by Herman Bang
“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.”
But Kate told Mrs Lindholm about the bedrooms, all of which were to face north, for you had to be able to sleep in a cool room.
Ida was not aware that Julius had offered her ice cream and that she had some on her plate.
But the two young people were speaking ever more eagerly because Kate’s father was teasing her, and Colonel Falkenberg started to criticise the stalls in the stables. Somewhat excited by the heat and the wine, they both spoke at the same time, each in a different direction, Kate down to her father and Karl up to the colonel concerning bedrooms and horses and central heating and stalls, so much so that it sounded like a duet. Even Mrs Feddersen became caught by the conversation and leaned forward, and some brief, quick glints came into her grey eyes at the mention of all that comfort and the marble bathtubs.
And suddenly Mrs Mou
rier nodded to Mrs von Eichbaum with tears in her kind eyes.
But Mourier took off his napkin and said:
“Aye, the young ones must have their fling.”
When things had quietened down a little, Miss Rosenfeld said in a low voice:
“But, you know, there were so many lovely memories from the old house.”
Karl heard the words and suddenly he stopped his explanations and made no reply to Lindholm.
Mrs Falkenberg sat trying to catch Falkenberg’s eye, but the lieutenant colonel was enjoying a biscuit and talking to the admiral about remounts.
Mrs von Eichbaum said that she thought it was time to leave the table now.
Ida had not heard this, and she did not rise until the research student offered her his arm. As though only half awake she sat for a moment and surveyed the table with the remains of the meal and the slightly smoking candelabra and then her own plate at the table. The blood red ice cream had melted and turned into some coloured, dirty water in her bowl.
The admiral made to hand Mrs Aline Feddersen her stick. But Madame Aline thought she could manage without it. And, supported by the admiral, whose enamel cross shone in the light from the Eichbaum candelabra, she walked, with some difficulty but nevertheless upright among the other couples, past the screens over to Mrs von Eichbaum’s apartment, where Mr Christensen started to offer them coffee.
Ladies and gentlemen were speaking in loud voices in groups here and there. Mrs Mourier was standing with Mrs von Eichbaum and holding her dry hands in her own.
“That was delightful,” she said: “I don’t know anyone who understands the art as you do.”
Mrs Mourier omitted to explain what she really meant by the art, or perhaps she was not even aware of it herself.
But Mrs von Eichbaum replied:
“My dear Vilhelmine, it all takes care of itself.”
“Yes, when you understand these things,” said Mrs Mourier.
Ida had quite mechanically – or perhaps as a kind of unconscious defence – taken sugar and cream and was gliding around offering them to the guests. Now she reached Mrs Mourier.
“Ah, Miss Brandt, you are going around as though you were the daughter in the house.”
“Yes,” said Ida, and glided on.
“I think she is rather nice, you know,” said Mrs Mourier, who had an indeterminate feeling of sympathy, perhaps on account of the strangely old-maidish quality that had come over Ida’s personality. It was as though the yellow dress was too big for her so that there was no real living body in it, and her waved hair over her small forehead looked strangely like a wig or as though it had been glued on.
“Good Lord, my dear, wonderful,” said Mrs von Eichbaum: “And one of those rare people who always know their place.”
The gentlemen had gone into Karl’s room to smoke, all except the admiral, who was taking care of his health by going for his usual walk up the road. Lindholm said something to the effect that Copenhagen was a damned fine capital city, a city in which it was impossible to get a decent shirt in the entire place.
But Mourier had met Karl in the entrance hall.
“I have really been going to write to you for some time but, you see, well, I know what it costs for a young man to accompany young ladies throughout the winter. But now (Mr. Mourier was quite embarrassed) we are going to make a deposit in the local branch and that is all settled, so you need only go across and draw it.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” he concluded brusquely. Karl had turned blood red, and Mr Mourier turned away, much relieved.
“Should we not rather move into the dining room?” he said: “The air’s a damned sight better in there, and it’s nice to be away from the ladies while we have coffee. ”
Before long, the gentlemen broke up and went into the general’s wife’s dining room, where Mr Christensen and Julius were clearing the table.
Mr Christensen had acquired something of a twitch in his nose on reaching Mrs Feddersen’s place, where her perfume could still be detected.
“I must say she is still an imposing lady,” he had said to Julius.
A certain silence had come over the ladies after the coffee and now the gentlemen had gone. The admiral’s wife was half asleep on the sofa after the morning’s exertions (and in addition she always ate a great deal when she was out), but in the corner beneath the gas light there was a group talking about books and reading. Mrs Falkenberg, who was nervously rubbing one cheek with her clenched fist while looking up in the air, said:
“But reading so often makes one restless.”
At which, Mrs Eichbaum, over by the étagère, speaking to Mrs Lindholm about Mary, said:
“My dear Emmy, one reads in order to rest.”
But Mrs Falkenberg, still rubbing her cheek, said quietly:
“But surely also to get to know life?”
“I do not think that is often what one finds in books,” said Miss Rosenfeld.
The general’s wife, who had persuaded Ida to sit on the edge of a sofa, seemed to interrupt and said:
“Dear Miss Brandt, you have a task to fulfil.” And she gently raised Ida’s arm. It was so strangely lifeless as it fell back on the marble table, or perhaps it was as though it had been crushed or was out of joint, that the general’s wife suddenly looked at her.
“But of course, it makes demands on you,” she said in a different voice.
The admiral’s wife, who had awaken and heard they were talking about reading, said from over in the sofa:
“But, my dears, you have to go through the lot to keep up. Fanny and I read ourselves to sleep every evening.”
In the small drawing room, Mrs Feddersen had settled down for a moment. Perhaps she was rather tired, for she had closed her eyes and was supporting her head against the wall. She was directly in the light, and the red links of pearls falling down on her bosom almost looked like blood flowing down into her lap. She had not noticed Mrs Mourier coming and sitting down beside her.
“I have been thinking such a lot about you,” said Mrs Mourier, quietly taking hold of Madame Aline’s hand.
Mrs von Eichbaum had the windows in the dining room opened as they already were over in the general’s wife’s apartment. The gentlemen’s laughter and Mr Mourier’s voice could be heard over in Mrs von Eichbaum’s rooms, as though the entire house was one single source of festivity harmonising with the brightly lit courtyard. The front-door bell rang and Julius went to open it. It was the younger members of the family who were starting to arrive, girls in bright dresses and young gentlemen in freshly starched shirts, bowing in turn to the older guests.
A small pianist, beardless and slightly flustered and asking for a cushion for his chair, finally sat down at the piano, and a couple of young people started to dance on the dining room floor, while the gentlemen’s laughter mingled with the music.
Mrs von Eichbaum went to and fro. Now she came from over in the gentlemen’s room into her own kitchen:
“Julius.”
Julius came, followed by Mr Christensen, who was in his shirt sleeves with stiff cuffs.
“Julius, would you please put the screens in place,” said Mrs von Eichbaum as she passed by.
Mr Mourier had overturned one of them on his way through the kitchen.
Just at the door to her own dining room Mrs von Eichbaum met Ida.
“My dear Miss Brandt,” she said, rather flustered: “I am so worried about cups, whether there are sufficient, because the young people need to have some tea. Would you be so kind as to make sure…”
Ida’s words were lost in the happy music, and Mrs von Eichbaum only saw that she bowed her head and went.
Out in the kitchen, she took an apron (there are drunken people who do nothing but sensible things in this way, quite quietly, and afterwards are unable to remember what they have done) and she tied it on. In the gaslight, she washed cup after cup.
Mrs Mourier was standing in the doorway to the living room, watching the young people danc
ing. Now Karl, who had actually been drinking rather heavily, had come over into these rooms and was dancing with Kate.
“Oh it is lovely to see so much happiness,” said Mrs Mourier, putting her arm in under Mrs von Eichbaum’s. And standing side by side, they watched their children.
There came sounds of laughter and noise from the gentlemen’s room when the music stopped. The admiral had come home, and a couple of the young people had also gone over there unnoticed.
At the middle of the table, the colonel was talking about a sense of morality and the defence forces.
Lindholm had asked the research student who the little lady really was that he had sat next to at table, and the student had explained and said:
“Actually, I think she is a very cultured young lady. But – ” and the student made some strange movements with his hands – “one sits there, sir, and says to oneself that such a person could be a source of infection.”
The lieutenant colonel remained standing at the middle of the table, speaking ever more loudly about His Excellency the Minister of War as the central figure in the entire patriotic movement when the admiral, who along with Mr Mourier had sat looking as though he were listening, and who perhaps was a little tired of his colleague, said to Mourier:
“But why did you refuse the opportunity of going into parliament?”
“Well,” said Mourier, wriggling slightly: “I don’t really know, damn it. I’m a natural conservative of course,” he repeated. “But you see, admiral, I lack the ability to be outraged, confound it, and that ability is necessary in public life in this country.”
“Ah,” said the admiral: “Thank God there is not so much outrage at sea.”
And laughing merrily as they drank a glass of liqueur, the two gentlemen started walking up and down the floor, talking about Madame Aline.
“Aye,” said Mourier,” I agree with my wife that that kind of thing doesn’t happen provided the husband remains strong and healthy.”
But the admiral scratched his head and said:
“We-ell, but I remember up at Sølyst when I used to give them a swing as little girls, she had a way of getting up in the swing and gasping for breath.”