A Fortunate Man (1905)
By Henrik Pontoppidan. Translation: Paul Larkin
Chapter Six
One Sunday morning in the beginning of April, a spring day with quiet weather and high, drifting clouds, Per was sat outside the restaurant at Langelinje Promenade observing the unending stream of day trippers who, after attending church and partaking of lunch, had come out there to take in the sun and fill their lungs with the fresh sea air.
His outward appearance had changed somewhat over the preceding months. He had lost a good deal of weight (which was by no means to his detriment), and the so called imperial beard, which he had grown around his chin, with the express intention of developing a more mature look, gave his face more character and depth. Nor did his general demeanour carry his former devil may care attitude. As he sat there with his hand under his chin, staring out over the passing crowds dressed in their Sunday finery, it was not difficult to discern from Per’s slightly troubled gaze and his puckered eyebrows that here was a young man upon whom life had visited its first, serious moments of distress.
He had, in fact, sustained a crushing defeat. He, who up until then, and during all his scheming and assembling for his future, had possessed a patience that was underpinned by his utter confidence; he who had been so eagle eyed, so controlled, at times so cleverly calculating, had quite lost the run of himself following his clash with colonel Bjerregrav. With the motivation of gaining revenge on the colonel and professor Sandrup, or whoever it was that had stood in the way of his advancement at any point in time, he had not only sought out a number of the city’s foremost men and shown them his work, he had also visited the editorial offices of the daily newspapers, seeking to get articles published about his ideas. In fact, it has to be said that he even requested an audience with the minister for home affairs himself in order to impress upon him the urgent need for a complete restructuring of the country’s waterways and the Department of Maritime Works. And everywhere he went, he had just encountered smiles and shrugs of the shoulders. Where, that is, he had not simply been shown the door without further ado.
It was his great misfortune that he was forced to suffer this time of adversity in complete isolation, without any connection to another human being, in whom he might confide his disappointments and who might prove a sounding board for his utter indignation. A wounding bitterness was not long in taking hold of him, causing him to shun human contact and fostering dark ruminations in his mind that he was the victim of a planned and conscious campaign of persecution. His former fellow students at the technical institute, he chose to avoid wherever and whenever possible. He had convinced himself that every last one of them believed him to be mad (and in truth there were a good number of them who actually did think this way). Nor had he set foot in the "Cave" for over a year, despite his awareness that Lisbeth had long since found consolation in the arms of another man. Per had got to the stage where he felt a downright disgust for all artists, the country’s spoiled little brats who practised a similar hysterical idolatry with nature as the clerics did with their talk of the life to come, and who therefore also enjoyed a status as favoured beings, "instruments of the divine" bringing revelations from on high. At the heel of the hunt, these worshippers of canvases and atmospherics, for all their ridiculousness, were not as innocent or benign as he had believed. They too had played their part in undermining the belief in man as master of the earth and absolute ruler.
Overall, in these days of constant buffeting headwinds, the dire torturous feelings of loneliness, which had dogged him since his childhood days at the rectory, were aroused in him once again. Just as he had once felt himself to be an orphan amongst his parents and brothers and sisters, he now felt that he was a wandering stranger in his own society. In his compatriots, he saw nothing but massed ranks of self righteous Sideniuses, who like the Pharisees before them covered up their petty bourgeois timidity with an arrogant contempt for this world’s delights and splendours, and it often occurred to him how blessed the Roman Catholics were that their priests never married; that all the spiritual debilitation that was inbred within the Church’s false humility was not allowed to go any further, whereas in the Protestant countries this laming debility was passed on from generation to generation. A debility, in other words, which took root amongst the population, proliferating in all directions and turning all conventions upside down, just like in the land beyond the looking glass where small things could be regarded as big and the crooked straight.
There was also the fact that he had other demons to contend with, amongst which were his financial worries. For, despite the fact that he had lived as thriftily as a poor student in his garret and had frequented the cheapest possible cellar restaurants in the Borgergade area, where he ate cheek by jowl with carriage jarveys and messenger boys, the Neergaard inheritance was all but spent. He had worked out that the money available to him could not be stretched any further than another couple of months. And what then? Was he going to go back to being someone whose real function was to whip young boys into line? Or take out the begging bowl, perhaps; wending his way between factory owners and craftsmen pleading for copy work?
To compound things further, he was afflicted by love troubles in as much that he just could not shake off the memory of Francesca. He could sometimes find himself simply sitting and staring, with no little emotion, at some small memento of her that he had put by: a dried and pressed flower she had once fastened to his buttonhole, an Easter greeting from her as his secret admirer containing a snowdrop and written in mirror script, a ribbon of blue silk he had sequestered from he neck one evening. Yes, the truth was that when, as daylight faded and he betook his usual lonely evening stroll, and saw other young men who the heavenly and earthy powers had blessed, in all the best connotations of that word, enjoying the sunset and the early spring air, arm in arm with their sweethearts, there would be moments when his old fallibility would come back to haunt him and he would ask whether or not he had sacrificed his future happiness and good fortune on the high altar of a delusion; whether, indeed, he might not sooner rather than later forget all his haughty, unrealistic notions and settle down like everybody else did. Was it not time that he learned with good grace to take up his appointed seat on some hard office chair so as to finally tie the knot with Francesca and become a pillar of society, a happy father with a happy family in the land beyond the looking glass?
Nor was this the end of his troubles. As if all the powers that be had conspired to test his steadfastness, he had, only a few days before, received an almighty shock following a horrible turn of events at home in Hjertensfrydgade with the sudden death of Senior Boatswain Olufsen. The old man had taken his usual mid morning constitutional over to Amalienborg Square, then on to Borgergade before turning into Antonistræde, and was on the homeward leg of his journey when, at the corner of Goters- and Adelgade he promptly collapsed and there he remained lying on the pavement. He had still had just enough wits about him to mutter his name and address, as he was carried through the throng of curious onlookers that had quickly gathered there to a closed carriage, which brought him back to his own door. His wife was just at that moment standing in the upstairs room watching the street mirror in anticipation of his return when the carriage stopped outside the house. As soon as she saw the arm of the police constable being thrust out of the window to open the carriage, she understood what had happened and hurtled down the staircase. Per, who was in his room at the time and heard the sudden commotion, ran out into the hallway to find out what was happening and from this vantage point was able to watch Madam Olufsen as she forcefully shoved the constable away from the carriage door and moments later entered the house again with the body of the Senior Boatswain dangling in her arms. Completely on her own, and refusing all offers of help, the 73 year old woman of the house carried her dying husband up the steep stairs, whilst the police constable, with a dignity befitting his official capacity as an officer of the law, followed behind carrying Hr. Olufsen’s grey cylinder hat and brown cane. As soon as a message was despatched, in all haste, for a doctor to come, and whilst the quite shattered wife of the ship’s carpenter down on the ground floor had run off on her own initiative to look for a local priest, Per and the constable helped Madam Olufsen to convey her husband on to the bed, where he then some minutes later breathed his last, his head sinking on to her breast.
From that day forth, Per had fell ill at ease in his quarters. It was his first real brush with death. The image of that stiff, stomach turning corpse with its gaping mouth lying up there above his head, had kept him awake at nights; and during the day when he sat at his table with his head between his hands, staring vacantly at his drawings - those five or six ill-starred sheets which had cast a spell on him and robbed him of his will and reason – then it was as if the deathly quiet that reigned over the house, that chill from the crypt that pervaded his room from the ceiling above, mocked all his own tribulations by reminding him how worthless and pathetic even the greatest of lives were when faced with the realm of death; how miniscule, in fact, the length of even the longest surviving human life when compared with the eternity of oblivion.
He had not actually been at home for more than a day and a night. In order to kill time and his own wandering thoughts, he had drifted between cafés and billiard halls and then spent the night in the company of some strumpet, one of the angels of the street, who at least knew how to dispense some sort of comfort; and now here he sat with an empty glass in front of him, hounded out of the town itself by the sound of church bells, the curse of his childhood that had been at his back the whole morning with its unending invocations. Never had he felt so alien in the world, never so lacking in hope and despondent as he had been on this supposedly special day of rest, as he walked through the streets with their long succession of shuttered shop windows and observed the parks and walkways full of cheerful citizens clad in their Sunday best. Here, for example, came a thick necked Herre with his nose in the air and hands behind his back, – a lawyer (he supposed), a loan shark maybe, a swindler, who had gained absolution for his week’s worth of sins in some church or other, and now he was out and about airing his born again soul with an Havana cigar jammed between his teeth. And here was another fat necked gentleman on the march, who could have been a twin of the first, with a luxuriant blond Dame attached to his arm and a delightful little girl holding his hand, – the happy families father personified, who had found his call in life by being a sales rep. for tin buttons, or had perhaps set himself up for life by opening a lucrative toilet paper business. And here came the students and soldiers, the laughing young girls and doddering old ladies with their crab apple smiles, all parading their own cosily arranged snail shells, which for them was the centre of the whole world. Modest people! Happy people! Honest, fine upstanding Sideniuses.
A shrill blast from the horn of a passing steamship made him jump. A massive freighter was just at that moment steaming away from the harbour, driven on by thundering piston strokes. The sun’s glare gave a sheen to its black painted hull and smoke billowed out over the edge of its funnel like a phalanx of black wool. The captain was standing on the wing of the bridge with his hand on a signal bat. A red ensign fluttered at the ship’s stern, telling the world that this was a ship of the British merchant marine.
On seeing this, an immense feeling of wanderlust came over Per … to get away and start his life anew in another corner of the world entirely, to live amongst different people altogether … to try for America, Australia maybe, or even further afield, to some remote unknown country where piotious clerics and church bells were unheard of.
The thought was in no way strange to him, the temptation not a new one. And what was stopping him really? The pull of hearth and kin was unknown to him. Neergaard had talked about it on that night of nights and had himself fallen prey to it. Besides, with the imminent collapse of the old order at his home in Nyboder, he had lost his last source of refuge in the country. And was it not simply futile, expecting any kind of future in this run down land of lilliputs; a land which upon which the Fates had obviously pronounced impending doom? In recent days, following the Senior Boatswain’s death, he’d had occasion to dwell on the old man’s vivid descriptions of his many experiences during his long life, stretching right back to the famous sea battle with Lord Nelson himself on Maundy Thursday. This had taken place at the anchorage right in front of where he was sat. The old seadog had witnessed all that as a child in his mother’s arms, and then came successive humiliations, a complete national dismemberment without precedent, which had been presaged by the barrage of canon fire that fateful Easter. But why cling to this country that was nothing more than a sinking ship? A country that within the course of a single lifetime had fallen to wrack and ruin, had been reduced to nothing more than a shrivelled stump that barely registered on the bulging map of Europe.
A new life! A different land, a different sky! … It was as if new energies were called forth in him by just thinking of what might be. Whilst his eyes continued to follow the receding shape of the steamer, all his youthful fantasies of living as a lusty freebooter rose up once more, hammering in his blood. He told himself that it was out there maybe – far, far away – that great fortune and triumph awaited him. There in the great beyond, that was where his childhood dreams of winning the golden fleece might be realised. He might yet win a princess and half a kingdom out there – even though the princess might be black as ebony and the kingdom nothing more than a palm bedecked oasis in the South Pacific!
At that moment a shadow was cast across the table. A small, fashionably dressed man now stood in front of him, lifting his hat and with a delighted smile on his face, – Ivan Salomon no less. "Well, I was sure it was your good self and I was right! … That really is a turn up! It’s so long since I have seen you! I must say, I believe you are avoiding your old friends. How are you keeping Hr. Sidenius?"
Per half rose from his chair and mumbled something by way of a greeting. He was not exactly enamoured with the idea of having to meet someone in this way but he invited his surprise interlocutor to take a seat.
Salomon sat down on the opposite side of the table, using the handle of his cane to give a few sharp raps on its metal surface in order to call a waiter’s attention.
"Is there something I might offer you?" he asked. "I see that your glass is empty. An absinth perhaps?"
"I don’t want anything thank you."
"Not even a small glass of beer? Or a glass of wine … A glass of English Port, say. You wont be tempted? The stuff they sell here really is first class you know."
"As I say, many thanks. I don’t want anything," Per repeated, with much more emphasis this time, whilst also reflecting with melancholy that here at least was one friend, one admirer. He recalled from somewhere a saying, that he had either heard or read, that no king was so lonely that he did not have a fool for company.
Salomon ordered a glass of iced water for himself and proffered a cigarette from a silver case.
"Of course, I know that you have been up to your ears in work Hr. Sidenius! Your great plans and inventions! That’s the reason you sought peace and solitude, am I right? That’s exactly what I had assumed. – Well, when are you going to set the bombs off? Can the world expect some revelation or other someday soon from that mind of yours, which has been blessed with such gifts?"
Per answered this with a simple shrug of his shoulders.
"I may as well say that great things are expected of you. Expectations tinged with a great yearning for the tide to turn. I always say to people who complain about the fact that nothing of any great import happens in our country anymore – just wait, I tell them, a new generation is emerging in our kingdom. They will light the flame of revolution."
Per still refused to engage in that particular discussion. Salomon’s sycophancy left him ill at ease, not least because his words laid shamelessly bare his own thoughts and aspirations; thoughts he had hardly dared admit to having.
"Have you read Nathan’s latest essay in The Beacon? Have you not heard tell of it? … Ah, you must read it! It is manna from heaven for someone like you! Quite superb I tell you sir! The way he exposes to their shivering bones what he calls our anaemic aesthetes here at home and calls bold men of action and initiative to arms … wonderful stuff!"
Per looked up in surprise.
"Dr. Nathan?" he said.
Of a sudden, he recalled his last café conversation with Fritjof and how the artist had made repeated references to this Jewish writer in ways that he, at that time, neither understood nor even bothered himself to understand. But now these further remarks by Salomon had made him curious to know more. He asked what this doctor at the university had actually written, to which his table companion responded by immediately offering to lend him the article in question.
"Ah don’t put yourself to any trouble," said Per dismissively. "I doubt whether I would ever get round to reading it." – And, after leaning back in his seat, he added as a throw away remark: "It half occurs to me that I should take off somewhere."
"You’re not thinking of leaving us?"
It sounded almost like a fearful cry.
"I’m considering it."
"For good?"
"Perhaps."
Little Ivan Salomon threw his gaze downwards and sat, for some time thereafter, without saying anything.
He had, from other sources, heard certain rumours regarding Per’s project and about colonel Bjerregrav’s and Professor Sandrup’s negative attitude towards it; but he could hardly believe that it was possible in these new times that somebody like Per could be subject to such a blatant lack of appreciation.
"Well, yes," he said. "I can understand that you perhaps feel the need to get away from it all. There is not exactly – at the moment – what might be called favourable soil here for you to plough and sow. I am minded of the expression you once used to describe our noble cradle of learning – the Polytechnic Institute. You called it "a breeding ground for office bureaucrats". I find that description quite superb. And it is beyond question completely accurate. In the times in which we live, everything is geared towards the encouragement of mediocrity. There is no longer any room for idiosyncrasy, no appreciation of, nor even a need, for the exception to the rule, for excellence, for trail blazers. It is just as Dr. Nathan has described it when he writes – for too long, we have indulged in a prolonged flight of fantasy far rather than engage with reality and, because of this, the nation has been sapped of its willpower to a significant extent."
"Is that what he wrote?"
"Oh yes – and much more besides. But you will permit me to send the article anyway? Oh you simply must read it Hr. Sidenius! – Are you thinking of going far away, once you leave?"
"I don’t know. I haven’t really gone into that much – –."
"Ah but you will be back I would wager. Yes, you will soon be back amongst sir! I have no doubts at all about that! Denmark’s future will, at some point, lie in your hands! … But perhaps it’s not such a bad idea, trying to think tactically, to disappear for a while. It could even be a smart move. A period spent abroad always lends a certain prestige to one’s Curriculum Vitae. Say you were to gain a position with one of the big English or French engineering companies - Blackbourn & Gries for example. … The company that deals with large bridge building schemes. As it happens, we have had occasion to do business with them. But perhaps you have other plans?"
Per muttered an evasive response.
Salomon sat quietly for a while, fiddling with his gaily patterned silk handkerchief. During this whole conversation, he had burned to ask Per a question but had not been able to summon the courage to force it past his lips. His question referred to Per’s travel costs. Salomon was far more aware of how things stood with the young engineer than Per himself realised. He also knew of Per’s financial tribulations and it grieved him sorely that Per’s attitude towards him had thus far precluded any offer from his side of friendly assistance. Now his hopes were raised that he might finally get the chance to perform the kind of service for Per that he simply loved to perform for anyone whose talent and future potential he recognised and admired. And this generosity of spirit was by no means simply a case of satisfying his own vanity. For despite his many slightly ridiculous traits, little Ivan Salomon was at heart an unselfish person with a childlike innocence and a basic sympathy for his fellow man. His natural disposition was to be helpful, his natural drive was to find things to worship and his only passion was to help ensure that his idols were apportioned their proper place in life’s pantheon.
Suddenly he jumped from his seat as if he had been tipped out by some mechanism in the chair.
"I’m sorry but I am going have to take my leave," he said. "I’ve promised my mother and one of my sisters that I’d go with them to our place out in the country, – and I can see the carriage approaching."
Down in the narrow, deep set roadway that separated the restaurant from the walkway, and which was covered by an arched bridge, a lavishly equipped luxury coach came into view. A coach driver and attendant dressed in blue livery were enthroned behind a pair of large brown horses whose reins were embellished with silver trappings. Two silk parasols could be spied at the rear of this spectacle; one was white and the other was a lilac colour.
"Would you care to be introduced to my family?" Salomon asked. "Both my mother and sister would love to meet you."
Per made a number excuses as to why this was not a good idea. He had absolutely no desire to be dragged from his seat and made a show of under the gaze of so many people. But Salomon had already motioned to the driver and moments later the coach eased to a halt at the foot of some steps that led from the restaurant down to the roadway below.
Two damer could be seen beneath the parasols, one of whom – the youngest – immediately caught Per’s eye. Nor was this the first time he had seen her. However, on the last occasion, she had been wearing a ball mask and he had been unaware of who she was. That was the evening of the carnival that had taken place over a year ago. The same night, in fact, that he had met Fru Engelhardt for the first time. He remembered her from that night, as mysterious as a décolleté Snow Queen in her white silk dress that shimmered with diamonds. Since then, he had always thought of her as a whey faced Jew Dame, showing off her finery and trinkets like some merchant advertising her wares. And now what he saw in front of him was a decidedly young girl, hardly more than eighteen, nineteen years of age whose Jewish ancestry could never be denied, but who had a fresh, regular face with a rosy complexion that was framed by a lustrous mass of curly hair. She wore a short, narrow cut velvet jacket that was lined with fur and caught the eye immediately but, at the same time, showed no little discernment in taste. Her head was covered by a little hat, from which flowed two large, brightly coloured silk bows, like oversized butterfly wings. Directly beneath these wings sat a pair of lovely, ebony eyes, full of life and devilment. And these eyes observed him with undoubted interest, a bold curiosity that almost had him bewildered.
Their mother on the other hand had returned Per’s greeting with a brief and measured nod.
"So that’s what you look like then," she said. "My son has often spoken of you. You are an engineer. Isn’t that right?"
Per answered mechanically – he had not averted his gaze from the young woman, which gaze she returned with full favour, albeit that it became more and more concealed behind her long, delving eyelashes.
However, the encounter was soon over with. – Ivan ascended into the coach, and after Fru Salomon had let it be known that any of her son’s friends were always welcome in his home and final formal salutations were exchanged, the attendant took up his place on the driver’s bench and the carriage rolled away.
Entirely warm about his cheeks, Per walked back into town.
He could not dismiss from his mind the boldness of those jet brown eyes … And he suddenly saw this young maiden quite clearly before him, just as he saw her on the night of the carnival as she eased past him through the throng – half naked, a golden crown on her dark hair, like some mythical shepherdess with her long, undulating veil of sparkling diamonds.
And it was as if the voice of the Great Tempter himself whispered in his ear:
"The black princess… and half a kingdom awaits!"
* *
*
True to his word, Ivan Salomon sent Dr. Nathan’s controversial essay to him that very same evening, and, given that he had no other task with which to occupy his mind, Per began to browse through it straight away. However, his mild curiosity was quickly transformed into a captivation with its language and tone, to an extent that surprised him. The article brought certain books to his mind that were of a similar nature – Martensen’s Ethics for example. –, from which he had been obliged to read aloud for his father as a young boy on his free afternoons; a task which had been an undoubted influence on his attitude to literature outside his own area of speciality. Here now, in black and white, and expressed in clear and authoritative language, he was able to read something that expressed what his own experience had taught him about life and human beings, and his heart rejoiced at the witty, yet utterly excoriating, attacks on all those thing he himself hated about life in Denmark. First and foremost, the whole pack of petty, self righteous clerics, typical Sideniuses to a man, whom Dr. Nathan also viewed as the country’s greatest misfortune and shame.
He was particularly taken by the conclusion to the long essay, where the author, as a response to the attacks which his campaign had provoked from many quarters, offered his impressions in evocative prose of his return to his homeland following a study period abroad that had lasted several years. He described how, following a journey in an express train across a resurgent Germany with the cacophony of noise in its great cities, and then on through the bustle of Hamburg and the newly created Kiel canal, he arrived by steamship one tranquil morning to Korsør harbour, and even as the ship made its approach to the little town’s quiet and forlorn quay, he had been gripped by a feeling of having been transported to a different world, a dreamlike, ethereal realm. Nor had this impression in any way abated when, with the sun rising at its back, his rickety, rumbling train pressed on through the countryside and eventually rocked all the other passengers to sleep. The train, moreover, stopped at every quarter of the hour at every little country station along the way, where a pair of farmers, followers of Grundtvig with their spreading pilgrims hats and large tobacco pipes, were invariably sitting and waiting – not for the train that had just pulled in but for another that was due in another hour or so. It was as if he had arrived in a country where a clock was of no use to anyone; a country where everyone quite literally had all the time in the world. And this feeling stayed with him when he reached Copenhagen and walked round the narrow streets. Nothing seemed to have changed in the intervening years. The pavements were still in the same rag order; the shops just as provincial. The carriages were the same old snail house conveyances as before, passing the same old theatre placards extolling the virtues of the same childish poetic chivalry dramas as were playing the day he left. The overall impression was that life had stood still here, whereas out there in the great beyond that was Europe, huge changes had taken place in all aspects of life; a revolution in ways of thinking that had transformed societies and presented the populace with far greater and audacious goals to aim for.
Finally – Dr. Nathan concluded – he had arrived in the vicinity of the student halls at Gammelholm and coincidentally at that time of the day when, in his days as an undergraduate, he had taken his afternoon coffee along with some of his fellow students at the universtity. When it occurred to him that he might yet bump into one or other of these old acquaintances, he went inside the building. The sight that confronted him there astounded him. For here, he saw virtually the exact same company, gathered around the exact same table in the exact same corner, as had been there when he had sat amongst them all those years ago. They had all aged considerably since he had last seen them. One amongst them had already turned grey, others had become thin and gaunt but the majority were now decidedly fat, and from both their facial expressions and bodily movements, and more especially the self satisfied drawl of their speech, betrayed the early onset of intellectual decrepitude. All that aside, they sat there just as they had done year in year out, as if they had been rooted to the spot. Indeed, their conversation, to which – unrecognised as he was – he had listened whilst sitting at a neighbouring table, consisted of the same exalted, theological and philosophical meanderings with which they had leavened their imbibing of coffee and tobacco in the days of yore. A conversation, moreover, which revealed the fact that not a single iota of what had been thought, produced or composed throughout the length and breadth of Europe had managed to breach this countries borders. And with that he understood exactly where he found himself. He had been transported to the land of Sleeping Beauty where time stood still and where the pallid rose of fantasy and the impenetrable briars of speculation furtively concealed the decay that reigned in the kingdom at the heart of the forest. But at that same moment (these were his last words in the essay) he understood his call. Just like the man in the fairytale who, upon returning from a great and lengthy adventure, tore the hunter’s horn from the sleeping watchman to rouse the country’s champions from their deep slumbers, Nathan had sought to bestir those who still had fire in their hearts; first and foremost the country’s youth, and amongst these more especially the strong and battle ready who had the courage to clear a new path and tear down the unyielding tangle of fantasy forests and fables, the overgrown and petrified tomb in which the nation’s spirit had been embalmed.
… It was this concluding call to arms which, as he read the last lines, stirred Per’s blood and set his cheeks ablaze. He felt that these rousing, inspirational exhortations were directed to him personally; in fact, that they had been personally dedicated to him. Per slammed his hand down on to the table and as if to confirm his inner thoughts, he called out loud: "Yes! Yes! He recalled how the old colonel on that fateful day had mockingly described his project as a throwing down of the gauntlet to the aristocracy of Danish engineering. So be it! That’s exactly what it would be! … For he now understood that he had been brought on this earth to herald a new and bright dawn; that he was the trailblazer who would rouse this slothful nation with its progeny of clerics and sacristans. Little Ivan Salomen was right. Great things were expected of him. Not some other engineer.
He rose from the table. Oblivious now to the corpse of Senior Boatswain, which still lay in the room above him, laid out in its garment of sugar paper, he walked backwards and forwards across the floor with brisk, firm steps. And suddenly he pushed his fist to his forehead, whilst he repeated again and again his affirming mantra to himself: "Yes – yes – yes!"
Now the young and nubile Frøken Salomon came to his thoughts. He saw her dark doe eyes, full of curiosity and boldness, and then (behind the veil of her eyelashes) the almost deliberate temptation in her gaze.
Never before had it occurred to him that he might further his ambitions by marrying into a rich family. He had always relied too much on the sufficiency of his own abilities to think of anything like that – and, besides, there was something about that way of thinking that disgusted him. Now he confronted the fact that, in the battle for the prized goal, it did not pay to be too precious about the means by which that goal was achieved. A Jewess? Yes, why not? And anyway, Frøken Salomon was also young and beautiful. Indeed, she was (as far as he could see) extremely well endowed. It was about time that he left in the kindergarten all those childish misconceptions about happiness being something that landed on you out of the blue; in the way that people won a lottery prize. For there was no doubt that there was no such thing as unfailing, or one hundred percent, happiness and good luck, other than that which human beings themselves wrenched from the hands of fate. Just like a wild animal, a sabre toothed beast, or the Golden Fleece of legend, good luck had to be hunted down and captured … a treasure trove reserved for the quickest, the strongest, the bravest!
A few days later, the funeral of Senior Boatswain Olufsen took place with all due ceremony. His corpse had been removed to Kapellet on the previous evening and all the old friends of the house then gathered on the day of the burial to partake of a subdued lunch before he was committed to the soil. At twelve o’clock precisely, young Didriksen pulled up his carriage in the street below and Madam Olufsen accompanied by old Bendtz, stepped onboard, their arms bedecked in wreaths. As the carriage departed, the rest of the mourners made their way on foot to Holmens cemetery.
A summer warmth seemed to pervade the air on this spring day. The small bushes dotted around the graveyard were already green of hue and gaggles of birds tumbled over the gravestones as they played a joyful mating game of catch if catch can. The small, quiet cortege of old and decrepit figures that moved slowly and haltingly along the pathway in the cemetery in their faded and outmoded ceremonial dress – and borne upright by walking canes and umbrellas – could have passed muster as a procession of revenants in the clear sunshine. Only Per, who walked at the very rear of the procession, seemed to be in tune with the living, bursting vitality of the natural environment around him. Yes, he too was moved by the solemnity of the occasion, but Death’s hold on him had been broken. When he joined the other mourners around the grave and watched the sun kissed coffin gliding down into the dark, narrow and cold hole in the ground, he felt, for his part, a certain sense of elation mixed in with his feeling of dread. Innumerable days of life and sunshine still lay ahead of him. His coursing, youthful blood still sang its rich, hopeful promise of tomorrow in his ears. Young still – young still!
After the burial he went home to change clothes. He intended to pay the Salomons a visit.
However a great surprise awaited him back at Hjertensfrydgade. A visitor’s card had been left on his table – a card which bore a noble crown and the name Baroness von Bernt-Adlersborg on it. At first, he assumed that it had been delivered to him by mistake; but then he noticed that a short message had been written on the back of the card. In courteous, almost humble language, the Baroness requested an "interview" with him and gave a time when on that same day and the following day she could be found at the Hotel d'Angleterre.
Then the wife of the ship’s carpenter came in to tell him in a quite breathless fashion how an extremely refined Dame had turned up outside in a proper coach and horses and had asked for Per personally. She had given her a "note" – she said – and had asked her to put it on his table.
Per looked at the card again.
Baronesse v. Bernt-Adlersborg! – – Never on this earth had heard that name before!
"It has to be a mistake really. Are you sure it was me she asked for? …. She mentioned my name?"
"Did she what? As I am standing here she did. Hr. Sidenius, she said. And she was more than a bit peeved that she didn’t find the good sir at home if I may say it straight out."
A range of audacious images raced through Per’s imagination.
"What did she look like?" he asked. "Was she young?"
"She was indeed. I’d say she was around my age," said the carpenter’s wife who would have been around the fifty mark herself.
"And it was a lady you say… a Dame, I mean?"
"Oh Lord above she was! Sure, didn’t she have fur throws on all the seats in her carriage."
Per consulted at his watch. There was no time to lose if he was going to meet this mysterious Baroness that very day. And there was no denying his impatience in wishing to solve this sudden conundrum. Thus he dismissed all thought of visiting the Salomon household, dressed himself in his choicest finery and set off from the house.
A hotel porter with long, thick sideburns approached Per in a somewhat supercilious way as soon as he appeared in the lobby of the hotel, but when he heard who it was that Per was looking for, he bowed deferentially, opened the doors leading to the stairwell for him and simultaneously rang a bell, which summoned, in a matter of seconds, a waiter and housemaid from above. Displaying an air of ceremony (or so it seemed to Per), as if he were a king come to service his lady queen, the two flunkeys led him up the wide, carpeted stairway and on through a long corridor, at the end of which he was handed over to a Swedish speaking chamber maid who took his card from him and led him into a room, a small Salon, which was equipped with the usual – but for Per very imposing – hotel elegance: some brilliantly red velvet furnishings and a cut glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
Though he was not generally someone that was easily put off his stride, at that moment Per felt slightly uneasy. For it suddenly occurred to him that he had walked into a trap. That this whole rigmarole had been set up by one or other of his enemies who wished to get one over on him.
He did not have long, however, to ruminate on this issue. Almost immediately, a tall lady entered the salon via the side room.
Young she was not – the word pretty would have been an even greater distortion. Her face had withered and her nose bore signs of an ominous reddening. Her coal black dress, moreover, gave Per a hint of parsimony. All the same, it had to be said that she was obviously a lady of some standing in the world. There was, in her bearing and deportment – not least the way in which she gave him her hand and thanked him for coming – so much that spoke of a fine and gentle grace, as well as a certain tact; mannerisms which cannot be learned but are the preserve of the more refined classes.
"It has not – I hope – been too much of a surprise for you Hr. Sidenius that I should wish to see you and have at least a brief conversation with you," she began as they made to sit across from each other in a pair of the plush red armchairs that were a feature of the rooms. "You were, after all, my dead brother’s last real friend and confidant. There is also the fact that you were, I suppose, the person to whom he gave his last goodbyes in this world – –."
Everything now fell into place for Per. At once he remembered what the solicitor who had administered the estate had told him; that the deceased was survived by two sisters, one of whom was in a prosperous marriage with a Swedish landowner.
The baroness continued:
"I have, for a long time, been moved by a desire to meet the man with whom my only brother felt such a strong bond. In fact, in whom he saw a kind of younger version of himself – that’s the way he put it in the letter he left behind to tell us of his wishes concerning his will. But my beloved houseband was bedridden for so long that I was forced to remain in my home faraway. I was not even afforded the opportunity to come home and attend my dear brother’s interment."
The baroness’s strange way of expressing herself, along with her rather odd facial movements, betrayed a permanently nervous disposition. Here last words were followed by a bout of heavy sobbing and the lady then sat for some time dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Per felt extremely ill at ease and remained silent. He was simply unable to put aside the sense of discomfort he felt on being reminded of his relationship to the eccentric suicide.
"Yes, indeed, I have not had my sorrows to seek," the baroness continued, upon recovering somewhat from her bout of weeping. "That’s why you must give me leave to weep … As you may be aware, the Good Lord has now also seen fit to call my noble housband to his side and I am left quite alone."
Per found that the best way to signal his sympathy was by bowing his head.
"Now what I wanted to say to you Hr. Sidenius is that I have often thought of writing to you – on my sister’s behalf as well – in order that you would not believe us to be indifferent regarding your welfare. But I simply could not face doing it. And I am sure you would prefer to avoid correspondence with a lady who is a complete stranger to you and, perhaps, of no great import –."
Per forced himself to mutter a quick objection to this very thought.
"Yes, indeed … In all honesty, I would probably not have disturbed you even today by paying a visit, were it not for … no, I just cannot escape from referring to it … when I went to the cemetery today and saw those lovely, and quite fresh, flowers on my brother’s grave, I saw at once who it was; the person who had in such a beautiful way chosen to mark his first anniversary and I felt an irresistible urge to see you and convey my gratitude to you because you have in such a loyal and – dare I say it? – like a loving and dutiful son honoured the memory of my poor brother."
Per stared down at the tip of his boots and went very red. Fru Engelhardt’s name emerged from the recesses of his mind. He himself did not even know where Neergaard was buried.
"But now let me look at you properly sir," the baroness continued – she felt more and more taken with this quiet and shy young man, whose natural modesty even precluded admission of the kind and loving deed he had performed. "My word, how strong and fresh you look! Ah, I can see you are not one of these modern young types who fritter their youth away in utter frivolity and immorality. How old you Hr. Sidenius?"
"Twenty three."
"Ah, so young! … May God grant you great fortune in your life! If I may say so, I’m aware that you had it hard as a boy. My brother wrote to us about that. You lost your mother early. And your father … well, you have never known your father."
The velvet cover of Per’s chair began to burn underneath him. He moved quickly to change the subject.
"So you are just passing through baroness?" he asked.
"Unfortunately – yes!" I arrived here last night and will be setting off, God willing, from here tomorrow morning. I am on the way down to my sister. Her proper title is Hofjægermesterinde Prangen. She has – as you are probably aware – been living in southern Europe in the last year on account of her health. Just imagine Hr. Sidenius, I have not seen her in more than a year and we three siblings could never bear to be parted. For many years, my only regret was that I had to live away from my own dear country. And Alexander was just the same. He too loved his home with all the great love he possessed in his warm heart. Hr. Sidenius may well have heard that His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales was so gracious as to take a personal interest in my brother, and because of this the matter of his taking up a position at the embassy in London was raised. Under such patronage there is no doubt that a brilliant career beckoned for him. But despite all the things that might appeal to a man like Alexander on being presented with such an opportunity, he decided that he should decline. My blessed mother still lived in Copenhagen at that time and my sister had not got married … also, Alexander loved Copenhagen so much and he adored the family home. He could not thrive very well outside of the places he knew and loved. I believe it was from that period in his life, after mother’s death, may God have mercy on her soul; when he was left stranded amongst all those memories, that his melancholy came upon him. Then of course in his final time he was actually physical ill… but still! That he should do that of all things!"
The recollection of her brother’s final and bloody end sent the handkerchief once more up to her eyes, and Per grasped the moment to rise and signal his departure.
The baroness, who remained seated, took his hands between her own with a motherly warmth and said:
"How very glad I am to have finally met you! May it never be as long again till we meet once more. Will you promise me faithfully that you will come to visit me when I return, God willing, from abroad? It’s more than likely that I will spend the coming summer with my sister and brother in law at Kærsholm, and I have no doubt that they too will give you a most hearty welcome."
"Well, I can only express my deep gratitude … I mean I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any inconvenience," Per stammered – in his embarrassment, this was the only reply he could muster.
"Not at all, dear boy! Remember Hr. Sidenius that you are now, in a way, part of our family. That, at any rate, is how I would interpret my dear brother’s last wish. My sister, I have no doubt, would feel the same in that regard. Keep well, really welll! And many thanks, once again, for thinking of Alexander with such affection; on this day of all days."
Per walked slowly, in the end almost hesitantly, down the stairway of the hotel. Only now had it really dawned on him how significant this new acquaintanceship was (or might prove to be) for him; if, that is, he was able – without having too many scruples as to the way it had come about – to exploit it energetically and shrewdly. By some magical turn of fortune’s wheel, a path had been opened up, which led him to people with enormous influence. If his memory served him correctly, Hofjægermester Prangen’s ancestral estate actually lay in the area in which he planned to put though his Mid Jutland canal link, something that obviously would give this man particular grounds for considering his plans with interest. At the very least – it was crucial that no opportunity be left unexplored. In the high stakes game he was now playing, he could not have too many trump cards in his hand.
The thought struck him at that moment that there was now perhaps no need for him to nurture further contact with the Salomon household. Regardless of how attracted he had been to that young woman, he was not exactly entranced by the idea of marrying into a family of Jews. And who knew what might happen? Who knew what kind of opportunities, including the matrimonial kind, that might open up for him in aristocratic circles?
On the other hand: with the Salomons, he would presumably come into contact with the real bull traders on the stock exchange, bank executives and the city’s industry magnates; put simply, the small circle of money men who, at the end of the day, were society’s real decision makers. Leaving aside all speculation regarding marriage, it would be of great importance for him to able to fraternise with such people and have the opportunity to curry their favour to the benefit of his project. Besides, the baroness was now travelling abroad – and time was of the essence. That very day, the next day, or at least within two to three months, he had to have procured the magic wand which would give him power over people and which, in his hands, would be transformed into one of Zeus’s lightning bolts.
He had now emerged on to the square and looked up at the clock on the high corner building. There was still time to call out to the Salomons and he decided that this is what he would do. However, Per was still somewhat shaken by his encounter with the baroness and he felt the need to sit down in a café for a moment and take a glass of beer in order to compose himself; as if he needed to prepare for the visit that lay ahead. Never before had he set foot in a Jewish household and he had heard so much about the importance that was placed on maintaining the old customs and etiquette amongst such families. It was crucial that he made the right impression and he was anxious to avoid causing offence is some way.
However, he soon returned to his previous thoughts. He could not help but wonder at the fact that the words he had let slip so flippantly that night at Neergaard’s house, could have had such far reaching consequences. For it was clear from the way the baroness had spoken that it was that particular throw away remark about his background, or lack of one, which had made an impression on her brother. He remembered that he had immediately regretted his frivolous words but that rectifying his mistake was not worth the effort. Now, he wished that he had in fact done just that.
Dammit! – he emptied his glass – what was done was done! Dubious actions could sometimes lead to positive results. At any rate: he who wished to go forward in life should never look back….
* *
*
Merchant Salomon’s residence stood out as one of the few places where a family occupied a whole house right in the heart of the city. It was located in the Bredgade area, was of an older vintage with two storeys and was not, at first glance, terribly impressive when seen from the street, especially as it was surrounded on either side by apartment blocks. However, on closer inspection, it became obvious that an aura of refined dignity prevailed over the house. From the high, black tiled roof with its blue sheen and the ample dimensions of the window stanchions, it was clear to see that the house had a distinguished history. Older people in the area still called it the "Palace". It had belonged to a bankrupt family of the nobility, from whom merchant Salomon’s father had bought it at the beginning of the 1830s. From the gate lodge, one proceeded via a modern glass door to a hall that was so high and mighty that it gave echoes of any footsteps that should sound therein. Its walls were hung with armour, old bronze artefacts and exotic weapons from the Orient. The visitor was left with the feeling of having entered a museum. In the background, a double winged staircase with gilded banisters led up to the rooms on the first floor.
The maid who accepted Per’s card led him into a kind of library room and bade him take a seat, with which Per sat down in one of the leather armchairs and promptly began to cast a careful eye on his surroundings.
Heavy silk curtains at the windows in the colour of red wine … An inch thick, luxurious carpet over the whole floor … Gilt leather tapestries … An octagonal table in the middle of the floor with silver and mother of pearl trimming… Expensive, bound volumes of books on the shelves … Paintings on the walls… An old inscribed candelabrum hung from the ceiling … An antique, richly carved wooden surface ran along one of the walls and served as a display shelf for old silver – in the form of tankards, mugs and beakers – amongst these last items there was also a pair of old altar chalices.
But for his visit to the baroness and the impression this had made on him, all this splendour would have had an even greater effect on him than it already had. At the same time, he was deeply impressed. Almost in spite of himself, he was smitten by this unashamed homage to the power of money. A shiver of secret pleasure crept through his soul at the thought of this elemental power that had pressed the ancestral treasures of so many foreign peoples; yes, even vessels used by the Holy Church itself, into service as items of decoration in this very much Jewish abode.
Per smiled rather sheepishly to himself. There was no use denying it – it was not little princess Salomon’s beauty alone that compensated for the fact that she was "black".
The door to the side room was opened. A little Herre with a repulsive appearance stepped into the room and performed a deep bow. Despite being around sixty years of age, he was dressed in the height of modern, not to say youthful, fashion. He wore a short, bright overcoat and a monocle dangled at the front of his chest. In his hand he carried a shiny silk hat.
"My name is Direktør Delft," he said, with the hint of a foreign accent in his tone of speech. "I am the Onkel here in the house."
Per felt at once that this man’s exaggerated politeness was a perfect complement to his horrible gorgon head.
"My name is Sidenius."
"Ah – the yong engineer I take it? My Nevø has spoken much of you sir. But please I beg you to sit! Fru Salomon – my sister – is with a seamstress engaged. She will straks be at your service. Please I beg of Dem! Make yourself as kohm-fortable!"
Per sat down again. The "Onkel" meanwhile chose a seat at some distance across the room.
"May I be free to inquire … have I had the honnør of seeing Hr. Sidenius here in de hause?"
"No. I met both Fruen og Frøkenen for the first time just the other day."
"Aah Jah, my Niece Nanny … I believe I was told about this."
A short pause ensued, after which Hr. Delft, with a smile and a tone that would have made anyone other than Per suspicious due to his inflated politeness, threw out the remark:
"My Niece is ganske neat. Do you think? …. Do you find so Hr. Sidenius?
There is no doubt that Per was taken aback by this. However, with a patronising smile, he looked directly at this queer little man and said:
"Frøken Salomon is absolutely stunning. An all round beauty."
"Jah, indeed, ikke sandt! I suppose you could not say that she can count as, what can one say, konventional … . But I can assure you Hr. Sidenius that she brings a queue of young men here to the hause all the days and the year. For what cannot beauty do! And Yongdom! Furthermore, also … my bruder in law is of course not without rezources."
The man is clearly a bit damaged – Per thought to himself and ended the conversation. But his interlocutor went on regardless:
"If Hr. Engineer should honour the hausehold by visiting more frequently from now on, he will certainly get the chance to witness this entertaining fenomen. In this regard one can make most curiøse observations. For – will you agree Hr. Sidenius? – Money is a big magnet. Ah jah jah. These little, raund pieces of metal bring out the deepest human feelings … bring the hearts most noble emotions out into the light of day. Deferenceh, freundship, love. Am I rright?"
Per was now in serious danger of completely losing his patience with the man. Fortunately, however, the maid returned and as she held the door into the adjoining room open, she asked him to go inside.
Per ventured into a room, or rather a whole floor, which, to a far greater degree than either the lobby or library room, gave him the sense of having entered a real fairytale world – a millionaire’s world – a land of ever flowing milk and honey. The vast room with its magnificent, slightly domed stucco ceiling in the Rococo style, from whose corners plump cherubs blew their gilded horns to pronounce the judgement of Solomon, had once been the old palace’s function and ballroom. Here, where a line of slender chairs along the walls and a pair of high ornamental mirrors had presumably constituted the sum of furniture in the room, there was now a surfeit of modern furniture and decorative objects. Deep sofas and large, yielding armchairs, tables, footrests, bear skins, expansive plant and foliage arrangements, columns with statues, bric-a-brac and whatnots; and then yet more armchairs and easy chairs, small and large tables and more plant pots and artworks including a portrait on a painter’s easel. A concert grand stood more or less dead centre in the room. The sound of running fountain water and chirping birds could be heard from an adjoining room that had been converted into a conservatory with palm and rubber trees.
Eventually he observed Fru Salomon sitting on a soft ottoman beneath one of the windows, where she was doing some sewing with an air of settled domestic contentment. She received him in a friendly manner and reached out her left hand in welcome.
They had just exchanged initial pleasantries when Per heard a door being opened in the conservatory and then a cheerful humming, which quickly developed into the clear trills of a song. A moment later, Frøken Nanny was standing in the doorway dressed in outdoor clothing and a hat. On discovering that there was a visitor in the room, she abruptly curtailed her singing and, in mock horror, placed her sleeve across her mouth – as if to muffle a shriek.
Per rose and gave a bow.
Her performance had been executed so naturally that Per had not for one moment suspected that she had been aware of his presence all along.
"Are you still here in the house my child," her mother said. "I thought you had gone already. – Ahm, I’ve no need to introduce. You know my daughter already don’t you?"
Per answered with yet another bow of the head, whilst at the same time ensuring that his accompanying, and perhaps overly bold, stare transmitted the emotions to which he was subject just at that moment. Even before setting eyes upon her again; simply by hearing the sound of her singing as she moved through the scales, which to his ears were golden echoes, his mind was made up. She was the key to the promised land! It was here where the treasure lay waiting for him! – And as she revealed herself to him there in the doorway, bathed in the sunlight emanating from the conservatory and bird song all about her, young and luscious as she was and tempting to watch like some eastern dancer in the temple, she seemed to him to be the embodiment of a fairytale princess flanked by a procession of nymphs waving palm leaves in adoration.
Frøken Nanny sat for a moment. She seated herself on the very edge of a stool and, thus, an opening gambit type of conversation ensued; the kind in which mutual strangers take advantage of the occasion to investigate the counterpart’s appearance, character and manners using the cover of a range of run of the mill remarks and questions.
It has to be said that Per was no master in the art of conversation. He was far too wrapped in himself and his own personal considerations for this to be the case. Besides which, he had no interest in the subjects that would normally be the meat and drink of conversation, knew very little about current events in the life of the city, in the theatre, politics or the world of literature. Nor did he even feel any obligation to be entertaining. On the occasions when, in spite of everything, he managed to make an impression upon a woman, this had happened by way of a well calculated tiger leap from the lair of silence out into the most open and free declaration of his feelings.
Now here he was, sitting and listening whilst the young lady spoke, and making a stab at guessing the actual magnitude of merchant Salomon’s wealth. His eyes stole round the room. And his mind became a whirligig at the thought that one day all this might be his.
Fortunately, Frøken Nanny was more than able to cater for any entertainment that was required, without relying on Per. But at the same time as she sat there on the edge of the stool – adopting the most appropriate of postures, with her elbows tucked in at the sides and the small, tasselled velvet muff in her lap – and allowed her lovely red mouth to chatter on, her eyes were busily, and somewhat audaciously, assessing Per’s persona bit by bit; right from the tips of his thick, curly hair down to his ankles and his slightly rustic shoes.
At last, Fru Salomon became rather alarmed at her daughter’s chatty exuberance.
"Dear child, you’ve obviously forgotten your music class."
"Yes, I had indeed Mammy."
She got up immediately. And with a quick glance to her mother and a more lingering look at Per, which spoke volumes, she swanned out of the room.
Per displayed an air of distraction once she had left the room. His answers to Fru Salomon’s questions, who had steered the conversation towards his studies, were pure nonsense. He was completely enthralled by the young lady. Perhaps it had been her bearing and way of walking, the thing he had been least impressed with when she has first entered, because it had struck him as being slightly heavy and waddling. For as she left (and for exactly the same reasons) it had all been quite enchanting for him. He felt the marked sense of womanliness about it, so female – an unconscious mating dance.
But now he observed the appearance of a black clad figure in the middle of the floor – a lady – who must have come in via a door behind him.
"My daughter Jakobe," Fru Salomon said by way of introduction.
Per was shocked. It had never occurred to him that there might be other children in the family, other than the two he had already met – and a flash of concern strafed his thoughts with regards to the millions which, in his imagination, he had already claimed as his own. Who knows, maybe there are even more! – his thoughts exclaimed in sudden alarm.
The young lady seemed to be some years older than her sister, had a taller and slimmer figure and was, in Per’s eyes, frightfully scrawny. On the whole, she reminded him more of her brother Ivan, who also had markedly Jewish features – skin pale as wax, a large hooked nose and a wide mouth framed by a short jutting chin.
If her appearance had already had an unpleasant effect on him, his first impressions were not improved by the tone of superiority she used – mutedly and at distance – when responding to his greeting. Shortly afterwards, Per rose from his seat and made a polite exit.
"So that was that the much natural genius we have all heard so much about," said Frøken Jakobe, almost before the door had closed properly after Per. "He didn’t come across as being exactly sophisticated."
"His upbringing obviously leaves a lot to be desired," Fru Salomon said. "It seems that he has always had to contend with very difficult personal circumstances, according to Ivan."
Her daughter shrugged her shoulders.
"Ach why wouldn’t he have… they’re all impoverished one way or another in this country. Would the good God in heaven not, at least once, send a talent amongst them that was born rich. Let’s face it mother, there is something pitiful that marks even the best of them when they have that stamp of poverty about them. – And then you couldn’t even say that he was pretty to look at. To think that Nanny proclaimed him the other day as nothing more or less than the Danish Byron."
"Hm, pretty, maybe not … but you have to say Jakobe that he is handsome."
"With those staring bug eyes! Mother, I found him positively hideous," her daughter said as she closed a book through which she had been browsing with a smack. "He gave me a horrible feeling like a…like a glass eyed horse. And then he looked like a big brute," she add shortly afterwards, with an emphasis which suggested that some dark memory had passed over her soul.
"I believe that young man has upset you dear Jakobe."
"That’s exactly what he has done mother. I don’t know where men of today got this meat market way of looking at women from. It’s as if, when they are looking at you, they are weighing up how many pounds of flesh they will get out of your body."
"Well I have to admit alright that I noticed he was a bit coarse in that respect." But you know Jakobe, we can’t just abandon young people like him," said Fru Salomon gently.
"Well you always say that. But I just don’t understand why we continually get dumped with all of Ivan’s failed geniuses. We all know what the end result is going to be – even with the pick of the bunch. Look at that Fritjof Jensen for example. He received nothing but kindness in this house – I know for a fact that Daddy sometimes helped him out of embarrassing money troubles. And now there he is screaming in all the newspapers: "Yids this and Jews that."
"Ah now Jakobe dear angel, let’s not get into – –."
"Do I smell the blood of a Christian in de hause!?" came a cry from a half open door, where the uncle’s terrifying face appeared around the door jamb.
"Is it yourself!" said Fru Salomon. "Come right in. We are all alone now … is that the children I hear?"
"Here is the whole brood of them!" he said.
And in stormed a mob of black eyed children, still in their outdoor clothes, and ranging in age from twelve to four years … no less than five in number and all so fresh faced and vigorous in appearance that Per’s remaining hopes would have been completely dashed at the sight of them. For a while the room was filled with a deafening racket emanating from the red throats of all these children, none of whom seemed able to stay still for a second. All had a tale to tell. First they swarmed around their mother, then their sister or the uncle, and all those dark eyes shone in eagerness to tell their own story.
When order was finally restored, the uncle piped up:
"That’s right … I forgot to congratulate the house on its new acquisition. I met here just for a while ago Hr. – what’s this do you call him again? It was not so noble a name. The son of a Geistlicher, the white collar menschen, I am to believe?"
"Are you starting too now!" Fru Salomon cried. "Listen to me. I don’t want to hear another word about that person. He is a friend of Ivan’s. And he came out to visit us today. Full stop … Are you staying for dinner, Heinrich?"
"Here? – Lea, my sister dearest, have you ever tasted a kosher pork chop?" said the little wizened man, whose expressions, even for his closest relatives, were often a source of mystery as to whether they were meant to be taken in jest or seriously.
Fru Salomon started to laugh.
"I take it you have been mooching round in the kitchen. Oh, shssh! I hear Salomon."
Perhaps because of being overwhelmed by his impressions from the rich house he had visited and conscious of having made a significant decision, Per had not gone straight home. He had altered his route to take in side streets that were devoid of people, motivated as he was by an urge to be alone. He had now not only found his true path and ultimate goal but also the means to get there. "Philip Salomon’s son in law", – they were the magic words that were going to open the portals of life for him and reduce people to being his humble servants.
And why doubt his good luck? If he looked back on all the strange things that had happened to him in his life, hadn’t little Ivan been right in what he had once said about his having the luck of Aladdin? And was it not exactly like some lucky sign that it was Nanny’s brother of all people who first interpreted the God like scripture on his forehead: I came, I saw, I conquered!
