Authors: Herman Bang
“Well, there are eighteen of us now.”
They were already beginning to move out of the living room, while Mourier continued to shake hands heartily with all, and they went out through the doors, couple after couple. The research student bowed to Ida, whom he had never met before, and they were the last to go in.
But as they went in past the screens, Karl, accompanying Mrs Lindholm, scraped past Ida and, as though there were not sufficient room, put a hand on her waist for a moment.
“We are bringing up the rearguard,” he said.
And Mrs Lindholm, who was the daughter of the Purveyor of Glass to His Majesty, said with a glance at the screens:
“It is so convenient that you live in the same house as your aunt.”
“Yes,” said Karl, who had followed her eye: “The screens are one of the family treasures; I think we inherited them.”
Mrs Lindholm laughed and, as they went along the corridor, raised her skirts a little as though crossing a farmyard. When they reached the dining room, Karl cast a host’s eye over the table. It was as though his face suddenly became older and adopted a certain official look.
They were all seated, the mother at the bottom end of the table, the admiral at the top, with his symbol of knighthood around his neck, alongside Madame Aline.
Julius started to serve the soup as solemnly as though he were bearing a pair of sacrificial vessels.
The conversation centred on dining rooms and on seating.
“We have enough room here, thank God,” said Mr Mourier, who was tying his serviette around his ample chest.
The conversation built up, though still on the subject of dining rooms, and, while Mrs Mourier bent forward to hide Madame Aline, whose hands were trembling so that she was spilling her soup when raising her spoon to her mouth, Mrs von Eichbaum said:
“But there is no dining room to rival that at Korsgaard.”
And Madame Aline, speaking as it were in a deeper tone than the others, said:
“It is cool there at least.”
Miss Rosenfeld had for a moment listened to the timbre of Madame Aline’s voice, and she gave an absent-minded answer to a question put to her by Lindholm:
“Yes, we have a hundred pupils in the school now.”
Which gave the admiral’s wife the occasion to raise her bosom in a rather splendidly low-cut dress as she said:
“Yes, it is incredible; everyone has to have something to do nowadays.”
But the general’s wife said:
“Good Lord, it’s just a result of all this impatience. There is no one these days who is calm enough to sit quietly somewhere and knit a sock.”
Mr Mourier declared that it was an excellent halibut, and while Mr Christensen, who had removed the ring from his little finger before serving, poured the white wine, Lieutenant Colonel Falkenberg caught the word “calm” and said:
“Yes, but what is the reason for that madam? We (and the lieutenant colonel’s voice became sharper),
we
have two opposition newspapers in our house. If it were up to me, they would never be allowed inside the door.”
Mrs Falkenberg, who only ate a little but was constantly looking up at Madame Aline as though staring at a miracle taking place close to her, said:
“But, Falkenberg, we cannot prevent the children from reading.”
“But we don’t have to discuss things with them,” replied the lieutenant colonel.
Almost as though to place herself between the two of them, Mrs von Eichbaum said:
“Well, Emmy,
there
I agree with Falkenberg: these everlasting discussions give rise to nothing but disagreement.”
Mourier, who was still eating, was of the general opinion that it was necessary to know what those people were thinking: Damn it all, he reads the “Social Democrat”.
“My dear Mourier,” said Mrs von Eichbaum, who now, with some relief, could hear Madame Aline talking in a brighter voice about her home at Sølyst: “I think that wrong…”
Mrs von Eichbaum meant “for the sake of the example it gives”. It was dreadful the way things were going at the moment:
“Just imagine the other day, I discovered that Ane and Julius – just imagine Ane – subscribe to one of those little newspapers. It is difficult to understand where they get it from.”
Mourier laughed, but the conversation on journalists had now reached Lindholm, who said that those people were sometimes seen in the theatre, and he often wondered about it. “For they are really well dressed,” he said in a tone suggesting he had expected that everyone writing in a newspaper would turn up with holes in their jacket elbows.
The admiral told how he had once had a gentleman from a newspaper on board the “Heligoland”, and he had spoken quite sensibly by Gad, but the admiral’s wife, who had continued with her argument that everyone felt a need to do something, said across the table to Mrs Mourier, speaking of the daughter of one in their circle:
“My dear Mine, didn’t you know – yes, she wants to start as a midwife.”
The research student, who had eaten his fish without sauce because of his diet (he was the son of a famous figure from the middle of the century and had for ten years been busy arranging his father’s “Memoirs” while growing ever thinner), said to Ida:
“It must be a very rewarding task to be able to lessen other people’s suffering.”
“Yes,” said Ida, and her partner’s conversation came to an end again. She had acquired two red patches, one over each eyebrow, as though she had just come straight from a frying pan.
Mrs von Eichbaum looked out across the table with her hostess’ eye.
“Oh, Miss Brandt, dear, would you take that dish and pass it on.”
Ida gave a start. She had only heard all the conversation as an alien hum, and now she heard Karl’s voice addressing Miss Mourier again.
“Yes,” she said, and took the dish.
“Thank you,” said Mrs von Eichbaum.
Mrs Lindholm spoke to Fanny Schleppegrell about the princes: one of them had given her a paperknife. And the conversation in general came to centre on the royal family.
As the conversation became increasingly animated and the admiral had approached as it were a little closer to Mrs Feddersen, the general’s wife and Lieutenant Colonel Falkenberg spoke about a family friend who was the prince’s governor and was preparing him for an examination.
“But he is very constrained,” said the general’s wife, “having to sleep in the room front.”
The lieutenant colonel replied with some words on the excellent example this was and turned to Miss Rosenfeld.
“Well,” he said: “You are naturally a radical like my wife.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by that word,” said Miss Rosenfeld, “but I am actually very fond of the king because I consider him a very noble person.”
Karl and Kate started to laugh at the word “person”, and the general’s wife said to Miss Rosenfeld:
“My dear Betty, that is presumably not the only thing about him.”
But Mrs Falkenberg, who had two red patches on her cheeks – she easily acquired them, as though they were the result of a suppressed or secret agitation – said without addressing her words to anyone in particular, though they were probably intended for the lieutenant colonel:
“But people nevertheless think…”
And the lieutenant colonel replied:
“Yes, they think…they think until they are laid in their graves.”
Mourier, who had heard this, laughed and said:
“You’ re damned right,” and he chinked glasses with the lieutenant colonel.
The word “think” suddenly led Mrs von Eichbaum on to the subject of Martensen’s
Ethics
. She was reading the book at the moment. She was savouring it slowly.
“But,” she said, “he is not difficult to follow, thanks to the clarity of his style.”
Suddenly, the general’s wife said across the table to Ida (She is sitting as though she doesn’t belong anywhere, Her Ladyship had immediately noticed):
“Is there much sickness this year, Miss Brandt?”
“Yes, a considerable amount,” Ida managed to say. All she was hearing was Karl and Kate’s laughter. They were laughing as though far away. And then she sat keeping an eye on the dishes, almost frantically, as though from a long-standing habit that had suddenly recurred – the habit she had had at Ludvigsbakke.
Mourier, sitting surveying the table, let his eye rest on Ida and leant across to Mrs von Eichbaum:
“Who is she?” he asked in a subdued voice, and Ida heard Mrs von Eichbaum in the midst of a longish explanation say:
“And her father was His Lordship’s land agent. A truly estimable man.”
Ida did not perhaps herself realise she was fighting to prevent tears coming to her eyes.
Up at the other end of the table the conversation was rather more light-hearted. They had continued to talk about “Sølyst”, and Mrs von Eichbaum started to join in, while the admiral’s wife had once more reached the subject of customs and the customs authorities, finally saying to Mrs Lindholm:
“But, my dear, I am hoping to get some pieces of silk home with your mother-in-law and Mary…good heavens, when you put them at the bottom of your case…”
The conversation about “Sølyst” also caught her, and she abandoned the subject of “silks”. Mrs Mourier talked so happily and loudly, for she was so truly delighted because things were thawing out completely with regard to Aline; and Mrs Feddersen sat bending forward with her face fully illuminated.
“Yes, it was a lovely time,” said Mrs Mourier. “Do you remember, Mille?” – she was addressing Mrs von Eichbaum – “When we drove to Marienlyst to dance. That was in Brix’s day. It is ages now since I was there.”
Mrs von Eichbaum said something, suddenly with tears in her eyes:
that
was where she had met Eichbaum for the first time.
And they all continued to talk about those days: about the soirées and the lieutenants from Kronborg barracks and the trips to Gurre and the hours spent bathing when they drove on a hay cart down to the beach at Hellebæk, and the great expeditions into the forest, when they went to Grib Forest, which was so huge and quiet.
All their faces became quite radiant and they all – including Madame Aline – started to speak in almost the same way.
“Oh yes,” said the admiral’s wife: “We were after all far better people in those days.”
But the admiral, whose cross of chivalry was by now a little skewed and who was sitting thinking that it was damned incredible how Aline had kept her good looks, said:
“Yes, I can remember how it was giving you a swing.”
Karl and Kate had started chatting in French, but suddenly Karl bent forward – they were still talking about Grib Forest over there – and raised his glass:
“Miss Brandt,” he said.
Ida started and scarcely raised her eyes. Then she drank.
But Karl sat there for a moment, quite preoccupied. A sad look had come over his eyes.
“Little Miss Brandt” said Mrs von Eichbaum – her words seemed to come rather hastily – “Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass the jam round.”
But it was Miss Rosenfeld, who replied in a rather loud voice.
“I will see to that, Mrs von Eichbaum.”
Everyone joined in the lively conversation, while the light from the candelabra flickered a little in the warm air. Lindholm entertained the student on the subject of memoir literature. He had to say that memoirs as a whole were his favourite reading, especially when they concerned Napoleon.
“While you are reading memoirs you feel so to speak,” said Lindholm, “that we are all human beings.”
Lieutenant Colonel Falkenberg started to talk about Napoleon’s marshals and Marshal Ney’s tomb, which, he said, was simple as befits a soldier’s grave; while Mrs Lindholm asked Fanny whether she knew how much Mrs Verdier had asked for a trimming of old lace.
Almost everyone was talking more or less at the same time. Miss Rosenfeld compelled Ida to join in. Mourier, who was flushed, put his hand down on Mrs von Eichbaum’s and said:
“It’s damned nice here.”
“Dear Mourier,” said Mrs von Eichbaum with a smile: “It is so easy when you only have your own circle around you.”
They were finished with the grouse, which was a present from Mrs Mourier, and Mr Christensen poured the port.
Up at Madame Aline’s end of the table, they were still talking about times at Sølyst, when Mrs Mourier said:
“We must all get together again at Ludvigsbakke.”
And Mourier, hearing this, said happily:
“Aye, that’s right, damn it, you’ re all welcome when we get it built. I think the last wall in the old place is due to come down today.”
The word Ludvigsbakke had awakened Ida, but she did not realise that, leaning forward, pale, she was staring directly into Mr Mourier’s face.
“The old walls have otherwise been tough,” said Mourier. “But now we’ll be able to use the old bricks for the new stables.”
“But the old house was nice after all,” said Mrs von Eichbaum.
“Of course it was nice,” said Mourier quietly. “But the younger generation are never satisfied.”
“But you spoil Kate,” said the general’s wife.
“No,” Kate suddenly broke in with a kind of vulgar emphasis on the word: “One could not possibly have moved into those old buildings.”
Kate suddenly became the central figure at the table as they talked about the new rooms, the staircase, the billiard room and the bathrooms and the gazebo and the terraces, for which the granite vases were to be carved in Italy.
Mrs Lindholm was extremely interested and bent forward over the table to ask a question while Fanny withdrew her thin bust and looked as though she were smelling at concentrated vinegar, and Kate continued to talk about banisters and parquet floors and a room in which to drink tea as they did in England.
The conversation grew in intensity and Mrs Mourier said to the general’s wife: “Yes, people want more, you know,” looking with loving admiration down at her daughter while Karl started telling Lindholm all about the stables, eagerly and deeply engaged, explaining that they were being constructed to the English pattern, with the horses free in their stalls, large rooms, with marble floors and water conduits.
“Wonderful, you know,” said Karl. “I have done the drawings myself.”