two, so not quite a pup."
"Yes but … well I mean … all this must be some kind of – –."
It was clear that he wanted to say "misunderstanding" but thought better of it as he turned on his heels like someone who was peeved with himself because he had committed a gross error of judgment and was at a loss to decide the best way to conceal his embarrassment.
"Well, ahem … take a seat then," he said, quite reluctantly. " I suppose there’s no harm in having a very brief chat about this matter." – And, after throwing his hand out to indicate that Per should be seated in a small wicker sofa at the side of the writing table, then seating himself in a wide armchair facing the sofa, he continued in the same tone of voice: "As I explained in my letter to you, I did – in amongst a whole mountain of absurdities, not to say downright insanities – find one or two elements in the plans you submitted which – possibly – deserve further consideration. It goes without saying that your idea of a major canal facility covering a large part of Jutland and the auxiliary components you say are required, I find – to put it mildly– almost childlike in its naivety. So ... we’re happy to kick that into touch. On the other hand, I must admit, where the idea of a major realignment of the easterly fjord inlets is concerned, there is no doubt that the idea has a fairly sound basis … and similarly the way you envisage the plan might be realised is indeed innovative and does contain new observations.
As he spoke, he turned a ruler slowly round in his hand and observed Per with a sharp eye from behind his pince-nez, which sat almost horizontally on his ruby tinged nose. His tone of voice had by turns become less dismissive. Per’s robust, broad shouldered figure clearly appealed to his military mindset. And then he suddenly stopped in the middle of what he was saying, placed both hands on his sides and exclaimed with renewed surprise:
"But – may God strike me dead and send me to that big parade ground in the sky! – how could a young man like you come up with such a mad idea like this project? It cannot be because it would make any practical difference to your own life. You look, if you don’t mind me saying, more likely to have young nubile women on your mind and all that carry on rather than logarithms and landmass calculations."
Per’s head told him to laugh at this remark, even though in his heart he was not amused by it. He then proceeded to give a full and frank explanation as to how he had toiled at his plans for several years, and how these ideas had really occupied his thoughts since he was a young boy. Once he had found the flow of his story, his eloquence increased accordingly and he began to describe with unbounded self confidence how significant the project was. Whilst making references to relevant facts from abroad to support his case, he declared it his absolute conviction that the authorities at home had, since the beginnings of the railway building programme, to an unforgivable degree neglected the development of the country’s natural transport network: the waterways; which almost everywhere had been allowed to fall into disuse and were thus on the verge of choking to death. All this, of course, was to the detriment both of the country’s prosperity and the well being of the people.
After this final fusillade of words, the colonel, whose face during Per’s pronouncements had shown the hint of a smile, broke out into spontaneous laughter.
"Well I swear – may God strike me dead! – you don’t lack for courage! And do you not think that I am aware that your project represents a challenge to all us old men with our wigs and arthritis who have so shamefully, as you say, neglected the nation’s honour ha ha! And then, on top of that, you demand the right to criticise and lacerate us in our own journal. I have to say, that the whole thing is simply le comble – it just beats the band! … Are they the detailed plans you have with you there? Let me see them for heaven’s sake!" One by one, Per rolled out his drawings and spread them out on the colonel’s writing table.
"Heavens above send down a dove!" the colonel cried in alarm. "There’s enough here to cover my old mess room! How could it have ever entered your head to do all this, a young man like you? This is bordering on sheer madness my dear man! … And yet with all this I still don’t see the outline proposals for the fjord realignment that I mentioned. There is no point in denying that it is this that interests me more than anything else."
Per rolled out his final drawing, an enormous sheet that nearly covered the whole table. A sheet of paper, furthermore, that represented a full six months of dogged industry. It contained outline summaries and cross sections of parallel embankments, land spurs for current control, fascine coverings, support walls etc – everything carefully, indeed meticulously, set out; right down to the scale symbols and the handwritten headlines that were so neat they resembled printed script.
The colonel fixed his pince-nez more securely on his nose and took a calliper compass out of its holder.
"As you are possibly aware," – he declared after a silence, which signalled his reluctant admission of how impressed he was, "as you are possibly aware; some ten years or so ago there was actually talk of widening this very fjord inlet and also the reconstruction of the harbour. At that time, I myself was actually consulted about the whole thing … and it’s possibly because of the memories that were stirred in me via your project that I … that I … Well, anyway, take that chair and sit here … then explain to me how you see the whole thing working."
For well over an hour the two men sat beside each other, engrossed in measurements and calculations. Time and again the colonel threw his callipers to one side and declared the whole thing to be the work of a madman; but a moment later could see him expressing a warm acknowledgement of some pleasing discovery, a shrewd use of the terrain, a well executed foundation method and so on. Per maintained his composure throughout. He was, in contrast with the old campaigner, the epitome of cold blooded reason. Showing clever tactical awareness, he was happy to cede ground on all minor points so as to heighten the effect whenever he insisted on sticking to his guns in the face of any major attack on his work. This lengthy battle of wits gradually developed into a kind of Holmgang between the upstart prince and the old, venerated knight, and on more than one occasion the master was reduced to silence or, indeed, betimes was forced to give way to his callow opponent. In fact, the old colonel finally became so persuaded by Per’s arguments that the canal project with its projected network of locks and sluice gates and large port on the west coast, that he had dismissed so perfunctorily, was now taken up for renewed and detailed study.
Then, his face puce with the strain of it all, the colonel suddenly brushed all the papers to one side and said:
"Let me hold on to this stuff for around a week. We have to get it knocked into some kind of shape, … separate the wheat from the chaff, and believe me there’s a lot of chaff! Before there can be any talk of it being published in our journal, the whole thing has to be summarised and made ready for battle… I’ll see what I can do. I grant you that now I have a better understanding of your underlying philosophy, the plan really needs to be presented in its entirety to do it full justice. Seen as pure hypothesis, there is no doubt that it has much to entertain the mind and the obsessive technicians amongst us will have a field day with it. You have no shortage of ideas young man! … How old did you say you were again?"
"Twenty two."
"Oh happy youth. To be alive and be twenty two! … As I say, come back to me in a weeks’ time."
As Per made to leave, the colonel gave a hearty handshake, which also signalled his collegial respect.
"My word, your eyes are like canon fire young man," he said suddenly as he continued to hold Per’s hand. "Where did you get them from, eh? You look at people like a hungry wolf. Well – good hunting is all I can say!" he concluded with a smile, once again taking his hand in a final goodbye.
When Per once more stepped out onto the street, it seemed to him that the whole world was transformed. The air was so gentle, the heavens had been raised to new heights and people looked so peculiarly small.
Right, time to calm down, he thought; forcing himself to look at his position with clear-headed analysis. Good God – what had happened was only what he knew was bound to happen, sooner or later. He was not even going to send the journal to anybody once it was published; not even his parents or other family members – they would no doubt get copies of it at some point. And besides, at the moment, the whole thing did not amount to much. He had merely taken the very first, and tiny, step on the way to fame and fortune. That was all. What mattered now was to harness all his energies for the next and even greater step. For this involved the far more difficult task of bringing his ideas to a wider audience, to create a positive atmosphere around them, to draw supporters to his banner from amongst the governing elite and the people.
In the days that followed he once again frequented the billiard halls, both in order to kill time to and dampen his impatience until he could legitimately pay a visit to the colonel. One evening, he walked into a café on Kongens Nytorv and ran into Fritjof, whom he had not seen since their post debauchery conversation in "The Cave", when the shaggy, unkempt giant had revealed himself to be more like an altar boy, a shorn and quivering lamb, than a lion amongst men. Now he was once again in his artistic pomp, holding court amongst a circle of young, submissive worshippers of beauty, who were all, just as Fritjof was, dressed in evening wear and sat drinking mineral water and cognac. The scene represented the aftermath of a dinner arranged by an art dealer. Fritjof had pushed his large, grey Rubens hat back on his head and the palms of both his hands rested on a bamboo cane of monstrous proportions, which was firmly planted between his protruding legs.
"Well raise the skull and crossbones me hearties! If it isn’t Salomon’s young Aladdin!" he almost roared as Per entered, offering a greeting as he did so in the way of a gracious raising of his hand. "Where has that genie in the lamp being keeping you for so long? – Come and join us man!"
But Per was in no mood to get stuck in that kind of company and instead chose a seat at a nearby table. In reply to Fritjof’s repeated questions as to why he had been off the scene for so long, Per answered briefly that he had been working non-stop.
Fritjof let out a roar of laughter of Olympian proportions.
"Of course! You are another one of these new fangled functionaries whom Nathan has begun to idolise. You can have it! – You’ve probably been working night and day to see how you can extract a drop of water from one of our poor little lakes – eh? Or you have worked out how to the blow the cliffs at Møens Klint to smithereens so that you can use them for mortar? Or, tell me, in what way have you served the cause of progress and contributed to the beautification and improvement of our great fatherland?"
Per looked out across the faces of the young artists, who were sat in po-faced torpor, their arms lolling over the backs of chairs, in an attempt to give the impression that they brooded over some imminent artistic revelation. As he lit a cigar, he leaned back in his chair and threw out his riposte: "Maybe it is just as well that we can’t be all geniuses, able to create heaven on earth – on little pieces of canvas."
"No, of course not! Long live the captains of industry! Let’s have more and more stinking chimney towers, and may God bless our sewers! And tell me another thing young man, have you ever really thought what this brave new world that has been brought to us by machine power actually looks like? Do me the service one day of taking an hour of your precious time to accompany me down one of the back alleys in this town where you will observe the deathly pale faces of the brood that lives there, festering like maggots in a dead corpse. Or we can dander on up to where the thieves and bandits live, the millionaire jewboys with their fat arsed madames … putrefaction and decay wherever ye care to look my friend! Oh, God help us! And you call that progress! That is the great dawn of science that we are all waiting for! God help us I say! – No, I’m sorry, but I’d rather bow down before some carrot cruncher out in the sticks who doesn’t give two shits about making the world a better place and is happy to sing a song and plough his fields till the cows come home. He is more of a real person to me than all those rabbi heads trumpeting on about progress put together. – What do you say?" He turned to his supporters seated around the table, who responded with a chorus of supportive, mumbling.
Per was not in the least surprised by Fritjof’s outburst given his rather befuddled sate. His sentiments were not dissimilar to those he had expressed during the evening they had spent together at The Cave. But what he could not fathom was Fritjof’s repeated and scornful attacks on Dr. Nathan, given that he had previously been such an outspoken champion of Nathan’s cause. However, he felt that any attempt to continue the conversation was just not worth the effort and so with a shrug of his shoulders he turned back to his newspaper.
At that very moment, the entrance to the establishment was thrown wide open. A seemingly endless procession of people then flowed in from the street, comprising of ladies obviously dressed for the theatre and accompanying gentlemen with their overcoats slung across their shoulders. In no time at all, they had taken every available seat in what moments before had been an almost empty café. An opening night performance had taken place at the Royal that evening and it was as if this tide of people had brought with them the emotion and catharsis they had experienced in the final act. The playwright’s name and that of the actors involved were bandied about; roles were discussed, and the essential meaning of the piece aroused passionate debate like bushfires erupting at various tables. But the presence of Fritjof and the other artists, of whom a goodly number had gained widespread fame despite their youth, provoked increasing attention and comment amongst the well heeled guests. All about the tables, people put their heads together, pointed and spoke in whispers, or with their hands over their mouths. Sat alone in a corner, one young, pale man in particular attracted a flurry of quick glances and comment with his Mephistophelian aura. This was the author Povl Berger, one of the great Enevoldsen’s many protégés and widely viewed as his literary successor, following the recent death of this refined man of letters who had literally dropped dead in mid sentence. Per overheard some ladies at a nearby table speaking in animated tones about Berger’s poetry. He now came into Per’s mind from Fritjof’s Bacchanalian night at The Cave. Berger it was who had jumped up onto a chair in order to propose a toast to Dr. Nathan’s name and who had finally crushed his glass in his hand in an idiotic display of wild abandon.
And with that, a deep sense of despondency came over Per, as he sat and observed the bedlam taking place before his very eyes. He could not help but reflect on the fact that, no matter how much he succeeded in making a name for himself in his chosen field of expertise, he could never hope to achieve the kind of celebrity enjoyed by a two bit rhymer whose name was on everybody’s lips. Even when his ideas were finally in the public domain, his own name would still hardly register outside of a narrow circle of engineers and technicians. Whilst the press was willing to provide a mountain of column inches to the latest tacky romantic novel, his own creative monument would presumably receive no more than a passing reference in a side column. Yes, if he had only written a poem about the sea, or painted a quiet, moonlit canal instead of toiling over a canal project – –
As he rose from his seat to leave, he could not resist turning to Fritjof and saying:
"It seems that you precious artistes have little reason for complaint in this country of ours. You can see for yourself the commotion that a piddling little theatre piece can stir up. Within a week the whole town will be tongue tied about this great event in our lives."
"And what man! What else do you want people to talk about in this shit hole of a country?"
Per felt personally insulted by Fritjof’s choice of words. For a moment he looked at the scene around him without saying a word.
"Maybe you are right," he said at last. And as he gave a final scathing look at the circle of artists before him, as if to offer a challenge to each and everyone of them, he gave his parting shot: "But just wait – things are going to change!"
"Yet another nutcase!" Fritjof cried when he had gone. Then he drank heartily from his glass. His table confederates automatically raised their own glasses and uttered more mumbled noises of support.
* *
*
Per was unable to reign in his impatience for any longer than precisely the week requested by the colonel for his further deliberations. But when, eight days later, he found himself once again in the colonel’s study, he encountered a completely different man to the enthusiastic colleague from whom he had taken his encouraging leave only a week before. The colonel neither offered his hand in greeting, nor invited him to take a seat. With a blustering bluntness – which quite obviously was an attempt to conceal a measure of embarrassment – he returned Per’s papers to him without standing on ceremony; except to remark that on closer inspection he had in fact found the proposals unsuitable for inclusion in the journal.
"The whole thing suffers from a marked lack of mature reflection. And, besides, you are just too young to attempt this whole thing by yourself … I mean, you have not even sat your exam yet … you have not even gained your MSc. from what I gather."
Ah its like that is it?! – Per thought to himself. He’s decided to watch his back and has been asking around about me … he’s possibly even been to see Professor Sandrup. Here we go!
In the meantime, the colonel had positioned himself by the side of a large stove range at the other end of the room. From this vantage point, he ran a mistrustful rule over Per, his bearing and apparel, right down to the cut of his boots – in fact, he even inspected Per’s hat, which Per had left on a chair by the door when entering the room.
"Your name is Sidenius," he said after an awkward silence. "Are you by any chance related to the line of priests of that same name?"
As always when Per was confronted with this question, he contracted a momentary deafness. He then began, in quite provocative language, to mock the colonel’s sudden change in attitude with regards to his work. But the colonel broke him off curtly, and with a hint of nerves in his voice, by saying that any further discussion was a waste of time and completely pointless . His views on this issue were now set in stone, and that was that.
It was clear that he wanted rid of Per as quickly as possible. It was as if he wished to deny him the right to speak – for fear that he once again might turn in his favour.
"I must apologise," he said finally in a more sympathetic tone, taking a few steps forward as he did so; "I must apologise in the event that my words last week should have aroused a sense of false hope on your part; but I am in no doubt that this rejection is in fact in your best interests, given your undoubted commitment. I do not deny that you have ability; but at this stage you must first and foremost learn to acknowledge your deficiencies. A young man like you of twenty two years of age should not have any ambition other than to listen and learn. Our journal has never been an outlet for young people who simply want to publicise their first faltering experiments."
After these words, he turned back to his desk with a dismissive wave of his hand as if to signal that the audience was at an end.
But Per remained standing where he was.
"Exactly how old and decrepit does the colonel believe I should be before he will deign to give my work the acknowledgement it obviously deserves?"
His face as red as an angry crab, the veteran soldier rounded on Per with such haste that the carpet cut folds at his feet.
"Why you impudent whelp. I’ll have you..!" he exclaimed – but he faltered at the sight of Per’s quivering, death white countenance. He saw that there was a real danger of fisticuffs and, from fear of a scandal taking place, he sufficed by stating once again that any attempts to discuss the matter further would be futile. He had nothing more to say.
"Yes, but I have something to say to you oh mighty Colonel," said Per. "You will live to regret that you have shown me the door."
"Am I hearing you right? You dare to threaten me!"
"Make what you will of it. But the next time we meet, it will be because you Sir are looking for me! … You have just committed a grave mistake Herr colonel … You have underestimated me and I have overestimated you. Had I known you better, I would not have put you through so much trouble. We will meet again but on my terms next time!
During this dressing down, the old soldier had seethed with anger. But he gave no reply. The truth was that he was torn by an inner conflict. When the door banged shut with Per’s departure, his whole body shook, as if he was jolted into calling him back. But with a "By Christ, that young fellow –" he turned and went back to his writing table, where in his indignation he started to root around amongst his papers.
Some minutes later, his quite terrified wife entered the room from the adjoining sitting room and said:
"Who was that person you had in with you just now? I swear! He slammed the front door so hard after him that a big piece of the picture rail fell down." "No doubt he did! … Aye madam, wait till you see. He will come to cause more damage than just a bit of falling ceiling plaster that boy!"
"Who was he?"
"You probably know just as much as me! A lunatic, I presume. Or better still a chancer! … Maybe he’s a genius! … Time will tell."